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plutoswritingplanet · 22 days ago

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Vicarious (Homelander x Female!Reader) pt. 6

a/n: Mama a new chapter behind you (had to reupload this, because it didn't show up in the tag for some reason), this chapter might seem like a blurb of bs but it's important to the story guys please believe me. Cross-Posted on AO3

Warnings: Creepy Behavior (wow, a shocker), Discussion around some Non-Con situations (nothing explicit though), Smoking, Cussing, the regular

Summary: Finally, you get your phone back... And make a promise which will haunt you forever

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5

- What the fuck did you do? - Stillwell asks through gritted teeth, her expression frozen in a tight smile.

The very second he has announced, the photoshoot would have to be postponed due to your "health problems", he could practically hear her heart drop right down to her tight, corporate ass. He decided not to comment on the sudden flood of adrenaline in her veins, but the moment she turned to him, demanding an answer, an explanation, he could feel the vein on his temple start to pulse.

Because how dare she, look at him like that? Like she actually cares about that ungrateful lowlife, he left wheezing on the floor, in some forgotten conference room?

- She's not feeling well - he repeats, his voice becoming tense - Last night must've worn her out.

Stillwell scoffs at his pathetic attempt at sounding sympathetic. Her eyebrows crease, as she takes a long, steadying breath, her shoulders slumping slightly. He likes that expression, likes the way people give up around him. The feeling of breaking someone down always gives him such a rush, it's unparalleled to anything else.

He wonders how your face will twist and turn, when he finally manages to wrench himself under the layers of masks and disguises. He got close, he got a whiff of blood, and like a starved shark, he needed more.

The team of photographers continues to hassle about the place, setting things up, as if the photoshoot will take place. Which, it won't, he made sure of it.

- Is she alive? - Stillwell asks with a resigned sigh, and Homelander rolls his eyes.

- Yes, of course she's fucking alive, I'm not...

- Hey, y'all. Sorry for being late.

Your voice shoots through him like an arrow of some fucked up, drunk cupid. His entire frame goes rigid, as his head all but snaps with the quickness he turns around.

There you are.

A plastic imitation of a laid-back smile plastered on your face, as you regard every person in the room with a nod of greeting. Not a hair on you seems out of place, even though he can clearly see, through the tissue and the muscle, that your ribs are only beginning to heal, the fragments of bone connecting with each other at a snails pace. It can't be pleasant, but your eyes shine nonetheless, as your platform boots carry you in their direction.

Stillwell looks just as shocked as he feels, her eyebrows nearly touching the perfect hairline on her forehead.

- Miss Stillwell - you greet her with a pleasant smile - Homelander.

- I see you're all better now - he comments after a beat, his eyes scanning your form.

He doesn't like the way your expression doesn't even budge. It feels insulting, your refusal to show your true colors to him, especially since he has seen you. He knows there are thoughts brewing under that blowout, and when you direct that fake smile at him, it feels like a personal jab.

A small middle finger, pointed straight at his smile, stuck like glue to his face. The word "Bitch" echoes in his mind, and his eyes start to burn at the corners.

- Ah, that party last night must've tired me out more than I anticipated - you shake your head in a rather forced attempt at looking bashful - I hope I haven't inconvenienced y'all too much.

It's a blur from then on. Stillwell directs you towards the makeup booth, swallowing around her shock, before she comes out as too relieved.

Homelander doesn't register any of her words, silently stalking to his own chair, where he lets some intern cake his face with makeup. He keeps his eyes on you, all the time, imagining all the horrible things he could do, will do, once this charade is over.

He notices, with the accuracy of a starved hawk, how your breathing is still quite shaky, how your lungs aren't expanding as much as they're supposed to. Then, there's the tremble in your hand, as you curl your fingers around the armrest, nails digging into the plastic, when the makeup artist glides her brush over your collarbones. His eyes catch the smidgen of glitter, and his lip quirks up, seemingly on its own.

A fitting camouflage, for the carnage he's left underneath.

You suck in a sharp breath, as one of the ribs clicks back into place, and mask the sound with a cough. Which brings another wave of pain, crashing over your chest. He has to admit, the way you pretend to be completely unaffected is admirable. If anything, it gives him some hope regarding the future movie you're supposed to do together. In a month or so, he doesn't remember the details. Doesn't care for them.

And then, you're up.

Solo shots first. The photographer ushers you in front of the green screen, where you stand on the mark, shuffling on your feet awkwardly. Homelander watches, his head tilting, as you let yourself be posed, like a doll for the entertainment of millions. For his entertainment.

It's the same, boring series of poses. The same, ass-and-tits-in-the-same-shot bullshit. He's seen it on practically every female superhero, and yes, perhaps at first it was exciting. Right now, however, it feels like licking off a plate after reheated leftovers. Still, he has to admit, there's something intriguing about the way your body twists and turns to accommodate the photographer's artistic vision.

Despite that, despite the way your thighs peak almost too scandalously from under your plaid skirt, or the way your chest practically waves at him from beneath your corset top...

He feels nothing. No familiar tightness in the lower parts of his suit. No fidgeting, no sudden wave of heat. He looks at you, and sees... Well... You.

Even when your painted lips pull back into a flirty, curling smile, as you wink at the camera (as instructed), he can't really see Fireball anymore. It's like those couple of minutes ago, when he left you writhing on the floor unlocked some deep truth, some unexplainable dam, which has burst completely.

For a moment, he doesn't know what to think. The photographer thanks you, motions for him to take his place, and with limbs, which are suddenly much too heavy, Homelander makes his way in front of the camera.

Your gaze follows him, eyes shifting under ridiculously large fake eyelashes. He feels them, burning the back of his neck, and for some unknown reason, it makes him feel... Almost pleased. He's always been a slut for attention, for admiration, for the looks of awe. And while there's nothing on your face which would suggest the latter two, you're still looking at him.

It makes his chest puff out a bit more, his back straightening, his smile cutting even more than usual. And the camera clicks, and clicks, until it's time for your paired shots.

The chair squeaks, when you stand up, and Homelander swallows, listening to your platform boots, as they click on the linoleum flooring. Soon enough, you're in front of him, the photographer maneuvers you to his liking, and Homelander looks down, takes a whiff of your perfume. That lingering, suffocating scent of jasmine. It swirls in his nose, cements itself into his brain, and his chest makes a quick up and down movement, his lungs refusing cooperation for just a second.

The photographer turns you around, makes you stand closer to him, chests almost pressing together. And then, he places your arm across his shoulders, and Homelander freezes.

He doesn't know why, not really, but the feeling of your plush flesh against his sends a wave of paralyzing shivers down his spine. Surprisingly, not of arousal, but something else entirely. Something he refused to recognize.

Your eyes flicker to his, eyebrows twitching in a display of curiosity, as you feel him tense under your hand. He doesn't like it, the way you seem to see right through him, like he's made of glass. Like you can sense his thoughts, his very soul.

Annoyingly perceptive.

His mouth opens, so close to a biting, threatening comment, but before anything comes out, the pressure on his shoulder lessens, before disappearing completely. Eyes flickering to the side, he can see the way your hand hovers, just millimeters from his costume, maintaining the illusion of contact.

Anger is his natural reaction, embedded into the very core of his being. He doesn't want to recognize the flood of relief at the lack of contact, he doesn't want to understand the implications. And most importantly, he absolutely hates, that it's you. Once again, you've managed to read him like a fucking book, and took it all in without even moving a muscle.

Thoughts swirl inside his brain, and he's so focused on the noticable lack of your touch, that he doesn't hear the photographer until the third time.

The next couple of poses go in that exact manner. The photographer tells you how to pose, and you do so, keeping your body hovering over Homelander's.

He refuses to recognize the flicker of gratitude in his gut. He's never grateful, he's a fucking superhero, and physical touch is not something he's shied away from. Yet, he can't deny, that small show of respect, not directed towards his power, but rather, his own preference... Strange.

You're strange, you're infuriating. Your hair looks so soft, despite the gallons of product they dumped onto it.

He gravitates towards you after the shoot ends, when all the staff is slowly packing up, flickering out of the room in a river of insignificance. You're standing by the makeup table, Ashley at your side, explaining something with that same 'i'm going to have a heart attack any moment', terrified stare. He watches with mild interest, as your presence alone seems to slow the ginger's heart.

Your ribs seem to be healed over by this point, he watches some lingering, floating pieces of bone, as they fit into the puzzle of your insides. He takes a step closer, suddenly mesmerized by the way your blood vessels connect, reaching towards each other. Joining hands.

The sound of your laughter cuts through his thoughts like a knife, and he blinks up towards your face, noting deep in his brain the different types, different sounds of your joy. It's such a strange observation, he stuns himself for a moment. But then again, there's no one but himself to police his thoughts. What goes on in his mind, stays within. No corporate restrictions, no paparazzi, no Stillwell. Just him, and the soft chuckle you just let out, light, breezy, barely a sound really.

He's caught in the middle of replaying the way your voice carried above the music, back at the party, where he listened to you, and only you, floating above the roof like a dark omen. That cracking, unrestrained sound, which both irritated him, and brought a strange feeling of confusion, swirling in his stomach. So different from your Fireball persona, from the soft, high-pitched sounds you were emitting while in the Tower, constantly under surveillance.

- Just don't blow it - Ashley sighs, a swan song of her professionalism, and the wink you give her is nothing short of diabolical

- I never blow jobs without a "please" first - you shoot back, stunning both the redhead, and the lurking Homelander into silence.

It's almost a relief to him, when the familiar tightness around the lower section of his suit manifests itself at your words. He greets it like an old friend.

Would he ask for it? Would he twist his face into a pleading expression, would he guide you down, a steady hand on your shoulder, as he repeats "please" like it's a prayer? He shudders at the mental image, his fingers curling into fists so tight, the leather of his gloves starts to creak.

When your conversation with Ashley finishes, he follows you out the room, a small distance behind, and he truly doesn't know what compels his legs to move forward. He doesn't understand the need, that's suddenly manifested itself somewhere in the darker parts of himself. All he knows, is that he walks behind you like a shadow, through the corridors of the ground level of the Tower, ignoring the looks of awe and inspiration from all the inconsequential workers.

