#but back on topic I was thinking about how his injuries would scar and went “oh... did not mean to do that but okay I guess”

[istoleludwigsbaumkuchen]

Guess who just realized that he gave his saw self-insert the fucking stigmata on accident (hint - it's me 😿🤯🤯)

I haven't posted on his blog in a minute, and also haven't mentioned too much about his trap since no one has asked, and I wanna like, reveal things over time

But the first part of his trap involved having a bunch of rings pierced through different parts of his body (think the classroom trap but not rigged and also a lot different logistically, but the "suspended with rings through body" part is the same), and one thing I thought was cool would be if he had 1 through the middle of each hand

But he survived, and obviously, most if not all of the pierced parts scarred, so he has a circular scar in the middle of each hand. Like that one guy 🤯🤯💥

This was not intentional, I'm not gonna change it but like, guys the Jesus parallel was accidental I just thought ring through hand cool 😔😔

[bbluefllame]

hcs on how I think mha characters sleep

contains: pure silly stupidness

characters: tomura shigaraki, touya todoroki, keigo takami, izuku midoriya, toga himiko, plus one katsuki hc😭

note: LISTEN GANG I WAS SLEEPY BUT I COULDNT SKEEP SO I WAS LIKE OH EM GEE!!! keigo's went out of hand 😔😔😔

tomura shigaraki

- he usually sleeps in his normal attire, he has no energy to get up and change

- sleeps 4 hrs MAX

- his thumbs are always I mean always are covered by the rest of his fingers tightly, he probably decays mattresses every couple of months by accident

- either super light sleeper or super heavy no in-between, probably doesn't even sleep most of the time

- there's no pre-sleep routine. mf just plops down into the bed and blacks out OR he sleeps in his gaming chair😭

- if you're sleeping next to him, he would make sure he's facing the opposite side with his hands dangling at the edge of the bed just to make sure nothing happens to you.

- one thing that makes him black out is playing with his hair, like blackout like snore mimimimi type shit

- he's so still in his sleep, barely moves to the point you might think he's dead if he wasn't breathing‼️

- Overall he'd be a pretty good person to sleep next to (if he even sleeps) just make sure he doesn't have nightmares or everything is done and dusted (literally)

touya todoroki

- he either sleeps naked or something that can't snag on the staples/ irritate his scars (probably naked bcs have you seen his room?? ITS EMPTY EMPTY THERES NOTHING BESIDES HIS USUAL CLOTHES)

- I give him 5-6 hrs maybe then he wakes up but on nights where he's in too much pain, he takes a shit ton of painkillers and tries to sleep just to wake up 2 hrs later

-biggest snorer out there, complete opposite of tomura. esp w those lungs of his omg.

- you could be sleeping and BOOM 🚉 SNOREEEEEE HONKKKK you need earplugs with him, then he wakes up and goes "I don't snore, fuck you mean??"

- he tosses and turns 24/7 also he will 100% steal the blanket and kick you off, at this point it'd be more comfortable to sleep on the ground than to sleep next to him

- yk those videos where it's like someone tweaking while sleeping, like they roll around steal blankets and kick and stuff and do the craziest shit, yeah that's touya

- idk if he has a pre sleep routine I'm leaning towards it depends? he usually just makes sure his scars are clean so he doesn't get an infection and yk die!

- I conclude, a horrible person to sleep next to. Would much rather kms than tolerate a night of his torture!

keigo takami

- this bitch has 2 options, blackout the second he gets home in his hero attire, or if it's a day where he has to recover from an injury or something, these specific navy blue sweatpants and a black t-shirt

- depends on the day he's sleeping either 3 hrs or 9 hrs

- he doesn't snore but he talks in his sleep about the weirdest shit ever "noooo pls don't put me in the airfryer" he 100% has the weirdest fucking dreams to ever exist

- he never sleeps on his back, literally always on his stomach so his wings don't get in the way

- also on the topic of his wings, during said weird dreams if he's running away or something they start flapping and shit😭 it'd be so annoying to sleep next to him

- he sleepwalks 100% you look at that face and tell me he DOESNT?? he's a really light sleeper as well esp for nights where he might be called in

- definitely has a pre sleep routine (if he doesn't immediately blackout) ESP if you're living tg oh em gee, he'd have a longer skincare routine than you (tbf the skincare routine is kind of obligation from him to appeal to the civilians nd shit)

- he'd have a headband on his head pushing his hair back, washing his face, using a toner etcetera, and then going "baaaaaabeeee where'd you put my cosrx snail mucin, I know you used it" and he'd be all sassy and shit (twink cough cough sorry)

- if he's having a calm day, he's being the clingiest cutest little shit, you wanna go to eat? "nooo 5 minutes" . You wanna go to the bathroom? "Ugh be quick" while he's guarding the door waiting to tackle you and drag you back to bed. He's such a little (loving) shit

- he just lays there on top of you not willing to let go with a serene expression on his face, those days are rare though (fuck the commission 😠)

- random but he has some of the worst bed head you could ever see

- overall, kind of annoying to sleep next to (funny as well) but for him, who wouldn't tolerate it 🙏🏼

izuku midoriya

- before OFA bro used to get no sleep he'd have the most fucked up sleep schedule to ever exist ‼️‼️ like during weekends no sleep at all just staying up analyzing new heroes

- w OFA he's sleeping healthily or too much with the amount of energy he uses ESP in the first seasons when he breaks his bones a shit ton

- HIS SLEEP WEAR LMAOAOA funniest thing I've seen i don't have to say anything abt it 😭 a fucking shirt w " t-shirt" on it or sumn

- doesn't snore but moves a lot, and not even kicking?? just flipping side to side or clutching the blanket like he's a woman clutching her purse in the 1800s (no one's taking it from you calm down lil bro)

- occasionally he might talk but it's like 2 words then he flips to the other side

- no pre-sleep routine but that's bc he doesn't need one, his pre-sleep routine is studying or training, BUT bro has to be like wrapping his arms and hands at night or something bcs he's in pain (his arms are fucked up there's no way he doesn't have chronic pain)

- if you're forced to sleep next to each other (insert ur own fanfic idea of why) he would be so tense he'd have his hands by his side tryna not sleep so he doesn't annoy you, at this point, you'd be annoyed by how tense he is

- he's not a bad person to sleep next to tbf, just like he might be kinda annoying that's it

Toga Himiko

- she has pink pj's and everything she's such a cutie (some have blood on them but whoops accident!)

- she sleeps with plushies (her room is adorable. search it up pleek‼️), changes the plushie every night so "every single one of them feels loved"

- she sleeps pretty healthily although on the low side 6-7 hrs prolly, she's told by compress "You're a growing girl, you need your sleep" or something similar when she wakes up too early

- she's more giggles in her sleep rather than anything, maybe whispers a name then goes teehehehe, she's pretty calm in her sleep honestly

- she has a pre-sleep routine and it's adorable, if it's in the broke era she steals face masks (specifically hello kitty ones), moisturizers, toners, face washes and skips back to the base with a smile on her face

- has 100% forced a couple of the league members to use the face masks

- has music blasting (for some reason I see her playing like a g6 and bopping her head while putting stuff on) at 10 pm, she 100% has been forced to turn it off bcs it woke everyone up

- she's such a cuddly person as well but in the best way possible, before sleeping though 100% there's gonna be gossiping or just yapping tg

overall my favorite !! silliest girl to ever exist I luv her

bonus katsuki

- bro sleeps like a Victorian child dying from the plague, waiting for a true loves kiss type shit you'd see him and go "wtf okay disney princess😟"

[psychesalcove]

ֶָ֢ "it's nice that your voice was the first thing i heard today,"

hiiii! can i request a luke castellan x fem reader fic, the scenario being luke just woke up after the quest gone wrong (when he got the scar on his face) and reader is the first one he hears. she’s aphrodite’s daughter but she’s the one cleaning his wound in the infirmary. you can spin it however you like💗 just want some luke castellan fluff (w/ a bit of angst💗) where he confides in reader, and he cries but hides it by nuzzling in her neck, she’s just a comforting gf that feels her neck become damp.

luke castellan x daughter of aphrodte reader

my writes are completely race and body type friendly! feel free to interact my loves:)

part of psyches, 'in memory of those who chose the sea' event

-> want to participate in the event?

an: babes this is suchhh a cute idea for luke omg!! i love detailed asks its amazing n' your ideas are stunning, bueatiful, and everything!! i had so much fun writing this, hope you enjoy! and again, sorry for not writing sooner, i was camping with my family and had no wifi lmao 😓 love ya 🩷 ps. I also did like a lot of writing for this,, so I hope u don't mind lovie!!

you hummed quietly to yourself as you wrapped up a child of ares arm; according to them, they had gotten distracted and accidentally went up against a sword. you patted their arm to signify you were finished. once they got up, you walked over to will.

'how's he doing?' you asked, leaning against the counter will was sitting at. luke, your boyfriend, had a rough go of it on a recent quest. you weren't all sure of what happened; as he passed out before he could get a coherent sentence said. you did catch some words: hermes. hurts. and some other ones that you couldn't quite make out.

will looked up from the pile of paperwork he was reading. 'better. he's still not 100%; but he's making recovery. i'm not exactly sure when he'll wake up,' he explained, briefly scanning the paperwork to make sure he said the correct information.

you hummed, eyes also going down to the paperwork to scan it over. 'do you think i should be with him, when he wakes up?' you asked, eyes going up to meet wills.

'i'll give you the rest of the day off, how about that?' he asked, though it sounded more like a statement. he could probably sense your anxiety about luke and his wellbeing. 'i think he'll be happy to see you,' will gave you a soft smile before his attention went back to his paper.

you thanked him and quickly made your way over to the back of the infirmary; where the private cots were. you gently pulled back the curtain and was met with the same sight that you saw last. luke was laying on the bed, bandages wrapped around his face due to the injury that was on his eye.

you quickly sat down in a chair, prepared to spend however long you would need to wait for luke to wake up.

—

as you looked out the window at camp; a light squeeze on your hand drew your attention back to luke. you smiled softly when you saw him staring back at you, even with one eye. 'hi hon,' you whispered gently, hand squeezing his back.

he didn't say anything, instead smiling a little at you as a response. you took that as he didn't want to talk; especially about the quest he just got back from. you opted to ask a question on a different topic.

'd'you want a hug?'you whispered again, hand still in his. all you got in response was a light nod of the head, a nod you would've missed if you weren't pouring all your attention into him. you removed your hand from his and quickly wrapped your arms around him, holding luke in a protective embrace.

his head quickly found its way to your neck; both of you being mindful of the bandages still on his face. as soon as both of you settled into the hold, lukes shoulders started shaking lightly. in cue, you felt wetness on your neck, along with lukes heavy breathing drying the wetness; though the tears were quickly being replaced by new ones.

you tightened your grip around him. luke rarely cried: you assumed it was the pressure of being a good role model for the younger campers, or even who he associated with at camp. you shuttered lightly at the thought of what must have happened on that quest for him to react like this.

before you could attempt comforting him, he spoke through his quiet sobs. 'im, i'm really sorry for this,' you heard him mumble quietly as his breath picked up even more.

you shook your head softly at him. 'luke, hon. you have absolutely nothing to be sorry for. quests can be hard, they're made to be. its okay to be scared of them. it's natural, completely normal.' you said, hand starting to rub small circles onto his upper back in an attempt to comfort him.

you couldn't tell how long the two of you stayed in that position; you holding onto him like he was your lifeline and luke holding back just as hard. slowly though, his sobs started to subside, and his breathing returned to normal. throughout him crying, you decided not to try and get him to stop, knowing that this crying session was long overdue.

luke seemed to think that he calmed down enough, as he gently pulled out of the embrace. as the two of you stared at eachother, he opened his mouth. 'it's nice that your voice was the first thing i heard today,' he said, a small joking tone to it.

you smiled lightly. 'are you okay?' you asked, ignoring his past comment; knowing it was probably a way to steer the conversation around what just happened.

he sighed deeply, the eye that wasnt covered closing as he layed down again. 'yeah. m'sorry about my, uh. episode. the quest was just a lot.' he chuckled, opening his eye again. 'i love you,'he added, flashing you a quick smile.

you sighed, grabbing his hand and brining it into your embrace again. 'it's okay to have episodes like that love. it's human; you should honestly do it more often.'you hummed gently, rubbing circles onto his knuckles.

luke only nodded lightly in response; seemingly drifting off to sleep once again.

'i love you to, luke.' you mused, pushing up out of the chair and pressing a gentle kiss to his noninjured side of his face.

[antheshewro]

Levi Ackerman headcanon #2 — (My) analysis on his disability

This is my second time writing about Levi and his character. I previously did so for his intimacy and sexuality; this time, I would like to give my honest opinion and headcanon on his disability. With the utmost respect for the topic as it should be handled, and the disclaimer that I don't have enough knowledge in that field.

A panel of the manga explicitly shows how a titan, during the final battle, bit onto his knee. It most likely crushed his bone and damaged his nerves all the way down. His leg, even after surgery (I could see him resorting to a more technologically advanced country and their skills in the medical field to do so), healing and physical therapy, remained stiff.

When I say "stiff", however, I do picture it not being able to bend anymore. If he sits down, he has to manually bend it. It surely hurts when it's humid, or it aches as time passes and if he sits down for a certain and/or prolonged period of time.

The usage of the wheelchair is mostly because limping the entire time is not the best thing to do, and it surely bothers him if that happens. I can see Levi using a cane whenever he wants to take a walk alone, not relying on anyone else but that wooden stick. And in a way, to feel like he's not burdening anyone, being carried around.

