#but he has only known medicated me. and so like. him not liking me bc ive been 'angry lately' is pissing me off

[galactichelium]

Sometimes I feel a little silly bc it feels like I have every problem ever

[usetheforce]

.

[prime-adeptus]

feverish | baizhu x gn!reader

A little secret is revealed in the backroom.

✦ CONTENT: Sickfic, pre-relationship, some fluff, pining, medical inaccuracies (source: I made it up). Qiqi and Changsheng make a cameo. MC is a bit of a menace. ~0,7k words

✧ NOTES: Just a little thing dedicated to bestie @eanul-rambul bc it's pride and I had to let him out of the basement (¬‿¬ ) enjoy

AO3 | Masterlist | Requests | @houseofsolisoccasum @interstellar-inn

“Until your fever goes down, I’m afraid I can’t let you leave,” comes Baizhu’s chiding voice. “I know you’ll sneak off the moment I let you out of my sight. I will personally oversee your treatment.”

You grumble. “It’s not like I can’t take care of myself.”

“You can, but you don’t,” he retorts swiftly. “As a doctor and your… friend, I can’t allow that to happen.”

The dull ache in your temples and the heat across your skin convince you to stop arguing with him for once. You slump against the pillows in defeat, your stubbornness finally broken down and him once again taking the last word—again. You watch as he flits across the room, hard at work concocting the right antidote for you. Though you’d insisted earlier that you were fine and that the fever would go away on its own, Baizhu is equally stubborn as you, if not more.

Taking care of patients is beyond second nature to him, so being treated the same way is far from an unusual thing. But the amount of work he had coupled with his own problems makes you feel guilty in a way. You don’t want to take up too much of his time, yet here he is, fussing over you like the worrywart that he is.

Qiqi lies on your bedside, feet dangling off the edge as she stares up at you, cheek resting against her hands. As much as it hurts to move, you gently pat her head with a fond smile. Baizhu had given her a break today, now that he has time to manage the pharmacy himself. The child could’ve gone wandering in the outskirts of Liyue, but she’s chosen to stay with you. It’s as if she’s developed an attachment to you somehow, even if you haven’t known her for a very long time.

Bitter over him reading you too well, you continue to sulk with your arms crossed over your chest, lips jutting into a pout. It’s not like you can’t heal yourself! Long journeys and family traditions have given you more than enough medical knowledge. It’s just that you’re a little weak today—nothing more. A good nap would have you back up and running in no time. That’s what you told him, only for him to decline as soon as you even stepped behind the counter.

“Doctor Baizhu wants to take care of you himself,” Qiqi speaks up after a moment of silence, idly kicking her legs as she subtly nuzzles into your hand. “He’s worried about you.”

“Qiqi…!” he sputters, momentarily freezing in his tracks. 

Much to your amusement, she ignores him, choosing to comfortably nestle into your side instead. Despite the butterflies fluttering in your stomach and the warmth in your cheeks, you find yourself smiling in joy. Decidedly flustered, he continues to have his back turned to you, but the crucial piece of information she had let slip confirms it. The puzzle pieces are falling together at last.

“You’re worried about me, Doctor Baizhu?” you tease, entertained by how stiff he’d gotten. “Wanted to take care of me yourself, huh?”

He clears his throat. “It’s my job as a doctor.”

“Is that all?”

A pause. He nervously makes his way back to you, medicine now ready as he tries his hardest to avoid your curious gaze. As he’s about to put the tray down on the bedside, you wrap your hand around his wrist and peer at him mischievously.

“Hey…” you murmur. “You’ll take care of me, won’t you?”

Baizhu’s face is flushed and he can’t look you in the eye, something you find more than endearing as he shifts where he stands, uncharacteristically awkward and flustered. He clears his throat again, though he remains speechless.

“He’s gotten a lot warmer,” Changsheng adds mirthfully. “This is the warmest he’s been.”

“Ooh, you like me!” You grin, playfully nudging him. “You know, I’d kiss you if I wasn’t sick.”

“I… I’d be able to withstand it,” he says quietly. You only find yourself becoming giddier, thoroughly enjoying the sight of the composed Baizhu so shy. “W-Well! This shouldn’t be hard to swallow, I did my best to make sure it’s flavourless. One spoonful a day should do.”

“Will you be taking care of me every day too?” you ask, unable to resist teasing him some more.

His eyes widen. Trying to regain his composure (and failing, but you don’t mention it for his sake) he gives you an affirmative nod. You want to pinch his cheek in endearment, but you decide that can wait. You’ll savour this sight of him and this moment the best you can—fever and all.

“If that’s what you’d like,” Baizhu breathes, “if you’ll let me.”

[guttergirlcore]

You've got me hooked with that Cregan fic! Could you continue it with him returning to his Lady after the fortnight? Maybe he's injured and she takes care of him pls?

Love this idea! How'd u know I have a thing for vulnerable war-torn men??

A Den of Lions & Wolves: Part II

Cregan Stark x Lannister! Reader

SERIES MASTERLIST

SYNOPSIS // It has been well over a week since your wedding night to the Wolf of Winterfell, Lord Cregan Stark. While he's away negotiating an alliance with a far-away dynasty, you are left to take in your strange surroundings. When Cregan returns to your bed wounded, you find there's much more to heal than just his broken skin.

WARNINGS // HotD universe, fluff, bit of smut, Lannister!reader, AFAB she/her reader, mentions of familial trauma, angst, injured!Cregan, light mentions of gore, low-key modern medical practices but give me a break--idk what maesters were doing back in 2 BC

>>READ RESPONSIBLY<<

Divider by @firefly-graphics

Word count: 1.4k

The sunlight streamed in from the northern window, bathing you in its warm morning embrace.

It had been nearly two weeks since you'd last seen your husband, Lord Cregan Stark of Winterfell. Though you didn't know the man past the one heady night the two of you shared, you couldn't deny the pang in your heart that resembled longing.

Still, you allowed yourself to bask in the familiar comfort of solitude, however unusual your surroundings.

The days in Lord Stark's absence allowed you to tour your new home, and you found that Northerners could be rather kind, in a plain and uncalculated way. You often found yourself marveling at how different this all was from the place you grew up in. In House Lannister, kindness wasn't encouraged. People were but pawns to maneuver and discard when necessary in a greater game.

You shook yourself from these bleak thoughts of home. This was home now.

Dressed in the clothing your handmaidens left out for you, you eyed your reflection in the mirrored surface. The North was much colder than you had anticipated, so the heavy furs were a new and necessary part of your wardrobe.

You left the room you and Cregan were to share as a wedded couple and traced the short path to the Stark library. Pushing open the heavy wooden door, you were greeted by the warm glow of oil lamps and the scent of parchment and ink.

You could spend many hours losing yourself in literature. It had always been as such, as you were often forgotten of in your ancestral home. With books, you always belonged.

As you pulled a dust-coated, leather-bound book from the shelves, you settled into your favorite chair at the corner of the room for another long day of reading.

Perhaps Lord Stark would not be around much after all. Before your wedding day, you would have been pleased at the thought. Now, it left you with a lingering feeling of disappointment.

The night hummed with the howl of blistering wind and snow. It was nearly deafening. You pulled the soft fur of your bed closer to your face for warmth against the cold.

Just as you shifted, the bed dipped low, indicating the presence of another. Startled, you jumped into an upright position, pulling the blankets over your scantily-clad body.

"Rest now, it's only me." Lord Stark hummed.

In the dim glow of the night, you could just make out his large, imposing figure at the foot of the bed.

"Husband! I hadn't known you'd return tonight." You stumbled out anxiously. He'd told you he would have you again when he returned, and now, here he was. You'd have liked a raven's notice of his return ahead of time so that you might have mentally and physically prepared yourself for the night ahead, but you sensed that Lord Stark's return was quite unplanned.

Lord Stark walked to the side table and pulled a match from the drawer, lighting a couple of candles. In the flare of the match, his rugged face was illuminated, the light catching on a deep, weeping gash above his right eyebrow. The skin below his brow and alongside his eye was bruising shades of purple and hazy yellow at the edges.

"Lord Stark, you are hurt." You startled out.

"Negotiations haven't gone as planned. It's but a flesh wound, really. The Maesters can mend me in the morn," he grumbled back.

"No need. I picked up some small medical knowledge during my schooling. I am no Maester, but allow me to stitch your wound." You were shocked by your own admission. Usually, you wouldn't be so bold, but something about seeing this great, infallible man wounded struck a cord within you.

He eyed you warily for a few moments more. "Alright then, but be quick about it."

You nodded curtly and stood from the bed to cross to the cabinet at the far corner of the room. Within it, you found the necessary supplies.

As you turned, supplies in hand, you were met with Lord Stark pulling off his furs, leather pelts, and undershirt. A dark bruise bloomed in shades of purple, violet, and indigo along his toned side, just above his britches. You winced at the image.

"Got that during negotiations as well?" You asked.

Cregan made a grunt of acknowledgment and sat heavily at the side of the bed. The frame bowed and creaked with his weight.

You approached cautiously, as you could see just how reluctant Lord Stark was to even let you witness him wounded. It genuinely seemed that the greatest thing to harm the Wolf of Winterfell was another seeing his softness.

"I can tend to that, also," you nodded to the wound at his side. Cregan said nothing, but watched you warily, as always.

You dragged a chair to sit in front of your husband, beginning your ministrations on his face first. As you brought the disinfectant to his cut, his slate grey eyes met yours and you had to quickly look away before his gaze made you entirely lose focus.

"The handmaidens tell me you enjoy reading," Cregan said, unexpectantly.

"Yes. Yes, I do, very much." You nodded your head as you threaded the thin needle.

"They also tell me you've visited the library several times in my absence."

You nod once more, unsure of the direction this conversation is going.

"The Stark library is vast, but I must admit, I haven't much patience for reading. I'm afraid I am not as well-versed in the selection as I'd like to be."

There's a moment of hesitation before he continues.

"My obligations have kept me away from my home for quite some time now, even before our union. I know this is far from ideal for a wedded Lady, and you must find things to occupy your time..."

"What I mean to say is...If you have need for a greater selection, all you need do is ask and I will make sure you are provided for." Cregan's expression, though obviously uncomfortable, is earnest.

"You haven't known me long, but you must know I will always provide for you, my Lady Wife."

You nod your head in understanding, taken by this sudden display of tenderness from the usually burly Lord Stark.

"I am quite satisfied with the selection, Lord Stark, I assure you." You smile reassuringly.

"Cregan, please." He insists and you nod once.

Your arm raises to place the first stitch above his brow. As the needle pierces his flesh, Cregan lets out a sharp hiss of pain, grabbing your wrist in his large hand.

"I'm sorry, my Lord. My stitching is straight, but the process isn't pleasant. Perhaps I can call for milk of the poppy? It is late, but I may be able to--"

"I have other ideas for ways to ease the pain." Cregan cuts you off with his husky voice, still holding tightly to your enclosed wrist.

He pulls you towards him and you have no choice but to stand above him. Eyes never leaving yours, his hands release you only to reach below the hem of your nightgown, pushing the thin fabric up until his rough fingers hook around the sides of your undergarment, pulling them down your legs in one swift motion. You shivered at the sensation.

You stepped out of them and watched as Cregan reached for the laces at the front of his pants, barely containing his hardening length. He loosened the laces just enough to free his cock, and it sprang forth, inviting you closer.

"I want you to sit on me," Cregan replied simply, taking your hands once more to draw you closer.

Nervously, you straddled your husband, waiting for further instruction. His rough hands found the tops of your thighs, splaying his fingers across them and slowly applying pressure until you bowed under their weight.

You slowly sank down on him, his cock first spreading you, then impaling until your hips were flush against his. The stretch was tight, but pleasurable after many nights apart.

"That's a good girl," Cregan moaned. "Now stay still for me, and I will for you."

You nodded silently, shakily raising the threaded needle to his brow again as he gripped your thighs painfully.

As the needle threaded flesh, you could feel Cregan throb within you, as did you around him.

Cregan's eyes closed and he tipped his head back slightly, enjoying the sensation of you squeezing around him.

It wasn't long before the cut was closed and you tied off the knot before snipping the rest off.

Cregan lifted his face to yours and smiled an almost devilish grin.

"You're not done, little wolf."

[tomblythismyhusband]

Hellooo!! I got a request for billy

Its where he finds out the reader has been hurt in some way intentionally and he freaks out and treats her like glass for a little while and js takes care of her, being rlly protective from then on

wounded [billy the kid x fem!reader]

[summary]: billy the kid x fem!reader | After having a run in with some bandits, you escape wounded, leaving Billy to tend and and take care of it for you.

[warnings]: blood, violence, fluff, kissing, light teasing

[wc]: 1.2k

[note]: tysm anon for the request!! i couldn’t tell if the request meant like- reader harms herself and Billy takes care of her or not. IDK- message me if that’s what u meant bc I would be happy to write it :)

Pain bloomed in your side as you stumbled back to camp. When out riding, you came across bandits that not only slashed your side when you tried to escape, but also stole your horse.

Luckily you had also wounded one of the men in retaliation. You had shot him in the leg, leaving him at the mercy of whether or not his partner would help him walk. You had got out easy. The bandits would’ve done more to you if it wasn’t for the threat you had laid out.

“I go along with Billy the Kid’s gang so if I were you I would start runnin’.” You had yelled, aiming your gun at the men. The men’s eyes had both widened behind their bandanas. Billy was notoriously known as a ruthless killer. Of course you knew the real him, sweet, caring, soft. They whispered to each other, and then fled quickly, one man supporting the other. Leaving you standing in the desert, bleeding from your side, gun shaking in your fingers.

As you had trudged back to camp, each step felt like a knife was sinking into your flesh again. Warm blood had soaked your shirt as you tried to keep pressure on it.

Now you finally made it back to camp. Your legs were shaking, begging to collapse underneath the weight of your weary body.

“Billy-“ You choked out as you entered camp. All the other boys in the gang had left and it was evident by the empty food boxes, and quiet fields where the horses had been.

You glanced around. “Billy?” You called again, voice shaky.

You heard rustling in one of the tents and Billy poked his head out, a smile on his face. “Hey-“ His face immediately dropped, fear replacing his previous expression. Billy swiftly stood next to you, just in time as you slumped and had him support you.

“I’m sorry-“ You choked out as your head started to feel heavy. Surely you had lost a lot of blood, your vision was now fuzzy around the edges. Not a good side.

“Why are you apologizing? Don’t apologize. Come on, we need to tend to this.” Billy said urgently, starting to help you hobble over to his tent. Halfway there he scooped you up in his arms because walking wasn’t exactly the easiest at the moment.

He carried you with ease into the tent and laid you down on his cot, immediately rummaging for medical supplies. His eyes flicked to you. He kneeled down next to your lying body.

“Care to unbutton your shirt Y/n? I can’t reach the wound with it on.” Usually, you would have made a witty joke in response but you were in too much pain and could only comply with his words. You’re shaky fingers unbuttoned the buttons of the bloody shirt as Billy gently helped you sit up right to pull it off.

Your body felt cool once you were just in your bra. You could feel the wet sticky feeling of blood on your torso, and didn’t dare to look down to see the gash.

Billy laid you gently back down, sucking air through his teeth as he examined your wound.

“Is it bad?” You asked anxiously. “I couldn’t tell how far the blade went.” You felt Billy’s calloused hands on your side.

“It could be worse. It’s doable. Luckily, you won’t need stitches.” He nodded. He turned to grab a canteen of water from somewhere in the tent, popped open the lid, and poured it onto a cloth. Once the damp cloth met your skin, you tensed and squeezed your eyes shut.

“Shh… I know darlin’ I know.” Billy murmured softly as he cleaned the area of the wound. Your hands gripped the sides of the cot as he worked.

Once it was clean, Billy helped you sit up slowly as he took a roll of gauze from the medical kit. “Put your arms away from your side.” He instructed. You complied, sticking them out so they weren’t touching your body.

Billy carefully started to wrap gauze around your waist tightly. You hated the feeling of confinement but you also knew it was the only thing that could stop the bleeding.

