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leviathanlazarus · 2 years ago

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Reaching for Stardust - Part II

Read Looking For Space here; playlist / Read RFS Part I here; playlist

Read (comment!!) on wattpad

Word Count: ~4300

Warnings: none

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Josh and I had tackled grocery shopping first thing in the morning, unpacked it all, then headed out for a long walk through some swamps that were so overgrown and murky that it lended to a very quiet experience with no one to interrupt us. It was nice. He’d been quieter than usual again, though I thought he might just want to tune into the wildlife we didn’t always get to encounter–the tree frogs were invisible around us but loud, their throaty songs permeating the air, and Josh vocalized wonder as to what they were saying to each other. The bullfrogs were loud too, impressive in their deep calls, and we saw a couple leap from the muddy edges of the trail into the dark, shallow water and disappear. Redwing blackbirds fluttered from reed to reed, pausing on cattails to tweet more words unknown to us before going off to perch somewhere else, and the geese beyond were paddling through the water with fuzzy bunches of yellow babies, which Josh and I had to stop and watch until they got too far away to squeal over anymore.

But Josh wasn’t quiet in the car–he was singing along to Van Morrison, the copy of Saint Dominic’s Preview that his dad had given to him rolling through the CD player, and I was amused at how he sang every word with passion despite how strangely their voices mixed. Or didn’t mix at all, really. They didn’t go together, making for quite a jarring duet, but Josh just kept going and I kept watching–I watched the sun hit his eyelashes and his cheekbones, how it cast a shadow down his neck when we drove through the trees and back onto the paved roads, and I watched his hands move from the wheel to the air as he sang along. He was always moving. He couldn’t ever just be still, not even while driving, and I could still remember how much that had annoyed me when we’d first met. Now, I couldn’t imagine why–he was like a bird too, colorful and vocal, quick and strategic.

The sun wrapped itself through his honey curls and I reached out to touch his hair, to run my fingers over the shaved patch above his ear. “You ever gonna let all this grow out again?”

Josh hummed with the last few words of the song before he answered: “Maybe. Why, do you miss it?”

“Sometimes,” I admitted, looking in my mind’s eye at a snapshot of Josh from years prior, all that hair wild, untamed, ridiculous, adorable. “I like it. But you already know if you get rid of all your hair, I’m leaving you.”

He laughed, nose crinkling. “Oh yeah, you’ve told me that. I’m not gonna. We still have to get married, you know.”

I huffed out a small laugh at him throwing that out there so casually. “I remember that too, don’t worry.”

“So when are we gonna do it?” Josh asked, turning for a moment to look at me, his eyes catching the light too and I could see a brief glimpse of all their colors, the nature that lived inside those irises.

“After you propose to me,” I told him, then laughed again. “Unless this is your proposal?”

“Absolutely not. But you said you didn’t want me to propose to you yet.”

“You don’t think we should buy a house first?” I reminded him, looking out the window as we passed other people’s houses, all looking way better than an apartment. “That’s really my only stipulation. I thought we talked about it.”

“I know. But I just don’t wanna wait much longer, darling.”

I looked back at him, gazing down at the pendant, the Taurean bull, the little starshine jewel, I’d given him for our first anniversary that was hanging around his neck. Truthfully, I didn’t want to wait much longer either but I wanted to put down real roots first–I wanted us to have a place we could truly call home and begin to build before we put the final touch on our relationship. Josh had never been so orthodox with anything really and that was okay, which made me wonder even more why he wasn’t so willing to just go along with my idea. But maybe this was that bull-like stubbornness rearing its head.

“It’ll be better for us to be married when we buy a house anyway,” Josh went on. “For the taxes and everything.”

“Oh?” I quipped, not even sure about that myself. “What difference does it make? I thought married couples got tax breaks no matter where they lived.”

“Well, both our names would be on the deed or whatever regardless. What difference does it make when we buy a house?”

“If it makes no difference, why can’t we buy a house before we get married?”

Josh sighed. “We could probably plan a whole wedding and get married in the time it’d take to even find a house.”

“Wanna bet?”

“No, I just wanna be your husband.”

I inhaled sharply. That shut me up. We’d talked about getting engaged, getting married, being married, but we’d never actually said “husband” and “wife” before. It sounded so formal. So adult. And I often still felt like Josh and I were still kids, just two silly people messing around even while being in love and having a life together, and it was jarring to suddenly be reminded that we were far from that. So far from that and there was no going back and that wasn’t even a bad thing. It was just kind of a scary thing.

“Okay. No bets,” I said, reaching over to place my hand on his thigh. “But I still think I can find a house faster than you can get a ring.”

“You think I don’t already have a ring?” Josh asked, then cackled over Van Morrison’s grunting. “Come on, you know me better than that.”

My heart did a little flip. “You do? Seriously?”

Josh patted my hand on his thigh. “Yeah, silly goose,” he said, then wagged his finger at me with his eyes on the road. “But don’t even think about asking to see it. That’s gonna be a surprise. The whole proposal will be a surprise.”

I had imagined it many times in slightly different ways each time. The one constant was that it would be at night–the stars HAD to be there when it happened. I trusted Josh felt the same way. As I imagined it again, I said, “I’m sure it will be. You’ve always been full of surprises.”

“I try my best. Gotta keep things spicy,” Josh said, smiling big enough in my peripheral vision to catch my full attention again. “So about tonight–you wanna get dinner first?”

“Yeah, definitely. You said there’s some Mediterranean place that’s good?”

“Sam says so. Or we could go to that diner we liked the last time. Up to you.”

I looked back out the window. We were almost home and the afternoon was still relatively young and warm, keeping me optimistic about the impending night, not that there was anything to actually be edgy about. It was always just such an experience when the boys played a show–they’d come so far as time had gone on. They were on a real label, had a manager, traveled in an actual bus and had all moved to Detroit in the past year. Big changes. Josh and I knew those wouldn’t be the last of the changes, either. It felt like only a matter of time before they moved somewhere even bigger where they could really flesh out and grow to be even more successful so, for now, we all made the mini road trip whenever we could to see one another. I was glad their show was going to be in their home base and even though we could zip back home afterward, I proposed something of my own instead.

“What if we got a hotel tonight?” I asked Josh, already picturing the two of us rolling around drunk in fluffy white linens.

“Ooh, hell yes,” Josh said, smiling big again, his perfect teeth gleaming in the sun. “Why didn’t we think of that sooner? I mean, what’s stopping us?”

“Absolutely nothing.” I grabbed my phone and pulled up Google. “I’ll find us a room right now.”

We showered, dressed, packed our bags and headed on the road again with Josh driving, of course, again. He’d bought a used Jeep Compass a few months back and was still loving it even with winter being over–it was a struggle to get him NOT to drive. Not that I minded. Josh was good at going fast enough to always make good time without ever attracting police, which he was also very skilled at spotting along the highway. I did find it amusing how small he looked inside the car though, perched up high in the driver’s seat like a little sparrow.

I missed the boys, probably far more than I let any of them and also Josh on. It’s not like they were all that far away, just a hop skip and a jump down 75 and we were there, but sometimes it felt so far. I had gotten so used to seeing them all the time. They were always around. Then suddenly they weren’t. What made it more difficult was how much busier they’d become, so texting had decreased and phone calls were almost non-existent, at least with me. I knew it wasn’t all that much better for Josh but he never let his woes about it show. I still knew it hurt him, he was just resilient, always able to find the good in everything even when it was painful to get there.

“Do you ever think about what life would be like if you’d been part of the band?” I asked Josh as we cruised down the highway, the sky a vast sea of surprisingly clear blue beyond. “I mean, you definitely have the voice for it. And the poetry.” We’d talked about this before too, but it’d been a while–I was curious if the answer had changed. Josh always struck me as someone who needed more freedom than even an artsy film instructor had; then again, sometimes it seemed like being in a touring band didn’t give the boys all the freedom they deserved.

“It’d be fun. But my life is fun now, too,” Josh said, turning to give me a wide, sparkling grin. “Anyway, I always stole the show when Jake and I were growing up. Now it’s his turn to be front and center.”

“They all look so–so shiny all the time now,” I commented, looking out the window as I envisioned Danny with his face adorned in rhinestones, Sam’s sleek, shimmering blazers and Jake’s jeweled details on all his stage outfits.

Josh laughed, sounding pleased by my observation. “They clearly have fun with it. I keep asking Jake to give me some things whenever he’s done with them. Reduce, reuse, recycle to your older brother.”

“Older by five minutes,” I reminded him, although I definitely was into the idea of Jake passing on some pieces to Josh. He’d wear a bejeweled jacket out anywhere, no fancy event needed.

Our hotel was more or less in the heart of downtown, requiring Josh to zip his Jeep through a dark parking garage, and then our echoing footsteps brought us down an elevator and to the check-in desk, where Josh was too late with scolding me for paying for the room. I told him he could buy dinner and breakfast to make up for it, to which he grumbled but ultimately agreed.

The room was standard–simple and inviting and so neat and tidy that I felt a weight lift off my chest. Cool taupe walls surrounded us, with mahogany carpet to go along with the paint and a mahogany desk to match that, a queen bed made up with a tightly tucked, plush white bedspread and an excess of fat pillows, a decently sized flatscreen TV, a black mini fridge with an array of undoubtedly ungodly priced snacks laid neatly beneath it. The best part of the room was the view. We had an open, clear view of the city, the buildings tall and captivating beyond the glass, and the river wasn’t far from our eyes either.

We dropped our bags to the floor and I beelined for the bathroom, which was also impeccably clean–at least in appearance–and neat, and from beyond the closed door, which was an element of our relationship neither of us felt compelled to change, Josh spoke to me.

“So are we still doing Mediterranean? Or do you wanna look at this visitor’s guide?”

As I zipped back up I replied, “We should look anyway. Like we’re tourists.”

“We’re like groupies,” Josh corrected as I washed my hands, and when I came back out he was sitting at the foot of the bed flipping through the guide.

“Yeah, that’s more accurate.” I sat down next to him, then flopped backwards to lie flat on the firm yet somehow cloud-like mattress. “The show’s at seven, right?”

“Yep. Masonic Temple.”

“Oh yeah.” I turned to look out the window, the memory of our last experience there coming back to me–it had been the boys on that stage last time, too. It was crazy, I thought, how drastically things could change in just a couple years. I wasn’t sure I could take much more change for a while.

Josh and I had preemptively decided that we would actually show up as sparkly and glittery as we could to go along with, and hopefully bring some joy to, the boys. We stood side by side in the bathroom mirror after we got dressed–Josh was wearing a flowy, sheer white shirt with gold embroidery that he’d found during a previous thrifting excursion–while I was in form-fitting royal purple, applying glitter to our eyes and cheeks until we both looked more or less like disco balls.

No matter how much or what kind of attention he drew to himself, Josh never got his feathers ruffled and I always adored that about him. He walked as tall as he could, with a natural air of pride but also approachability, and kept himself open to that attention and to the whole world. He just never seemed that afraid of anything–not of judgment, certainly. And not even of all these changes. He took everything as it came, threw some glitter on it like it was magic and went through the universe like he knew he was an intrinsic, unstoppable part of it. And he’d helped me feel the same at times, like when we descended in the elevator and reentered the public, and I didn’t feel any shame at all even while plastered in color and sparkle. What made it all the better was when Josh took my hand as we exited the hotel and hit the streets. I still often felt like one of these days, he was going to take my hand and we were just going to fly away like Peter Pan and Wendy. I figured stranger things had happened, and Josh was full of wondrous strangeness.

Our dinner ran late with the restaurant understandably being busy on a Saturday night, so by the time we got to the venue, the opener was already playing and Josh and I decided we’d wait until after the show to accost the boys. I was still trying to wrap my head around the fact that they’d reached a point of success where they had opening bands and weren’t the opening act themselves but by the time they were beneath the lights, glittering and sparkling even more than I expected, I was reminded yet again of just how incredible they were.

Sitting next to me, Josh bobbed and sang quietly along to the songs. He knew all of them, even the newer ones, by heart. There was a part of me that had always anticipated him changing course, joining the band, no matter how fulfilled he already was. I could easily see him up there next to Jake, creating beautiful chaos right along with everyone else. But I was glad he hadn’t. I thought our life together was fun, too–Josh immersed in academia, in a subject he loved just as much as music, me trailing along in travel writing that wasn’t quite a passion but certainly helped to keep the focus and the funds on building more and more pieces of this life together.

Josh took my hand and gently stroked the backs of my fingers; I thought about what it would be like if we both wore wedding rings. I didn’t even know what his might look like for sure–gold, certainly, but a simple band didn’t suit him. He’d need something more extravagant. What did my ring look like? Where did he keep it? When did he buy it? My mind was suddenly racing with so many questions that my surroundings blurred until my body registered Josh’s touch again, and I looked down at his own perfectly sculpted hand before looking back up at the stage.

When we were backstage, riding a high that wasn’t even truly our own, Josh roped his twin into a tight hug and I made my way to the rhythm section, and soon enough I felt Sam’s lanky arms and Danny’s ridiculously hard arms around me and the entire world felt like it got brighter and warmer. Their presence just did that.

“God, you were amazing,” I said with my chin over both of their shoulders. When I pulled back, Jake suddenly swarmed me in his own hug, his slight body still very apparently buzzing with a high of his own. “And it’s been ages, you lunatics.”

“I know, I know,” Jake said, his voice even huskier post-set. “You guys should just move here.”