The acceptance of his disability surely wasn't easy. That's more than obvious, it would never be pleasant to anyone. For someone like Levi, who got the title of "humanity's strongest soldier", losing so much of his mobility made him think if it was worth it. Yet, remembering the sight of the ghosts of his fallen comrades made him get through tons of doubts and moments of self-consciousness. If one like Levi let loose and cried because of it, it's a very big deal. One of those deals that made him think that yes, he's disabled. He struggles with certain mundane tasks now, and he has to rely on other people to grab an item that's placed on a high shelf, because that particular day his leg hurts, for example. In the Bad Boy chapter, there's no wheelchair in sight; though it meant that he could've parked it somewhere (where, we don't know), we can say that if he was sitting there with Falco and Gabi, he could, again, limp his way there. It wouldn't surprise me if he was stubborn enough to be willing to help despite his injuries.

It's not a bad thing to imagine him as defeated; he lost his dear friends, his family (by blood and acquired one), and on top of that, he was left with one blind eye, two fingers ripped off from one hand and a leg that doesn't work anymore. Anyone would've reacted badly.

We also know that Levi always showed signs of being stubborn: he still engaged in a battle with fresh bandaged scars and injuries, or when he told Armin "You'll forget that I exist if I keep resting". Despite how weak he clearly was, clinging and pushing himself forward as he struggled to walk, it doesn't only show that pain doesn't stop him at all, but how stopping itself means that he's giving up on a state of vulnerability that he doesn't want to go back to; I do connect it to the time when in Bad Boy he was being beaten up by those men, before he "activated" his Ackerman genes. Or even when he had to endure the pain of Kenny leaving him, his mother dying, or his comrades falling. Levi is not going to let his own body win.

"If I let myself be weak and vulnerable, I would fail the little kid in me that fought for himself and survived despite the shit he went through. I'm not going to let him down and fail who kept me alive and made me the person I'm today. The person that people relied on. But I need to trust that kid and rely on him too," I bet he constantly repeats himself whenever he's struggling and gritting his teeth. When getting to the bathroom makes him sweat a little, or dressing himself up takes more than usual.

On the other hand, I think the relationship between Levi and the way he denies himself some sort of vulnerability is because he thinks that it doesn't bring him anywhere. It never helped him in the Underground; when in "No Regrets" he cried after Isabel and Furlan died, he most likely told himself, "What did I gain from this? Did it even help bring them back? It didn't. Suck it up."

With that, Levi suppressed his feelings and bottled them up. He allowed himself to tear up only when he saluted the fallen Scouts. But that wasn't vulnerability for him: it was pride. Proud of himself, that he kept a promise and showed himself that he wasn't the same little boy that was left in a dumpster of an underground city, more than twenty years prior. Even despite the reason he was forced to join the Scouts, and cleared his name within his own self. The son of a prostitute and his client, the nephew of a man that wasn't surely a saint.

As time passed, Levi accepted his disability and the fact that he had to adapt. You fall today, tomorrow, the day after tomorrow you understand that you need some backup. Gabi and Falco, and the ones who kept in touch with him (I would say Onyankopon the most, since at the end of the manga he shows up with the other three), surely were with him when he got back to his new house and had to face the reality of things. He would grumble and push the others away at first, and he never wanted to be helped. That meant having people care for him; last time it happened, those people left or died in front of his eyes. Too many traumas made him independent and reckless, as well as stubborn.

But even Levi has his limits. Gabi and Falco are compassionate and understand that they have to respect the fact that he needs time to fully accept his disability and people's aid. Once again, when someone has been left alone for years or discarded as if they were an old and broken shoe, they toughen up. Not because they want it, and I do believe that Levi tried a lot of times to heal his inner child and only succeeded with those kids at the refugee camp, while handing them lollipops. Giving them candies meant that he was helping them grasp onto that childhood they had been denied—and that sounds awfully familiar. Another side of him, however, has been so used to doing everything alone and being his own and sole emotional support that asking for help is not even contemplated.

Day by day, week by week, and year after year, he understood that grieving his lost mobility was alright. Letting people help him was alright. Discovering his limits, rediscovering his body and making everything coexist was the key. That the little Levi in him would be proud of adult Levi for not pulling a card at the base of the house of cards he built and instead, recreating it. That was when child!Levi began to feel at ease, and veteran!Levi could rest.

[b4mpyre-k1zz3s]

can you do one where reader is Dunn’s girlfriend amd they are at a party with the crew celebrating the movie or something. Dunn is super touchy the whole night and they end up in the bathroom for a quickie 🙈 if you don’t write suggestive content they can just sneak to the bathroom to have a makeout session

Sneaking (Getting) Off

Jackass: Number Two has just finished filming, and what better way to celebrate than renting out the hottest bar in LA and hosting a kickass wrap party? Well, your boyfriend could think of a few better ways…

Ryan Dunn X Fem!Reader

(Fluff)

1.3k Words

Warnings: Highly suggestive content, drinking, crude language, injury, implied sex, bathroom sex

An: Thank you so much for the request! If I’m being entirely honest, the way I depicted Ryan and Y/N’s relationship in this fics is pretty similar to how I would like my future relationships to look XD I’ve always thought that Dunn would, for lack of a better word, be the kind of person you could spend a lot of time arround. Anyways, thank you for the request, and please keep sending them!!

Typically, when Ryan and you were together, things could not be more chill. In essence, your relationship could be described as friends who shared the same bed; It wasn’t like a friends with benefits situation, you just weren't constantly on each other and overly affectionate like most couples are, and that low maintenance thing cut through the shit parts of dating. Now, note I specified ‘typically’, because once in a while- for a reason you couldn’t place- Dunn would get this weird bug up his ass and just couldn’t keep his hands off of you, like a male version of baby fever. This isn’t to say you didn’t enjoy it because you enjoyed it a great deal, thank you very much- but it wasn’t always the most convenient thing. Take, for example, tonight.

You arrived fashionably late, as you did to any event you attended. It was hot and muggy, as were most nights in LA, and the moment you stepped into the bar, you were greeted by Bam (one of Dunn’s dumb little buddies), who was visibly a few deep and had a fistful of darts in one hand and a beer in another, “Heyy, Ry! Me an’ the guys’re throwin’ darts at Steve-O’s ass- you gotta come check it out!” Politely palming the beer that was thrust in his direction, Ryan shook him off in the nicest way possible, “Yeah, that sounds cool! But I’ll, uh-“ From behind his shades, he shot a glance down at where he had you on his arm before turning back to Bam, ”I’ll catch up with you later. See ya, man.” Not dejected in the slightest, he just went back to doing whatever dumb shit he was occupied with before you showed up and you and Dunn went to grab a drink.

With how Ryan was stuck to your side like some needy dog that was begging for attention, you would’ve thought one of his dumb little buddies got into the superglue, but it’s not like you minded. You sat at the bar and chatted about the torture he had to endure for this movie, including him showing off some pretty questionable scars. There was something so enthralling about hearing him speak, and the way he looked at you as if you were the only girl in the room helped given the grisly subject matter. “This one’s from that stupid cacti jump stunt, and these-“ Dunn sat up from where he was leaning against the bar top and tugged up the bottom of his shirt, exposing the little red half moon scars that littered the pale skin of his stomach, “These’re from the riot control test. God, that one sucked so bad.” You winced in empathy, inhaling through your teeth. Taking a sip of your drink, you quickly shook it off and shifted the topic to something that had been on your mind for a while now, “Y’know, you can go hang out with your friends if you want. I mean, it’s your party after all.” There wasn’t a trace of sarcasm in your words. Dunn just shrugged, cracking an amused smile as if you suggested something totally ridiculous, “Nah- I’m alright with you.”

It got to the point that you had to practically drag him to where the guys were clustered around a pool table and actively force him to hang out with his friends, but still, your efforts were ineffective. See, your boyfriend can be pretty quiet when it comes to wanting attention. To illustrate this, let’s compare him to Bam. If Bam wanted attention from his girlfriend, he would likely do some ridiculous stunt and end up hurting himself to force her to patch him up or slide up next to her if she was talking to another guy and get real handsy to make a big show of the fact that she was his. Ryan, on the other hand, didn’t look at you like that. In general, he was more subtle. Take for example, the way that he had been eyeing you from across the room even while he was off with his friends. Their stories about sleeping with strippers and getting their stomachs pumped went in one ear and out the other because he was so totally focused on you that night. And you were perceptive to this stuff because you knew Ryan. You knew all of his tells.

After maybe thirty minutes of drinking alone, you picked up on his voice from across the room, “Yeah- I'm gonna go get another drink. I’ll be right back!” You didn’t even need to look over to the previously empty stool at your side to know who sat down next to you. “What do you want?” Raising an eyebrow at your sarcasm, Dunn slipped a hand on your thigh, making you feel even warmer under the incandescent lights that hung above your heads, “You look hot.” Taking a swig of your drink, you turned so that you were face to face and dropped your voice down so as not to be heard over the chatter of the bar, “You’ve been starin’ at me all night like some lost puppy, and that’s the best pick up line you could come up with?” Your boyfriend chuckled, leaning in towards you so there was about an inch of room between your bodies. His hushed words were tinged with this conspiritory tone as he murmured, almost directly in your ear, “I think you know what I want.”

If there was one thing Ryan loved about you, it was how you could keep up with him. It was like some sexy Abott and Costello routine the two of you had- this ceaseless back and forth until one of you caved. Running your hand across the sticky, wooden countertop, you cooed your words slow and heavy with implication, “Right here? Right here on the bar?” Out of the corner of your eye, you could see some of the guys eyeing what was happening at the bar, which only served to fuel your teasing further, “Or what about the pool table over there? With all your friends watching us…” Despite the whole exhebitionism thing and the latent sexual appeal of green felt, Ryan had other plans in mind. Standing up, he cleared his throat before patting you on the back and scanning the room for something, “Nah- you’re a lady with class. I gotta better place.”

What a gentleman your boyfriend is, taking his woman of refinement off to the bathroom to screw. Hell, you couldn’t even say that, because you didn’t even make it into the stall before you were on each other. Yep, he caved all right. Hands on bodies, mouths on bodies- in this hormone fueled haze, it was hard to tell who began where as Dunn had you pressed against the cold tiled wall. The astringent scent of disinfectant mingled with cheap booze and desire as you practically tripped over each other’s feet. Ryan had you by the waist and your hands fisted into the fabric of his shirt and you practically tumbled into the nearest stall, clumsily locking it behind you. It was frantic and passionate- and fuck, it was hot.

Outside the ladies room, however, things were not nearly as sexy. Yep, the guys were still standing around, idly chatting and getting trashed with the occasional prank sprinkled on- think pissing on someone’s leg or sneaking up behind them with a pair of electric clippers. So consumed in their benign antics, it was half an hour before anyone noticed you were gone. It was Bam, funnily enough, who brought this to everyone’s attention. “Hey, has anyone seen Dunn?” Almost as if on cue, there you come totally not suspiciously stumbling out of the bathroom, adjusting your hair and buttoning up your top with Ryan right behind you. Yep, everyone knew. And the worst part was, you didn’t really care.

[deiaiko]

#19.3 Unravel

It had been some time since Agni felt this nervous. Not even talking with Jinsung Ha recently had made him feel like this. He fiddled with the mask on his hand as he waited for Grace to come back. He had thought hard on how to deliver the news, but he knew that no matter how he phrased it, Grace would be upset. Velt nuzzled under his palm and Agni gave her a few pats, before deciding that she would be better inside her bowl in his lighthouse, just in case the shinsu acted up around Grace after he received the news.

Grace came back wearing the comfiest shirt and shorts Agni knew Grace liked to wear on lazy days. He joined him on the floor, and they ate dinner together. Agni always finished last, so while waiting for him to finish his meal, Grace told him about his day with Bam. Grace was intrigued by how much his way of thinking had changed, and how glad he was to be able to be by Bam's side when he was having a bad day. It reminded Agni of the hidden floor, when Grace faced his sworn enemy.

They left the used bowls on the coffee table and went to brush their teeth. Afterwards, they turned off the light and went upstairs to sit on their bed. Grace's curious gaze never left him, and Agni curled his feet nervously.

Grace was the one who broke the silence. "So…what is it?"

Agni's breath hitched. This was the part he dreaded most. "I talked with the crocodile earlier. Did you know that he could manipulate stone already?"

"Huh." Grace needed a few seconds to let the information sink in. "Didn't Rak learn it on the Hell train? How does he know it?"

"Turns out our crocodile also traveled back to the past like us. He found the young crocodile and taught him."

"What?!" Grace gasped, wide eyed. "That means our Rak is–!!"

"He's dead." Agni quickly snuffed out that hope. They had been in delusion for long enough; it was time that they faced the bitter truth. "He suffered a fatal injury from the explosion. He couldn't have lasted long without proper help." Agni omitted the actual cause for Rak's death, but still kept his words true. "I'm sorry."

"…Oh." Grace looked lost, just like Agni was. His lips parted a little, but they closed before any sound escaped.

Agni gently squeezed Grace's hand, encouraging and comforting as he let the silence stretch on, giving Grace some time to process the information.

"Agni…" Grace whispered, "do you think Hatz and Isu…?"

Agni bit his lip and avoided his gaze, as the nightmare of that day replayed in his mind. He witnessed Hatz get his arm ripped off when trying to protect him. He could still recall the clang of a sword hitting the floor, and Hatz's suppressed scream that gnawed deep at his guilt. He witnessed Isu get beheaded after being taken hostage, the memory of warm blood painting them both still vivid like it happened yesterday. 