As Billy worked you examined him. Your blood on his clothes, the worried expression pinching his brows, and the carefulness of his movements made your heart pump faster. His eyes met yours for a moment, sensing your staring and he gave you a quick smile before focusing on wrapping your wound again.

Finally, Billy had finished. He ran his hand over the now wrapped areas gingerly, causing a shiver to shoot up your spine.

“Thank you.” You finally whispered. Billy’s hand trailed down to rest on your knee as you looked down at him.

“I’m going to kill whoever did this to you.” He murmured. You let out a soft chuckle, reaching out your hand to run it over his forehead, pushing the curls that laid there away from his pretty blue eyes.

“Im sorry I should’ve been more careful-“ You started to say before Billy shook his head and took your hands in his own.

“Don’t say that. I know you're a strong, careful woman. Whatever happened, I bet you gave them worse.” You bit your lip. Billy studied your face. “How about you lie down and rest?” You gave him a pained smile.

“I don’t really feel like sleepin’... I’ll sleep only if your beside me.” Billy let out a chuckle at your stubbornness as he got out of a kneel. Thankfully the cot was big enough for two. Billy laid down carefully next to you as you situated your own body to lie down.

You felt Billy’s arm snake under your back before you fully lied down. He pulled you close, placing a soft kiss on your forehead.

“I’m just glad you didn’t get more seriously hurt.” He whispered close to your ear. “I don’t know what I would do if I wasn’ able to help you.”

You gave him a reassuring nod and cupped his face with one of your hands. “I’m glad to have you, Billy.”

“Just so you know, I ain’t never lettin’ you out of my sighs again.” He joked, squeezing you close again playfully.

You couldn’t help it but to let out a giggle, moving your hand away from his face in the process. Billy’s head dipped down to kiss the tops of your breasts softly. The warm feeling of his lips on your body melted away any feeling of pain. “Now that’s just mean.. you teasin’ me like that.” You chuckled.

Billy flashed a devilish grin up at you. “Sorry, I can't help it.” He moved his head back up towards your lips, kissing them lightly. You both pulled away, noses close as your eyes studied each other. You loved how you could see the freckles that peppered his face more clearly up close.

“All right enough lovin’ you should be sleepin’.” Billy drawled. You felt his breath tickle your nose making you smile softly.

You both adjusted your lying positions to get comfy and for you, out of pain. “I love you.” You whispered. Billy smiled as he ran a hand on your face.

“Love you.”

With that you both napped away the day in each other’s arms.

[yesimwriting]

False Prophets

A/n was looking through my drafts and decided to let this logan fic leave the vault also fun fact the title is inspired by a line in a gracie abrams song

Summary: After the laboratory that's served as the only home you've ever known is ambushed by those that don't believe in the mission you've dedicated your life to, you're left with no other option but to trust the stranger that helped do so.

Warnings/info: slight allusions to manipulative use of an unspecified religion, reader has a touch of stockholm syndrome bc she was raised by a cult that experiments on mutants, brief mentions/implications of being medically abused by a caretaker, age gap (reader is in their early 20's)

----

The knife is as intangible as everything else. You squeeze the blade's handle regardless, knuckles straining against your skin as you try to force the metal's weight to mean something to you.

How did--how did things turn so quickly? Father Daniel grabbed you by the arm, he dragged you up the stairs and into the above ground. He gave you little instruction and even less explanation.

Protect the cause. That was all he could say before the defiers found you. Things had moved so quickly, your instincts allowing you to neutralize an assailant before--before the world became little more than a nauseating haze.

The pulsing ache behind your skull, the weight of your limbs, the resistance of your lungs, the dark spots clouding your vision. You set a palm against the floor, the coolness of the tile doing little to ground you. It's not unusual for you to feel unwell after over exerting your abilities, but this has been something else.

You need to--to evaluate, to begin the contingency process. Who knows how much time you've lost?

You bend your legs, hand pressing against the ground as you try to stand. A sharp pain immediately latches onto every tendon in your body. You screw your eyes shut. Breathe. Breathe.

A soft creak brings you back to where you are. The handle in front of you begins to twist. The door's pushed open, revealing a man who occupies too much of the doorway for you to consider bolting.

His attention shifts around the small space before settling on you. Everything about the stranger is harsh--his stance, his expression, the blood staining his clothing and skin.

The man takes a step forward. You flinch, head hitting the closet's back wall. He presses his lips together before exhaling. He holds his hands out in front of him as he steps back to where he was before, behind the doorway's threshold. "I'm not going to hurt you."

One of the many lies Father Daniel had warned you about. When you don't respond, the man sighs again. "So drop the knife. You look more likely to hurt yourself with it than me."

The perceived weakness only adds to your mounting unease. You scoff. He may have the physical advantage, but you have something he doesn't. You tilt your head, ignoring the pounding of your skull as you focus on mentally reaching for him. He's easy enough to latch onto, but actually doing anything takes more from you than you'd ever admit.

You take a deep breath, letting your energy build before pushing it onto him. It takes longer than it should, but eventually, your mind finds the strength to obey you. Just as the man's starting to bend to your will, his feet beginning to drag against the floor, your hold on him lapses.

Great--you've revealed your only real advantage and for what. You try to stand a little straighter, eyes landing on the stranger. You stare at him with wide eyes, fear making it difficult to breathe right. Father Daniel has always warned you about what happens to your kind in the real world.

You don't know what you expect from him--anger, horror, something else equally brutal. Instead of displaying any of that, the corner of his mouth briefly pulls itself upwards. "Got it out of your system, kid?"

"I'm not a kid." The raspiness of your own voice surprises you. "Where is he?"

He seems to know what you mean immediately. "The man that held you hostage and experimented on you for what--twenty years?"

Of course that's what he'd believe. "Father Daniel is a visionary with a divine calling, who is doing what he needs to do to pioneer a better future for mutants and humans alike."

"Yeah? Is that why he hasn't let you go outside in two decades?"

You scoff. It's not--the situation isn't like that, and to pretend that things are that black and white is ridiculous. You've been outside. Family outings to the movies after particularly strenuous medical trials, birthdays, and sometimes Christmas. Sure, you're not worldly, but that's the cost your family pays for safety. Until society is no longer cruel to your kind, you're safer in the lab.

If you were feeling a little more like yourself, you'd tell him all of this. But all you can manage is a defensive, "I've been outside."

His eyebrows draw together, something in the look coming terribly close to un-harsh. He doesn't believe you. Whatever. This man's opinions mean nothing to you. The only thing you know about him is that he's one of the ones that decided to invade your home in order to target you and Father Daniel's work.

His eyes drift downwards, landing on the band-aids stuck to your forearms. Some urging part of you wants to explain that things aren't always like this. That your labs and medical trials only make a fraction of your life, that these last few weeks have only been extra uncomfortable because Father Daniel has been getting closer. But the words needed to explain this to a stranger feel so far, and you doubt he'd be able to understand, regardless, so you settle for turning your forearms away from him.

"Congratulations," he mumbles dismissively, attention shifting away from your arms, "You're going again."

"What?" He sighs, as if there's something deeply irritating about the question. He can't--he can't possibly mean to take you from here. You squeeze the knife's handle. "No. I'm not--" Your protests don't impact him in the slightest. "No."

"I know it doesn't seem like it," there's something measured about his gruff assurance, "But you'll be okay if you come with me. I'm taking you to people that want to help you."

You press your a hand against the wall, as if the plaster will offer you a means of escape. "No one like you wants to help someone like me."

He watches you for a moment, something behind his expression becoming a little less fragile. "Someone like me?"

The man takes a measured step forward, crossing the door's threshold. Dread digs into you as your mind tries to reach for him. You've barely touched his energy before a piercing ache in your skull forces the connection to snap. If the stranger noticed your attempt at self defense, he gives no indication of it, taking another step in your direction.

He continues forward, his movements slow and definitive until he's so close you have to tilt your chin upwards to look him in the eye. Like this, his anger feels less...prominent.

After a moment, his eyebrows draw together slightly. If you didn't know any better, you might have mistaken the look for a barely there grimace. The man drops his gaze downwards, and you follow his line of sight.

His hand, the back of his palm--he had been weaponless before. And now, sharp, metal blades have split his skin from the inside out. You lift your chin to meet his gaze. He's not exactly smiling, but there's something gentle about the set of his mouth.

You angle your head downwards again, carefully pulling your free hand away from the wall. You move slowly, holding your arm out between the two of you for a moment before letting your pointer finger touch the edge of one of the blades. In another life, you might've been willing to tell him how cool you find his mutation.

He pulls back immediately, his hand moving away from you as his claws retract back into his skin. "You get it now?"

You press your lips together. Just because he's a mutant doesn't mean he's like you. Very few people understand your family's mission, and he isn't one of them. The fact that he broke in here is proof of that. But the ache in your skull is too disorientating for you to be efficiently hostile, and maybe there's a small chance that the fact he wanted to ease you when he could have easily just attacked you is throwing you slightly.

There is no good answer, so instead, you offer another question, "Where is he?"

"He left." The response is flat. "Ran downstairs and then disappeared."

What? Father Daniel--he left. That's not...that's not part of the contingency plan.

Okay--you let out a breath in an attempt to neutralize your expression. If Father Daniel left, he must have had a reason. There are other things that needed protecting. He'll come back.

You must look as thrown as you feel, because the man sighs. "Do you understand now?" When you don't react, he pauses. "You can stay here--in an abandoned warehouse, or you can come with and--and get some help."

Help. The word digs at you. You're not--not some kind of victim. You were chosen for a higher purpose, your mutation was given to you so that you could help others. However, that doesn't mean that the prospect of staying here, in a now compromised lab, without your family, isn't much more unappealing than leaving with this stranger.

You swallow, ignoring the lump in your throat as you weigh your options. Maybe there's something to remaining within a certain proximity to those that attempted to destroy Father Daniel's work. You could learn about their operations, their goals and desires; then, when the time is right, you'll have information to share with your family. It might not be the simplest task, but it's better than waiting.

This man also knows more about the outside world than you do. You could always just use his offer as a way to get some distance and then bolt once you're somewhere more secure. It might be easier to find Father Daniel from somewhere...out there.

You can't will yourself to look at him as you nod, wounded pride only amplifying your anxiety.

"Okay." His voice gives you no indication of what he thinks of your compliance, but something tells you that he'll be cautious of you for awhile. "You gonna drop the knife?"

The request is spoken so casually, you do briefly consider listening. You've never been much of a physical fighter, and you're sure the stranger could easily overpower you regardless of your small weapon, but you can't bring yourself to let it go. Besides, the stranger gets to have multiple knives physically attached to him. You should get to keep your one.

You briefly lift your chin in a vague gesture towards his hands. "I'll lose mine when you lose yours."

Some aspect of him seems to shift, his brow relaxing and his lips pressing together. The differences are gone too soon for you to dwell on them, his expression returning to its default blankness as he turns. You assume that's the closest thing to an 'okay' that you're getting, so after a beat, you follow him.

----

a/n i was considering adding to it and it lowkey feels like a waste of lore not to, so if you'd like a part 2 lmk!!

[speirslore]

when you get hurt hcs [officers + roe]

a/n: requested <3 usually in my writing the reader is implied to be a part of easy company in a vague way bc i know ppl have different preferences but some of these include getting shot (not graphic or anything) so ig that implies they're on the front lines

lmk if you would like to be on my taglist! @ronsparky @bcon24 @blueberry-ovaries @1waveshortofashipwreck

[dick winters]

you hit your head prettyyyy hard, and you're out of it, probably definitely concussed

it happens right in front of dick and he tries really hard to keep calm

he wants to be strong and level-headed for you

shows more obvious affection then any of the men have ever seen from him; pets your hair, holds your hand, is always by your side

he immediately gets you a medic and transported to an aid station and doesn’t want to leave you

but when dick's back with easy, he gets uncharacteristically easily angry and frustrated...

he gets quiet and withdrawn and a little snappy with zelensky and nix... and they both immediately know why

whenever he can go see you, he's there.. he even gets behind on all his paperwork (but nix offers to help)

which dick is hesitant to accept for many reasons, he feels guilty, like he's not focusing on his duties but lew is always good at keeping the reports concise lol

very fragile with you, he isn't underestimating you but he just absolutely does not want to push you or hurt you

is a stickler for the rules, follows absolutely everything the doctor says

he has to wake you up every few hours and you keep insisting it’s unnecessary and dick is absolutely not having it

you try to get up and move around and all dick has to hear is the sheets moving and he just gives you that stare, a little bit like a disappointed mom, and you're right back laying down

he’s way more clingy than usual, wants to be by your side, subtly holding your hand

in that moment it definitely hits him how much he loves and cares about you... he hasn't really had time or space to process those feelings until now <3

[lewis nixon]

it does not look good at first

it's really scary for everyone there, you loose a lot of blood and lose consciousness

lew is not there when you're first shot in the leg and everyone is very glad that he didn't have to see it

but when he finds out... oh he is not keeping cool, is not pretending even a little bit to be okay

starts lashing out and snaps at the driver who's taking him to the hospital to drive faster, mad that they didn't tell him sooner, mad that you were injured, mad at the war, furious at absolutely everything

lew has to be monitored by dick not to go full self destruction mode and get incredibly drunk

he hates just sitting with the constant uncomfortable feeling and reminder that you're hurting

he will not leave your side at first when you’re sleeping a lot, on a lot of medicine, and out of it

one nurse does approach him when he's the only vistor in the hospital left, "sir, the visiting hours-"

he just looks up, obviously devastated, voice cracking, "i'm can't leave. you can drag me out but i'm not going, thanks."

they back off after that

does go through a phase where he hates going once you're more conscious because he kills him to see you like that and face this feels irrational guilt he feels for not being there

because he definitely has the tendency to avoid his problems and things that hurt him

but it hurts you too and you don't fully understand

you look up at dick and harry, slightly delirious from the morphine, tearing up, "does he not want to see me anymore?"

after that they do drag lew to see you and you just straight up tell him feeling guilty is pointless and not fair to himself (or you)

and then it's right back to not leaving your side and always trying to make you laugh or smile

[ron speirs]

okay so i love the angel of the company x speirs trope

by now he's the co of easy and your relationship is a widely known secret...

he assigns you and the group of other men to a patrol... it wasn't an overly risky or bad order, a standard order from sink

but you guys make contact and you're shot in the arm

it just absolutely wrecks him

the guys feel like he's just going to go across enemy lines and find the soldier that shot you himself

the rest of the guys are furious too because everyone just absolutely loves you

for a short time, he's mad at the other soldiers on the patrol and you have to reminder him they didn't do anything wrong

but ron is really just irrationally mad at himself for not being there, for not being psychic, he's just angry he somehow didn't stop this

ron is not controlling and not possessive and he knows you can hold your own but he feels responsible for taking care of you and making sure you're safe

even if he can't quite articulate all of those feelings yet

he doesn't understand all the emotions he feels and doesn't even have time to try to understand them

he listens so attentively to the doctors, he can recite everything they've said word for word

like with chuck, he demands the absolute best from the doctors

this incident shows his more compassionate side and the guys start to see how much he really cares about you... bc they're protective of you too!

you have to comfort him and his voice breaks

and he feels weak and he feels bad that you're comforting him and not the other way around

"i'm messing everything up, doing everything wrong," he says more to himself but you frown, eyebrows furrowed and everything

"you're so hard on yourself, ron. when it's not your fault, it was routine, you didn't shoot me. then i'd be really pissed." you smile and he smiles weakly... but he's on edge for a longgg time after this

[carwood lipton]

unfortunately you and lip just cannot catch a break

your leg gets injured while he has pneumonia

it's not a major injury but a bullet ricocheted off of a wall and slightly grazed you and you need a few days of staying off of it

lip really tries to be comforting

and wants to be there for you and he is!