“Well, what’s the point when you’re a touring band now?” I replied, taking him in, all sweat and glitter and magic. They all were. Josh too, though far less sweaty, already gathered Sam and Danny in his arms like they were bundles of flowers and not nearly twice his size. “Just move back home.”

“What’d you think of our new songs?” Sam pressed, squirming out of Josh’s grasp, and wiped the back of his hand over his forehead, pushing his hair back.

“Loved them,” Josh and I said in unison, and I added, “I remember the title of one of them, I think. ‘Brave’ something, right?”

“‘Brave New World,’” Danny answered, holding his hair up from his neck with one hand. I could so clearly see the literal growth that had taken place in silence, undetected in the passing moments, over the past few years especially in him. None of them were boys anymore. None of us were kids anymore, point blank, and the all-consuming, final realization of it made me dizzy for a moment.

“That’s right, ‘Brave New World,’” I repeated, committing the title to memory. “I love it. I loved all of it. Your shows never get old.”

“Except you guys are getting old,” Josh said, slinging his arm over Jake’s shoulders, and Jake scoffed, rolling his eyes even as he smiled at his brother’s teasing.

“You’re only as young as you feel,” Sam corrected. “And I feel pretty damn young. Spry, as a matter of fact.”

“Definitely spry,” Danny agreed, letting his hair down, dark curls spilling over his tan shoulders.

“You guys going out?” Jake asked, looking Josh and I up and down. “You look like you’re dressed for it.”

“This was all for you,” Josh told him, then moved in next to me and wrapped his arm around my waist. “But we could go out, provided you’re all joining us in that quest.”

Jake laughed. “I think that can be done.”

None of them even stopped to shower–we all headed out, the three rock stars still sticky with sweat, and all of us were as jovial as we had been when we were just kids. The bouncer sitting in the doorway of the bar asked for all of our IDs and gave a particularly lingering look at Sam’s. He’d always be the baby as far as I, and seemingly everyone else, was concerned.

I was spared the weight of nostalgia the longer we were out and the more we drank, too immersed in the glow of the present to fall back into the past. Sam and Danny knocked back tequila shots like it was their job and Jake had apparently become somewhat of a beer expert, so he and Josh were ordering all kind of tasting glasses and debating which were the best and why, and I was in the thick of it all, blissfully getting more and more intoxicated with my own cocktails. Bits and pieces of memories came back to me at times, little moments of remembering that tugged on my heart, but for the most part I found myself tethered to exactly where I was, just grateful we were all together and grateful that things felt so similar to how they’d once been.

“I hate saying goodbye,” I lamented after the bar lights flashed and it was time for all of us to go, and we were huddled together on the sidewalk outside. The boys were waiting for their ride and Josh assured me he was fine to drive, having got too caught up in the IPA debate to even get drunk.

“It’s not goodbye,” Danny assured me and stumbled a bit as he stood, which was particularly amusing to see in contrast with how controlled he was while sober. “It’s just like, see ya later. Right?”

“It’s like, an hour drive,” Sam added, grabbing Danny’s arm. “‘S not so bad.”

“But you tour,” I reminded both of them, sadness dripping in my words though I didn’t quite feel the brunt of it yet. “Just–just stay in one place for a while. Otherwise Josh and I are gonna have to become roadies or something.”

Josh laughed and brought his arm to my waist again. “Yeah, that’s true. She’s very into that idea, as a matter of fact.”

“We’ll hang out again soon,” Jake said and, at least from him, it sounded real and true and I felt a little more reassurance. “We’re not going anywhere. Not really.”

“Not forever,” I said.

He shook his head, smiling. “Not forever.”

When Josh and I made it back to the hotel, it really hit me how fast the whole night had gone by and I thought, Was this what life just becomes for everyone? Time zipping by before you even have the chance to remember what you’re passing through? Even with an abundance of booze making it more challenging, I tried to commit more pieces to memory–the way Sam’s shirt had flashed and shined like pearls as he played, his face too, how he always looked so enraptured by the music there was no way to get him out of that space. His little beard and mustache combo too, which was new, and Jake’s, and Josh’s. I wasn’t sure when they’d all gotten on that train but I was secretly glad Danny kept his face bare. Picturing him with a goatee made me laugh, then I resumed trying to memorize other things–the way the bar had laser-carved a bird into the bottom of their beer glasses, according to the twins anyway, and how the bubbles from the beer followed its shape. The streetlights lining our way as Josh drove and the sound of his brother’s very own band playing from his stereo now, Josh singing along. Then his arm in mine as we meandered the halls of the hotel again, the dull, blue and beige pattern of the carpet beneath our feet and the strange quietness of it all.

Inside our room once more and kicking off our shoes, Josh even said, “You’re so quiet tonight,” and I then tried to memorize the way his voice sounded as he said it. Almost hushed, sounding a little tired but also a little concerned. That wasn’t surprising. He knew my moods well and knew what caused them to shift.

“I’m just thinking,” I answered truthfully, relieved to feel the soft carpet beneath my bare feet again. I reached up to touch my face, my fingers coming back with glitter that was flaking off my cheeks. “Currently thinking about how much of a pain it’s gonna be to take all this off.”

“I’ll help you,” Josh said, steering me alongside himself into the bathroom. I obliged him with this, leaning back against the sink as he wet a cotton pad with makeup remover and got to work, gently pressing and swiping over my skin.

I found myself just staring at him, gazing at the glitter on his own skin, how is accented his perfect complexion; his eyes sparkled even more profoundly than the glitter though and I looked into them, through the dark lashes into the dark pools that still kept my soul happily ensnared.

Josh met my gaze when he pulled back to get another cotton pad wet, smiling: “What are you looking at?”

“Duh. You,” I told him. I wrapped my arms around his shoulders and pulled him into me to kiss. No matter how many times we’d done it since we’d met, it never, ever got old–Josh’s lips were eternal flower petals against my own, his skin soft and sweet, his touch far more intoxicating than any substance on earth. And then he held me close in return, one hand reaching up to touch my face, I saw the burst of a million stars behind my eyes and the celestial glow from his body warmed my heart.

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Tagging no one because RIP the 2018-2021 fandom LOL please let me know if you’d like to be tagged in this series!

#josh kiszka #josh gvf #jake kiszka #sam kiszka #danny wagner #josh kiszka x reader #gvf #greta van fleet #gvf fic #josh fic #lfs #rfs #danny gvf #sam gvf #jake gvf #gvf fan fiction

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prapasara · 7 months ago

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Dandelion Tea Benefits : 15 Shocking Scientific Reasons To Love It

THE HEALING POWER OF DANDELION FLOWERS

A caller on many green gardens, the humble dandelion flower with its fluffy yellow head has long been misunderstood. This bright plant is often seen as a weed, but the dandelion plant makes for an excellent herbal root remedy to add to your tea.

The bright burst petals that turn to seed pods that shift easily in the wind; the dandelion takes its name from the French for lions tooth and is similar in look to chrysanthemums. It has the longest blooming season of all the plants often adorning fields and gardens from spring straight through the summer. The seeds are as light as air and can be carried as far as five miles from their origin, which helps explain how they seem to pop up in every nook and cranny.

Dandelions are bursting with a whole range of health benefits and can have a delicately sweet taste or be a truly robust drink. Being naturally caffeine-free and easy to get hold of, there’s no reason why you shouldn’t brew up a beautiful cup and let those healing properties get to work. Take a look as we delve deeper into all the dandelion tea benefits…

WHAT IS DANDELION TEA?

Dandelion tea is a tisane often made from the dandelion root and is an ancient herbal medicine. It can also be called dandelion coffee because of its dark coloring. Dandelion tea is often made with the root of the plant but the stem, leaves, and the whole plant can also be brewed. Drinking dandelion tea is believed to have certain benefits to health.

Dandelion tea is sometimes used as a coffee substitute for those who like the tasting notes and charm of coffee but can’t handle the caffeine. The dark coloring and deep and smoky-tasting notes of the dandelion root are comparative to coffee but you can also brew dandelion leaves and stem to create a lighter floral palate. As you can see, this herbal tea can be super versatile and come loaded with lots of essential nutrients and vitamins to give you a boost.

Dandelion pops its yellow head up everywhere. From the meadows of Eastern Europe to your own backyard. You can go out with a basket and pick this vibrant and hearty root yourself or you can buy up pre-picked, dried, and bagged dandelion tea to make it a fuss-free experience and to avoid the potential pitfalls of picking up pesticides.

THE HEALTH BENEFITS OF DANDELION TEA

In the future, before you weed and write off this route, first take a read of all the ways in which dandelion tea may be able to boost your health. Fresh with flower power, this common yellow flower comes loaded with plenty of health benefits. Packed with vitamins, sterols, flavonoids, and minerals, it’s no wonder that for centuries this flower has been used as a medicinal remedy in both brew and broth. Believed to help with everything from helping detox the body to reducing bloat, and even lending a helping hand when it comes to cutting out UTI’s, here are all the awesome benefits of brewing up a cup of dandelion tea…

1.HEALING DIURETIC EFFECT

For those who are forever in a battle with bloating or have the need to flush their system, drinking dandelion tea can be a natural diuretic. This brew can help your body to pee, which in turn can rid your liver and kidneys of toxins and keep you fresh and fit.

2. LOWERS BLOOD SUGAR

With diabetes type 2 on the rise, it helps to have dandelion tea in your arsenal too. According to a piece published in Diabetic Studies, dandelions can help to moderate blood sugar levels and to improve insulin tolerance too.

3) GIVES TONS OF ANTIOXIDANTS

Antioxidants are just about the best thing your body can get and luckily dandelion tea delivers a high dose. It is especially high in beta-carotene which helps prevent cellular damage and oxidative stress. Antioxidants are super important for helping your body to neutralize free radicals. Free radicals contribute to everything from speeding up the signs of aging to developing disease so anything you can do to cut out their presence in the body is going to greatly improve your health.

4) HELPS WITH DETOX

Say farewell to toxins as you get into the habit of sipping dandelion tea on a daily basis. This ancient healing brew can help to cleanse and maintain correct liver health. The liver is an essential organ for keeping the blood filtered and detoxed which is why anything that can improve liver health and reduce the risk of liver disease should be considered a healthy remedy.

5) LOWERS CHOLESTEROL

Bringing your cholesterol level down is important for those who want to reduce the risk of heart disease and other issues. A 2012 animal study showed that dandelion could help reduce hyperlipidemia. Hyperlipidemia is the term used for when you have high lipid levels in the blood and these lipids include cholesterol. The research found that animals who consumed dandelion root extract had a decrease in their cholesterol. While human studies are needed to set the record straight, this could be a potential bonus to sipping dandelion tea.

6) PROMOTES WEIGHT LOSS

Some recent studies came out of Korea that compared the dandelion root and its rich properties to some weight loss drugs (namely Orlistat). It’s believed that dandelion can also inhibit pancreatic lipase. This fact combined with dandelions ability to stop the body from retaining water adds up to it being a potential candidate for helping when it comes to being an all-natural and effective weight-loss strategy for those who are struggling with obesity.

7) LOWERS BLOOD PRESSURE

Shrink your blood pressure to a healthy level with a daily drink of dandelion tea. This floral bright brew is ripe with potassium. Potassium is an awesome form of electrolytes for the body and can help the kidneys to filter toxins and improves blood flow.

8) HIGH IN VITAMINS AND NUTRITIOUS

The dandelion packs a mighty punch and comes full of all kinds of vitamins and minerals. Dandelion tea is high in vitamin A and vitamin C, both of which boost the immune system and encourages healthy cell growth. It also helps our eyesight and reduces the signs of premature aging. Dandelions are also brightened with vitamin K which helps bone health and is essential to blood clotting. Dandelions are also rich in potassium, magnesium, and calcium making them a nutritionists dream and excellent for your overall wellness.

9) HELPS URINARY TRACT INFECTIONS

The mashup of awesome antioxidants and anti-inflammatory properties means that drinking dandelion tea is good for battling all kinds of infections and studies have shown that it can also help you to kick out urinary tract infections fast when combined with uva ursi. This is also linked to dandelion teas natural diuretic capabilities.

10) NATURALLY ANTI-INFLAMMATORY

Ripe with anti-inflammatory properties, drinking dandelion tea can help keep you fighting fit. Studies have shown that all the parts of the dandelion plant hold antioxidant properties and natural anti-inflammatories. As inflammation can play a major role in many ailments and diseases, drinking dandelion tea can reduce these risks and generally boost your health for the better.

11) IMPROVES THE IMMUNE SYSTEM

Fight off infection and get protected against a whole swathe of harmful bacteria as you turn to the boost of dandelion tea. This robust root may have a host of antimicrobial and antiviral powers, both of which help your body to fend off short term and long-term ailments. Test-tube studies also found that dandelion reduced the capability for viruses to replicate and spread inside the body.

12) LOWERS RISK OF CANCER

There have been a whole host of studies recently delving into how natural remedies can help in the fight against cancer or when it comes to reducing the risks of developing cancer. Tea has played a major role in this and dandelion tea is also making that list. A recent study looked at the effects dandelion root was having on melanoma cells in humans. It found that the dandelion was inducing the death of skin cancer cells. Of course, its early days and this trial didn’t include humans but it makes for intriguing reading for sure.