Agni refused to acknowledge their possible deaths, because it felt like a nightmare that one day he could hopefully wake up from. He avoided the topic when Grace brought it up, so he wouldn't have to say it aloud and make it real. He had been so hard on himself, because he couldn't get rid of the feeling that he had failed Grace and everyone else involved.

Agni knew this had to change if he wanted to live better, now that they had gotten a second chance. So he swallowed down the lump in his throat that had built up over the years and asked mostly to himself; "What are the odds of their survival?"

"There's always a chance–"

"Grace." Agni looked him straight in the eye. "They were already severely injured before the explosion hit."

Grace fell silent and went still.

Agni felt a pang of guilt upon witnessing Grace's reaction. "Sorry. I didn't mean to snap." Agni fiddled with his hands. He realized that he didn't know how much Grace knew of what happened. "My scar…do you know how I got it?"

"I…was told it was from the family heads' battle." Grace looked thoughtful. Agni knew he was trying to be careful with his words. "A stray attack?"

"It could have been worse." The memory of the scorching heat on his skin felt like it had only happened yesterday. He passed out right when he was about to heal Isu, and only found out later that he also lost sweetfish at that time. The days he spent recovering from the burn, to withstand the excruciating pain every second he was conscious, and finally coming to terms that it'd be a permanent scar, was one of the turning points that had changed him forever. Were Grace not there to care for him, he might have ended up destroying himself even more.

Agni hadn't realized he had his left hand clawing on his cheek until Grace pried his hand off and frowned, "You're doing it again."

"Maybe I should wear the mask…" Agni muttered to himself. After all, Grace gave it to him less so he could hide the scar but more to prevent him from unconsciously hurting himself. The only time he could safely take it off was when Grace was around.

Agni bit his lip nervously when Grace didn't reply. He no longer had the courage to look Grace in the eye that spoke so much concern, so he leaned close and rested his head on Grace's chest. "Rak, Isu, Hatz and Hwaryun were trying to get me out of that damned place. But we were caught while escaping, and…it was a bloodbath. I was…too occupied to react to the incoming heat. Rak shielded us from the explosion. And when I woke up…"

"They weren’t with you," Grace finished it for him after Agni trailed off a moment too long.

Agni nodded dazedly, "I've been telling myself that they're still alive, after a blow that could kill rankers. But…who am I kidding? I was lucky enough to survive with just this little–" Agni vaguely pointed to himself– "inconvenience."

Agni felt a hand gripping his arm, and he pulled away to see Grace looking at him with a pained expression. His eyes were glossy and his lips were pulled into a thin line. Trusting his instinct, Agni reached out to gently trace and cup Grace's cheek with his free hand.

"I'm sorry," Agni muttered. "I'm sorry, for not telling you sooner."

Agni silently witnessed tears that streamed down on his love's face. It was a bitter sight that Agni wished he'd never have to see again, that he had tried to avoid for so long by not telling him. He pulled Grace in and held him close to his chest, as if Agni was trying to gather his own crumbled heart back together.

Grace mumbled their late best friends' names as he held onto him tighter, shaking from each breath he took between sniffles.

Agni felt his own eyes sting with unshed tears. He remembered the years he spent climbing the tower together with his old team. Despite their banter being his source of headaches, Agni knew he too had come to acknowledge them as his cherished friends. Only when they were gone did Agni realize how much he'd miss having them around. Seeing the younger them didn't exactly close the gaping hole in his heart, but at least the emptiness was more filled.

Agni squeezed Grace tighter. "We have their younger selves with us now. We will protect them better this time."

Grace only nodded and sank further into his embrace. And Agni planted kisses on his hair, relishing the thought that after everything he had gone through, Grace was still a constant in his life. As long as he had him, everything would be okay.

When Grace started shaking again, Agni caressed his hair and hummed a comfort song they had known by heart. Still, it didn't make falling asleep any easier for Agni, especially not after admitting that his nightmare was very much real. However, as he had been through grief…this, too, would pass.

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[kbspangler]

ISSUES - Coping Strategies

Remembered this old story of mine that I had posted on my Patreon in 2017. In April of 2016, I donated an AGAHF story to Geeky Giving, an organization raising funds " to help advance research on Parkinson’s, ALS, traumatic brain injuries, brain tumors, Alzheimer’s and more. " At the time of writing, Geeky Giving was working with the  Barrow Neurological Institute to determine the causes and progression of these conditions. 

Alzheimer's took my grandmother; it took my husband's grandmother. Both of us watch our parents like hawks: both of us wonder what's going to happen to us in 50 years.  So I approached Geeky Giving and offered to donate a story to them. They said sure, and yes, it could be an in-universe AGAHF story as long as it touched on the importance of neurological research. 

I have a series of short stories called "Issues," mainly for topics which don't get a lot of on-panel discovery. This is the story of the brilliant oncologist who had to shift her specialty to cyborg research, and the damaged forensic artist who is slowly putting himself back together. AKA: How Jenny and Shawn fell in love.

Please be kind: this was written in 2015-16 and language changes.

The man on the other side of the bed was sweet and kind and completely insane.

She didn’t know how to feel about that. This uncertainty bothered her more than the act of sleeping with a crazed man. Five years ago, she would have been mortified with herself, with the idea of intimacy with someone such as Shawn. Even if he wasn’t her patient. Even if he was more than a friend. Today, he was just…Shawn.

She didn’t let herself think about it—she’d find fear down there, and maybe something else, something that could chase the fear away but leave them both forever changed.

Instead, she stared at the ceiling and pretended she couldn’t hear her machines call to her.

Shawn’s mental voice was strong, and ran as crisp as a winter river through her mind. “Go,” he said.

 “I thought you were asleep,” she whispered aloud.

“You’re too noisy. You should go. Go be with them.”

She rolled over to face him. He had cut his hair himself last week and had done an awkward job of it. Someone had given him a buzz cut to tidy him up, but aggressive neurosurgery and skull-shorn hair paired poorly. She traced his scars with her fingertips, feeling the bumps and twists of the ridges of his scar tissue, and beneath that, his drowsy tangle of emotions.

“They miss you,” he said in her mind. He reached out and traced her own scars, hidden beneath her short brown hair. “I’ll miss you, too, but I want to sleep.”

“All right.” She kissed him on his shoulder, and felt him drop out of her senses as his implant went into passive mode. “I’ll be back soon.”

“Take your time,” he muttered into his pillow, his voice cut down to nothing from lack of use. “I remember having more energy after sex.”

“You remember sex when you were twenty,” she said. Their clothes were a single knot on the floor; she yanked on loose ends until she had reclaimed her pants. “We’re getting old.”

Gentle snoring.

The other members of the collective slept around them, rooms and buildings and miles away. She felt them around her, off-line but still present in the back of her head, four hundred souls who shared their thoughts with her during the day but kept their dreams to themselves.

She opened the door to the crash room and stepped into her lab. It was a medical suite in name only, stuck beneath a crumbling mansion in what once had been a wine cellar. Federal funding only went so far: the government could front the costs for the cutting-edge technology that had gone into their heads, but resources for infrastructure and development? Please.

She didn’t mind. She had built her own diagnostic laboratory by scavenging equipment from storage, or buying what she couldn’t borrow. The room served double-duty as an emergency ward, but the worst injuries she saw tended to be exercise-induced, and not too many of those.

It left her plenty of time for her own projects.

Her computers whirred to life around her. There was no need for clunky access codes; they recognized her and welcomed her home.

“HELLO, JENNY.”

Theirs was a woman’s voice, false and mechanical. Most days, she told herself that they couldn’t feel, that she was projecting her own eagerness to get back to work on her machines.

On nights like this, when the rest of the collective was sleeping and she was nearly alone in her own head, Jenny wasn’t so sure.

“Hello, ladies,” she said. “Ready to play?”

A human brain sprung up around her in reply.

It was lovingly rendered in greens, and enlarged ten times life-size for clarity; if she looked closely, she could see the bright flashes of synapses.

(Which was something of a comfort—it was her own brain, scanned and digitized, and independent confirmation that your own brain is active is always welcome.)

 The implant rested against her parietal lobe, a small metallic sliver smaller than the head of a nail. At this resolution, she could make out the microscopic filaments connected to it; these ran throughout her brain, the majority twining into her brain stem. Heat regulation had been front and center on the developers’ own minds; without it, the cyborgs would have cooked themselves within their own skulls.

She ran her fingers through the hologram. The silvery filaments covered her holographic brain like cobwebs, shining brightly against the green.

“Ladies, overlay image JED-1 over master.”

A second brain appeared, the same general size and shape as the first but made from blues instead of greens. The opacity of the green brain diminished as the blue brain was positioned over it.

“File: Jenny Davis, late night ramblings,” she said aloud. Talking helped. Speaking directly to her computers through her implant was good for clinical analysis, but it was late, and she was tired, and it was time to purge her thoughts so she could, maybe, get some sleep.

“RECORDING.”

“Thank you, ladies. Subfile: Background, general.” She began to pace around and through the hologram, checking for oddities. The blue brain was hers, too—had been hers, once, nearly seven years and an entire lifetime ago. Before the surgery, and the collective, and the alien oddness of hiveminds had all had their way with it. “Image JED-1, brain of a healthy 22-year-old Caucasian female. Ladies, highlight parietal lobe.”

 A section of the hologram began to glow.

“Side by side, magnify, compare and contrast.”

The hologram divided itself again, blue and green enlarging to fill the room. She wandered through the colors, talking to her machines as she went, tracing lines and shapes and twisting flashes of—

“What’s this?”

Jenny swore aloud as her concentration shattered. Shawn flinched away from her sudden frustration and dropped to his knees.

“Oh, honey!” She knelt beside him and reached out through the link. His consciousness scurried away from hers, looking for an escape but unable to find it. “I didn’t know you were there. I’m so sorry.”

She pressed her bare hands against his bare shoulders: she pushed positive emotions—calm, peace, belonging—across the bridge of their skin until he believed it.

He uncurled, looking up at her like a lost lamb.

“I thought you were asleep,” she explained. “You scared me.”

 Shawn laughed at that.

She managed to coax him off of the ground, one arm around him to keep him steady. “Here,” she said aloud. “Look. Want to see something amazing?

“This is me,” she continued, pointing to the blue hologram. “You know those tests you hate so much?”

“The brain scans?” He shuddered, and the sensation of being trapped in a tight white chamber crushed against her. Of lying as still as death, of knowing the person on the other end of the monitor was looking for what was wrong about what the core of you…

“Easy,” she whispered. “Please.”

His fear let her go, slowly. It had managed to find the cracks in her own psyche and had set itself deep—What if these brain implants stimulate tumorigenesis? Or neurodegeneration, or arteriovenous malformation, or… An almost endless list of what could go wrong…

 But there was the green hologram, brand-new and still perfect, and she told herself to put those fears aside.

“Well…” she began, “you remember during orientation, when we all had full medical diagnostics done? This is a composite image from my first MRI and CT scans.”

He stretched out a hand; it passed through the hologram, layering him in a blue the color of a summer sky.

“And this is me, too,” she said, pulling the green parietal lobe towards them. “From last week. Notice the differences?”

“This,” he said, as he pointed to the bright sliver of light on the green lobe. “Obviously.”

“What else?”

He grinned at her. A sense of pleasure at the challenge came back to her over their link, and she turned away on the pretense of gathering up some fallen papers. Too easy to forget that Shawn had once been in the FBI, that he had once been a brilliant up-and-coming forensic artist.

That experimenting with the human mind could have consequences.

Shawn didn’t seem to notice. He moved between the holograms, sorting and poking. His own digital renders began to appear as he worked; the holograms he created were more stylized than her own, freehand sketches hanging in the air beside her still images.

“Here,” he said, once done.

She wrapped her arms around him and stood on her toes so she could rest her chin on his shoulder. His sketches were playful, with arcs of white light moving across the lobes in quick streams. In some places, they caught what she hadn’t: Shawn’s sketches moved across regions that seemed no different than the others, with—

Jenny squinted, hard. “Are those bunnies?”

She stepped away from Shawn and moved into the holograms. A tiny cartoon rabbit popped out of a fold in her green parietal lobe and scampered across her brain. That first rabbit was followed by a second, then a third…more rabbits, an infinite number of rabbits, each scurrying with purpose towards different destinations.

Not just arcs of light, then.

“There are cheetahs somewhere,” he said. “And horses, too. They don’t show up as often. I used rabbits to show the most frequent movement.”

Sure enough, a streak of light emerged across the green expanse before her. A herd of wild mustangs, manes and tails flowing together as they ran, moved in a single stream.

“Damn,” she said softly. “Baby, this is really beautiful.”

She felt his cheeks flush. “It’s just a clip from a YouTube video,” he replied. “I didn’t have time to render each horse.”

“But you drew the bunnies?”

“One of them. The rest are a copy-paste job.”

“These are neural networks,” she said, reaching out to touch the mustangs with her mind. They blurred beneath her thoughts: she hastily moved her mind away, scared she had damaged them. The herd reformed and continued its journey. “Your bunnies are action potentials. The horses—” Out of the corner of her eye, a tiny feline body bunched and shot across the hologram at an incredible speed. “—and the cheetahs are electrochemical neurotransmissions.”

He laughed aloud, a wild, coughing sound. “I can’t remember freshman biology,” he said. “All I know is that the green brain has more wildlife than the blue one. A lot more wildlife.”

“That’s because the implant’s been changing us.”

White light in her head, so bright and sudden it took her a moment to realize her words had stunned him. Shawn stood, motionless, before he turned and fled to the comfortable darkness of the crash room.

“Oh, no, no, Shawn honey…” Jenny hurried after him. If he managed to make it under the bed, he’d be there for the rest of the week. She reached him in time to lay both hands flat on his back and pushed calm, belonging, peace across their joined skin.