but it's very hard for him, he just wants you to be okay so badly, even when he himself isn't okay

trying to lecture you about staying off of your leg and asking others for help but breaking out into a coughing fit and then you're trying to help him sit up and to go get some hot water for him

and then he's back to telling you to stop and starts hoarsely calling for luz

it's a MESS

but carwood is a natural caretaker and has been one for most of his life

it makes him hover sooo badly especially because since he's sick too he doesn't have a lot of work to keep him busy

but you're not complaining honestly, it's nice to have more private time and something of a break, even if you're both miserable

you get the special privilege of an actual private back bed room with a mattress and blankets

kind of a bonding experience

you just laugh because what the fuck

it's kind of romantic, first time in a longgg time in an actual bed together

you just go back and forth talking about your future and the life you want after the war

"i don't like this wallpaper," you murmur into his chest

he laughs and that turns into coughing again and you're just rubbing his back trying not to bend your leg... domestic bliss <3

[buck compton]

buck... does not take it well

he takes it extremely hard

like his reaction to joe and bill...

you have pneumonia and the peniciln you need isn't available in bastogne

and it's even worse that he finds out you're sick only a few hours after that and that you've been sick and struggling for the past few days

maybe his reaction would've been different earlier on in the war

but now, it just feels like a destructive domino effect that's sparing no one

it's obvious after all of his friends injuries and your pneumonia that he couldn't stay on the front line... his red bleary eyes and slightly trembling hands said enough

when he gets taken off the line, you're both in an aid station together for a few hours before you're both transferred to different hospital

so his presence is silent reassurance

you want so badly to comfort him but you're so sick and he doesn't want you to, he feels so guilty leaving you

but you hoarsely tell him he needs a break and to process what happened

you're feeling slightly better this day so that makes it a little better... but not that much

both of you have been through hell

but there is a light in the tunnel... or at least you feel that way

buck isn't on the front lines anymore and you both have a chance at a life together post-war

he does not want to leave you, it has to take a lot of malarkey's coaxing him and promising to update buck

[eugene roe]

gene can't decide if having medical knowledge makes it better or worse

and if being the medic and being the one to have their hands covered in the your blood, was better than leaving it in the hands of someone else

he decides it's awful... definitely worse

the very few hours he slept, it was just dreaming of your terrified face

and he wakes with a jolt and is completely miserable

and life just goes on...

a lot of pacing and murmuring

gene closes in on himself when he's upset and stressed, so he becomes even quieter than normal

and the other guys are worried like ??? do we need to intervene and lip just stops them, "leave him alone, he'll be okay."

prays for you a lot, gripping his rosary so tightly and the photo that he has of the two of you when you were still in england

when you both felt some semblance of normalcy

he can't abandon the company to stay with you full time at the aid station to his incredible frustration and disappointment

it's just hard for him to go on like everything's fine, it shatters whatever illusion he has of fairness and hope and safety

whenever someone else gets injured or they need supplies, he'll take any excuse to ride back to the aid station to see you

and if anyone else goes, they always see you and give gene an update

winters definitely notices and tries to give him opportunities to see you

likes watching you rest and sleep (because you definitely needed it, even before you got injured) in the sweetest, non-creepy way

gene loves to just sit with you, see you with his own eyes, and know for certain that you're okay

[justcallmesakira]

hihihihi AUGH i love ur work sm?!! omg if u can fyodor with a younger sister (she has the same level of intelligence of him and works in the doa and his organaization) who is dating dazai? :) I know there are some but i need crack and suggestive!!1

ty and er bye good luck take ur time!

"Fyodor with a sister dating Dazai''

Sypnosis: Your rat brother is anything but happy about the fact that you are dating his only enemy on earth! Good luck on surviving!!!

Genre: crack, suggestive at the end

Warnings: bombing, terrorizz, , mentions of maniupulative behaviour, mentions of verlaine, roblox radgoll, loads of simping words, me being down bad, making out (lol), your mom

A/N: my reqs are currently closed but ehhhh who cares lol also THIS WAS SO HARD TO WRITE HONESTLY- pls enjoy and reblog i tried my best--- *dies of mental ilness*

How bro-

JUST HOW DID U DO THAT W/O HIM BLASTING DAZAIS INTERNAL ORGANS? 🤯🤯🤯

No bcs fyodor did not even plan to let u meet dazai but ofcourse bcs of the dead apple tower and stuff and since then he had completly fallen inlove with you whether you are dostoevskys sister or not

He prob asked u to do a waltz with him in the mukokukokurokito or whatver the phuck that towers name was when you entered the castle with your brother

Fyodor WAS NOT happy because he saw the flirty glint in dazais eyes when u came

If looks cold kill-.. (KILL ME, RUSSIAN ZADD😍😍---)

And all you went was giggles and flirting back

Fyodor is prob gonna get his own medicine bcs they two are so like each other??? but he still couldnt believe how you with such high intelligence could fall for him???

(fyodor take your anemic medication first)

Dazai obv had some skeptics after you but like the manwhore he is and prob slept with the entierty of yokohama! ofc hes gonna court you as if you might not just use him!!!

Very (not) normal behaviour indeed!!

HELP YOU KNOW THAT ONE INDIAN RIZZLER VS. UWU CAT??? HES LITERLY THAT BUT

Dazai: "I fucked your sister she be screaming high pitch😈" fyodor: "What did you say, you little child i will crush your skull 😡😡😡should have known when i smile, I also play cello, i can be anything Уву"

that was UWU in russian btw-

But in all serious he will try maniupultaing you or gaslighting you into leaving dazai, he cant leave his only family to a man he does not trust! fyodor doesnt even trust himself-

fyodors gonna act a bit more colder then usual bcs of the fact HIS sister is dating someone and that someone is his enemy

Honeslty you go up to say chuuya whos like "why do i get deja vu-" *flashback to verlaine* you: "First time?"

But ofc since you are also extremely smart you somehow convinced him (after playing roblox radgoll with him for 8 hours) to let you atleast join date with dazai

I bet you rizzed up dazai by "He said his favourite colour was blue, so i blew him up😍💣"

*insert proud brother noises*

He speaks in russian or any slavic language whenever you three are in a gathering to mostly embarress dazai

I have seen some hcs on dazai being a collarbone biter so if you were off shoulder shirts and fyodor sees them by chance hes going to glare at you as if you are covered in mud :33

"Sister,,,what. is. that." *nasty side eye to the love bite on your neck*

Dazai 100% one time randomly pulled you into the alley and started aggresively making out with you with his hands literly sprawling all over your body like hes daddy long legs or sth-

Bcs HE KNEW that fyodor had cctv set in that part of the city and fyodor would be raging at the fact that the sluttiest man is touching his precious sister like that

bros gonna forgot abt human rights- oh wait hes russian

IF HE EVER CATCHES YOU TWO THO--

Like making out on some bed or sth hes actually no LIKE ACTUALLY GOING TO throw a whole ass cabinet at dazai with a face full of nothing but malice-

"How dare, an inhuman animal like you touch my very sister" "BRO CHILL I AM YOUR BROTHER-IN-LAW--"

And your just trying to stop your brother from commiting murder even though that his hobby ^^

fyodor finally forgot he had anemia bcs now all his focus was to give dazai the most painful death know to the medieval period\

Good luck on stoping your brother from poking a fork in your lovers eye in family dinners!!

A/N: guys ik i am doing the valentines req pls be patient i am trying my best!! i have a relly bad mental health rn so yeahhh-

Divider crds!: @cafekitsune

tags! @silverbladexyz @biscuits-lovely-corner @riiwrites @heartsfourdazai @tojifile @atsquie @atlasnessie @chuuyasboner @yosanosboner @ruanais @darling--angst

[schumachersricciardo]

Shiver

Chapter Six - You’re All I’ve Ever Known

♡ Mick Schumacher x Reader, Best friend!Danny Ricc x reader

♡ TW: Swearing, inaccurate timeline of F1/F2/F3, badly translated German using Google, blood/injuries (not graphic, but there is are mentions of it!), i forgot how many days elapsed between scenes bc i wrote this in like two days. so ya know ¯\_(ツ)_/¯. INACCURATE DESCRIPTIONS OF ENGLAND???? I literally made up street names and i think a school, so don’t come for me. I’m just a girl. plus i’m american so like we already have enough on our plates. Ummm slight kidnapping vibes??? very inaccurate and probably wrong medical talk.

♡ She/Her pronouns are used, nothing descriptive about reader except that her hair is long enough to pull back into a ponytail or braid, no reader insert, timeline skips. ALSO: WARNING!!!! I will barely be mentioning Michael Schumacher. I do not presume to know what he is thinking, or would say in these fictional scenarios. I am trying to be respectful of their privacy and not make any assumptions!!!!!! He will be mentioned here and there, but I do not believe any dialogue will be associated with him. If you do not like that, then do not read it. :)

♡ 6.3k words

♡A/N: Again, posting this on mobile and will format it when i get back from work! sorry it’s a day late. yesterday was very bad lol ok love u bye

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

It seemed like there was never going to be an end to the poking, the prodding, and testing on your body. Everyday, there was to be a new test or a repeat of an old one to be done. On top of already having been in the hospital for more than two weeks now, your memory was still not coming back to you. Sometimes someone would say something and if it as if your brain knew the memory tied to it, but it couldn’t relay it to your voice fast enough to recollect it. You didn’t know what was worse at this point:

“No, no threes. Go fish.” Your Uncle Sebastian echoed, stopping your train of thought.

Trying to focus your eyes, you looked at the pile of cards in front of you and drew another one.

“Do you… Have any… sixes?”

The four time champion just smiled and slid over some of his cards. You neatly made a pile of your finished “sixes” cards. Moments later, there was a slight knock on the door before it slowly pushed open towards the two of you.

“Hi, Mrs. Schumacher. It’s good to you see you again.”

So here’s the thing - You had been called that many times now. Almost every nurse and doctor has called you that… And since you had no room to counter, you never corrected them. Who knows? Maybe you and Mick actually got married after high school like the two of you talked about. And as weird as it was for you to be called that… It certainly felt right and didn’t make you feel uncomfortable - which of course made things curious and curioser.

“Mrs.… Schumacher??” Sebastian Vettel put his cards down and eyed the nurse and the doctor. There was a look on their faces that you couldn’t quite place.

“So sorry, no,” The doctor began correcting his mistake. He finally addressed you by your first and last name. “I’m sorry, again. Mr. Schumacher is your medical proxy and I forget that those in fact, do not have to be spouses.”

The doctor nervously chuckled as he prepared various medicinal instruments. It would happened two times a day where they’d check your cognitive function and your response to stimuli. Sometimes you’d say things that were a memory, but moments later you forget you said that. You even had times where Mick was in the same room, and you had forgotten who he was so you called him… Pleading for him to come back and comfort you.

He was the only constant in your life.

The doctor and nurses finished their exam and let you get back to your card game. You had no memory of the man who sat across from you, even though he said he was like family to Mick and that he knew you when you were little. He’d tell you stories about his time in Formula One, and how he’s focused on sustainability now and finding new hobbies. You truly were delighted in the presence of this man, but deep down inside you wished that Mick were there.

He had some press releases to do, as his racing came to halt when you crashed out in Silverstone. He was planning on racing the last 5 races as you were getting better now. Well, physically. Your leg was almost ready to be put in a regular soft cast once the rods would be removed. Your arm was out of its cast completely, and it seemed like your ribs and spine were doing okay. It was just your dumb brain that needing fixing.

“You alright?” Soon, Sebastian’s voice pulled you out of your endless thinking. “We can stop, if you’d like. I think you are beating me, anyway.”

Silently, you put down your cards and pushed the tray that was on wheels aside. You didn’t know what was coming over you. You felt an immense sadness and regret, but you didn’t know why. You were lost. Having your memories stripped of you is such a cruel fate… You rather have just not survived.

“I’m not good enough for him.” You plainly stated.

Sebastian blinked a few times as he put down his playing cards as well. He took a deep breath and tried his best to comfort you.

“Why do you say that? He’s been here every day since you crashed.” Sebastian’s tone was cautious, but caring.

“i mean… Look at me? I have rods sticking out of my leg… And I can’t remember shit. It’s pathetic.”

The former F1 didn’t have a response. He couldn’t imagine what you were going through, let alone the both of you. He just gently reassured you with a grasp of his hand on yours. Before you knew it, even his thoughts were halted by someone entering your hospital room.

“Hello, ma’am, I’m Nurse Elsie.” The brunette nurse beamed at you, and took the clipboard off of the end of the bed. “Do you remember who I am?” Her British accent was thick… You couldn’t place from where though.

You paused and did your best to remember someone named Elsie.

“You-You were there when I first woke up… And you were telling me to stay calm…”

The nurse’s expression immediately turned. Complete surprise and bliss overtook her as she grinned at you and Sebastian. She grabbed your hands ever so softly and opened her mouth to speak.

“Yes, that’s correct! I was here the day you came in, and I haven’t left since.” It truly warmed your heart to see someone that hardworking have some sense of relief. “And I am glad you’re speaking English again!”

“Was… I not before?” Your eyebrows furrowed and your focused shifted to Sebastian. He pressed his lips in a tight line, debating if he should answer for you when Mick wasn’t there.

Clearing his throat, he straightened his posture and exhaled.

“When you first woke up, you were only speaking in German. Mick had to translate for you for a while, until you felt comfortable enough to speak English again.” Vettel calmly responds, his hand scratching at the stubble on his jawline. You nodded along while he explained a few more things to you.

About twenty minutes later after another few tests were done, you were absolutely exhausted. You tucked yourself into the hospital bed with one of Mick’s blankets added to the pile for extra warmth. His scent was wearing off of the blanket as you pulled it up to your chin. Mick was familiar to you, and to your feelings - Yet, part of him remained a stranger. He was older, well you both were now.

He was not the shy little school boy anymore, but a confident young man. His muscles had grown noticeably and his hair was long, like you liked it. His jawline had formed into sharp corners where it meets his ears, as opposed to the chubby faced kid who would ride his bike alongside you and hold your hand in crowded places so you wouldn’t get lost. On the other hand and maybe the stronger one at that, you didn’t recognize him at all. Sure, he looked like Mick and sounded like him… But there was a piece missing to the dynamic between the two of you that you couldn’t quite place.

When he would be in the hospital room with you, it was almost as if he was treating you with a fragility that was completely peculiar to the way your foggy memory could recall him treating you. He was always kind and always held a special tenderness for you, that much you could remember… But be that as it may, he was handling you now with a delicate hand - so afraid of breaking you further. You couldn’t tell from where you sat if it was because of your injuries that he was being extra careful around you, or because there was something he wasn’t telling you.

“Knock, Knock.” The familiar voice of another doctor entered your stumbling train of thought as they entered your room. Sebastian stood to greet her and shake her hand.

“How are you feeling today, ma’am?” You shrugged and mumbled something incoherent. “Right then! My name is Doctor Wells. I’m the Chief of Neurology, and have been following your case closely.”

You honestly were having a tough time keeping all these doctors and nurses straight in your head, that you thought adding one more to the list might make you explode. But still - you politely greeted her as you told her your name.

“You’ve been making great progress physically, it seems. Your leg will be moved to a soft cast in two days time, and then in about a month, we’ll x-ray your leg to see when we would take that cast off, but again, it’s looking good.” The doctor smiled as her green eyes scanned the clipboard in front of her.

She began to hum to yourself as she jotted down some notes. You immediately noticed it, and Sebastian immediately noticed you. It was as though you couldn’t breathe all of a sudden and you had no clue as to why. Your monitors began to beep at a rapid rate, while the voices around you were telling you things but you couldn’t hear them. All you could hear was a loud, sharp and lasting ringing in your eyes as you sobbed. Soon, you felt the calming medicine go through your IV and settle your heart rate. It took a few more minutes to gain your bearings.

“Es tut mir Leid (I’m sorry).” You breathed out as you laid back down trying to get comfortable again.

Sebastian excused himself to go make a phone call, assuring you that he’d be back in a few minutes.

“That’s quite alright. Your body has been through a lot these last few weeks.” Dr. Wells smiled at you with an overwhelming aura of reassurance. She took a beat, and pulled up her rolling stool next to your bedside. “May I ask what I did to trigger that reaction? I want to know so I won’t do it again.”