They filter like ants around the two of you, faces rising from their computers, abandoning their lunches in favor of gaping at the unexpected pair, that's slowly but surely making it's way towards the smoking area.

All the while, that ridiculously short, plaid skirt sways to the sound of the only two words, rattling around in his brain, as he observes your movements.

Ripe. Plump. Ripe. Plump. Ripe. Plump.

It would be so easy, he thinks again, to just pull you away. He knows every nook and cranny of this place. Every shadowed broom closet, every blind spot of the cameras. He has used and abused all those places, burned their existence into the mind of many, many women.

There are walls in this building, which are most definitely lacking your body pressed into them. His hands itch. They would fit so nicely under the plush flesh of your thighs, sinking into them, holding them apart. It would be child's play at this point.

And he knows Madelyn made you sign an NDA, he's seen the intricate lines of your name on the white paper. No one would stop him, and yet...

The smoking area is relatively empty. You find a spot at a table near the large window overlooking the street, and he says nothing, as he slinks into the chair opposite yours. Finally, you look up at him, tilting your head to the side, like you're trying to read something out of the schooled, passive expression on his face. He doesn't like it, the way your eyes drill into him, like you're peeling away some layers he doesn't even know are there.

He's supposed to be the one doing the peeling.

- So - you start, and he immediately snaps his attention to the tone of your voice - That was fucking exhausting, wasn't it?

Higher register, breathy quality. You're talking to him like he's one of them. One of Vaught, one of the press, like he didn't see your trembling body on the floor of the office.

Anger flares within him at the revelation, and your breath catches in your throat as without warning, the sound of a chair scraping roughly on the tiled floor fills the air. Homelander pushes himself right next to you, his hand clamping down like a vice around your wrist, holding it tightly on your lap, the leather of his gloves squeaking in protest.

Your eyes widen a fraction, muscles tensing at the unexpected proximity, and your gaze darts around the smoking area, taking in the noticable lack of other people.

- The fu...-

He cuts you off quickly, his grip tightening to an almost bruising intensity.

- Don't ever use that voice with me. - his voice is low, a hint of a warning hidden in every syllable.

For just a second your eyebrows furrow in plain confusion, and then, realization hits the both of you like a freight train.

This isn't you. You're not here.

You didn't know. You didn't notice until he pointed it out. Slow horror blossoms on your face, breath catching in your freshly healed trachea, as you blink up at him.

A mixture of emotions swirls in his gut.

They almost got you. For just a second you were completely immersed in the fantastical, corporate creation, this hellish place wanted you to be. So immersed in fact, you forgot your own voice. Fireball, like a greedy parasite, has taken root in your system, sucking away your person hood. Just like he is trained to always smile towards the camera, his face twisting every time, like a compulsion he can't get rid of.

Your shoulders sag, this unexplainable heaviness returning to your bones. He will remember this moment for years to come, long after the contract has ended, this small flicker of understanding, however damning it might be, will forever cement itself into his very being. The first time you've ever recognized, that there's more to him, that he knows he's not the only thing you're fighting.

Because in this small moment, despite the animosity, the tension, the downright horrible thoughts and actions he's taken against you, will take against you, both of you know the horrible truth. The price to pay for stepping a foot in his world, even momentarily.

- You will never lie to me - he says like it's an universally accepted fact, not a request.

And you nod, a sudden jerk of your head, hair jumping around your face, because there's no other way. He'll sniff out lies from the very essence of your being, but more than that, you're slowly growing more desperate to maintain this flicker of kinship. Your only chance at establishing a connection, at worming yourself into his brain as something more than just a piece of fuckable meat.

You will take any crumb at this point. Any way to ensure he sees you as something more, than a toy to play with and discard. To earn your safety amongst his heated stares, and pages upon pages of contracts. Stillwell won't protect you from him anymore, that much has become obvious, the moment she made you sign an NDA. Now it's your job to make sure it'll never be used against you.

Which is why, your lips part, tongue running over your teeth, as if chasing the lingering taste of Fireball's voice in your mouth. So you can recognize it earlier, cut it out like a tumor, before it consumes you.

- Thank you - he shudders, as that phrase leaves your lips once again, so reminiscent of your time in his penthouse, and yet so distinctly different.

His jaw twitches under his skin, eyes blinking in rapid succession, and you can almost feel the way the bones of his hand creak, as he detaches himself from your wrist. There are indents in your flesh, in places where he pushed just a bit too far, but as soon as the pressure's gone, you can feel your skin spring back into its original state.

The chair scrapes once again, a shrill sound in the silence of the room, and with a terrifying mixture of emotions, your eyes glue themselves to the image of the American flag on his back, as he all but flees the place. For the first time, since you've landed here, he's the one retreating. But it doesn't feel like victory, it feels like the executioner's axe.

The next day, you spot your friend sitting at that same table, right in front of the window overlooking the street, where just yesterday he sat in that very chair. They notice you immediately, face twisting into a bright grin, as your heavy boots thud against the tiled floor.

You absolutely, viscerally hate seeing them here, in this suffocating, terrible place. Alas, Stillwell made herself clear. This meeting is arranged during your working hours, and as such, must take place in the Tower. Despite that, you can't help the heartbreaking feeling, that tears your chest apart as they wave at you.

You've missed them, so incredibly hard, for just a moment you're willing to forget, that the walls of this building quite literally have ears. That there's always someone watching your every movement. That he's watching, listening in.

- Good God, look at you - your friend huffs a laugh, and wraps their arms around you, finally making the faux leather of the corset somewhat bearable - You look like an industry plant.

- That's cause I am an industry plant - you smile against their cheek, revelling in the way your voice finally sounds like it's supposed to.

Ignoring the gnawing feeling of unease, you sit back in your chair, forcing the image of Homelander to the very back of your mind. You might never be safe in here, but this small reprieve, you'll take in stride. God only knows, you need some familiarity.

- How are the wedding preparations? - you ask, grabbing your phone from their hand, reunited at last

- Well, I had no idea there's so many flowers to choose from, lemme tell you that much - they huff, and your lips pull back into a smile on their own accord.

It's so easy to forget where you are, when they're near, when they're teasing the Smirnoff out of you. It's like their sheer presence here stomped hard on Fireball's neck, forcing her to stay down, to know her place.

You needed that.

With practiced ease, your fingers fish out a pack of cigarettes from your cleavage, the only place you could've hidden them, considering your super suit doesn't have any pockets. And with an even more practiced smirk, your friend produces a lighter. The exchange happens naturally. They pluck one cig from the package, light yours up, and then their own.

The scent of smoke fills your nose, biting and grounding at the same time. The feeling of nicotine slowly trickling into your system, a tightness in your lungs, makes your shoulders sag ever so slightly.

- I'm surprised they let you smoke - your friend muses, cloud of gray curling around their mouth - Not very 'superhero of the people' of you.

You scoff, your eyes rolling.

- I swear, everytime I pull one out, they all look at me, like I'm snorting coke in front of a fucking preschooler.

You're well aware just how bitter your voice sounds, and as much as your friend tries to maintain the easy going smile, there's a flicker of deep-rooted concern.

- They really made you into something else, huh? - they ask, voice quiet and almost mournful

- Five more months - you sigh, trying to take some consolation in the passage of time, however hopeless it may be. - "Life is a Cabaret, old chum..."

The quote hangs heavily between the two of you, twisting your faces into mirror images of sardonic smiles, as the utter ridiculousness of your situation falls on you like a weighted blanket. Smoke fills the space, lingering around your heads, before inevitably it gets sucked away by the ventilation system. For a second, you wish, you could ingrain this scent, this nauseating stink of chemicals into your very being, somehow sink it into your blood.

Perhaps this way, you'd finally feel safe. Perhaps it would make him repulsed enough to leave your shadow.

It's quiet for a moment. The hum of the air conditioning, and the distant sounds of lively New York streets combining into a harmony of your current life, drowning you in the unchanging rhythm of the big city. Your mind starts to wonder, towards the ever-seeing eyes of your mentor. If he sees you now, what is he thinking? Is he planning some elaborate way to twist your very being to his liking?

No. Not after your last conversation.

Surely, it would be easier, if he had just accepted Fireball as your ultimate, perfect image. You were a good actress, and exceptional liar. You could've pulled it off. But of course, he wants you. He wants Smirnoff. And by God, that thought twists your guts into a mixture of fear and disgust.

Why won't he just let you pretend?

- So, how's Mister America? - your friend's voice brings you back, pulls you away from your darkening thoughts, and wrenches a heavy, tired sigh right out of your lungs.

You can't tell them.

You're contractually obligated never to say a word. Still, they can read you like an open book, having spent years of their life getting used to the twists and turns of your expression. So, when you look up at them, through haze of cigarette smoke and unspoken words, they understand without a second of delay.

Their face falls, that smirk you've known so well, trampled by an image of pure worry. It doesn't take a genius to see the undercurrent of fear, the acceptance of the inevitable flowing from your eyes like a broken faucet.

- Oh...

Yeah. Oh.

What else is there to say? What words could bring you comfort in this mess? Truth is, as much as you'd hate to admit it, you've brought this upon yourself, the moment you sat in Stillwells office. The moment you saw the CCTV footage, and still decided to sign that damned non-disclosure. You should've ran for the hills. Pack your pride, pack your bleeding heart, and hide back in your house, between boxes of your mother's belongings, between your sister's old posters. Under your old diploma, and all the other trash you're never going to use again.

But here you are. Waiting for the other shoe to drop.

- You have no idea... - the words seem to run out of your mouth on their own, carried away on the hands of cigarette smoke.

- Did he hurt you?

Now you laugh. A bitter, grating sound that hurts both your ears, and your heart. Because yes, of course he did hurt you. But how can you explain, that in that very moment you felt more seen, more alive, than you've had for years of your life? How does one even begin to comprehend such terrible truth, not to mention saying it out loud.

And how do you explain, that physical violence is not the part you're worried about?