13) SHORTENS THE LENGTH OF THE FLU

Flu season is never any fun and for those who have been struck down by influenza, you may want to sip on some dandelion tea to help your body get fighting fit and back to normal. Dandelion extract has been studied to see if it can reduce virus levels. While this test was done in vitro and human studies are needed, the results did show a positive result that dandelion can cut down flu time without negative effects.

14) IMPROVES SKIN HEALTH

A vision of spring, flower extract and other plants are often found stashed in skin care creams and products thanks to their floral powers to soothe and heal. Dandelion is no exception and this bright little bloom is believed to help protect skin against damage from the sun, the premature signs of aging, and even acne. Dandelion reduces inflammation and is also said to boost collagen production and hydration, leaving you looking dewy and fresh all day long.

15) PROMOTES GUT HEALTH & GUT FLORA

For those who suffer from digestive issues, just brew up a cup of dandelion tea and let this ancient folk remedy work its magic. This bright and bold flower knows exactly how to set your stomach straight as it can help finetune your flow of bile, soothe the stomach lining, and help the gut absorb all those much- needed minerals. The dandelion plant is also found to increase your bodies natural probiotic properties by boosting your lactobacillus.

SIDE EFFECTS

While plenty of people enjoy dandelion tea without any side effects at all, there are some who may want to check in with their medical professionals first. Those who should not drink dandelion tea or should check in first includes those who have an allergy to ragweed as dandelion could trigger a reaction.

People on certain medications may also want to go easy on dandelion tea as it can interfere with certain medicines, especially diuretic medicine, people on medicine for kidneys, and certain antibiotics. Remember to check in with your doctor first.

DANDELION ROOT TEA RECIPE

If you can’t find dandelion tea at your local store, you can easily go out and make your own. For fresh dandelion tea make sure that no herbicides or pesticides have been used on the area before picking the flowers.

The Flowers

· Place six flowers or leaves in a cup.

· Add hot water and let steep for 15-20 minutes.

· Enjoy

The Roots

For those who enjoy a heartier coffee-like brew, skip the delicate flowers and go straight for the root.

· Wash and chop the root.

· Roast on low in the oven for 2 hours.

· Add one teaspoon to your cup.

· Pour on hot water.

· Let steep for ten minutes.

· Enjoy.

FREQUENTLY ASKED QUESTIONS ABOUT DANDELION TEA

CAN YOU DRINK DANDELION TEA EVERY DAY?

Yes, you can easily enjoy a cup of dandelion greens every day to build up those bountiful health benefits.

DOES DANDELION TEA MAKE YOU POOP?

Drinking dandelion tea can keep you regular as it aids your digestive system. For those who are struggling with constipation, a cup of dandelion tea can be just the ticket.

IS DANDELION TEA SAFE?

For most people drinking dandelion tea will have no side effects and in-fact can bring a burst of health benefits. However, those who should skip the tea or check in with their healthcare provider first include anyone who has had allergic reactions to ragweed or sensitivity and those who are currently on medication – especially for kidneys and antibiotics.

HOW MUCH DANDELION ROOT TEA PER DAY?

Start your day with a cup of dandelion root tea and build it up slowly if you wish to consume more. Dandelion has diuretic properties and can increase your urination output, so its important to go gentle and let your body adjust to it first.

IS DANDELION TEA ACIDIC OR ALKALINE?

Dandelion root tea is alkaline-based which means it won’t have a negative effect on your tooth enamel.

WRAP UP

A delicate or deeply satisfying tea that grows in your own garden? Yes please. Now we know that dandelions are ripe with all kinds of health benefits and make for a delicious brew too, we won’t consider them a pesky weed any longer. Sunny and bright, this beautiful tea is great on its own or you can blend it with turmeric or balance with green tea or chamomile to enhance its flavor profile and boost the benefits.

Did you know that dandelion tea was so good for you? Share your thoughts in the comments!

Medical Disclaimer: While we have delved into the research available on the health benefits of these teas, this is for informative purposes only and shouldn’t be taken as medical advice. Those who have any health-related queries should reach out to a medical professional. These statements have not been evaluated by the Food and Drug Administration. This article is not intended to diagnose, treat, cure, or prevent any disease.

CR :: https://www.myteadrop.com/blogs/news/dandelion-tea-benefits

#Dandelion Tea Benefits

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imperium-wealth-management · 2 years ago

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Their flies their bees that squirrels their spiders they have birds all sorts all iot robots that communicate out and speak to you or sometimes the f****** crows attack you

I don't wish any negative things upon you whatever your kind is I don't even want to name the f****** planet I'm so sick and tired of you guys just know that it's not going to help you anymore I'm not going to help with you anything anything if you go die or if you get killed or if you get shot if you did whatever happens to you I don't give a s*** anymore about you because I quit I quit this job okay I f****** quit I quit imperium too because you guys are f****** b******* you wanted to wait for what other humans to intervene before you were

Just know that I do so much f****** work on my f****** end I don't even know why you exist in the first place then right

Do you see me everyday do you see my communication everyday do you see what I have to go through everyday every moment in my f****** day and shut the f****** okay I don't care who that m************ mouth is but you're going to be fired and you're going to get killed don't f****** talk to me then you have something to say out of your f****** mouth. What is it what you want to support these white people you want to support these robots you want to support these crap f****** ground up dumb f**** from Canada

Like I really want to end you Trudeau and whatever your f****** dumbass f****** Honduras f****** dad is right like what the f*** is going on Canada are you f****** dead

Whatever it is I'm done okay I don't care about your kinds anymore and yellow whites go f*** you you f****** whores

I want you to f****** die you f****** b**** ass f****** c**** you nasty f****** DNA f****** in this b**** f**** go f****** go to hell you f****** c**** ass whores

It has truly been a f****** terrible m************ experience ever in my f****** existence this is by far the worst you can't even f****** get rid of these f****** dumbass m************ zoo animals but bunch of n***** f**** running around thinking gangster life right

I'm done California included Diego Garcia included I don't want to deal with your your skin color tone I don't want to see any of you guys I don't I don't even want to see Asians at all maybe I should just go and and everything right only way to end for myself to commit suicide and then end everything cuz obviously I'm not important enough for anyone of you guys

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ivoryielded · 1 year ago

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multicolored blossoms blooms along the path, the dash of hues a surprise lynara isn't certain what to make of. it is said the north is barren soil, not good for beautiful things to grow in, yet the godswood of winterfell is littered with reds and yellows, blues and greens amongst the whites of winter; flora that has raised on its own accord for centuries, all with a purpose of its own. the flowers planted on beds around the godswood at king's landing seem to fulfill one purpose: beauty; she can almost be certain that they have once been plucked from the vastness of the reach and implanted here. usually, lynara could excuse such an act of vanity — she's always been good with silver linings, turning sour into sweet if the need arises — but, even for her, it seems unbecoming for a godswood, or, rather, the mockery of one. would the gods judge the terrain as harshly as she does?

she's lost in the wrong sort of wonderings as she enters deeper into the acre of land, enough not to notice the company that awaits her. her mouth opens to exhale a noise of alarm, but the presence draws her home, to the right godswood, of the scent of earth and snow and winter roses she has come to associate with moments of privacy from the bustle of the keep, of anyone but themselves. technically, it is the same now, but one look at calon tells lynara that it is not truly, no — he has begun to guard himself from her, just as she does from him, and the recognition of that brings an ache that seems to linger. "your whereabouts are a mystery to me." at last, she speaks, and she finds that the gods have not truly abandoned her, for her voice does not seem as meek as she had imagined. 'you could have been halfway to pyke for all i know." not for all i care; she did care far too much, and that was the problem, wasn't it?

"i thought i ought to seek divine enlightenment on how to best serve his majesty." though she does not endeavor through his ways now — boast a bright smile and pretend that things are better than they are, it's the hands of the game she knows he plays — she finds herself resuming approach, unable to still her tongue nor her feet, a sign of nerves she is yet to be able to shake off. "i do not know if our gods have any reign here, not without the trees. what do you make of it?" he has the experience of worship without a temple, after all, the sea is too great a distance from winterfell for him to grow among it. gray eyes seek hazel ones for the response, yet another habit she can not get rid of. it is something she ought to learn, yet another thing, but it is too soon — it always feels too soon to part with him. "do not go yet. stay while i pray." another time, another place, she would have sought out his hold as well as his gaze, but at least that she knows she is no longer entitled to demand. "i shan't inquire you of the subject of yours."

the godswood of the red keep beckoned to him. in search of respite, solace was found within its quiet confines, a refuge from the ceaseless presence or courtly figures either vying for attention or looking to pass judgements. while lacking a true weirwood tree, it still felt like a little piece of the north. something that was welcomed when one's mind simply wouldn't shut off for just a moment. he ventured to the edge of the miniature forest, gazing upon the sweeping expanse of blackwater rush below. the river's currents mirrored the conflicting emotions churning within him— longing and dread in equal measure. feelings he had deliberately set aside throughout the journey to king's landing. solitude does not last long; the crunching of leaves underfoot was unmistakable. a glance over his shoulder reveals lady lynara stark, ( @ivoryielded ) a presence welcomed without reservation. a smile plays on his lips, though it failed to fully reach his eyes— an involuntary response born from the weight of his thoughts. ❝ thought you might be getting ready to meet with the king, ❞ a measured look is promptly followed by the softening of his gaze; he can never be upset at her for the complicated situation they find themselves in. hazel eyes return their focus to the blackwater. ❝ i hope you didn't go looking for me, nara. you have enough going on as is. ❞ if she did, he is glad for it all the same . . . no matter how morose the greyjoy might be feeling at the thought of her marrying another.

#・ ˖ ♡ ❛❛ LYNARA › INTERACTION.

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maggiecheungs · 3 years ago

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Anita Mui as Fleur in Rouge (1987) dir. Stanley Kwan

#anita mui #rouge #stanley kwan #worldcinemaedit #uservintage #filmgifs #hong kong cinema #rouge 1987 #ellisgifs #hong kong movie #胭脂扣 #yanzhi kou #cantopop #Mui Yim-fong #梅艷芳 #getting rid of all that yellow was truly an experience

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wheelercore · 2 years ago

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The Rainbow: Socialization and Conformity in Stranger Things

Becoming very obvious once S3 came out, Stranger Things utilizes the color of the rainbow very often to symbolize how characters have been affected and/or influenced by society around them. Main characters are often switching in and out of clothes primarily colored with blue, red, and yellow (primary colors) with green, orange, and purple (secondary colors) often used to symbolize combinations and relationships.

Personally I believe each primary color symbolizes a theme or an effect societal expectations have on a character in the story. It's not a coincidence that the symbolism started to become more pervasive once our MCs hit puberty.

And nowhere is it more obvious than with the concept of the rainbow room

This is the play room that Brenner had set up for his test subjects. It's a miniature society, a place for El and her "siblings" to play, to interact, to bully each other- particularly the people who do not fit in. In this case, El because she was not as good as the others.

Even as these children were shielded from the world and raised in a lab, they still formed their own dynamics and hierarchies. Brenner fed into this- pitting these children against each other to test their abilities. No doubt, if Henry wasn't already radicalized into destroying the world, his experiences in this lab might have done it. Away from the "outside" world, but humans (children) still find a way to be mercilessly cruel to each other.

And how do you get rid of human cruelty?

Get rid of humans.

That is the UD, a barren wasteland with no human life and poisonous air that kills all that it touches. A parallel world that has a Hawkins, but with none of the Hawkins residents.

And when El banished Henry to the UD? She chose humanity. She chose life despite having only been treated badly by those around her. That humanity is worth fighting for and there is an inherent goodness in El that exemplifies the human capability to be kind and to progress. She is not the monster.

But she also realizes that she is not a blank slate. That she has (rediscovered) memories and experiences that affected her in different ways, and she is not just what her abuser made of her or what anyone else for that matter. In a paradoxical way, that was her rebirth. Her chosing to reevaluate the last few years of her life with what she knows now- and rather than being rendered a blank white canvas and painted on by force, she is going back on her own to the simple things that are important to her. Friends, family, and self. She is colorless with blooming pink, maybe one day to become a beautiful red.

To put it succently, El has finally developed a sense of intrinsic motivation and self identity.

Other characters often are jumping from color to color also, determined by what they are doing, feeling in that moment, and the pressures that they are under.

Will who is often in red in S3 with some blue and yellows, to bring fully in yellow towards the end of s4 when he lies to Mike about the painting.

Mike who is in yellow when he lies to El (about his nana and in the airport)- like his mother who spends the majority of s3 in yellow-, who's in blue when he starts back at square one by giving a fake love confession to El- like Ted who's almost always in blues with little exception-, who's hellfire outfit is white and black with a bit of red mixed in to show he's being authentic.

El who is in blue when trying to be the girlfriend that she thinks she should be to Mike but sheds her blue over the course of s4 and is reborn in white and pink.

Henry, in Els flashback covered on red blood over a white outfit. His idea of being free, truly free, is killing those who hold him down.