You turned your head to meet her gaze, her eyes filled with worry and sympathy. You tried your best to think about the answer to her question. She could practically hear the gears turning in your head while you attempted to pinpoint what it was that upset you.

“The humming… When you hummed… It… I don’t know - did something to me.” Dr. Wells nodded in response and promise that she wouldn’t do it again. “Can I ask you a question, Dr. Wells?”

“Anything at all.”

You moved your hospital bed up so you could sit up and see the doctor better. You had very little to go on, but what you could go off of confidently was people’s expressions and the way their faces moved when they spoke to you.

“What are my chances of getting my memory back, and if I don’t… What do I do?” In turn, your facial expression was desperate, reeking of hopelessness and despair. She could see the devastation the accident has brought you, as it seeped out of the pores of your skin and infected your surroundings.

“Well, you’re making good progress and you remember Nurse Elsie which is a great sign… And the fact that you still know who Mick is a great sign,” Dr. Wells began slowly. “But, we really won’t know the extent of the damage the crash took, especially in regard to your memory. All your brain scans have thus far been clean, with no cause for concern.”

You started to feel tears brimming in your eyes as you bit your bottom lip to try and stifle back your cries. Shakily, you let out whatever air you had left in your lungs now.

“Sometimes things like this just happen and we don’t know why… But what we do know is that memories can always be created. You may not be able to remember the ones you had previously, but you can always replace them with new ones, better ones even.”

The pair of you talked for a few minutes more about your situation and how best to help it. She gave you some flyers for support groups and some numbers for therapists that specialize in what you were going through. She checked your vitals once more before heading towards the door and exiting, smiling a courteous smile as she disappeared into the vast hospital.

On the rare occasion you were left alone in your room, you liked to write things down in a notebook Mick gave you. It was your favorite color, with a giant ‘MSC47’ sticker on it. You had asked him what that was and he told you it was his racing number. To that, you asked why he didn’t put your racing number… And in response to that, he sheepishly admitted that it slipped his mind to put your number, but he was glad you always had a reminder of him. You didn’t even notice you were reminiscing until you caught yourself stroking the sticker on the front of your notebook. Blinking a few times to clear your mind, you opened it up to the next free page only to see that someone really tried not to write in their typical chicken scratch.

Smidge,

If you are reading this, then I must be away doing some press related things. I wish I did not have to, but duty calls and I also think Toto would come to my house and drag me there himself (in a very nice way, of course). Anyway, I wanted to write you a short note and let you know that I will be back soon, and hopefully you will be coming home after that. I have rented a place out here for you and me that will be sufficient enough until you decide where you want to fully rest and recover. We can go back to your apartment in Italy or to one of my family’s cottages in Switzerland. I would even take you back to the states to find respite at my ranch in Texas, but I know you do not have fond memories of Texas. I want to do only what you are comfortable with, Schätzen.

As for my last few races, I am on the lookout for the best home care nurse I can find while I am away. Sebastian offered, but he has a family and children of his own. When you feel up to it, I would also like your opinion on how you would like your care to be handled when I am at a race. I want you to feel as safe and taken care of as possible. It kills me that I have to go away to participate in the last few races, but part of me is also excited to get back to driving alongside Lewis. We (Mostly I) will dedicate every race to you, Schätzen. Maybe if you are healed and well enough, you may be able to attend the last race of the season. That would be very fun, as I know some of the drivers are dying to see you again.

I cannot think of anything else to write that might ease your mind while I am gone for now. I cannot imagine how difficult it must be to not know anybody there, but I do hope that with Sebastian being there it has calmed some of your nerves. He admires you greatly, and you have always been fond of him. I feel exactly the same way. But you can always text message me or call me, if you need me. I know you are not quite comfortable with that form of communication yet, but I just want you to know that I will always respond and pick up when I see your name pop up on my phone.

Anyway, I am excited and full of anticipation for when I get to lay eyes on the most beautiful woman I have come to know again. Your strength and perseverance through this entire ideal has been something to write in the history books about. I cannot wait to hear your laugh and feel your fingers interlaced with mine. I am looking forward to our days spent on the couch, sharing a blanket, with you tucked underneath my side - where you fit so perfectly beside me as if it were meant to be. And until we see each other again, just know I am thinking of you always and missing you every second of the day.

You hold my heart in your hands.

Ich gehöre für immer dir.

(I am yours forever.)

Love,

Mickey

There were drops of water scattered across the page as you tried to stop yourself from crying again.

You may not know him, but he knows you. And the feeling was overwhelming.

“Are you alright?” Sebastian’s quiet voice came into notice as you looked up at him with tearful eyes. He tilted his head to the side in concern.

“He… Wrote me… He wrote me… This letter… He knew I would find it… He knew this… That I would want to write things down, after the day I had… And he knew I would find his letter…” You spoke in between sobs, your chest falling up and down at a rapid rate.

“Okay, okay. Let’s take a few deep breaths and then we can talk about it, ja?” Sebastian began to initiate some deep breathing, hoping you would follow suit.

After many seconds of doing some deep breathing, you closed your eyes and did your best to relax your body.

“He loves me, doesn’t he?”

Vettel paused, taking his seat beside you.

“Yes. He does.” The German driver answered solemnly.

“And I don’t love him? Isn’t that right?” You glanced around the dry hospital room, smears of bright white and the smell of rubbing alcohol apparent.

“I don’t want him to love me. I don’t deserve it.”

Sebastian Vettel, four time world formula one champion, and one of the most formidable motorsports athletes the world has ever known, was stunned. He remained tight lipped and stoic. In frustration, you threw the notebook onto the floor and put your head in your hands. You weren’t crying, no. But you were exasperated . You could hear beeping as each finger pressed a key in the background. You didn’t know what was what, except what was shown to you: The voice of somebody you used to know.

Sebastian had put the phone on speaker and handed it to you.

“Smidge? Are you okay?”

“Hello? Smidge?”

“Was machst du (What are you doing)?”

“Ich vermisse dich (I miss you).”

Mick’s voice was like the half of you that you didn’t know you needed. It melded perfectly with what you were missing in this dark despair of recent days. His slight German-Swiss accent brought you comfort like you didn’t know you needed. He had picked up the call no matter where he was or what he was doing.

“Komm zurück zu mir (Come back to me).” You could hear Mick let out a strained sigh. He wanted to come back, god did he want to.

“Mickey, please…”

Completely taking you off guard, the line went dead suddenly and you were left with another kind of beeping. You slowly handed the phone back to your almost friend, Sebastian. The former driver could only sigh and sit back in the chair that he had been making his home since Mick left.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Four Days Later

Your leg was finally out of those ghastly rods and into a softer cast. To think this feeling was heavenly, was something you would have never put on your radar thus far. Soon enough though as the many doctors and nurses came by, you were cleared to go home in the next 24 hours.

“We are glad to see you improving Mrs. Schumacher.” You did your best to make eye contact with the receptionist. “Please let us know if you need anything.”

“Thank you…” You started with caution.

“I’m not Mrs. Schumacher though… If you want to change that for your records or anything…” You tried your best to be nonchalant. The receptionist typed a few bits onto the computer in front of her.

Ushering for you to take a seat in the lobby, you tried your best to not think about the past.

Due to a reason unbeknownst to you, Mick was unavailable to take you home when it came to your releases date. You even braved the scary phone long enough to ask Sebastian if he could be there to take you to the new home Mick set up for you. He wished that he could, but evidently he had something to attend to.

Bravery aside, you sat curbside alone trying to figure out who to call. Your leg was in its soft cast, as you remained waiting for something or someone to come rescue you. You didn’t know where you were, you didn’t know any phone numbers off of the top of your head, and if it could get any worse, you were in England where it was raining.

“You’re going to catch a cold if you stay outside like this.”

Great. Now you’re fucking hearing things. Trying to shake the eerie feeling you had resting on your shoulders, you ignored the voice.

“Let me take you home, huh?” The voice repeated to you.

Your head turned to the left towards the voice. They were leaning against some concrete beam, cigarette almost totally nsmoked as they stepped towards you.

“John?”

“Hello, baby sister.”

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

You weren’t sure how you ended up at your brother’s flat in whatever country you were in at the moment. The legalization of Mick being your medical proxy was iron clad….

You never once considered an actual family member to be there for you. And as it were, your big brother had also aged some. You knew it was him immediately though. You could tell because he sort of looked like you, and his voice sounded like the only other voice besides Mick that you knew.

“Are we going back home?” Your brother was doing the dishes as you sat on the couch, your leg elevated to help relieve some swelling.

Again, you repeated the question. You could hear him turning the water off, and see him drying his hands as he turned to face you.

“No, we’re going to stay here for a little while.”

Confusion washed over you once more. Did Mick call your brother because he was unable to pick you up from the hospital? Did Mick even know you were here? All you could do was nod, while your brother excused himself to go lay down. It had been a long day of driving for him from where he came from. You remained in the quiet of your own company for a moment, trying to think of all the possibilities that could have ended up with you being in some strange apartment in a country you hardly knew. Finally, you pulled out your phone that Mick bought for you, and took a deep breath.

You: Hi Mick

…

Mick: Hello, Schätzen! It makes me very happy to see your text.

You: Really?

…

Mick: Yes, really. I would never lie to you.

You: That’s sweet.

…

…

Mick: I am so sorry I cannot be there to bring you home, but I will be there tonight and we can have dinner and watch a movie, if you would like. But, my very good friend Daniel is going to pick you up from the hospital, okay? He should be there shortly, if you just want to wait in the lobby where it is warm and dry.

You reread the message as your heart rate began to hasten. If Mick had already made arrangements for you to get picked up from the hospital… How did your brother find you?

You: Oh. I thought you called John, because he picked me up from the hospital already. A few hours ago, actually. I got released early and thought maybe you called him since you couldn’t get there in time.

Milliseconds after you pressed send on your text, your phone screen lit up brightly in your face.

INCOMING CALL: Mick Schumacher

swipe to accept

Your thumb danced over the bottom of the screen, only to have your desire to hear his voice once again take over your body. Slowly, you accepted the call.

“Schätzen, where are you?” You could hear the panic in his voice. How the fuck were you supposed to know where you were?

“Um… I’m in John’s apartment, I think.” You spoke in a whisper as to not to disturb your resting brother.

“Scheiße, Scheiße, Scheiße (Shit, shit, shit)!”

On the other side of the phone you could hear him getting up and gather his belongings wherever he was. You could pick up bits and pieces of what he was telling someone near him, but not enough to put together a full sentence. You patiently waited on your side of the line for him to speak again. What seemed like forever went by, before he talked to you.

“Can you describe where you are? Can you look outside and see any street names, or building names?” You could tell he was jogging by now.

“I’d have to get up… And my crutches are… On the other side of the room…”

Mick felt absolutely stupid for forgetting that you had a cast on your leg. And he felt even more stupid that he allowed your safety to be compromised… Again. In his defense though, he gave strict instructions to the hospital staff not to allow anyone to take you home besides himself, Sebastian, and Daniel. He even started calling you his Mrs. Schumacher for extra protection, but he’d never tell you that secret.

He was trying as quickly as he could to figure out what the hell went wrong, and how the hell your brother found you. Mick told you he’d have to call you back, but that he promised he would call back in five minutes.

As you waited for him to call back, you decided to try and hobble over to the window. It was gloomy, of course, but you could still see a few things.

House Street

Franklin Street

You decided to text Mick the names of the cross streets, just in case. Glancing around some more through the window, you saw to the far right what looked like a school or a church. You squinted to try and get the name of it.

Longfellow Grade School: Home of The Lions

You also added that to your next text message to Mick, as well as the few models of cars that were sat out on the street. Exhausted now, you hobbled your way back over to the couch and let out all the air you had pent up in your lungs.

INCOMING CALL: Mick Schumacher

swipe to accept

Faster than you did the last time, you accepted the call and raised the phone to your ear.

“Hi Mick, are you okay?”

“The police are on their way, Schätzen. Do not be scared when they arrive, ja? I will be there as fast as I can too. Stay on the line.”

You had a lot of conflicting feelings at this point. Why were the police involved now? Why did Mick sound so afraid? You couldn’t remember the last few years, but now you’re having to deal with all of this? It was as though your body was frozen with a mixture of fear and sadness. You could barely move from your spot on the couch while you anticipated the police’s arrival.

“Okay, Mick. What is going on, though?”

“I will explain everything once I bring you back home, to our home.”

Soon enough, there was a loud knock on the door. You could hear your brother curse loudly from his room as you shrank into the corner of the couch. You were very afraid. Your brother stumbled out of his room, rubbing his eyes as he opened the door to his apartment. One police officer held up a piece of paper to his face, while the other one peered into the space making sure you were alright. The male officer began to speak to your brother about whatever was on the paper, while the female officer approached you with caution.

“Hi, there. My name is Officer Clarkson. Are you alright?” Her voice was calming, and probably the most calming thing about this entire situation. She sat on the couch, keeping a good distance between you.

“I don’t know. I don’t know what’s going on, and I don’t know where I am.”

Mick had told the dispatchers that you were in a potentially dangerous situation, and that you had been in a bad car crash a month before resulting in some memory loss. He also told them that you in fact had a restraining order out against your brother, and that he had no clue how he got past the hospital staff.

“That’s okay, you don’t have to know anything right now. I’m just going to sit here with you, while my partner takes care of that young man. Is that alright?” Again, the peaceful cadence of her voice warmed you, and made you feel instantly safe.

“Yes.”

Your head quickly whipped to the side when your brother began yelling at the officer. He was pinned up against the wall, face to it, with his hands behind his back. The male officer handcuffed your brother and escorted him out to the police vehicle. It all happened so fast that you weren’t sure what to make of it. Officer Clarkson said some police speak into her walkie talkie that was on her chest, echoing some of the things being said back to her. She got up from the couch and looked around.

“Can you remember the last time you saw your brother?” You only shook your head in response. Your eyes followed the trail she was walking around the tiny apartment.


After a few more questions that you honestly did not know the answers to, you could hear the radio on her chest go off. The officer grabbed your crutches, and the bag you had at the hospital and escorted you downstairs. There was another police car, an SUV. Two more officers approached you, both women.

“This is Officer Hammond and Officer May. They’re going to drive you home, your real home.”

You thought you might combust trying to keep everyone’s names straight. But you still didn’t have any answers as to why your brother was sitting in the back of a cop car. And as you did so dutifully in the hospital, you did again as you just stood in silence allowing things to be explained to you.

“Your friend Mick - the one who called the us - Will meet you there. Your brother won’t bother you ever again, ma’am.” Officer Clarkson gave a promising smile and nod as she handed your bag to one of the other female officers.


Soon, you were in the backseat of the car as the three of you silently drove to wherever this new place was.

Two hours later, you were woken by Officer May trying coax you out of your sleep. You felt embarrassed for falling asleep, but it seemed like your body needed it. Rubbing your eyes, you looked over the officer’s shoulder to see you were parked in front of a modest one story home. You were in the countryside somewhere, and knowing Mick and his love for the countryside, you could tell that he put a lot of thought into this home. Even if it was going to be temporary, you enjoyed the thought of recovering somewhere private and secluded.

Officer May helped you out of the car and handed you your crutches. The sound of another car hastily pulling up made all three of your head’s turn sharply to the right. In true Mick fashion, he sported a big red truck as he parked in haphazardly. He couldn’t move fast enough though, as he jumped out of the car not even closing the door behind him. Mick ran up to you, his hands frantically searching your face for any wounds. He was rambling in German… Italian… Maybe even French as he brought you into a much needed embrace. He kissed the top of your head and looked at you with nothing but regret.

“Smidge, I am so sorry. I really do not know how this could have happened, but you are safe now. Okay? Completely safe from everything.” Mick profusely thanked the officers, and made a note to call and thank the other officers as well.

Mick helped you inside, before returning to the officers so that he could speak to them about the situation. They assured him that they would look into just how your brother was able to pick you up and take you out of the hospital. He wanted nothing more than answers at this point. (Join the club, right?)