- That's... - you pause, raking your brain for something, any phrase that wouldn't endanger the contract, while still describing your hopeless situation - That's not the worst thing, that can (will) happen to me here.

There. You can see, by their sharp intake of breath, that suddenly they understand in fullness. Their throat bobs around a nervous swallow.

- What's your plan? - your friend asks, leaning closer, their elbows sliding on the glass table - You have to protect yourself somehow, this can't... You can't.

- I don't know - the admission feels both hopeless and cathartic - I thought I did, but I don't. All I know is, I need to make myself irreplacable. I need to be entertaining enough, without loosing the last fucking shreds of dignity I have. Damned if I do, damned if I don't otherwise.

Another moment of heavy silence falls between the two of you. The tiles on the floor start to merge together, as tears spring into your eyes. Pathetic, really. You promised yourself not to cry, and yet, despite still being inside the belly of the beast, your friend's presence brings out, well... You.

Their tone of voice is soft, measured, when they say your name, and your eyes flicker towards them, wetness gathering on the ends of your fake eyelashes.

They hold your gaze for a moment, something akin to determination flowing in tides across their face.

- So, saying "Yes", and saying "No" are out of question. - they muse, and you nod, a single, tense jerk of your head - Then there's only one answer.

You blink, confused. The cigarette sizzles, as they chuck it into a half empty paper cup of black coffee, smoke rising into the air, before it's extinguished completely. Elbows slide across the glass table, as they lean in closer towards you, as if sharing some incredibly juicy secret.

You can see the small mole on their cheek is dusted with a bit of makeup powder.

- The answer is, "Maybe."

#my writing #homelander x you #homelander x reader #homelander fanfiction #homelander #the boys fandom #the boys fanfiction #the boys amazon #aaaand we're back stronger than ever im already working on the next few chapters so perchance ill be able to keep up a schedule #we'll see how it goes bear with me

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writing-whump · 8 months ago

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Too much sun

Matt gets sick and calls Isaiah for help. Contains emeto.

"Have fun, Matt."

Matthew turned at the phrase, giving Isaiah a sceptical look. "Last time you send me away to have fun, you ended up with a flu from hell. I'm not making the same mistake."

Isaiah sighed. "Alright, but that's a lesson for me, not for you. And I did call Sel back, didn't I?"

Matthew frowned. He was all ready to leave, shorts and a shirt. Some of his new friends from boxing invited him to a basketball game and the weather was perfect for the courts outside on the beach by the Danube river.

"Matt, for real. I'm alright. I'm literally swarmed with homework and assignments, I'm doing two lectures outside my faculty and I don't know what their faculty's style and method focus is at all and I'm gonna be trying to do the volunteering thing at the lawyer's office for wolves on Fridays...besides, I was no invited," Isaiah said with a smirk.

He was so happy Matthew was getting his own friends, that he was reaching out to people and they were reaching back. And not just because they knew he was in the pack with Isaiah.

Matthew needed his confidence in this department build up, and there was nothing better for it than experience.

Matthew bounced on his toes, not looking reassured.

Isaiah grimaced. Did he need to hand out test screenings of his health for his friends to believe him, when he wasn't sick? This was getting out of hand.

"Alright, I'm going. See you in a few hours." Matt probably figured not that much could happen in that time as he turned to leave.

Isaiah relaxed, chuckling a little for himself as he opened his laptop to scroll to the right pdf.

The time flew quickly after he got to work, morning turning to midday and to early afternoon that forced Isaiah to fix himself a lunch as a break. He was working his to do list off very well, satisfied, neglecting his breaks.

Around 2 pm he was sipping coffee on the balcony, wondering if he shouldn't take a walk or go on a quick run. Would Matt be in the mood for some sparring, when he got back, or would he be too tired?

Seline was visiting her parents, hopefully successfully this weekend. One of her uncle's was celebrating his 50th birthday, so she was even farther away from him than usual, someone in Central Slovakia.

Very human focused family from her father's side, since the wolf part came from her mother. Isaiah wondered what it would be like to be there with her. He could play the perfect human, he had no doubt of that, but Seline didn't want him to play one. She wanted him to be a wolf, but introducing a wolf to the family was a more serious business and they both knew it.

His phone rang on the little glass table on the balcony, Matthew's name on the screen.

Isaiah smiled, picking up. "Miss me already?"

"I...saiah..."

Isaiah's smile disappeared at the weakness in Matthew's voice. "Matt? Hey, what's wrong? Are you okay?"

He heard coughing that turned into gags on the other end of the line. "C-could you...come pick me up? P-please..."

Isaiah was at his feet that instant. "Yes, of course. You are at the sport park, right?" He went inside as he spoke, grabbing his car keys. He was really grateful for his car during emergencies, even if the parking situation in Vienna was an expensive tedious business.

"Y-yeah." There was something slurred and scared in the trembling sentence.

"Matt, talk to me." Isaiah locked the door to the apartment, taking the stairs instead of the elevator. "What's wrong with you? Are you hurt?"

"I don't know what's wrong- I can't-urrup-" There was more gagging and something wet hitting the concrete.

"I'll be right there."

The way there was a blur with Isaiah wracking his head about what could have happened on the court. Concussion? Did he suddenly get sick? A fight with some hostile wolves passing through?

He parked the car the closest he could get to the area, getting out, just about to call Matthew for a GPS location, when he spotted a mop of dark red hair on a bench near the basketball court.

Isaiah all about ran to the place, heart speeding anxiously.

Matthew sat hunched down, elbows on his knees. There was no blood and no shadow, no visible signs of injury.

"Matt? Hey, man..."

Matthew lifted his head, squinting his eyes at Isaiah like he was looking straight into the sun and not into a pleasant afternoon shade under the trees. "Hi..."

That's when Isaiah noticed the vomit covering the ground, part of the bench and Matt's left sneaker.

Isaiah sat down on the clean part of the wood, hand going to Matthew's neck. "What happened? What's wrong?"

Matthew slumped forward at Isaiah's touch. "I don't know. We were playing just normal, it was hot and good and all. And then my head started to pound and I got dizzy and suddenly I was throwing up all over the place and I don't know why." There was more than a hint of frustration in Matthew's explanation.

"Okay, okay, we are gonna figure this out." Isaiah ran his hands over Matthew's face, his pupils were normal, there were no bumps...he was really hot and dry to the touch. He could feel no sweat, wasn't that weird after an intense game of basketball on a warm day?

Matthew's face scrunched up in a grimace at the ministrations, closing his eyes. His body suddenly pitched forward with a heave, bringing up a chunky wave of vomit.

Isaiah scrambled to turn Matthew's face towards the sidewalk, between his legs instead of at him, gripping his shoulder and upper arm to steady him. "Okay, bud, get it all out."

"C-can't stop," Matthew managed between gags, spitting at the puddle. He wrapped his hands around his stomach, hunching over even more. "My head really hurts, Zaya."

"Your head? Not your stomach?"

Matthew groaned, slumping to the side against Isaiah who let him fall into his lap, rubbing his back and shoulder. "Everything hurts. Cramps like a motherfucker."

"Okay. Just breathe, it will pass in a minute," Isaiah promised, not sure what it still was.

Matthew squeezed his eyes shut, head on Isaiah's tight, his face one pained grimace, throat bobbing.

"We are just going to stay here and breathe and then I'm going to get you home and it will all be okay," Isaiah said as calmly as he could, rubbing his arm. Could this be some kind of heat related issue? Heat exhaustion or heat stroke? He wasn't that sure of the difference, just that the symptoms were kind of similar.

"...ruined everything again," Matthew said, curling around his stomach.

Isaiah scoffed. "You didn't ruin anything, that's nonse-"

"Got all sick during the game. They all left."

Isaiah frowned, angry coldness entering his voice. "Then they aren't good friends. In fact, they aren't even decent people, to leave someone who is sick alone. What idiots."

"Nobody else got sick, I must have done something wrong..."

"No, you didn't. I think you got a bit of a heatstroke, there, bud, can happen to anybody." Isaiah put the back of his hand to Matthew's creased forehead. Still no sweat and hot to the touch. "We need to get you home and cool you down."

"Uhmmmm," Matthew grunted. "Don't wanna move. Dizzy."

"It's not going to get any better here. I got water in the car and we will be home quick, I promise. I'll help you."

Matthew took a deep shaky breath, but then started to lift himself up. Isaiah helped him to straighten up on the bench, then guided his arm around his shoulders, wrapping his hand gently around Matthew's torso.

The moment they stood up, Matthew groaned, more puke exploding out of his mouth.

Isaiah held him steady, when he swayed, more vomit splattering in front of them, spluttering everywhere.

"Ughhhh, sorry..."

"Shhhhh. Not your fault. Can you walk? One step at a time, we'll go slow."

Matthew got heavier, most of his weight hanging on Isaiah as he fought to catch his balance. He squeezed his eyes shut with force as if to block out all the light.

They made a few steps, when Matthew froze, gripping Isaiah's sleeve on his upper arm in panic. "Zaya, I can't see, I can't see- what-"

Isaiah felt cold sweat on the back his neck, stopping immediately. Matthew's eyes were screwed shut. "Shhhh, okay, don't panic. Describe it to me. What can you see? Pitch black? A blot at the center?"

"It's like black spots all over-" Matthew sniffled, sounding dangerously close to crying, breathing fast as he turned towards Isaiah's voice.

Isaiah readjusted his grip, one arm under Matthew's armpit all around his torso, holding Matt's arm around his neck tighter. "Could be just from standing up and the elevation changing. It will clear out in a few seconds." He stopped adding promises to his sentences, mentally preparing to just call 911 if it didn't.

Matthew gasped for breath as if he was choking, blinking his eyes, then breathed in relief. "It's clearing up again..."

Isaiah didn't let out the deep sigh of relief stuck in his chest, pretending like that was what he expected. "All good now. You are okay. Just a few more steps to the car."

Matthew's grip on Isaiah's sleeve didn't loosen, but he nodded tightly, letting himself be dragged forward.

Isaiah fiddled with finding the car keys, opening the back seat door to slide Matthew inside, door open, in case he needed to vomit some more.

