#does it count as self harm that i scratched the back of my hand until it bled earlier?

[catkin-morgs-kookaburralover]

you are so so loved by God and by all of us here on tumblr and I am sending you so much love tonight. please stay. things will get better I promise. <3

.

[mxthtea]

I Am Not Your Enemy

grim x masc reader (reader does not have a specified gender, but is stated to not identify as a woman) warnings: (reader) breakdowns, online grooming (done to the reader), reader refers to themself as a slut and a whore once each, heavily self-indulgent and based on my own experiences, hand holding and hugging, use of grim's real name, mentioned self-harm, grammar + spelling mistakes, please tell me if i forgot any word count: 3107

request rules

You feel… itchy. Very itchy.

Not an itch that made any sense. A spontaneous itch that covers your entire body. But your skin isn't dry either. It makes you want to tear into it and rip out your tendons. To scratch until you're red and bleeding onto your flooring and chair.

Maybe it has to do with the anxiety pooling into your chest. the heavy weight that lays there, making your heart pound to try and escape. The quickened breaths of your suffocating lungs.

The bright screen of your laptop glares you down. The old messages you had sent to Casper glaring even harder.

The words making out more… suggestive messages. In-depth words about how you'd touch him, how you'd feel him. What your skin contact would be like. To think that it was just about holding his hand. To think that you sent those, even though it has been a while since you sent them.

Messages that you swear you've seen before. Years prior and on a social app you shouldn't've been on. After all, your parents wanted to protect you from online predators. But, they still got to you. It's not like you were exactly protecting yourself.

Suggestive messages filled with what they'd to you. How they'd touch your skin and they'd feel. How they'd undress, how they-

"Sunshine?" a voice cuts off your thoughts.

Your head snaps to the doorway to your apartment. There stands your boyfriend, Casper, donning his usual attire. Not that you can make it out well, your face is blurry from tears, after all.

When did you start crying?

Your body tells you to run. To run from Casper and to get out of there. Telling you that he's just like them. You're just a body, you aren't a person to him. No doubt he talks about you behind your back. He views you as some slut, some whore. Somebody that he'll use then discard. Who knows who else he's done that to.

He'll fuck you- or you'll fuck him- then he'll leave you right after. He'll get what he wanted then leave. Maybe he'll take your soul while he's at it! After all, he's a grim reaper! It's insane to think he doesn't want it!

It doesn't matter if this goes against everything you know about Casper. You're right, you have to be. You've been through this already.

Something cold presses against your hot cheeks and you slap away whatever's touching you. Your world blurs for a moment, a thud then a sharp pain that shoots up from your bottom.

Casper's above you. His face is too blurry from your tears to make out. Gods he's above you, he's gonna make you-

"Sunshine, look at me," Casper calls out to you. when you look at him, he's on his knees in front of you. his hands held in the air as if telling you he won't touch you again.

Your shaking hands reach up to wipe the tears that drip from your eyes. You can barely make anything out into detailed shapes. Your boyfriend is just a blur of some colors. His red eyes still stand out among the grey and whites.

"Get away from me," you choke out, "don't touch me."

The red blurs of his eyes get bigger. You assume he had widened them, but you still make it out fully. There's a distant sound of Casper's shoes shuffling against your wooden flooring. Your eyes begin to clear up from the tears. They fall down your cheeks, but you simply wipe them. You don't want to look even more vulnerable.

You look up to Casper, staring into his red eyes. He seems worried.

A part of you thinks it's fake.

A part of you knows that this is fake.

His look of worry is just one to hide his own feelings. He's pretending he's being worried so he can get you to lower your guard. Then he'll use your body. With sweet words, he'll whisper that fills you with too much guilt to say no. You'll want to die after, then he'll leave you.

Only to come back again and repeat the damned cycle.

You want to run, but you feel cornered. He's kneeling in front of you, keeping you from running away. He's gonna hold you down. He'll-

"Sunshine," Casper's voice makes it sound like he's pleading with you, "please tell me what's wrong."

His eyes meet yours. Casper takes a step back to give you space.

Will he jump on you when you try to run?

"Don't touch me," you demand.

Casper raises his gloved hands once again, he takes another step back from you, "I won't touch you. What's wrong?"

You look at him with inquisitive eyes. Why's he acting like this? He wants to touch you, does he not? Maybe he's just pretending to care about how you feel.

You see Casper's concerned expression twist into one of surprise. He looks down at you, eyes widened by a fraction, dark eyebrows raised up.

He opens his mouth to speak, "Sunshine, why do you look like that? Did I say something wrong?"

Your gaze hardens. Why is he playing dumb? He knows what he wants. He knows that he wants you. Why?

He must be trying to put you in a false sense of security. Then it's easier for him to undress you. For him to mutter in your ear how much you want him.

"You want to touch me don't you?" you look at him, incredulously, "so do it."

"You don't want me to."

"Why do you care?"

You see that Casper visibly flinches back. His expression changes several times in a matter of seconds. From shock, to anger, to a form of despair, to worry.

"I'm not going to touch you."

"But don't you?"

"Do you want me to?"

A shiver wracks through your body. You feel your blood rush and your heart beats rapidly in your chest. You feel as if it's going to burst out any second. The question rings in your ears. He's trying to tempt you, isn't he?

"Do you want me to?"

When you say no, he'll have an ugly face. One that'll haunt you. One that asks- demands permission. Permission given that completely strips you of consenting to it. Then he'll smile. He'll say you're a good girl despite you not being one. He'll hush your protests with his lips.

It doesn't matter if you say no. You might as well just be saying yes. You just need to be convinced.

The words are a lump in your throat. Those three letters, singular syllable, refuse to come out. Just say yes goddammit it saves you the fucking trouble!

"No," your voice shakes as you speak. You feel pathetic.

"Alright," Casper nods to you, "I won't."

"Why not?"

It seems like a stupid question. But, you have to ask. Why doesn't he want to?

"You don't want me to, right? I won't touch you until you say so."

There's silence in the room. You know Casper wants to speak. He opens his mouth just to close it a few times.

"I'll be back," is all he says before leaving from your apartment window. When did he even open it?

Your legs shake as you stand. Luckily, due to your small apartment, your bed is only a stumble away. As you let yourself fall onto your mattress, your mind begins to wander… to Casper.

He didn't want to touch you. Not because he didn't desire you, it's because you didn't want him to. Something that other people would scoff at and say is the bare minimum. But, it's something you aren't used to. Well, you had barely said no to anyone's demands. Always eager to please.

Despite the pain and trauma it had caused. Those same memories and emotions still haunt you years later.

You don't know when you fell asleep. All you remember is thinking of Casper and what you had experienced. Then, you woke up. With the blue sky changing to an orange.

Casper still isn't back either. It's just you, your plant, and your pet.

You take hold of your pet, gently. Holding them in your lap and gently stroking them. It's nice, creating a small bubble of pleasant feelings in your chest. It's easy.

A few minutes seem to pass. You're still in a bit of a daze from earlier events. You must've been asleep for at least an hour.

There's a distant noise that you can't really hear. Your pet looks up, you follow their gaze. A figure crawls into your room from your window. The familiar dark jacket and white hair stand out to you.

"Casper…?" you drawl. His eyes meet yours. His expression is one of concern. Why?

"I said I'd be back, didn't I?" he gives a smile to you, "I bought some food."

He places an emphasis on saying he bought it. It makes you think that he might've stolen the food. Those hesitant thoughts are cut short as Casper places the bag down in front of you.

It's some fast food place. WcBonalds, as you recall. You had eaten there a while ago, during another one of these episodes.

Casper sits at your desk chair. He stares at your hands, waiting for you to move. You notice how poor his posture is. His slumped back against the leather back of it. You wonder if a reaper like him faces back pain like a human like you.

Removing the food he had brought, you just stare at it for a moment.

"Are you… eating it with your eyes?" he asks, raising an eyebrow.

"I don't…" feel hungry is what you want to say. Though you doubt Casper will take that as an answer.

Despite not eating the entire day and having a breakdown, you didn't want to eat. The thought of it makes you feel queasy. Having the flavors invade your tongue. The texture lingering in your mouth. Choking on the food as it slides down your throat.

Thinking about eating makes you tired, not hungry.

Casper's eyes still linger on you. His eyebrows pinch together in a face of worry. At least, it could be worry. You feel like he's probably frustrated, too.

This isn't the first time he has to encourage you to eat.

"Can you at least drink a little, Sunshine?" Casper relents. He carries a sad look on his face.

You look at the drink Casper brought. A simple, standard cup of iced water from WcBonalds. Perhaps he didn't want you to choke on their famously aggressive soft drinks. It won't hurt to drink. Water is nice to drink, you're thirsty as well. It's easier to do than eat something as well.

You give a nod to Casper. His lips quirk up into a relieved smile as you take a sip of it.

"Slowly," Casper's voice is gentle as he speaks. You follow his words and take small, slow sips.

"I thought a grim reaper wouldn't know how to take care of someone," you move your lips from the straw and put it down. The food still stares up at you, waiting for you to eat it.

You sigh. Taking a fry and eating it. The expected salty taste invades your senses. It makes you feel sick, but you also realize how hungry you are.

"I'm good at taking care of you," Casper corrects you, "every other human I either fight or take their soul."

You give a nod to him, continuing to eat.

Now that Casper is with you and you aren't breaking down in front of him, you can ask him a question. The question that had been bothering you since he had left.

Why?

"Casper," you start. He looks to you, red eyes meeting yours, "why didn't you touch me?"

His expression is one of bewilderment, as if your words cut into him. He opens his mouth just to close it. You think Casper looks more like a fish than a grim reaper right now.

"You told me you didn't want me to," Casper sounds offended as he speaks.

"And you listened, why?" you eat a fry after the words fall from your lips. The salty taste lingers on your tongue.

"Why wouldn't I listen to you?"

"Because-"

Oh.

You can't come up with any response. Any reason that he'd go against your words die before they could even leave your mouth.

Casper lets out a sigh. He approaches you, sitting on your bed. His eyes still meeting yours.

"Can I hold your hand?"

The words sit in the air. You look down and stare at your hands.

Unlike a bit ago, you don't ache at the mere thought of being touched. In fact, maybe you want to be. For no other reason than you just crave a bit of contact.

So, you nod. Casper clicks his tongue. He doesn't seem satisfied with that response.

"I want your verbal consent, Sunshine. Not just a nod."

Another gap of silence. It's easier to just nod or shake your head than have to say it out loud.

"Yes," your voice shakes a bit with hesitancy. It's not that you don't want Casper to touch you- it's just hard to say you do.

"Sunshine," Casper's gloved hand brushes over your fingertips. When you don't pull your hand back or give any other sign of not wanting to be touched, Casper takes your hand in his.

His hand is cold, even through the gloves he wears. You know this. You've known this. Ever since Casper had gifted you a bouquet of roses all those weeks ago. You've continued to know it ever since that first week of "meeting" each other.

"Sunshine," Casper repeats, "look at me."

Your eyes meet up to his. Casper looks at you desperately. There's a bit of hurt in his expression. The cocky bastard of a grim reaper you know is replaced with someone filled with worry. You don't think you've ever seen him like this.

His hold on your hand is light, gentle. As if you'd break at the slightest bit of physical pressure. You don't know if that's true or not in your current mental state.

"Sunshine. I am not your enemy," his hold on your hand tightens the slightest bit, "I have never been your enemy. I will not do anything you don't want me to."

"But-"

"No," Casper's voice is firm, unbreakable. He's blunt in his statements, just as he has been before, "there is no but, if, and, or whatever else you mortals say. I am not working against you. Unless you are doing something truly stupid- which you probably will- I don't want to hurt you."

The statement flows through the open air. You can't seem to grasp onto it. The words Casper speaks are foreign to you. Reassurances that he won't use you like you have been before. You're… hesitant to accept such things being said to you.

It's not supposed to be like this.

Casper is supposed to use you, he's supposed to go against what you say, he's supposed to make you uncomfortable. But, he isn't.

In fact, he's doing the opposite.

He's helping you, he's doing what you want. He's touching you when you say he can.

Something warm drips down your cheek. You reach up and try to wipe away your tears. Emotions overflow and reveal themselves in the small space of your apartment. With only two other living beings to witness it and some food you've half forgotten about.

"Sunshine," your nickname falls from Casper's tongue. He says it so much these days. As if he's just stating the weather.

You look back up to Casper. His other hand hovers just before your face. The sheer frigid temperature he has goes against your heated body.

"May I?"

This time, you know he means that he's asking for your consent. Casper won't do anything without you saying so. If you say no, he backs off.

"Yes…" the words are sniffled out.

Casper's gloved hand wipes away your tears. The one still holding your hand squeezes it reassuringly.

Casper is different.

You can trust him.

"I love you, Sunshine," the words are whispered to you. Sweet, loving words falling from the lips of your boyfriend.

It makes you want to break down.

A weight feels as if it's been lifted off of your shoulders. Casper's reassurances and actions go against what you had expected from him just hours ago.

More tears fall from your eyes. The air is filled with your stifled sobs and sniffles. The overwhelming emotions crash down onto you in rapid succession.

You don't have to go through hell once again. There isn't a need to feel fear from him.

Casper reaches closer to you in an effort of comfort. He asks if he can hold you, comfort you. Another time where he doesn't force his presence upon you. It only makes you want to cry more.

"Y- yes… please," you sob out.

As the final syllable leaves your lips, Casper embraces you. The entirety of him is cold, a direct contrast to your still-hot temperature. Your tears fall onto his shoulder as Casper leads your head to be as close as possible. Despite it, his presence isn't overwhelming. It's comforting.

Your hands find purchase against his jacket, tugging at the fabric in an attempt to ground yourself. You hear Casper whisper words to you. In your fuddled mind it's impossible to hear what he's really saying. The syllables being all mixed together in some gibberish.

"Focus on my voice, Sunshine," is all you can clearly make out from Casper's words.

So, you try to.

It sounds like he's underwater when you try to focus on him at first. Despite that, it helps to hear him speak. Casper's voice brings you down from your overwhelming emotions. The fabric of his jacket and the coldness of his shoulder helps as well.

As the last few sniffles and sobs leave from you, you gently pull yourself back. Casper does nothing to keep you against him. His arms are loose around you as he looks into your eyes, you gaze back into his.

"I love you, Sunshine," he whispers, "I won't do anything you don't want me to."

"I know," a small smile finds it's way to your face, "I love you too, Casper."

You reach forward and hug him again, fitting yourself into Casper's embrace. You hear an exhale of amusement escape from your grim reaper, but no words do.

For now, you're content with just soaking in his presence.

[sparkles-oflight]

Bele Sanje - in another room

Hello everyone, I'm back to write again!

Remember my BoKris fanfic on Martin's departure? Well, this is a continuation of that, but it's JaRtin time! (with Jan&jure friendship as well!)

Thanks @anxious-witch for the proofreading (seriously, how do you still handle me?)!

Synopsis: The aftermath of Martin's departure on Jan and Jure.

Disclaimer: Please think of these as characters and not the actual people. I don’t encourage anyone to send this to any of the actual JO members nor do I encourage people to force any type of relationship between anyone.

Sensible subjects: anxiety, a LOT of guilt, some self-harming tendencies (nothing too strong or explicit, but... yeah)

"I decided to leave the band", that's what Martin said, and Jan heard it, but he didn't quite understand the message between Bojan's sobs and the noise inside his own brain.

In the past year, Jan had gotten even closer to Martin than he should. He thought he was just trying to find something to fill in his ex-girlfriend's spot for a while, but then he actually started liking Martin.

But now Martin is telling them he's leaving. Jan doesn't want Martin to leave.

- We arrived.

Jan looked to his side and saw Jure closing the car door.

Jure had taken them both to his apartment since Jan wasn't feeling well enough to return home on his own.

The guitarist slowly exited the car and made his way to Jure's home.

When they got inside, Jan took his shoes off and laid on Jure's sofa, turning on the TV, but not really paying attention to anything.

Not until Jure sat next to him with a cup of tea.

- Be careful, it's hot. - he patted Jan's knee.

- Thank you.

A moment went by until Jure broke the silence again.

- Do you want to talk about it?

- Talk about what? - Jan didn’t look away from the TV.

- Martin.

- I guess you are already talking about it.

Jure started anxiously tapping his fingers on his mug before proceeding.

- I know you and Martin have something special, I've seen it myself. I don't know what it is, but you need to sort it out. And hey, if you need help, you can count on me. - he smiled.

- Thanks, Muca. - Jan also smiled though his smile was filled with sadness - Me and Martin... Uh. Me and Martin were having sex.

- Oh.

An awkward silence filled the room. Jure then realized it and he was terrified of sounding like a homophobe so he just...

- Sex is good.

To which Jan chuckled - the first time he did that day.

- My girlfriend had left me, and Martin was a bit curious about gay sex, and uh...labels so, uh... Yeah, that's how it happened. We decided to help each other out.

- So... Is he? You know... – he was about to gesture with his hand, but he was stopped by Jan.

- Oh god, not you too. - he sighed and then smiled - Martin is not gay. I know that much. And that makes me feel so guilty...

Jan started biting off the polish out of his nails.

- I feel like we only keep having sex because he's too scared of hurting my feelings...

- What does that mean?

- Jure... I've fallen for Martin.

Well, Jure had figured Jan wasn't straight a long time ago, but he wasn't expecting Jan to be in some sort of one-sided relationship with Martin.

- It hurts so much. - Jan finally lost it.

He started crying and Jure immediately hugged him.

- Why am I so shitty? – he cried – I used him, Jure, I used him!

- Jan... calm down.

- How can I be calm!? I know he doesn’t love me back and I still keep it going, even though I know that it isn’t the best for him.

He pushed Jure off him and started hitting his thighs and scratching his arms.

- I’m so fucking selfish! He is leaving because of me, Jure! He is!

Jan found breathing hard due to his tears and snot.

- Why would he make this decision and not tell me? Not tell Bojan!? WHY!?

Jan stopped as he reached a point of exhaustion. He curled up in a little ball and covered his ears as he felt the tears’ salty taste in his mouth. If he could, he would have been there for the rest of his days. He didn’t want to see Martin go, he didn’t want to see anyone take his place.

Jan was scared. Scared of a new member, scared of the band falling apart, but worst of all, he was scared of himself. Was he always going to act like this? Use people for his own satisfaction? How would he stop himself from doing that?

- Hey.

Jan opened his eyes and saw Jure crouched next to him and softly removing the guitarist’s hands to hold them.

- Jan, I don’t know everything that went down between you two, and I don’t know why Martin never told you. I’ve never been in a situation like this, but... �� Jure stopped for a bit before continuing – I think you can only get those answers if you talk to him.

Jan looked at Jure’s eyes and he could swear he got lost in them because... Jure was crying. Jan had never seen Jure cry and he doesn’t know how to react to that.

- I think... – he sniffed – I think you don’t have to talk to him right now, but...

Jure will miss Martin, just as much as anyone else. Jure entered the band and immediately felt at home... Jure might be chaotic, and sometimes isolated, but he too had a bunch of complicated feelings over the situation that he couldn’t express.

- I’m sorry, I’m crying on you. – he apologized.

Jan got up and held Jure in his arms, calming him by softly petting his blonde hair and letting the older one cry there.

- Muca. – he whispered – Can I ask you for a favor?

- Sure.

- Can you take me to Martin’s house? Bojan should still be at the studio with Kris, I want to talk to him alone.

- Yes, of course.

Jure picked some napkins from the kitchen to clean themselves up and drove them to Martin and Bojan’s apartment.

- You don’t want me to stay? – the drummer asked Jan as he closed and exited the car.

- No, I’ll be okay, thank you, Muca.

- No worries. – he winked.

Jure saw Jan make his way to the apartment and then saw on his phone how late it was... He called Kris.

- Yes?

- Hi, Kris, are you home?

- Yeah, just got home.

- Are you alone?

- Bojan’s spending the night here tonight. Do you need anything?

“So Martin and Jan are alone then... good”.

- I was wondering about how he was feeling.

- He’s a bit better now. You?

- Oh, I feel like shit.

- Do you want to talk about it?

Jure decided to vent with Kris about his feelings about Martin leaving, but he never mentioned Jan once. Kris also tried to not push that topic either, he didn’t feel ready to hear about his best friend's feelings at the moment.

Jan rang up Martin’s bell.

- Who is it? – Martin asked.

- It’s... – he sniffed – It’s me, Martin.

Martin opened the building’s door and Jan made his way to his floor.

When he entered, he saw the pair of slippers he always worn ready for him at the entrance. He changed from his shoes to them and closed the door.

- Hi. – Martin said.

Jan looked at the tall man who was already wearing pajamas.

- Hi. – Jan forced himself to speak.

Both didn’t know what to do, but Martin gestured for the older one to enter and sit down. They both sat but neither said a word because neither was ready for what was coming.

- Bojan is not coming tonight.

- Oh, is he sleeping at the studio?

- I think he is sleeping at Kris’.

- Ah.

- You know... I was talking to a friend of mine, he’s also a bassist, and I swear he’s the best bassist I’ve ever met in the country. I think... If you are looking for someone new, you should take him in.

- Uhm.

- I’ll let you choose of course. Now that I’m leaving, I feel like I shouldn’t have a say on the band, but could you please promise me you guys will at least hear him out?

- Uhm.

- Jan, please give me a proper answer.

Jan sighed and looked up.

- Sorry, Martin, if I’m not excited about a new band member when I only found out about you leaving a couple of hours ago.

Martin got close to Jan and touched his hand.

- Hey, Jan-

But Jan slapped his hand and got up.

- Stop it! Martin, just fucking stop it! I know you know I love you. But we both know you don’t love me back. And you know what? Fair! I’m a shitty person who’s been using you and you... Martin, you are a gentleman, but for fuck’s sake, set boundaries with me for once!

Martin sighed, took his glasses off, and massaged his forehead.

- Jan, I’m sorry I didn’t tell anyone. I just... – he gulped – I thought it was easier to tell everyone at the same time. I didn’t want... I didn’t want to let some of you guys know before the others. And Jan…

Jan looked at him and slowly he sat down again.

- And I thought... the quicker we get this done with, the faster we will all move on. Ahead, Jan. Always ahead.

- Why don’t you let me go? - Jan mumbled.

Martin didn’t know how to reply.

- Why don’t you let me let you go? - Jan reformulated the question.

- I just… I didn’t want to hurt you...

- Martin… I love you.

Martin sighed and felt a lump form in his throat as he noticed this wasn’t about the band anymore.

- Jan…

- Martin, I feel like I’m using you.

- Jan, you are not using me. I just didn’t have the courage to tell you I didn’t want to do this anymore. - he sighed - I was scared of the band given how well things were going and… I didn’t want you to think you were the problem when in reality… I just… I’m not into guys, Jan, I’m sorry.

Jan stared at him, and he felt tears forming in his eyes, so Martin hugged him until... until Jan calmed down.

“It’s not your fault.”, Jan swore Martin whispered that into his ear, but he couldn’t be sure because of his fast heartbeat.

Martin kissed Jan’s ear and released him.

- Do you want to spend the night here? – Martin asked, then smiled - As friends.

- Of course. – and Jan smiled back.

♫♩♫♩♫♩♫♩♫♩♫♩♫♩♫♩♫♩♫♩♫♩♫♩♫♩♫♩♫♩♫♩♫♩

Polaroid Photos Universe | Recommended next: Tea Spilling

[lyneytricks]

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Genre ➸ Headcannons. Idk how to classify this in a genre

Warnings ➸ Talking about self harm. Not explicit descriptions of it

A/N ➸ I am not, in any way, trying to glorify or make self harm ‘less of an issue’. These are just my headcannons, and a way to connect with these characters. The tone of this post is light-hearted, though not because I don’t take self-harm seriously

A lot more words on wanderer’s part than on the rest & He/Him pronouns used for Furina, They/Them for Lynette

Characters ➸ Wanderer, Furina, Lynette, Fischl

Word Count ➸ 556 words in total

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Wanderer – 157 words

Disregarding the debate of “can he bleed?”, because he can, and is shown to bleed in a cutscene (although it’s very easy to miss). I propose the question “can he scar?” and I don’t mean it in the ‘can he get hurt’ way, I mean it in the “Do his scars show?”

I think it’d be fitting, both lore (ex. Fading puppet joints) and character wise, for his scars to just.. Fade, over time. It’s a little far fetched, but it’s sort of like him. Like how he hides himself.

Getting that out of the way, because that’s how I delude myself into thinking my headcannons are real, I think he tried almost anything to see if it could hurt him. He tells himself he’s just curious, that it’s normal to test his limits. He tells himself it’s just curiosity, when he scurried away during nights to search for any sharp objects inside the palace of Surasthana.