You were still on edge when you heard the door open, your flinching making it clear. Mick walked towards you as cautiously as he could.

“It is just me, Smidge; Just Mick.” He stepped in front of you, his face softened by the sight of you. “I am sorry I scared you.”

“It’s just been a long day…” Mick led you carefully to the couch so that you could sit and rest your leg. Propping your leg up on some pillows, Mick moved to the kitchen to get you some water and some food.

The house was nicely decorated with accents of a familiar shade of red all around. The couch beneath you felt like a marshmallow compared to last couch you were sat on, and the hospital bed you had quite become accustomed to for the last month. Mick returned with a water bottle and a few snacks he might think you would want. Sitting beside you, but keeping a respectful space between you, the blond haired boy rubbed a very tired hand over his face. Leaning his head back onto the back of the couch and stretching out his arms too, he sighed a sigh of relief and closed his eyes. You watched him carefully, and more meticulously than you had in the hospital.

You liked the way his nose was slightly bigger than normal and the way that it curved downwards at the end. You noticed how his darkened blond hair curled ever so slightly at the tips. His lips were a pretty shade of pink too. You wondered if you ever had the pleasure of kissing them. His neck was bigger than you last could remember it to be. Mick’s Adam’s Apple moving up and down as he swallowed, sucking the insides of left side of his mouth. Mick always did that when he was overworked.

“Sind Sie gestresst (Are you stressed)?” Mick just hummed in response, your body relaxing at the familiar sound.

You remember how you reacted when the doctor hummed. Shuddering away that terrible thought, you scooted closer to him.

“Mir wird es gut gehen (I will be okay).” His eyes were still closed as he responded.

You took a beat and took a nice long deep breath. You remember what he had written in his letter. He probably had to leave his work to come find you. And the fact that he did made you feel something you hadn’t felt before - or at least couldn’t remember feeling. This man has always cared for you. Since you were children, he has always put you first and always made sure you were taken care of in every sense of the word. He was the only thing that connected you to your past and all of your lost memories. And surely he knew the weight of it all, yet he didn’t seem to be overwhelmed by it. He would carry the weight of the world on his shoulders if that meant he got to see you happy.

Something in the back of your head was telling you to reject these new feelings, though. You couldn’t tell what it was that was making you want to hide your emotions. The pull was strong. It was like The Force, pulling you into a dark deep alley where you were always meant to be: Alone.

You did your best to shake the distressing thought. Going back to happier things, you recited the letter in your head as you decided to be brave. After all, you didn’t survive a high speed car crash for nothing, right?

Nodding assertively to yourself, you managed to wiggle into Mick’s side. Your leg was still propped up, just now onto the coffee table in front of you. As best as you could and as comfortably too, you tucked yourself into him and his arm wrapped around you as if it were a dance you two had done a million times before. Your eyelids began to feel heavier and heavier as you felt the warmth of his body warm yours. It was not secret that the both of you were dog-tired as neither of you said a word.

The only thing surrounding you now was the sound of rain hitting the roof and someone’s arm wrapped tightly around you. And while you may not have any memories of the last few years, now was as good as time as ever to begin making new ones.

[ikeasharksss]

here's the thing. i think will in mortal aus would be a good doctor. a solid, in character choice. but canon will? hm. that's a bit more complicated

none of the demigods we meet in the rrverse are, like, Thrilled about their godly parent's guardianship. like percy isn't a marine biology freak who spends every summer at the beach before he realizes he's the son of poseidon. & even after he realizes, he's never like "oh my GODS i have such a PASSION for CONEY ISLAND!!!!" we don't see that in anyone else either: piper doesn't care for beauty much before & after she is claimed, nico didnt show any hades traits before bianca died & he goes rogue, and frank was actually afraid of showing aggression (around others at least) before he was claimed if i remember son right. the only exception i can think of is leo bc he worked in his mom's garage as a kid. but even then, he isn't a mechanic bc of his dad, he's a mechanic bc of his mom. (we don't know how academic-oriented annabeth was before she came to chb. it's possible that, bc she came so young, she formed her childhood personality around athena, since she had nothing else to hold on to.) so, therefore, i don't think demigods are enthusiastic about their godly parent's guardianship specifically bc of their godly parent. i don't think will would be enthusiastic about being a doctor just bc of apollo.

being a healer at a summer camp & being a field medic in a monster war is very different from being a doctor in a clinic, hospital, or private practice. the type of illnesses, injuries, & disorders a doctor sees in the field would be very different from what will sees in his healer career. we don't actually see much of the healing process in the books outside of ambrosia & nectar, but it's obvious that will would never use them if he became a real doctor. i don't think his healing skills would translate into doctor skills.

additionally, ive seen a lot of ppl in the fandom point out that will would have to relearn all his medical knowledge if he went to med school. that's true! add in his adhd & i don't think will would be to happy to sit through 7(?) years of school learning things he either A) already knows or B) would never use bc he has healing powers.

sure, i think will would CONSIDER becoming a doctor. it makes sense! that's the only life he's ever known! but i think he'd go get a bachelor's in biology & realize after like 3 semesters that it sucks.

"but tumblr user ikeasharksss!" i hear you say. "what profession would will go into if he isn't a doctor!!!!" oh don't worry. Don't Worry. he'd go into pharmaceutical sciences.

hear me out! ive already said we don't know much about healing outside of ambrosia & nectar. & those are basically just the demigod equivalent of mortal medications. will already works so closely w/ them, so it'd make sense for him to be interested in creating an alternative that is safe for mortals. in pharmaceutical science, will could research & make mortal medicine!! it would scratch his innate need to help ppl while also engaging his mortal side!!!!!

thanks baes

[crazyvaleska]

Listen To Me | Jerome Valeska x GN! Reader

summary: you are jerome's psychiatrist at arkham asylum and after years of treating him he opens up about his childhood trauma

genre: angst

word count: 8479 (it's a long one folks! so get comfortable and grab ur popcorn & blanket! and tissues.)

warnings: cursing, self harm, mention of sexual assault & domestic abuse, mention of death & suicide, just a lot of angst in general. read at your own risk, you've been warned.

a/n: i started writing this back in august 2022 and finished it just now. been adding small paragraphs to this story every now&then. some paragraphs were written days apart while others were written weeks apart. i'm writing this bc i feel like there aren't many angsty stories with jerome. imo jerome isn't evil but broken. also having read his diary added up a lot to his character as it's pretty depressing. perhaps everyone has a different version of a certain character. here's my version of jerome.

also i got a tiny bit inspired by the harleen graphic novel and the joker movie for this !!

the playlist i was listening to while writing this: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5E2lk49zurRTAaHq3Nz7FQ?si=7TQxYHDsQ0ypPYkIvlLCpw&utm_source=copy-link

jerome's thoughts are written like this btw!

enjoy! (or don't.)

A huge amount of people would say it is impossible to become a psychiatrist at 18. That must mean they've never been to Gotham City. Here anything is possible. Therefore, you had just graduated medical highschool when you were offered a job at Arkham Asylum and you had no choice but to take it. You were aware of the risks of working in a place surrounded by criminally insane lunatics, but you didn't really have another option. You needed a job. Besides, taking risks never ever scared you. Though many viewed Arkham as a spooky place, to you it was interesting. Treating mentally unwell criminals was challenging because you liked helping people, no matter who they were.

What you didn't know was that one of the patients you would have to treat was none other than the infamous Jerome Valeska himself, probably one of the most demented and wicked being Gotham City had ever know.

Yet, you thought his character was rather fascinating. After all, you had known Jerome for years.

Jerome Valeska. How do you even begin to explain Jerome Valeska?

You first met him right after he killed his mother, the first time he was in prison. Before he died. Before he was an infamous murderer. And you had to admit, he did become more intimidating as years passed by.

There was nothing out of the ordinary about him at first, same old story about the son committing matricide. Though, he never told you the entire story. You noticed he was uncomfortable and you didn't want to push, everybody had their boundaries and you respected that.

If you had to describe in one word the way he was acting in his firsts therapy sessions, you would use the word "flirty". Sort of. A mix of charisma and inappropriate jokes.

He told you he didn't plan on killing anyone else, claiming that the murdering of his mother was something personal. For some reason, you chose to believe him. Until Theo Galavan happened. It was like the Jerome you once knew had completely vanished. He was the same and a different person at the same time. You almost felt sorry for him. But then again, you weren't supposed to get attached to your patients. Jerome was charming and all, but he probably didn't feel the same way you did. He was just a kid after all, and so were you. Both 18. The only difference was, you were trying to cure insanity while he was trying to spread it.

A few days later he died. Actually, was murdered. Poor thing, you thought. You wished you had more time to know him. You wished you could've helped him. You knew small parts about him but not his entire story.

You had hoped you would forget him as time flew by, but you didn't. His evil crackle never left your dreams. It was always there. You could hear it all the time, as if he was trying to reach you. It was torturing you. Yet pleasant at the same time. You missed him, truth be told. But you knew he was in a better place now. Or so you thought.

That was until he was resurrected. Being honest, you weren't exactly surprised. This was Gotham City, after all. Everything was possible in Gotham. The actual shock was seeing him faceless and unconscious. You wondered how much strength does one require in order to be able to staple their face without passing out. Jerome's pain tolerance was so high, it concerned you.

By the time the ginger maniac was sent back to the Asylum, his face had been attached back to its place. He was hideously scarred now, wearing a permanent disturbingly bright smile. Although, to you he looked fine. Somehow attractive. You weren't sure why. Maybe it was simply your questionable taste in men. At the same time, he was much more intimidating now, much more grown. And as a result to him dying by being stabbed in the throat, his voice had also changed. It sounded more threatening now.

"It's good to have you back, Jerome!" you said in his first therapy appointment of the year, a warm, kind smile on painted on your lips.

His reply came out natural, "Well, at least someone missed me." but his face was expressionless and emotionless, and his voice numb, as if he had lost his spark.

To most, he was simply just out of his mind, a low-life criminal, but you felt there was more than that. You desperately wanted to know what made him the way he was, what made him turn to a life of crime, because you knew no one was born evil, not even in a city like Gotham (though he wasn't born in Gotham) it was usually the environment that could cause one's insanity. And you could see it in his eyes: he wasn't born bad. He was shaped evil, but not born evil. But then again, anyone could go insane with just one bad day.

Jerome was very charismatic, he could get anyone do whatever he wanted. Nevertheless, he was an amazing liar, you couldn't ever tell when he was speaking the truth and when he wasn't. He didn't seem to care about the way others felt and showed lack of remorse, he was impulsive and manipulative, deceitful and reckless. He was extremely narcissistic and showed lack of empathy towards others, and you had diagnosed him with Psychopathy Cluster B Personality Disorders and Schizophrenia. The ginger was on different medications. Sometimes he didn't take them, other times he did and not only his, but others' as well . You had told him multiple times how that was no good for him, but he never listened.

The thing about Jerome was, you never knew what he would be like in your therapy sessions. Sometimes you felt like you knew Jerome, but did you really? Oftentimes his behavior was passive aggressive, other times he would crack up jokes and you actually enjoyed his company, getting lost into his mesmerizing hazel eyes, as if you two were actually friends. Most of the times he just stayed quiet though, especially if you mentioned his family. Sure, he had no problem talking about killing innocents but once you switched the subject to the murdering of his mom, for example, he would tilt his head and pretend he didn't hear you or just say the same old story about her being mean, but you suspected it wasn't just that, you could see it in his eyes that part of him was still... hurt? His eyes spoke volumes. Although he always tried to hide it by pretending to be a God, deep down he hated himself. But of course he didn't want anyone else to know that, he didn't want to be seen as weak. Not anymore. He knew better than that. You noticed this thing about Jerome, he tried to act unbothered all the time but he always did this head tilting thing whenever he felt uncomfortable. Sure, Jerome was always surrounded by people, mostly his followers, but being around people doesn't mean you actually trust them. And you couldn't blame him for having trust issues considering he was stabbed to death by the only person he ever trusted. You could only imagine the feeling of betrayal he felt. That must have been traumatizing, but he had never ever addressed it.

One rainy Thursday the young Valeska told you he was upset because there wasn't any pudding left at the cafeteria. So the following day, Friday, you came up with an idea that could get you killed, but it was worth a try.

It was getting dark, your shift was over and you were supposed to go home. But instead of heading towards the Asylum's exit you found yourself walking towards its core, towards one certain inmate's cell, inmate E-146's cell: Jerome's cell. You would be lying if you said you weren't nervous, because you were. You didn't have anything to defend yourself on you. If anything, you were aware you were walking towards something that could be mean your sudden death.

You did have to pay bribe to the prison wardens that guarded his cell. They warned you about the homicidal redhead, but you liked to believe you weren't scared of him. To you, Jerome wasn't scary-looking. What really scared you was his mind. You had read his criminal record thus you knew what he was capable of. Even though you tried to tell yourself he won't hurt you, truth was you had no idea what he'd do or say, he was unpredictable.

First time you stepped foot in his cell was an experience you weren't going to forget anytime soon. The room was smaller than you though it would be. Not that you were expecting any kind of luxury. But this was worse than anything you had ever imagined. The first thing you noticed was the extremely low temperature, it was bone-chilling. No wonder why Jerome sounded sick all the time. Four gray walls and a dark ceiling that looked like it could collapse over you at any given moment. A bed for one person that was placed next to a prison porthole and near it a small, cheap table with an old chair in front of it. The smell wasn't very welcoming either, you thought rats were the only thing missing from the picture.

Jerome didn't notice you initially, he was busy writing in something that appeared to be a notebook. You cleared your throat loudly, which made him jump. You caught him off guard, quite literally. He looked equally shocked and confused to see you.

"Whatcha doing here, doc?" the redhead asked as he sat up. He placed the pencil down and closed his book, then took small steps closer to you. Only now that you were both standing up at the same time you noticed how tall he actually was. In the therapy room, his arms were always folded together in a shinny white straightjacket that prevented him from harming the doctor before him. You had actually never seen Jerome with his arms free so close to you before. He was wearing his stripped prison uniform instead of that tight straightjacket and you could tell he was way more muscular than you thought, his hands were enormous, he could knock you out in a second. His looks should've alarmed you but for some reason they didn't. Actually, you were happy to see his body looked healthy. Everybody said he looked like a nightmare, but to you he was the opposite. You shook your head quickly trying not to think of that or anything potentially inappropriate.

You hitched your breath nervously as you took a few steps back. "I told you already, you can call me Y/N... Uh, yesterday you said there wasn't any pudding left for you so I thought I would...um ... I... well," you stuttered while searching for something in your bag. The man raised an eyebrow but stayed silent. You reached your hand out, holding a bowl of chocolate pudding, "I-I... I made it myself! And I paid the guards to leave..." you said in a low murmur.

The unsurety in your voice didn't go unnoticed and it made Jerome grin. He walked even closer to you and crossed his arms while nodding, "That's so brave of you, Y/N! But you do realize I could poke your eyeballs out and squash you like a bug right about.... now!" he hissed. The next thing you felt was your chin being lifted up by his gloved hand, holding it in a tight grip, forcing you to face him. You avoided looking directly into his eyes so you just stared at his hand. Unfortunately for you, that seemed to bother him, "My eyes are up here," he used his free hand to point at his eyes.

The fabric of his white glove was soft but his touch was aggressive and harsh, the clutch on your chin was hard, "... I just... I just came here to give you this, nothing more." At first, Jerome was very sceptical, not believing any of it. He even thought the pudding was poisoned and insisted on you having a try before he did. The rest was history.

That happened approximately one year prior. You had spent the last 12 months seeing Jerome 2 times a week: one time during his therapy appointments every Thursday, the other time every Friday night, when most of the Asylum's staff had gone home. You had stolen they keys to his prison cell and no one knew about your late at night meetings with the clown prince.

The first times everything was pretty awkward, Jerome used to search your bag and pockets for any sharp objects that you could potentially use against him. But with time he stopped doing that. Approximately after 6 months.