He let her pull him away from the bed, but no further. They huddled on the floor in a sad, uncomfortable pile, and she felt a spot on the knee of her jeans grow damp.

Shawn was crying.

“There’s always some good that comes with change,” she said gently.

He looked up at her, eyes wide and desperate, before curling in on himself again.

“You didn’t break. You got a little bent, but… Here,” she said. “Come back to the lab. I want to show you something.”

Bad days turned him mulish, but this was a good day: she was able to coax him off the floor and as far as the doorway. They stood in the void between rooms, cold tile beneath their toes and warm carpet under their heels, as the holograms spun before them.

Jenny pointed. “You said you noticed how there was more wildlife in the green brain?”

“…yes…”

“That’s because our brains—this part of our brains, anyhow—is more active than it was before we got the implant. No, not just active—it’s thriving! Want to guess why?”

His attention was fixed on the holograms, but the easy scorn of an eyeroll passed between them.

“Humor me,” she said. “I’m going to have to explain this to people who aren’t in the collective at some point. Help me find the right words for this.”

“Because we’re using our brains in new ways,” Shawn replied, his mood pulling itself a little higher. “Talking via a link, or this—” he said, and pushed sensations at her.

Unseen fur, coarse but soft, surrounded her hands. Beneath that was the heat from a living body. With these came the memory of a beloved family dog, long dead but not forgotten.

“Exactly,” she said, blinking back her own tears at the loss of a pet she had never met. “We’re the first humans to have been augmented in this way. It’s causing us to think and act differently. We’ve got these new skills that we’re just beginning to put to use. We’re barely seven years into this experiment, and there’s already observable growth in the parietal lobe. Can you imagine what we’ll be able to do after—”

 “Wait, Jenny, wait. Brains grow? Don’t we… I thought we started shedding brain mass once we turned eighteen.”

“That’s Hollywood science,” she said. “Outdated and chock full of errors, but it still fits the script. The reality is…”

—rabbits, horses, and giant cats, speeding over an expanse of green in endless knots of light—

“The reality is, we’re miracles,” she said to him. “Human beings weren’t meant to be networked together. We shouldn’t have the ability to survive as part of a collective, but we do. We change—we grow. We’ve barely begun to understand how we can do any of this, but the more we learn, the more we can use that to grow.”

Shawn broke away from her and stepped into the lab. Greens and blues moved around him, coloring him in a digital sea. He was still naked; the scars across his wrists were nearly as white as the glowing animals.

“What about me?”

“Hmm?”

“I’m not…” Shawn’s hands clenched uselessly. “I’m not who I used to be. Does this mean I can go back to how I was, or will I…”

He opened his hands and let his mind pour into hers.

Memories. All of them, from the moment that his own mind broke under the weight of a new reality to living in the fear of staying as he was, unable to change, unable to grow, a roller coaster of emotions that threatened to tip off of the rails—

Too much: she cried out. Shawn lost focus: the memories faded.

Her world rebuilt itself in pieces. The floor came first: she had fallen to her knees. She concentrated on the patterns in the tile until she found the walls. Where there was a floor and walls, there was a ceiling…

She stood.

Shawn hadn’t noticed. “Is this me?” he asked. “This?! From now on?”

She closed her eyes and thought about impossible conversations. Then: “Ladies?”

The holograms stopped spinning.

“Replace current images with new holographic display. Show SEF-1 and SEF-46, parietal lobes only. Side-by-side comparisons.”

Blues and greens vanished; blues and greens returned. To the untrained eye, nothing had changed; the wildlife was gone, but the silvery rectangle was still there on the green brain, and the same flashes of light chased itself in purposeful patterns across both.

“Here,” she said, as she joined Shawn in the center of the room. “This is you. Your earliest scans are blue, and the most recent scans are green.”

He stared up at the twisting holograms. She felt his attention dart across the details, focusing like a laser on anything distinctive or different…

“They look just like yours,” he finally admitted.

“That’s the problem, baby.” Jenny pulled him close. “If you had typical neurological damage, it’d show up on the scans. Whatever happened to you, it’s…harder to find.”

“Why?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” she replied. “Mental illness can be caused by emotional, psychological, or physiological events, or a combination of these. We’re just beginning to scratch the surface of the causes of known disorders. Since your condition is almost unique, we’re flying blind.”

Sorrow. Loss. Anger—You’re a doctor! Why can’t you fix what’s wrong with me?!—and fear.

So much fear.

“We’ll get there,” she promised, as she pushed her own fear down below where she could feel it. “You’re responding well to medication and therapy. It’ll take time, and trial-and-error, and…and more tests, I’m sorry. None of this is easy, but we’ll make it work.

“You might never get back to who you used to be,” she admitted, as his heart hammered in her head. “But that doesn’t mean you can’t get to where you want to be, now.”

“I can do more tests,” he said quietly, even as the white chamber rose up again in his mind.

Together, they held their fears away.

[ll-but-its-random]

Rare Fanfic Case No. 2

This idea is not entirely original. Read this Einar x Five Fanfic called Scars on Ao3 by SolNiveAngelo (Mogadorian_Wolf) so thanks @descendantstidalage. I really liked your works and that is about 40% of all Lorien Legacies Works on Ao3, let's be real. So this is an extension of that fic that I've been rolling around my head for weeks.

Fandom: Lorien Legacies.

Characters: Einar Magnusson, Number Five, Isabela Silva, Others (Mentioned).

Warnings: Mentions of injury and disfiguration.

Ship: Five/Einar.

Original Idea Credit: @descendantstidalage , SolNiveAngelo (Mogadorian_Wolf) on Ao3.

'What about this one?'

Einar's fingertips brushed over an actual scar on his chest, one that wasn't overrun by the augmentation. It looked like a real scar, one that bled and healed, vaguely resembling a stab wound, only too wide.

'Oh, this? That's from the invasion.' Five started. 'I was fighting Number Nine and he sort of... hurled a sign post at me.'

'"At"?'

'More like through.' Five shrugged. 'Came out the other side.'

'That sounds fatal.'

'Well, I'm not so dead right now, am I?'

He almost laughed at that, leaving the the puncture scar and travelling over other ones that litter Five's skin. All seeming more humane than the black patches that surrounds them. Every time Five talked about it, the invasion seemed more and more intense, at least the way he pictured it.

'Did it hurt?' he blurted out.

'The initial impact? Or actually feeling having a lung punctured?' His confused expression said a lot. He shrugged. 'I was using Externa. But yeah, it did.'

There it is, Einar thought. Shrugging, like that would physically brush the topic off. 'This seems... a bit much.'

'I kind of it deserved it.'

He frowned more. 'No, I mean everything. Don't... don't you think you've paid enough...'

That seemed to catch his attention more. Einar paused a moment before finishing. 'I don't want to be the judge of that, I don't actually know everything you did, but don't you think you've already paid your penance?'

Five was silent for a long moment. When he directly looked at him again, the Loric was staring down at the hand on his chest, almost expressionless. But Einar saw beneath it. Guilt. Doubt.

'I... I don't know..' he started. 'I'm not sure if I ever will.' He reached up and put his hand on his arm. Einar felt the black ooze on his fingers writhing against his skin, but he didn't mind it much. He waited for Five to meet his eyes again.

A few seconds went by, and he actually looked up at him again. Silence stretched on for who knows how long. Then Five spoke again.

'You know, it's-'

He stopped mid-sentence as Einar heard the door creak behind him.

'Hey, Five, Duan needs some help to-' Isabela paused for about a second before a smirk spread on her face. 'Oh, yeah... I'll just-'

The door slammed shut before she finished, and from the look on his face, it was Five's telekinesis. He cursed under his breath.

Einar had to stop himself from outright laughing, but he couldn't help but grin. 'Yeah, not the first time she barged in without knocking.' Five, meanwhile, had his face buried in his hands. 'Well, it's not like she'll do anything with that. I mean, who's going to believe it?'

'That's not the problem! It's one thing for you to see it and a whole other thing for Isabela of all people to.'

'Oh yeah?' He pushed back another laugh. He put his arm around the other's shoulders in a side hug. 'Well, from the VIP view that I'm allowed here, you look gorgeous.'

He gave him a look. 'You think that?'

'I know that.'

[ryan-nugenthopkins]

speak to me about these wips of yours. i've never heard of any of them before and i am simply so very curious

I love you so much Julian mwah

I will not talk about the funny gamer men on here but uh catboy fic (ie My Teammate Turned into a Cat?!) started as "what if Draisaitl turned into a cat sometimes" and has quickly turned into "hey what would the PR and hockey ops response be to a player literally turning into a cat" and also "hey what's the horror of people changing in ways that are unknowable to you" so it's going well! The horrors of bureaucracy, mostly.

Nonetheless here's a TikTok/IG Reel I thought one of the content producers would make as a sick joke a few weeks into the curse manifesting:

The players are walking back to the locker room, still in gear, presumably after a practice. A text caption reading, “If you could be any animal, what animal would you be?” is displayed on the screen as the video rapidly cuts to the players responding, either off the ice or in the locker room.

McLeod grins, looks at the person holding up the phone camera.

“Uh, definitely a dog.”

Nugent-Hopkins looks mildly taken aback but is smiling.

“I’m not sure, actually. Maybe a wolf?”

Someone calls out something unintelligible from off camera. The camera spins and zooms in to catch Hyman laughing.

“I’m not a horse, you —”

Hyman looks thoughtful and affable, as if giving the question serious thought.

“I think I’d be a dog. A Golden Retriever, maybe? They’re pretty smart and loyal.”

Kulak looks mildly amused.

“Some type of dog.”

Holloway laughs loudly.

“I think being a dog would be great.”

Desharnais shrugs, before turning to someone off camera.

“A bear? A bear’s cool, right?”

The response is muffled, but Desharnais laughs anyway and faces the camera again.

“Stu says moose. I’ll go with that.”

Skinner smiles politely at the camera.

“I think I’d like to be a cat. They seem pretty smart and quick.”

McDavid lets out a little media chuckle and runs a hand through his hair.

“Uh… I don’t know. Probably a dog. … What breed? I’m not sure. Maybe I’d just look like Lenny, or something.”

Draisaitl stares at the camera, stone-faced. After a couple of seconds he grits out —

“A cat. I guess.”

--

Bouch/Clouder Academia AU is basically omg they were roommates doing graduate degrees. It's part of a much broader alternate universe where basically any NHL player that is funny to me is now an academic. I have read so many papers on topics that are not relevant to my own field of study.

Bouch is studying sports medicine as an MSc. He's looking at resiliency and recovery in professional sports and aims to be a physiotherapist after he graduates. He was set to go pro but had a spree of injuries and rough accidents on the ice before and during his stint in the OHL and his drafting prospects plummeted.

Clouder's a PoliSci/Media Studies MA studying how nationalistic narratives are built through sports coverage. He's the only one of three sons that is not playing pro hockey and he has no problems because of it at all :) He's still figuring out what he wants to do with his life.

The fic is mostly following them in their first year at their local university and how they navigate each other and the hockey-related problems they're both dealing with. It went shippy/slowburn "mostly" by accident, but whatever. They'll figure it out eventually. Here's a random snippet:

The holidays seem to have started a pattern. Not enough to be a constant, but enough to know it’s always there, a safety net in the back of his mind. Some days, Ryan will hang up from a family call the day after an impressive game from Michael and there’s a case study that needs to be proofread, immediately; some days, Evan’s gritting his teeth going down the stairwell and it’s easy to duck under his arm, take some pressure off his knee. A scar for a story, one regret for another.

Back and forth, like a passing drill.

It’s not weird, or gay, or whatever bullshit Jungian term Stu is now using for their friendship just because he got caught asking D.R. about painkiller interactions once. It’s open — there’s a comfort there, a familiarity that settles somewhere near Ryan’s sternum and makes it easier to breathe. That’s normal, probably, for a friendship. Quiet reciprocity, which might be the crux of the problem, a fear that he can’t properly describe.

He appreciates those moments where Evan feels comfortable enough to share, to trust in him. Some are easier, a memory of unlucky circumstance with a speedy return. Others — the larger ones, usually, or complications that took him off the ice for months at a time — make it seem like he’d rather pull out his own fingernail than tell. But he does so anyway, stilted and hesitant, and something cold slides down Ryan’s spine every time.

It takes a few more weeks for him to name that feeling guilt, but it’s the closest he’s probably going to get.

[waywardstation]

Small warning beforehand this deals with some darker topics please be careful when you continue to read.

A thought I had a while back when I saw a post about some artist who had the idea of an au with Ingo and Emmet that if one of the twins injures himself the other twin gets a temporary scar on the same spot.

My thoughts went a bit further and added Ingo's encounter with Draugr and that somehow both Ingo and Emmet manage to get injuries on similar spots in short timeframes from another. In this idea while Ingo was sent to Hisui and got attacked by Draugr Emmet, a few weeks after Ingo went missing made a mistake at duty and gets into an accident that causes him a similar looking scar like the one Ingo got from Draugr. (it likely happened when he was still full of worry, a little sleep deprived and not completely focussing on his work.) He comes out okay, if not a lot better than Ingo given the modern medicine though. He also gets a scolding of his lifetime from Elesa, Iris and Drayden (after all they almost lost him as well) and make sure to check on Emmet and help him dealing with the situation much better now.

sorry if this got a little dark. Usually my ideas are a bit more lighthearted but this one got out of hand

I think I’ve seen that same concept before somewhere on here! But this concept is more about accidentally getting very similar injuries by coincidence, right?

That would be quite an injury for Emmet to get on the job; I wonder what the equivalent would have to be for getting shredded by an ice tusk, yikes!