Furina – 105 words

Furina is a less complicated case, knowing that he is human and therefore, bleeds and scars like any other human would. The main obstacle he has with this is his “godhood”, and his efforts to appear as one. Of course, what reason would a god have to do such a thing? Why would a god, in all of his might, scar not from battle but because of himself?

He mainly hurt himself on his arms, because of his tendency to wear shorts. He is always hyper-aware of his sleeves. He does have some scars of his thighs, though. There were times where he wasn’t thinking.

Lynette – 130 words

I bet you didn’t expect them to show up, huh? (you did, because they show up in the characters section and in the tags+warnings, but shh) Jokes on you, I am an extremely big Lynette fan. The fanatism is just dormant.

I’ve also written something about this in the past, though I probably deleted it, considering how I didn’t really understand Lynette all that much back then. My thought still stands, though.

I feel like when Lynette loses control of themselves, they scratch their thighs as a way to let out their emotions ‘without hurting anyone’. Lynette cares deeply about the people around them, and they believe that telling them anything would be a burden to them, so their ways of dealing with their emotions can be pretty self destructive.

Fischl -174 words

Fischl isn’t as “extreme” as others on this post, but I think that it’s worth talking about, regardless. All self harm is still self harm, no matter how ‘light’ it seems to be, and it deserves to be treated as such.

I hc her to cut her hands, around the palm and edges of the fingers, and right above her ankles, where she knows the scars will be hidden from sight during her day to day. Some other times, she bites her hands until to the point that her jaw hurts, because it’s one of the best ways to let out stress for her. It calms her down a lot. The cuts are few and far between, so much so that they can be passed off as simple accidents, hyper analysing every single thing she does to make it look unintentional. Some times, she thinks that what she does doesn’t count as harmful because it doesn’t “actually” hurt her “that much”, but Mona and Oz constantly tell her that it’s deserving of attention regardless

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

[2twin]

━━━ DEAR DIARY , TODAY WILL BE DIFFERENT . it has to be. i will smile, and it will be believable. my smile will say ❝i’m fine, thank you.❞ &&& ❝ yes, i feel much better. ❞. i will no longer be the sad little girl who lost her parents. i will start fresh — be someone new. it’s the only way i’ll make it through.

* 𝒑𝒊𝒍𝒐𝒕 𝒓𝒆𝒘𝒂𝒕𝒄𝒉 && 𝒑𝒐𝒓𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒚𝒂𝒍 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆𝒔. long post ahead, meant for headcanon purposes. this is not an accurate summary of the episode, but my changes to the episode to benefit my portrayal written in a way that compliments the episode. if you are looking for canon compliance, it will not be found here in its entirety. this post is about jeremy and elena only including their base dynamics with others within the episode. this post contains dual point of views that go back and forth. do not lift any of these headcanons.²dates watched: 7/17/24, 7/19/24. PINBOARD FOR EPISODE. trigger warnings : parental death mentions, grief, self harm, drug addiction.

PART ONE — ELENA .

THE SCENE OPENS WITH ELENA SITTING BY THE WINDOW, WRITING IN HER DIARY. Her hair is no longer straightened, the wildness of her curls dangling down her shoulders and to her waist. She hasn’t straightened her hair since before her parents died, her mother used to stand in front of the bathroom mirror and listen to Elena complain on and on about how long it took. Elena’s doe eyes are still glassed over, distant — as if she was in a trance. The sound of honking outside her window was the thing that ended up snapping her out of it. Elena didn’t realize how much random chicken scratch was written in the margins of her diary until she brushed her hand over the smeared ink that splattered onto her left hand, she uses the sleeve of her hoodie that was sprawled across the floor in a heap to wipe it off weakly.

Elena goes downstairs to see her Aunt Jenna scrambling burnt bacon into a plastic baggy and shoving it into Jeremy's backpack as he walks by. It’s all about the coffee, aunt Jenna. Elena pours her coffee into a thermos.

Bonnie is still honking outside — once, twice, five times. Elena grabs her backpack, and makes her way out of her home with only a banana and her thermos in her hand.

Being inside a car is still nerve wracking for Elena. She closes her eyes and counts to twenty every time she sits in the seat, then counts to ten before she buckles. Elena reaches over to rest her hand on Bonnie’s shoulder, then down to her wrist which was curved along the steering wheel. the routine of checking if she was still breathing and has a pulse. the first time she did that was the day after the accident, and she’s been doing it to everyone she’s been in the car with since. The feel of their pulse bringing Elena back down to earth for the short time they’re in the vehicle. Elena hasn’t gone anywhere in the car for longer than 20 minutes, still.

On the road, Elena stares out the window and counts the plants on the curbs. There’s seven bushes until they reach the stoplight, and three mailboxes with the number 3 at the beginning. Elena drones out Bonnie’s conversation that spins in the background, being snapped out of her daydream by a crow hitting the windshield of Bonnie’s car. Elena begins to cry, but she wipes the tears off her face and says that she can’t be afraid of cars forever. Elena tightens the seatbelt, and battles Bonnie’s attempts at trying to comfort her. What were you saying, Bee? I’m Sorry. ( “I’m Psychic now.” ) Right.

Elena listens to Bonnie ramble about being Psychic. If there was anyone who could make a fortune off of giving life advice, it would be Bonnie Bennett. Elena looks at her tender and amused, Bonnie talking her ear off with both hands on the wheel because Elena lectured her about it the last time they had been in the car. Her head is lulled to the side against the headrest, shaking a bit as Bonnie asks her if she wants her fortune told. I think the universe has it out for me, I don’t need the details. ( “You know what I think? This year will be full of surprises for both of us. The universe won’t be against you or me or even Caroline. We will kick ass this school year, and you will be beyond happy” )

They pull into the parking space, and walk arm in arm into the school building.

Being eighteen years old is scary, but being eighteen years old in senior year without Elena’s parents being there to graduate makes walking the halls bitter and empty, despite all the people she grew up with being right there. There’s a hollow feeling in her chest even standing still, a never ending aching that seems to twist and turn into the shape of a pretzel.

Elena opens her locker, and there’s a picture of her and Matt in a bedazzled heart shaped frame staring back at her from the first football game of last season. The pretzel tightens, and Elena realizes that she’s been ignoring Bonnie’s ramblings of gossip. ( Aimee Bradley is single again , but then again that never lasts long … )

She stares at the photo of Matt, taking the frame down from the locker door and runs her finger over it. They both looked so happy and carefree, like Elena was 3 years younger and wasn’t thinking about funerals or how she was going to take care of Jeremy. There was a phantom feeling of her cheeks, she remembers them hurting so badly from her smile in that picture, Elena and Matt matching in their cheer and football uniforms and Matt running up behind her to lift Elena onto his shoulders after winning the last game. Elena rested her chin on the top of his head, grabbing a hold of his hands, and her mother snapped a picture of them amongst the twirling. Matt kept his hands on her legs the whole time to make sure she didn’t fall down. Then, her parents died, and Matt probably hates her for breaking up with him. He hates me, he hates me so much that he wishes I would’ve died too. I broke his heart.

Bonnie’s still talking but Elena’s brain is too busy putting her backpack into her locker and shutting it to hyper focus on what she’s saying or how to respond to any of it besides nodding her head to make it seem like she’s listening. I’m being a terrible friend right now. Elena clutches the books to her chest, using her right hand to pinch at her left shoulder to bring her back to earth. To make sure she’s still in the present rather than the past. She pinches herself until she feels the pulsating beneath her fingers, lashes batting against the apples of her cheeks before Bonnie’s voice doesn’t sound like it’s in a funnel anymore.

( “Major lack of Male real estate, and have you seen the towel on Kelly Beech? Ugly. Terrible. Would totally lose on America’s next top model …” ) You’re sounding like Caroline more and more everyday. ( “Speak of the devil …” )

If Elena didn’t bring herself back down from space, she was sure that Caroline could with just the sound of her kitten wedge heels. Caroline engulfs her in the tightest hug, gasping at the fact that Elena even showed up today. It’s not like she has anywhere else to go, she’d rather be anywhere than at her house these days. After the accident, she mostly stayed at Bonnie’s. Grams was already used to Caroline being there because of Sheriff Forbes’ busy schedule, but Grams had no issue with Elena tagging along for the ride.

[ “Oh my god, Elena! How are you feeling ? Are you good?” — a look over to Bonnie, leaning into the other woman’s face. “Is she good? Do I need to attach myself to her back like a parrot?” ] She’s talking about me like I’m not in the room. Makes you wonder what she says about me when I’m actually not there. Elena fake laughs, waving her hands in front of her face to dismiss the idea. I’m right here Caroline, and I’m fine. Thank you. [ “Really? ] Yes , much better. As better as I can be with two dead parents and a brother that hates me. Caroline hugs her tighter, swaying them together in her arms before Elena tries to pat her back, but her arms are practically pinned beneath Caroline’s. [“Oh you poor thing, I’m going to do everything I can to make sure this first day is amazing.”] Okay, Caroline. [“Duty calls, I have a student council thing before class, but make sure you guys save me a seat. Lets go seniors!!”] Caroline gives Bonnie and Elena her classic giant smile, pumping her arms in the air before she’s escaping into the sea of high schoolers.

Caroline’s been on top of everything as always, between cheerleading and student council and also being part of the recycling club and the decorating committee — it seems as though the only one who’s world had shifted on its axis and ruined everything for is Elena. The girl’s lips purse, darting down to her books as she eases into her walk beside Bonnie.

PART TWO — JEREMY .

THERE’S A SKULL PAINTED FRONT AND CENTER ON THE WINDOW OF THE OLD PICKUP TRUCK.

“Seriously? My car? What, did you get tired of your sketchbooks and think : Wow, let’s vandalize my best friend’s vehicle?” Matt rambles, Jeremy too busy giggling over how angry he looked to care more about it. It’ll wash off. “Yeah in three months.” Or with the rain. It’s waterbased, not oil. Don’t worry, I wouldn’t permanently damage your car. Jeremy reassures, peering over to Vicki who was popping a bubble from her gum and leaning against the bed of his truck as she glances down at her phone.

“I would.” She retorts, letting her combat boot kick up at the tire. “Piece of shit is barely running.” / “It’s the only car we got, Vick.” / “Doesn’t mean it isn’t a piece of shit. I think Jere actually made it less terrible to look at.” / “He’s a pain in the ass is what he is. Lucky I’m still giving him a ride in the first place.” / You gonna make me walk? / “Nah, just make you buy me gas for the next 2 weeks as revenge.” / Okay fine. Deal.

The ride to school was filled with banter in all directions, but Jeremy was smiling ear to ear regardless as his arm dangles out the window. The speaker is loud, some old rock CD Vicki found at the Goodwill being shoved into the CD player that had no writing on it and none of them could tell who was singing what, but they’ve listened to that CD all summer long so it hits just the same as the first time. Jeremy’s curls bounce against his forehead as he headbangs, air drumming against the dashboard as Matt pulls into a parking space. The two harmonize one final time, Jeremy pressed against Matt’s side in a final note as Matt kills the ignition. And that’s how it’s done, A satisfied smile making its appearance as he opens the car door, black nails in stark contrast against the blue exterior.

Jeremy never thought he’d make it to senior year, let alone make it to senior year without having his mom and dad shoving a camera in his face the first day like they always do. Did. Used to do. Jeremy lets out a small sigh as he looks up at the Timberwolves sign for what seems like the last, even though the year was just beginning. This was his last first day. His last time experiencing first day jitters (and annoyances). His last time to say that senior year was going to suck ass without actually experiencing it. Jeremy’s eighteen now, he can now say that the rest of his life after graduation is going to suck ass instead.

Matt nudges Jeremy’s side before digging into his pocket to grab a marker, wandering over to Vicki to grab one of her notebooks from her hand. Flipping to a random page, Matt scribbles onto the notebook and hands it to Jeremy. “Stand there. Give me your best smile.” / What, did you write me a kick me sign? / “Ha-ha. Just hold it up.” And Jeremy does, smug smile on his face at whatever vulgar thing Matt wrote on the lined sheet before Matt snapped a picture on his phone. “There. Finished. I have to go talk to someone in the office, so I’ll catch you guys in class.” Matt says, dapping Jeremy up before running into the building as if he as a plane to catch.

“He cares about you, Y’know.” An unlit cigarette dangling from Vicki’s lips as she motions down to what Matt wrote. She blows out the smoke in Jeremy’s direction. His doe eyes land down on the paper, heart dropping into his stomach as he reads the words ‘Jeremy’s first day of senior year, age 18.’ Just as his mom would always write.

“Even though Elena dumped him, he still wants you around.” He ignores the sentimental-ness about all of this, clearing his throat as he takes a step closer to Vicki instead, taking the cigarette from her mouth and placing it between his lips instead. What about you? Do you still want me around? Vicki rolls her eyes, pushing him back lightly. “Depends, you got anything stronger than aspirin?” Jeremy’s smile doesn’t falter, instead gets wider for a moment. I’ve got all kinds of stuff. Vicki pulls her lighter from her front pocket, lighting the cigarette for him before patting his cheek. “Good. I’ll see you after first period. I like to see the fish in Miss Robert’s room sober.” Vicki grins, her attention already elsewhere as she scurries off to intertwine her arm with Tyler Lockwood’s.

Jeremy’s heart feels as though it’s splitting in half as he watches Vicki lean in to kiss Tyler on her tippy toes, Tyler immediately giving Jeremy the biggest shit-eating grin as he slides his hand down to rest in her back pockets. Dick. Jeremy rolls eyes, that small moment of happiness from interacting with Matt and Vicki gone in an instant. But that’s how his life is, nothing good lasts. Jeremy blinks, then blows out the smoke from his cigarette before putting it out by stomping on it with his scuffed up converse, lifting the hood of his jacket up onto the sea of curls on top of his head and stuffing his hands into his pockets as he bolts inside of the school building.

Whilst inside, Jeremy speeds his way into the bathroom and into a stall before he can even fathom what he was doing. Locking the door behind him, he takes one of his pills and slams his head into his hands. Vicki spent all summer in bed with me and now she doesn’t even want to be seen together? Jeremy’s rapid breathing outshines any noise heard from outside of the stall, but he slowly lifts his head with tears already beginning to fall down his face, immediately wiping them off with the sleeve of his hoodie. Pathetic. Crying on the first day of school. Needing to be doped up because the girl you’re in love with is already moving on to the next guy. Just pathetic.

Jeremy rubs at his hands in attempts to self soothe, rubbing them and rubbing them until they feel raw and the pills haven’t even kicked in yet. Groaning, Jeremy wanders out of the stall and fishes out his eye drops, tilting his head back as he lets the liquid fall into warm brown eyes.

The boy takes one final look at himself in the mirror before letting out a content sigh. His eyeliner is a little smudged, but it went with the vibe, so he didn’t care. Grabbing his bag from the floor, he begins to make his way out of the bathroom before he’s shoved back in by his twin sister.

Are you crazy? / “You haven’t seen crazy, Jeremy. First day of school and you’re stoned.” / I’m not stoned! / “Where is it? Is it on you?” / Oh my god, Elena, Stop! What the fuck is your problem? Chill out ! / “Chill out ? Really? Because being high at school is so damn cool.” / I don’t need this. You didn’t care all summer about where I went, where I was or what I did and now that we’re in school and I have the potential to embarrass you, now you’re on my ass? / “ Oh, You’re so right. I’m so fucking terrible for taking time to myself and trying to get shit in order behind the scenes so you could go off and get blasted in the parking lot of a Waffle House where Matt had to call me to come get you because you didn’t want to go home with him. So go ahead. Keep it up. But just know that I am going to be there to ruin your buzz every time now that I’m here, you got it? Jeremy, I know who you are. And it's not this person. So don't be this person.”

There’s something both humorous and downright exhausting to be having this conversation in the bathroom. This is the most that Elena’s talked to him in months, and it was only to call him an addict and put herself on that angelic pedestal as always.

PART THREE — ELENA

“You don’t know who I am now, Elena. You haven’t even taken the time to ask. Get the fuck out of my way.”

Watching Jeremy leave the bathroom felt as though she lost a limb. Her flesh and blood’s anger can be sensed even through thin air, and for once she’s speechless when it comes to how to handle it or what to do about it. Elena’s lips part, palms pressed against the porcelain bowl of the sink as she fights back the beating in her chest. Jeremy’s angry with her, and Elena wishes she was dead even more. Elena blinks, tapping her fingers against the side of the sink as she tries to force a smile onto her lips. It looks fake. Feels even more fake. Elena sucks in a breath as she makes her way out of the bathroom, immediately running into someone, causing her books to flay all over the place.

“I’m sorry, is this the men’s room?”

( CANON COMPLIANCE UNTIL THE END OF THE EPISODE. BELOW ARE SMALL HEADCANONS THAT DO NOT AFFECT CANON CONTINUITY )

♡ Jeremy & Elena share one class, history with Mr. Tanner. Jeremy sits in the back next to matt, and Elena sits between @c0veys’ Lara Jean and caroline. All three of them are in a groupchat.

♡ When Mr. Tanner is a jerk towards Elena about the death of her parents, Lara Jean and Elena talk about egging his house in the groupchat, which they end up doing it at the beginning of episode two in the timeline after Elena’s talk with Stefan.

♡ When sitting at the graveyard, Elena throws rocks at the crow after her second attempt to shoo it away. this is a nod to the tvd novel.

♡ when seeing Stefan at the graveyard afterwards, she’s still a little weirded out seeing him just appear there until after he says he’s visiting someone. She internally thinks that his ring is ugly but his facial expression changes and for a split second elena thinks that he read her mind. when he disappears at the sight of blood, she sits on the rock and patches herself up with pink bandaids from a first aid kit made by Lara Jean.

♡ At the grill, when Jeremy sees Vicki again and she shuts him down, he grabs her by the wrist and almost causes food to spill all over himself. Vicki’s mystic grill shirt is black and bleach tie-dyed with small holes at the bottom by the hem. he lets her go with the most heartbroken look on his face, but sits in a booth towards the patio. After waiting on Tyler and giggling with the bare minimum attention she was getting from him, Vicki finally makes her way back into Jeremy’s direction where he’s sipping on a sprite and playing phone games until she came into view.

* “Hey! What’s your deal, we spent so much time together during the summer and now it’s like you don’t even care.” / “Yeah, thanks for the pills and stuff, Gilbert, but you can’t just keep following me around like a lost puppy.” / “A lost puppy? When was the last time you had sex with a puppy?” / “What the fuck are you talking about? We hooked up in a drug haze, it’s not that serious. I thought you knew that considering Elena and Matt’s history.” / “This isn’t about my sister and Matt, this is about us. I thought that we could, yknow, take it to the next level?” / “The next level? Jeremy, you give me drugs and we play Mario Kart together. You gotta back off before you ruin things with me and Tyler.” / “The guy’s a dick, he only wants you for your ass.” / “Yeah? And what do you want me for ?”

After this conversation, Jeremy storms out of the grill after slamming his drink on the floor for her to clean up. Elena shoots Jeremy a weird look, to which he gives her the middle finger, and Matt rushes to help Vicki. “I don’t know what you said Vick, but you better fix it” / “Fuck off.”

♡ Elena invites Stefan to the party at the falls, Matt introduces himself to Stefan after throwing himself a slight pity party while talking to Bonnie and LJ, the new group of friends ( Elena, Bonnie, Caroline, Lara Jean, Matt, Stefan ) talk amongst themselves and get to know Stefan. Elena makes googly eyes at stefan from across the table, which is easily caught by literally everyone.

♡ At the falls, Bonnie and LJ walk with Elena when Bonnie says to Elena to admit that she likes Stefan. “I can’t like Stefan, I barely know him. Plus there’s Matt and I don’t know what I’d do if I hurt him.” There’s a pause. “But he is pretty. You got me there.” Bonnie gives both LJ and Elena a future reading, and as soon as Bonnie touched LJ she’s taken back by what she sees, but not as much compared to when she touches Elena’s hand. With a gasp, she shakes her head and laughs nervously. “I must be drunk right now. Don’t worry about it.” Bonnie runs away, leaving Elena and LJ to have small talk before Stefan walks up to steal Elena away.

♡ Jeremy saves Vicki from being assaulted by Tyler. Jeremy, wanting to deck him in the face but was pushed back by Vicki, instead spits at Tyler’s face shouting “Get the fuck out of here!” Tyler reacts negatively to this, but Vicki yells at both of them to leave her alone before walking away. Tyler doesn’t follow her, but Jeremy does. Vicki responds angrily to him trailing her, finally stopping and turning around before she shoves at his shoulder.

* “I said to leave me alone! I didn’t need your help.” / “You’re five feet tall and the guys a body builder. It seemed like you did.” / “He was just drunk. He didn’t know what he was doing.” / “I’m drunk, am I throwing myself at you? He could’ve hurt you.” / “No, you’re worse. You want to talk to me, get to know me, see into my soul and screw and screw and screw until there’s nothing left of me and then you’ll throw me away.” / “Vicki, really? Is that what you think?” / “It’s what I know. Now leave me alone.”

♡ Matt tells Elena that he isn’t going to give up on them and goes off to get another beer. Elena feels guilty about it and almost runs back to him until she props herself up onto the railing and watches Caroline gets rejected by Stefan. Elena feels a little bad before she’s in a conversation with Stefan again. Her cheeks and the tips of her ears are rosy. It’s the first time she’s had a crush in years, due to the fact that she’s been in a relationship for years at this point. Matt and Elena started dating at 13, which means they broke up at 17 before her 18th birthday. The butterflies are new, and Elena doesn’t know where to put them than in her stomach along with the alcohol. That fluttering feeling comes to an end when she sees Jeremy taking a whole case of beer into the woods, following behind him yelling his name.

♡ Jeremy’s stomping through the woods pushing back tears, yelling at Elena to leave him alone when he trips over Vicki’s body. Jeremy carries Vicki back to the party yelling for help, and rides with Vicki all the way to the hospital beside Matt. He stays until the nurses kick him out, walking home because he’s too prideful to ask for a ride, and didn’t want to see Elena again that night. He snuck in through his window rather than going to the front door.

♡ Elena goes back home and gets ready to take a shower when she runs into Jeremy in the bathroom. Angry at seeing her again, he’s already trying to storm out before she catches his attempt at slamming the door in her hand. “Mom and Dad wouldn’t of wanted this, Jeremy. People are going to stop giving you breaks. Just because we lost our parents doesn’t mean that the world is going to change for us. We have to try to move on.” / “Is that what you’re doing? Moving on? I see you writing in your diary at the cemetery and you’re lecturing me about moving on? I’m fine. I’ve got it all handled. You’re the one that needs this advice, not me. Go back to not giving a shit, it was less annoying that way.” Jeremy slams the door to their Jack and Jill bathroom, locking it before he locks the main door.

♡ Elena gets ready for bed and writes in her diary by the window when she sees Stefan outside of her window. A rush of feelings appear in her chest, running downstairs to greet him breathlessly.

THE SCENE ENDS WITH ELENA LETTING STEFAN INSIDE, THE CREDITS ROLL.

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

Complementary: Two Halves

So I know you *just* wrote Complementary, but it was so good and I’m already thinking about more, like how do the other sides react/apologize to Remus? Especially Roman and Janus! - stealing babies

HELLO YOU *POINTS* YOU ARE SO COOL AND ALL YOUR WRITING MAKES ME WANNA BITE DOWN ON MY TEETH CAUSE IM SMILING SO MUCH YOU HAVE AN AMAZING WRITING STYLE AND FUCKING BRILLIANT SENSES CAUSE YOUR WORDS EVOKE EMOTION AND ITS SO SO COMFY AND IM INSPIRED BY YOU *inhale exhale* im sorry if that comes off too strong, your writing makes me Feel Good Things(TM), please keep doing your thing :D i also have a sander sides request *jazz hands* that is entirely optional, if you happen to stumble upon an opportunity to do more with roman and remus together bonding and playing with each other as reconciled adults cause they didn't get to do that often when they were kids (like shenanigans yk tattling on each other, tickle fights and rough housing all in good fun, and *whispers with faux conspiracy* brotherly affection) then that would be dope as fuck!!! BONUS points if all the other sides or even c!thomas watch and shake their heads fondly like "what sillies they are, can't take our boys anywhere" - anon

Read on Ao3

Warnings: body dysphoria, not taking good care of yourself, borderline self-harm I guess?? meltdowns

Pairings: none

Word Count: 2911

    Some days he can't put on all the masks and disguises and armors. Some days he just needs to be messy.

He shoves food into his mouth just so if someone asks if he ate, he doesn't have to lie, shoveling bread and cut-up vegetables into himself over the sink, pausing to breathe until he's had enough to constitute dinner.