You mostly brought him food, especially sweets, Jerome loved candies but he wasn't allowed to eat those in prison. Sometimes you even played cards with him and he would win every game, the boy knew how to play the jokers, that's certain. He did make inappropriate jokes from time to time, but nothing that made you too uncomfortable. He never touched you or anything like that. Everything stayed platonic.

One time you attached a colorful self-made bracelet to his wrist. You had a similar one on yours. Jerome pretend he didn't like it, telling you that friendship jewels were a waste, but truth be told, he liked it, he wore it all the time, he liked playing with it beads. Of course, he made sure it stayed hidden underneath his sleeve. He didn't want anyone else to see him like that. He had a reputation to uphold. Thus sometimes he would threaten your life in a playful manner just because he was Jerome Valeska.

You had also noticed the ginger was great at arts and crafts so you brought him crayons. Lots of them. The previous week you even brought him a scissors after he had begged you to for weeks. He promised he wasn't going to hurt other prisoners with it. He was using those to draw and decorate his diary. You knew he had a personal journal that he had never showed you. But you were cool with that. Though you wished he could open up to you, you didn't want to push, you wanted him to talk to you because he wanted to, not because he had to. All you knew was that you desperately wanted to help him get better. You didn't feel that way about other patients. Obviously, you wanted to help them too, but with Jerome it was different. Not that you would ever admit it out loud, but you had grown some sort of crush on the maniac. You knew how wrong that was, but you couldn't help the way he made you feel everytime his eyes met yours or when he smiled at you. You came to the realization that Jerome wasn't half as bad unless he was surrounded by other loonies or by people he despised. He was quite chill aside from his maniacally laughter.

Although Jerome didn't own a watch, he simply knew what time you were supposed to show up. In fact, he had actually grown to like your little visits. At first he found all of this annoying and irritating, but with time he changed his mind. You weren't so bad after all. Actually, he was waiting impatiently each of your visits. You were nice to him. Not a lot of people were nice to him. Nobody, actually. Just you.

Therefore you being late one certain night didn't go unnoticed. Strange, Jerome thought at first. You had never been late before. Was this all? Did you spend all that time with him only to leave him like that? Did you replace him with another patient? Did you get bored of him? Did something bad happen to you, perhaps?

Jerome shook his head. He didn't like to picture you dead. Why was that? He loved everything about death and killing, blood and gore. Why did it bother him now? He promised himself he wouldn't get attached. No, no, Jerome Valeska didn't give a shit about anyone. He was heartless. A monster. Everybody said so, so then it must be true. So what if you died? Who cared? Not him, that's for sure. Yeah.

But then, why had he been walking circles in his small cell for minutes? Why was he breathing heavier and why did he have an awful gut feeling? And now how did he find himself in this position again? Sitting on his bed, facing the wall with teary eyes, clinching his fists anxiously and twiddling his trembling thumbs. There were drops of dark red blood on his already dirty mattress. Drops of blood between the beads of his bracelet. When did that happen? He could vividly remember when he started pressing the scissors down his wrist. It all happened so fast. He didn't even apply much pressure and yet he had managed to draw enough blood to cover his fingertips. How did he end up like this? Like a sobbing mess. Why did you do this to him? Why did you give him hope? He should've known better. Humans are deceitful beings. They lie and they never keep their promises. One day they love you, the next they don't need you anymore. So he really didn't learn anything from trusting Theo Galavan after all. He remembered it as clear as day. He thought he could finally be happy when Theo came along, gave him a proper bed and proper clothes. He was like the father he never had. But then his life flashed before his eyes as he dropped dead by the hand of the one man he thought was trustworthy.

Oh, dear ol' Jerome. Getting attached to the first person to treat him like a normal human being again. So all those times you took care of him were all on act. Of course. Why was he so stupid? Stupid enough to think anyone would ever care about him. Of course it was all a lie. He hated you. This was pathetic. Everyone was pathetic. Crying was pathetic. Crying was for the weak. Jerome wasn't weak. Not anymore. But what if, perhaps, you weren't even real? What if he had been imagining you the whole time? After all, it was all too good to be true. But maybe that's just the way life is: it hits you harder than a train truck, then you feel good for a while because you start doing things that distract you from how you truly feel, killings in his case. But then you realize you weren't ever really happy, just delusional and that makes you depressed again. It's like a never ending loop.

The boy shivered at his own thoughts. So many questions at the same time. His mind was suffocating him. But he liked it, didn't he? Or maybe did he just trick himself into thinking he liked it? He liked being sick, right? Who was he without his sickness? Pills. He needed more pills. The pills were never enough. If only he had enough pills to...

His train of thoughts was interrupted by the very familiar sound of his creaky door being unlocked then opened. Jerome knew this could mean one thing. He quickly wiped his teary eyes with his knuckles then clothed his fingers with his gloves. He cleared his throat, "Where were you?" he asked, his voice harsher than ever. He didn't want you to see him vulnerable. He tried to hide it. He didn't want to admit not even to himself he was somewhat worried. But, in fact, he had grown very fond of you. He wasn't sure why, he wasn't sure what he felt towards you. There's a very thin line between love and obsession. All in all, part of him was relieved once he heard your voice.

"I'm sorry, Jerome. I had some things to take care of. Things that involve you, actually," you closed the door behind you and took a few steps forward.

The last sentence got Jerome's attention so naturally he turned his head around to look at you. His stare was so intense it seemed like he was staring directly into your soul. His hazel eyes were so beautiful yet so terrifying, you couldn't stare at them for too long. The dark circles under his eyes were darker than ever and you wondered if he ever slept. It was your job to help him get better but it seemed that he was getting worse everyday, like he was losing himself therefore you were failing. But you had to pull him out of his misery. You had to.

"You threatened Oswald Cobblepot," Jerome couldn't help but snicker proudly at your remark before you could continue your sentence "And you also took his medicine. How many times have I told you that taking meds you don't need only makes things worse?" you paused but the boy didn't reply. He knew it was bad, he just couldn't help himself. You sighed "They want to change your therapist, Jerome. They don't think I'm doing a good job with you."

Jerome's face dropped, "As in you'll be replaced?" he asked and you nodded. No, this wasn't possible. You were lying, you had to be. First you're late, now this. The redhead jumped out of his bed and walked up to you, "You're lying."

"Jerome-" you started but he didn't let you finish.

"Don't you dare to Jerome me. You're an hour late and now you're telling me you wanna get rid of me?" his tone went from numb to mad in a matter of seconds.

"I'm so sorry for the waiting, I'll try my best to keep you. I promise! Cross my heart and hope to die."

That only made Jerome crackle in an ironic manner "Oh please, Y/N. Don't make promises you know you can't keep. Empty promises. You're growing tired of me. It's funny, actually. I think this may be just my luck! Jeremiah promised he wouldn't leave too, but he did anyhow. And now you."

"Who's Jeremiah? I don't know what you're talking abo..." you felt like you couldn't breathe as panick took control over your body, "...why is there blood on your gloves?"

Shit, Jerome thought. "It's paint," he smiled but you knew he was lying the moment he tried to change the subject "Jeremiah's an old acquaintance, if you will."

"I never brought you paint..." you murmured. Then you remembered what you did bring him. The scissors. "You promised you won't hurt anyone with it..." you whispered.

Jerome shrugged, "I promised I wouldn't other inmates. I never promised I wouldn't hurt... myself...!"

Your eyes opened widely at the sudden realization. You covered your mouth with your fingers and your heart was beating impossibly fast while tears were filling your eyes. It was only now that you noticed his slightly puffy eyes too, "I'm so sorry... Jerome... oh God..." you muttered. He didn't look at you until he felt your hand on his.

Jerome hesitated to speak at first, "Oh, y'know... the scissors just slipped. I'm fine, really. No need to worry about me. If anything, I like bleeding out."

You knew that wasn't true. "I'm gonna get the doctor... we need to get it patched up."

"Then they'll know you're here."

"I don't care. I'll probably lose my job anyway. You hurt yourself, Jerome. You could get an infection. Fuck, I was supposed to help you get better but I didn't do shit! Now you're bleeding and it's all because of me-" you were cut off by Jerome's gloved hand covering your mouth.

"Shh. I'm fine, Y/N. It's not that serious. It's just... I don't feel safe when my scars are healed. I need to bleed to calm myself. It's like a part of me. It's my biggest comfort."

You tried to mumble something underneath his hand which made him frown, "I don't need your pity, Y/N. You're trying to weaken me, it won't work," he moved his hand, giving you the chance to speak.

"Please, Jerome. I care about you! I won't let you hurt yourself any longer!" you cried out. It was true. You would've done anything for him and it hurt you knowing he was harming himself. He thought he had it all under control but clearly he didn't. You were scared of what he could do to himself next. You couldn't just watch him destroying himself knowing you could've helped him.

Jerome shook his head repeatedly and covered his ears with his plams while circling around the room, mumbling things to himself. Eventually, his voice got louder and louder, "NO NO NO NO NO! No, you don't, stop saying that! Cut the bullshit, Y/N! You don't care about me, no one does! Jerome has no one, Jerome's all alone! It's how it's always been. It's how it's always gonna be. What the fuck do you want from me? Look at me! I have wanted to die for as long as I can remember. And guess what? When I finally did some jerks thought it'd be funny to bring me back to this shitty life! You think you understand me, but you don't! You can't save me, you can't fix me! What have you done to me? You cracked me! Just leave me alone! Leave me alone! LEAVE. ME. ALONE!!!" he yelled as he shed a single tear.

His face turned red from all the rage and you could swear he was gonna kill you at that very moment, but he didn't. Instead, his body collapsed on the ground. He was hugging his knees while staring at the floor, with his back pressed against the cold wall. You had no clue what just happened but he looked defenseless, practically harmless right now. You knew this was risky, but you kneeled next to him then reached out your hand and caressed his shoulders which caused him to look at you. You didn't see a psychopath in his eyes anymore, just a frightened child. That wasn't the ginger maniac everybody feared. That was a poor boy stuck in his traumatic past.

"Let it out, Jerome. This is why I came here, so we could talk like 2 human beings. Help me understand you. I know I can't take your pain away, but you can talk to me," you whispered.

"I'm not a human being. I'm a monster, can't you see? Everybody fears me. I'm the monster parents tell their children about," he muttered quietly. Usually he said that proudly, but now it sounded as if he was ashamed, which was very out of character. What he felt at that very moment was confusion.

"You're not a monster, Jerome. I have this feeling that... you're misunderstood, like no one ever listened to what you had to say. I am here to listen and I promise I won't laugh or judge. But if you hold everything inside you it's only gonna get worse... Let it all out, please." you spoke in a soft murmur.

"I don't even know.... what I am supposed to say," Jerome sobbed.

"Anything that comes to mind, that upsets you, that you wanna get off your chest. What is that one thought that won't let you get rest at night? The things you always wanted to say but nobody ever listened to. The things you always tried to forget because it all hurt too much. I can see the depth and complicity of your character, Jerome. You're not evil. Your past is haunting you, isn't it? I can see it in your face, it was rough. So please, I just want to help you. And I won't tell anyone, you have my word."

The ginger glanced at you with furrowed brows, trying to keep track of his thoughts. He felt something he hadn't felt in a very, very long time. He felt helpless and he didn't know why. He didn't know why he suddenly no longer felt in control. Was it because you were the first person to actually look at his wounds concerned instead of laughing? Because you were willing to actually listen to what he had to say? No one had ever told him that before. Except for you. But he couldn't bring himself to entirely believe anyone could actually care about him. His chest was hurting and his heart was aching. He was tired of hiding.

"... okay, I'll tell you everything," he nodded his head eventually, "but I'll never tell this story again so you better be all ears."

You nodded while caressing his once-so-soft-cheek slowly. Initially he shuddered, then he closed his eyes and leaned in your touch, giving you permission to carry on. Tracing your fingers on his cold pale skin made you feel his every scar, but his scars didn't scare you, they never did. You could tell he wasn't used to this kind of stuff. He wasn't used to people treating him like a normal human being. He wasn't used to being touched unless the touch was meant to harm him. He hadn't even started talking but you just knew something terrible was about to come out of his mouth.

The man took a deep breath. He knew that once he started speaking he wouldn't be able to stop. He had been holding all in for so long, it all came out like word vomit.

"Jeremiah is my twin brother. He was always mother's favorite. Mother. Can I even call her that? No, she was never my mom. Lila Valeska never loved me. She never treated me like her son, not even when I was a baby. She had only one son and that was Jeremiah. I was just... there. Like a nephew she had to take care of or something. But not a son, no. She always said I ruined her life. Yeah, like it's my fault she had unprotected sex. But I could never understand why she praised Jeremiah all the time. What was so special about him? What was he doing so much better than me to get that kind of appreciation from mama when we were just 5 years old? I can only remember he was into maths and puzzles and that kind of shits from a young age. He pissed the hell out of me. But I didn't hate him. I mean, at the end of the day he was still my brother. And sometimes he would hold me while that whore was busy banging clowns the next room, assuring me that everything would be alright and that mother didn't actually hate me, promising me that one day we'll get out of the circus and live our best lives. What a dirty little liar...! And to think I actually used to believe his empty promises... Until he turned his back on me."

Jerome paused. His eyes were now filled with anger, you could tell he didn't like his brother much. Then he continued.

"It happened once we turned 7. Lila had hit me multiple times and I don't even remember what was the reason, but then again, it's not like she ever needed a reason to hurt me. Before this it was usually just slaps, but this time it was a proper beating. The sadness mixed with anger I felt at the time were too much to handle for a little boy. I had to somehow let it out, y'know? So... I started mutilating small animals. Soon I grew an interest in murdering them. And it felt... therapeutic. I know I should feel ashamed of this, but I don't. I never did. Hell, I even pretended they were her because I knew I wasn't strong enough to actually hurt her back. How fucked up I must've been to behave this way at 7, right? But things got complicated when Jeremiah found out. He said," Jerome talked in two different thin voices the next parts:

"... ' I understand your anger, 'Romie! I think it's quite interesting, really! '

I actually believed him and replied happily ' You think so, 'Miah? But please don't tell 'ma, she'll get really mad at me! My cheek still hurts from the last slap she gave me! '

' I would never! She hits me too sometimes, you know. But I don't know why she's so mean to you all the time! '..."

Jerome cleared his throat and went back to his usual tone "Well, he kept his promise, kinda. He didn't tell our mother but he told uncle Zach ―and let me tell you this― he was the WORST. Such cruelness in one man. He used to cook food for the other circus members, but he was an ex prisoner, spent years in jail for robbery and rape. Yeah, that's my fucked up uncle. He was a cook and yet I was always left to starve. Mind you but I used to be underweight 'cause of that.

Anyway ...! Dear ol' Zach thought I had gone psychopathic when little 'Miah showed him the dead animals' corpses, so he made sure he worked me over. And, of course, Lila made sure of that as well. And as if those injuries weren't enough, Jeremiah saw this as a perfect opportunity to leave the circus. He started spreading rumors about me kickin' and punching him, feeding my mom and uncle with funny stories about me threatening his life, when the truth is I never touched a hair of his. For him, those were the stories that were gonna get him out of that damned place we so called home. For me, those were the stories that were gonna ruin my life. Even though I tried to defend myself they never believed me, because after all I was the animal abuser while he was the perfect innocent son, with his little nerdy hamster glasses and fancy books and puzzles. And let's just say, it didn't end well for me when he would randomly bring up something that didn't even happen. He had totally brainwashed them and I was lucky if I could get away with just a slap or two. But they didn't abuse me just physically... verbally as well. The amount of times I heard them planning my murdering were countless. And maybe they should have done it. Maybe they should have murdered me. Instead, they used to remind me every single day that I was such a heartless psycho monster who's gonna cause nothing but disaster. Well, I guess they weren't exactly wrong with that one. I mean, just look at me now..." he narrowed his eyes.

"Nobody ever stood up for me. Nobody cared. Nobody. They always managed to cover it all up, they always told me to smile once they were done. I was known as Haly's Circus little sociopath. And Jeremiah? They'd always make sure he was treated right, that he got the best stuff, while I could be freezing at night and they wouldn't even notice.