He went to the trunk to locate a water bottle and some plastic bags, crouching down next to Matthew.

"How are you feeling, bud?" Isaiah offered Matthew the water bottle.

Matt took it, but didn't drink, eyes closed, but not squeezing them shut anymore, as if he was afraid it would make his vision blotchy again. "Ughmmmm. Like I'm gonna throw up."

Isaiah rubbed his arm. "I'm sorry."

"Everything-everything's spinning," Matthew belched, gripping the water bottle in his fist, the plastic squeaking under his fingers.

"This is very likely a heatstroke. The headache, the nausea, the dizziness....it will be fine. We'll cool you down, get you some good meds, and it will all go away."

"Uhhhhmmm," Matthew wiggled his hands restlessly in discomfort, bowing his head. "I'm such an idiot. Why didn't I know this could happen? So stupid."

"It's different for everyone. Some can take the heat better than others. You will know what signs to look out for next time. It's okay."

"But I wanted to- wanted to do something on my own for once." Matthew's whole face crumbled. "I didn't want to drag you into it to save me, I wanted to do it on my own-" Matthew sniffled again, breathing picking up and he leaned forward to rest his forehead against the seat in front of him.

Isaiah's chest squeezed, realizing Matthew would be crying if he had the tears to spare.

Isaiah circled the car to climb in from the other side, hand going around Matthew's back to push him against his chest. "Aww, come on, bud. You did everything right. You are meeting new people, you got that new boxing gym...you are putting yourself out there, building a life for yourself outside your shadow, without accidents or fights you don't want. You are doing great."

Matthew let himself get dragged back into Isaiah's lap, breathing still panicked. "L-look how stupid I am. People are supposed to know these things at my age- they-I'm not supposed to be a burden on you, constantly getting sick on you-"

"Hey, hey, hey. Don't talk like that. We all have our own learning curve. You were on your own from such an early age, Matt, it's harder to find out on your own," Isaiah said gently. "Besides, you are not a burden. You are my best friend. I don't mind saving your ass, when you need it."

Matthew snorted despite himself, before taking another shuddering breath. "Seline said- and the points- I don't know if I have enough- if I can help as much as you- you didn't call me and I-" he buried his head against Isaiah's stomach, shaking.

"Points? What points?" Isaiah didn't understand and didn't think this was time to find out. "You are doing enough. It's okay. We love you, of course we would want to help out. Not your fault, when you get sick. It's not a burden."

"It-it is, even you think you-"

"It's not a burden to get sick," Isaiah said firmly, rubbing Matthew's back. "Shhhhh. It's okay."

They sat there for a few minutes, Isaiah rubbing circles to Matthew's back and listening to his breathing hitching as he sniffled and found a slower breathing rhythm, watching out for gagging noises.

"There you go. All better," Isaiah murmured. "You didn't have a family that would look out for you like this. That's why you feel like a burden. It's not your fault, but it's not fair at all for you to feel like that. You get sick and we'll deal with it."

Matthew was lying limply over him, breathing much calmer, though he was still pale and frowning, lips pressed in a thin line.

"Come on, bud, let's get home....I can't drive like this," Isaiah said with a small smile, ranning his fingers through Matthew's hair.

Matthew lifted himself up with a groan, enough for Isaiah to slip from underneath him.

"What if I throw up on the way?" Matthew said quietly, stretched out over the back seats.

"There is a bag right next to you. And if you do, you do. It isn't such a big deal." Isaiah just wanted him home and lying down in a cool place already. The car was getting overheated, standing in full blown sun.

"Uhmmmmm," Matthew moaned as Isaiah got the engine started, a/c on full blast. "If it's no big deal...don't think...you had the right family either...Zaya."

Isaiah's stomach flipped at the words. He swallowed heavily, focusing on backing the car out the parking lot.

@bellysoupset

#emeto #sickfic #emetophilia #brotp #hurt/comofort #bromance #whump #angst #whump writing #my writing #werewolf wip #these two are a classic okay #I love their friendship #Matt

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sl33py-day · 2 years ago

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I have no idea where I'm going with this, but I'm gonna try...

I see that you have ideas for Sagau content. What if it was an imposter au where Nahida knows that y/n is the true creator and keeps y/n in Sumeru and makes Cyno y/n's bodyguard. Cyno's skeptical at first, but only protects y/n because Nahida told him to. But over time, Cyno starts developing feelings for y/n and realizes that y/n is the true creator and something in him just snaps. He goes full on yandere, killing anyone who dares to look at y/n wrong.

(Feel free to ignore this, I just wanted to help you get through writer's block. If you do notice this and decide to write for it, it would be nice if I could see a male y/n, please)

This was kinda fun to write! Also we need more Yan!Cyno content it’s interesting. Kinda mixed it up with him finding out your the creator then falling in love slowly sorry about that!

!Not proof read!

Yandere Cyno x Male Creator reader

(Slight Tighnari x reader)

Tw: death, some gore? I believe, leave if you like tighnari.

Being chased by a mob the first day you go into genshin isn’t very fun. But I can’t say that you didn’t expect it. Going into genshin is what you didn’t expect.

You were playing genshin before you suddenly passed out. No not because you were being transferred to genshin, it was 3 am. Then you woke up in a field of flowers of all kind of colors. Seeing a bush of pink Rhododendron from afar was a pretty sight when waking up. The wind was soft but cold as if telling you a storm is coming closer.

The clothes you were wearing stayed the same. A hoodie and some comfy pants. Nothing special really but it seemed to cause chaos as you walked to a more civilized area.

“Is that the creator?”

“No, his excellency is currently in Liyue…”

“It’s an imposter then! Go inform everyone!”

The sounds of people talking already made you feel a little bit uncomfortable. You had a sense of running away, somewhere far far away. You ignored it until you picked up on the words ‘imposter’ and ‘inform everyone’ was when you ran out of the area.

Everything After that became a blur, sounds of screaming and shouting along with constant running around in zig zags. You stopped when you saw a forest, god have you been running so far that you’re now in sumeru? Taking a quick glance behind you to see that everyone is gone. ‘They gave up? Good for me’ you thought before continuing to walk slowly.

You’re thankful that you’re not in any place where anyone could see you. The forest is really beautiful and calm though. Everything is beautiful if you have a chance to look at it long enough. Though night time is really your favorite. Seeing the stars as they light up the sky as if they feel safe only coming out at night.

You heard talking from a bit away, shit you where to in thought to realize that your now in gonna get chased by people again. That was until the person talking was Nahida herself, just sitting on a rock making flower crowns with a pile of blue and white roses.

Accidentally Stepping on a branch on the floor caused her to look your way. You faced showed horror as everything left in your mind was how fucked up you were. Only for Nahida to smile and wave you over to her.

Hesitantly you walked over to her and sat beside her. “Hi.” Was what you said she gave you a closed eyes smile before saying “Hello, you must be tired from all that running. If only they weren’t very easily tricked to believe you’re the imposter of His excellency..” her voice held sadness even if she tells the other archons they wouldn’t believe her. Though you felt safe in sumeru, you got an archon not after you! People will but hey Nahida is a good archon.

“Here! I made a flower crown for you!” She gave you the blue and white flower crown. You grabbed it while you softly put it in your hair. Your hair was kinda messy, the running made it tangled and greasy. “Thanks Nahida…” your throat felt sore and it sounded almost raspy. All of a sudden Nahida gasped as if she had a great idea.

“I have a wonderful Idea your excellency! I want to give you someone that could protect you.” She told you as she went on saying that the other nations aren’t safe for now, or ever, until they believe the ‘creator’ is a fake and you the ‘imposter’ is the one that is real.

She dragged you all the way to a small market before telling you to stay behind some rocks so she could get you some new clothes. After some time she came back with something that reminded you of scaramouche new design. But you weren’t complaining it was f/c!

Once again being dragged by Nahida after you got dressed and towards the desert. “Nahida, can I ask why we’re going to the desert?” You politely asked as she jumped from one leg to the other like skipping stones as she walked. She hummed before saying “Well, I believe Cyno is a good bodyguard for you! He is in the desert so that’s why where here!” She said before Cyno kinda popped outta nowhere. He looked bored but was still ready for whatever Nahida needed.

“Is there something you need?” He asked as he sounded as Bored as he looked. Nahida smiled and nodded telling him that you were the creator, the real one, and that he should watch you.

“What if he’s actually the imposter? He could be using you!” Cyno half yelled as he looked, well more like glared at you. You just looked at the floor finding it more interesting then what they’re talking about. Nahida patted Cyno’s head a bit and just told him to trust her.

“Fine, come where going to a house.” He started walking in the opposite direction not really saying anything after. Still standing their confusion filled you head. ‘Da fuq is happening right now?’ Before you could think more cyno sighed and turned around saying that you’re gonna stay with him till further notice.

Ah, that’s a mistake on you part. But you didn’t know.

After some weeks of you staying with Cyno and having him following you around when outside. You were happy, and you could almost say the same about cyno. Both of you apparently have the same type of humor and would tell joke every now and again. You felt like you deserved the title of being his friend!

Cyno on the other hand…Where do you wanna start? Certainly the first few days and weeks he was cautious with you. Not believing you were the creator. But as he saw the way you would light up with joy when seeing the slimes. The slime’s didn’t even attack you! As soon as he saw that none of the dangerous creatures weren’t having their murder problems he knew you were the creator. Slowly he started to fall for you. Having a slightly red face every time you laughed at his joke out of pure happiness to stuttering every now and then when talking to you.

With the realization of you being the creator he quickly remembered that he’s your bodyguard. Well that thought came randomly when you and him were visiting Tighnari. How did you get to meet tighnari? Let’s just say that Cyno had stuff to do and couldn’t bring you with him. For reasons of course. So he left you with tighnari. Thankfully the sassy fennec fox didn’t question nor care who you were as long as you didn’t do anything bad.

“Hey nari, what’s the latest thing you found out about today?” You asked Tighnari while he was taking notes. Cyno was getting some stuff for tighnari at the moment. Tighnari looked at you before continuing to write down notes in his book.