Off with his clothes. They itch and rasp against his skin like sandpaper because how dare he feel sensations, how dare he try to exist in the world without protection from it, and so off they come in the bathroom as he turns the shower on high. He gives himself time to run a brush roughly through his hair before he jumps in.

The water hisses and crackles and he's somehow still cold.

He shoves shampoo along his scalp with all the finesse and tenderness of a push broom. How dare his body express its own needs and require maintenance when all it does is betray him? He squeezes his eyes shut in punishment as the suds run down his wretched face.

Sharp nails scratch against his scalp and the zing of the suds against the hot water tears through the boiling haze in his brain.

So he does it again.

And again.

And again.

When all the shampoo is gone he keeps going, moving down his neck, his chest, his arms, his legs, his back, anywhere and everywhere he can reach as dead skin starts to peel off of him in waves and waves of little gray pill-shaped balls.

He doesn't stop until he has to pick them free from his nails.

He shoves a brush roughly under them to scrub away the bits that got stuck there and turns off the shower. He towels off brusquely and rakes his hair back from his face.

Scrub your face like you can rub it off if you try hard enough.

Scrape the toothbrush along your mouth as though it can clean your words too.

Drag a comb through your hair and shove it back so you don't have to look at it anymore.

Hurt and hurt and hurt and hurt and hurt.

No one is here and he can be as messy as he wants.

He slaps the wall to turn out the lights and drags sleeping clothes on and flops gracelessly onto the bed. The sheets are cold and rough against tender and scratched skin and he rolls around like a guilty pig in the mud, horrific in his tangibility. Manic energy that fizzles and strains like rope keeps him moving as he gets dizzy and sore and still he keeps moving.

Don't you see, part of him screams, don't you see how hard I have to work to keep this hidden? Don't you see how much effort I put into not being so horrible and disgusting?

Don't you understand how awful it is to be trapped in this wretched body? Do you honestly think I do all of this on purpose, that I would choose to be this thing?

His mouth opens and his jaw aches to bite.

But bite marks are obvious. Bite marks can be noticed. Bite marks can be pointed at and asked about and scratches can be anonymous.

So he doesn't bite.

But oh, god does he want to.

When he's finished, when the worst of the energy is gone and he's given up completely, he can pant against his sheets and crawl under the covers to bury his face in a pillow.

There is freedom in being a mess.

And none more so in realizing that no one could ever grow to care for such a wretched thing and perhaps that is the greatest freedom of all.

I am weak, my love, and I am wanting.

A line from a song he'd heard in passing that crawled through his brain like a livewire. Weak because he was too fragile and breakable to ask for what he wants, and wanting because he was shamefully weak and unable to pass through the world by himself.

In these shameful moments during weak and wanting times, he allows himself to dream.

Dream that someone would notice his hands were hurting and reach out to take one in theirs, pulling it into their lap and helping to coax sensation back into it.

Dream that someone would come to him and just hold him without first lecturing him on how foolish and arrogant he'd been.

Dream that someone, somewhere, somehow would be capable of loving a mess.

But he is too much ashamed and too much ruin to allow such dreams to become hopes. That's not his job.

He clutches pillows instead, cuddles into something that can't shy away under the covers of fabric and darkness. He tries in vain to fight off the voices that remind him how little anyone touches him; tensing, flinching, pushing him away, or cursory shoulder pats that feel like ash on his skin.

Too loud, too brash, too messy.

He really does try not to take it so personally but sometimes…sometimes his hands have other plans and he drops whatever it was that he'd been holding.

Which only makes a bigger mess.

He closes his eyes tighter and hugs the pillow.

Tonight is already shameful enough, he can let himself dream too.

A dream that maybe would come and just think to check on him. A dream that wouldn't lead with accusations and disappointment. A dream that would ask if he ate out of concern and not worried skepticism.

Yes. Yes, he can dream about this dream.

The dream would come in and softly ask if he's okay. If no answer came, they would come closer, close enough to sit on the edge of the bed. Maybe they would reach down and feel around a bit to find his head before lifting up the blankets.

The dream might see his face, upset and weak and messy, and let out a sympathetic noise. Maybe they would ask if there was anything they could do to help and mean it, not just use it to start another lecture.

Maybe…maybe the dream would want to touch him.

Maybe the dream would lie down too, carefully situating themselves under the covers and reaching out to cup his face. The dream's hands would be warm and gentle as they moved closer so the pillow was in between them. They might smile and tease softly about how they were a much better cuddler than the pillow.

He clutches the pillow a bit tighter out of reflex.

But the dream would coax it away. But lightly, as if they were taking a blanket from a frightened pup so it could be wrapped around them properly. The dream would settle it near the headboard and smile softly to say there, that's better, and—and—

A horrible strangled half-sound leaves his throat and his teeth sink into the pillow before he can stop it.

Oh, he is awful, truly, he can't bite the dream, he can't be such a mess—even the dream would be affronted and pull away from him at that—he can't—he can't—

But maybe…maybe it would be okay? If—if he just bit their clothes or something and not—not them?

They might say it's just clothing, it's nothing so bad. The dream might say that he can bite if he needs to but it might be better to chew on something soft.

…what would it be like to have someone who…who cared like that?

To have it be okay to be a mess and not have to stop it?

This dream is going to make him cry, isn't it? All over its metaphysical self.

That's okay too, the dream would say, you can cry. There's nothing wrong with crying, crying is alright.

They would take him gently into their arms and—and just hold him and that would be okay and—and—

Shh, shh, it's alright. Don't hurt yourself trying to stop it.

He bites again. Harder.

Breathe, I need you to breathe. You're hurting yourself, that's it, just hold onto me.

His grip tightens on the pillow until it groans in protest.

I'm right here. You're alright. It's alright, I'm not leaving. You have me, see? It's alright, it's alright.

It's not alright.

It is, Re, I promise it is.

Dreams can't promise.

No, maybe not, but I can.

You're a dream.

I'm not, Re.

Yes, you are.

Open your eyes, then, look at me.

That is cruel. To give him hope like that and then rip it away and make it seem like his fault.

Open them, Re, I promise.

He shakes his head. He won't do it. He can't.

…why does his pillow smell like that?

"Re?"

…no.

"Re, come on, I'm right here."

No.

"Shh, shh, Re, come on, I got you."

But—but—

"It's not a dream, Re, it's not. Just open your eyes, Re, look at me."

And because he is weak and he is wanting, he opens them.

"Re," Roman murmurs, looking far too tender and far too real, leaning down to brush the tip of his nose against his forehead, "oh, Remus, I'm so sorry."

Roman is here. Roman is here and Roman is holding him and Remus is crying, sobbing, shaking in his brother's arms.

"I'm right here," Roman keeps murmuring, "I'm right here, okay? I'm right here and I'm not letting go of you. I've got you."

"R-Ro—Roro—"

"Yes, it's me, it's Roro, I'm right here. I'm so sorry, Remus, I'm so sorry for everything, I've been so awful to you—"

"Ro-bro."

And because Roman is still his other half, even when they haven't been whole in years, he knows exactly what to do. He rolls over so he's squishing Remus into the bed with their chests pressed together so Remus can feel him breathe, grounding him against the cold sheets and he feels warm, warm, warm.

"Right here," Roman says again, "right here, Remus, I'm right here."

"Roman," Remus can't stop chanting, "Ro, Ro, Ro, Roro, Roman, Ro-bro, Roro—"

"It's okay. It's okay, Re, it's okay."

Remus collapses into a mess of crying and clawing and biting, attacking Roman's clothes with a borderline desperation, trying to shove himself into Roman's chest, drunk and high off the realization that Roman is here.

Roman lets him. Doesn't pull away, doesn't shy back, doesn't even flinch.

Just stays.

It's the greatest gift anyone could ever have given him.

"I'm sorry," Roman murmurs again when he finally sags into the bed, exhausted, "I'm sorry I left."

"You left," Remus parrots, still swimming in the pressure of Roman holding him like he's something precious, "you left me."

"I know. It was wrong and cruel and I wish I could take it back. I wish I'd never let them separate us. I wish—I wish I'd been there for you."

"You left…but you came back."

"You're my brother, Re," Roman mumbles and his voice feels thick, "you're my brother and I love you."

The words punch a hole clean through Remus's chest and he sobs again. "You left me. You left me and—and it's so cold, Roro."

Without letting Remus go, Roman reaches down and tugs the blankets over them. It grows hot and unbearable in no time and there's nowhere Remus would rather be. He turns his head, almost in disbelief, and presses his teeth lightly to Roman's shoulder again.

"Did…did I hurt you?"

"No."

"But I…I was so messy."

Roman's quiet for a moment, then his grip tightens even as he leans up and away, just so he can peer down at him. Roman's eyes are red and swollen too, he's been crying into Remus's shoulder too? "You're messy and you're still my brother. I don't care if you're messy. I don't care, you hear me? You're Remus and your mess is great because it's yours."

"But you—you hate my mess. You said it's everything you don't want to be."

"I am not you. I don't hate your mess. I love your mess because it's yours and I could never hate you." Something pained crosses Roman's face. "I…I tried. It didn't work. I still loved you even when I hated it."

"You did?"

"I did. And then—then I realized that I didn't give a fuck about what they thought of you because you were Remus and you were—messy. I like it when you're messy because that means you're being you."

Something thick and heavy rises to the back of his throat. "You…you like my mess?"

Roman's expression softens and he sniffles too. "Yeah, Re. I like your mess. I don't—I won't lie and say I get it all the time or that I want to be messy too, but I like your mess."

His teeth sink into the fabric over Roman's shoulder before he can stop it.

"Is that—is that good? Is that okay?"

He nods as best he can without letting go and he knows he doesn't imagine the way Roman sags on top of him.

"Good," he pants, "good, I…I really miss you, Re."

A pained whimper leaves Remus's throat and he clutches Roman tighter. Roman lets him, lets him pull him as close as he wants, gently murmuring into the curve of his neck. It's okay. I'm here. You got me. I love you.

Roman is hopes and dreams and Remus is weak and wanting. And so when Roman quietly offers to spend the night, just so Remus knows next morning that this can't have been a dream, Remus tells him that he'd better get comfortable because he's not allowed to leave until breakfast.

Maybe not even after that.

Things are better now.

He still has to put on all the stuff to go and interact with the others for long periods of time, but he can stand next to Roman and play with his stimtoys when things get too much. He can go out into the Imagination and not have to worry about hiding things because Roman is there too, spurring him on and making sure he knows that he can make whatever he wants because this is their domain, no one else's. He can curl up in the safety that Roman gives him and not have to worry about being ostracized for being a mess.

It's more than he ever dared hope for.

And Roman loves him for it.

He tackles Roman for the first time when Roman shows him the kraken lake he's been working on for Remus and Roman lights up at the idea that he can show Remus affection like that. He playfights with Remus in the Imagination and they both end up covered in grass stains and dirt more times than he can count. Roman tackles him into the lake once and they spend the day tearing up old kelp so that the babies have enough free space to swim. He curls up around Roman on the beach as they laze in the sun like overgrown housecats and Roman sings him stupid songs they came up with when they were younger.

And when he needs to be messy and have someone else just be there, Roman conjures a massive nest of blankets and soft things for them to roll around in so they don't hurt themselves. He wraps Remus up in blankets until he's a little Side burrito and they watch kid's shows that make them feel like they're still Creativity. He lays his head on Roman's shoulder and chews on his necklace that Roman gave him and it's okay that he's a mess.

He's Roman's mess and Roman's his brother again.

And that's all okay.

General Taglist: @frxgprince@potereregina@gattonero17@iamhereforthegayshit@thefingergunsgirl@awkwardandanxiousfander@creative-lampd-liberties@djpurple3@winterswrandomness@sanders-sides-uncorrect-quotes@iminyourfandom@bullet-tothefeels@full-of-roman-angst-trash  @ask-elsalvador @ramdomthingsfrommymind@demoniccheese83@pattonsandershugs @el-does-photography @princeanxious@firefinch-ember@fandomssaremysoul@im-an-anxious-wreck@crazy-multifandomfangirl @punk-academian-witch@enby-ralsei@unicornssunflowersandstuff@wildhorsewolf @thetruthaboutthesun @stubbornness-and-spite @princedarkandstormv @your-local-fookin-deadmeme @angels-and-dreams@averykedavra @a-ghostlight-for-roman @treasurechestininterweb  @cricketanne @queerly-fluid-fan @compactdiscdraws@cecil-but-gayer@i-am-overly-complicated@annytheseal@alias290@tranquil-space-ninja @arxticandy @mychemically-imbalanced-romance @whyiask@crows-ace @emilythezeldafan@frida0043 @ieatspinalcords @snowyfires@cyanide-violence@oonagh2@xxpanic-at-the-everywherexx@rabbitsartcorner @percy-07734@triflingassailantofmyemotions @virgil-sanders-the-gay-emo@cerulean-watermelon@puffed-up-bees@meltheromanstan@joyrose-fandomer@insanitori@mavenmush@justablah65@10paradox10@uhhh-hi-there-i-am-nervous@cutebisexualmess@bella-bugatti-frogetti-baguetti @ultrageekygirl

[storiesforallfandoms]

hard day ~ pete davidson

word count: 2057

request?: yes!

“Hey can I request a Pete Davidson imagine where the reader has had a long hard day at set and dealing with papparazzi and Pete pampers her. Maybe ending in smut to make her feel special?”

description: after a hard day of filming, followed by an overwhelming run in with paparazzi, he decides to help her relax

pairing: pete davidson x female!reader

warnings: swearing, smut

masterlist (one, two)

The sound of the door slamming alerted Pete that his girlfriend was finally arriving home. She had texted him a few hours earlier to say she was being kept late on set, but neither one of them thought that she meant she’d be this late.

Pete craned his neck to peak around the doorway of the living room as he watched (Y/N) stomp up the stairs towards their shared room. He cringed as he heard that door slam shut as well. He knew this meant that (Y/N) wanted to be left alone, but he hated to leave her alone while she was so angry. So, he paused his show and got up to make his way to their room.

Instead of barging in, Pete stood outside their shared bedroom door and knocked. When there was no answer, he tried again.

“Fuck off,” came a groan.

“Hard day baby?” Pete asked her.

“Fuck off for a bit, Pete. I don’t wanna snap at you.”

Pete sighed and decided to leave her be. He knew it was best to let her blow off steam however she felt she had to, but it was hard when all he wanted was to take her in his arms and hold her until the bad went away.

An idea popped into his head. He moved from their bedroom to the bathroom down the hall. He began to run the bath and put some of (Y/N)’s favorite bubble bath in. He watched as the bubble rose so high that she would definitely disappear into them. While waiting for the hot water to cool down just enough that she could get in comfortably, Pete went down to the kitchen and grabbed a bottle of wine and two glasses.

Once his de-stressing scene was all set up, he went back to their bedroom. Instead of knocking, Pete just walked in. He found his girlfriend laying face down on the bed. She was still completely dressed in her clothes from the day, which made him feel a slight twinge of sadness for her.

(Y/N) lifted her head just enough to look at Pete before letting it drop back down to the bed. “Go away.”

“I have a bath ready for you.”

(Y/N) rolled over onto her back and looked over at him. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I think I did, actually. You seem very upset, and we both know how much you love a good bath to help calm down.”

(Y/N) looked at him for a moment longer. She had to admit he was right on that front. She loved to take a nice hot bath after a long, stressful day in order to calm down. But tonight she just felt extra stressed and frustrated to a point where it felt like even a bath wasn’t going to help her.

She couldn’t hold back her giggles as Pete lifted her into his arms and started carrying her towards the bathroom. He played her on the counter and began to strip her of her clothes.

“I think I know how to get undressed, Pete,” she joked.

“But it’s my favorite thing to do!” Pete responded, a goofy smile on her face as he pulled her pants and panties down her legs at the same time, leaving her completely naked in front of him.

“You do light up like a child on Christmas when I take my bra off,” she teased him, noticing his eyes lingering on her chest.

“Your tits are my favorite gifts,” he agreed, tweaking her nipple just once to satisfy the urge inside of him. (Y/N)’s legs tightened a little at the gesture. Pete noticed, but decided not to say anything just yet.

He helped her into the tub and poured her a glass of the wine.

“Aren’t you joining me?” she asked as she took the glass from him.

“I’ll join you in a nice glass of this expensive wine we have,” he said. “But this is your de-stressing bath. I’ll just sit here and watch and drink for a while.”

“That’s romantic,” she said, sarcastically. “I take a nice hot bubble bath all by myself, while my boyfriend sits on the toilet.”

“Hey, could be worse. I could also be naked while I’m sitting here. Imagine how weird that would be.”

(Y/N) crinkled her nose before she started to giggle. Pete smiled as well, feeling a sense of pride in making her laugh.

They both sat together for a while, just sipping their wine. (Y/N) felt her body relaxing in the hot water as she laid her head back against the wall behind her. This really was what she needed after such a long day, whether her more frustrated self wanted to admit it or not.

“What had you so worked up in the first place, babe?” Pete asked as he filled her wine glass.

(Y/N) groaned. “You’re ruining the mood, Pete.”

He chuckled. “Okay, sorry. Just asking is all.”

(Y/N) sighed and lifted her head again to look at him. “Remember how I texted you to tell you I was asked to stay a bit later in order to finish a scene? Well, that ‘a bit later’ turned into three hours later because the director kept making me film the scene over and over and over until he finally decided it was okay. Not perfect, not even great! Just okay. He put us through hours of reshooting just to decide he was going to go with the okay take! Fucking bastard!”

“What was his problem?”

(Y/N) shrugged. “Beats me! Apparently nothing was good enough for him. Wasted three fucking hours filming just to get an okay scene. Then, when I left, I was tired but I wanted to spend at least an hour with you, so I decided to go get coffee. The minute I stepped out of my vehicle I was swarmed by paparazzi. I don’t know how they figured out where I went, but they would not leave me alone. I ended up not even going into the coffee place cause I could not get around at all.”

Pete reached out and took hold of one of (Y/N) bubbly, wet hands. “I’m so sorry, babe. I do get how much the paparazzi shit sucks, but on top of an already bad day? That fucking sucks so much?”

(Y/N) sighed and ran her thumb over Pete’s knuckles. “It does suck. I have to go back to set tomorrow morning and I’m dreading it so much. How am I supposed to go back there after spending so long filming that last scene today? I’ll kill the director the moment I see him.”

“You wouldn’t even hurt a fly baby, let’s not pretend here.”

(Y/N) chuckled. “You’re right, I can’t.”

The silence washed over them again. (Y/N)’s eyes trailed to Pete’s hand. She looked at it for a while, just lost in her own world as she absentmindedly ran her thumb over his knuckles. Then, she started thinking about his long fingers inside of her, curling just right to hit that spot inside of her that drove her over the edge every time. She felt a heat growing between her legs, and if she wasn’t in the bath already she was certain she’d be soaked.

“What are you thinking?” Pete asked, breaking her out of her trance. She looked up at him suddenly, eyes wide with the shock of being caught.

“Uh...” she said, trying to think of something to say. She didn’t want to tell Pete she had been having sexual daydreams, but then she realized what was the harm of telling him? They had been together for quite some time, it’s not like she’d scare him off by telling him anything. “I was thinking about your fingers inside of me.”

Pete’s pants grew a bit tighter at this. “Really? Pretty specific thing to be thinking about.”

“Well, I’m here holding your hand. I’m thinking about things that relax me. Your fingers definitely cause me to relax a lot when they’re down there.”

Pete placed his wine glass on the counter next to him and pulled his shirt over his head. (Y/N) watched in slight confusion, before realization washed over her when Pete’s hand disappeared under the water. He nudged her legs open and slowly ran two fingers up and down her slit, teasingly.

“You feel so wet already baby,” he joked, a smile on his face.

(Y/N) couldn’t contain her own smile and giggles. “You’re such a fucking do - ”

Her playful insult was silenced as Pete pushed two fingers deep inside of her. (Y/N) gasped, her head falling back against the wall behind her again. Pete started pumping in and out of her very slowly, making sure he wasn’t hurting her with what he was doing.

“Is this what you were thinking about baby?” he asked her.

“Fuck Pete,” she breathed. “Fuck yes this feels so good.”

Pete curled his fingers in a way that made it easier for him to hit the right spots. (Y/N) let out a moan and tried to buck her hips against his fingers, but he used his other hand to ease her back down.

“Just sit back and let me take care of you baby,” he said. “I’ll take all your stress away.”

Pete’s erection was becoming nearly unbearable as he watched (Y/N) coming undone in front of him, and felt her warmth wrapped around his fingers. He wanted nothing more than to take her right there, to really fuck any stress left out of her. But at the same time, he didn’t want that. He just wanted to make her feel good, to wipe the memories of he day away.

(Y/N)’s free hand wrapped around Pete’s bicep. Her nails dug so deep into his arm that Pete knew there would be marks there once she pulled away, maybe even full on scratches or blood, but he’d wear the marks with pride. He usually did whenever she left them on him.

He began to speed up his pumping. He felt (Y/N)’s thighs clenching around his hand, as if she were trying to hold him there. Breathy moans were escaping from her lips as he body began to tremble.

“Fuck Pete,” she breathed. “Fuck, I’m starting to feel close.”

“Yeah?” Pete asked. “Are you gonna cum all over my fingers baby?”

In response, (Y/N) moaned again. Pete picked up his pace a little more, causing her moans to become screams of pleasure. He could feel the tension building up in her as he body prepared to let go.

Pete leaned forward to kiss (Y/N) gently on her lips. “Cum for me, princess. Let me feel you.”

With those words, (Y/N) came completely undone. She screamed Pete’s name so loud he was sure the neighbors would hear her. He felt her clenching around his fingers and he wished he could actually feel her wetness and not just that of the water in the tub.

(Y/N) was breathing heavily when Pete was finally able to pull away from her. He stood and grabbed a nearby hand towel to begin drying his hands. (Y/N) watched him, a cloud of lustful fog still blocking her as she tried to recover from her high. Her eyes shifted down to Pete’s crotch area, where she noticed the evergrowing buldge.

“Do you want me to return the favor?” she asked, a lazy smile on her face.

Pete smiled back at her and leaned down to kiss her again. “That’s okay babe. You enjoy your bath until it gets cold.”

(Y/N)’s brows furrowed together. “You don’t want me to do anything for you?”

“Well I didn’t say that,” Pete said. “But for now I just want you to unwind. We can fuck later on. I’ll make you forget your entire day then, maybe even your own name if you’re lucky.”

(Y/N) giggled. “I hope I’ll be lucky then.”

She smiled as she watched Pete leave the room to change his clothes. Despite her teasing words, she felt like she was already the luckiest girl in the world to have such an amazing man by her side.

[ghost-ghost-baby]

Bad habits (alpha!shoto x omega!reader x alpha!izuku poly imagine)

Warnings: self harm (cutting) mentioned, nothing too graphic tho, swearing, angst, hurt and comfort??? Omegaverse, reader tries to b sneaky, it doesn’t work, Shoto and deku know this bitch too well, protectiveness?? Shoto is had in a crisis, Izuku's hero complex goes bbbbrrrr

Summary: reader does a big sh relapse Nd tries to hide it from their mates,,,,, it does not work!

Word count: 1.1k

Not proof read (if u wanna beta for me pls hmu I hate editing)

You were going to meet your mates after work, something you’d been looking forward to all day. Your mental health hadn’t been the greatest lately, in fact it was probably worse than it had been in years, and you’d fallen back into more unsavoury habits to deal with it. But that wasn’t the point! You were seeing your mates! It didn’t matter that you were tired, or that your thighs stung with every step, you were seeing them! The three of you met outside your apartment, Izuku jumping up and down with excitement the second you came into view, and the alpha ran to you when you were a couple of feet away, Shoto telling him to be careful as he followed. Izuku wasn’t careful, your thighs collided with his as your alpha swept you up into a hug, and you had to bury your face in his neck to stop yourself whimpering. It was fine, you were fine.

“Y/n, I missed you! You haven’t been texting me as much, are you okay?” Izuku set you down so he could pepper your face with kisses, and you whined at him until he pressed a kiss to your lips. Then Shoto caught up to the two of you, and he frowned at you until you pulled away from Izuku to greet him.

“Sho! Missed you!” You held your arms out for a hug, and Shoto quickly pulled you to him, pressing a kiss to your forehead before he rested his chin on the top of your head, and his eyes fixed on Izuku. Izuku nodded, grabbing your key out of your bag and unlocking the door, with Shoto carrying you in a moment later.

The lock clicked into place and Shoto gently set you down, him and Izuku both turning to face you, and you felt your anxiety kick back in.

“You smell like blood, why?” Shoto’s deadpan tone didn’t match the concern that laced his face, and you let out a nervous laugh as you reached up to scratch the back of your neck. Fuck. Fuckity fuck fuck fuck. You had to come up with some kind of excuse!