Poor Emmet though ;-; glad he has his friends and family there to help him get to a place where he takes better care of himself, though! Lots of check-ins, invitations to go out to places, movie nights, and lunch/dinner meetups.

Though I think it would be funny if when Ingo comes back, at some point Emmet sees the scar, and Ingo feels a certain sadness, thinking ‘yeah, we really don’t match anymore, I guess’.

But before he can even verbalize this, Emmet’s like “SAME HAT!!” and immediately shows Ingo his very similar scar. And even though the injury has clearly healed, Ingo immediately freaks out “EMMET HOW DID YOU GET THAT”

Thanks for your thoughts Anon! As long as everything can be alright in the end, I think it’s alright!! ^^

[quaranmine]

sorry this one gave ME emotional damage too

If it's not clear, Grian is living with Jimmy right now. Probably not on a permanent basis, but he of course had no place to live when he went back to England. His trip back to the US in Chapter 12 is partially to speak to Scar, and partially to tie up the loose ends before he permanently moves back to England. He needed somewhere to stay in the meantime and Jimmy's was the most fun option :)

Also don't get too upset at Grian for not talking to his friends about Scar. That's more about him not wanting to talk about the entire summer in general. They'll hear much more about him the more comfortable Grian gets about talking about everything. Similarly with Scar's name--I genuinely think he just goes by Scar to the fullest extent possible outside of legal documents. So it isn't really a big thing that Grian only knew him by "Scar" because that's his name! But to Grian in this moment he's like "oh god I don't even know how to properly address a letter to this guy, I don't even know his last name" and that makes him feel even worse lol

Also had to do a little more research about Grian's injuries. I wanted him to have something that was serious, but not necessarily long-term disabling? I didn't want him to have to spend time in a Burn Unit or receive skin grafts for 3rd degree burns. It was unreasonable for him to not get burned at all, but I hadn't planned on anything that would make the story's timeline go off the rails in the way that severe burns would, so I mostly settled on a mix of second-degree. Hands are very tricky place to get burned because of all the joints and movement. Contractures are when the muscles, joints, skin, etc get tighter, often following an injury such as a burn. There is physical therapy (and compression garmets) to help this which is what Grian is doing. I imagine a few more weeks down the line during Chapter 12 he is a lot better, but probably still not 100% done. Perhaps he does still have some problems in the future, but my idea was to minimize it. I don't anticipate him not being able to hold a pencil again forever, basically.

Anyway Grian is...still not doing so great in this one. And he wouldn't be. Not only does he have to process Mumbo's death (all that processing he refused to do over the year he was missing since he chose to ignore the possibility Mumbo was dead), but everything else that happened which was traumatic. I remember someone asked me months ago if Grian was going to commit suicide in this story, which kind of surprised me since I didn't know the story was giving those vibes. And when I read that ask I was like no, he isn't at risk of that in the main story because he has a goal. He has a person to find. He'd be at the highest risk immediately following the main story when he feels there's nothing left because he failed. I didn't set out to write a story that dark--I intended to write a story about getting closure--so I assured the person it wasn't going to happen. I did end up addressing the topic of suicide more in the story than I ever expected to though, but that's what happens when characters write themselves.

Remember Chapter 12 happens after this scene. Remember that this story is about grief but it's also about hope and finding ways to move on. He'll be okay <3

Letters from the Lookout #4 - Letters Unsent

(HC Firewatch AU snippets, 1,656 words)

Grian wants to write a letter to Scar. He refuses to dictate it, though. CW: bringing back some of the suicidal ideation from chapter 11

August 1989

Jimmy’s flat is pleasantly dark and cozy. The sky outside is dark and rain spatters across the windows. The living room has a lamp lit in the corner, as well as warm light spilling out from the kitchen. The TV is on in the corner, and Joel and Lizzie sit curled up on the couch in front of it watching football. Jimmy isn’t here right now, having popped out to grab some takeout for them all. Joel is under strict orders to pay close attention to the game so he can fill Jimmy in when he gets back. 

It’s lovely, honestly. It feels…domestic. That’s actually something Jimmy had joked about, earlier—he’d said he felt like he needed to domesticate Grian again, after he spent so long during the summer living in the wilderness. 

Grian’s fine with that as long as being domesticated means he can melt into his bed and never leave. With the lights off, preferably. Jimmy seems to think it means other things though. Trips to the shop. To the pub. To the train station. Watching football on the television. 

So tonight Grian’s out of his room to socialize. And by socializing, he means sitting at the kitchen table alone with a notebook and pen while Joel and Lizzie sit in the other room. 

It’s been weeks since he last spoke to Scar. The absence grates on him. Scar would know what to say. He’d understand Grian. He’d fix it all. 

Grian can hardly think about the last time he spoke to Scar. He remembers snatches and pieces of it, but mostly his mind just flits over the day, refusing to settle on any one moment. There is a wall being built in his mind to protect him from the unimaginable. He tries to keep the lid on those memories tight, like it’s his personal Pandora’s Box. It doesn’t stop him from having nightmares about it—about the terrible way Mumbo looked, about the way he wanted to die, about the way the fire smelled and roared—but during the day he always lets his mind slide right off the idea entirely. 

Scar saved his life though. And he deserves more than radio silence for it. 

Grian still has his Forest Service-issued radio. It’s in his room here in Jimmy’s flat. The rangers didn’t bother to take it back from him after they visited him in the hospital, or perhaps they didn’t realize he even still had it. Grian still listens in on it sometimes. He listens to the bustling conversations that the English HAM radio enthusiasts in his area are having on the national talk frequency. He never speaks. Just listens. 

Scar is across an ocean right now, sitting in that lookout tower in the middle of the mountains, and he’s alone again. He’s the reason Grian is right here now. He’s also the reason Mumbo has a proper grave to visit. 

And thus, Grian wants to do better. There isn’t much he wants to do at all these days, aside from simply ceasing to exist, but this is one of them. He wants to close the loop. He wants to apologize. He wants to thank Scar. 

How does one reach a lookout on duty? By letter, of course. 

Grian knows the address of the Wapiti District Ranger’s office. He knows that any letter sent there addressed to Scar will eventually make its way to his cabin via supply drop, or Scar himself swinging by to pick it up on a day off. He just has to write it first. 

The writing is the part that is proving to be tricky, however. The burns on Grian’s arms, and the other exposed parts of his body have already healed but his hands remain a source of frustration. Four weeks on, they’re healed too—technically. He attends physical therapy twice a week. His doctor is worried about something called “contractures” that are causing his fingers and wrist to be consistently stiff. 

He is completely terrified that this will be forever. He’s terrified that the rest of his life is going to be full of fumbling around with things with fingers that don’t work quite right anymore. He never knew how much he took for granted until he couldn’t button his own shirt anymore. 

The doctor is confident it won’t be forever, so Grian clings to that little piece of hope like a life preserver. The doctor just says it needs time, compression, and therapy. The burns could have been significantly worse. If they were, the conversation would’ve been different. He’s been wearing a compression garment on his hand since the moment it was possible to do so and the doctor hasn’t given him permission yet to stop wearing it.  

He’s allowed to take it off now and then though, and so right now it is removed so that he can grasp the pen better. His hands still have poor grip strength, and the pen shakes. It’s either that or from the emotion. He closes his eyes, and pours his focus into keeping the pen straight, but trying to force precision is just as painful as it is ineffective. 

He tries to write, and the pen skitters across the page instead. 

He slams the pen down in frustration and runs his hands through his hair. It’s not working. It’s not going to work. He slowly starts to put the compression glove back on his hands. 

He needs…help. 

“Lizzie?” he calls. 

“Yeah?” she says back from the couch. 

He sets his teeth, and sighs. “Can you come help me with something for a moment?”

A moment later she wanders into the kitchen. Her pink hair is tied in a messy ponytail. For some reason when she walks in, Grian gets the distinct feeling he’s being babysat by them while Jimmy is out. He shakes the feeling off. It’s irrational; Jimmy is only out to pick up food for them, and Lizzie and Joel were invited to hang out. They probably did this every week while Grian was in America. Now he’s just able to be present too. 

“Whatcha need?” she asks. 

“I was trying to write a letter,” he says, and his face flushes with embarrassment. “I, um, can’t.”

He sees her look at the table, and back at him, the realization dawning on her without him having to say it out loud. “You want me to write it for you?” she says.

He nods. “If you don’t mind.”

She grins, pulls out one of the chairs from the table, and sits down. “Sure! I’d love to. Who’s it for?”

“It’s—well, it’s for a guy named Scar.”

“Scar?” she says, and then adds: “That’s a really weird name.” From anyone else, Grian would get defensive on Scar’s behalf, but he recognizes Lizzie’s irreverent bluntness well. 

“That’s your friend from the forest, right?” Joel calls from the living room where he’s been apparently eavesdropping. The way he calls it the forest makes it sound like a concept, a thing, and not a real place Grian briefly used to live. 

Lizzie makes a noise of recognition then. “Ohhh,” she says. “Now I remember you mentioning him before.”

“Yeah, he was in the lookout in the next sector over. He was my friend,” Grian says. “And that’s a nickname.”

“What’s his real name?” Lizzie asks. She pokes him in the shoulder. “You don’t talk much about him.”

Grian freezes. “I…don’t know,” he says. “He never told me his real name. It never seemed to matter.”

How could he not know? He’d never asked. It didn’t feel important. Scar was Scar, and that was all that was ever needed. Maybe it had been all Scar was ever comfortable with. 

Grian came to realize during his time in Shoshone National Forest that in the backpacking and associated communities, names were a much looser concept. On the Appalachian trail in the east and the Pacific Crest Trail in the west, through-hikers often adopted trail names for the journey. Similarly, Scar wasn’t the only fire lookout Grian had heard about over the summer who chose to go by some enigmatic name. 

“Okay!” Lizzie says, sensibly moving straight along past Grian’s mini crisis. She pulls the piece of paper over and grabs the pen. “Dear Scar…” she dictates aloud. Then she looks back up at him. “What next?”

“Um, let’s start by saying I’m having a friend write this for me,” he says.

“Dear Scar…I’m having my wonderful, talented friend write this letter for me,” she starts. Grian rolls his eyes, but doesn’t say anything. Something about gift horses. “Next?”

“I’m writing this to say…” he trails off. To say what? How, exactly, is he going to put this into words? He hasn’t planned this out at all but more significantly, he’s not sure he even can.

Dear Scar, I’m alive because you were looking out for me. I’m sorry I left the country before I could tell you that myself. 

Dear Scar, I didn’t kill myself because you talked me into running from the fire again. I’m sorry that I still want to do it sometimes, but I haven’t yet and I think I’m too tired to. 

Dear Scar, you didn’t think I was crazy when everyone else did. I’m sorry I got angry with you. I’m sorry I wasn’t nicer to you sometimes. 

Dear Scar, you made me laugh. I miss talking every day. 

“What do you want to say?” Lizzie prompts, and Grian realizes that he hasn’t said anything for quite a long time at this point. 

“I—I don’t know,” he says. The kitchen suddenly seems so hot and enclosed right now. “I’m sorry,” he says, and stands up. “I’m sorry,” he says again, grabs the papers from Lizzie. “I’m gonna—I'm gonna do this on my own, thank you.”

He goes to his bedroom, locks the door, and doesn’t come back out until Jimmy is knocking on it and begging him to eat.

[leighsartworks216]

The Viper (Part 8)

Jaskier x gn!reader

Part One - Part Two - Part Three - Part Four - Part Five - Part Six - Part Seven - Part Nine - Part Ten - Part Eleven - Part Twelve

Sorry for taking a little break on this! But I'm kind of glad I did honestly because I think I have a sort of better idea where to take the story + it was fun getting to read all of my notes and stuff again lol

Warnings: a bit of fluff, a bit of angst, knives (no one gets hurt)

Word Count: 2594

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Hot water cascaded down your back. The warmth seeped into your muscles, easing any lingering tension being held there. Jaskier couldn't stop his eyes from studying the canvas of injuries your skin held - the long scar that spanned from your shoulder blade down your spine, raised skin from wounds that never quite healed properly, a freshly stitched up cut just below your rib cage almost gracing an old injury where a creature's claws appear to have nearly ripped open your side.

He allowed himself the briefest moment to imagine just how many more scars littered the rest of your body. How many swords and claws had torn at your chest to tear open your rib cage? How close to death had you come in the decades - perhaps centuries - you were alive? How many bruises and bumps were from villagers terrified of your existence alone?

"I can feel you staring."

His eyes snapped to look at the back of your head, dripping wet with water you poured over yourself with a cup. Blue met yellow, warm and twinkling with some sense of mischief and teasing, despite the red rimming them. It still shocked him how fast you went from wailing into his shoulder, weeping in his arms, to requesting he help you undress for a bath.

He cleared his throat and tore his eyes from yours. The words in his little journal filled his vision instead. “Sorry,” he muttered. He ignored the sloshing of water as you continued to wash yourself. He ignored the smell of sandalwood and vanilla that filled the air. Fingers tensed on specific chords, just barely tugging the strings that would release the notes into the air.

After being - he still didn’t know any better way to describe it than ‘abandoned’ - by Geralt, the bard had attempted focusing his song-writing energy toward songs that did not involve the White Wolf. This did not work out well. Despite several attempts to write about his long-time muse, the Countess de Stael, or his few adventures with you, his mind kept finding its way up the mountain.

Just as you dreamt of your stolen childhood, he dreamt of his lost friendship. Even when his mind wandered, he remembered the way Geralt yelled at him. His words…

He hummed quietly, no words as of yet filling in the sad melody he strummed. What would he even say to Geralt if their paths crossed now? Something within him withered at the thought of ever having to face his old friend.