On our 9th birthday our uncle decided to take Jeremiah to the city away from me so he could celebrate his birthday properly and left me with my mom and her partner at the time. The got drunk and had sex all day, not caring that I was in the same room, beating the shit out of me afterwards. And when I had finally managed to get out of that hell of a trailer, my father ―I didn't know he was my father back then, but he knew I was his son― didn't even try to comfort me, he simply told me to suck it up because nobody cared. And he was right. This world indeed doesn't care about me or anyone else. But for a child? Damn, that hurt. And I suppose it's even sadder now knowing he was my dad...

Moving on, by the time we were almost 10 his lies got worse and worse, and so were the beatings. According to him I had tried to poison him and to light his bed on fire. One time he injured his knee when he fell on the ground, but later lied about me pushing him down the stairs. But the last straw was when he lied about me holding a cake knife to his throat on our 10th birthday. My uncle almost broke my ribs for that and my mom repeatedly kicked my stomach with her legs. Honestly, I can't really remember that day. All I know is that they decided it would be the best if uncle Zach took Jeremiah away while I was asleep. And I'm not gonna lie, I was pleased when I saw they both left, but little did I know that it was only gonna get worse for me.

Haly's Circus is a nightmare dressed like a daydream. A lot of fucked up things happened there. I hated that place. And with Jeremiah gone, she started drinking more and more, and got more aggressive. She got pissed at every little thing I did and made sure I received punishment. Did I forget to do that dishes? She'd kick me. Forgot to take out the trash? She'd slap me across the face. Didn't feed her snake? She'd punch me. Was breathing too heavily for her liking or my existence simply bothered her? She'd beat me till my vision was blurry or till I coughed in my own blood. I did try to get help from the cops, but guess what! They didn't give 2 shits! Ya see, the system is so corrupt they don't care unless someone's been murdered. They made fun of me and I understood no one could ever save me, I was the only one that could free myself from the pain."

You stood quiet when Jerome removed his gloves. You hadn't seen his hands unclothed in a very, very long time. Last time you saw his bare fingers was before he died. His veins were more noticeable now, among with multiple half healed blueish bruises he had probably given himself. Seeing Jerome without his gloves felt like him breaking a wall between the two of you. Like he trusted you. Like he trusted you enough for you to see him at his lowest. He needed to trust you enough to tell you everything. The scarred man was silent for a brief moment, trying to find the right words to describe the next part of his story that made you feel like throwing up.

"On my 14th birthday one of Lila's hookers...how do I say this... one of her hookers touched me, Y/N. Like, parts he shouldn't have touched... And... she was there, watching. She didn't do anything to stop him, she didn't even try. I was crying and screaming and begging her to make him stop. She just laughed. Her awful witch-like laugh followed by her favorite line: ' shut up! boys don't cry! '. And afterwards she just left with him for the night and before that she told me to smile. Smile. I felt so embarrassed and ashamed. I felt like I couldn't breathe. I couldn't feel my body. The only thing I could feel were his hands all over my body... To put it into words, I felt worthless and helpless. Smile," Jerome smiled weakly through the tears as he repeated his mother's words, hugging his own body, "Smile. I was smiling that night. I was smiling when I tried to kill myself. It was all too much, I couldn't handle it. My life was a living Hell I started to believe Hell itself couldn't be that bad. So... I just took a bunch of her pills and I thought that was it, I thought I was finally gonna die. I smiled because I thought everything was finally going to end. Sadly, I survived. After taking the pills I dropped down to my knees and then... I don't know. I can't really remember anything except the fact I woke up with a terrible headache. Did she notice? Nope. Did those pills have had an effect on me? Absolutely.

I didn't have anyone to comfort me anymore. Not that Jeremiah was ever a great comfort, but it was better than nothing. I didn't have any friends, 'cause who would wanna befriend the freak who tried to murder his twin and massacred tons of pets? And if anyone tried to get close to me I would push them away. Literally. Push them. Because what was the point in denying my violent urges? Everybody thought I was the villain already anyway."

Jerome paused to blow his nose into a handkerchief you handed him. You were at loss of words. This was a lot to process and Jerome's voice was now shaky. It was painful to hear his life story, it was painful to look at him now, to stare at the helplessness in his eyes. Tough people always have the most heartbreaking pasts.

"I used to cry myself to sleep every night, but I barely managed to fall asleep knowing that she could strangulate me when her snake in my sleep, and I low-key hoped she would so my suffering could end already. But when I did manage to fall asleep I ended up getting a... What was that called? Oh yeah, sleep paralysis. She was the demon suffocating me. Even now... I can't ever properly fall asleep. I'm always half awake. Actually forget I said that... Stupid! stupid...." he cried while gripping on his ginger hairs, scratching his thin pale skin with his sharp nails.

"Jerome," you whispered and took his hands in yours, "it's not stupid. Your emotions are valid. Please, carry on."

The boy nodded and did as you said, "At some point I just stopped talking because my body was hurting so much. I started isolating myself from everything and everyone. Because you see, people like me, we're put in this world for one thing: to suffer. The only thing that made the pain go away for a while was the thought of torturing her, cutting her open and feeding her snake with her organs then bathing in a pool of her blood and maybe sending her bones to Jeremiah. All I know is that I was so sick and tired of her calling me names and spitting on my face, beating me up till I bled, abusing me, banging my head against the wall, ripping my hairs off, punching me with her cold fists, slapping and pinching my skin, throwing empty alcohol bottles at me and kicking my bones. And when she was done with beating me, she'd always call over one of her sex partners to have some fun. I was tired of having to hear her moans as she was getting railed the next room. But I knew better than disturbing her, because if I did she'd invite her lovers to beat me too... or worse. I just had to keep quiet because if I behaved she'd leave me alone for a day or two.

But in time I got used to it. The beatings and all. It didn't even hurt that much anymore. The psychical wounds healed eventually, but the emotionally ones were always there. She didn't even need to get physical, her words were enough to torture me, they were like poisson. Her words cut deeper than a knife. When she wasn't the one hurting me I was hurting myself. That's so messed up, I know. But what isn't messed up about me or my life? I just couldn't help it. I had grown addicted to watching myself bleed. It's like... that was my only comfort. My sadness, my pain... Bugs. There were bugs on my skin, crawling on it. One second they were there, the next they weren't. I had to peel some of my skin off just to make sure. But I liked it. I think. It looked pretty. Such a pretty shade of red...! I could've stared at it for hours. Don't know if I was high or if I just had lost touch with reality. Or maybe both.

I just wished she would just kill me already and be done with it, 'cause it was better to be dead than to be alive and suffering. I just wished that everything would go quiet once and for all. My mind was like a prison I could not escape. My mind was the darkest place. The negative thoughts, they were always there. The voices telling me to do horrible things to myself. People screaming. A thousand voices howling in my head all the time. Dead people. I saw dead people everywhere. I couldn't control it.

Nobody cared about me, so who would've noticed if one day I just disappeared from this world? If one day I just stopped breathing? Definitely not her. If anything, she'd beat my corpse. I mean, she didn't even notice my first attempt.

That's what I told myself as I tried to slash my veins. But then I heard it," his face suddenly lit up, "That voice. The voice. The only comfort I ever had was that voice in the back of my head. That voice that grew louder as the years passed by. That voice that was giving me hope saying ' your day will come, your revenge will come, you just have to be patient '. And I had done my waiting. All the suffering, all the abuse I was forced to endure were about the end. I wasn't gonna let her win. Little did that whore know her beatings gave me strength and a high pain tolerance. Suddenly, all the fear I ever felt towards her turned into hatred and anger. She was going to pay for everything she had ever made me go through. People call me insane but they don't know my insanity gave me strength to save myself from that Hell I used to call home.

So, by the time I was 16 I had already started planning her murdering. I started working out and made better meals for myself so I'd be sure I was stronger than she was. I wanted to no longer be skinny. I had also made the perfect plan to kill her and get away with it.

So on my 18th birthday, like a birthday gift for myself, if you will, I grabbed an axe and chopped her off, hitting her repeatedly with it, digging it up and down into her skin. The first stab was the hardest one, but once I saw blood drawing out I just couldn't stop. I laughed as I did. Seeing her like that, lifeless and all covered in blood made me shiver in a good way. It was like feeling a brand new emotion. I was...happy? Entertained? I had finally given in that voice, I was finally free! That day I promised myself that I would come after my brother and uncle too, they also needed to pay for the way they'd treated me. And after that I'd be finally free to kill myself... I know how fucked up that sounds, but now that you know what they put me through, I hope you understand why I had to do it. There was no other way. One of us had to go. I killed her because she deserved it, self defense really. You get it, right? Tell me you get it, please."

You nodded while massaging his thumbs. His eyes were red and so were yours. You were both crying. Jerome couldn't believe he just told you all of that. He had never told anyone about any of that before. Did he say too much? Did you not want to be near him anymore?

"Jerome, I don't even know where to begin... you are such a strong person, really. You didn't deserve what happened to you. It wasn't your fault. You were just a child, none of this was your fault. No one ever treated you like a human being. No one ever gave you a chance. It's like you were forced to be evil, you didn't have a choice. They made you evil. They turned you into the villain. Of course you snapped eventually. I can't blame you. I would've done the same if I were in your shoes. No one ever gave you the chance to tell the full story. I wish I could take it away. All the pain, all the suffering... Oh, Jerome... I can't even begin to describe how bad I feel for you. Your heart has endured way too much at a way too young age. It's not you who is the monster. It's them. You had and have every right to kill them, I'll even help you. Jerome... I'm so proud of you for staying alive. Jerome, please remember that you matter. You matter to me. I see you, Jerome. I see you for who you are. Has anyone ever told you how beautiful you are? You are a very, very handsome boy."

"Even with the scars?"Jerome smiled, his eyes puffy from crying. Not a threatening or disturbing smile. A genuine smile that made you smile too.

"Absolutely. Your scars just show how strong you are. Your scars make you prettier. I myself ain't a strong person but... I won't let anyone hurt you anymore, you've been through enough. And I won't let you hurt yourself either. Because I care. And you can trust me with anything, Jerome. Let me be the one person that makes you feel like home. Please." you got lost in his gaze. Words weren't enough to express what you felt. So you just hugged him. A gentle, loving hug. Jerome wasn't a touchy person in general, but he gave in and hurled himself into your warm embrace. Soon he was holding you so close to him like he was never going to let you go. Then he cried more. And louder. He cried on your shoulder and you patted his back. This was all new to him, he was still confused by the way he was acting. But it just felt right. He felt safe at last. He wondered if you were an angel sent from Heaven to rescue him. You scooped him up in your arms. Yours arms were tight around him, his head on your chest. He needed this. He needed to feel okay. He needed feel loved and accepted. You held each other for so long you could feel each other's breathing, and you weren't going to let go of each other anytime soon.

"Thank you for listening."

[65thgames]

Okay now that we've sorted THAT here are some of my actual harvey headcanons (some loosely based on my fanfic that's in the works)

-I think when he was younger, I'd say 18-early twenties, he had a bit of a rebellious phase. Not necessarily as wild as most people's, but for him it was massive. He had internalised a lot of his insecurities and issues from his failed dreams and just general stress. So he became a bit untamed to try and fit in with the others, as he wasn't sure where he belonged. Certainly not in aviation (he's known this for a while), and he feels like an imposter within the medical field . So where else does he fit in?

-As expected this did not work. Someone tell him pushing away and bottling his issues isn't good for him bc he sure as hell won't tell himself. He was never able to feel like he fully fit in with the rest, like everyone else was speaking a sort of language that he was never given the dictionary for (yes I hc him as autistic).

-His relationship with his family now that he's older is more business-like than it is familial. He'll visit for major holidays, maybe stop by when he's near, but even in childhood he was always closer to his extended family. I don't think his parents were cruel, but I think that they were very strict, no nonsense people. They didn't support his inital dreams. Not because they didn't care for him, but rather because they thought they were unrealistic. Why be a pilot (when he's got bad vision anyways) when he can be a lawyer just like his father? Why be a pilot when he can become a doctor, like his brother? As a result I think he unconsciously associates his pain from his failed dreams with his parents.

-A lot of the food he "dislikes" in game don't actually come from not liking the taste. Instead he's conditioned himself into not liking overtly "unhealthy" foods to try and maintain his image of a good doctor. He already feels like an imposter in his profession, so he uses tactics such as these to try and lessen the feeling. Who needs therapy am I right?

-But despite this, he is a huge hypocrite. He is aware of this. He preaches health but then eats microwave meals in his secluded apartment where he doesn't need to keep up his mask. If any of you are familiar with Goffman's dramaturgical analogy, it's exactly like that in my eyes. His "backstage" is his home. But the main stage is Pelican Town. And he uses props moreso in the form of abstract things to build his mask of a good doctor, believing he cannot be effective if he's "just Harvey."

-Random but he's an olive AND marmite person. Not together, obviously. But trust that man has a jar of marmite in his cupboard, and one of these for his olives. His sister gifted to him over a decade ago. He's surprised it hasn't broken yet.

-His first big buy for himself was a turntable. It was his pride and joy and he'd polish it often. He still has it. Obviously we know he likes Jazz, but I feel like his dirty secret is that he listens to country on the down low. Shh don't tell anyone.

-He's gotten into only a few physical fights in his life. Most were when he was in school. But one was an alleyway fight he got into whilst defending his sister from a creep. Trust me, poor Harvey got his fair share of a beating. But that's the day he learned he can throw a punch if he wants to. However since them he's gotten a bit more out of shape. He could still punch someone, but he's a gentle giant so give him a second to stretch and practice his breathing techniques he gets anxious okay. (unless its for someone else. If someone he loves is in danger he'll go in, ham stretches be damned. He'll pay for it in the morning though.)

-On the note of gentle giant, I think Harvey was a surprisingly short kid. He shot up around age 13, though, and didn't stop for a while. He was asked to be on the basketball team, and he did try out whilst he was still trying to find himself. That dream ended quickly when he got a basketball to his face and it broke his glasses in half.

-On the topic of sports, I think he's a pretty fast runner but he does have limitations. When he was a kid/preteen, he had asthma. He's grown out of it mostly, but he still gets attacks from time to time. Now that he's older, it's because his body has started catching up to him. Sure he'll run a few laps for a charity run, but give him an icepack for his bad knees okay.

-He started greying fairly young. He's very insecure of it, because as he was growing up one of his most prominent features was his hair.

-Since we're talking about appearance, I know that man has good cheekbones.

-His eyes are hazel but he just calls them brown.

-The most he's ever let someone in was Elliott, but even then he keeps him at a firm arm's length. He's not good at letting down his guard at all until the farmer.

-He's had a few relationships and a few hookups, but they've never really stuck. He doesn't like hookup culture so he no longer participates in it. I think Harvey doesn't fall for people often because he's so guarded, but when he does it's hard and fast and usually soul destroying.

-Cries at the lion king

-He's neither a cat or a dog person. He has no preference, he loves both for different reasons. Cats are laid back, independent and (usually) quieter. Dogs are floppy and silly. If the farmer has a pet/multiple, he usually has to be attacked with a lint roller before leaving for work every day. I'm talking airport security pat down core.

-This man is TERRIBLE with technology. He definitely does the millennial pause god forbid he ever has to send a video to someone. He's not very well versed with the new meanings people have assigned to emojis and slang. So never text him "HELPPP 😭" unless you want your house barged into at 3am by Harvey with a medical bag.

That's all I've got for now

[bartychaser]

Hey, ehm so, what I’m about to share is really personal and might trigger people who have to fight bullying and mental and/or physical illnesses bc mention of suicidal tendencies.

Idk what exactly it was but (on Pinterest I believe) someone was like “Yeah but why are there people hating on James? He’s so funny and cool with his pranks and Snivellus, just get your shit together” no he is not and I won’t get my “shit” together.