“It’s uh- just that time… of the month?” You couldn’t meet their eyes, and Shoto just let out a disappointed sigh that cut right through you.

“Y/n, we can tell when you’re lying!” Izuku crossed his arms over his chest, and their stares made it even harder to come up with an excuse.

“Okay- yeah- but only because it’s nothing to worry about! I was just cooking earlier and I accidentally sliced my finger!” You bit your lip as you waited for a response. Technically you weren’t meant to cook, your mates insisted you could get hurt, so maybe that would be enough to distract them-

“Funny, your scent still smells the way it does when you’re lying.”

“Yeah! And your hands are completely uninjured, tell us the truth, Y/n, please!” Izuku grabbed your hands and you winced when he stepped closer, automatically shifting from foot to foot, completely forgetting why you had to be careful until-

Your jeans rubbed too much on your thighs, and horror shot through you when you realised the cuts had reopened, and judging by the scared look on your mates faces, the jig was up.

“Y/n… what happened? Was there a villain attack? Did someone hurt you?” Izuku had tears in his eyes now, and your own gaze darted between him and Shoto before you finally had the guts to speak.

“F-Funny story, actually! You remember that uh- habit I had when the three of us first started- started courting?” Izuku’s grip on your hands tightened at your words, and the temperature in the room dropped as Shoto’s quirk acted up like it always did when this topic came up. “I may have uh- accidentally- fallen… back… into it… kinda…”

“Go- go to the bathroom, now! Shoto, get your quirk under- under control before you follow us, Y/n is already stressed and they can’t be worrying about calming you down as well.” Izuku went right into hero mode, the alpha turning you around and all but marching you to the bathroom, lifting you to sit on the counter when you reached it.

“Pants off.”

“I-Izuku! That’s so-“ You stuttered, only to be interrupted when your alpha growled.

“Pants off. Now. I- I need to see how bad it is and- and make sure it’s dressed properly.” Izuku’s scent was overwhelming, quickly filling the room and suddenly you were just… too tired to fight about it.

“I- okay…” you quickly undid the buttons on your jeans, carefully pulling the garment down over your hips and thighs, and quickly covering as much of yourself as you could with your shirt while Izuku finished pulling them off, and you pouted when he just dumped them on the floor. You chewed on your bottom lip as Izuku surveyed the damage, most of your thighs were covered in the flat, light scars you’d had for years, but the part closer to your hip was covered in wounds ranging from two weeks old to from just the day before, the fresh ones oozing blood at a rather leisurely pace.

“This has- has been going on for a while, you didn’t- say- say anything?” Izuku busied himself grabbing the disinfectant and bandages, and you could only shrug and avoid his eyes.

“Y/n, he asked you a question.” Shoto’s voice startled you so bad you jumped, accidentally kicking Izuku from where he was trying to clean your injuries, and he couldn’t help but let out a growl at the impact.

“Sorry, Zuku, and I don’t know I just… didn’t wanna bother you guys, ya know? You’ve been working really hard and- and it was just meant to be- a one time thing.” Your words came out strained as the sting from the disinfectant kicked in, and both your alpha’s winced when your scent took on the sour tone that meant you were in distress.

“I know, baby, I know, you’re doing so good!” Izuku cooed, leaning forward to kiss you before he got back to his task. “Relapse is- is a normal and expected part of- of recovery! And- And it doesn’t take away from your- your progress! But Y/n, we’re your mates, you need to tell us if you’re feeling down, at least, okay?”

“We could have a code word, if that’s easier?” Shoto finally piped up, and you nodded in response, relaxing as Izuku applied gauze to your thighs, at least the pressure got rid of the sting from the antiseptic.

“See, Y/n? We’d never be mad at you for something like this, we just wanna help you.” Izuku pulled you into a hug once he was finally satisfied that you were taken care of, and you just let your head rest on his shoulder, arms loosely wrapping around his waist as he carried you back to your room, and you smiled when you realised Shoto had already set everything up for your movie night. You really were lucky, huh?

[reidyoulikeabook]

the battery was dead

Ship: GN! Reader x Spencer Reid

Warnings: Mention of case-typical violence (more specifically, a bomb), told from Spencer's perspective and he experiences anxiety about reader having been harmed (they're okay though!), Spencer's self-deprecating thoughts, general mood of anxiety throughout, stressful team situation, big feelings of guilt, very much hurt/comfort.

Word count: 1.6k (i did not intend for this to be this long but it's basically a whole thing)

A/N: This is not what I intended to write today but my brain's on a whole hurt/comfort vibe apparently so here we are: something I wrote all in one go in about half an hour. Oops.

Everybody was in different places when the bomb went off. Spencer was with Derek, in an SUV headed uptown. The explosion was downtown. Where you'd been headed. Alone.

The geographical profile had indicated he wouldn't strike downtown. The geographical profile that he had made. The geographical profile that the team had trusted, that the team had based their assignments off, that had led Hotch to conclude it was safe to send you downtown alone.

"Garcia," Derek answers, putting her on loudspeaker and glancing at Spencer who could be pictured and pasted into the DSM-V as the definition of anxiety right now, "Garcia tell me you can patch everybody through."

"I'm trying," She rambles, her voice pitching upwards, "I'm patching ___ through now I'm trying their cell."

Spencer's leg bounces. It bounces so hard it's a miracle the velocity of it doesn't send Derek veering right across the road. He scratches at his neck. There are no words to be said. No words in any language in the world can describe the fear coursing through his body as he hears Garcia scramble, pressing keys and typing and he's only vaguely aware of Derek's hand coming to rest reassuringly on his bouncing knee, managing to still it just a little bit.

"___ will be fine," He reassures him, "Just fine. I promise. It's not your fault kid, you couldn't have known, how would you have known?"

"It's my job to know."

His tone is bitter, angry, and he feels even worse for it because it's not Derek's fault. Derek is trying to help. Derek is trying to be kind and somehow that's worse because he doesn't deserve it. He doesn't deserve anybody's kindness right now and he can't get your face out of his mind. How you'd smiled at him before walking out of the door of that precinct and how it might be the last time he ever got to see you smile and it was all his fault. All his fault.

His stomach is in knots. Garcia's practically smacking her precious equipment in her hurry and then the line goes mute.

"Garcia?" Derek asks again, "Garcia are you still there?"

There's a beat of silence and then the background noise returns, "I'm just trying ____'s cell."

What's taking so long? She could have tried by now. He's never known Garcia to be slow at her job and even though it feels like time has stopped. Fractured like a mirror, throwing off pieces, and he's trapped inside a piece that has all of the horror and guilt he's ever felt in his life staring him in the face. But she can work faster than that. Why isn't she working faster than that?

It all becomes clear as he hears her clack again. Then your voice floods the line.

"You've reached SSA ____ ____ of the Behavioural Analysis Unit. Please leave a voicemail, or if you're calling regarding an urgent matter then please direct your calls to SSA Aaron Hotcher at the following number-"

"Maybe she's already on the phone," Derek suggests, cutting over your recital of his number, "Maybe her line's already busy. Right Garcia, is her line already busy?"

"I can't tell."

She's lying. Spencer knows she's lying and it knocks him sick. He practically wrenches the handle to the window off in his quest to get it open. The cold air pours in and he feels worse. He can't allow himself to bask in any feeling of comfort when you're God knows where.

He can't let himself think like that. He blinks hard, shaking his head as if he can physically remove the images from his brain. They flash through, his neurons defying him as they keep picturing you in worse and worse scenarios, and he can't breathe.

"Pull over," He directs Derek, wrenching off his seatbelt before Derek even manages to get the car in park.

Somewhere amidst all of it, Hotch has been patched through.

"We're convening downtown. Our presence has been requested at the crime scene."

Derek is saying something to pacify him. Or he's telling him something. He can't tell because his head is swimming and then Derek is squeezing his shoulder, physically pulling him back into reality.

"Kid. Listen to me. You're not helping anybody getting yourself all worked up like this. We need to focus. We've got to work this through."

He nods. He nods because Derek is right. They do have to work this through. Even though they would be better working this through without him because he's the one who made the profile that was wrong and his contributions clearly can't be trusted and-

"Put your seatbelt on. Talk to me. Let's talk through how it could have gone wrong."

Derek's voice strikes just the right balance between commanding and reassuring. It always does. So he does it. He clips in the seatbelt and starts to ramble, discussing avenues they haven't explored before, suggesting why he could have been wrong. He's never doubted himself like this before, and it's an uncomfortable feeling. What's more uncomfortable is the realisation he's never failed you like this before.

They pull up to the crime scene. Derek scrambles out of the car, but he pauses for a beat. It's only when Emily opens the door, that he's pulled back into reality again.

"Spencer," She says, "Spencer, come on."

There are SUV'S everywhere. They've tried to contain the scene as much as they could but they needed the bomb squad, needed paramedics, needed FBI.

She's walking him somewhere and he's frantically searching around him, frantically trying to orient himself. It doesn't help that it's dark, gone midnight by now, and the street lights were taken out in the initial explosion. Most of the lights come from torches, or headlamps that people are wearing. It's not enough, he can barely make out Emily let alone find your face in the crowd.

And then he hears it. His name. Your voice.

You found him.

"Spencer," You call, and he can't possibly turn around fast enough.

He barely has before you come crashing into his arms, cinching them tightly around him. He practically scoops you off of the ground, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you as close as he can possibly get you to his body, inhaling the familiar scent of your shampoo and there's tears coming out of his eyes, tears of relief and fear and-

"Spencer," You tell him, sniffling, "Spencer you're kind of crushing me."

You let out a little laugh, and he lets out one too. But it's puffy, practically just air. He releases his grip a bit and you lean up, your arms looping around his neck and playing with the baby hairs situated at the nape of it.

"Spence I'm okay, I'm right here," You reassure him, pressing a kiss to his cheek, "I'm right here."

You are right here. He can hear the pound of your heart, he can smell your perfume, he can feel you playing with his hair in a way that tickles but is so comforting, so domestic, so reassuring that you still love him despite his fuck up, that he couldn't bring himself to tell you to stop even if he wanted you to.

He doesn't even know he's still crying until he speaks, his voice wavering as it manoveurs past the lump in his throat, "I-Garcia tried calling you. You didn't answer your phone."

"The battery was dead," You tell him, "I plugged it in in the car and next thing I know I'm getting pulled over. I got brought straight here when I told them I was FBI and I tried to borrow somebody's phone to call but they cut off cell reception here in case there was a second bomb."

He swallows. He can't say anything else, can't do anything else. He manages to open his eyes, and you lean up, apparaising him. You thumb at the tears on his cheeks, a kind of softness and love entirely exclusive to you filling your eyes along with a couple of tears. You don't look at him like you're angry. You don't look at him like you're disappointed. You look at him with a kindness he's entirely undeserving of at this moment in time and the thought spurs two more tears out of his eyes.

"What's wrong?" You ask, your voice barely above a whisper, "Spence what's wrong?"

"It was my fault," He chokes, his head dipping a bit, too ashamed to make eye contact, "I made the profile. I was wrong. I sent you here, I-I sent you directly into danger."

"It was a copycat," You tell him, "It was a copycat, he didn't get away in time and got caught up in the blast. Our guy is smarter than that, so they think this guy tried to imitate it. It's not your fault. You couldn't possibly have known, you can't profile a person you don't know exists."

The revelation is like foam on a petrol fire. It quells the pain in his chest, the one that had maliciously licked at him, igniting all his own wounds and insecurities.

It wasn't his fault.

He holds onto you even tighter, burying his face in the crook of your neck, "Thank you. Thank you."

"For what?"

"For being okay."

"I'm always okay," You tell him, your voice nothing but sincere, "I'm always okay because I always have you."

With that, the fire is out. You reluctantly wiggle out of his arms, taking his hand and squeezing it reassuringly. He's not okay yet. Not entirely. It all still feels surreal, and he knows it'll take a long time for his heart to settle down. But you're here. By his side. And that's enough for now.

In fact, with you? That's enough for always.

-

Permanent Spencer tagslist:

@ssa-m-187 @reidingmelodies @cyanide-mustard @shesalatesh

@sapphic-prentiss @geostarr @kathrynisadogperson @rem-ariiana @spoonielivingfree @starsandshit90 @spencerreidat3am @takeyourleap-of-faith @calm-and-doctor @averyhotchner @muffin-cup @purplewaterbottles082 @reidsnose @wheelsup @ellesgreenaway @sunlitspence @spencerreid9 @drspencerreidd @reiding-recs @bauemily @cmily @retrxbarnes @jhillio @txmhoelland @spenxerslut @amoeebaa @veridianluv @sad-bitch-h0ur @reidtome @converse-spence @randomfavtingswall @bethc54 @sebstan-is-the-man @justanothercrazyfangirl @eli-side-blog @vntgreid @reidmeastory @reidemandweep @ggublerss @s1lverhand @cigarette-day-dread @newtmyheart @i-understood-that-reference @willowrose99 @v-is-obsessive @awesomebooklover17 @youarethereasonimsmiling @xhopingthis-worksx @agentdilf @spencerreidsconverse @nomajdetective @brown-eyedshell @randomficsandshit @bvttercupbby @thatsonezesty13 @spookydrreid @kurtuinna @loverboyspence @jswessie187 @sammicabrera @idontwantyourcookiesthanks @sweetandsunny @reidstulips @midnightstan @stylesstreet @iamhowieson @reichelhache @screennamealreadyused @joyclubie @mrs-dr-reid @measure-in-pain @slaytherinthoughts @inlovewprentiss @citlalireedus @love-you-to-saturn @drayshadow @makailaa @idonotexiste @hercleverboy @disasterwriter @kuolonsyoja @thosecriminalminds @sun-flower-seed @singularityjc @adanae91 @uwu-queen-420 @broken-stardust

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[remsmoonlight]

— title : sweeter than candy

— word count : 3k words

— pairing : daryl dixon x reader

— summary : daryl is good at keeping things buried, but when the thought of words left unsaid do you both realise you have both been thinking the same thing about the other. 

— warnings : mentions injuries, mentions of death

“ hi!! OMGG I came across your account and I’m obsessed with your writing!! I was wondering if you could write a Daryl Dixon x Reader following candy coated promises. Where Daryl has developed feelings for reader and following an errand run she gets injured and has to stay in bed. And Daryl find out! If that makes sense! Thank you!!! “

           ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*   requests are open ! / requested by anon *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

A deep desperation of yearning to be useful has led you to forget the risks involved in the interminable list of things that wish to cause you harm and are able to on such an intense scale. Luck had been on your side for so long, the illusion of life’s greatest ally refusing eluding your group for this long has proved itself to be just that — nothing more than an illusion. Once the burning of fear had dulled to nothing more than a dim ache, all you now feel is the one wound that does not run red yet pours into your veins as if it does. Stupidity. You’d volunteered yourself to go on a run with a small group, you’d spent enough time before the barbed wire fences, that you felt yourself becoming trapped.

A deep regret that would follow you even in death would be if any of your group would, too, meet their chapter’s end too soon by an immense error made on your part.

One thing that lays dormant in your mind, yet unable to completely fade is the fear of becoming too settled in safety. Spending too much time wrapped in a blanket of comfort that provides refuge from the grit the outside world revels in only hands you a vulnerability unsuitable for a reality submerged in death that roams freely. You don’t want to forget how to survive, you’ve come too far for that.

Part of that is how you have ended up being put to bedrest.

Your brain is yet to sort through and file the fleeting images that blend together into one disorientating image instead of a folder of what had occurred picture by picture. In one instance the group and yourself had been rummaging through the shelves that still contained some stock and the next, you’re rushing Maggie out of the way and pushing over shelves onto a growing horde of walkers. Though in the next second, your heart fell a thousand feet below as you lost your balance from the liquid coating the floor from where they’d tumbled and smashed to the floor, with the shards of glass forming a bewitching hazard.

“ your ankle still givin’ you trouble? “

The voice pulls you out of your thoughts, your sight settling on Maggie.

“ I don’t know if that hurts more or if these scratches do. “ You complain, your fingers lightly tug at the bandages that cover the fresh wounds that coat both of your palms, you take note of a number of loose fibres from the material.

“ Glass’ll do that to ‘ya. “ She chuckles, slowly moving into the room. She grabs a chair from the metal desk on the side and moves it next to your bed. “ I never got a chance to say thanks. “

“ You don’t have to worry about it. “ you refuse, shaking your head in turn.

“ I feel it’s my fault you’re like this. “

“ If we’re going to blame anyone, let’s blame my eyesight. I should have seen that wet patch. I should have been more careful. “ Frustration that burns bright in your reply as you turn away from her. Perhaps you’d spent too much time concealed from the harsh reality that constantly claws at you all as it takes refuge in a thick coat of a hauntingly isolating fog as it waits to drag you down with it further into the depths.

Mistakes are synonymous with fatalities now, one moment you’re on top of the world and in the next you can be in a free fall clutching the thin air as if it should be your saviour. Never have moments been promised, and this fact has never shone clearer than when the dead claimed the Earth for itself in an effort to void it of life wholly.

“ Hey, don’t be too hard on yourself. “ Maggie brings a hand forward to squeeze your shoulder momentarily, a comforting smile packaged with it easing some of the self loathing you could feel weaving itself into your being.

“ I don’t have much to do in here by myself, I have to keep myself entertained somehow. “

“ Well, I got an idea.. “ She trails off, a mischievous grin lifting her lips.

“ Maggie.. “ You utter a strict warning, already knowing where the conversation is about to lead.

She pauses for a second, laughter bouncing from grimy wall to grimy wall as she reacts to your cautionary tone, the light in her eyes bursting with the power of a thousand stars as it illuminates her features. Gratitude for the fleeting moments of rare normalcy that reflects a past occurrence in the old world runs deep, for a fraction of a second you can pretend you’re simply two friends joking about something goofy and foolish. For a minute, you’re not sheltering in a decrepit prison as you run from walkers, it’s a perfectly average afternoon.

“ You can’t tell me you don’t realise the way he looks your way now? I know you’ve been lookin’.. “

“ Okay, I think I'm tired now. “ You huff, shifting your body as to your ability with your injured ankle to face the wall that has an array of stains permanently painted into its surface.

Maggie only laughs in response, the sounds of steps dulling into nothing more than a ghost of an echo that informs you of her departure. Her words have pulled a string you’d not wished to pay attention to until it would be absolutely necessary. Needless to say that as much as you’d tried to bury the budding seeds of affection into the dirt, they’d only bloomed in force into a sea of colour with the evidence left to coat your fingertips for everyone to see.

Never had it been your intention to entertain this idea, when anything positive you’ve managed to seize with both hands can be ripped away so unexpectedly that you are left to nurse the empty space left behind of what once had been, grieving the idea of what could have been. However, there’s a dim curiosity that softly grows in size that envelopes around you, compelling a desire to reacquaint yourself with a human intimacy that fell to the back of the queue as the instinct to survive overwhelmed it. You don’t want to fear living, you don’t want to fear connecting to others on a deeper level, but you can’t help but simply.. be afraid.

Had you been in a different reality where the world continued on as normal, you would have probably fallen under his spell sooner.

Only after that one night you’d spent on watch together after he’d gone out of his way to bring you such a simple gift illuminated him in a way that your sight would often lean towards him. Many times you would find yourself analysing his actions on a deeper level, a coy warmth burying itself in the pit of your stomach when realising he’d included you in his thought process. From the chocolate bar, to you being the first person he’d check on if you needed anything before heading out on a run, to even the simple act of being there just to talk when life felt rough. A shape of one Daryl Dixon had been carved out by the man before either of you had realised.

A thunderous groan erupts from your lips as you turn onto your back to stare at the bunk on top with the realisation hitting you like a train threatening not to stop. You completely adore the Dixon.

About an hour away from the Prison Daryl secures the last of the rabbits caught, they swing side to side with each of his calculated movements. All Daryl finds himself wanting to do is to get back to the Prison, unable to push down the inclination of being back to the comfort the life behind those metal fences bring. It’s been a long day and all he’s interested in is getting back to those he holds dear.

That thought is when a fleeting frame of your face crosses his mind. Though he speaks not of which he truly wishes to share, the time you do spend together is something he cherishes more than a billionaire would with all of the money and rubies in the world if they had them in the palm of their hands. The darker side of him, the side that would always listen to those who preferred to taint his waters with their gloom, doesn’t allow the emotions constantly swirling within him to be touched by the burning sun rays as they are laid bare.

Heavy breaths fall without grace from his chest as he’s let through the gates, the stony expressions etched deeply into Carol’s features. No words need to be uttered to know it’s to do with you, Daryl doesn’t even allow a thought before he’s making his way on a path he has walked a thousand times and will walk a thousand times more. Creaks that echo in the darkening corridors that are not lit by the comforting flames of candles, the prison sounding as if it’s more in pain than it appears — still, he pays no care. His only goal is to check on you, he’d be unable to forgive himself if anything were to happen to you and he’d never be able to see you one last time. His brain conjures a number of horrific scenarios and tainted pictures to accompany them as it runs wild in a sea of dread.

The crossbow that had been secured in Daryl’s grip is lowered gently to the ground as he scans your form, a grateful sigh when he sees the slow movement of breathing.

He lowers himself into the chair next to your bed, trying to pinpoint the moment he’d stopped gazing upon your form as a friend to replace it with an aura of starlight — no longer did he see the colour of your eyes, but galaxies full of life and wonderment. Daryl allows himself a few seconds to chase each other by as he considers his next action, though deep down he’s aware his decision had already been chosen, as he threads his fingertips into yours to allow your warmth to comfort the panic that had been raging at the thought of your demise. His thumb traces a circle that is light enough to keep you tucked away in a slumber and as a comfort technique for him, where his mind allows him the time to placate himself.

Before he’s aware of it, the sky blends into itself once more as the pastel hues paint it with dashes of gold from the sun as dawn breaks and he’s hunched over with your hands still connected as one — the position held the entire night. Nothing can be heard in the confined space except a symphony of soft breathing from you both, the serenity only the early hours in which no one is awake brings comfort to the sleeping forms of you and Daryl.

A lengthy yawn escapes your lips as your eyes fight to open as they blink heavily to adjust to the light that invades as much as it can. The weight of something lying comfortably in your hands confuses you, as you distinctly remember there had been no pressure previously, the image before you washes your entire body with the icy grip of shock as you scan the trail leading from the hand within yours to the person it belongs to. Teeth grip your bottom lip as you bite it, attempting to battle away a smile that wishes to break free, you can’t believe the sense of humour that the universe has. Not an inch is moved by any part of your body, you seek to savour the intensity that such a simple action bears, your eyes positively glowing in adoration as a softer side to the man is revealed. Moments like these are few and far between, it leaves you wanting to bottle it up and pocket it forever.

A squeak of displeasure cuts through the serenity the early hours have worked so hard to cultivate as you inch your injured ankle to the side, clearly different positions prove to be the opposite of beneficial. The noise is enough to wake Daryl, his sudden alertness makes you doubt whether he’d truly been in a deep rest, but it’s the least of your worries as he realises he spent the night with his grip connected to yours. The warmth that brought a grounding comfort to your being now is a phantom touch you crave again once an eerily coolness now surrounds your empty palm.

“ ‘M sorry ‘bout that. “

“ There’s nothing to apologise for, Daryl. It was nice. “ You confess, your volume touches the air with a softness of a feather that descends to below in an elegant waltz.

“ Mhm. “ He turns his gaze to the floor, a thumb is chewed upon lightly as he’s wondering what he should say next. “ ‘Was worried about ‘ya as soon as I got back. “

“ Yeah, things just kinda happened. “

“ ‘Ya gotta watch y’self more out there. “ He scolds you with a light scorch of misplaced anger that almost lays eternally with him, a wave of anxiety at the thought of losing you are twins in a realm of horror he never wants to bear witness to.

“ I know, Daryl. “

Poisonous words full of fire and fury born out of dread of your existence in his life being cut short itch to burn your indifference to the situation. As he settles his gaze upon you, all he can see are the stolen moments you both have shared away from the group, where the person he’d created in his head built without even speaking to had been smashed into shards the more he got to know — you’re a fresh breath of peace in an unstable world that thrives on chaos. Quiet moments where all he can hear are the flickering embers of the fire are the memories he finds himself kicking for, all that lost time to never be recovered due to his preconceived notions.

“ Do ‘ya? “ Daryl shakes his head in frustration, his soul a pot of swirling emotions and thoughts blinding him to the point he can’t see straight. “ I can’t lose ‘ya. “

His voice is so low you barely hear it, your brows thread together in the slightest form as they’re unused to the window of Daryl’s vulnerability being so widely open.