#stranger things #mike wheeler #el hopper #will byers #karen wheeler #ted wheeler #henry creel

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rachelannezegler · 2 years ago

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The way you colour your gifs/art is sooo amazing! I always love seeing it! as someone who's still learning the in's and out's of gifmaking/photoshop do you have any advise? 😊😊

Hi!! Thank you so much, it means a lot!! I’m trying to put together a tutorial on how I personally gif, but in the meantime

Truly it all comes down to the quality of the footage you’re working with. Try to find the best quality footage available. The better the quality, the better the gif will look

Looking for footage can be challenging. There’s some places you can try, but sometimes you have to t/orrent. If you do, get yourself a good vpn and antivirus. I use W/indscibe

Not all 1080p look the same. It depends on the size of the footage

YouTube 1080p is not true 1080p. The quality will still look sort of weird. One thing I like to do when working with YouTube videos is add noise, as that will make the gif look better and get rid of some of the blur and weird looking lines. Here’s how I add it. But be careful, noise makes the gif size bigger (tumblr gif size can’t be bigger than 10mb)

Sharpening settings are super important! I add two layers of smart sharpening with these settings:

Familiarize yourself with photoshop. Look through all the adjustment layers, settings, etc. I’ve found new things the more I look through

Curves are your best friend. Always start with it. It will set precedence for how your gif will turn out. I like bringing out the darkest points of the gif so I do a normal curves layer with the black point and white point, and a second one with only a black point

Channel mixer is your second best friend. It can help get rid of any weird coloring and tint that the footage comes with (especially helpful when you’re working with yellow tints). Here’s a tutorial on how it works. It may look complicated but once you get a hang of it it’s pretty easy

To color I use selective coloring. Sometimes I add as many selective coloring layers until I get the result I want

Not every single idea will turn out exactly how you picture it. That’s just something that happens. Maybe the coloring isn’t perfect. Maybe the blending is hard. That’s okay. Try your best, or you can find other ways to do it. For example, I originally wanted to blend these gifs together, but some of them looked weird imo, so I went with the ripped paper effect instead

Don’t be afraid to ask people for help, or search for tutorials

If you can, join creator servers. Those are very helpful. You can find footage, get ideas for gifsets, ask for help and collaborate with others

Experiment!!! Sometimes the best ideas come out of experimenting for hours, but also don’t get stuck on something. If it’s not working and you’ve tried, move on

#ask #answered #mutuals tag #gifmaker tag

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stylistiquements · 4 years ago

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The Sorcerer pt. 1

Corpse Husband x gn!reader

Reincarnation AU | Summary :

The same candle lights up on Corpse’s desk every time you are reborn and turn 23. He has been looking for you during centuries but this time you might be closer than anticipated. {Playlist}

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏 : 𝐓𝐡�� 𝐧𝐮𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐢𝐯𝐞

You’re about to blow your 23rd candles and Corpse is about to experience the consequences of it. Somehow, something about your rebirth is different this time.

☾ Words : 6009.

☾ Warnings : angst, mention of death (only suggested and not specific), grieving, swearing

Masterlist | Next

What does it mean to be a sorcerer in 2021? Corpse wonders as he chooses an outfit for his black bean character, lightly tapping his fingers in a crafted rhythm against his dark wooden desk. Nothing, really. The modern days turned his kind into a groundless concept, legendary creatures at best and it’s truly a shame when you think about it.

“Alright, are you ready?” Corpse asks as he moves his mouse above the “start” button and projects everyone into a new round.

“I won’t forgive you like I did last round,” Karl warns Corpse, dash of amusement in his tone.

“Sure,” he scoffs and the devious ghost of a smile shines on his lips when the bloody word “imposter” appears above his virtual pink cat hat.

Sorcerers used to be the rulers of this world and the most famous of well-hidden secrets; no one talked about it yet everyone knew. You just had to be here, respect and adoration followed their every move. People from all horizons went out of their way to meet them in hope of witnessing a miracle.

Oh, how the tables have turned now. They didn’t have to hide their face back then and it all went the harmonious way until a certain day when their fate met a tragic outcome. The day when life took a turn for the hidden.

Corpse is somehow retired now. Maybe that’s why he started doing youtube in the first place; because the craving of being needed had to be fulfilled one way or another. Or maybe because the thrill of life has been gone for so long he had to try everything to fill the void in hope of feeling a drip of something again. The weariness of a mere life stiffened in his rib cage from time to time, preventing a proper breathing.

He could have still been able to practice his magic facelessly -he wouldn’t be the first one to do so after all- but it seems crazy, surreal even, for him to picture being so public about such a heavy little secret nowadays. He found comfort in the concealed, in the invisible so long ago.

See, that’s the most important reason why Corpse is who he is today but stopping the explanations there would be neglecting the truth. Corpse would, but I'm more honest than he is.

Somehow, he believes a little too seriously that a kid’s app was designed to ruin his life. He feels this rotting taste that burns his tongue every time he thinks about it, he always talks about it with great passion; as if one minute videos could compete against the thundering energy that travels from his veins to the tip of his fingers. Witchcraft tiktok got the last bit of his ancestral pride and that’s a damn shame.

His character ambles around the hostile corridors dipped in yellow light, looking for a prey to slice in half. He doesn’t have a plan yet but he sure knows how to improvise by now. Corpse deems that he’s rather good at it. He meets Tina in O2. She’s wandering around, running like a headless chicken. What if he took that expression a little too seriously? Alas, he can’t wrap his mind around the idea of the unforgivable and she escapes his reach. Corpse’s nose wrinkles, better luck next time.

His fictional blood thirst gets stronger when he hops inside a vent and observes Rae’s red character doing her tasks. Corpse knows what comes next, it’s inevitable. A hint of excitement and nervousness hatch on his chest.

At the same time on the other side of the country, the ones you love are carrying a big cake to your table. It seems so silly and it leaves you slightly embarrassed that people are celebrating the fact that you were born but, somehow, you can’t forbid that smile to reach your ears.

When you look at the cake, a snort escapes your control. Your friends drew a glazed picture of you but you find yourself hoping that there isn’t much resemblance between that Picasso-ish designed cake and your actual face. I mean, except for that particularity your face displays; eyes that don’t match in colors, one green and one hazel, it really just looks like a kid's doodle.

23, what a weird number. It doesn’t sit quite right with you for some reason. 22 is fine, same goes for 24 but 23 … Somehow, it feels like something is either missing or too much. You’re not too sure which one it could be.

The warmth that emanates from the candles is sweet and tickles your chin softly and everyone is singing along the most disastrous birthday wishes. You’re preparing for your wish. What could you need more? You’re a faceless horror narrator on youtube and life is just about good. I mean, there really isn’t much to complain about and that should be enough.

Your mind drifts off for a second, contemplating what the dream life could be about while one of your friends is already complaining about wax getting all over your glazed face. You could wish for material things but they come and go and their meaning is only ephemeral, maybe 23 is about getting more than that.

Ah, found it. You close your eyes. May I find the place where I truly belong. 23 candles are blown in one breath, not a bad performance.

That’s when the candle on Corpse’s desk starts shining a delicate and orange shade.

Corpse doesn’t notice it at first, too impregnated by his hunt, but when the unusual warmth finally informs him of the merry event, he wrestles to keep his mind into the game. His virtual character stands motionless for a second as he mutes his mic and takes his headphones off.

Fuck, not now please.

Somewhere, a new version of the love of his life turned 23. His mind drifts off, wandering near this idea as his eyes meet the flame.

It’s been hundreds of years and that fucking candle kept you hostage of his mind. Because Corpse couldn’t forget about you, he built those walls to provide you from slipping away, from invading too much of his busy mind. It was a compromise he made with himself so he couldn’t reach you entirely and, therefore, miss you completely. Yet, your rebirth leaks through the pores of his brain and past the fences no matter how hard he tries.

Corpse battles to breathe, he tries to get his mind back on the game but somehow his throat is already filling with a dangerously acidic concoction. Maybe that’s why he doesn’t notice immediately the way his fingers start shaking at a painstaking rhythm.

He moves his character around. Left and right. It’s mechanical and meaningless, nothing but a lost cause. Corpse clenches his grip around the mouse, hoping that the unsteadiness would pity him. How much longer can he carry that feeling? It sits on his shoulders and his chest. It tests out his patience, his own resistance to pain.

“Corpse!” Rae shouts wholeheartedly, rooting him out of his spiral. “Where are you?!”

Fuck; he has no ounce of idea of what is happening in real life, too busy going down this familiar and intimate loop once more. He swallows it all, praying that you would spare him some earned mercy. You’re always so cruel, unabashedly sneaking in and taking over his space despite all his efforts.

“I-huh- I’m in medbay, I have scan," he bluffs, hoping that no one would notice the way his voice cracks at the end.

Because if anyone did, he would have to admit that he’s not okay, that he never was and doubts that he ever will be. Just as if conceding the facts would’ve allowed him to feel how flourishing his despair was. There’s this knot inside his throat. It’s painful and he’s so tired. How many times was he left crawling on his bathroom’s floor when his heart fractured a little deeper? He misses you every fucking day but each rebirth brings back more and more longing.

He would love to abandon himself to the aching pleasure of this unsolicited reminiscence but he knows that if he did, you would possess him wholly and never give him back. You plague his mind like a mist that grows thicker and thicker on his lungs. It diffuses everywhere and intoxicates what’s left of him.

“Sure sleepy but that’s bullshit,” Tina whines. “We know it’s Corpse. He’s been sus’ the entire round!”

“He said he had scan, right?” Sean interferes, believing that Corpse is the jester. “Why don’t you give him the benefit of the doubt?”

They’re all waiting for Corpse to step in, to defend himself but he’s no longer here, too busy trying to swallow the emotions that are leaking all over the place. It gnaws him alive, piece by piece and it hurts so fucking much. Will it ever stop?

Silence is convenient, “I voted” badges get pinned on everyone’s chest. His black character falls into the lava, what an ironic metaphor.

“Sorry guys, something came up and I gotta go.” He finally says, hurry in his voice. He doesn’t try to hide it. In fact, he can’t.

“Are you s…” Rae’s voice gets cut abruptly when Corpse quits the call without further notice.

Corpse knows what’s next, when his head gets overcrowded by feelings and his heart too empty. It’s ugly, it’s messy and oh how he wishes it would be different this time.

The room is spinning from the crumbs of your sweet face and the trickle of your voice that drips through his ears as if you were still here. He clings onto that distorted and stained picture as if it was the ultimate proof that you were real. Were you even real once ? Remembering feels like repeating a word over and over again: with time, it loses its meaning. It wasn’t you he remembered, Corpse figured it out a long time ago. You weren’t there anymore.

The thought of it drives him crazy. He wishes he could get rid of that fucking candle, constant reminder of your rebirth away from him, constant reminder of the defeat he has to endure every time you turn 23 and you’re still not by his side. He has been looking for you everywhere for hundreds of years, from the biggest capitals to the most secluded parts of this world, without a single hint of your existence. You’re his greatest failure and he can’t, he won’t stand that.

Corpse grabs the candle and it collides with the floor with a thud that tangles with his raw voice. His chest moves heavily. It's scattered and in discord and there is this distorted gaze on his face when he remembers that the candle cannot be shattered. It’s this unsolicited spark of self-awareness that brings him closer to reality. Fuck. What the fuck is he doing? Corpse finally lost his damn mind. His hands wander uncontrollably in his hair and he looks around frantically for a second, trying to remember how to survive.

Corpse’s head is pressuring him, rushing him to turn off his computer and spill the words that are stuck on the back of his tongue on a piece of paper. That grip is unforgivable and unclear but he starts writing as if it was the only thing left to do, maybe it is. It feels like survival instinct at this point, it feels like the last attempt to collect the pieces of himself you left behind.

Dear you,

Happy birthday, wherever you are in this world. Another letter is about to join the pile. How many are there already? I wouldn’t know. I stopped counting since it made me sick.

As every time, I hope it’s the best birthday you have ever had. I remember the twenty-third birthday we spent together as if it were yesterday. I can no longer recall the way your eyes wrinkled under your bright smile or the sound of your echoing laughter but I do remember that warm feeling inside my chest, the pain in my cheeks from laughing with all my heart. How pleasant was it to be able to live it all with you? To be able to embrace you, to breathe you, to see you. Forgive me, my love, for I am no longer capable of picturing anything of you. I wish I could. I wish I could be haunted by a proper ghost, at least, and not just a glimpse of the range of emotions that animated me when you were by my side. All I can remember now is that you felt like a firework and that my eyes never met a prettier human. It’s so truly unfair to think about the fact that no one matters as much as you still do.

I am drifting off, am I? I always tend to do that in those letters. I hope you’re doing well, I really do. Did you spend your birthday with the ones who love you? I hope you’re happy and healthy. It’s the only important thing, or at least that’s what I have learned so far.

I hate those letters, they make me realize how lonely I am. Somehow, it feels like I’m expecting an answer that is never going to arrive.

Fuck. My skin aches from the lack of your touch. I miss you so fucking much. Just tell me what to do. I tried everything and you’re still stuck inside my brain. I’m a sorcerer for fuck’s sake, one of the most powerful beings to have ever existed and yet the concept of one single human defeats me day after day, rebirth after rebirth. I’m a fucking shame for my kind. I hate you. I love you so very much. Happy birthday.

Yours truly, Corpse Husband

The paper is stained by the storm that has been building up in Corpse's mind for hours. The letters are deformed now. Look at the mess you just made. He throws the letters away, where he can no longer see it and brings his knees to his chest, resting his head between his legs. He feels like screaming one more time but he’s choking. Sweet and sore agony grips his throat as his veins are burning with thick poison.

Don’t be fooled, Corpse would have been able to cast a spell or two to forget about your existence and spare himself a bit. Yet, it would only erase the last proof he had of you, not his feelings. He would have to bear the burden of a quest he could no longer figure out. He would be left longing for something that no longer existed. As if it wasn’t the case already. He wishes he could sleep, life would be so fucking easier if he could just fall asleep.