“If you must know, I found a weird mushroom that I haven’t written down and that’s what I’m doing now.” There was a bit of annoyance in his voice. He wasn’t even annoyed at you he was tired and the longer he hasn’t gotten sleep the more he get annoyed.

You apparently taken notice that he was tired and most likely hasn’t gotten sleep for a week. Sighing before walking past him and towards his small kitchen area thing. His face held confusion until you came back with a….blanket?

“Go. Lay on the bed.” He blinked once, twice before he started to say he needed to write down the rest or else. You had the ‘😐’ face before dragging him out of his chair and pushing him in the bed. Luckily his papers didn’t get ripped in the process.

“You are tired. Sleep.” With a more stern voice you put the blanket on him. After a few minutes he fell asleep as you to felt sleepy. Making the wrong decision to cuddle with Tighnari, you laid under the blanket and fell asleep.

Cyno was expecting to see tighnari scolding you for trying to eat a mushroom. Not you two asleep in a cuddle like position. He opens the door with a basket of food that the fox asked him to get. Even though the room was dark he could see the two of you.

At that moment he felt a stab in his chest. Like being stabbed through your heart kind of pain. He didn’t like this feeling. He didn’t like the way you two were cuddled up together! Why didn’t you want to do that with him? He’s always with you anyways.

His amber eyes glared at the slowly waking tighnari. What’s so special about Him? He’s better! Is he there when you have a nightmare? No but he was! All of a sudden he thought of something. His eyes filled with hatred, did Tighnari kiss you? It was really far fetched but nothing can convince a delusional mind. The sounds of foot steps snapped cyno from his thoughts.

“Hm, Cyno? You got the apples and the rest?” Tighnari a groggy voice asked him as he rubbed his eyes. Seeing the basket he smiled a little and took the basket out of Cyno’s hands. The white haired male followed the other to the table before asking in an angered tone.

“What were you and M/n doing?” Tighnari let out a confused ‘Hm?’ Sound as he looked back at Cyno. “What where you and M/n doing?” Cyno repeated once again but with a more aggressive voice. The fennec fox was slightly shocked at how aggressive he was being.

“He told me to take a break, or should I say take a nap. He probably was also tired and laid next to me.” After having all the things out of the basket Tighnari brought the basket over to another table. Cyno only glared at him he doesn’t understand why he wants to hurt him.

His sanity is like a slowly braking fine China. The small cracks spread all over, leaking every possibly rational thought. It was as if the lightest of touch will make it crumble to the floor in a pile of dust.

“Hey Cyno, you’re always with M/n. Right?” Tighnari asked as he blushed a little. The white haired male only nodded not liking where this is going. “Well, I-I like them…I don’t know how to tell him. I feel like he doesn’t like me.”

That was the touch that sent his sanity down the drain. Tighnari likes you? The boy he seems to dislike or is annoyed to be around the h/c boy? That can’t be real, tighnari must be joking! But what if he isn’t?

Cyno grabbed a knife from the table beside him and pointed it at tighnari’s neck. Freaking out the said male backed away slowly eventually hitting the wall. Fear was all over his face. Cyno moved the knife closer to his throat causing it to bleed a little.

“You can’t have him.” Cyno spoke as the knife was going a little bit deeper. More drops of blood started to trickle down tighnari’s neck causing his shirt to turn the same shade of red. Gulping as hard as he could, Tighnari spoke up.

“Why not?” His voice a little shaky but sounded like a confident tone. That made cyno glare harder and push the knife deeper. Slowly he kept pushing the knife into his neck as more blood covered the sliver knife and tighnari’s shirt.

“Cause M/n is mine.” Cyno aggressively pushed the knife all the way into tighnari’s neck before quickly pulling it out again. Blood filled his mouth as he began to choke on the blood. Tighnari looked at cyno with a fear stricken face as he fell to the floor dead.

Taking a few seconds to realize what had happened he grabbed tighnari’s leg and dragged him out. Not caring about the body he just put it on the floor with something covering it.

He walked back to still see you asleep. You must be really tired if you slept through all that. Quickly cleaning the blood and doing the stuff he need to do to hide the evidence. He walked up to you as a lovesick smile appeared on his face.

“I don’t care that you’re the creator.” He softly touched your cheek. He crawled under the blankets and cuddled up to you like Tighnari was doing before.

“But I love you and I don’t want you to leave….no matter what it takes.” He fell asleep quickly leaving the house silent.

The next few week were nothing but the news of many people being murdered. A lot of them were people who you talked to. Guessed cyno wasn’t joking.

#yandere cyno x reader #Yandere genshin #sagau impostor au #yandere genshin impact #male reader #Cyno x reader #Yandere Cyno #Tighnari x reader #Yandere SAGAU #creator reader

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daemongal · 1 month ago

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Whumptober Day 1- Against the Clock (The Magnus Archives)

So I'm not necessarily committing to any of the October challenges but fancied torturing myself with some sad today to celebrate the first of spooky month!

This takes place during ep 200 of TMA and is very spoiler heavy!!

CW: Martin's POV, many negative thoughts, emotional spiralling, character death.

Enjoy the whump!!

Martin should have known.

He shouldn't have allowed himself to become complacent, to sleep so heavily and soundly relying on their thrown together plan. That Jon was in agreement, no matter how reluctantly, shouldn't have been enough to soothe his nerves or calm his overthinking.

When he awoke after a time from a foreign sensation on his face, spying the cobwebs that littered the corners of his and Jon's shared room in the tunnels, he knew. When he reached over to the other side of the mattress, confident that it would be empty, he knew.

Yet knowing did nothing to halt the drop he felt in his gut, the immediate nausea that overcame him as he felt the cold, empty bedsheet at his side.

He was quick to act.

He didn't have to ask anyone if they'd seen Jon, didn't need to walk outside to see if he was having a cigarette to confirm his worries; he knew exactly where he'd gone.

Jon's quiet hesitance the night before should have been sign enough, his reluctance to discuss the plan in any further detail or elaborate on his feelings, despite his recent attempts at openness.

It was simple to attribute how tightly he held Martin as they fell asleep in each other's arms as nerves for the outcome of the plan. He doubted he shared in Martin's optimism after all.

But he should have known it was more than that.

Somehow, he holds himself together as he gathers the others and tells them to execute the plan now. He nods in confirmation as Georgie flicks the cap of the golden zippo open and closed as they go over the final details with an air of rushed panic.

They shared a look of worry and concern, mirrored and communicated without words before a final nod in agreement as they separated.

One way or another, Martin thought, this ends now.

The air was heavy as he traversed the tunnels, following a route that felt so very right regardless of how unfamiliar it seemed.

But it was too quiet.

Only the sound of his breath and quick footballs echoing to interrupt the thoughts flooding his mind. The worries and anxieties, the what-ifs and doubts.

He had to make it in time, he was going to, wasn't he? Jon wouldn't, couldn't do what he was thinking, right? Killing the Avatars was one thing, using the Eye as a weapon to carry out the deed on his behalf, but holding the knife and plunging it into all too human flesh; was that something he was capable of?

He had to hope- no, believe not. It was Martin's role after all, one he agreed to with no hesitation. It was a small price to pay for an escape and an end to all of this.

But he can't help but think back to the previous day. The whole discussion seemed to play out in such a blur at the time, yet now it seemed to be replaying at half speed.

They really didn't give him a chance, did they? Of course the idea was stupid, they were- he was never going to agree to allowing Jon to martyr himself as he slowly drains the world of all life and fear. But they hadn't even given him a chance, had they?

Even as he was crying in Martin's arms, unwilling to accept that this was the only reasonable outcome, he still didn't give him room to voice his concerns.

This was all his fault.

If he'd just given him a chance, an outlet, even just validated him in his desire to at least attempt to not spread these horrors further than their own world, maybe he would have reconsidered.

All his big talk on being there, on being someone Jon could be truly open with, and he had shut him down, just like the others had. All because of his own fear, his own selfish fear of losing the one good thing this whole escapade had brought him.

But he was right, wasn't he?

If Jon could care so much about these unknown universes, surely he was allowed to care about this one person. That didn't make him bad, right? Surely it only made him… human.

By the time he realised how quick his own breaths were coming, how his legs ached with the exertion of climbing countless steps, the door was in front of him.

He'd made good time, he was quick enough, surely. Jon couldn't have been gone long, the Mother of Puppets wouldn't have left him sleeping too late… would they?

As he pushed the door open, seeing Jon and calling for him, stood in the centre of the space as if he belonged, the doubt set in.

“Martin, what are you doing here?” His voice was… wrong. Something was very wrong. Martin's next words were cascading out of his mouth, his ears barely registering the sound of his own voice as his eyes set upon the figure on the floor.

He asked, knowing the answer he would get, yet still needing to hear it in Jon's all too discordant voice, the final confirmation that this was all in fact, real, as there was no way his own psyche could have ever imagined Jon's voice to sound anything close to as monstrous as it now was.

“Elias… Jonah Magnus.”

And all at once he knew he was too late, knew what would now need to be done as his eyes set on the knife that lay next to Jonah’s body.

In the ensuing back and forth as his entire world was shattered in front of his very eyes, as all of his fears came to fruition and his doubts were confirmed, he considered asking Jon how it felt, to plunge a knife into the flesh of another.

But as it turned out, he never needed to ask to know the answer. As the blade sunk heavily into Jon's chest, it may as well have been his own heart he cleaved for all the pain it caused him, as he watched the forced smile drop from his love’s face, and felt the pull of the Web take hold and the darkness that followed.

#tma #the magnus archives #ep 200 #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #fic #whumptober #tma spoilers #angst #whump #lots of sad

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friendlyneighborhoodsynthezoid · 1 month ago

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Pirate Batch- There's an Echo in Here!

ahaha! I wrote more! in like an hour. and did not edit it. or make any good. I have much more planned for echo. I think I'm gonna make his section have a few parts to it, so he can have his first interactions with all the crew individually. Enjoy!

(also, because yay pirate batch @badbatchposts put up a pirate Hunter thing! thank you for the reblogs!)