“ You won’t. “ A faint twitch of your lips means well, you try to comfort the man. Your touch is delicate as your palm overlaps his with warmth.

“ Y’can’t promise that. “

“ But I can try! “ You argue lightly, a bounce in your response.

“ Forget it. “ Daryl sighs harshly, shaking his head as if to rid himself of the thoughts that run circles around his mind.

“ Daryl! Wait. “ Your voice falls on deaf ears as he’s already halfway towards the exit of the room, for a moment you forget your injury and a burning sensation flies with boundless wings up your protesting muscles and you land in a heap on the floor. The bandages do nothing to cushion your fall, you cry out in pain from the intensity of the throbbing plaguing your body.

“ Why can’t ‘ya be careful!? Damn it. “

Before you know it, Daryl is level with you as you feel his touch grazing your skin — ensuring you’d not injured yourself further. Guilt pools in his stomach at the thought of your current suffering being his fault, his ire now directs itself brightly towards him.

“ Dar — what’s going on? Why are you acting like this? “ You quiz as your expression contorts into a grimace. You’d not seen him behave like this for what feels like a long century, even more so when directed towards you.

“ Like what?! Huh? “

“ You’re being crazy! “ You state, your finger jabs into his chest.

“ Ain’t it obvious? “ Daryl asks suddenly.

Your head shakes, confusion clouds your features as if it’s an angry storm that has waited long enough for the calm — nothing can be seen through the darkened skies. All you want is for the sunny rays of truth to shed light upon this mess.

“ ‘Ya mean more to me than you should. “

“ Daryl? Do.. do you — ? “

He nods suddenly, unable to hear the words out loud no matter how true they ring, because as real as it is. There would be no taking it back then. Your lips purse as a sad smile lifts itself with no help from you, your heart hurting as you realise this could have been avoided entirely since you both appear to be on the same page. You acknowledge the fact that actions would speak louder than words in this scenario, your fingertips brush through darkened strands of hair as if they play a sheet of music with the aging competence of a commanding pianist. This is one of many songs your mind finds itself conjuring, a burning hope of this forging something more between you. It’s not long before your arms are wrapped around his neck, with Daryl unable to believe the scene in which he finds himself in, you’re a sky full of stars that he finds himself wanting to get lost in.

“ We can take this one step at a time, yeah? “ You question softly, not wanting to be witness to the fleeting images of a set of angel wings.

He agrees silently, a warmth spreads outwards from your cheeks and treks outwards to cover your completely. The moment is sweet, as it concludes with a honeyed kiss on his tanned cheek. In one frame you both are thinking the same thing, just how lucky you are to have fought through your fears of living and given in to taking the plunge into unchartered waters that Maggie and Glenn have already found themselves navigating.

In a world full of the dead, you both agree that to love shouldn’t be a reason to cower and hide.

[samuel-de-champagne-problems]

Fools in Love

Summary: He can explain how String Theory works. He can figure out Riemann Hypothesis. He can recite all the numbers of pi until he’s blue in the face. Yet somehow, Spencer Reid can’t figure out what to do for his first first anniversary. 

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female Reader 

Warnings: Spencer Reid is a self-deprecating mf, Jane Austen quotes? But there’s a happy ending 

Word Count: 3128

Fools in Love

He scratches the back of neck, a nervous habit that he’s sure makes him look weak. He wants to find the perfect recipe to make a wonderful meal for Y/N. It’s his first first anniversary so Spencer’s completely lost as to what to do. Y/N deserves the most romantic dinner, especially considering how much chaos he causes. It must be a lot to put up with him, Spencer thinks. He’s even more useless when it comes to love than when it comes to cooking. While he might not be a fan of technology, given he has the Thai place down the street from his apartment on speed dial. She doesn’t deserve some take out Thai with paper plates. But he’s a scientist, a well-known and well-educated scientist who is completely failing at planning his first anniversary.

It was useless. Completely and utterly useless, Spencer thought to himself as he ran his fingers across the various titles of cookbooks. Some featured complex dishes from Korea and others were 30 minute meals of the vaguely Midwest variety. Spencer never in his entire 33 years of living felt so out of place in a library. He’s so at home in between the stacks of books, he finds the comforting words of long dead authors and intricate mathematical theories a second home. However, it seems that Spencer Reid has found the most intimidating section of the library: cooking.

And what do academics do when they are at a crossroad? Well, they call in the experts. The love expert came in the shape of Agent Derek Morgan himself. This idea just might be the most brilliant thought Spencer’s had or the dumbest, but Y/N is worth it.��

Okay, maybe it was a mistake to come to Derek, Spencer thinks as he sits in front of his friend, a coffee in his hand and an expression of pure fear on his face. 

“You want me to, what?” Spencer asks, shocked at Derek’s suggestive advice.  

“Lie in bed naked, call Y/N on the phone and make something up. You’ll be waiting in bed and then BAM! Anniversary sex,” Derek says, his eyebrows wagging as he sips his coffee. 

“Are you messing with me, Morgan?” Spencer says, his face pale from the very thought of lounging in bed naked, waiting for Y/N to come over to his apartment.

“Why not, I’m sure it would get you laid,” Derek reasons. Get me laid? Spencer and Y/N don’t get laid, he thinks. They do have sex, but it’s not getting laid. It’s more romantic and loving than just whatever Derek suggests. 

God, he can’t tell Derek that, he’d never live it down. 

“You have slept with Y/N, right?” Derek asks, suddenly nervous that he touched a nerve with his friend. As much as he likes to tease, Spencer knows that Derek doesn’t mean any harm, hence why he’s the first person he thought to come to. 

“We prefer to call it making love,” Spencer says, pretending to be very interested in his chocolate donut and trying to fight off the blush that rises to his cheeks. Even a year into their relationship, Spencer still gets butterflies at thinking about Y/N like that. 

“So you want this to be more romantic than just fucking, because you’ve done it for a year?” Derek proposes as simply as if he’s talking about a case. Not that talking about serial victims is anymore normal or weirder than the current conversation. 

“Morgan and you please stop talking about Y/N and sex in the same sentence?” Spencer says through gritted teeth. 

“Reid, kid. I’m just busting your chops, I know who you feel about Y/N. When you two are in the same room, it’s like there’s no one else in the world. And it’s kinda hard to get your mind to focus on one thing, but Y/N does that,” 

“I know,” Spencer says. “I can’t mess this up Derek. I can’t give another person a reason to leave me,” 

“Y/N won’t leave because you can’t plan a terrible anniversary dinner,” Derek says comfortingly. 

“I checked out 7 cookbooks, Morgan. 7, and I read them on the metro home. It’s useless, I’m useless,” Spencer laments.

He looks up to try to read Derek’s expression. The last thing he’d want to see on his face is pity or worse laughter. No, Spencer. Derek is your best friend. He’s the closest thing you have to a brother. Spencer feels almost guilty for thinking that Derek would laugh at him, while he might like to tease him, especially about his lovelife, they trust each other inexplicably. What’s written on Derek’s face is not pity or ridicule, it’s a smile. A smile not for Spencer, but for the colorful woman walking towards their table. 

“You told Garcia?” Spencer groans, but scooting over so Penelope would have a spot to sit with them. 

“Of course I told Garcia, kid. You know better than anyone that we can’t keep anything secret,” Derek explains, leaning in to kiss Garcia’s hand. 

“Spencer Reid! I can’t believe you,” Garcia says, smacking Spencer’s arm lightly. 

“Garcia!” Spencer shouts, clutching his coffee and hunching down in his seat to avoid being hit by the tech goddess with her hard rings on her surprisingly strong hands. 

“Don’t Garcia me, Reid. You need me, whether or not you realize it or not. I’m irreplaceable,” she tells him, grabbing a pink notebook and a fluffy green pen from her bag. 

Spencer nods in understanding, as much as he hates it, he knows that he needs help. It’s just a hard pill to swallow when help comes in the form of Derek Morgan and Penelope Garcia, perhaps the two people on Earth who are the most in love. 

“I know I need you guys,” Spencer says, looking from Garcia to Derek, half expecting them to tell him to order some terrifying sex toy from a scretchy store on the edge of town or something equally horrifying. 

“What’s something that she likes? You know like a special thing that Y/N would never think about getting herself” Garcia asks, making notes with the fluffy when that bounces as she writes. 

“She likes to read,” Spencer suggests, thinking about the first date that they had. They talked for hours about their favorite books and ended up getting booted from the library for overstaying their welcome. Y/N found it quite endearing that The Little Prince is Spencer’s while her is anything and everything by Jane Austen. He thinks back to her eyes gleamed when talking about the book, or how passionate she got when she argued that Mr Knightley and Emma were soulmates. 

“Okay, that’s a start Spencer. Really good,” Garcia says, trying to boost her friend’s confidence. 

“What else?” Derek asks, thinking about the times when he and Y/N hang out with Spencer and Penelope. 

“Fret not, Boy Wonder,” Garcia says, softly patting Spencer’s shoulder, “I’ll take care of this,” she finishes as she reaches into her bag, that seems to have a never ending bottom, and pulls out a laptop. 

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“So Garcia and Morgan took over your anniversary plans and basically just made it how they’d want to spend their anniversary?” JJ offers, as she hands Spencer a beer from her refrigerator and sits back down at her kitchen table. 

Spencer takes a swig of his beer and shrugs his shoulders, thinking about how wrong this whole anniversary dinner has gone. 

“I just wanted this to be special, JJ. I know it’s only been a year, but Y/N is it for me. God, she was it for me on the third date,” Spencer confesses. 

“I know, Spence. I’ve never seen you this happy. Happiness looks good on you,” JJ tells him. 

“Y/N makes me happy, she puts up with me, so the least I can do is make this perfect for her,” 

“Spence, don’t sell yourself short,” JJ says, “You’re a kind man and a wonderful boyfriend, you’re both lucky to have each other,” 

“Thank you, JJ, but Y/N is the better person in this relationship. That’s why this needs to be perfect,” Spencer explains, his self doubt still littering his mind. 

“What about a baseball game? You can pay for a message to pop up on the Jumbotron. Like Happy Anniversary, Y/N,” JJ suggests, and Spencer really can’t tell if JJ is joking. She can’t possibly think that Y/N and he would have a romantic anniversary with the threat of getting pelted in the face with a baseball. 

“Sports games are not our forte, JJ. I honestly can’t tell who’d hate sitting in the sun for hours with angry sports fans,” Spencer adds. 

“Okay so no sports, I should have figured, Spence,” JJ winks knowingly. “How about this, think about somewhere that’s special to you two. Somewhere that makes you think of her,” 

“The thing is JJ, everyplace we’ve been together makes me think of her. The elevator when she first kissed me, the movie theater we always go to on Saturday nights, even the sidewalk outside my apartment building. Everything makes me think of her because she’s my everything,” Spencer says, hiding his discomfort at the conversation. 

“Spence, I think that anything you plan, will be wonderful. Have a little trust in yourself for once, Y/N is already head over heels in love with you, so I doubt that she’d really care where you go or what you do,” JJ advises, clearing up the dirty dishes from their Friday night pizza dinner with the boys. 

“I’m going to go JJ, thanks for talking me out of my head. If I took Morgan’s advice, I’d probably end up with a restraining order,” Spencer jokes, putting his jacket on and saying goodbye to his friend. 

“You think you need an Uber?” JJ asks, but immediately finds amusement from Spencer’s disgust at the idea of getting into an Uber. 

“Germs and technology sound like a nightmare, JJ. And I’m not going to remind you of the statistics regarding missing persons and those rideshare apps-” Spencer offers, but is cut off by JJ’s pretend annoyance. 

“Remind me to send Y/N combat pay, you know maybe she is a saint for putting up with you,” JJ teases. 

He walks out into the chill of the night, recounting the advice his friends gave him. Derek and Penelope’s plan was a little outlandish, a little too much for Spencer and Y/N. JJ, who Spencer knows means well, only served to remind him of how hard it must be with him. His steps are slow and languid, but his mind anything but. 

One step, you’re probably just a charity case that Y/N decided to save. 

Two steps, why on Earth would a woman like her even look at a man like you.

Three steps, you’re so pathetic that you can’t even plan a dinner for her. She’s too good for Spencer, you’ll ruin her. 

Everyone who you love leaves you or dies, anyway.

It’s that thought, not the thought of being alone, but the thought that he deserves to be alone that sends the tears down his cheeks. 

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Somehow, someway, Spencer made it back to his apartment. It never felt so dark, so unlike home. Maybe he just didn’t never realized that these walls aren’t home without Y/N. He really should try to get to sleep, but he’d rather fend off sleep with the endless supply of coffee than have to face a night alone in the cold bed. 

Just as Spencer makes his way to prepare a cup of coffee, he hears a distant jiggle of keys and the door knob rattle. And in comes Y/N, as fresh as the cup of coffee brewing and as beautiful as ever. 

“Happy Anniversary, my love,” Y/N tells him, dropping the bags on the floor. She moves over to him like a light breeze. All he wants is to welcome her embrace. He wants to scoop her up and carry her far away from the monsters that lie in wake. He feels an urge to be her protector, but how can be her protector when what he really wants is to be protected. 

“Y/N, what are you doing here, it’s so late,” Spencer says, praying that his voice doesn’t let go. He knows it’s futile, one look from Y/N, her palm to his cheek or even worse a chaste kiss on his forehead, Spencer would not be able to think. What is a genius without his mind? 

“I couldn’t wait for tomorrow, Spence, I just missed you too much,” Y/N says, her voice a prayer that spins around in Spencer’s brain, searching for refuge in his heart. 

“You really missed me?” Spencer asks, desperately wanting to believe her beyond belief. Y/N’s frown searches for an answer in Spencer’s distant expression. Even though they stand there with the kitchen light casting shadows touching as much skin as they can reach, Spencer is a million miles away.

“Of course I missed you, baby. And I just had to give you one of your gifts tonight. I just couldn’t wait to see your face,” Y/N says, practically bouncing as she bounds off to get the package for Spencer. 

“So this is only the first part, and stay with me, I know how much you hate technology, but I think you’ll make an excuse for this,” She tells him, handing him a heavy cube shaped package. It’s decorated in Y/N’s handwritten flowers and hearts, and a cute doodle of who Spencer can only assume is them. His girlfriend may not be artistic. But she’s the artist who paints the stars in Spencer’s night sky. She’s the tailor who sewed him back up when he was broken. She’s the architect who has the key and blueprint to his heart. 

Spencer opens the gift, his hands shaky and unsure. He’s terrified that Y/N can see right though him. He reveals the present. It’s a small wooden box with a red wooden heart that looks like it’s supposed to be pixelated. There’s a blank space on the top, that Spencer supposes is a screen.

“You gotta plug it in, Spence. So the messages can pop up. When you're far away from me saving the world, I can type a message from my phone and it’ll appear on your box,” she explains. Spencer looks up at her trying to search for what he did to get this lucky. 

“Thank you, this is the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me,” Spencer tells her, placing a kiss against her forehead. It’s the kind of kisses that tell you so much more. It’s the kind of kiss you give when you know there’s more where that one came from. It’s safe and warm and everything good about this world. 

“I gotta make sure you won’t forget me when you go traipsing all over the country. A hot genius like you only comes around so often. I’m sure you got loads of attractive people throwing themselves at you, Spence,” she says with a wink. 

“Hot genius?” Spencer repeats half dumbfounded and half joking. 

“Yup, I gotta make sure they know that you’re spoken for,” 

“I couldn’t forget you even if I tried, Y/N. You’re the best thing that’s happened to me. I still don’t know what I did to ever deserve you,” Spencer says, as the tears and the fears of not being good enough bubble to the surface. 

“Spencer, baby. You’re shaking. What’s the matter? Huh,” she says softly, brushing her hand over Spencer’s head in a comforting and loving gesture. 

Spencer leans into her, his head pressed into her neck. He can hear her heartbeat and he can smell her perfume. He wants to get lost in her. Get lost in the feeling of total and complete love. 

“I just wanted this to be perfect, Y/N. For you- you deserve so much more than I can give. It must be so hard dating me. I know that I’m difficult to love sometimes,” Spencer murmurs, his tears pouring down his cheeks and spilling like his darkest thoughts onto Y/N’s shirt. 

“Spencer, you make my life so much brighter. So much fuller. I know that you got a lot going on up in that mind of yours and it must be kinda scary. It must be hard always being the guy people expect answers from. But I got you, sweetheart. And I’m not letting go,” Y/N tells him the words falling from lips like a psalm and taking on a new life in Spencer’s heart. 

“Thank you, Y/N. I really wanted this to be the best anniversary. I’m sorry I’m such a mess,” Spencer apologizes as he peppers light, feathery kisses along her collarbone and up to her eyes. 

“Well you’re my mess, Spencer. Let’s be honest, I’d be completely happy to spend our anniversary anywhere with you. Except maybe sports games, that sounds like torture for both of us,” Y/N laughs and Spencer can’t get over how she practically glows in the kitchen light. It could be that his mind is foggy with love, but Spencer hopes that he never grows out of this blissful feeling. 

“Well it’s a good thing we’ll have many more to make up for this one,” Spencer says, letting himself get dragged to the large fluffy sofa. 

“Oh no, Mister. The next 50 anniversaries have to try to top this one,” Y/N tells him and Spencer’s heart skips and flutters at the thought of having another 49 anniversaries with Y/N by his side. 

“I doubt that 50 will be enough, Y/N” 

“As long as you’ll allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you,” Y/N says, cuddling so close to Spencer that she can’t see where her limbs start and Spencer’s end. 

“If I loved you less, I might be able to talk about it more,” Spencer says running his spidery fingers down Y/N’s side much to her delight. 

“Ooh are you trying out some Jane Austen foreplay? Because that’s the way to make my panties drop,” Y/N says suggestively as she rubs her hand over Spencer’s chest and rests it on his neck. 

“Maybe tomorrow, I just really want to hold you close right now, Y/N.” Spencer says, sweetly kissing along her temple exciting a bout of giggles from the two of them. 

Spencer very well might be useless when it comes to love, but he was eager to learn that he’s worthy of love from his love expert. 

[bumbleklee]

Could you make a fic based on the song Moondust By Jaymes Young? With Xiao or Zhongli? It’s fine if you decline, I enjoyed your Lonestar fic a lot! Also, thank you in advance if you do this! ^^

after this, i decided im a monster. this is so sad, like so so sad. i don't know if this is what you had in mind but since the song is basically about learning how to live/love without someone, i went down a death route. i also went w xiao. pls enjoy (and grab a tissue)

before reading: ANGST!!! you literally die and are a ghost the entire time. mentions of injury and blood as well as self-harm and suicidal thoughts. word count is around 2.1k (under cut for length)

I'm building this house, on the moon Like a lost, astronaut Lookin' at you, like a star From a place, the world forgot And there's nothing, that I can do Except bury my love for you

Death was quick.

You know instantly that you’re dead the second you open your eyes. You can still remember the feeling of the Fatui pyro agent slicing his knife across your throat and if you think about it enough, your neck tingles. You remember falling to your knees, being laughed at, and then you saw nothing.

Well, you saw blackness.

And then when you came to, you were standing in the middle of Liyue Harbor. The world seemed duller but it was real. No one paid any mind to you, so you assumed you were a ghost.

It’s nice to still be able to watch the sun rise high above your hometown.

There’s no panic, no rush to find out what’s going on, you don’t need to. Your hands travel to your throat and the horrific wound is gone. In fact, all of the scrapes and bruises and imperfections on your body were gone. Death brings solace, you humor.

Your peaceful moment was interrupted by two frantic voices. They catch the attention of everyone in the area, including you, and you spin around quickly.

Xiao.

“Break the contract, please, Zhongli-” His voice is frazzled, filled with a sadness the living can’t understand. “I can’t live without them.”

You looked down at your left hand, heart shattering at the absence of the jade ring. Right. You were going to marry Xiao later that year. Not anymore.

A hundred thousand memories of sweet kisses and long nights flooded into your mind. They caused you to hold your breath, too many emotions crashing through your tired form. You felt like crying but couldn’t (ghosts didn’t have tears, you guessed).

You’re standing right in front of the love of your life and he can’t see you.

Maybe it’s a good thing he can’t see you because Xiao already looked wrecked. His eyes were puffy and red and his hair was disheveled. Unhealed scratches wound his arms like ribbon. You had been with Xiao for years, through the good and the bad, and never once had you ever seen him in this state.

He’s pleading still and Zhongli has an indescribable expression on his face. “I can’t,” His voice is barely a whisper, “You know I can’t.”

Xiao wails, falling to his knees. Zhongli feels his pain, you know he does, yet he won’t put him out of misery. You watch as Zhongli bends down and lifts the adeptus into his arms, swiftly walking away from the crowd. You follow ensuite and Xiao’s eyes are hazy, staring through you over Zhongli’s shoulder.

“I’m right here.”

But he doesn’t hear you.

The brightness of the sun, will give me just enough To bury my love, in the Moondust I long to hear your voice, but still I make the choice To bury my love, in the moondust

You begin to follow Xiao around. Not that he goes anywhere, too heartbroken to move, but you keep watch of him like he once did for you.

He resorts to staying in Zhongli’s apartment. The consultant isn’t around most of the day and Xiao rarely leaves his bed. His tears stain the satin pillowcase and he curls upon himself. Sometimes you stand in the doorway and stare, other times you muster up enough courage to go and sit on the unoccupied side of the bed.

The first time you touch Xiao again is at night. He’s crying and without thinking, you wrap your body around his. His chest is pressed against yours and you press your lips to his shoulder.

It’s not warm anymore. In fact, it feels like nothing.

But still, you hold Xiao until he’s asleep. You don’t let go all night, opting to watch your beloved finally get some rest. You wonder if this is how it’s going to be for the rest of eternity? Would you follow Xiao around aimlessly for centuries more?

Or maybe you’re just stuck here. You recall a saying from an elder in Liyue years ago, “Spirits with unfinished business can’t move.”

You decided then that you were going to help him move on, help Xiao bury his love for you.

Nothing can breath, in the space Colder than, the darkest sea I have dreams about the days, driving through your sunset breeze But the first thing, that I will do Is bury my love for you

There’s no book about being a ghost. You have to figure it out on your own and you’ve never been more grateful no one can see you go straight through the wall for the third time that hour. Over time, you create your own handbook in your mind, jotting down anything you discover as your time as a dead person entails.

Within the first week, you understand that no one can see you, hear you, or feel you. And while you can vaguely touch objects and people, the sensation is different than when you were alive. Every human trait was thrown out the window - you don’t need to sleep, breathe or eat and drink anything.

You attend your funeral exactly a week after your body was discovered and someone propped your sword against your casket. You try to grasp it, to pick it up, but you only manage to push it over with a gust of nonexistent wind. It clambers to the floor, the funeral parlor growing silent, and you take this as your cue to leave.

You wondered if Xiao, or anyone of that matter, could sense you at least. Even if Xiao couldn’t see you, just him knowing you were there would ascend you to the afterlife (right?).

You also find out you can’t leave Liyue. There’s an invisible border keeping you trapped in the country and, frankly, you don’t mind. Xiao won’t leave Liyue so you don’t need to leave Liyue. But sometimes you get anxious that one day Xiao will leave Liyue and never return. And if you haven’t accomplished your goal yet, would you truly be stuck as a monster among men?

The brightness of the sun, will give me just enough To bury my love, in the Moondust I long to hear your voice, but still I make the choice To bury my love, in the moondust

On particularly good days, Xiao talks to you. Zhongli was gone early one morning and Xiao pulled himself out of bed and to the living room, opting to open the blinds and see sunlight for the first time in weeks.

You sit on the coffee table with your legs criss-crossed as Xiao mumbles desolate words.

“I keep just wishing I would wake up dead. I miss you so much.”

You frown. “I’m here, I’m right here.”

But he can’t hear you. “You aren’t here to make me laugh at your stupid jokes anymore. And I just...I should have been there! I should have-”

His voice cracks and you move off the coffee table, wrapping your arms around his quivering body. You try to press yourself against him, squeeze your arms so tight that he’ll feel you, but you can’t. You can’t kiss his chapped lips and move your bodies so he’s curled into the crook of your neck.

Sometimes, you watch Xiao hurt himself. He digs his nails into his arms or thighs until he draws blood, only to push it all away and scream into the ground. You want to snap him out of him, tell him to stop doing that to himself, but you can only sit and stare.

You were nothing to Liyue - a common human who added nothing of importance to society. Yes, your death was sad for many people but the world kept turning. Xiao, on the other hand, was so special. He was the Vigilant Yaksha - the people of Liyue needed him forever.

“I miss you. I love you. I miss you.”