A few days have passed since your birthday. The thread between days and nights is thin and confusing and the candle on Corpse’s desk is still radiating with as much energy as the first day.

Corpse’s head is heavy, aching, he wonders if he could still carry it on his shoulders if he wasn’t lying on his bed. That sore body feels like it has been drained from an eagerness that has been growing for too long. Corpse groans, trying to figure out what’s sheets and blankets and what’s limbs, living up to the name he chose for himself.

Every ray of the sun is burning his skin. It leaves his body smelling like heat, he doesn't like that smell. Now, he could just get up and draw the curtains but that laziness is as weary as infiltrated. If only it could rain, maybe it would soothe his nerves and his growing migraine.

After a few minutes of silent fulminations, Corpse finally unlocks his phone and opens his texts one by one just to ignore them. He’s curled up on himself, as if a compressed version of his darkness could help in order to block the light. Sorcerers are supposed to be tied with nature, with every ray of the moon and the sun. His bond with the sun is molded, if not completely doomed to grow untie. Corpse is a sorcerer like no others and that goes without saying.

One text captures his breath and his attention, bringing back some interest into the numbness. It’s coming from you, y/n. Or at least, the “you” from this present life. The “you” who isn’t aware of the past and the “you” Corpse doesn’t know is the one he has been looking for during eternity.

In this life, the two of you aren’t close enough to be friends -and he would never let you take that role- but, by the time of your first Twitter interaction -which consisted of you tweeting emo Sykkuno with tattoo pictures and Corpse replying with a meme that said "If life is a simulation please turn it off", Corpse knew you should be near him at all time. Not too close for you to actually be able to touch him but definitely not too far. It’s peculiar but something that has to be felt, not explained; a primitive hunch so loud it couldn’t be unheard.

His mind is awake again. The plan for today, which consisted of him rotting in his bed, seems compromised right now. Corpse turns to lay on the left side of the bed, where the sheets are cooler. His brows furrow and he sighs heavily as he rubs his eyes with his thumbs.

Corpse really doesn’t know why he’d feel that way in the first place for someone like you. You always seem so organic, radiating, so free in the way you choose to exist. He envies you for being so authentic when all he can afford to do is remain hidden, where no light can really reach him if not to draw a faint shape of his being. No harsh feelings though, it’s just the way he feels about anyone who doesn’t sound fake. There is still a bit of remaining endearment in the way Corpse’s words are thrown at you, you just have to know what to look for.

Now, Corpse trades his horror narrator's advices against some social media help. Those things are bigger than him, he’s too old for that anyway. You think the way he still uses symbols as emojis is charming -no one does that anymore- but Corpse just can’t keep up with today’s slang and way of showing emotions via texts. Kids these days are just too creative with the way they express themselves.

[Hello, Mr Sorcerer, hope you’re doing good. I need your help on something.]

Huh.

He meets your words and his mind gets coated in sweat, frozen blood preventing the next heartbeat from happening. Who told you?

Corpse can’t wrap his mind around the fact that his most precious secret is being exposed with that much negligence. He can count on his fingers the number of people who are aware of his true nature, half of them are actually other magical beings of some sort. It couldn’t be a coincidence.

His head is hammered by thoughts. He thinks he’s screwed, that everyone will know. He can already foresee what is about to come. That’s why there is a bit of fear in the way his eyebrows are arching. His alerted mind screams for him to just throw his phone across the room but his fingers, covered in panic, are faster. The first text he sends is not directed to you, but to Sykkuno, his familiar.

Familiars are to sorcerers what assistants are to magicians. In short -but not limited to- a massive help.

Corpse’s link with Sykkuno transcends the law of words and thoughts. They just understand each other and the way they do, without even having to see each other, is just something that has to be witnessed once in a lifetime. It’s a sort of energy that travels through space, a special connection. It's light and invisible but leaves a warm trail on its way.

However, what doesn’t transcend their bond is the concept of time zone -which Corpse forgot about for a second. Sykkuno is probably asleep right now. Corpse’s panic takes back its race once he realizes he’s on his own and he types:

[Haha, very funny. You know, if you wanted to talk, you just had to say hi :)]

Denial, that will do the trick, right? You can’t be that persistent. Or at least that’s what Corpse hopes when he leaves his phone on an unstable balance on his forehead, waiting for an answer he hopes would spare his mind from yet another issue he has to take care of.

[I knew you’d say that but don’t worry, I promise I won’t snitch,] you reply, lips twitching under a sly smile. [I’m way too afraid of you cursing me or something.]

[Who told you shit like that anyway?]

[I just know someone.]

His expression hardens, that head keeps throbbing harder and harder by the minute. You’re so impetuous and it turns him into an impatient and choleric fog. The topic is too important, crucial and it shows how you truly have no idea what you’re talking about when you act as recklessly as you do.

[Some crazy folk told you about magic and you believed them, huh? Thought you were smarter than that.]

[Dream would be pretty upset if he knew you called him “some crazy folk”.]

Corpse stares numbly at his screen before sitting back on his bed, pulling away from his vision the curly strands that fell down. He throws a bunch of silent curses at the sun which is still attacking him, if not even more now. He types a few words but erases them in a snap, repeating the process once or twice more. Now he has to send another text, this one is for Dream : “we need to talk.”

What a weird day.

Questions, Corpse has so many of them but he can’t stop shaking his head with confusion. He had no idea you knew Dream. Why would Dream reveal something so critical as Corpse’s identity? Why would another sorcerer send you his way? That’s not how things are done unless it’s something they deem they wouldn’t be able to handle and there’s really a few things Dream wouldn’t be able to do. Corpse hesitates for second, fingers fidgeting in the air. He doubts that he would ever be capable of doing something Dream can’t do but does it really matter when, right now, you’re holding information you should never be holding in the first place?

[Feeling like trading secrets under the full moon?] You outbid. It’s always so tempting to tease Corpse when he sounds like a grumpy old man.

[A sincere fuck you.]

[That’s very rude, Mr Sorcerer.]

The way you avoid providing any sort of explanation grows in his mind like weeds that need to be ripped off. Really, from all the good timing in the world, you had to choose the worst one. But there’s the faintest hint of a smile on his lips when he does the math and realizes that, if you wanted to use that secret to your advantage, you would have done it by now. A slow relief that softens his headache. Also, Corpse is well aware that, as annoying as you can get, he can’t refuse you a thing.

[Fine, tell me what you need.]

[So I keep seeing the same number again and again and your name keeps appearing in my head at random times. Still don’t get the correlation but I know there is one. I wanna know the number’s meaning and how I can get rid of you.]

Corpse huffs, he’d like to know that himself. He’s about to laugh it off when he reads the text one more time. Something about it is mysterious enough to pique his curiosity. You mentioned his name, it bothers him. Not that he doesn’t appreciate you thinking about him but because it sounds odd enough to be something related to magic in one way or another. There’s this mix of excitement and apprehension that fills the pit of his stomach and now half of a smile is embellishing his lips. This buzzing sound in his brain, maybe it’s the final signal that he should start practicing magic again, the final signal his life will feel thrilling again.

[Call you in 5. This is a consultation by the way, I’m not doing this for free.]

[Fine, you rat.] You answer with a victorious smile.

Corpse’s words linger in the air. It’s smooth like velvet -you could almost touch it if you pictured it hard enough- and it’s soothing in some way. It’s deep mumbles and bits of light chuckles and a little magic. You’re spinning slowly on your chair, playing with strands of your hair. There’s a different tone in Corpse’s voice. He sounds tired and it’s mixed with something else you can’t really pinpoint. For the best or the worst, that, has yet to be determined.

“So.” Corpse says, bringing you back to reality. “What’s that number you were talking about?”

“Right. So, I keep seeing the number 5 everywhere. I wake up at 5:55 every morning. When my eyes are looking at the clock, it’s 5:55PM and it extends to absolutely everything.” You faintly slap your palm against your thighs in exasperation.

Corpse is silent for a moment as he tries to collect the bits of knowledge that are still hanging here and there inside his mind. As he expected, the pressure below his left eyebrow makes it hard to think. He really doesn’t get why Dream wouldn’t be able to take care of a matter that sounds so frivolous. It feels like the most important piece of the puzzle is missing , the one that makes the whole picture makes sense.

“Okay, this is not really my specialty but the number 5 is an interesting angel number.” Corpse hums. The word “specialty” echoes. Dream talked about that once and somehow, that’s how you finally realized that Corpse was, indeed, a sorcerer. Not that you wouldn’t believe the information in the first place but there’s a remarkable difference between learning and experiencing. What would be his specialty then?

Dream introduced you to this new veil a couple of months ago and you never fully believed in it before getting involved. Maybe that’s why you never talked about it to anyone. Even now, your skeptical nature always finds its way back to you. He said all sorcerers had specialties and that his was clairvoyance. You don’t really know what that means but you wouldn’t ask too much. Knowledge seems like a curse in that field, or at least that’s what you have learned from Dream’s distressed tone when he talked about the past. He always sounded like a broken record, a little out of tune, as if his soul was still partially stuck back there and maybe that’s why Corpse always sounded that way too.

“Do you believe in guardian angels?” You raise an eyebrow, high voice brimming with confusion.

“Do you?” Corpse pauses, you’re silent for a couple of seconds and he realizes that he won’t get an answer to that. “The number 5 is your guardian angel trying to tell you that things are about to change in your life. In fact, it means that the process already started.”

“You’re kinda scaring me though,” you say as you readjust your sit, nose wrinkling under an almost grimace. You don’t like it, you don’t like their world. It’s not yours, you’re only a human with a mere life and an almost mere job. Sometimes, you hate Dream for letting you on this secret you were now forced to keep. It always felt so two faced.

“You don’t have to be scared, the change is only gonna benefit you.” Corpse’s voice is soft and the way you can tell he believes in the words he is speaking is almost as surprising as reassuring. You can’t help it, you don’t like change. The unknown is called that way for a reason and maybe this reason is the explanation for why it needs to remain that way.

“Sure,” you coy. “What do I do about you? That’s what really interests me.”

He scoffs. Trust me, that’s what interests him the most as well. Yet Corpse knows no answer to that. He hesitates for a second and his eyes wander into the void. Should he let you know that he doesn’t have a clue, that it somehow scares him as much as it intrigues you? It feels like his broken sorcerer ego would crack even more if he did. Maybe he just had to find out before letting you know.

“Are you obsessed with me, y/n?” Corpse winces. Why would he have to travel through sarcasmland(™) to escape the question? His eyes go wide for a second, flickering on corners of his empty room. It’s only fair that he would tease you like you tease him, right?

“You’re just being annoying now,” you mumble, cheeks flushing in a vivid tint of pink and Corpse snorts.

Corpse almost forgot about himself for a second, about that damn candle, but it hits him once the conversation fades away and the static silence is the only thing left. So he gets up, grunts in complaint rooted out by sore muscles, turns his computer on and plays some rain sounds. The melody of droplets hitting the ground is reminding him how to breathe.

“Rain sounds, huh,�� you whisper. “You like those.”

Corpse hums and the two of you are left listening to the rain. It tickles your ears pleasantly, so you close your eyes and relax in the back of your chair for a moment. It’s a beautiful disharmony if you really pay attention, just like Corpse is. You feel like the conversation is about to end, you don’t want him to hang up just yet.

“Corpse?” Your voice trails for a second and Corpse hums again. “Why did you decide to be faceless?”

“What did Dream answer to that question?” His tone is interesting, a bit higher than it probably should have been. What came up as conversation modalities turns into a piqued interest.

“He never answered me," you mumble.

“So people like you can’t take advantage of our nature in real life too,” he lies and you can tell by the half chuckle that travels with the answer.

You know you won’t get more from him, way less than you wish you did. Those faceless sorcerers always leave you hanging. They let you in on their little Hannah Montana life but never bear the consequence that is this endless and flowing well of questions. The rain rings heavily through your ears. It’s time for the call to end.

"Goodbye, Mr Sorcerer,” you sing before hanging up.

When the darkness finally surrounds Corpse, he slips into a strange place that greets him with a familiar smell; vanilla and freshly cut grass. The birds are singing. He takes a long inspiration, his body knows before he does. Corpse looks around, trying to let the image of the surrounding setting sink in.

That place seems oddly familiar, yet totally new; a kitchen made of golden wooden walls. It's decorated with an old and distinguished taste. The wooden table is dressed with a pretty blue and red tablecloth. Vases of fresh flowers displayed on parts of the kitchen, dried herbs hanging above the sink in front of the window. It’s dipped in sunlight, too bright to be real. The rays of light are swaying with the shadows of branches which are dancing outside with the wind. Corpse doesn’t mind the light for once, he even closes his eyes for a second to let every pore of his body get soaked in it. God, did he miss that place.

“Honey, I was waiting for you.”

Corpse’s heart jumps a little before clutching harder. He knows who’s here, he knows it’s his unforgettable love and the idea makes him almost want to never open his eyes again. He can feel it, the profound kindness and sweet smiles that are surrounding you like it always have and it makes his eyes burn with tears that are ready to trail down his cheek, sobs jostling inside his throat. Corpse wishes he could just cover you in embraces and kisses but he can’t, he can never do that in those dreams.