______________

Echo swam painfully to consciousness, leaving the blissful state of perfect nothing behind with no small regret. He hurt. But that was normal now, wasn’t it? The surgeries that left him feeling as though his bones were made of molten metal, the constant, endless, aching that encompassed his entire being, the bone-deep coldness that extended well past his abused skin. That was simply his life now, ever since…

Ever since.

Fully awake though he was, Echo did not open his eyes. What was the point? He’d either wake up and find himself under the cold and merciless scalpel of Wat Tambour, or he’d be in his equally cold cell, filthy and dark and completely cut off from any semblance of the world. Neither of these appealed.

And yet… why was he awake? Had something caught his senses. Echo strained his ears, cursing the metal contraption that gave him his hearing these days, and heard creaking. That sounded like wooden boards shifty gently, and behind that- could he hear waves???

Echo’s eyes snapped open, adrenaline granting strength enough to his leaden limbs to scramble upright. Heaving painful, rapid breaths he clawed himself backwards across whatever surface he’d been lying on, putting his back to a wall and trying to gauge his surroundings. He was in a room. A wooden, swaying, salt-smelling room. A ship?

His vision blurred, and he buried his head behind his flesh arm. His breathing somehow accelerated as his thoughts spiralled. He couldn’t see, he couldn’t think, he didn’t know what was happening.

“-?”

An unknown amount of time later, a new sound broke through the gale of panic. A voice?

“Do not be alarmed. You are safe here.”

Not speaking Skakoan. As for safe… he’d believe it when he saw it. Even so, he raised his head.

“There we are. Your breathing has begun to slow to acceptable levels. How are you feeling?”

Echo tried very hard to focus on the speaker. A young man, quite tall, but with posture that made Echo’s back twinge just looking at him. He was watching Echo intently through orange tinted spectacles.

“Uh,” Echo didn’t know what to say, so he went with a classic. “Where am I? Who are you? How did I get here?”

“That is not the answer to my question, but you are alert enough to be suspicious and your eyes have focussed on me. This bodes well enough for now.”

The auburn-haired man ceased his inspection of Echo’s face and moved to sit next to him, taking out a notebook and pencil as he went. He scribbled incomprehensibly as he spoke, never pausing his speech or bothering to look at the pencil as he wrote.

“To answer your queries, you are abord the Havoc Marauder. Near the sleeping compartment. Sitting on my desk.”

Echo glanced down and saw that in the wake of his scramble to consciousness, numerous papers had been flung onto the floor below them. The man did not seem especially angry at him though, so Echo just kept listening.

“I am called Tech. Myself and my crew found you quite accidentally while raiding Purkoll. I have been waiting for you to regain consciousness and identify yourself.”

Here, Tech looked from Echo’s mechanical limbs to his head, to the implants in his emaciated torso, and his eyes betrayed concern but also curiosity. Echo shuddered a bit at the evident interest in his reconstruction, but at least Tech’s expression did not hold disgust.

The quick assessment unsettled him, but it kick-started his brain enough to start making sense of what he’d just heard. Had Tech asked his name? Not exactly, but it’d been a while since Echo had talked to anyone.

CT-1409. Corporal. In case of capture, say nothing else.

He wanted to be Echo again.

He cleared his throat, wondering why the words stuck so strongly to his windpipe. “I’m Echo. Corporal. 501st. Grand Army of the Republic.”

Echo saw a flash of emotion flicker across Tech’s face at the word Republic, and it made his heart freeze.

“Wait, you’re not Separatists too, are you? Why were you on Skako Minor??”

Tech glanced down at the notebook in his lap. Throughout the whole interaction, the pencil had been moving furiously, but it stilled for a moment.

“Ah. No,” Tech began, somewhat awkwardly, “We are not Separatists. We’re not Republic either for that matter, which is the issue really.” He looked echo squarely in the eye.

“The Republic fell years ago. There is only the Empire now.”

Echo saw red.

“WHAT?!”

He forced himself to stand, ignoring the way his metal joints protested the movement, and caught Tech by the collar, hauling the man up until they were nose to nose.

“What do you mean ‘fell?’ What do you mean YEARS?! How long was I THERE” he shook the bemused Tech and screeched, “WHAT HAPPENED TO ME?!”

Throughout his tirade, Tech remained as still as a statue. Echo followed his gaze and realized that his attention was drawn to the metal hook fused onto Echo’s mutilated arm. Said hook was currently perilously close to gouging out Tech’s eye. Echo froze and released him, backing up a few steps and taking a breath. He still shook with rage and terror, but he didn’t think injuring the only friendly being he’d seen since….

-Since. -

-would help matters. Eventually, he became aware that Tech was talking again.

“Fascinating. You have subconsciously adapted to use your new appendages to the fullest advantage in combat. You have very useful instincts, no doubt honed by military or navy service.” He adjusted his crooked spectacles. Echo tried not to feel bad about the badly scratched state of his left lens.

“I’m sorry that I cannot answer your questions, Echo. I do not know how you came to be on Skako Minor. My crew and I were simply there for a job. Tambour’s contraptions are extremely illegal and very valuable if one knows who to sell to. And I have long held a fascination with his work-”

Echo took a threatening step towards him, but Tech kept talking, “do not look at me like that. I am simply interested. His fabled automatons, the ‘’battle droids,” the man had the audacity to look a little wistful.

“But I do not condone torturing and experimenting on prisoners of war.”

“Oh good,” Echo deadpanned.

He could sense Tech had more to say, but Echo was done. With Tech, with the world, with everything. He shuffled uncomfortably, before giving up on tact and asking, “Look. I get that we’ve still got a lot of ground to cover here, but can I please sleep before we go back to this kriffed-up game of twenty questions?”

Tech snapped himself out of whatever whirlpool of thoughts he’d gotten caught in and nodded brightly. “Oh, of course. This must be a very draining experience for you. Would you like to stay in here?” he gestured to where a hammock was strung up beside his desk. Echo wondered how often this guy slept in here to have a hammock already set up. “I would not recommend moving to the main sleeping area just now. Certain…individuals tend to react a tad violently when awakened.

Echo filed that information under ‘problems for another time’ and simply nodded.

______

As he lay gratefully in Tech’s offered hammock, he wondered just how much he’d missed. How did the war end? What was this Empire? Were any of his old allies still out there?

Am I alone now?

What am I going to do?

He had no answers. Right now, he had nothing but illegal appendages, missing memories, and a kriffing weird little man with a notebook.

Aboard the Havoc Marauder.

#bad batch #sw tbb #tbb #the bad batch #pirate au #star wars #the havoc marauder sounds like a pirate ship #tbb echo #tbb tech #he wears 501st blue :)#he's so done with everyone

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multiplicity-positivity · 2 months ago

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Heya! I hope you're having a great day! I saw in your askbox guidelines that you're open to advice asks so I thought I'd drop by but please delete this if you're uncomfortable! I know this is a MASSIVE ask so I really will not be offended if you don't want to answer. Para in this context is meaning another character in my paracosm that I interact with instead of being. If anyone else sees this and wants to add their own opinions in the notes, please do!

I'm really struggling to figure out if I'm plural so I thought I'd get your opinion (/nf) given I've been using the resources off your blog for months LOL. I have a potential headmate who was originally a maladaptive daydreaming para. This para would be a fictive from a popular game. He follows the same archetype I've latched onto for paras since I was little & has told me he sees the other characters as similar to him when asked. I've been daydreaming since I was 4ish, he has been my para since I was 11. I'm currently 17. I'm going to bullet point real quick to stop it being an absolute wall of text! Reasons I have to believe he might be a headmate:

He often expresses different opinions to me or interest in different topics.

He seems to generally know almost all of what's going on/what has happened, but sometimes asks me to remind him or explain something (moreso for stuff several years back).

His voice sounds different in the internal monologue.

I think I've sensed him watching what I've been doing in the past & possibly felt him be triggered by stuff relating to his source.

One of the times he interacted unprompted was due to me being very negatively triggered.

He has gender dysphoria (see the bit below).

He's nothing like me identity wise. He's middle-aged and a cis guy and I'm fairly certain he has a different sexuality.

Reasons I doubt him:

He only speaks once prompted or once I think about him passively, excluding a couple of rare occasions. I very rarely hear from him unprompted at the moment unless I'm stressed.

He has never fronted fully. We might've switched once or twice in the past (though it was more co-fronting). It normally feels like the internal monologue switching to be his in the front & mine in the back. I'd say the terms non-possessive & monoconscious would be most fitting. I think us being able to switch on demand that early though feels wrong - though we can't always. Oh adding it here as it connects but not as a point against him: these 'switches' are sometimes accompanied by gender dysphoria, though I'm genderqueer anyway. His dysphoria is more for being male though (I actually realised I wasn't cis because of him abt 3 years back!).

I can talk to any fictional character I've engaged a lot with due to maladaptive daydreaming. I'm nervous I'm just daydreaming him tbh or forcing his responses bc sometimes he merges with my daydreaming and the lines blur.

I had a past episode where I thought I was a system a few years back but that was unrelated to him (though he was an 'alter' in that) and totally ungrounded in anything LOL.