I'm a cast away, and men reap what they sow And I say what I know, to be true Yeah I'm living far away, on the face of the moon I've buried my love to give the world to you

Xiao goes out sometimes. It’s either to patrol the city or on a walk with Zhongli. It’s not much but it's an improvement. Like always, you follow him.

He’s started to have nightmares, waking up in a rush. He used to comfort you when you had nightmares and it pains you that you can’t return the favor. You try, by God, you try. You run your hands down his back comfortingly but Xiao only cries harder.

When Xiao sees Ganyu for the first time in months and she gives him homemade almond tofu, he smiles. It’s small and quick but you see it.

Growing up, you had thought that the living mourned the dead. When your grandmother died, you felt broken for a while, but that pain was minimal compared to this. Having to live endless days as an invisible soul while the living grieved was unbearable.

When no one is around, Xiao breaks down. He hurts himself, insults himself and wishes for you endlessly. When Xiao tries to jump off the roof of the apartment complex in the middle of the night and survives with only an injured arm, you realize he’s pushing his body. He’s trying to kill himself.

So, you scream.

Every waking hour of the day you scream.

“I’m right here, Xiao! I love you and I’m right here! I’m sorry for being careless and getting killed but you aren’t ready to join me yet!”

You know he doesn’t hear you, he can’t hear you, and yet Xiao slowly stops hurting himself.

The brightness of the sun, will give me just enough To bury my love, in the Moondust I long to hear your voice, but still I make the choice To bury my love, in the moondust

It takes a year for Xiao to finally begin to cope with your death and you know your journey will be coming to end soon.

He still talks to you except now it’s hopeful and filled with acceptance. On the anniversary of your death, he travels to the Dragon-Queller early in the morning. He sits down in the spot he used to take you to and rubs the grass softly, as if motioning for you to sit down next to him.

You do.

“I’m leaving Liyue next week.”

A million feelings run through your veins. You want to throw up, scream, cry. Is a week enough time to get Xiao to move on from you? Had he already moved on? There were too many questions you couldn’t fucking ask.

You can’t bear to listen to the rest. Your feet travel on their own, taking you far away from Xiao and back into the heart of Liyue Harbor. You didn’t know where you were until you heard a voice call out for you.

“Hey, you!”

You were imagining voices now. You felt sick to your stomach.

“Y/N!”

A short, young woman came into your view and you finally looked up. You had walked right into the Wangsheng Funeral Parlor. Hu Tao was staring at you, not through you.

“I knew you were still here.”

Hu Tao could see you.

It didn’t make sense but you didn’t have time to make it make sense. Without thinking, you cried out to Hu Tao and begged her to help you save Xiao, save yourself.

“I want to go with him,” You say.

“But you can’t.”

“Then he’s going to forget about me.”

Hu Tao chuckled softly, “You think Xiao would forget about you?”

You don’t answer. Maybe it was you that didn’t want to forget about Xiao. Either way, it hurts. “He’s going to fall in love with someone new and-”

“Isn’t that what you want?”

It was. You wanted Xiao to be happy without you, to learn to love again. You wanted him to bury his love for you so you could both be free.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Hu Tao says, “Xiao will find you again one day.”

She clasps her hands together and reaches them out to you. You look down and see a moving image of Xiao. He’s still talking softly, this time with a small smile on his lips. You close your eyes suddenly, not wanting to see anymore. You step outside of the funeral parlor and whisper “I love you” into the wind.

The sun is shining high in the sky when Teyvat begins to disappear from your vision.

Maybe in another life you and Xiao will spend forever together. You’ll have a grand wedding, start a family, and grow old together like you should have. But for now, you’ll see him from the moon.

[mandoalorian]

Din Djarin NSFW Alphabet

Notes: 18+ only. AFAB reader. Reader discretion advised. As always, reblogs mean the world to me. If you want to support my writing there is a link to my Ko-Fi in my bio!

Word count: 2500 words.

Masterlist

**NSFW content under cut!**

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

He’ll stay with you and hold you tight. He’ll ask you if you’re okay and if you need anything. It’s only a short walk to the refresher. He might get you a glass of water, and always, he’ll bring a wet washcloth out to wipe you down and clean you up. He can get quite intimate after sex and he’ll wrap his strong arms around your body and pull you close into the heat of his chest. He’ll whisper sweet nothings into your ear until you both inevitably fall asleep.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

You love his back. He’s broad shouldered, lean and muscular. You love gliding your hands over his skin and squeezing him. When he’s on top, you dig your fingers into his back, subconsciously scratching and clawing at him. In a way, he likes the pain. You nearly always leave a mark on him and it’s nice to come back to, day after day. In the mornings he covers himself up and goes out to complete bounties, but there is something extremely satisfying about knowing that the esteemed and intimidating Mandalorian hunter is marked by you.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Din cums a lot. Although he wasn’t a virgin when you met, he didn’t really have the luxury of getting off with others. He was always too busy, out doing bounties or travelling the galaxy with Grogu. This changed though, when he met you. Now, you’re pretty aware of how large his load is. You love it when he cums inside of you and you feel his warm seed fill you up completely. It can stay in you for the entire day. Din will fuck you in the morning and then pull your panties back up, forcing you to keep his cum inside of you until nightfall. When he takes your panties off in the evening, it’s always a pleasant surprise to see his cum still dripping out of your pretty hole.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

He wants to face fuck you. You give him blowjobs on the regular but he always lets you take your time. It’s nice when you’re in control, and it makes a difference from his usual hectic day-to-day lifestyle. But he dreams of thrusting into your pretty little mouth and tracing the bulge of his fat cock in your throat. He wants you to gag around him and see a mixture of his cum and your saliva mess up your face. He knows you can take it deep, he just hasn’t found the confidence yet to talk to you about it.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Yeah, he has experience. He hasn’t had many sexual partners but he’s done it before and he knows his way around your body. He will spend a lot of time with you, practicing how to make you moan and cum in different ways. He’s probably the least experienced with giving oral but that’s okay because he’s proficient and always been a quick learner.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

He likes to pin you against the wall and take you from behind. When he’s not too tired, he can go for a while, standing up and fucking you. He also likes it when he’s laying down and you're on top, riding him. You’ll notice he tilts his head up, just ever so slightly, so he can get the best view of your tits bouncing up and down as you grind over his manhood. 

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

He’s serious for the most part. He can crack a smile now and again, when he’s lost in the moment. Especially during sensual sex, when he’s on top and looking down on you. But you can never see it anyway since he’s face is always shielded by the beskar helmet. 

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

No, he doesn’t groom himself. He often forgets to shave his face, hence the patchy stubble he dons most of the time. Shaving foam can be quite pricey and credits are hard to come by these days, so, grooming his pubic hair is probably the last thing on his mind. And that’s okay, you don’t mind the dark brown curls down there. He’s not a naturally hairy guy, so despite him having a little pubic hair, it’s not too overbearing. You love kissing the little trail of hair from his navel down to the hem of his underpants.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

He’s very romantic. It takes a lot of going backwards and forwards to develop a romantic relationship with Din, and it takes a lot for him to trust you. But when he does, he’ll be completely open with you and he’ll make it known how much he loves you and appreciates you. He does this through the whispering of sweet nothings in your ear, caressing and nibbling your skin in the most tender ways. 

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Before he met you, he jacked off whenever he got the time. Just because he didn’t have sex on a regular basis, didn’t mean he was immune to sexual desire. It got pretty messy too. After he met you, you began to consume his every thought and he was completely smitten with you. Every night he’d lock himself in the refresher room of the Crest and get off to the thought of you, even getting into the habit of moaning out your name right before he spilled his seed along the shower wall.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

He’s actually quite into BDSM. He wants to tie you up with rope or his binders, and blindfold you. He likes to bend you over his lap and give you a few harsh spankings, enough to leave a mark.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Most of the time, you both do it on the Crest. And it’s okay. His bed is small and the floor is hard but he doesn’t mind it either way, as long as he can be with you. He does, however, like it when he’s in the pilot seat and you sit on his lap and warm his cock. One of his favourite memories was saving up enough credits and taking you to the luscious greens of Naboo. He paid for a suite in one of the most beautiful hotels and you went at each other the entire night. The bed was so soft and warm and he let himself get tangled up in the satin sheets without a care in the world. It was unlike anything he’d ever experienced and he hopes that one day, he gets the opportunity and the credits to do something like that again.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

This one time, you were joking around. You grabbed his cape and clipped it around your neck and even fitted his beskar chest plate onto your own body. You walked around the Crest holding his pulse rifle like you owned it. You only did it out of desperation to get Din to laugh, or even just crack a smile, but seeing you in his clothes ignited something primal in him and all he wanted to do was pin you against the wall and fuck you without mercy. 

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

He would never, ever want to hurt you. You coming into any kind of danger is one of his biggest fears and he will dedicate his whole life protecting you from uncomfort and injury. Because of this, he could never be the one to cause you said injury or uncomfort. He wants the experience to be pleasant for both of you, with no lasting effects. He likes it when you struggle to walk the day after, and he likes seeing you bruised up from love bites or the firm grip of his gloved fingers, but that’s really the extent of it.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Truthfully, you give more than you receive. Obviously, Din can’t take off his helmet. However he loves the taste of you. It just means he has to do it when there are no lights on, or he has to find you a blindfold. When he gets the chance, he absolutely loves going down on you but it just doesn’t happen all too often. Surprisingly though, Din is great at oral and he is sure to give you an experience you’ll never forget. He always has you yearning for more and he loves to tease and edge you with his tongue.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

It varies! Sometimes all Din needs is a quick fuck -- and he’s a very busy man so it’s just something you have to accept. But recently, sex has been lasting a little longer. He’s been taking his time and made a habit of becoming more intimate with you. He is definitely capable of showing his compassion during these private times and you like seeing the softer, more sensual side to him a lot.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Before bounties. After bounties. Whenever he has to leave and there is a risk of harm or danger, you’ll give him a quickie so he for sure has something to remember you by. He could be gone for a few days, or weeks, so by the time he returns, you’re often both riled up and filled with sexual desire. So it’s another quickie just to satisfy that burning need. He’ll take you against the wall and rail you until your knees feel weak and you can’t stand. He’ll growl into your ear and tell you how much he’s missed you and how glad he is to feel the heat of your cunt clench around him again.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

He risks his life every single day. So during his downtime, and the moments he’s in the bedroom with you, he prefers to not take too many risks. Like I mentioned earlier, he doesn’t want to endanger you in any way possible. But if there’s something in particular that you’ve been longing to try, Din will be pretty game to do it. All you have to do is vocalize it and tell him how much you want it. He will always put your safety first.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

He can go for quite a while. Sex with Din, when it’s not a quickie, can average at around an hour each time. He loves to take his time with you and he wants to get as many orgasms out of you as he can. He sees it as a challenge.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Vibrators, mostly. He even has a small silver one that he likes you to use on the tip of his cock. Also you managed to pick up a butt plug from one market a few weeks ago and he’s been aching to try it on you. You haven’t tried anal yet but it’s something Din is definitely interested in. You agreed to try out the plug as a little teaser before you feel like you can take his whole cock. He’s had dreams of stuffing both your holes and watching tears prick your eyes as the sensation overwhelms you.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

He likes to tease you a lot, and you like to tease him too. It’s a little game you both have going on. He adores foreplay and edging you. In the moment, when all you want to do is cum, it can be quite frustrating, but you love it nonetheless. He engages in cunningless, rubbing your bundle of nerves until your legs are shaking and you can’t take it anymore. And then he’ll pull his fingers away and watch you squirm as he deprives you of an orgasm.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

He’s not too loud, just like in usual day to day life, Din Djarin is a man of a few words. He moans and whimpers a lot, especially when he’s close. He pants pretty heavy and he’ll definitely make sure you know how good you make him feel. Not so much with words though. When he’s going down on you or pleasuring you he talks a little more. He asks you questions like, “you like that baby?” or “you want more sweet girl?”, and gets a thrill knowing that you’re so into it, you struggle to answer.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

He loves to fuck you standing up. He loves to press you against the cool metal wall of the Crest and ruthlessly hammer you from behind. He’ll pin you there, grabbing your wrists so you quite literally can’t move, and he’ll dirty talk in your ear as he rails you. He’ll go fast and hard and it won’t take long at all for you to cum around his cock.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Oh he’s big. I’d say a solid 8 inches, and thick too. It’s the girth of him that gets you the most. The feeling of him stretching you open and filling you up is possibly one of the best feelings in the world. You wouldn’t trade it for anything.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Pretty high, and it always has been. He can get hard pretty easily; and whenever he feels like he wants to go, he can go. If you’re horny and let him know that you want it, he’ll be ready to take you almost immediately. He yearns the most when you’re not there. Sometimes he’ll be out on a bounty, alone at night. He’ll be thinking of you back on the Crest, alone too. He’ll imagine you laying in his bed, masturbating, and whimpering out his name. He just can’t help himself.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

He zonks out pretty fast. He’s a busy man, and if the bounty he went on earlier in the day didn’t tire him out, the sex sure will have. He will pull you into his strong arms, plant a sleepy kiss into your shoulder or the crook of your neck, and fall asleep. Din is for sure a big spoon.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

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[solinarimoon]

Fields of Wildflowers

Chapter 14

A Sihtric x OC story

AN: We’re coming to the close of this story. There will be one more chapter after this. I may do a few more one-shots with Cwen and Sihtric and depending on how season 5 plays out I may continue their story further. Thanks for reading everyone! Moodboard made by the wonderful @serasvictoria

Previous chapters here

My masterlist

Warnings: Canon style battle imagery, trauma response from previous abuses, I believe that is all

Word Count: 4,217

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

Cwen ran through the streets of Winchester until she reached the back entrance to the kitchens. Stopping in the doorway, she quickly scanned the room for any sign of Eadith. Cwen did not spy the fiery headed woman in the main kitchen and she was nowhere to be found in the halls most closely surrounding the kitchens either. Cwen had no idea how much time had passed since she left to bring Storria her food. It felt like a lifetime ago.

Quickly, Cwen made her way back to the kitchens, seeking out Frig.

Spying her near the stove, forming loaves for the next day's bread, she swiftly walked over to the large woman.

“Frig, do you know where Eadith is?”

“Who’s Eadith, girl? You think I know your names?” Frig was tall and wide. Cwen would have wagered she would make an intimidating opponent in a battle. She certainly commanded attention and obedience in the kitchens.

But Cwen did not let the woman’s gruff demeanour stall her search.

“She’s my friend. The redhead.”

“Oh, her. I sent her with rations for the prisoners. Come to think on it, she should probably be back by now. She left close after you did. Now wait here, girl…” but Cwen wasn’t listening as Frig called after her. She raced out of the kitchen and along the corridor towards the chapel, eyes scanning everywhere for any sign of Eadith.

When she reached the chapel, she rapped her palm on the heavy wooden door and whispered loudly through the window for Lady Aelswith before trying to slow the hammering in her chest and catch her breath.

She gasped, realizing that she still had Eardwulf’s blood staining her hands. Glancing down at herself, there were traces of his blood all over her clothes. The sight brought back the panic and Cwen felt her breathing becoming erratic once again.

“Cwen,” a voice broke through her thoughts, “Cwen, what is it?”

She shook her head and realized Lady Aelswith had made it over to the door and was trying to get her attention.

“Cwen, dear, you’re trembling. What has happened?”

Cwen stared through the bars of the window in the door for a moment before speaking, her mouth dry.

“I...I’ve killed Eardwulf,” Aelswith’s eyes snapped up to meet Cwen’s face, shocked at her admission. Cwen continued, her words coming out in rushed breaths, “He was trying to force the King’s hand to act. And… and Sigtryggr was there.. He knows I am here as a spy, but… he let me go to find Eadith.”

“The boys, Aethelstan, Sigtrygr took them. Did you see them, Cwen?” Aelswith’s voice was strained, trying to remain composed but clearly she was worried about the boys.

“I did. They were with him. He’s...,” Cwen struggled to find a way to describe her encounter with the man who was responsible for taking Winchester from the hands of Saxons. “He does not want to harm them. He told me so. I tried to keep them with me, but…,” Cwen paused and looked into Aelswith’s eyes, urging her to believe her, “I believe he truly does not want to harm them. Or any of us, if he can avoid it.”

Aelswith didn’t reply, but neither did her face hold to typical rebuke and scorn that Cwen would have expected.

Shaking her head, Cwen asked, “Eadith? Did you see Eadith? She should have brought you food, but she has not returned to the kitchen.”

“She hasn’t been here,” Lady Aelswith sighed.

Cwen felt a tingling sense of dread creep back up her fingertips and into her chest. She took a shaky breath and grasped Lady Aelswith’s hand around the bars in the window.

“I need to keep looking for her.”

“I know. Be safe, Cwen.”

Cwen turned and marched back the way she had come, sneaking past the kitchen and into the courtyard.

Thinking Eadith may have heard about the events on the ramparts, she headed back towards the Eastern gate to be met with a startling sight.

Lord Uhtred was being ushered in through the gate behind a self-satisfied looking Sigtryggr.

Cwen started forward towards her friend, but slowed to look at Sigtryggr. Silently, he gave her the slightest of nods before she sped forward to embrace Uhtred.

Speaking into Cwen’s hair, she heard Uhtred’s muffled voice, “You are alright? Let me see you.” He stepped back to take in her appearance, her blood stained clothes and hands. Uhtred took her chin in his hand and turned her so he could better look at her face, scowling at the scratches along her brow from where Eardwulf had pressed her bodily into the stone of the parapet.

Ignoring Uhtred’s hardened stare, Cwen spoke to both Sigtryggr and Uhtred in turn, “The boys? Athelstan. Are they alright?”

Before Uhtred could speak, Sigtryggr’s voice answered her concerns, firm yet gentle.

“Both children are back in their father’s embrace. Your Lord, the Dane Slayer has traded himself willingly for their release,” he folded his hands behind his back, stepped closer to speak in a lowerer tone, and added, “It would seem the gods saw fit to indulge my wish to see them unharmed.” The man stepped back now, meeting Cwen’s eye.

Uhtred watched the exchange silently, before addressing Sigtryggr.

“The boys are unharmed, but what about Cwen? Look at her face, her hands and clothes. Is this how women are to be treated in your Winchester?”

“Cwen has the heart of a survivor. Not a battle warrior perhaps, but she is strong. Aside from the scratches, the blood belongs to her enemy. A man lower than a snake,” Sigtryggr spoke with that same calm, yet commanding voice.

“That enemy was your ally,” Uhtred’s voice grew louder, etched with concern and irritation over how Cwen had been treated.

Now it was Cwen’s turn to speak, cutting off Sigtryggr's reply and trying to still the rising tension.

“I was offered care and a chance to clean up, but I refused. I needed to find Eadith.”

“And where is she?” Uhtred questioned, only then turning his studying gaze from Sigtryggr to Cwen once more.

“I do not know,” her voice was desperate and wavering, “ I was coming here to look for her. She should have brought food to Lady Aelswith, but she never made it there.”

Cwen held her fingers up to her lips, turning to scan the streets, looking for any sign of Eadith. Her breaths began to quicken once more and she turned round, wide eyed to look at Uhtred.

“I am sure she is alright, Cwen.”

“You can not know that,” Cwen cut him off.

“Excuse me, both of you,” Sigtryggr interjected, “but Uhtred must come with me. We did not allow you into the city to go on a goose hunt. You are here to meet and discuss with me.”

“Sigtryggr is right,” Uhtred agreed, cutting Cwen off before she could protest further. But turning to face Sigtryggr, his voice leaving no room for argument, “but Cwen will come with us. I will not risk another I care for being vulnerable in this city.”

“As you wish,” Sigtryggr acquiesced with a nod, then turned on his heel to walk back towards the palace, clearly expecting Uhtred and Cwen to follow him.

Alarm and panic lacing her voice, Cwen protested giving up the search for Eadith.

Uhtred took hold of her arm and began to escort her alongside him, “Winchester is large and I will not have you look in the streets alone. His lord or not, Sihtric would have my head.”

Cwen paused, gently pulling her arm back to stop Uhtred from moving further.

“My Lord, how is he?” Her words were small, anxious.

Uhtred bowed his head before looking up and taking in Cwen’s concerned expression.

“Sihtric is in agony, Cwen. The man has done nothing but fret since you left his sight, walking into the city,” Uhtred paused. His grip on her arm loosened and moved to squeeze her shoulder in comfort, “Seeing you up there has nearly broken him. He will fight every man here, Saxon or Dane, to see you back in his arms.”

Tears welled in Cwen’s eyes as she listened to Uhtred’s words. She reached her hand up to hold Uhtred’s arm on hers. Sniffling, she wiped a stray tear away.

“Come along, Dane Slayer.” Sigtryggr’s voice brought an irritated sigh from Uhtred as he and Cwen resumed their path.

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

Cwen lifted her head groggily and sat up from the bench she had been resting on.

After arriving in the throne room, Uhtred and Sigtryggr had commenced to fight, throw insults, and banter back and forth before coming to common ground. The rest of the night consisted of developing plans to help formulate negotiations and division of lands.

It would seem Sigtryggr really did wish to be a better man than his forebears. He wanted only land and a chance for his people to thrive. A chance to prosper.

At some point, a woman had brought them food and Cwen had asked for some water to wash the blood from her hands and clean up her face.

Feeling slightly less soiled, she had laid down upon a bench pushed against the side of the hall. Almost immediately, she had felt the exhaustion of the day's events wash over her. Her body and mind were fatigued, both in equal measure.

Fretful, Cwen succumbed to sleep. But her mind was not fit for restful slumber. Flashes of images raged across her dreams.

Eardwulf’s face as blood pooled out of his mouth, his eyes full of shock and anger.

Feet, her own - she could not tell - running along city streets, turning this way and that.

Her hands clinging to a dazed Aethelstan. Still flecked with dried blood, they moved to cover the child’s eyes.

And Sihtric. His eyes. Watching her, his face stoic and careworn. Those eyes that covered her like a gentle blanket, usually full of care and comfort. Now shifting as his face broke into screams, cries filled with torment and sorrow.

Slowly, Cwen felt herself relax back into wakefulness. Her heart, along with her limbs, felt heavy. Leaden. As if she had not slept at all. The images from her mind continued to play over.

Only the knocking on the great oak doors just moments before had awoken her.

Still dazed from sleep, Cwen stood to walk over to Uhtred’s side, her hands running over her face, trying to erase her dreams..

Lord Uhtred stood bent over, his fists resting against the long table scattered with maps and documents.

“I am glad you were able to rest.”

“My body betrayed me. It was not a conscious decision,” Cwen voiced, “Nor would I consider it restful.”

Uhtred turned to look at the woman, placing a comforting hand on her back.

Cwen offered him a small smile before looking down to the maps. She reached out a hand, absentmindedly tracing the length of some river.

At that moment, Sigtryggr returned with news from his guards. Edward had attacked the city and would soon breach the walls.

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

Urgently, Sigtryggr, Uhtred, and Cwen moved along the hallways of the palace and out into the courtyard, followed closely by several of Sigtryggr’s oathmen.

The city gates had already been breached and Saxon warriors were flowing into the courtyard to be met with the shield and swords of the Danes scrambling from all corners of the city to join the fray. The clamor of battle, swords and axes crashing against shields, men screaming and yelling with battle lust was deafening.

Cwen was met with Uhtred’s arm pushing her to stand behind him while he pleaded with Sigtryggr.

Frantically, Cwen scanned the crowd searching for Sihtric. Or anyone of her companions. But the scene was utter chaos. All she could make out was blurs of bodies whirling and clashing in a bloody dance.

Cwen’s attention was snapped back to the men in front of her as she heard Sigtryggr order one of his men to kill Uhtred if he should harm any Danes.

Next thing she was aware of, Cwen was thrust aside by large hands as Uhtred and Sigtryggr’s man began stalking their way through the fight towards King Edward.

Cwen righted herself and continued to search the crowd, looking for him. She watched the chaos as Sigtryggr prowled like a wolf on the steps beside her.

Her heart hammered in her chest and she felt the clash and reverberation of the fight in front of her ringing in her ears. The adrenaline and fear pulsed out along her limbs as she felt the grip of panic racing through her blood.

She winced when Sigtryggr called for the shield wall to be formed.

His cry lost amongst the din of the violence, Cwen covered her ears instinctively and watched while a horn blower signaled the shield wall and Sigtryggr called once more, his voice now louder and impassioned.

She saw as Edward raised his sword arm and called for Saxon’s to form the wall as well.

It felt like time slowed as Cwen watched the melee stop and the shields form the barrier along both sides of the fight.

A man stepped out from the Saxon line reaching towards something on the ground. It was Finan. Cwen watched as he stooped to pick up a figure. She recognized Eadith’s red hair and gasped as she watched men part for Finan to retreat carrying her limp body.