For me personally he triggers self destructive feelings and behaviours that kept building up since SECOND grade (until 10th I believe it was… could also be beginning of 11th) because there where so many ✨funny and cool✨ people who picked their “Snivellus” and spoiler alert it was always me. They pulled so many funny comments and pranks one me that almost cost me my life in the end and they were not done until 10th grade ended. They bullied me with the knowledge that I was ill in some way bc I told them I was seriously and most probably dangerously ill but at that time we didn’t exactly know what it was.

They bullied me for my illness and that illness wasn’t just “being weird randomly” that illness was a fucking brain tumor (luckily not cancer, I’m fine since I had surgery) that caused an epilepsy which is one of a kind.

The most common form of epilepsy is cramps, lying on the floor, looking funny with the drool dribbling down the chin and almost biting off their tongues (yes that can happen… my cousin is badly disabled bc a seizure damaged his brain at 3 months old).

I had a form of epilepsy which my doctors said they’ve never seen before though they were working in that business for over 40 years and they did their research when they heard about me. I was kind of the only person ever known in german medical studies in the last at least 40 years with those form of seizures. And because they were so unique they fucking sent me to a psychiatry because the doctor I’ve been to MULTIPLE TIMES before always said “Nah you’re just mental”. That also was funny enough to pick on me, rubbing in my face that I was a freak and ill and couldn’t do anything about it and I cannot count how many times I’ve prayed to not wake up. Because of people that acted just like James.

I have the right to hate him because in reality I fear him. I fear people like him because getting to have them in my life almost cost me my life and I’m so damn sure they would’ve laughed it off if I one day stopped showing up and my teacher would have stand in front of them crying because he lost the student that reminds him “so much of his sister” (that’s a quote btw) and had to tell them. I’m so afraid of James-like people and therefore I hate him. Not because he is James, James as a character has nothing to do with my past but he was the reason for another’s miserable past if you know what I mean. And every time he is mentioned making fun of Snape or pulling pranks that harm others (mentally or physically) and not only to annoy them bc that actually is funny, I feel those feelings crawling up again and I know it’s not healthy in any way bc he is just a fictional character and that is enough to get me flashbacks but it is what it is so don’t fucking ever try to tell James-dislikers who’ve openly been through similar things that ✨it’s just fun✨. For people in their past it, too, was just fun, for you it might just be fun, but for people who suffered under that fun it’s not. And not a single soul deserves that. There is not one human being who deserves to be picked on/bullied because others want to have some fun.

And no, I don’t mean to hate on James-likers bc yes, in some storys he really is cool and nice and funny and I can understand what you like about him but looking at what is shown to us in books and films he was a fucking prick who loved bullying Severus and making his time at school a part of his life he probably wishes never happened and that triggers my hate-fear if you know what I mean. I’m not trying to say your just like him, making others wanna end them or something, I’m just saying that there often is a sirius reason to dislike a character other than wanting to be different and cool or whatsoever. Sometimes you try to make someone like James with saying things that actually are triggering like “Hahaha it’s fun” Doesn’t mean you can’t try but be careful and always be respectful with trauma which really can be triggered by just one sentence or character.

I know it’s difficult and I do know there are almost no people who communicate/share their trauma just like I did but sometimes people dare doing this bc on social media they can be anonymous just like me. If my former class mates would read this they had no clue it was me. If my brother read this he had no clue it was me, you get my point? But others don’t have that anonymity bc they already published their name/face whatsoever and if anyone they know would see this they would really be fucked. At some point you probably will trigger someone but that inevitably and that’s okay because you can’t see what they’ve been through and you didn’t do it in purpose. But if someone tells you to just leave that topic no matter which topic, there. Is. A. Reason. (Probably) Respect their “no”

P.S. okay that sounds a little aggressive and guilt tripping, I’m sorry but I don’t know how to say that otherwise that was not my intention😭

[covetedbrother]

most days i’m like “yeah i’m pretty over my ‘sam is me i’m him we are the same and he’s also my bbg my son and my dad’ phase” and then i see one (1) bad take about him and i genuinely get murderous and i’m like “ah. nevermind”

what the fuck has he ever done????

(insane samgirl ramblings under the cut bc i’m losing my fucking mind)

if you’re mad at sam for starting the apocalypse: you’re telling me that if you were dealing with the effects of dying, watching your brother die, addiction, and actively being manipulated by your DEALER and also genuinely operating under the belief that that killing a demon would be a good thing, that you wouldn’t have killed that demon?

this bothers me especially bc sam broke seal 66. because he thought it would prevent the apocalypse. dean broke the first seal. because he tortured ppl in hell!!!!!

leaving for college: imagine getting mad at an 18 year old for leaving to go to stanford on a full ride scholarship. he did that in a “household” where he never lived in the same place for more than 6 months. ever. and his only family members thought it was emasculating to do well in school.

“choosing ruby over dean”: hey. hey. look at me. imagine the person you love most in the world. that you have a toxic codependent relationship with to the point of literally getting murderous if you are separated by more than a room without your choice. you’ve known each other for forever. you’ve killed for him. he’s your brother. you have spent a full year trying to figure out how to save his life. now imagine watching him die knowing he did it to save you. and you can’t get him back. now you are actively suicidal and someone comes along and acts almost just like him and offers you this thing that gives you the power to kill the things that killed him. this person says that you have the power to stop a horrible thing from happening. you believe her. and then your brother comes back from the dead and he’s. different. he doesn’t trust you anymore. and the person who gave you power tells you that it’s because he’s being lied to and manipulated to start the tragedy you are bent on preventing. so you’re hurt and scared and trying to save the world so, just this once, you choose to work with someone other than him.

the shit that happened in s8: again. same scenario as above but now you’ve both killed and died for each other multiple times. you’ve endured over centuries of torture by the devil himself and have just started recovering from the hallucinations that you had of the literal devil torturing you and telling you that you can never feel happy bc this is just another way of torturing you. making you feel happy for a moment only to bring you back and hurt you. then your brother disappears into a pile of black goo in front of you. you have no idea how or why. you do months of research and come up with exactly nothing. life without him isn’t worth living. you’re about to drive your car off a bridge. the car you grew up with him in, the one you both engraved your initials into when you were 8 and 10. with the legos shoved into the vents that you’ve never been able to take out. you’re not paying attention so you hit a dog. shit. he doesn’t deserve to die. not like you. you take him to the vet. his medical bills need to be covered by someone. it can only be you. the vet there treats you like you deserve to live, to be loved. you fall for her. you move in together and adopt the dog you hit. maybe,,,, just maybe,,, you can be happy.

and then your brother comes back. and he’s best friends with a vampire… the vampire’s name sounds like yours.

and your brother is mad at you. then your girlfriend discovers the husband she thought was dead is alive. your brother wanted you to break up with her anyways. you’d do anything for him. always. he doesn’t forgive you. it’s what you deserve.

you take on the trials of hell to try and do something right. it’s actively killing you. every day you wake up and cough lungfuls of blood into the sink. it’s fine. these trials will probably kill you, but it’ll be ok. you’re finally doing something right. the final trial requires you to confess your greatest sins in a church. you spend hours there, and the biggest sin you confess is disobeying your brother. you confess the times you’ve let him down. you’re clean now. you’re ready to die, ready to stop any demon from ever coming to earth again. and your brother calls you an idiot and stops you because he doesn’t want to watch you die. but by now, your body is going to die with or without completing the trials. your brother coerces you into being possessed without your knowledge for a year in order to keep you alive. the thing possessing you kills your friend. your brother blames you for it. it’s fine. he cares. you know he does. he wouldn’t have done it if he didn’t care.

it never. ends. THERE ARE FIFTEEN FUCKING SEASONS OF THIS SHIT

ARE YOU MAD AT HIM FOR TRYING TO GET DEAN TO NOT BE AN ALCOHOLIC? TO EAT BETTER?

MAYBE YOU’RE MAD AT HIM FOR THINKING THAT THE PERSON WHO MADE FUN OF YOU FOR DOING WELL IN SCHOOL WOULDNT KNOW WHO VONNEGUT IS?

FOR NOT FALLING TO HIS KNEES AND WORSHIPPING DEAN EVERY TIME HE ENTERS THE ROOM?

are you mad at him for forgiving his father?

maybe you’re mad because dean had bad things happen to him that didn’t happen to sam.

are you mad at the man who got into stanford on a full ride scholarship and was about to get into law school before he dropped out for thinking of himself as smart?

i think they’re mad at him bc he’s not a perfect brother who gives into dean’s codependent tendencies 100% of the time. dean has a codependent personality, and sam has a rebellious streak of independence a mile wide. his rebellion just looked like choosing school over hunting, or studying over weapon training, or reading over sparring. not that he didn’t also do those things, he just also did other things.

[lightning-and-sparks]

what was your inspiration for Roland? And your inspiration for the other characters if you’d like to share

Oh my gosh, this is such a great question I’m so excited! This counts as Thorns Chronicles 2

So originally, Roland wasn’t supposed to be the main antagonist. He was just a namesake to throw into the position of manager. I also picked kind of a jerk name bc I’ve dealt with some jackass named Roland. Roland evolved into being a “wolf in sheep’s clothing” character where on the surface he doesn’t look intimidating but you kind of get a strange vibe from him. I wanted to make someone desperate enough to do what he did. He’s hellbent on getting back to Dancity bc his wife is dying and he only took the job as Jack’s manager to pay her medical bills because it was all he could get. I don’t want to say too much here but he is hinted to have a criminal background with his last client that almost ended his career. He also manipulates Jack on things he knows will provoke him, like his past, and possible relationships where he will be used, and wants to keep reminding him that he is nothing but a pretty face and a warm body, if you catch my drift. As a final thing on Roland, don’t underestimate what an animal backed into a corner will do.

Kelly (The Makeup artist) is based off my hair dresser and acts as more of a comic relief and familiar face. You see her in the very beginning and at the very end. She’s a mother and her empathy extends to Jack. She is employed by him so she doesn’t act on it (ex, when he starts showing signs something is wrong before talking to Korzo, chapter 7 I think?) She doesn’t see Jack Rose as the son of a dictator or a celebrity when he’s in her chair.

Kit Korzo (News Reporter) was my attempt to make a Cesar Flickerman character if you have ever seen hunger games. He’s built his life and livelihood around reporting and is well known for it. He wants Jack’s testimony on his mother but he’s patient enough to play the long game. Like other Eternians he is calculating and we will see him again. Also, @charminggold25 told me he reminds him of Ellen which is so funny

Foxx (bodyguard) is based on a real-life person u know and acts as an outsider looking in. He’s known Jack since he was younger and being employed by the Swans had saved him and his family. Although Night Swan wasn’t the greatest person, she kept him and his kids alive and for that, he’s indebted to the Swans. If not for their employment he would have turned back to a life of crime from which he came. He has three kids, (two daughters and a son) his middle child (the son) is a fan of Jack Rose and ultimately serves to bridge their connection. Foxx sees his son in Jack and also remembers how he was as a kid and feels compelled to step in even if just for his son. Like most Eternians, he is not particular about Dancinites so seeing Roland as an enemy is not that difficult. He’s come to see Jack as a friend rather than an employer and shares his triumphs and downfalls.

Sting (Bodyguard) is introduced a lot later than Foxx when Jack realizes the situation is too big for just them. He acts as a refresher character who adds some new eyes into each scenario. He’s less seasoned compared to Foxx and that breaks up Foxx’s stiffness. He lives in the same neighborhood as Foxx but lives with his grandmother (who taught him Spanish) Sting isn’t upset about the promotion but is happy to be included. Originally, he was named Gordy Sting after Gordon Sting who sings for The Police *COUGH COUGH* message in the bottle! But got switched to Sammy Sting bc the chapter he’s introduced in is a song sang by Sammy Hagar.

Electra (sound coordinator) She exists because I needed someone on the inside as far as technology goes. She’s overconfident and knows what she’s doing. She is from a different Eternian city and acclimated to Eternyx City well.

Soong (Doctor) is one of the first characters I made that we see. He’s distant and watches Jack’s gradual deterioration. Like most Eternians, he knows of Jack Rose but at surface level. He sees him after the initial encounter and watches how he shifts from fear to anger. Soong is last seen at the beginning of the second half of arc 1. He sees what happens to Jack at an intimate level. He also knows Roland and is afraid of him knowing what he’s capable of. He sees Jack first alone and scared but in their next encounter sees he is no longer alone. He is haunted by the image of Jack hemorrhaging on the hospital floor.

Sandy (tailor) comic relief character who is zero bullshit. Doesn’t see Jack or Wander as higher figures. Takes her job very seriously but she can tell something is up by the way Wander and Jack interact and puts in her two cents to Wander.

The man in the mirror: Bad ex of Jack Rose, his first (if u know u know) I’ll talk about him another time, He is called “Spike”

Characters are made for a purpose in Thorns 😉

[whumpshaped]

Okay okay okay

Re: whumpee and guns

Whumper is being investigated for some unrelated major crime

Agents storm his residence after staking it out

Imagine an armed agent barging in to see whumpee alone and absolutely miserable, hurt, hungry, and in rags

Agent is standing in disbelief (what the FUCK), gun held loose by his side as he stares at whumpee (We didn't know there was a PERSON HERE WHAT THE FUCK)

Whumpee crawls up to him

Looks at him with these doe eyes (bc that's what whumper likes)

And nuzzles the gun so its pointed directly into his forehead, execution style (please please please help me or kill me or both please I don't want to suffer anymore please please please)

@echo-goes-aaa hewwo c:

tw guns, pet whump, trauma, known whumpee, people in authority handling a bad situation very poorly

Whumpee didn't know what was going on downstairs. They knew Whumper had been on edge for the past week, but they had assumed it was just work related stress. Besides, they were never told much about real world issues. People issues. Those weren't for pets' innocent, empty brains.

They could hear people yelling and struggling, and they curled up a little tighter on the pet bed, inside the trusty cage. Nothing could hurt them inside, no matter how loud or scary it was. Except the bedroom door was bust down soon after, and several strangers in identical clothing stormed in and dragged them out of there.

There was more yelling. Someone told the people to stop and Whumpee was let go, allowed to stay kneeling on the floor, trembling in fear in front of these unknown clones of destruction.

Their new masters?

They glanced up at the one standing directly in front of them, keeping their expression pleasant and soft. They didn't miss the gun in their hand that was now hanging limply by their side. They looked shocked to have found them.

"There wasn't supposed to be another person here," they called to the rest of the team, but only got a couple shrugs in response. "We need to get them out of here. They need medical attention."

Oh. Oh, no. I can't. I can't keep doing this. You have a gun, use it.

Whumpee crawled closer, despite the trembling and the dread, nuzzling against the stranger's gun. They shifted in a way so that it was pointing straight at their head, whimpering quietly.

You just need to pull the trigger. I could maybe deal with new masters, but I can't go back out there. Not after all this. Not after my face has been all over the news. Please.

Their only hope for salvation and rest pulled away the gun abruptly, almost startled. "What are you doing?" they whispered, horrified, and Whumpee knew they wouldn't be granted freedom here. They kept their gaze on the floor and scooted back a little, resignation and shame flooding their entire body. "Someone get them out of here already! They're clearly not well!"

Whumpee wanted to scream, to tell them yes, they're broken, ruined, beyond saving. They wanted to plead until someone took pity on them, enough to put a bullet in their head. They just wanted it to end. They didn't want to be brought downstairs, past their captor, maybe shoved inside the same vehicle as them.

Strong hands grabbed them under the arms and pulled them up, helping them walk through the house they'd spent their last several years in. Whumper was nowhere to be found downstairs, nor outside in any of the cars. Whumpee could still hear their voice in the back of their mind, felt those piercing eyes on their way too exposed body.

Exposed. Exposed to the whole world. Isn't it great, Whumpee? You're famous! Their head was spinning, and they desperately tore themself out of the strangers' hold, attempting to run back into the house. They were tackled and yelled at, and they could only sob as they were finally loaded into one of the empty cars, told to wait.

They banged their head against the back of the driver's seat and wept.

~

@ashh-ed @whumpsday @whump-queen @dustbunnywhump