“That sounds sad.”

You were turned in the tub, chest facing him but hidden behind the wall of the tub. He was grateful he could not see more of your injuries. One arm laid resting on the rim while the other, the one previously speared by a bolt, simply held your wrist for support.

He grinned weakly. “It is sad.” He plucked a few more strings, continuing the depressed melody that seemed to source itself from his soul, before sighing and resting his hand over the wires to silence it.

You hummed, thoughtful. “Who is it for?” It was almost a redundant question. Who else would a sad song from Jaskier be for? The rest of his repertoire (as much as you had heard, anyway) was upbeat and usually strayed toward scandalous topics. When his shoulders slumped inward, and his eyes dimmed, falling to his journal of late night rants, you were certain of the cause. “Geralt.”

A scoff suddenly tore from his throat, bitter and upset. “Of course it’s Geralt,” he bit. “It’s always Geralt. He’s the hero! He’s the one throwing himself in front of monsters and then yelling at me for trying to help. He always has to work alone, otherwise…” He growled in frustration, cutting himself off. His foot tapped the floor irritably, fingernails following a similar rhythm against the wood of his lute. “And I’m just the useless bard.”

“You’re not useless,” you defend immediately.

“Oh, really?” His eyes bore into you, full of distrust and incredulity. “And how have I helped you, hm? I can’t start a fire, I can’t tell a-a poisonous berry from something edible. I can’t even fight! I can’t even defend myself from the husbands of past affairs - Geralt had to save my ass, and now you probably will, too!” His eyes were glassy by the end of his rant. He panted, breaths ever so slightly shaky to your trained ears as he fought not to cry - not to be weak - in front of you. “All I’m good for, Viper, is sleeping around and writing songs.”

His fingers pulled on discordant strings. The harsh harmonies filled the air like the tangy iron of spilled blood, before stilling with a metallic twang that both of you winced at. He glared at his notebook as if it held all the answers. He wished, for the briefest moment, he could burn away all the memories hidden inside.

Burn…

With a frown, he tested a few more strings, softer this time. His voice hummed along like a whisper, before quiet words formed on his lips.

“Watch me burn,” he paused, more tears flooding to his eyes, “all the memories of you.”

Before he could recover, swallow the lump in his throat and wrap bandages around his heart; before he could write down the new lyrics he uncovered from the deep recesses of sorrow and betrayal he swam in, a dagger, handle held toward him, appeared in his vision.

Wide eyes followed the blade up the arm to its owner. Your yellow eyes were soft and mellow, like warm honey, or the flowers the bees collected them from. You were still wet from the bath. The clothes - his clothes, actually - clung to your frame, soaking up what leftover moisture stuck to your skin. You nodded toward the weapon, gesturing for him to take it.

Slowly, as if he was unsure this is truly what you wanted him to do, his hand that had previously rested on the strings of his lute wrapped around the handle, taking the worn and well-loved leather into his grasp. You let go of the blade and removed a second dagger from your waistband, before moving to stand in the middle of the room.

“If you want to know how to fight, I’ll show you.”

His eyes lit up. “Wh- Really?” He tossed his lute onto the bed as he got up, eagerly scrambling to meet you in the center. His gaze suddenly fell to your shoulder, still red, black, and blue as it healed. “What about your arm?” His shoulders fell along with his hopes.

You scoffed, holding your blade up defensively. He held his up, too, albeit with the wrong grip and with more uncertainty than you. “I’ll teach you what I can right now - just enough to defend yourself against vexed husbands and disgruntled bar patrons.” You lowered your stance and moved closer to correct his. “Now, hold it like this...”

-

The bard danced and pranced around the tavern, weaving between merry, drunk patrons with practiced ease. All the while, his fingers plucked and strummed every perfect chord upon his lute. His voice, warm and bright, belted out a tune all the patrons clapped along to. You were content to simply watch the display and sip your ale.

The folk of Crinfrid were welcoming enough. The people of Tridam were fine, at first, until they decided they didn’t quite like having a Witcher around so close to Blaviken. After a rushed breakfast, you practically lifted Jaskier onto Bayard, injured shoulder be damned, just to avoid the callous glares and prevent being chased out of town with stones to the back. The road still had not been kind. Two nights of heavy rainfall and three days of trudging through mud, to finally land here.

You simply hoped the villagers would not turn against you, as the last ones had. Though, perhaps, as a Witcher, it couldn’t be avoided. Even now, as tankards sloshed and patrons laughed with red cheeks, you could sense the glances sent your way, burning with distrust.

Jaskier finished his last song with a flourish, bowing deeply and circling the tavern with an empty mug to collect crowns. He plopped down across the table from you with a satisfied sigh and a wide grin.

“Have fun?”

His eyes gleamed, airy laugh filling the air as he reveled in the post-performance euphoria. “Like you would not believe!” he emphasized. Brought back down to earth by the cup in hand, he eagerly dumped it out onto the table. Crowns clattered against the already scuffed wood. His mood deflated, the joy leaving him with a sigh. Ten crowns. It was just enough to pay for your drinks. He scooped up the coins into his coin purse, tucking it away quickly.

“So,” he began, turning from his disappointing collection to a tankard of ale you saved for him, “where to next?”

You hummed, imagining the Continent’s layout in your mind to find the best route to Oxenfurt. “We could head for Troy, a three day’s walk from here, but from there we would have to make a week’s journey to Denesle…”

The bard seemed to think for a moment, and then winced. “Ah, slight problem. I may or may not have… gotten around… a bit, there…” He shifted uncomfortably under your yellow stare. “It would probably be safer to avoid Troy.”

“It truly is a wonder you have survived this long.” Before he could chime in with his offense, you sighed and pulled out an old tattered map. The paper was aged, ink writing over it in places where new towns had sprung up over the ages. Jaskier stared at the upside-down cartography with awe, tracing mountains and rivers with his eyes. “We could try to go to Vartburg,” your finger rested atop the town on the map, “but it would take us farther away.”

Jaskier leaned out of his seat, further over the map. His eyes followed your finger and studied the writing around it. “What about Tretogor?”

You considered the option. Sharp, snake-like eyes traced the invisible trail from Crinfrid to Tretogor to Oxenfurt, before lifting from the paper to consider your traveling companion. “It would be two weeks on the road,” you informed him. He sat back down in his seat, meeting your gaze. “Not to mention, the weather will continue to be… unideal as we slip into autumn.”

He huffed, reminded of the rain. For the most part, after his grumbling and complaining began, you allowed him to ride on top of Bayard. It didn’t stop him from being any less miserable, but it brought you peace from his constant whining about scraping the mud off his boots. Once you set up camp, though, there was no escaping his bellyaching.

For a brief moment you wondered how Geralt put up with it, but the thought quickly turned sour and was discarded. Despite the trouble Jaskier brought with him, you never wished to call him a burden. He was far from it, in any case. The thought that Geralt could travel on and off with the bard for years to simply discard him instead furthered your resolve not to become like the Wolf.

“If you think it’s the best path…” He stared at the map, frowning. Though, you knew his mind was only thinking of sleeping on the wet ground.

“Unless you wish to travel two weeks straight through the countryside to Rdestowa Laka, then yes, I think for now it is our best option.”

He sighed, but nodded. You spared the map no secondary glance as you began to fold it back up as you had a thousand times before when the bard interrupted you. “Can I look?” He gestured to the paper. You opened it back up and spun it around to face him.

Jaskier took in the entire page. The edges were singed in some places and torn in others. The ink itself had faded over time, kept alive by your own efforts to write over the original text. A few notes not originally written in also found themselves a place on the parchment. Most of which, he noticed, were reminders of locations to find rare ingredients. He found himself quite appalled at the age and state of the map, a question slipping from his lips before he even processed he was asking it.

“How long have you had this thing?” He winced at the incredulous tone in his voice, but when he looked up you seemed unfazed by the question.

It took you a moment to think about it. How long had you had it for? When did you get it? Who gave it to you? The questions all circled back to one place. “I think since I finished training,” you hummed. Your face was tugged into a contemplative frown. “Some of us stayed at the Keep - the Viper school - to study, but those of us who decided to leave and face the world were given maps.”

The Keep… Oh, Geralt mentioned something similar once, hadn’t he? A place for Witchers to rest for the winter. “Where is the Viper school?” His eyes traced over Nilfgaard. The large expanse of land took up half of the paper. At some point, he noticed as his eyes traced over the faded ink of words you wrote in yourself, it would have been the most detailed portion of the Continent. And yet, no matter how many times his eyes followed the rivers or mountains, he did not see anything at all resembling a school. “It’s not marked anywhere.”

You scoffed. “None of them are. The Schools were designed to be hidden away and kept secret. If everyone knew where they were, it would be chaos.”

Setting your ale aside, you leaned out of your chair and onto your elbows, hovering over the map. No matter how long you had been away from it, your eyes still followed the pass of mountains along the map’s edge as if drawn by an invisible force. Your finger landed where the feeling drew you in, to the unmarked location of the school.

“There,” you said. Your voice sounded at once dim and wistful, void of emotion and yet nostalgic. “Deep in the valleys of the Tir Tochair mountains.”

His eyes roamed the map, following an invisible path. “Would we be able to go there?” Bright blue eyes stared up at you, full of curiosity and wonder.

A frown morphed your face. Your brow creased, yellow eyes instantly dull at the mere thought. You swallowed thickly, falling roughly back into your seat. You did not look at him. Instead, the mountains you once called home held your gaze. “It doesn’t exist anymore.” It was barely a whisper, as if you were afraid to admit it to yourself. A heavy weight settled in your chest.

You quickly folded up the paper, tucking it back in its place. Jaskier did not stop you. He simply watched, eyes fogged over with concern, as you downed the last of your ale and pulled out a few coins to pay for the drink you ordered.

“We should leave soon, while the sun is still up. I’ll make sure we have enough provisions.”

Your chair scraped loudly against the floor, but no eyes were drawn to the sound, everyone too focused on their own company. The bard wasn’t spared a glance as you made your way through the patrons and out the door.

It was going to be a long week to Tretogor.

---

Tag List:

@kmuir1

@writeawaythepain

@sleepyqueerenergy

@lex-caspartine

[ballorawan740]

SCP Scenarios: When you try you commit suicide (REQUESTED)

SCP Scenarios Masterlist | My Works Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Rules | My Original Post | Request | Socials

WARNING: If you are or know anyone who is suicidal, please get them help! If this topic triggers you, please leave now!

And if anyone's putting you down and you feel this way, let me know (So I can yah yeet them into hell and back again then throw them into 939 and 682's cell >:D)

SCP 073 (Cain)

Cain's heart drop when he figured out that you were suicidal

He probably has figured out bits and pieces since he noticed that you've acted a lot more different than usual

You came from a very abusive family and everyone around you were toxic

Then you came into the foundation and worked hard enough to stress you out

Didn't help that much since your mentor died from an SCP and some of your coworkers were being bullies to you

Which then drove you to become even more suicidal

Found out much later when someone called him in because you were at the medical bay

Glass was sat there beside you and wanted to check up on you

No responses were heard and Glass turned to see Cain's pained look

He told Cain everything that has happened and he was truly heartbroken by all this news

Cain had tried to comfort you and would give you some space if you need

Would remind you every so often that he loves you and makes sure that you're taking breaks

Definitely dealt with the bullies without you knowing

SCP 076-2 (Abel)

He's quite dense so he might not know that you're suicidal

Probably noticed a few changes in your behaviour but wouldn't question it

Definitely didn't try and threaten to kill everyone once he found out that you were injured

Stormed into the medical part of the Foundation and asked for you

Was about to drag you back to his cell but was stopped abruptly because the doctor who was treating you said the scars were from yourself

Abel looked at you with confusion and hurt

He allowed you to rest in the hospital for a couple of days and asked so many questions

And realising that it was because of your PTSD working with the Foundation and not wanting to stress further

Swore to protect you for all of eternity and wouldn't allow you to go back on the field

So you settled to work in an office instead, handling safe classes and taking some time off

Abel monitored you to make sure you don't do it again

Definitely gave you a huge lecture

It was loud enough for the whole floor to hear and everyone just stopped what they're doing just to see what was happening

SCP 999 (Tickle Monster)

To say 999's little jello heart shattered to a million pieces was an understatement

Nobody has ever seen a bright orange blob of happiness looked so worried and somewhat traumatised as he had received the news

That said news was you trying to commit suicide

And fortunately, there were people around to stop you from hurting yourself even more

999 slithered over as quick as possible and went in to check on you

The first thing he did was to give you a big warm hug and to tell you that he cared about you and you meant everything to him

He never complained about you once and you were grateful for that

999 didn't question your reason for suicide since he knows it'll make things worse and that you'd open up to him whenever you were ready

He saw many of the scars you have on your body and was immediately concerned

Noticing this, you explained your situation to him and he was very much understanding

999 would comfort and support your decisions in not trying to commit suicide

Everyone outside just peeked in and was relieved that you've agreed to work on this together with 999

SCP 682 (Hard to Destroy Reptile)

When 682 heard that you wanted to commit suicide, he was confused and concerned

Part of him wanted to know why and the other part told him that you were stupid for doing that

The both of you were transferred into another room as requested by 682

The very first thing he did was to shout at you for doing something so stupid

Moments later after you cried for a bit, he checked up on you, asking if you were alright, making sure you were comfortable and nuzzled your side for a bit

Once you were relaxed, you've told him everything that's been happening and he listened for once

Which did surprise the researchers when they found out moments later

Unfortunately, 682 did breach containment just to hunt down whoever made you feel that way and he did succeed