Then there he was, closing the hole after Finan, beside Osferth.

Cwen grasped onto Sigtryggr’s arm, from behind where he had stepped in front of her protectively.

He turned and observed her gaze, locked onto Sihtric.

“It is your man?” Sigtryggr questioned.

Not daring to take her eyes from him, Cwen gave the slightest nod.

“Come with me,” he instructed as he began moving down the stairs, Cwen continuing to hold onto his arm as they moved through the warriors.

“You will let us pass,” Sigtryggr commanded his men who shuffled out of their way to form a slender path.

Breaking through into the clearing between the shields, he saw her. His face was a mask of fierce battle rage, but his eyes softened when they met Cwen’s.

He took a step forward, pulled to reach her, before Osferth’s sword arm blocked his way.

Cwen still stood slightly behind Sigtryggr grasping his arm.

The man looked back to her, “Go,” he said. Cwen dragged her eyes away from Sihtric to glance at Sigtryggr. He nodded his head in the direction of the Saxons, towards Sihtric, “Go on.”

And the next instant, Cwen was rushing into Sihtric’s arms, crashing into him.

Still prepared for a fight, Sihtric stepped to the side, bringing her around himself, saying, “Behind me, Cwen. Stay behind me.”

He kept her arm in his grasp as she stood behind his right side, hands grasping at him, clinging to his armor.

Cwen felt him pull her hand up to his mouth, pressing a firm kiss against her knuckles and squeezing. His hand still gripped his axe as well and the feel of the wood crushed against her fingers was bruising. But it did not matter. Being back where she could find his grounding touch, Cwen felt her world right itself finally.

She pressed herself firmly against his back. Peering around his shoulder, she could see Edward and Aethelflaed had approached the center of the courtyard along with Uhtred. Sigtryggr and Edward stood staring at one another. The tension was thick as the leaders sized each other up.

Eventually, Edward and Aethelflaed agreed to enter the palace with Sigtryggr and begin negotiations.

Once the respective parties had shifted inside, the opposing armies slowly melted away to opposite portions of the city.

Cwen felt the tension slowly release in Sihtric’s shoulders as he lowered his shield and slid his axe into his belt.

She heard Osferth from somewhere nearby, questioning Sihtric. Cwen kept her eyes closed, hands fisted into his mail and leather, gripping anywhere she could find purchase.

“Where would Finan have taken Eadith?”

“Hild,” Sihtric replied, his voice low and husky, “likely, he took her to Hild.”

Without another word, the three moved along the streets passing other soldiers and frightened townsfolk milling about.

Sihtric’s arm never lost contact with Cwen, but his eye kept scanning and searching. Cwen imagined he was still on the watch for a fight, a threat. Or looking for Finan and Eadith. But she desperately yearned for his eyes to find her again.

After many twists and turns along wide streets, Cwen having no idea where they were leading, they stopped outside of a church.

Osferth only paused, noticing that Sihtric had stilled with Cwen.

Glancing between his two friends, Osferth’s lips twitched upwards into a small grin before he turned and continued up the steps and through the large oaken door.

Sihtric turned, taking Cwen’s arm in his hand and led her to the alley beside the church.

Once he turned the corner, he swept Cwen into his arms in a crushing embrace and lifted her off of the ground.

Cwen felt the seams of her composure that had been slowly unraveling rip apart. She threw her arms desperately around his shoulders as she buried her face against his neck. Strangled sobs overcame her and she started voicing incoherent apologies and fears.

Gently, Sihtric lowered her feet to the ground and ran his fingers soothingly through her tangled, chestnut hair, giving her the time to be broken.

Cwen pulled her face back from his body, her hands moving to rest along his jaw and bringing his forehead to rest against hers.

“It is alright, Cwen. I have you, now. I have you,” he chanted over and over.

In time, Cwen’s breathing slowed and her sobs ceased to wrack her entire body, to be replaced with still slightly shaky gasps.

She felt as Sihtric’s lips placed soft kisses on her forehead, down to her eyes, wiping away her tears.

Finally, his kiss found her lips. And she felt the world pause as they both melted into one another, his fingers tracing soothing lines where he cupped her neck.

When they pulled apart, Cwen met his eyes.

“I love you,” she whispered.

His lips pulled into a wide grin, but she continued before he could respond, “I do. I love you, Sihtric. And I am sorry for leaving with harsh words or feelings,” but it was Sihtric’s turn to hush her with a kiss.

When he pulled back, he made sure to look into her eyes before speaking.

“Do not apologize. What you have done takes courage. There are more ways to be strong and brave than by wielding a sword or an axe. I should not have spoken as I did. I was scared for you and let it cloud my mind and my words.”

“But you were right to be frightened,” Cwen interrupted him, “Eardwulf…” Her voice quivered when speaking his name, betraying her.

“Is dead, Cwen.” Sihtric took her face in both hands. “He can no longer harm you. You have freed yourself of him, my love.”

His eyes burned into Cwen’s own with such an intensity, she dropped her face to rest on his chest, overwhelmed.

“I was so afraid, Sihtric.”

She felt as Sihtric rested his chin on top of her head before he replied.

“Cwen, I have been in more battles than I can remember, escaped death.” he placed a kiss on the top of her head before he continued, “but I have never felt fear like that before.”

He pulled her back and took her chin in his hand, tilting her face so he could brush his thumb over the scratches and bruises forming along her cheek and brow.

“I was terrified that I would lose you. But you saved yourself. And we are together now.”

Cwen smiled at him, “I used your knife and what you taught me.”

Sihtric kissed her fiercely before he remarked, “When this is over, we will find time alone where I can love you. Where I can show my woman how she is cherished.”

Cwen felt heat rise in her cheeks. “You cherish me?” She questioned, leaning her face back towards him.

“I do, my lady,” he answered with a smirk before kissing her once more and chuckling as he felt Cwen hum against him deep in her throat.

“Do you think Osferth found them?” Cwen pondered when they finally broke apart.

Sihtric laughed, “He must have or he would have come and awkwardly interrupted us.”

Sihtric took her hand, leading her back towards the entrance of the church.

“Who is Hild?” she questioned.

Sihtric answered her as they walked, “A friend. An abbess. The first time I met her, she was sawing the head off a Dane.”

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

Cwen’s mouth was still hung open in shock when they entered the church to be approached by Osferth and an older woman with dirty blonde hair, dressed in the plain robes of the clergy.

“Cwen, this is Hild, a friend.” Osferth introduced the woman who took in Cwen’s expression and appearance.

“Was Sihtric just telling you of the first time we met? Trust me, it was not as bad as you imagine. The Dane was already dead.” Hild’s smile was genuine and caring. Osferth and Sihtric both laughed good naturedly at her jest.

Still smiling, Hild brought Sihtric in for a hug, “It is good to see you, Sihtric.”

“And you, Hild. Is Finan here?”

Hild answered him, while stepping back to stand by Osferth once more, “He is. And the lady, Eadith. I have patched her up as best I could.”

Cwen interrupted, concern lacing her voice, “will she be alright? Was she badly injured?”

“Not too badly. Some bruised and maybe broken ribs, but that is all. She needs rest, but will be fine,” Hild took hold of Cwen’s hand as she spoke, giving it a comforting squeeze, “would you like to see her?”

“I…” but Cwen hesitated.

Guessing the reason for her hesitation, Osferth interrupted, “She knows about Eardwulf, Cwen. She was more concerned with your well-being than with grief over her brother.” Cwen frowned and looked down at the floor for a moment before looking back to Hild, who gave her hand another comforting squeeze and nodded her head.

“Come on then. Follow me,” she said while releasing Cwen’s hand and turning to walk back the way they had come.

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

They entered the room to find Eadith sitting up with some bandages wrapped around her torso. She was holding onto Finan for support to stand. Cwen noticed the care and concern etched in the Irish warrior’s face as he stood firm by her side.

She stopped short when Eadith looked up from the floor at their entrance. But Cwen did not have long to ponder any hard feelings Eadith might hold against her for killing her brother.

Eadith exclaimed, “Cwen, oh thank God,” as she reached out the arm not steadying herself on Finan, beckoning her friend towards her.

Cwen let out a little laugh, fighting back yet more tears as she closed the few steps between them and gingerly embraced Eadith before stepping back and taking her hand.

“You’re safe,” Finan interjected, placing a chase kiss to Cwen’s temple, never losing hold of Eadith’s waist.

“As are you,” Cwen commented nodding to Eadith, “I tried to find you after,” but the words died on her lips as she met her friend's eye.

To Cwen’s amazement, Eadith gave her a genial smile before she spoke.

“I lost the man I called my brother some time ago, Cwen. I am happy you are safe. Truly, my friend.”

Shaking her head to clear the emotions rushing to her face, Cwen took a breath before their reunion was interrupted by Hild, who cleared her throat before speaking.

“I can offer you all a bit of bread and may be able to find some cheese. It won’t be much, given the siege, but I know you must be hungry.”

Osferth replied for the group, “That would be lovely, Hild. Thank you. But we also should see if we can find out how things go with Lord Uhtred.”

The companions agreed some food would be best before Sihtric and Osferth would leave to find out how negotiations progressed.

Cwen tried to protest and go with them.

“I do not wish to be parted from you again,” she whispered as Sihtric took her aside by the arm.

“I know, Cwen. But you are exhausted. A moment ago you were almost asleep on your feet. Finan is staying to care for Eadith. You will not be alone. But you need rest.” Sihtric’s voice was low and soothing. His face close to hers and she felt the tenderness and concern in his words. “Let Hild care for your face and find you some clean clothes. I will come back to you as soon as I can.”

The idea of clean clothes and rest compelled Cwen more than she would have anticipated. But the weight of the past days events was still heavy on her and Sihtric was right, she needed the rest.

“Ok, but please don’t be away long.”

“I won’t, love. Believe me.” He kissed her softly before leaving with Osferth.

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

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[shawnmendesbuddy]

LOVE AND HATE

Summary: Shawn and Y/N have hated each other for a long time now. But lucky for them, a little magic can make all the difference.

Warnings: Drunk Shawn (if that even counts)

A/N: So this is my first imagine, don’t judge me 😬. It’s not perfect, but give me feedback in the comments, thanks!

Sometimes the world is not as it appears. Sometimes people fall in love and tell each other. Sometimes people fall in love and instead of telling each other, they create an intense hate for the other to push their feelings away. But love and hate are so closely related that sometimes feelings get mixed up. Especially when there is a dash of magic involved.

“Pleeeaaaasssseeee let me hold your haaannnd,” Shawn slurred out to Y/N. At first she thought he had been messing with her as one of his cruel jokes, but after a half hour of his persistency, she granted him his wish of following her around the club. Now he wanted to hold her hand and Y/N was not going to let it happen.

Y/N was unsure if Shawn had gotten so drunk that he forgot that they hated each other, or if someone had slipped him a little Amour into his cup. Amour was an extremely rare flower that was said to make you fall in love with someone for a short period of time if inhaled or ingested. Y/N hoped it was the latter because then she would never let Shawn live it down.

You see, Shawn and Y/N hadn’t always been enemies. In fact, all the way up until sixth grade they were best friends. Neither Y/N nor Shawn knows who started it, but one day, their friendship shifted into a hateful thing and they had never gotten past it.

Some people would argue with them and say that the reason they grew distant and hateful toward the other was to push them away so they wouldn’t find out their true feelings about the other person.

But Shawn and Y/N were so engrossed in stopping the other person from finding out their feelings for them, that they couldn’t see that they both felt the same way.

“Please Y/N. I just want to hold your hand so bad. Please.” He begged again. Y/N ignored him and walked away. She heard a whimper behind her, but refused to turn around.

“Y/N you realize that when someone is under the influence of Amour and you’re the person they’re in love with and you leave them alone or ignore them they are in physical pain. It’s like the worst heartbreak you’ve ever felt but ten times worse. And you also suffer low self esteem as one of the side effects if the person you fell in love with ain’t giving you attention?” Laney ranted on.

She had been very intrigued in the Amour plant for as long as Y/N could remember. She knew so much about it, and all she was doing was spewing facts at Y/N to try and make her help Shawn.

Y/N had to admit that she felt a little guilty about making him go thorough that. She cared for him deep down but she couldn’t show it or else he would never talk to her again. She would rather have rude and spiteful Shawn than no Shawn. So Y/N turned back around, sighed, and reached her hand out to Shawn’s , who’s face beamed with the biggest smile she’d seen him give her since right before they started hating each other.

“Aww thank you so much Y/N You’re so beautiful.” Shawn whispered into Y/N’s ear causing shivers to go down her spine. He hadn’t called her beautiful in the longest of times. Her heart stuttered in her chest.

“Can I hug you, please?” Shawn gave her puppy dog eyes and Y/N nodded as he pulled her into a bone crushing hug.

“You’re going to have to bring him home with you tonight, you realize that?” Laney said.

Shawn released Y/N and kissed her forehead. “Ooh, when we get back to your place, can we cuddle?”

Y/N chuckled. “You know, on a normal day Shawn, you hate me.” Shawn’s eyes widened at what Y/N had said.

“How could I ever hate an angel like you? Are you sure that’s not a different Shawn you’re thinking of?”

“I’m positive.”

“Well then I’m so sorry. I never wanted to hurt you. I promise I’ll never hurt you again. Forgive me?” Y/N chuckled as Shawn pouted.

“You realize that when the Amour loses its effects you’ll break that promise?” Y/N’s voice dropped with sadness. Sometimes she just wanted her best friend back.

“Why?! I don’t understand!” Shawn whined. “I’m in love with you so how could I hate you?”

Now Shawn was genuinely confused. Yes he was under the effects of the Amour, but he had always harbored feelings for Y/N. And he had regretted ever being mean to her or making her feel worthless. His intentions were to make her distance herself but it didn’t work too well since they had the same friends.

He shook his head to clear his thoughts. He hoped to remember the promise that he made her once the effects wore off. He wasn’t positive who had slipped him the Amour, but he was pretty sure it has been Laney. She had wanted a test subject for years and she must have just got her hands on some Amour and what better way to test then on her best friend’s enemy.

Y/N dragged Shawn out to her car and helped him into the passenger’s seat. He whimpered in pain when she let go of his hand and closed the door. He had to be touching Y/N or it felt like he was being pricked in the heart by a bunch of tiny needles.

“Here you go,” Y/N said offering her hand up to him once she had started the car.

“Thanks,” Shawn said kissing it and putting it back on the middle console with his hand clasped in hers.

“Actually, instead of going to my house, let’s just head to yours. You have a comfier couch anyways.” Y/N said.

Though their hate had stopped them from being friends years ago, Shawn’s friends requested that he invite her to every group hangout that he hosted at his house. Shawn would act out out about it, but secretly would love the fact that Y/N would be at his house.

***

“Hurry up and get in my house. It’s been soooo loooong since me and you have been alone together.” Shawn whined pulling Y/N into his house. “Do you want something to drink? Let’s watch a show and have snacks like we used to do when...before...” Y/N was surprised that even in his state, he could remember what had happened between them or at least sort of.

“Umm, I don’t know if a movie is the best thing to watch,” In truth, Y/N would’ve loved to have watched a movie with Shawn because she missed the old times, but she was worried about what Shawn would try during the movie. Plus, it was already 10:45 and she wasn’t sure she could stay awake much longer.

Shawn pouted his lips at Y/N and she sighed. “I’m putting my foot down because it’s late and I’m tired and taking care of you is not something I’m very fond of doing!” She snapped at Shawn. She didn’t mean to, but she was exhausted and wanted to go to bed.

A tear fell down on Shawn’s cheek. “Umm I’m sorry. I... I don’t want to be an inconvenience, but I guess I must’ve really hurt you and I’m sorry. I thought there might’ve been a little part of you that still cared about me. Umm...goodnight Y/N.”

Y/N felt her heart ache for the boy. She remembered Laney saying that people under the influence of Amour were extremely sensitive to what the person that they “love” says and does.

Shawn trudged over to his room and closed the door. Y/N walked through his apartment—something she’d never done when she’d been over—and found pictures of when they were kids and still friends. She found one where Shawn had his arm wrapped around her shoulders and they were staring at each other in a way she could only define as love.

Y/N shook her head and sighed, walking over to Shawn’s piano. She touched a few of the keys and looked up at the sheet music resting on the piano. ‘Why’ was the name of the song.

Y/N jumped when she heard the clicking of Shawn’s door opening. “I...umm...I’m taking the couch tonight, you can sleep in my bed.” He was dressed in a white t-shirt and black sweatpants and his hair was tousled. Y/N’s heart swooned at the sight.

Y/N shook her head. “I can’t take your bed, this is your house and I’ve been so mean to you.”

“Well I’m not taking the bed so you better so my bed isn’t wasted tonight.” Shawn shot her puppy eyes.

“Fine, but just because you gave me puppy eyes.”

“I uh...” Shawn scratched the back of his neck. Y/N hadn’t seen this nervous side of Shawn in a while. Usually he was really cocky around her. “I left some clothes out for you to change into, but if you don’t, I get it.”

“Thank you, I’m sorry for yelling at you,” Y/N said hugging Shawn and kissing his cheek. “Goodnight.”

***

Shawn woke in the middle of the night in cold sweats. His head ached and he was disoriented. And why was he on the couch? And were those...no it couldn’t have been Y/N’s shoes at the door. But...he didn’t know anyone else that were specially made pink Doc Martins.

So did that mean that Y/N was in his house...right now? Not just for a group hang out? No, that couldn’t be. Shawn shook his head.

He thought back to the night before. He had gone to a club with his friends and Y/N was there. She looked so beautiful, as always. And then...Laney offered to buy him a drink. And...oh gosh!

His memories came flooding back to him and he cringed in embarrassment. How could he have let himself go so far as to cry in front of her? She seemed almost...happy in his memories that he was talking to her. Did she really care that much if he was in love with her? There was nothing more he could do to harm their friendship.

What if...what if this was his only chance to talk to her normally without it being awkward because she thought he was still under the influence of Amour. All he would have to do is act like he did yesterday. It would be easy, right?

Shawn cleared his thoughts and grabbed his phone which was resting on the coffee table. 5:00 AM. He should at least get up and go to the gym or something.

He heard the door to his bedroom opening and he quickly covered his head with blankets and pretended to be asleep. “Ahem,” he heard Y/N clear her throat. It was one of the cutest things ever and Shawn couldn’t help but blush.

He slowly stretched and yawned pretending like he was waking up. He cracked his eyes open and smiled at Y/N. She was dressed in one of his gym shorts and his gym shirt. She looked so adorable in his clothes and Shawn’s heart fluttered.

“Umm good morning. I hope you don’t mind that I’m wearing some of your gym clothes, but I kinda wanted to work out. Do you want to come with me?” Shawn nodded his head eagerly, perhaps too eagerly, even for someone under Amour.

***

“Here, let me pay for that,” Shawn said pulling out a 20 and placing it on the counter at the smoothie shop.

“You shouldn’t have paid for me. I’ve been awful to you. Well you probably don’t even remember. You probably won’t even remember this conversation in a couple of hours. I think the affects are only supposed to last 12 or so hours. Let’s see, you started acting up at around 10:00 so we have,” Y/N checked her watch,”3 hours, give or take.”

Shawn nodded his head trying to act oblivious. He was unsure what to do. Should he just tell her?

“Y/N I’m not under the influence of Amour. Or at least not anymore. I haven’t been since I woke up.”

Y/N looked up at him, her eyes widening. “Okay then, tell me something that only you would know if you weren’t influenced.”

Shawn scoffed and shook his head. “I’ve made you cry more times than I want to even think about. When we were in sixth grade and I vowed that I would never hurt you, I broke it. So many times. But I thought that by breaking it,” Shawn sighed taking Y/N’s hands into his own. “I was scared. I fell in love with you. I didn’t want to ruin anything. I didn’t understand why I felt nervous around you. I thought that maybe if I distance myself right then, I could fix our friendship later. But the only way you would leave me alone was if I really hurt you. So I did what I thought I had to do. And I’ve been regretting it since then. Every time I would say something mean, I would cry myself to sleep thinking I hurt your feelings. And I kept the act up because you would be mean right back to me and I thought you hated me. But I can’t keep doing that. I’m in love with you. Every song I’ve written about love has been about you. My cards are all out on the table. You can take them or...you know...leave them.” Shawn said voice quieting towards the end.

“I’m so glad to hear that Shawn! So incredibly glad! Was that song on the piano I think it was called ‘Why’, was that about me?” Shawn nodded his head.

Y/N pulled his ear down to her mouth. “Let’s not put each other through hell and let’s get over ourselves.” Shawn smiled and pulled Y/N into a sweet passionate kiss which she returned.

Sometimes love and hate are so similar that who you hate is the person that you love.

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

Black

Prompts: After POF, Roman takes over the abandoned color black. He becomes the hated side that Virgil used to be. By most, anyway. Janus and Virgil are concered. Patton chooses to ignore it. Romans room is really cold? and boy is he touch starved - anon

(Sanders sides Prompt) Any one of the sides is touch starved. fluff. (You dont have to do this just thought I might ask) - anon

Hello there!! I just wanna say that I love your work and I think you’re such a talented writer. Idk if this is a weird ask but would you consider writing Roman angst with the song “it’s OK I wouldn’t remember me either” by crywank as like inspiration? Thank you so much <3 -anon

buckel up babes this one's a doozy

Read on Ao3

Warnings: implied/reference self-harm by way of self-negligence, pretty intense self-hatred and neglect that could verge on suicidal, but NO ONE DIES, everyone's fine at the end, we don't break shit and not fix it in my house

Pairings: it is platonic found family hours

Word Count: 5697

Do you know what no one ever tells you about the color black?

It’s seamless.

There are no cracks, no tears, no imperfections, because everything’s so dark you can’t tell what’s a trick of the light and what isn’t. Everything blends together. At first, second, even third glance, it’s perfect. Pristine, even. It hides absolutely everything. It’s intimidating, honestly, that level of deception. The way it can make anything look like it’s meant to be there, as if to live the colorless and lightless life is all it was ever destined for.

Darkness has always found a way of feeling like home, even to the ones who are afraid of it.

You either die the hero or live long enough to see yourself become the villain.

Roman hadn’t wanted to go to the wedding. He didn’t want to go, but it’s what Patton wanted. It’s what Thomas would’ve wanted. If Roman hadn’t been so loud. But it hurt, it did, when they said that they shouldn’t go to the callback because there was such a slim likelihood of Thomas winning. Because Roman couldn’t win. But Roman wasn’t supposed to be the villain and do something bad so he sent Thomas to the wedding.

Bruises were supposed to be yellow, or green, or purple, not black.

But if he had yellow, green, or purple bruises, he would’ve blamed a yellow, green, or purple Side. And that was bad.

So he hid them, because as he learned, no one was looking for them anyway. Patton cared when he didn’t show up to the video and then he was there and oh, having someone there, even if they only cared a little, was like rainfall in a desert, it was wonderful, Roman would’ve sung if he thought it wouldn’t make everything worse. But Roman was good, so he never complained, and he did his job to the best of his ability.

But what if his job was bad?

But there are two Creativities, a Roman and a Remus. And no one else liked Remus, because Remus was bad and Roman was good. But Remus isn’t bad, he’s just the opposite of Roman. And Roman didn’t want to be Remus because Remus was bad. But Remus isn’t bad.

Creativity isn’t bad.

Bruises aren’t supposed to be black but they can’t be red.

Roman isn’t supposed to be the villain but what else do you call someone who laughs at vulnerability, who scorns people’s earnest attempts to help, who single-handedly ruins someone’s life?

Roman isn’t supposed to be the villain, but bruises aren’t supposed to cover every inch of his skin unless he deserves it.

His skin burns. It crawls and aches and screams and darkens into bruises. His throat aches from the wordless screams and the horrible things he’s said to everyone. He’s been so selfish, he’s tried to make everything go his way, tried to make it about him, not about Thomas, because everything they do is supposed to help Thomas, help Thomas, that’s what they’re supposed to do, they’re supposed to help Thomas, not themselves, why is he doing this, why is he doing this?

Because he’s the villain.

Roman cries.

What else is he supposed to do?

He cries until the tears grow thick, sluggish, oozing out of his eyes until he can’t see anything but them, until his breath grows thick and his chest heavy. He cries until he has to struggle to open his eyes because of how swollen they are, how globulous the tears have become on the ends of his lashes. He cries until his head splits and his chest wails from the pain he isn’t supposed to have but deserves, deserves every little bit. He cries until his body is consumed by the bruises.

His costume is a straightjacket. He needs it off. The white hurts now, it burns his arms and cuffs his wrists. He doesn’t deserve it so he rips it off. Every seam that he ruins is another bruise. The rips are so loud they burrow into some soft part of his brain and live there. The white is still imperfect because it’s on him.