As far as labels go, I think we might be median?? Perhaps OSDD but unlikely. I got a 35.7 on the dissociative experiences scale denoting OSDD but I got 21 on the MIID (though that felt heavily geared towards aggressive and/or childlike alters imo). I promise I'm not looking for a yes or no or a diagnosis or anything! Just any general opinions/pointers/advice you've got. It's good to hear the opinions of outsiders sometimes. Don't feel pressured to say yes either, I won't feel invalidated if you're like "urmm no that's definitely something else" because it very possibly is! If anyone else sees this and wants to add their own opinions in the notes, please do! This is all /nav /lh

hey, so we (and anyone else, really) can’t confirm or deny whether or not you’re plural. in the end, it’s going to be something you have to figure out or decide for yourself(ves). no one knows you better than you know yourself, after all, especially not people online.

plurality is an at-will label that anyone at all can use if they feel like it fits for them. it’s a label you can put on and take off at your own discretion as it works for you. if you feel plural, you’re welcome to call yourself plural, and you belong in the community just as you are. if you ever realize and decide that you’re not actually plural in the future, no harm done. it’s okay to question, and it’s okay to be wrong. it’s all a part of learning and growing as a person.

it is totally possible for someone with maladaptive daydreaming to consider the beings from their daydreams as headmates. in fact, paragenic as a term refers to systems whose plurality originated from madd or some other form of immersive daydreaming.

switching is not a requirement for plurality. our partner system is plural, and they do not switch at all. having imaginary friends or talking to characters in your mind doesn’t always have to be a plural experience, but it definitely could be. it all depends on your comfort level and how you and your potential headmates choose to identify. you very well could be a median system, if you feel like that label works for you.

as far as osdd goes, we will say that complex dissociative disorders (like did and osdd) do often arise from a history of repeated childhood trauma. these disorders form by helping children dissociate or disconnect from overwhelming stress or painful situations as a method of survival. it is absolutely possible to be plural or a system without a complex dissociative disorder, but it is not possible to develop a cdd without a history of repeated trauma in childhood.

if you suspect that you may have osdd, we can’t stress enough the importance of seeking outside help, preferably from a understanding, trauma-informed therapist or counselor. while we do believe it is possible and sometimes necessary for individuals to self-diagnose, healing from the complex trauma that accompanies dissociative disorders like osdd may require some form of outside guidance and/or support.

we’ll leave you with this post we have with resources for questioning systems. if you’ve been following us for a while, you’ve probably already seen it, but we’re sharing it anyway.

and of course, if anyone reads this who has advice for anon, you’re welcomed and encouraged to share :)

discovering and coming to terms with potential plurality can be a difficult, lengthy process. please don’t rush yourself on this journey, and give yourself space to breathe and process as you try to come to a conclusion about whether or not you’re a system (or a member of one). we’re always happy to help however we can if you have any more questions throughout this process and beyond. best of luck to you :)

#questioning system #long post #osdd #paragenic #did osdd #maladaptive daydreaming #plurality

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my-writings-and-musings · 2 years ago

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Adoring your earthspark content 🥺♥️ how about headcannons for earthspark bumblebee with a s/o that saves him/he has to save during a fight w deceptions

Thank you!! I'm thoroughly hyperfixated and loving it, especially when it comes to Earthspark Bee, so I'll do my best! I went with Bee saving the reader upon their first meeting because I've worked on more than a few stories where that happens...

Can anyone blame me? Look at him!

The bots have a firm agreement that breaking the "robots in disguise" rule is always acceptable to save a human life, and even in deep cover Bumblebee still follows this, though he never had cause until the fateful day he met you.

You were enjoying a pleasant late afternoon walk in the woods around Witwicky when you stumbled into an Autobot operation and very nearly found yourself caught in the literal crossfire. Though you tried to escape, an opportunistic con followed you to a nearby logging site where you tried to seek shelter. After trying and failing to hide in a warehouse you were backed into a corner, at which point you braced yourself for being squished or captured...

Thankfully for you, Bumblebee had seen the entire thing, and he didn't hesitate to follow when he saw you in danger. The rescue was intense; one moment you were trying to squeeze yourself into a corner to hide, and the next a yellow blur was grappling the con to the ground and exchanging powerful blows. You recognized Bumblebee straight away despite the commotion, but there was little time to be amazed by the arrival of a bot believed to be dead while you were still trying to keep your own life.

Utilizing his Stinger, Bee was ultimately able to chase off the Con, though he's left more than a little banged up from the encounter. You approached him with gratitude and concern, but he reassured you he'd suffered far worse before making sure you weren't injured. After assuring him you weren't, it was admittedly difficult not to be a little starstruck... something he obviously enjoyed through the mock humility.

After a quick meet up with the rest of the team, you're asked to keep not only the encounter secret but also the status of Bumblebee, as it's key to his own safety. You happily agree, and while thanking the bot for saving your life you can't help but express regret that you won't see him again. Bumblebee was delightfully surprised by the wish, and while being playfully coy he hinted the two of you just might run into each other again, whilst making it clear he certainly wouldn't mind that. Thankfully he proved to be right, and your paths did indeed cross in the future.

#transformers #maccadam #transformers: earthspark #transformers earthspark #tf earthspark #earthspark #bumblebee #earthspark bumblebee #tf bumblebee #transformers bumblebee #tfe bumblebee #bumblebee x reader #transformers bumblebee x reader #human reader #self insert

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crownedinmarigolds · 8 months ago

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6, 23, 24, 27, 45 and 63 for Khloe? :3c

Oh my goodness! SO MANY! Thank you!! :0 I think for fun because the questions seemed posed like an interview, I may have Khloe "answer" these herself! (Ask Meme Post here!)

Her hands are laced in her lap, and she can feel her heart pound in her chest as the interviewer gives her a quick smile over their notes to put her at ease. The questions shouldn't be too invasive, right? Khloe sits up when the other person appears ready. 6. Are you more mature than you seem? Less? Khloe laughs a little, though the question itself isn't amusing really, it's more like a valve release to get out the stage fright. "I get told I look younger than I actually am, so I guess I would technically be way more mature than I appear. I'm thirty but I get told I don't look like it. So that's nice!" 23. How did you earn a living? "I am still working for the company I was at before." She gets a bit more comfortable in her seat and smiles. "I'm just a data entry clerk, but it's work from home and I pretty much make whatever schedule I want, so it's pretty perfect for my, uh, current lifestyle." 24. Did you have any real friends? Khloe cringes a little, ouch. "I fell off accidentally with a lot of people. I just got busy, COVID hit and it was hard to meet up and then you forgot to meet up... Days just blurred together and before you knew it months passed. I would say though my Mom was probably my best friend..." Her voice trails off, and for a split second her eyes appear melancholy before she looks back to the interviewer. 27. What was your first brush with the supernatural? "Unfortunately, my first brush with the supernatural was my Embrace. I have lots of books and movies and games and whatever centered around the supernatural that I love, but I never thought it was real-real until I woke up a vampire. I wouldn't call me a complete non-believer, but I definitely didn't think every bump in the night was a ghost or a werewolf that's for sure." She shrugs, "I gotta say, wasn't impressed initially with the whole being a supernatural being either for a hot bit there. Thanks to being Thinblood, my heart still beats, I still feel things working, I don't even heal good - uhm, well I mean. So aside from feeling ravenously hungry, it wasn't very different than being human." 45. Why do you think they (your sire) chose you? Her nostrils flare a little, and though she tries to remain polite she can't help the slight disdain in her voice. "If everything she tells me is true, which sure I am inclined to believe her, then it was all an accident and my Embrace was out of the goodness of her heart. Or maybe even a weird motherly pull because she knew about her issues with Embracing. Either way, I don't think I was a real choice, just an opportunity that presented itself when she slammed her car head-on into mine and I went flying into the street." 63. Do you have a permanent home at all? The frown she had from the question about her sire remains, and she looks at her lap, "I have an apartment but I don't really stay there anymore. I stayed with my boyfriend in his trailer, but that's gone now too. I stay now with my coterie in our shared home - but who knows how long that will last. It's just the nature of the life I've chosen to dedicate myself to, right? You don't revolutionize without possibly getting hurt, and you can't always trust that your own bed is safe..." Her lips then quirk into a smile, "Though, I guess sorry to be so cheesy, I would say my coterie is my permanent home. That I can say for absolute certain."

#khloe #khloe osborne #vtm oc #vtm #vampire the masquerade #oc ask meme #answered ask #heywizards #THANK YOU FOR ASKING YOU'RE SO SWEET #world of darkness #vtm oc prelude #thinblood #duskborn

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ticklystuff · 1 year ago

Text

Remember when

a/n: happy chili day! they still make happy <3~

characters: lee!zhongli, ler!childe

wc: ~700

Remember when Childe first approached Zhongli in front of Third-Round Knockout? It was quite the surprise seeing his acquaintance in the heart of the city so far from where he and often many guests stayed. Even more surprising was the way Childe shook in his boots in the moment, a stark yet amusing contrast to how he often held himself. "Ah, hah, Zhongli Xianshang, what a coincidence! The director said you might be— err, I-I just happened to be in the area and, well, you're here.. and I'm here and uhh.. fancy a drink, maybe?" His brain often recalls that particular scene and the memory never failed to make him smile. A man so well-respected, with such confidence and skill, reduced to a bumbling heap... It was a mess of presentation in an of itself, yet there was certain charm to him that Zhongli did not attempt to resist. How could he possibly say no?

—

Or remember when one drink had become two, then three, before suddenly escalating to six? That was a rhetorical question, the bigger picture often blurred after the second drink, yet somehow the finer details still managed to stand out. There was Childe's confident display of chopstick use, claiming that he had made sure to practice plenty since their last business meal together, only for the fried tofu to be his greatest adversary of the night. Zhongli watched amusedly as the tiny morsels of food were pushed and picked by the chopsticks, yet never lifted, much to Childe's chagrin. He claimed, in his very slurred voice, that it was the alcohol holding him back and Zhongli did very much believe him. As silly as it was, the mental image of Childe taking every opportunity to lift whatever he could with his chopsticks, alone in his hotel room, popped into Zhongli's mind, prompting the spontaneous chuckle that Childe took offense to. The effort was admirable, but effort alone would not fill Childe's stomach for the night. Despite the protests that he would be more than fine, Zhongli had the waiter deliver a bowl of soup, accompanied by a spoon, though the initial look of concern Childe had given the bowl perplexed Zhongli.

"Zhongli Xianshang, this looks spicy."

"It's red bean soup, Childe."

"So it IS spicy."

".....No."

—

And remember when the two left the tavern for leisurely 2 AM stroll that came afterwards? Actually, that never happened because things never occur as expected, as Zhongli should be well aware of by now. Instead, the empty backstreets were filled with hurried footsteps as Childe excitedly tugged at Zhongli's arm to a secret that could not be mentioned in public. Could he have made the effort to stop him? Perhaps, yet despite how silly the two drunkards might have looked, moments like these are fleeting and that little voice in Zhongli's head convinced him just enough to go and enjoy the ride.