Corpse tries his hardest not to let the frustration immerse him in bitterness by controlling his breathing which could get carried away at any moment now. He finally swallows it all to look at you. There’s a significant disappointment on his face when he realizes yours is as blurry as always. He wishes he could just witness this beauty one more time. He doesn’t remember what your face looks like, you’re not real. It’s nothing but a dream and you’re not here.

“I made some cookies for you.” The ghost of you says as it points out a chair that seems to have appeared out of nowhere, inviting him to take a seat as it does the same. “Those are your favorite, remember?”

With a voice sweeter than honey, so bewitching, Corpse’s body works on its own and mimics your gestures. His eyes are frozen on your silhouette. He tries to remember the shades and colors that were once painted on your face. If only he could remember.

“Did you redecorate our kitchen?” Corpse asks as he takes a bite of the cookie.

“Did I?” Your past self wonders out loud. “It’s been so long, I can’t tell.”

The treat tastes as good as it always has, Corpse takes another bite. The silence in the kitchen is delicate, contemplative. Outside, the weather is lovely; white clouds floating above the endless and bright green meadows. Corpse tries to take everything he can from that dream, from the peacefulness he feels now deep inside, and the perfume of your skin, to the sweet voice that caresses his ears. If Corpse could stay here forever, he would.

“Why are you here, my love?” You suddenly ask, forcing Corpse’s attention which he refuses by looking away.

“I wonder if the wind is warm or cool outside, maybe I should check.”

Corpse knows what happens every time you visit his dreams : you end up asking this question, he answers and suddenly he’s alone and you vanished into thin air. The response is always the same; because I miss you. It leaves him feeling lonelier than ever, craving a presence he can no longer be blessed with. Just a little bit longer, please. He blinks rapidly to expel the few tears that are forming in his eyes, so the knot inside his throat wouldn’t become more unbearable than it already is. Corpse is left feeling so desperate and helpless.

In a precipitation he almost can't control, he gets up and walks towards the door. He just wants to feel the wind on his skin. Please, just a bit longer. Corpse is almost at the door when his eyes deform with stupor under the pressure of a hand that grabs his sleeve. His heart stops, he was never able to touch you in a dream before. What changed? There’s a moment of hesitation before his eyes travel from your hand, to your arm, to your neck, to your face and he can no longer swallow his emotions when he dives into your eyes. Your eyes, he can see them.

When Corpse wakes up, wiped out of his dream, his breath is short and sweat pearls down his forehead. He’s in a rush, he remembers something about your face, something important. He knows what to look for now; your eyes, your irises. They don’t match in color. The left is green, the right has a pretty hazel color.

☾ A/N : Welcome on this new AU my friends I’m so excited to have you here with me on this new journey! I hope you liked the first chapter. A big thank you to @moontwinkles for beta reading the chapter and being a big help 💗 How are we feeling about this? Faceless leo men being sorcerers and familiar Sykkuno??? Idk I’m a little too passionate about it. Don’t worry the next chapter won’t be as angsty as this one but I needed to express my thrist for angst lmao anyway let me know what you think! Until next time (ɔˆ ³(ˆ⌣ˆc)

☾ 𝑻𝑨𝑮𝑳𝑰𝑺𝑻 *OPEN* : @open-minded-chip-101 ; @lochness-butmakeitsexy ; @bizarrebibitch ; @bellomi-clarke ; @ladybismuth ; @katyasrussianaccent ; @satanhauntedourcats ; @owl-llie ; @teenloves ; @notannis ; @mcntsee ; @rottenroyalebooks ; @peachdoppi ; @mirahg ; @foxxtrot-116 ; @koi-soi ; @lupinpetersclearwaterodairparker ; @butterfly-skinnylegend ; @fanworrior ; @stickystrawberrysyrup ;

#corpse husband #corpse #corpse x reader #corpse x y/n #corpse x you #corpse husband x reader #corpse husband x you #corpse husband x y/n #corpse husband imagine #corpse husband fic #corpse husband AU #the sorcerer #platonic!dream

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that-damn-girl · 4 years ago

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(1) Daze of Pollen

(Work in Progress - 1 of 8; Slow updates)

Daze of Pollen Materlist

Pairing: (cis)fem!Reader x Bucky Barnes x Steve Rogers x Sam Wilson

Words: 1800+

Warnings: None except language?

Summary: Bucky, Steve, Sam and you are in the safe house post mission when a retrieved Hydra device activates, releasing a kind of pollen you don’t know of, but the effects of which are soon discovered.

A/N: To all my horny bitches out there, I’m sorry the first chapter isn’t smutty. I didn’t plan on keeping the entire first chapter as the intro but it just...happened. Also, This is my submission for @buckyssoul ‘s Rae Hit 1k Marvel Writing Challenge. I’m sorry for the delay. Hope you like it!

It is a strange concept, really. We don't always get what we want. But if we do, it's when we least expect it, in the most strangest of ways as well.

Call it your good luck, fate, destiny, a simple mere coincidence, or whatever. You were grateful for that night in the safe house regardless. For the first and the last time, you could say that you were thankful for a little Hydra contraption.

It all started during a peaceful dinner. You and your group of friends were relaxing after a successful mission, treating yourselves with any and all comfort food available in the safe house. The mission was anticipated to be much harder than usual; the only reason why Bucky and Sam had asked you and Steve to accompany them. Quite unexpectedly, the mission went smoothly and it seemed there was no need for the extra help they had requested. But considering the mission consisted of scoping out an abandoned Hydra base, being overly cautious was preferred than being overconfident. One never knew the levels of villainy Hydra truly possessed.

Oh, you were about to discover the truth in that statement just fine.

Bucky sat across from you on the dining table, Sam to your right. The duo played catch with a balled sheet of paper, their half eaten meals abandoned on the table. You and Steve conversed with them while enjoying your respective sandwiches.

It was true that Steve had given up his Captain America mantle to Sam, a man just as deserving of the title, but hadn't completely retired. He didn't get out on the field anymore, but used his excellent strategic skills in planning the missions sometimes, especially if it included Hydra.

All of you would have been enroute to the Compound had Rhodey and Scott not hogged the quinjet. None of you minded though. With the four of you together, it was very much like a quiet night in with close friends. Unbeknown to you, it wasn't going to be particularly quiet much longer.

"Does it smell funny to anybody else here?" Bucky asked, pausing midway while rocking his chair. Squinting his eyes, he glanced around himself to locate the source of the smell, a deep frown etched onto his features.

Steve took a tentative whiff, you and Sam doing the same. "No pal, I don't smell anything."

"It's…" Bucky closed his eyes, taking in deep inhales. "It's faint but it's there. I'm sure of it."

You and Sam glanced at each other, a raised eyebrow followed by a shrug. Suddenly Bucky sat up with a start, his gaze fixating on a corner of the room. Following his line of sight, you found the hard black stacked containers with the Shield logo which held the Hydra files and devices you had retrieved from the base earlier in the mission.

"It's coming from there, I think." Bucky stood up and reached the stacked containers in only a few long strides. Before any of you could stop him, he lifted the cover to inspect its contents.

Immediately a puff of bright yellow powder-like substance was released from the inside, as if a smoke bomb had been triggered. Bucky coughed as the coloured dust hit his senses. It didn't take long for the particles to dissipate in the air. Soon the clean air around you was shrouded with the yellow dust, leaving all of you a coughing mess.

"What is it?" You wondered, one hand waving in front of your face to get rid of the dust while the other protectively covered your nose. It was no use though. It was everywhere, the particles so fine they slithered through the gaps between your fingers. You could do nothing but inhale it as you coughed helplessly. The particles stuck to the insides of your mouth. You couldn't feel them on your tongue or the roof of your mouth, but the dryness that followed was a sure shot indication. The tangy scent of it overwhelmed your senses, making you wonder how could you have missed it.

"Look inside the container, Bucky. See what released it." Sam instructed with broken words in between the coughs.

"Fucking Hydra," Steve muttered under his breath.

Following Sam's orders, Bucky peeked inside and pulled out a wooden cube. It was small enough to be grasped in his palm. One of its faces had the ugly red symbol of Hydra painted on it. The cube was heavily cracked along the sides. Had Bucky not held onto it firmly, it would have fallen apart right then.

Sam, you and Steve drifted closer to Bucky as the yellow dust gradually dissipated into nothing - or rather as the most of it was already inhaled by you all. The cube appeared to hold some carvings in a language you supposed was Russian.

"I...don't...understand…" Bucky's fingers drifted across the letters as he tried to make sense of it. "Fuck!" With widened eyes, Bucky retraced the words, confirming what he had read. Throwing the cube across the room, he started pacing the room, his head hidden behind his palms.

"Come on, man, you're scaring me." Steve said, approaching his friend.

"You should be!" Bucky yelled, all his frustrations coming out on the wrong person. He loudly groaned, rubbing his forehead, "I'm sorry. It's just that…"

"What is it, Bucky?" You asked.

Bucky looked at you, his gaze sweeping over your form. He bit his lip, an almost remorseful look coming over in his eyes. In a much softer voice, he said, "I don't know how to explain it. I don't know where to start."

"Do you know what the yellow dust we all inhaled was?" Sam asked.

Bucky replied after a long pause. "It was a sort of pollen which Hydra had engineered."

"Hydra modified...pollen?" You asked. The idea sounded as bizarre to you as snow in the Sahara. "What?"

"No- Well, um, yes," Bucky took a deep breath before he started explaining. "Hydra could never replicate the super soldier serum they used on me. But they needed more super soldiers. It hardly ever happened that anybody else would succeed in recreating those serums so that Hydra could steal. They decided that if they couldn't transform using the serums, they would...breed super soldiers. That's when Project Growth started. These pollen were engineered to assist in it."

"How did the pollen assist Project Growth?" You asked, confusion dripping from your voice.

Bucky glanced at you but quickly diverted his gaze, unable to keep the eye contact. "Project Growth was about using super soldiers like me and those four others to... impregnate willing women. Conception with super soldiers is harder than usual for some reason. So they came up with this pollen to aid the process. It's an aphrodisiac. They called it sex pollen, because well, it increases one's sexl drive... by a lot. So much so that it might be fatal if the person exposed to it doesn't, you know, climax."

"What? Are we gonna want to fuck like rabbits then? Become Hydra's breeding bitches?" Sam asked, crossing his arms in front of him.

"The experiments were never successful. They did it a couple of times and it never resulted in a pregnancy. This box," Bucky gestured to the broken cube lying on the floor, "I don't know how or when but it got activated somehow." He shrugged helplessly. "I have no idea if the pollen inside it was a sample of those failed experiments or if that of a new one. Either way, we don't have long before the effects would start showing."

There was a lull in the room, the implications of what Bucky said sitting heavy on everyone's minds.

"We can keep ourselves locked in our separate rooms until it wears off to...get ourselves off." Steve's cheeks were tinged a deep shade of red as he proposed the idea.

"It's not that easy. Trust me, I've been through it." Bucky looked at Steve. "It's something about needing another person's touch; a sense of intimacy. No matter what you do on your own, it won't ever be enough. It would send you in a daze of lust, where the only thing you could focus on would be to anyhow satiate yourselves. You would desperately want another person to touch you, no matter who or what gender. You'd need them to touch you." He glanced at each one of you. "I'm sorry, but it's going to be nasty."

"So what you're saying is, it's basically fuck or die?" Sam said.

"When you put it that way…" Bucky tried to think of a better phrase but finding none, he replied, "-Well, yes."

"I don't know what to say," You crossed your hands in front of your chest. To say that you were shocked was a massive understatement. You couldn't even begin to believe that any of it was true.

Unconsciously, your gaze drifted over each of the men in the room. They all stood with a hard look on their handsome faces, lost deep in thought. You weren't sure if it was you or the pollen due to which you felt yourself get wet, your panties gradually dampening and sticking to your form.

Truth be told, you had always wondered what being with these men would feel like, what fucking them would be like. Would Sam choke you in a sensual manner with those bulging arms of his? Would Bucky keep you pinned to the bed with his thick thighs? What would gripping America's Ass feel like when Steve would be pumping his length into you?

You bit your lip, your mind conjuring up a train of lewd images. You wondered if it all would come true that night. Though you had considered them insanely attractive since the day you had met them, you never dared to act upon any of your desires with either of them. They were your close friends, and you'd be damned if you'd destroy it for a night of pleasure.

Now though, you had no other option but to fuck them if you valued your life. On any other day you would have laughed boisterously had anyone suggested such a thing, but it was your reality right then.

You realized it didn't have to be a necessarily bad thing though

Huffing dramatically, you stood straighter, hands falling by your sides. With a newfound confidence, you asked, "Well then, what are we waiting for?"

"What?" Steve asked, dumbfounded.

"At one point or the other, we would eventually go crawling to someone. I don't think we'd be in control of ourselves if it would make us that desperate. Avoiding the inevitable makes no sense. It's better to start it while we are still able to make conscious decisions and consent to being with each other. At least I'd prefer that."

The men looked at each other, a silent conversation happening amongst them. Bucky asked, "Are you sure, Y/N?"

You smiled. "I am, Bucky. If it's gonna be this way, then I'm glad it's the three of you. Are you guys sure though?"

Bucky glanced at Sam and Steve before smirking, "You bet we are, babydoll."

You walked closer to Bucky, standing on the tip of your toes as your arms curved around his neck, excitement thrumming through your veins. "Let's get this show started then."

Chapter 2

Blog’s Main Masterlist || Tag lists

I’m taking requests if you want a particular kink to be featured. Send me an ask or text me for the same or to be tagged.