Then casually went back to his cell which shocked everyone, even you

Well, let's just say that you were feeling much better and nobody ever bothered you again

SCP 049 (Plague Doctor)

049 was sus since you were acting strange lately

He had 100% noticed the scars but didn't ask, thinking that you went on a mission and you were just injured and you went to the medics

Later on, his heart dropped when he heard someone say that you seemed like ending your life, which you did

He came into the room you were in and checked on your injuries and scars

You could see the pain in his eyes when he connected the dots and you didn't need to say a thing for him to understand that you did all this to yourself

049 just sighed a little, took a chair and sat on it then nursed your injuries and gave you such a disapproving look

"Who is it this time?" he asked which shocked you since you've never told him explicitly that something or someone bothered you

But you weren't that surprised since your bird boi is observant af

So you just told him everything and he dealt with the situation professionally

And whoever/whatever's bothering you just vanished out of thin air and nobody ever questioned it

SCP 035 (Possessive Mask)

As I've mentioned in the other chapters, 035 is a master manipulator and actor/actress

So when it comes to body language and the tone you'd use when talking to someone, he would have an idea of what's going on

So when you secluded yourself every passing day and would avoid talking about reoccurring scars on your body, 035 would have quite an accurate guess

When he confronted you about this, you shied away from him for a moment

Since you know 035 well, you just told him everything as he listened intently

He just absorbed all the negativity from you and you just felt better

035 would reassure you and you blindly listened and feel much better with him

And of course, like any other partners out there, he dove into whoever was making you feel suicidal and sorted it all out

After a couple of days, you went back into 035's cell and asked about the missing person

All 035 told you was that the person just got eaten by some SCP and nobody knows how the said person got there

SCP 105 (Iris)

Iris might question your scars here and there if you ever had them

She might not even think that you were suicidal until you showed the obvious traits or if someone told her that you were in the medical bay

Would 100% lecture you about being suicidal then comfort you a second after she's done

She's just super worried about you and even though she's in the foundation with you most of the time, there are moments where she's asked to go into the field with the MTFs

As Iris is rightfully worried about you, if she can't stay with you, she'd make Cain, Dr Glass and Dr Lights watch over you

Maybe Kondraki if he's ok with this

Might even go to Clef and/or Bright if she really needs to

At least they can keep your minds off things

Iris would tend to any of your scars and injuries and motivate you to live

Shows you loads of photos of the happier times you've both shared

Would never let you touch anything that can cause you an injury

Definitely would deal with whoever's making you feel that way if there was that someone

SCP 106 (Old Man)

106 would probably find it hard to grasp the concept of emotions other than the few basic ones

So when he was informed about your attempted suicide, he was confused

not because he didn't understand it, because he definitely did

It's just because he never understood why anyone would do such a thing

Even more so if that person was you

When 106 came to visit you, he would unintentionally show his worried expression which saddened you

Is definitely torn between just comforting you and wanting to ask you about your issue

You did tell him at the end about you wanting to commit suicide and 106 telling you to never do such a thing

Making sure that if someone made you feel this way, he'd deal with them right away and you'd never have to worry again

Although he finds it hard to sympathise with others, he did understand the term, so he would try his best to do so

SCP 096 (Shy Guy)

He's basically 106 but a little denser

096 is 100% more anxious than the other SCPs here and would definitely show signs while he's being observed in his cell

Kind of understands the term 'suicide' but not to a full extent

Like he knows what it is, but not how and why people would do so

When 096 got the news about this from your psychologist, he literally went brrrrrr

Went to check in on you and gave you a bone-crushing hug

Made sure that any injuries were properly bandaged and treated

Started to cry midway through

You explained to him that you didn't go all the way because you knew that he needed you and you'd never leave him alone again

096's worried expression slowly turned to happiness and gave you another hug

Dr Jack bright

Bright would notice something's off with you but wouldn't say a thing just yet

Like if he notices that whatever is happening to you has worsened then he'll confront you

At first, you would avoid his gaze and questions, but you ended up telling him everything that's been happening

Bright was shocked and conflicted about all this information

You could literally see him tearing up as he was trying to find the words but couldn't

He ended up giving you a big teddy bear hug

And you just cried into his shoulder/chest

Jack Bright would try his best to comfort you because he wants to take all the pain away

Whenever he's on break, he'd make sure to check up on you

If he was busy and can't visit you, he would make sure to send someone to check up on you

Most likely Dr Glass

Would tell you about his dark thoughts as well

Only because he understands and you wouldn't feel alone about this

Dr Simon Glass

Glass would definitely know

He's a psychologist after all

Would find a way to get you to be more vocal about the issue

And it's quite subtle so you wouldn't know

Once he gets all the information he needs, he'll start to find ways to minimise the chances of you feeling suicidal

He's just so subtle about this that you wouldn't even know

Once you feel better, Glass feels more relaxed knowing that he helped you overcome the issue

Would 100% still watch out for you in case it happens again

Everybody else notices this and helps poor mama Glass look out for you too

Wouldn't necessarily beat up anyone if they hurt you but would definitely give some warning signs to back off though

Sometimes our hardworking Dr Iceberg ends up helping him because mama Glass is busy af

Dr Alto Clef

As dense as he may seem when it comes to emotions, he is very much aware of your unusual behaviour

Would most likely ask for some advice from Dr Glass

By ask I mean he booked in a therapy session for you and tricked you into going

And yes, you did end up going to see Glass

Simon then informed about your situation with Clef and he was stunned

If it was someone/something making you feel this way then he'd go out of his way to sort it out

After all, Clef is rather good at completing missions

Makes sure to comfort you whenever you're down and suicidal

Sometimes he'd even share his experiences with you

Would try and act goofy but came out rather annoying

Ended up asking Bright to help him cheer you up

Dr Benjamin Kondraki

Kondraki is a little dense but would notice something's off

Wouldn't be 100% sure so he just keeps the thought to himself instead

Would also go to Glass for some advice about your strange behaviour

Glass ended up teaching Kondraki some psychological stuff just so he can be left alone for once

Would never make you feel down about yourself

Definitely would motivate and compliment you

Acts all fatherly with you

Like he's protective with you to the point some people would jokingly say he's your dad

Making you share a room with him because he's worried and wouldn't act up weirdly when you're along

Kondraki might resort to asking Bright and Clef for some help

Might even ask Iceberg to do some of his paperwork because he wants to spend more time with you

[ganyuslily]

I LOVE YOU SO (PLEASE LET ME GO)

you still think you see him everywhere you go — and even though you know he’s gone, you just can’t move on.

pairings: childe/gn!reader/zhongli (childe/gn!reader, zhongli/gn!reader, zhongli/childe)

category: angst ? kind of hurt comfort maybe ?, not being able to move on, dealing with the death of a loved one

note: holy shit is it user ganyuslily writing for zhongli?! yeah, it is, but it’s angst<3 and he’s actually not the main topic of this;; whoops

“i can’t do it anymore.”

the words hang heavy in the air after you say them. you have your legs pulled up to your chest and you’re resting your head on your knees, as if trying to make yourself smaller, less visible. it’s how you used to sit and childe would always scoop in from behind and give you a hug — and his hugs were one of the best, truly — hiding almost your whole body in his arms. you felt safe, that way, and you desperately want to feel like that again, but no matter how hard you try, something feels wrong.

it’s weird without him. it’s weird without childe, the place on the sofa where he’s been sitting every time feels cold and abandoned — you didn’t dare to sit on his place, a small part of you still hoping he’d somehow come back home. the book he was reading is still laying on the table, a bookmark slipped in between the pages, just as if he went out to the kitchen and was about to come back with a cup of tea any second. but, the book has been laying here for months, with neither you or zhongli touching it, letting it collect dust.

you were too scared. too scared of getting rid of things that reminded you of him. you felt as if by doing that, you’d finally have to accept he’s gone and he’s not coming back. and you weren’t ready, you weren’t ready to admit he was dead yet.

there is silence between the two of you. zhongli’s sitting on the armchair in front of you, his shirt hanging loose on him and his hands bare, without his gloves anywhere in sight. they seem to give off a little light, his veins being a mix of yellow, orange and brown. you remember childe used hold them a lot in his own — a stark contrast between the archon’s smooth and soft hands and ajax’s littered with small scars and injuries. you think it gave him a sense of comfort — to feel as if finally for one time he can stop being the one caring for others and be the one cared for instead.

you miss him. you terribly miss him and you don’t know what to do. you don’t know how to act or what to do, what to say. you have no clue how to accept condolences from your friends, you have no idea how to take care of his belongings without starting to cry, you don’t know how to adjust to a life without him. he was a constant in your life, someone that was always around and someone you were attached to, someone you took for granted.

zhongli doesn’t answer you — perhaps he doesn’t know how. perhaps he’s too tired or perhaps he knows no answer would be able to satisfy you. instead, he stands up and slowly walks up to you.

“don’t sit there,” you whisper, “just in case he’ll come home tonight.”

you lift your head and look him into his eyes. you never noticed how pretty they are — they reminded you of liquid gold, small particles seemingly swimming in them. you notice his hair is hanging loose and that he has eye bags, even though he swore it’s not possible to happen since he doesn’t need to sleep. you paused mid-move and your hand is barely touching his, as an attempt to stop him from sitting down next to you.

“just in case he’ll come home tonight,” he repeats, his voice shaking. he sits down on your other side.

the both of you know he’s not coming home tonight, but neither of you comments on that. the only things you have left are yourselves and the things he left behind.

[kenxmatsui]

⇌

It was silly to speak on it now, and he wasn’t that young when he had gotten in with the meaning in mind, nor was it an instant regret, but to share the reason made him cringe regardless, “To represent that it cannot be changed. Fate or destiny, is set, like ink on skin, and to change it comes with pain.” Words couldn’t express how her latching onto his dragon story and laughing, made him feel, but he watched in quiet delight at her antics now, her kisses and giggles turning his expression soft and tender, scaring him slightly at how quick that happened, and how much he wanted to never leave this moment. But at the declarations made, he had to step in, even if his own laughter betrayed his want to be serious, Ken had to decline before she went through with her plans, “Don’t, please. Fangs was enough. A guy gets one tattoo and the girl he likes begins to think about the theme years later, Leyla, how in the world would you even get a dragon sword? Which by the way is not a challenge.” Hand gave hers a squeeze as she moved to lie back onto his chest, mood growing a bit more sombre than moments ago, but he supposed that came with the topic at hand, death demanded it. “I should’ve died a long time ago,” he admitted in a soft exhale, features turning melancholic as the smile completely faded to a thin line, “You can’t say that,” he shook his head, “You can’t accept this fate of mine when I still see Vampirism as a curse, Leyla, I’d trade it if I could.” But she had a point in saying they would’ve never met otherwise, true circumstantially, but even then, it was something he found himself not wanting to trade. And he wished it could stay like this when she switched to talk about tattoos, them just talking, easy going and light, but just as quick as a smile began to form when she talked about her own cool tattoo, the mood shifted back into serious and grim. 

He expected that with a life on the run a few injuries were to be had, he hated it nonetheless but coming out unscathed after that was slim, and he knew about her past, about Eda, and her being a changeling, she had told him that, Ken rubbed gently at her arm as she retold those, letting her speak without interruption even if he wanted to say again that she hadn’t lived a stolen life. But all movement, including an intake of breath stopped at the twist to the story. A shocking inhale as he turned to face her, even with her face covered, he was sure she felt his expression. A half-sister. Hunter. His hands moved towards the scar again, and it was both sadness and anger that swept through him as he pictured a younger Leyla having to survive rather than live a life, it was a feeling he knew too well, and he hated every bit of it.

“No, it’s not,” he finally spoke, she was already wrapped in his arms and plans be damned they were going to stay like this until he deemed it fit, “I wish that never happened to you,” he said, placing a kiss to her forehead, “Neither of you.” As much as Dilan irritated him, that was not something he wished on her either. As foolish as it was to think the past could be changed, Ken genuinely wanted different for the Selvis, “But I got you now. You don’t have to worry about her, or anything harming you. No more scars.” And that was a promise he intended to keep. Growing silent still when it was his turn, it was more as to how to begin rather find a way out, though she gave him the option to not, mind was made up to tell her anyway and it was a long time coming, had he the strength to do so, it would’ve been a story shared on Halloween. “It was two of them, rogue vampires. I don’t know how they found me, but I guess it didn’t matter in the end.” And it didn’t, for all his carefulness and caution, death still came to collect its dues. “Lucien,” Ken stated, speaking the name out loud again after that night, and one that needed no introduction because she was there for it. And it was as he began to explain, he realised she was the first person, excluding himself, that knew of this, and he hoped she knew the level of trust he had in her to share this, the story of him at his weakest, of how he died. Him at his most pathetic. “He wasn’t the one to turn me, but he did kill me. Without hesitation, much like what you saw on Halloween, but he was stronger. I don’t think I was meant to live but maybe it was pity, or maybe my sire wanted me to suffer more, because I was turned and here I am.”

Keep reading

[helliontherapscallion]

Phantasmagoria (Adrenaline Junkie Part 16)

Part 1     Part 2     Part 3     Part 4     Part 5     Part 6     Part 7     Part 8     Part 9     Part 10     Part 11     Part 12     Part 13     Part 14     Part 15     Part 17

Spotify Playlist (collaborative)

Warnings: swearing, mentions of injuries, death, depersonalization, grief

REMINDER: you are real. the topics discussed in this is fiction and not reality. you are loved and valid, hydrate and eat 3 meals a day <3

Word count: 2,645

You were in and out of it for the next few days. Whenever your eyes would crack open and you would even slightly move your arm, you would be in immense pain before you would pass out again. You could sometimes hear the voices of your family talking to you, but never Arthur. Good, he definitely shouldn’t see you like this. 