"This is my favorite spot to come fishing. No one is ever here and I can catch whatever fish you'd like, Zhongli Xianshang, but you have to remember to keep this spot a secret!" In most circumstances, Zhongli would have been quick to let his aversion to seafood known, but his mind was focused on something else entirely in the moment. How did Childe manage to find that place? It was a simple bedrock bordering the sea, concealed only by the peninsula that poked out from the harbor, yet his brain hazed up each time he attempted to recall a time he set foot in the area. A piece of Liyue left undiscovered even by him and he had Childe to thank.

—

"Oh, and remember when you spaced out on me that night?"

"Eheeehehe! W-wahahait!"

"You do that a lot now, Xianshang, but don't worry. I still remember how to get your attention."

Ah yes, the familiar feeling of dazed reminisce cut through with unexpected sensations Childe loved to tease him with so much. His fingers skittered along the vulnerable side in precise motion, following along as Zhongli swayed from side to side, semblance of a skit rehearsed. The beats of rolling waves mixed with laughter, complementing breathlessness with steady rhythm, a perfect mirror to that day. And yet, he allowed it; he always allowed it. Always now, always then.

"Ahahaha! Ajahahax!"

"And aren't you glad I remember, Xianshang?"

#chili #childe #zhongli #genshin impact #tickling #i've been booked for the past 2 months but i'll always make time for them hehehe

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urmammy · 1 year ago

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You're smarter than this

Villian/Yandere Miguel O'hara x fem!spider-hybrid reader

Warnings: Violence, talk of suicide, gore, villian Miguel isn't pleasant. 18+ content below, minors do not interact.

Summary: Miguel wasn't working with the spider society to stop canon events, he was rigging the system to bring back his own universe, even if it meant destroying all life outside of his own dimension. And you were the only one with that sort of information.

You were breathless.

Body trembling as you slung your web from building to building, movements faltering the more stamina you consume, screaming as you nearly miss grabbing your web and arms flailing in the air before you quickly cling another one and catch onto it, slamming into a wall and dropping to the ground.

You needed a second to breathe, a second to think.

But you can't.

He was just a few feet behind you, twenty, maybe thirty, his face distorted in a predatory anger as he stumbles on his feet, dropping on all fours and prawling for a moment,-seemingly like a lion-, before finally making it to his feet again. You were quick to react, tripping over your own shoes as you rushed to your feet and slung two webs, taking a few steps back as you stretch out the thin, strong webbing, slingshotting yourself across the city skyline,leaving him in a roar of fear that rung through the buildings.

You weren't paying attention as the colorless buildings fly past you in a blur, the only thing being of notice was the railing of an apartment building you slammed into in an alleyway, before ricocheting off of it and hitting the wall of the neighboring building before slamming down into a metal stairway that shattered beneath the force, crashing onto the ground underneath you as you let out a guttural gasp, eyes widening and mouth forming into an "O"

You couldn't believe the things you had seen earlier, the things you had heard. And when Miguel noticed your presence, you were now fighting for your life in the dull city you've come to know every day as your home.

☆○■Flashback■○☆

"If you think I'm even going to stop to think about what I'm doing, you're mistaken, because I already have."

Miguel had Peter pinned to the floor by his throat, Miguel's face twisted with a predatory disgust as he spoke, Peter's bloodied hands clawing at Miguel's wrist as he chokes the last bit of life from his body, meanwhile you had seen the very end of the events unfold through the crack in his office door, hands cuffed over your mouth as tears streamed down your shocked face.

"Miguel you don't have to do this-" Peter choked out, his blood shot eyes widening as Miguel's grip tightening, cutting off the last but if air supply he had left.

"You'll understand some day. In a new universe."

And those were the last words Peter would ever hear as his lifeless hand dropped from Miguel's wrist, and his eyes slowly lost their life, his blue orbs staring off into nothing but a void, left by his soul.

You took a step back, and unlucky for you, your hip snagged the edge of a plant stand, causing the vase to stumble and bump into his door, pushing it open slowly and leaving you exposed with a fearful expression, and tears streaming down your face.

Miguel's gaze snapped up from Peter's body and up to you before his predatory expression deepened, heightened by his anger and you took another step back, letting out a blood curdling scream that would shake office windows as he starts his animalistic sprint towards you.

☆○■End Of Flashback■○☆

Your ears are ringing, chin trembling as your wide, shocked eyes welled up with tears and you slowly looked down at the piece of metal sticking out of your stomach, raising your trembling weak fingers to touch the tip of the metal impaling you.

"It didn't have to be like this.."

He says lowly, his tall frame stalking towards your pale and trembling body, his red eyes narrowing in and fixating on the piece of metal sticking out of your body.

"Didn't even give me a chance to discuss my reasoning with you before getting yourself killed.."

His eyes flicked back and forth between yours and the metal pole sticking out of your body as blood slowly gathers around the wound, small traces of the red liquid seeping from the corners of your mouth as you lay there, trembling, eyes half-lidded as you stare into nothing. You felt cold, your vision was blurry and your ears were still ringing, his words sounding muffled as he kneels down next to you, gently lifting your head in his hand reaching for one of yours with his other, his collosal hand wrapping around your own and warming up your next to lifeless fingers.

"I could stay with you here, until the very end.." his days softly, his words laced with a venomy sweetness that's bitter to those immune.

"- and you could take this secret to the grave. Literally. OR. I could find a way to get you patched up and you could we could start something amazing together.."

You could barely speak, coughing up a bit of blood as you used what little energy to lift your head slowly, gurgling out your words softly.

"Go to hell."

His face dropped immediately, red eyes boring into your soul as he spoke gently.

"I was afraid you were going to say that."

And the last thing you saw were his red, clothed knuckles, zooming in on your vision.

When you woke up, everything felt warm, eyes fluttering opening slowly and looking up at the white ceiling above you.

You could hear the faint beeping of machines, your throat convulsing against the rubber tube that was forced down it before you started gagging and coughing, a a few nurses immediately rushing in to your aid to remove the tube from your throat.

"She's trying to breathe, we need to get the tube out-" one of them said as she was quick to lower your bed and gently remove the pillow from underneath your head.

It felt like forever as they untaped the tube from your mouth and gently pulled it out, your body wanting to sit up for your cough but you were left to lay there, abdomen sore with every cough as you tried to gentle them out for yourself.

"Take it easy, honey, take it easy..." One of the other nurses said softly as she brushed a strabd of hair from your face. Her tone was calm and gentle, she was patient almost like she's done this so many times.

"Where am i?" You finally croak out, throat scratchy and voice weak.

"You're at Metro-General. I'm gonna ask you a few questions and I need you to answer them for me okay honey?"

You nodded your head slowly

"Do you know your name?"

"(Y/N) (Y/M/N) (Y/L/N)"

"Okay good honey, do you know your birthdate-?"

As the nurse listed off the questions you answered quietly, your eyes leaving hers slowly and fixing in the figure looming in the corner of the room, unsure if he's been there the entire time or not.

He was out in the open enough the nurses would've noticed him, so you're certain he must have been there the whole time.

You just didn't realize Miguel was there until just now.

As she reclined your bed again slowly, sitting you up , she spoke sweetly. "Okay, well. I'll save the details for your doctor to fill you in on, his name is Doctor Stephen Strange, he's slightly held up but he should be here in a jiffy. Hang tight sweetie, okay? Do you need anything?"

You were hesitant to resoond, eyes never leaving Miguel's as he stared into you, those same red orbs sending you into a fear-strucken trance like state.

"Hun?"

You snapped your head over to the nurse, an apologetic look on your face.

"Yeah sorry. Some water, would be good."

She smiled at you warmly, exchanging a look between you and Miguel before giving you a nod and exiting the room, leaving the booth of you alone.

"I could have let you die."

He says coldly, his expression unreadable.

"You should have."

He chuckled lowly as he made his way closer, pulling up a chair by your bed and sitting down casually, leaning back as he spoke.

"And what would I win from that? Besides my plan going exactly how I need it to of course-"

"- Don't you understand how wrong this is Miguel? How fucked up it is to end all life as you know it just to bring back one timeline?"

His eyes were half lidded and cold as he looked at you.

"-I do. But I'm willing to do that if it means bringing her back."

"Gabriella wouldn't want this!"

"- Don't you dare talk like you knew her!"

He stood up abruptly, chair falling to the floor behind him as he looms over you, and his unreadable expression switched to one of anger, but their was something beneath that, something he was refusing to show, and it was pain and guilt.

"I messed it all up once-" his voice cracked, fracturing the angry facade he's been holding for far too long

"-I messed it all up once and now I have a chance to get her back and make it right, and I refuse to fail this time-"

"But you'll be taking everything from everyone else just for your own happiness-!"

Their was a knock on your door, causing you and Miguel to snap your heads in that direction beefier it opened slowly and a tall, lean, older male peaked his head through, a sheepish smile appearing for one second before he gave a quick wave.

"Hi. Doctor Stephen Strange, hope I'm not interrupting anything-" He entered the room and closed the door behind himself gently before walking over to the sink and washing his hands throughly as he spoke.

"So you had quite the accident there. Mind telling me how that happened?"

You looked at Miguel who glared down at you, his eyes so piercing cold they sent a shiver down your spine.

"I don't actually-"

"- Because if I had to guess, you were trying to run from something. Or someone."

He turned around slowly, and as he turned around, his scrubs slowly molded over into some sort of uniform, the clothes wrapping around his body and a cape slowly withdrawing from the back collar of his detailed silk shirt as he spoke in a stern tone.

"My name is Doctor Stephen Strange and I'm in charge of keeping track of all things threatening and or catastrophic towards the Multi-verse."

AHHHHHHHH ik that was so short and I'm so sorry I've been facing serious writers block lately plz help.

#miguel o'hara #oneshot #fanfic #miguel ohara fanfiction #miguel spiderverse #spiderman 2099 #villain #villain arc #gore lover #halloween #horror #yandere

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