Only when his costume lies in tatters around him, his sash torn off and thrown away, far away, does the white look pure.

He cries himself to sleep with a smile on his face.

Far, far away, a black hoodie is tugged back into the Conscious Mindscape.

When Roman wakes, his head is full of static.

His lungs inflate and collapse on autopilot, driven by the merciless pump of some distant machine, turning the crank to draw air in and out, in and out.

His hands are numb, fingertips rubbed raw and inflamed from tearing relentlessly at fabric. He turns them slowly and it’s like watching himself in a video game.

His face is cold. He paws at his cheeks and feels sticky residue, etched into his skin. His eyes stick slightly when he blinks and he doesn’t know if that’s just his face or if there’s something else.

He is swathed in black fabric, an old threadbare hoodie that has gone years unloved, untouched, unseen. It’s selfishness that makes him tug it closer, feel a faint bubble of pressure on his screaming body.

He should get up, he should go make sure he hasn’t hurt anyone else with his tantrum again, he should apologize.

But…what would be the point?

Like Patton asked, does there come a point when someone keeps apologizing so much that you just have to admit they’re bad?

Roman isn’t good. Has he ever been?

Something interrupts the pleasant numbness and it shoots from his chest to the soft points at the base of his wrists, making his hands tingle. He decides he doesn’t like it. He doesn’t want it. He wants everything to stop.

He’s selfish, they all know that, he’s just going to end up hurting them anyway, so why bother trying to fix it?

Apathy, his tired brain supplies when he lies there, unmoving, on the ground, for hours and hours and hours, unwilling and uncaring to fix things.

But that can’t be right. Roman is here because he cared too much, he did too much, he was too much. How can he now be the epitome of not caring at all?

If only he never cared, if only he wasn’t so attached, if only.

If only he had been Apathy, maybe he wouldn’t have been so hurt.

His pride got him here. His pride, his wants, his his his. He wanted everything and burned down the things that would’ve helped him get there because he couldn’t do it right. He is the villain and villains always have too much pride.

Pride. Apathy.

Prapathy.

Apride.

I’m not Creativity anymore, he thinks to himself as he lies there, still on the floor as his chest aches and his eyes sting and the sticky residue drips down his cheeks onto the bruises. He stares and stares and stares at the wall and a faint part of his mind that exists outside of the static realizes he never did get around to fixing that crack in the baseboard.

Pride, apathy. It doesn’t matter. There’s a much easier word that he can use to describe both of them.

Wrong.

—————————————————————

“I don’t know, Thomas,” Logan sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose, “I don’t think that’s a valid solution either.”

“But it makes sense,” Virgil protests, shoving his hands into his pockets, “all we have to do is not talk to anybody else—“

“But that will hurt their feelings!”

“But we won’t hurt ourselves.”

Janus and Patton look at each other for a moment before Patton sighs and scratches the back of his head.

“I—I don’t know, this…this feels weird.”

“None of us are happy about this, Padre,” Virgil mutters, “but it’s the best solution we’ve got.”

“Real high bar we’re setting there, isn’t it?”

“Listen, Snake Face, if you’ve got a better idea—“

“Virgil, enough.” Logan shakes his head. “We need to keep thinking.”

“We’ve been at this for an hour, Logan,” Thomas says cautiously, “I don’t know what else you think we’re gonna get to.”

“We’ve already passed the optimal point for productivity, yes.”

“Oh, well, we can’t just give up now!” Patton puts his hands on his hips. “I’m sure if we just keep at it for a little longer—“

“You said that half an hour ago, Patton.”

“And I’ll say it again!”

“Because that’s going to make everything go much easier.”

Thomas sighs as the Sides fall back into bickering. Normally, this wouldn’t be anything out of the ordinary—pretty much all they do is argue back and forth—but Logan’s right. They’ve made almost no progress. He finds himself staring at the TV.

Why is he staring at the TV?

He frowns, tilting his head. It’s literally just his TV. Why is he so fixated on it right now? It’s not like it’s gone anywhere, it’s sitting right where it always is. He stares at it most of the day, why is it so weird that he’s looking at it now?

Wait—

“Guys,” he interrupts, still staring at the thing he’s not supposed to be able to see like this, “where’s Roman?”

The room pauses. Then Logan sighs.

“Oh, of course, that’s why we’ve been having such a hard time coming up with solutions, we don’t have Roman.”

At Virgil’s side-eye, he glances around to see similar looks of disbelief on the other’s faces.

“What?”

“Did you…did you just admit we need Roman?”

“He is Creativity, it makes sense that if we are struggling to be creative, he isn’t here.”

“Okay, that makes more sense.” Virgil shakes his head. “Thought you were admitting he was important or something.”

“Please, his head is big enough as it is.”

Janus hides a snort.

“Why didn’t he show up earlier,” Thomas asks, “he’s normally one of the first of you to get here.”

Virgil shrugs. “I dunno, I haven’t seen that much of him lately.”

“Is he…okay?”

“Who the hell knows, he’s Roman.”

“My guess is he’s been in his room,” Logan says, glancing at Roman’s usual spot, “I haven’t seen him either.”

Thomas doesn’t miss the way Janus and Patton glance at each other. “If you two have information now might be the time to share it.”

“Roman…hasn’t come out of his room,” Patton says after a beat, “not since…”

“Wait, he hasn’t come out since the wedding?”

Janus shakes his head. “I’ve barely seen him open his door.”

“That doesn’t…normally happen, does it?”

“No,” Patton says, “and, uh, he doesn’t normally ignore us either.”

“Ignore you?”

“We’ve tried knocking. It doesn’t work.”

“Perhaps Thomas can summon him,” Logan offers, “you have more power than any of us do, he’d have to answer you.”

“Well, here goes nothing. Creativity!”

Someone pops up in front of the TV.

Someone in a white costume with green embellishments and a mustache.

“Remus?”

Remus glares at them, his Morningstar at his side, his costume white, pristine, and light.

“What the fuck have you done with my brother?”

—————————————————————

It’s been weeks.

The fans have accepted Remus as Creativity. They think that the videos are better than ever. They think this was Thomas’s plan from the beginning.

There is one end card where the Sides are watching a movie and some of them spot a dark figure in the corner. Who could this be? Is this the mysterious orange Side everyone has been waiting for? Is this the Side that’s been hurting Thomas so much?

Zoom and enhance. It’s Virgil’s old hoodie. They’re sitting where Remus used to sit. They’re not staring at the screen, they’re looking at the others. What could this mean?

Someone spots the faint outline of a tiny crown perched atop the figure’s head.

And then, well, then it all makes sense.

There was always one Side that messed up everything, that made everything more complicated. There was always one Side that, if you thought about it, you could trace everything back to. There was always one Side that was told he was making the bad choice and yet, never seemed to learn.

They start to put together timelines, evidence, essay-length meta posts on how of course, this is the plan, why didn’t they see it before? Those that had disliked him from the start crow about how they were right, how everyone doubted them but look who’s laughing now. They point out how he’s become a Dark Side, maybe he was always a Dark Side, and how incredible would that storytelling be? To warn against the pressures of society’s expectations, the idea of good versus bad, or authentic versus forced. How of course, they’re wearing Virgil’s old hoodie because they’re the hated Side now. How they’re not looking at the screen because that’s not what they want, they want to be a part of the famILY.

Vitriolic rants. Accusations. Vent fics. The unsympathetic tag is overflowing.

Because who else could the villain be?

—————————————————————

Roman lives in the cold now.

His fireplace isn’t lit anymore. The door to the Imagination doesn’t work anymore. The blankets on his bed aren’t thick enough anymore. He drifts through a haze where only the emergency systems in his brain are online, where only the awareness needed to sleep, breathe, and move the little bits he needs to move are present.

He doesn’t know that there’s nothing behind the red door anymore, that when Janus and Virgil come to knock on it, worried, or when Remus storms through the Imagination and tries to knock it down by force, there’s nothing for them to find.

He doesn’t know that a new door, a black door, leads from his room to the hallway, far away from any of the other rooms. He doesn’t know that it’s so dark back here that no one would be able to tell there was a door if they didn’t put their nose right up against it.

He doesn’t know and he doesn’t care.

A new kind of ache settles in his bones now. Pain is an old friend, but he’s yet to give suffering a proper handshake.

He misses when he could go and ask someone for help.

He misses when Patton would turn to him without any judgment in his eyes, without any ‘well, you know, kiddo—‘, without any ‘let’s start off with—‘, just the soft words of I’m here, I’ll help you. He misses being able to walk up to Patton’s door and knock on it and know that he would be safe on the other side.

Patton would open the door and soften, his mouth curling up into a small smile as he says hey, kiddo, come in. He would sit Roman down on the bed and press a glass of water into his hands. He would rub his back as he drank, taking the empty glass gently and cupping Roman’s face in his hands. He would ask what’s wrong, sweetheart, what can I do? And Roman would say he just wants a hug, he just wants to not be alone for a bit. And Patton would smile and coo about how Roman was always welcome here, sweetheart, I’m right here, I’ll take care of you. And Roman could fall asleep with his head on Patton’s chest and believe that everything was okay.

He misses when he could walk up to Logan and ask for help and he wouldn’t be scoffed at or turned away, he wouldn’t be looked at suspiciously and asked what he really wanted. He misses when Logan could come to him too and just spend time together.

Logan would knock on his door and ask if you have a moment, would you like to walk with me? And Roman would smile and say, of course, he always has time for Logan, and they could go somewhere in the Imagination and just talk. And Logan would say that’s an interesting idea, I wonder if—and they would walk and talk for hours. And Roman could bustle up to Logan’s door and say I’ve just thought of something, and Logan would open his door and be happy to talk with Roman and it would be okay.

Roman curls up tighter and feels nothing.

He wishes he could have something to miss for Virgil. He wishes they could have bonded over their love of Disney, their want to talk about the things they’re interested in, or even the need to just have someone else in the room with them for a bit. He wishes their relationship wasn’t just spitting barbs at each other, each hoping to hit the bullseye first and knock the other one out of the race. He wishes he could’ve done better.

He wishes he could have something to miss for Janus. He wishes they could’ve done this right, that they could’ve bonded over the want to keep Thomas safe but also have him be himself. He wishes that he hadn’t laughed, hadn’t scorned, hadn’t fallen back on his pride to keep himself safe at the expense of Thomas. He wishes that maybe, just maybe, if he had been a better puppet, then he wouldn’t have been dropped so suddenly.

But as it stands now, more than anything he wishes he could hear them when they say the things they say about him because then he could figure out which bruises were theirs and take comfort in knowing that they still touch him in some way.

The bruises are a constant now. From the online hate to the casual remarks from the others to the way that Patton hasn’t even tried to come find him anymore—he can hear that, you know—he can’t turn over without landing on a new smattering of bruises. The hoodie helps to cushion the blow a little bit.

He misses Remus.

Remus was…

…Remus was everything.

Roman misses his other half. Roman misses his brother. Roman misses his Creativity.

When they were small they would curl around each other as if they could fuse if they focused hard enough. They would wrap their arms around each other so tightly that it would be a pleasant ache when they woke, never minding because they were tighter. Remus was always so warm and Roman hoarded every single bit he could get.

Roman was cruel to push his brother away and now he understands how it feels.

He misses Thomas.

He misses when he was allowed to go and see Thomas. When he could talk to Thomas. When his presence was celebrated or at the very least, tolerated. He misses it. He misses helping.

But he’s helping now, by staying away.

He’s cold.

He’s so cold.

—————————————————————

do you remember what it felt like

to be touched?

press of fingertips against shoulders

bump of a forehead against yours

palms meeting and parting a mere second later

in days gone by

do you remember

warm?

humans thrive off physical contact,

we’re not built to hold each other

at arms’ length.

infants will die

if they aren’t held enough.

and I am so

so

cold

—————————————————————

Something is wrong and even Patton can’t ignore it anymore.

The Sides shuffle uneasily in front of the red door until Remus raises his hand to knock against it.

“Roman?”

Silence.

“Roman, please, please, just—just say something.”

Silence.

“Where the fuck are you, Roman?”

“Don’t yell,” Logan mumbles, “you’ll make him think we’re angry at him.”

Remus takes a deep breath.

“We’re not angry, Ro-bro, we’re just—just please make some noise.”

Silence.

“…we’re coming in, Roman.”

But they can’t. Because as Remus turns the knob on the door, it falls forward. The entire door comes off just to reveal—

A blank wall. With no sign that there was ever a room behind it.

Thomas can hear the scream.

—————————————————————

Roman hears the scream and can’t move. But he can close his eyes and reach out and see what’s going on. After all, he hasn’t done anything, so something must be wrong if someone else is screaming.

He feels something in his chest twist and snap.

“Re?”

Across the Mindscape, Remus’s head jerks up.

“Ro,” he breathes, getting to his feet and rushing off down the hall as the others hurry after him, “Ro!”

“Remus, what’s going on?”

“Why isn’t Roman’s room there anymore?”

“Where are you going?”

They barrel into the hallway and smack into a black door. Logan’s eyes widen as he realizes what’s happened.

“Roman’s become a Dark Side,” he says, fingers scrabbling where the door meets the wall, “he’s—he’s really hurt, we have to help—“

“Move, L, I’m gonna break the door down.”

“You’re not gonna do it without me.”

“Roman!”

Roman turns his head to look at the door. Are they…here? The hoodie rasps against his undead skin and he winces. There are still bruises.

“Roman!”

The door shudders its frame. He could open it. He could. He just has to reach out and—

“Ro!”

Remus.

The door unlatches and his brother pours into the room, letting out a wail when he spots Roman in the bed.

Janus hisses as soon as he crosses the threshold, this room is freezing. It feels as if no one’s moved for years inside, as if the heat has been sucked out entirely. His gaze flies to Remus, who’s over on the bed, his hands scrabbling at something in black material.

Roman.

“Oh, little prince,” he whispers, horrified, “no, no, no—“

“We have to get him out,” Logan orders, startling Remus into action as he scoops Roman into his arms, “we have to get him warm. His core temperature is too low.”

“Shower? Bath?”

“No, if we shock his system we could make it worse. Janus, I need your heating pads, Patton, something warm to drink.”

Janus and Patton vanish.

“Virgil, weighted blankets, Remus—“

“I’m here.” As Virgil ducks away as well, Remus helps Logan cradle the limp and freezing form of his brother in their arms as they begin to rush out of that horrible, horrible room. “You thinking bathroom?”

“Get him to Janus’s, that’ll be the safest place.”

“Got it.”

Sure enough, Janus has no objection and sweeps them inside, setting down the heating pads as Patton bustles in with two thermos flasks and a mug. Virgil pops back with thick blankets as they lay the cold form on the ground. Roman’s eyes blink sluggishly as he stares up at Remus.

“...Re?”

“Yeah, Roro, it’s me, I’m right here, I’m so sorry I wasn’t here faster.”

“What’s…wha’s going on?”

“You’re too cold, Roman,” Logan says gently, “we need to get you warmed up.”

“Oh…”

“It will be easier if we take a few of the layers off,” he explains, still careful to keep his voice low and even as the others scurry around, “is that alright?”

“Okay.”

“I’m going to unzip the hoodie.” Logan works slowly, patiently, stopping when any flicker crosses Roman’s face. “That’s it, you’re doing very well, I’m almost done.”

By the time he’s coaxed the hoodie off of Roman’s shoulders, there’s a little bit of color back in his cheeks.

“Very good, Roman, you did well. Virgil’s brought a few warm blankets and Janus has heating pads for you, do you think you can sit up?”

“Don’t know.”

“That’s alright, you’re doing alright.” Logan glances up at Janus.

“Little prince,” Janus murmurs, sitting by Roman’s head, “if you can sit up, I can sit behind you and help warm you up, does that sound alright?”

“Okay.”

“Thank you, sweetie, we’re going to sit you up now.”

Logan and Janus sit Roman up slowly, only to pause when the long sleeves of his shirt fall down.

“Roman,” Logan asks, trying frantically to keep his voice calm, “are you hurt?”

“Mhm.”

He bites back the fearful response and patiently asks where, how bad, can he see?

“Everywhere.” Roman lifts his arms weakly. “’S all bruises.”

“…can we see?”

“Okay.”

Logan’s hands begin to tremble as he works the shirt over Roman’s head. He wasn’t kidding when he said everywhere.

There’s barely an inch of skin that doesn’t look bruised black and blue. Patton stifles a cry as he drops to his knees next to them, looking at Roman like he’s never seen it this bad before.

Oh, Roman, how did they not know? How could he just ignore him like that?

“Get him covered,” comes Virgil’s voice, “he’s still too cold.”

Janus grabs one of the blankets and wraps it carefully around Roman’s form. It should help distribute whatever pressure they apply so it won’t aggravate his injuries too severely. He takes one heating pad and scoots forward, bracketing Roman’s legs with his own and wrapping one pair of arms around him to press the pad to his chest.

“Can you feel that, sweetie,” he asks softly, “is that too warm?”

“No.”

“Good, good, little prince, you’re being very brave.” He turns away to reach for another and so misses the little shudder that goes through Roman. “Do you think you can handle another if I press it to the back of your neck?”

“Mm.”

“Let’s try, little prince, and if it’s too much, I’ll stop.”

“Okay.”

“Here we go, sweetie—“ Janus presses it carefully to the base of Roman’s skull, just at the edge of the blanket— “there, does that feel okay?”

“Mm.”

“Good, sweetie, you’re doing so well, so good for us, that’s it, you relax now.”

Roman starts to tremble.

“That’s alright,” Logan soothes, “you’re warming up, it means you’re going to shiver a little more, you’re alright, Roman, you’re safe. You’re doing well.”

It certainly doesn’t seem that way once Roman’s breath starts to come in gasps. Virgil nudges Patton out of the way and sits, gently calling Roman’s name until his gaze snaps to Virgil’s.

“Hey, Princey,” Virgil says slowly, “you gotta stay with me now, okay? We’re right here, no one’s angry, nothing’s going to hurt you. Just focus on me.”

He ignores the startled noises when Roman starts to cry thick, black tears.

“Eyes on me, Princey, that’s it, stay here. We’re just gonna sit here and breathe for a moment, okay?” Roman nods and Virgil starts to take big, exaggerated breaths. “Good. That’s it, Princey, you focus on me and you breathe. It’s okay. You’re doing great. Just stay here.”

When the viscous black liquid slows, Virgil reaches out and begins to tuck Roman’s hair back. A moment longer and he pauses, noting how the scratch on Roman’s face is covered in the thick black tears.

“Princey, can I clean your face off for you? You’re doing really well at breathing, I’m proud of you. Can I help you with the rest of it?”

“O-okay.”

There’s a bottle of micellar water and a pack of cotton circles pressed into his hands. He moves in slow, careful strokes, changing out the circles as often as he needs to. A pile of them grows beside him as he works, doing his best to get all the black off of Roman’s face. Roman just cries.

“It’s alright, sweetheart,” Patton murmurs when Roman’s cry gives way to a wail, “it’s okay, you cry all you need to, we’re not going anywhere, it’ll be alright.”

“We have you, sweetie,” Janus says against Roman’s neck, “we’re here.”

Remus lets out a broken noise.

“Oh, Roman, you didn’t…”

Logan’s head whips sharply around to scold Remus only for his mouth to fall open in shock.

Remus’s costume is bleeding too. The same black that drips down Roman’s face is slowly coloring Remus’s costume again, back to what it normally looks like. Remus’s mouth is agape, staring horrified at Roman.

“Oh, Ro—“

“What’s going on?”

“Check the bruises on his neck,” Remus orders as Janus pulls back the blanket, “are they still there?”

“They’re here, but they’re…lighter, how is that—?”

“Roman is the Ego,” Patton mumbles, “he gets bruised when—when—“

“Oh, shit,” Virgil curses, before quickly hushing Roman’s discontented mumble, “and with all the hate that’s been gunning for him—“

“Oh, sweetheart—“

Roman lets out another sob and the tears run clear.

“The Ego is kept healthy by positive attention,” Logan says softly, scooting closer and rubbing Roman’s shoulder through the blanket, “you’ve been starving, haven’t you?”

“He’s not cold because he’s hypothermic,” Remus blusters, “he’s touch starved.”

“It’s still not safe to introduce him to direct contact all at once,” Logan warns when Patton and Remus look like they want to rip the blanket off, “we have to take it slow.”

“So what do we do?”

Janus just leans down and presses a kiss to Roman’s temple. “You’re so brave, sweetie, you’ve been so strong.”

They watch as Roman’s tears begin to wash away the black.

“We love you, sweetheart, you’re so important to us.”

“Stay with us, Princey, we need you.”

“You’re doing very well, Roman, we’re very proud of you.”

Roman cries, ducking his head into Virgil’s waiting hands as Remus’s costume colors itself black again.

After a long while, when Remus looks like he normally does, Roman shakes his head and looks up at them.

“Where am I,” and he sounds like Roman again, “what’s happened?”

“You were starving, sweetheart,” Patton mumbles, “and we didn’t notice until it was too late.”

“O-oh,” Roman blinks, “is that…is that why I’m so cold?”

“You’re touch starved too,” Virgil adds, “and we, uh, L said it wasn’t a good idea to try and shock you out of it.”

“Try and drink something,” Logan says quickly as Patton reaches for the mug, “you’ve been crying for a while and you’re dehydrated.”

“Is that…hot chocolate?”

“Your favorite, kiddo.”

Remus sits down at Roman’s side as he drinks, staring at him like he’s not seen him in ages. Which, well, none of them have, really.

“I’m sorry.”

“What?”

“I’m sorry,” Roman repeats, looking sheepishly at all of them, “I, uh, well, the last video I messed up a lot. I, uh, I shouldn’t have laughed at your name, Jan—where are you?”

“Right here,” Janus mumbles, giving him a gentle squeeze, “and you’re forgiven.”

“Oh. Uh, that was easy…are you sure?”

“I’m sure. Yes, it wasn’t great of you to do, but I’m not exactly blameless either and…”

He squeezes him again.

“…you’ve been hurting enough.”

“Logan, you too, I—I’m sorry.”

“Thank you, Roman, but I agree. It’s alright.”

“Why are you all forgiving me so fast?”

“Because,” Remus mumbles, cupping Roman’s head and resting their foreheads together, “this happened.”

They all watch as Roman shudders as Remus shows him what happened.

“Oh—oh—I—oh no—“

“It’s over now, sweetie,” Janus reassures, “we’ve got you. You’re okay, you’re safe.”

“C-can I have a hug?”

“Of course, honey, come here—“

“Let’s get the blanket out of the way, L, is he—“

“It should be safe now, yes.”

“Remus, I—oof!”

“I gotcha, Ro-Bro.”

“It’s still—I’m still—“

“Patton, grab that end of the blanket.”

“This one?”

“That’s it, yes.”

The Sides end up swaddled in the blanket, their heads poking out, as each of them pulls a little bit of Roman into their arms to warm up. Janus and Remus wrap around his upper body, mindful of the few bruises that haven’t been healed yet. His legs are in Patton’s lap, as Logan and Virgil each hold on to his hands. The poor thing is still shivering, still shaking, still a little overwhelmed.

But Janus coos into his ear as his head lolls back, Remus holding him tightly. Logan’s thumb strokes over his palm as Virgil lets him squeeze as tight as he needs to. Patton makes sure he’s off the cold tile and he’s warm.

They’re going to have to work out what to do about the fans, about the videos, but right now they need to worry about Roman.

Speaking of Roman—

“I—I need to apologize to Thomas.”

A cry goes up as he says so, Patton reaching up to pat his knee. “You don’t have to do that right now, sweetheart, rest, it’s okay—“

“I won’t—he won’t be able to rest until he knows what’s happened.”

As if he can hear them, they feel the familiar tug of one of them being summoned. A quick glance around shows that if one of them is going, all of them are, so they appear on the floor of the living room, swaddled in the blanket.

Thomas’s mouth drops open and he rushes to their side.

“I was gonna ask if you found Roman, but I—Roman, buddy, are you okay?”

“I…I don’t know,” Roman mumbles, “but I’m sorry.”

“For what, buddy?”

As Roman begins to apologize, for being away, for hurting Thomas, for being selfish, Thomas just shakes his head.

“No, buddy, that’s not all on you. You—yeah, okay, some things happened, but it’s not entirely your fault. You don’t need to think of it like that.”

“Well said,” Logan mutters, “now help us get Roman to rest.”

“So what Disney movie are we watching and how many pillows do we need?”

A lot, as it turns out, is the answer. And they have to bite back laughs at the way Thomas makes a noise when he’s swept into the blanket too. But Thomas is warm and Roman is still cold and the movie plays on the screen.

“Hey, Roman?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re my hero.”

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