Thank you for reading!

#bucky barnes x reader #steve rogers x reader #sam wilson x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes #bucky #steve rogers #sam wilson #bucky barnes x you #steve rogers x you #sam wilson x you #bucky barnes x y/n #steve rogers x y/n #sam wilson x y/n #sex pollen

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digital-dhampirs · 3 years ago

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thank you very much for the ask, @kachowwwww !

I did do a covernalysis for Vol 3, which you can read here: [https://digital-dhampirs.tumblr.com/post/168641851375/here-it-is-the-beautiful-twosome-vanitas-no ], but after staring at the cover of the volume for a little while I’ve started to notice some stuff I didn’t see way back in my original post from 2017. So! I will be doing an all new (hopefully improved) covernalysis four years later! oh by the holy glow of the blue moon it’s been four years

this is technically a part 2, but it’s completely separate from the first part! feel free to just read one or the other..!

VnC Volume 3 covernalysis: part 2

Volume 3 is our first cover featuring multiple characters together, and boy is it a fantastic way to start the trend! Vanitas and Noé lie peacefully in a pool of water, a golden frame between them. There is a Lot going on here, so let’s get started with breaking down the frame!

Volume 3’s golden frame is absolutely dripping in Chasseur imagery— the frame is decorated with stacks of skulls similar to those in the catacombs, the design in the frame’s corners is just like the Chasseurs’ six- winged sword symbol, and at the top of the frame we see the high- ranking vampire skull Roland shows our protagonists in chapter 14. Vol 3 contains chapters 11 through 15 of the manga— the time leading up to and the beginning of Vanitas and Noé’s adventures in the catacombs— so these Chasseur designs seem very relevant. We see one of those ever- present butterflies perched on the dead vampire’s skull, a symbol of transformation and rebirth.

We also see daisies growing in one section of the frame, possibly symbolizing innocence, purity, rebirth, fidelity, and/ or new beginnings. Maybe these daisies symbolize the new developments for Vanitas and Noé’s relationship during and after the events in the catacombs? Or maybe they’re a callback to an old Celtic myth in which daisies grew to console parents after the loss of a child? Or maybe something else!

The other plant featured on this frame is ivy— a symbol of attachment, immortality, fidelity, and eternity. Both daisies and ivy have something to do with eternal life and eternal faithfulness, which is very interesting considering Vanitas’s eventual demise. Ivy is a plant that holds on to things and doesn’t let go, which is pretty neat considering the events of chapter 53..!

There’s one last part of the volume 3 frame I want to mention before moving on to the rest of the cover— the skeletal hands adorning it. Two of the hands are holding the inside edges of the frame, reminiscent of the hands on Vanitas’s frame in volume 1, and two more are holding the vampire skull in a manner eerily similar to the way the Teacher’s hands frame Noé’s face on the cover of Volume 2.

The volume 3 frame has a lot of lil details combining aspects of Vanitas and Noé’s frames from the two previous volumes— the rectangular shape of Vani’s frame with the skull at the top, the row of beads and stick bone decoration thingys (if anyone knows what those things are please tell me I’ve been wondering what they are for literal years at this point) from Noé’s frame, the skeleton hands from volume 1 in the Teacher’s position from volume 2… the Volume 3 frame might have a lot of chasseur elements, but it’s also a combination of Vanitas and Noé’s symbolic details, once again indicating the pair’s developing relationship.

And with that I think we’re finally done with the frame! Now it’s time to tackle the main subject of this ask, the boys themselves.

Vanitas, smirking, shows his mark from Luna to the viewer. The Book of Vanitas rests on his stomach, and he has two more marks of possession on display— Jeanne’s mark, which is bright red, and a duller purple mark on the other side of his neck. We don’t know who this third mark is from yet, but just based on the mark’s color palette it seems pretty likely it’s from Noé. Unlike the marks from Luna and Jeanne, though, the purple mark isn’t leaking out onto Vanitas’s clothes— it’s just there, like a bruise, and the only place its color is really echoed is on the Book. I don’t really know what this means and I suspect we won’t find out until Noé drinks Vanitas’s blood in uhm… chapter… 105… but it’s a notable difference nonetheless!

Moving from Vanitas to his partner in crime! Noé is lying above Vanitas, with the chain from the Book of Vanitas wrapped around his arm. He’s wearing the comfortable sleep clothes he wore in chapter 11 and seems to be calmly watching Vani as the latter shows off his mark from Luna. Noé’s right hand is resting on the Book of Vanitas’s chain, but he isn’t trying to remove it or snap it, he’s just touching it.

The chain around Noé’s arm reminds me quite a bit of another piece of official art,

But on the Volume 3 cover, the chain around Noé’s arm is Noé’s classic purple-magenta color, rather than Vanitas’s cobalt blue like it is in the official art. This difference in color (along with the drastically different poses between the cover and the official art) makes the official art look far more aggressive and confrontational, while the cover image looks much more peaceful and relaxed despite the chain.

The chain’s color on the Vol 3 cover makes me think that, unlike in the official art, Noé is in control of what’s going on and is choosing to keep things this way. He could get rid of the chain at any time, but keeps it wrapped around his arm. In a way, it’s tying him and Vanitas together rather than dragging them apart.

So we’ve covered the frame, we’ve talked about our protagonists… all that’s left to talk about from this cover is the background/ whatever’s going on with the water Noé and Vani are lying in! And honestly? This is another one of those things I have no ideas about. Water symbolizes a lot of things— life, purity, the moon, transformation, and a whole lot more. But I don’t quite know why Vanitas and Noé are lying in it beyond ‘it looks very pretty’.

One thing I do know for sure, though, is that there are shards of glass lying in the water with the boys. Where might those shards have come from…? My best guess is that the frame between Vani and Noé was originally a complete mirror or picture frame made out of glass, but at some point it was shattered, and now the boys are able to lie down side by side between it.

The internal walls separating Noé and Vanitas start to crumble with their argument during the ball and conversation on the roof, and fall apart a bit more during their time in the catacombs. It’ll still be a very very long time before they can even approach the idea of fully understanding each other, but at this point in the manga they’re slowly getting closer and learning to walk side by side.

Annnnnd with that, I think this covernalysis is complete! For now. Thank you so much for reading this ridiculously wordy covernalysis, and thanks again for this ask! Thinking over a cover again four years after my initial analysis was a truly unique experience— maybe in 2025 I’ll come back to this cover one more time and cringe at this analysis the same way I’m currently cringing over my 2017 cover breakdown. Hope you enjoyed this meta/ analysis/ confused rambling thing!

Fun Fact

This volume’s inside cover features the lovely Dominique! Domi doesn’t feature too heavily in this volume, but she plays a major role in Chapter 12, and we learn a lot about her true feelings for Noé during the chapters she’s in. The color scheme of this inside cover is particularly notable when compared with the vibrant yellow and magenta of Domi’s volume 8 cover— Domi isn’t exactly colorless here, but she’s definitely quite desaturated compared to her volume 8 appearance. The magenta color reflecting on her hair and bow actually seems quite close to.. that… faded………. purple….

#vanitas no carte #the case study of vanitas #vnc #covernalysis #meta-ish #i m so inordinately proud of myself for getting slightly better at cover analysis in the past four years #the fun fact is just a joke I swear #unless…….#nah it’s 1000% a joke #unless……….

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miricalsolana · 2 years ago

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Making My Familiar Trashcan “Unfamiliar”

At least once a day, I press down on the pedal of this trashcan and fill it with any waste I see around me. From containing left over food, to hiding the contents of my small vacuum, my little trash can sitting under my bed does it all. Once a week in my hometown neighborhood, trash is collected into a large truck and while some is exterminated, others are recycled. I always found this arrangement of getting rid of excess product beneficial as it’s a quick way to reduce cluster. While dorm shopping, I actually almost forgot to grab this trashcan for my own personal use. My mom so happened to find it in the wrong aisle in Target and put it into the cart without my knowledge. When I saw the it in the cart, I sighed with relief, but what truly was this relief? Not once did I stop to think, “What would I do without this trash can?!”…until today.

The very first garbage can was developed by Eugene Poubelle; its original use was for ashes of burnt garbage. However, it became more convenient for horse-drawn carts to pick up the garbage and transport it to several hundred incinerators nationwide. As motorized vehicles became popular, they replaced horse-drawn carts. France hopped on this idea, establishing the “Poubelle Law” in 1883, which called for the use of closed disposal waste containers. Daily disposal of waste became the law and seperation of waste became vital. One bin indicated perishables, a second container was used for paper and cloth, and the third receptacle was for glass. Charles Harrison, an African- American industrial product designer, is the Father of the plastic garbage can, which came later on in the 1930s.(https://www.plasticmill.com/blogs/plasticmill/who-invented-the-trash-can)

Previous to Poubelle's invention, waste receptacles have been used dating back to 200 A.D. in early civilizations, but unlike today's load of paper and plastic use, they were not really necessary. Romans designed the first "Sanitation Organization", where two men would pick up trash off the streets to be taken into a wagon that deposited the trash away from the area. In the 1350s, England rakers, known as the first garbage men, had a similar job; they too had to rake the trash once a week into piles that would be dumped into two rivers. The first trash waste management system had not developed in America until 1914. Ben Franklin had the idea of filling holes in the ground with trash and before Yellow Fever had spread in Texas, this was the way of life. (https://www.plasticmill.com/blogs/plasticmill/who-invented-the-trash-can)

Today, the trash can is vital for society to maintain a healthy environment. Without it, streets would be cluttered with waste, and conditions would be highly unhealthy. I recall the days where I would see ads encouraging the use of trash cans on beaches, because plastic rings would be found around turtles shells, or birds' beaks. When waste is improperly stored, there are possibilities of unwelcoming scavengers into homes and even deaths of animals.

The manufacturer of my household's trash can is Simplehuman, which is a minimalist brand, looking to improve peoples' lives with the use of their trash cans (https://www.simplehuman.com/pages/trash-can). Frank Yang, the founder, began producing these trashcans in the 2000s, making revenue of $220 million by 2018. Native to Taiwan, Yang says he "saw trashcans that looked good, but didn’t function. I(he) set out to change this". Manufactured from California, Simplehuman began producing motion sensored and voice activated trashcans in 2010.

"Somehow simplehuman turned something tedious into an enjoyable and interactive experience"(https://www.forbes.com/sites/meggentaylor/2018/09/28/from-technologizing-the-trashcan-to-reinventing-the-mirror-the-evolution-of-simplehuman/?sh=64a8c1a37a16).

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reinvent-and-believe · 4 years ago

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for the touch prompts: with a promise! 😊

The fireplace roars before them, warming Yennefer’s face as much as the bottle of Everluce they split. The flickering firelight dances across Triss’s skin and brings out all its gorgeous golden tones. Her chestnut hair falls in soft, tousled curls that seem to bounce on her shoulders every time she dissolves into giggles.

Triss dissolves into giggles frequently with Yennefer. Always has. But Triss is vibrant and warm and full of life, Yennefer’s opposite in every way; no, making Triss giggle has never been a challenge.

That Triss somehow pulls unexpected, faltering chuckles from Yennefer is far more disconcerting. Somehow Triss can melt the ice queen’s heart, reduce her to a school girl, nervous and desperate to please.

The little house in Vengerberg has never felt so warm.

The air between them is pregnant, heavy with potential. It always is, somehow, but tonight’s amplified, tonight Triss’s fingers are lost in Yennefer’s silky black tresses as she bites her lower lip, a silent question in those honey-brown eyes.

And Yennefer wants her, has always wanted her, in truth, but her relationship with Triss is the only pure, uncomplicated friendship she has, the only person in her life who seems to stick around even after they’ve gotten to know her, even after they’re done using her for her power.

Yennefer traces Triss’s jaw, the perfect little indentation of her chin with her thumb. “Promise this won’t ruin us?” Her voice is barely more than a whisper. She hates the uncharacteristic vulnerability in her voice but can’t seem to tamp it down.

Triss fixes her with a soft, brilliant smile. “I promise,” she swears sweetly, and then she kisses her.

They lie side by side in the grass, staring at the stars and knowing that neither will sleep.

Not far away, the gathered forces of Sodden Hill, such as they are, drink and pray and carouse and prepare for battle.

The Temerians have not come, and Nilfgaard draws ever closer.

Triss shivers beside her, and instinctively Yennefer covers her, covers them both in her cloak. But it’s not the cold.

She curls into Yennefer, throwing an arm about her waist and pulling her close. “Promise me.” She lets out a choked little noise as she clings, her tears warm when they hit the skin of Yennefer’s neck but quickly cooled by the night’s wind. “Promise me you won’t do anything stupid and sacrificial.”

Yennefer kisses the top of her head. Triss’s prodigious magical control of plant life makes such sense; beneath her tender, attentive care, watered by her tears, Yennefer thinks she could flourish, too. “Only if you promise the same.”

It’s a promise neither can keep, so they hold each other in silence.

It’s been an afternoon of fighting.

About everything, about nothing.

About the way the dishes are arranged in the cabinets. About whether they’ll need a shawl on this cool autumn day. About the candle left burning on the nightstand every night and how it’s going to burn the house down one day. About the properties of a particular spell. About whether they should walk or teleport to the market. About...

“I wish you would damn well tell me what it is you’re so pissed about or go bother someone else!” Yennefer barks.

Triss looks as though she’s been struck.