Whenever you heard Philza, he would be talking to you about all the journeys he’s been on in his hundreds of years of living. Oh yeah, you found out that he was an immortal being that can’t die. Your brain was too tired and clouded to contemplate it. 

Whenever you heard Technoblade, his monotone and deep voice always eased your worries. It gave you something to focus on; if anything, his voice was the one that cut through the fog the most. He would always recite Greek myths to you, often telling you that you reminded him of a few characters. 

Whenever you heard Wilbur, all you heard was him asking you questions such as ‘how was your day’ or ‘what do you think of someone-so’. He would talk to you as if you were conscious, often having one sided conversations with you. Sometimes he would bring his guitar and compose new songs, asking you if he should keep a lyric or if he should throw it away. 

Whenever you heard Tommy, it broke your weak heart. It was like your little brother was a completely different person; his usually loud and upbeat tone was reduced to a quiet and broken one. He was the one that wouldn’t talk much, instead he would sit with you and eventually after a day or two (you think) of silence he would play his jukebox. But whenever he did talk (which was rare) he would tell you how scared he was seeing you like that on the table. 

As time passed, you could feel yourself slipping deeper and deeper into your subconscious. It was like you were fading away, but you couldn’t fight against it. You wouldn’t fight against it; you could feel your pain fading and it was a great relief. You only wished you could hear your family’s voices before you completely left them, they were fading as well. Eventually, everything slipped into nothingness and you felt… euphoric. 

When you opened your eyes, everything was black. You were sure that you had your eyes open, so why was everything so dark? Was this the afterlife? You expected it to be more… heavenly. However, you weren’t complaining; your entire body felt light and you felt waves of peace waft over you. This was nice. You didn’t have much time to relax while you were living. 

After a while of staring into nothingness and just peacefully floating in one place, you became restless. Sure this was nice, but your hands itched to tinker with something. You’ve never done well with sitting in one place for too long, that’s always been your weakness. You tried to push your body off from anything so you could at least float around, but that proved useless when there was nothing to push off from. When you tried flapping your wings- well, wing- you only succeeded in spinning in circles. At least you thought you were spinning in circles, the inky abyss was unchanging and it was starting to mess with your perception. Your senses felt like they were deprived, but the worst thing about it was the overwhelming silence. 

So, you talked to yourself to fill the ringing silence. You were merely voicing your thoughts, repeating your lessons you’ve taught Arthur over the last few weeks. After a while, you were running out of things to talk to yourself about. So, you sighed and crossed your arms. They were very pale, you were actually dead this time, huh? You could only wait to see your brothers and Arthur when it was their time, hoping that they wouldn’t come to you too soon. It pained you to remember that you would probably never see Philza again, but who knows; the universe has a strange way of working. 

“It’s nice to finally meet you, (y/n).” You screamed at the soft voice that cut through the overwhelming silence and whipped your head around. There stood a woman that looked to be in her early thirties with long black hair and tanned skin. You could not see the upper half of her face as it was covered by a crow mask, however her eyes glowed a bright white. She was smiling at you with melancholy and bittersweet happiness. The two giant white feathered wings sprouted from her back were glowing slightly. The powerful and intense aura that loomed around her was the complete antithesis of the gentle smile she was giving you. 

“Calm down,” she flew over to you and wove her hand in the air. You immediately felt a wave of calm ease over you. “That’s better. You’ve been through so much, my little fledgling.” Her little fledgling? That was something you’ve recently started to call Arthur. 

“Who are you?”

“Oh where are my manners? I’m Kristin, the Goddess of Death. I wish I didn’t have to do this, but I’m here for your life.” You hummed, “that makes sense.” She tilted her head slightly and somehow the eyeholes of the mask morphed into an eyebrow raise. Was that her actual face? “You’re not scared of death?” 

“No, I’ve already died twice- no, three times already. But this is- it’s different. Is that because I’ve lost my last life?”

“You’ll find out in due time. Ender, you’re everything Phil described you as and then some.”

You perked up slightly, “you know my Dad?” Her airy chuckle brought you even more at ease, “of course I do, he’s my husband.”

You gaped at her, “so does that- does that make you my mom?”

“Only if you’re comfortable with it, I wouldn’t want to push you into something you didn’t want.”

“I’ve always wanted a mom. D-don’t get me wrong, Dad’s done more than enough for me he’s an amazing parent-”

“I understand and I’d love to be the mother of someone so smart. You’re destined to do great things one day, my little fledgling.” You tilted your head slightly, “greater than being an inventor?”

She nodded, her black locks swaying with the movement, “greater than being an inventor. Our time together is coming to a close.” She flew over gracefully and pulled you into a hug. You reciprocated it. Her hug felt warm and welcoming. It was hard to believe that she was the Goddess of Death, you always thought Kristin would be ruthless and cruel. 

“You will face many trials and tribulations and you must persevere through them. This is indeed your reality, but you share it. Do not be afraid to ask for help. The world can be a lonely place, but remember that you are never truly alone.” 

She pulled away from you and placed a gentle kiss on your forehead, the beak of her mask poking you. Suddenly, the weightlessness feeling disappeared and you felt a tugging sensation from deep within your chest. Your body was sent flying through the abyss, the gripping sensation you felt in your inner chest felt very intimate somehow. After a bit of screaming, you were still flying through the void. You had no idea how long you were flying for, but eventually you just crossed your arms and went limp in the mysterious embrace. Aaaanny time now. 

Eventually you saw a pinprick of light far off into the distance and it was rapidly approaching you. You sighed out a drawn out “finally.” And watched as it came at you at mach speed. After you crashed into it, everything went white. 

You jolted up with wide eyes and looked around panting. You saw the walls of your childhood room? So you didn’t die? Then what the hell were you doing in the void? You were so sure that you died permanently. That you lost your last life. When you glanced out the window, everything was dark. When you sat up, you felt the familiar tugging sensation of the scar tissue around the base of your wing, except it was less intense and you had less mobility in your right shoulder. You glanced at the hearts on your wrist expecting to see three empty outlines. Instead, two ruby red hearts stared at you.

Impossible. Impossible. You were in your last life so even if you didn’t die, you should still only be in your last life. Your second life was taken from you in an explosion. It should not show up on your wrist. Furrowing your eyebrows, you ignored the sound of the door opening and footsteps rushing towards you. You ignored hands appearing in your vision and hovering unsure above your hand. 

You only looked up when the hand grabbed your wrist and blocked the two perplexing ruby red hearts. You saw Philza with a look of immense relief on his face. “How’re you feeling?”

“I don’t know.” You looked back at your covered wrist and took it out of Philza’s grasp, staring at the two red hearts again in confusion. “I-I should only have one life. Where’s Arthur? Ender, he’s probably so scared. Did you leave my prosthetic in the cave?” Your rapid fire questioning was stopped by a hand on your shoulder. 

“Slow down, you only just respawned.” You threw your hands up in frustration (well, you tried with your right arm, it only moved to about two thirds of your full range of movement before you felt a slight pain and a stretching sensation), “how the hell do I respawn when I was on my last life?” 

“You aren’t-”

“Yes I am! Fuck man, how do you forget that?! First time: Warden. Second time: explosion! I know I just died for the last time, so how am I still here?!” You glared up at him. It astonished you that he just forgot about the first two times you died. Who forgets their own kids’ deaths? It takes a real monster to forget things like that. 

“(Y/n), you’ve only died once and that was because the infection you got was too severe,” he put a gentle hand on your shoulder and pulled you into a hug. You pushed him away and seethed, “How do you not remember! Ender, did the last two and a half years just escape you? You’re fucking immortal, almost three years is nothing to you!” 

“Two and a half- (y/n). Two and a half years ago you were fourteen and you were barely just learning how to do tricks midair.”

“No, I’m twenty years old! How the fuck do you forget your own kid’s age?” 

“You turned seventeen six months ago, (y/n).” 

You ran a frustrated hand through your hair and laughed sardonically, “I’m not dealing with your bullshit right now. Where’s Arthur?” You stood up with shaky legs and swatted his hands away. “I don’t know an Arthur. Please lay back down, you’re-”

“First you forget my deaths, next my age, and now Arthur?! What the actual fuck is wrong with you? Where is he?” You gritted the last sentence out through clenched teeth.

“Who-”

“Curly red hair, freckles, always smiling, about yay high,” you flailed your hand from side to side rapidly at your mid torso, “your grandson. That ring a bell?”

“No because I don’t have a grandson. Sit down, I think I know what’s happening.”

“No. Not until I see Arthur.” You brushed his shoulder as you walked by him and out of the room. You could hear him following behind you, but you ignored him. After you ripped Arthur’s door open, you paused in the doorway. 

The entire room was decorated with Wilbur’s belongings. Instead of random bags of redstone dust and small contraptions that Arthur was too proud of to throw away, piles of sheet music and the occasional book was strewn about. Instead of the poster of you Arthur had hung up on the wall (you had laughed at it at first, he still geeked out over you even though you were his parent), a picture of the family was there. Despite it being a sweet picture (it was one of the very few ones of the family where everybody was smiling at the artist and not moving around), it shook you to your core. “A-Arthur?” You whispered in a broken voice. What was going on, where was he? 

You faintly felt someone put a hand on your shoulder. You however stood frozen clutching the door handle in your hand until you walked over to the nightstand. It was completely barren except for the glasses case sitting near the lamp. This isn’t right, this isn’t right at all. Arthur’s things should be there, not Wilbur’s. 

“No, no, no, no this isn’t right.” You broke off into mumbling while staring at Arthur’s (or Wilbur’s?) nightstand desperately trying to find the feather hidden somewhere. Once again, you felt a hand on your upper arm. “Everything’s right, (y/n).” You said nothing as you stared at the glasses case on the nightstand. “C’mon, let’s go sit down.” You barely registered him leading you gently back to your room and handing you a glass of water. “(Y/n)?” 

“Why is his stuff just- just gone? Everything was there before I left.”

Philza was silent for a moment, his feathers ruffling and brushing against your arm. “...Sometimes when a person’s been through something traumatic and they’re about to die, they sort of… make up their own reality without knowing that they’re doing it. It’s the brain’s way of coping. 

“This reality could last anywhere from a few days to years for them with the events seeming real, but in actuality only a few minutes have passed and nothing that the person thinks happened actually happened. It’s just the person’s subconscious mind playing out scenarios that they think would happen or wished had happened.”

You felt like you were previously walking on a stable sheet of ice before you were plunged into the icy abyss of unknowing. You felt several emotions coursing through your veins ranging from anxiety and frustration to grief and disbelief. The cup of water in your hands became incredibly blurry before you were pulled into his chest. He wrapped his arms and wings around you tightly and held your face securely against his shoulder. He started rocking you back and forth as you felt the tears silently leave your eyes and your breathing shudder. You felt yourself start to sob when a barrage of thoughts came and the reality of the situation hit you.

None of your inventions actually existed.

L’manberg doesn’t exist. 

Your name was unknown.

The last two and a half years were pointless.

Arthur doesn’t exist. 

Your precious Artie, the little boy that idolized you, begged for you to teach him everything you knew, followed you around like a little duckling, held your feather against his chest as he slept, enthusiastically asked you if you could take him flying, your little fledgling, your pride and joy, your son, didn’t fucking exist. You were never going to see his smile again. You were never going to laugh with him as you took him into the clouds. You were never going to cook breakfast with him again. He was never going to give you magnets again. He was never going to ask you to teach him something or ask you to help him with his own inventions. He was gone and there was nothing you could do to get him back. 

“I- I prom-mised him that I’d never leave him.” You sobbed into his shoulder, clutching onto his shirt. “I fucking promised him and I’m never gonna see him again.”

(A/N): ok so a little explanation, chapters 4-mid 15 didn’t actually happen. It was in the reader’s mind as after they passed out in chapter 3. There was foreshadowing (esp in chapter 4, I consider chapter 4 to be the chapter where the brain is getting used to the illusion it set up (hence the title “what is real”)). It explains why the reader couldn’t remember their own death. The line “You were probably still in the cave bleeding out as your delirious mind turned stone into the comforting walls of your home. You were probably imagining hearing your dad’s voice in a last chance to comfort yourself as you neared your impending doom” was pretty self explanatory. In the last chapter, the souls saying “wake up, we need to get you out of here” and “don’t leave me” were Philza’s voice cutting through (”The voices ranged from... familiar to unfamiliar”)

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@acecarddraws @ravennightingaleandavatempus  @dirtydiavolo  @yeiras-world  @immadatmostthings  @hee-hee-haw  @jackalopedoodles  @m1lkmandan  @vanhakirja  @im-a-depressed-gay  @coolleviauchihadreamerlove  @questioning-sanity  @camisascam  @bongwaterflavoredgatorade  @kakamiissad  @jayistrash4  @lifestylesleep  @speedymaximoff  @sun-shark-tooth  @appetiteofapeoplepleaser  @lestrangenymph  @kinismanditory  @dragons-lurk-here  @rinzyx05  @the-wandering-pan-ace  @angelic-scent  @shinipii  @dont-hug-me-im-a-fander  @izzydimensional  @used-avocado  @wing-non  @lovely-echoo  @i-am-scared-and-useless-bisexual  @mysteryartisticwriter  @momo-has-a-gun  @misfortunatem00n  @w-0-r-n-n  @v-kouya  @kusuinko  @cheybaee  @dulcedippers  @jaciahbabes  @prlan  @hummingbird-lightningstrike  @pog-sad-muffin  @prickypearpropaganda  @thegeekisheere  @self-righteous-dumbass  @solar-idiot