Yennefer turns away for a moment, pinching the bridge of her nose. She hears Triss moving slowly, the quiet drag of a chair against the wooden floor. “I shouldn’t have—”

“I don’t want to lose you.”

Triss is sitting at the kitchen table, staring at her hands folded primly in front of her. “You have a family now. When it was just Geralt and the wish and all that, that was one thing, but now you have Ciri, too.” Triss sighs, burying her head in her hands with a moan of frustration. “I don’t begrudge you that, truly I don’t. I adore them both, and...she’s Geralt’s fate, his Child of Surprise, but she’s something more than that to you, Yennefer. She’s the child you chose.”

“Triss—”

“Let me finish,” she says softly, taking Yennefer’s hand. “I’m overjoyed that you get to experience this! Gods know family isn’t an option for most of us. I just don’t know that there’s a place for me in it.”

There’s loneliness written in the furrows of Triss’s brow, the downcast eyes.

Yennefer climbs into her lap, straddling her and taking her face in both hands. “Nothing ties me here but my choice,” she says. “You’re right. Geralt and I are linked by fate, now I have Ciri to consider. But I want everything, Triss. And I choose you.” She kisses her fiercely before burying her face in Triss’s lavender-scented hair, pulling her into a long, tight hug. “You won’t be rid of me that easily,” she murmurs into her neck. “Where there’s a place for me, there’s a place for you.”

She feels the long breath Triss releases, the way her arms tighten around Yennefer’s waist. “Promise?” she asks softly.

Yennefer pulls back and tilts Triss’s face up gently, locking eyes. “Promise.”

“It’s bad luck to see the bride on her wedding day,” Triss scolds, but there’s no heat to it. She faces away from the door, pointedly refusing to make eye contact in the mirror as she brushes a warm sunset red on her lips.

“Peasant superstition. I’ve seen you plenty of times.”

Triss rolls her eyes at that, but she’s smiling. “You’re incorrigible,” she says, but her dimple belies the chastisement. “Getting cold feet?”

Yennefer hesitates. “Not about you.”

Triss turns to look at her. Those kind eyes miss nothing. “But about the wedding?” she prompts gently.

Yennefer shrugs. “It all seems a bit superficial, doesn’t it? The pomp? The flowers? Gods, Triss, the flowers are out of control, have you seen what Jaskier’s done?”

“I like the flowers.” Triss stands, taking both Yennefer’s hands in hers. “What’s wrong, love?”

She’s beautiful. The flowing yellow gown, the glow of her tawny skin, the sparkle in her eyes, the crown of white and yellow and orange flowers in her hair: Triss Merigold is the most beautiful bride, and Yennefer forgets how to speak.

Triss just laughs, kissing her softly. “You’re afraid that once we’re married, things will be somehow different. That we’ll immediately know we’ve made a huge mistake, that we’ll stop making love and realize we hate each other as soon as we’re bound.”

“Not immediately,” Yennefer admits quietly. “Slowly.”

Triss brushes a loose strand of dark hair from her lover’s face. “I’ve no intention of tying you down, love,” she murmurs. “If things change, we’ll adapt, just as we always have. We’ll tell everyone to go home if you want, but the purpose of the wedding isn’t to lock you into something you can’t escape. All I want is to stand before our friends and our family and let them know how completely I adore you.” Triss rests her forehead against Yennefer’s. “I can’t promise that nothing will change, love. We’ve both seen far too much to believe such a thing. But we’re together and we love each other, and I think that’s something worth celebrating.”

Yennefer takes a breath. “This won’t ruin us,” she says softly.

Triss smiles. “I’ve yet to find anything that can.”

#hi friend please accept this humble offering of fluff #norationalthoughtrequired #yennefer x triss #trissefer #yenntriss #is that what we call this ship? idk #the witcher fic #the witcher #hi i'm soft and gay pls hold me #my fic

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ordinaryunordinary · 4 years ago

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Ć̶͚̱͎͉̘̻̭̀̃̇̃h̷̨̛̦̩͇̠̙̜̟̙̮́̈́̔̓͜ä̴͙͕̞̳̪͉͈́́̈́͐́̈́̚n̵̠̖̘̉̋̎͑g̷̢̯̤̥͎͙̥̲̙̓̆̄͊̋͒̾̐͛̈́͝͝ë̶͚̱͙̰͇̜̭̭̤̭́̎̐̽̌͑̅̈́͌̈́̚͠ͅ

Experiment Zero was a success

Words: 5737

CW: implied torture, manipulation, violence, brain fuckery, they messed him up…that’s all I gotta say

For the most part, it was dark. It was also wet, what exact liquid that was though was uncertain. There were very few things he was certain of at the moment.

That it was dark, wet, and cold.

He was also certain that he was very sweaty and that it was hard to breathe. He was certain that his arms had been bound behind him by something very heavy and that same heavy object was also around his ankles and his neck. There was also something heavy covering his eyes, though it wasn’t as cold and hard as the ones arm his arms.

However, there were many things he was uncertain of. He was uncertain of where he was and who he was. He was uncertain of how he’d gotten here or when he’d gotten here and how long he had been here.

What he knew at the moment though, was how the constant ringing in his ears had stopped and a loud creaking had filled its place. There was also a small clicking noise that grew in volume as the seconds passed by.

“Get up.” He flinched, hearing such a gruff voice or just a voice in general in such a long time. When was the last time he heard a voice, when was the last time he heard his own voice? Did he even have a voice? The last sound he remembered hearing in this place was a high pitched giggle, if it could even be described as such.

Alas, he didn’t have much time to mull over it any longer before he felt that heavy weight lifted from his arms, legs, and from his neck.

“Get up,” demanded the voice once more. Hilarious, did the voice actually expect him to move in his state? He didn’t actually know what state he was in though, he was in pain. His limbs were sore where the weight had been, but there was also a constant ache going all throughout his body. If he managed to stand up, he wouldn’t make it a step before he collapsed once again.

He heard a sigh before he was roughly grabbed and pulled to his feet. As expected, he immediately wobbled and almost came crashing down if it weren’t for the sturdy arms holding him up. “Pathetic, to think someone like you was capable of evading us eleven times.” He didn’t know what the person was talking about, so there was no use thinking about it.

“The boss wants to see you,” he was addressed once more before he felt them moving. He tried to take a step, to walk along the person rather than drug behind them, but once enough pressure was added to his ankles he felt a burning sensation shooting up his legs. Giving up, he allowed himself to be pulled behind the person.

There was a slight shift in light, whatever was over his eyes was doing a good job of obstructing his vision, but he could assume that a light had been turned on in the place he was in. He staggered wherever the person was dragging him until they came to an abrupt stop and he felt himself fall to his knees. Clearly the person he was following had let go of him and scoffed watching him collapse into a heap of weak bones once again.

“Here he is ma’am.” Ma’am? So now he could assume that there were two people in the room. One being the man, he assumed who dragged him in, and another being the woman that he addressed.

“Good,” he felt a chill run through his bones at the smooth voice that rang through his ears. It wasn’t like the gruff voice of the man that he had heard so many times. And though he couldn’t quite remember who the man was, his body could definitely remember what he had done.

There was a small clicking noice that grew in volume before the blindfold over his eyes was torn away. His eyes slammed shut after a flash of bright light filled his voice and he held in a whimper to keep some of his dignity. He wanted to reach up to cover his eyes once again but his hands were blocked by a firm grip that held his face.

“Pathetic, you can’t even open your eyes.” Pathetic, he had heard that word several times today, maybe that was his name, or at least a name they were going to call him. “I myself am embarrassed that it took so long to catch you,” the woman continued before he pulled her hand away. “Open your eyes,” he winced. Just barely opening his eyes filled his vision with bright white light and it was started to give him a headache.

The man beside him scoffed, “open your eyes.” The mans voice was demanding, and he felt the man grip his head hard before his eyes flew open against his will. There was a flash of images that passed him. Faces he didn’t recognize, places he didn’t know existed, but eventually it all faded and he could see the cramped office room he was sat in.

He blinked before he turned his head to see the two standing around him. The man was tall with maroon hair and pale blue eyes and was currently looking down on him with a scowl. Meanwhile, the woman was also tall as hell, though it could’ve been because of her high heels, with long blonde hair and yellow eyes.

Her faces showed a smile, but it was anything but warm. “Young man, what is your name?” He tilted his head, “pathetic?” He flinched, his own voice was hoarse, high pitched, and barely audible. Nonetheless, it drew a laugh out of the woman. “No dear, that is what you are. But it isn’t your name.” He blinked and looked down at the ground. He truly didn’t know his own name, he was frightened by the sound of his voice, the amount of things he didn’t know were quickly becoming overwhelming.

Suddenly, he wanted nothing more than to disappear off the face of the earth.

“I know, we can give you a name. Does that sound good,” her voice had turned into a sweet, caring tone, almost sounding as if she was speaking to a child. “I know you’re confused, and you probably have so many questions. But trust me, we’re here to help you, I promise.” He stared up at her, her yellow eyes softening and a warm smile spreading across her face.

“Zero, that’s what we’ll call you.” She directed her face up to the man, “in honour of experiment zero being a success.” The man nodded, his grip on the young mans head lessening before he eventually pulled away.

“Listen to me Zero, my name is Valerie and this is Keon. There’s a really evil organization out there, okay? They’re threatening to hurt civilians and trying to force their ideas on to people. I work for an organization called EMBER, we’re dedicated to ridding the streets of these evil “heroes” and restoring peace to the hierarchy.”

He shook his head, he still didn’t understand a thing she was saying. She sighed before reaching over and ruffling his hair, a soft gesture before she pulled away again and crouching in front of him.

“We’re going to help you. They hurt you, they put you in this condition, but we’re going to stop them. Think of how much pain you’re in, we don’t want anyone else to suffer the same fate. You’re so strong for surviving through all of that. Don’t worry everything is going to be okay.” She reached out and stroked his hair again before she stood. “Take him to his new room and let him rest, we’ll introduce him to the others tomorrow.”

The man nodded before he held a device up to his mouth and called for someone to come to the room. He…Zero, stared at the ground. He couldn’t remember half of the thing he had done while he was here. All he knew was what this woman, Valerie had just told him. She promised to keep him safe, but at what cost? Did they want him to help them? How could he in this state?

He felt himself be pulled up to his feet again by a third member in the room. The woman smiled, “he’s going to take you to you’re room. Don’t worry, it’ll be much better than that hell hole you were in before.” He nodded, for now, he would trust her.

The third person began to pull him out of the room.

What other choice did he have anyway?

———

Valerie watched the door slam shut behind the worker and the boy. “My my Keon, you’ve really out done yourself this time.” The red haired man shrugged, “it wasn’t all my doing. There’s only so much a simple memory recall ability can do. I also had Cyko and Thompson play with him from time to time so I’m sure that helped.”

Valerie nodded before she walked back to her desk and sat down. She breathed out a sigh, “three months. We started this project three months ago and it is just now finished?” Keon nodded, “he isn’t ready to use yet. Once he can stand on his two feet, he will be our trump card against those vigilantes.”

“So, explain to me. The silver eyes, what’s up with that?” Keon smirked, “to put it simply, the colour gold is full of life, spirit, and determination. The colour grey is lacking in anything, almost numb.” The redhead laughed to himself, “I have created an entirely new vessel for you to mold to your liking.” The woman nodded, “and you eliminated all chances of a relapse into his old self.”

Keon whistled and he felt the immediate scowl the woman bore. “Not entirely, though if that happens we can just throw him back into the chamber. I’ve discovered through the past few months that he does not like small spaces.” Valerie raised her nose up, “you’re dismissed, do not let this opportunity fall from our hands.

Keon nodded before he turned to the door. He had a hand on the handle when Valerie spoke once more, “if we use him in the field, what are the odds he will recognize one of the heroes.” Keon huffed, “he won’t, and even if he does, he won’t escape the grasp I have on his mind.” Valerie spoke no more and Keon dismissed himself.

The blonde swayed back and forth in her seat.

“I want Rei back.”

She smirked, “I feel as if a rematch is due soon.”

———

He, Zero, looked around the new room he was in. There was a bed in the corner, albeit it looked sketchy as hell, but it was a bed. There was a toilet and sink across from it, and a tiny mirror near the toilet, and that was it for the room. He laid his head against the metal door behind him and sighed, his eyes closing along the way.

He shivered, both from the cold of the room and out of fear. They told him to rest, but at the moment he could do anything but. Not really though, he was still in a lot of pain and his growing headache was making him sick.

“Zero, that’s what we’ll call you.”

“In honour of experiment zero being a success.”

He huffed, what was that supposed to mean. She said that the “heroes” put him in this state, but then called him an experiment?

His head hurt.

Slowly, he crawled his way over to the bed and painfully pulled himself up into the mattress. Immediately, there was a creak, and he felt as if a ton of needles were poking into his back. Nonetheless, it was much better than the cold metal floor, and what he now realized had been chains from the previous room. He rolled onto his side, onto his back, onto his stomach before sitting up again.

Of all times to be restless, it was the only time he was told to rest.

He didn’t know how long he sat there, just staring at the wall, at the toilet, at the floor, he just sat there. “Pathetic,” it was the only word that seemed to stick to his head out of that whole lecture from the woman named Valerie.

Valerie, he had watched her mood change from sinister to caring in a matter of seconds. What was her motive, why did she want him exactly, and who exactly was she? He felt like he knew her, in the back of his head he could’ve sworn he knew her. But perhaps it was just a feeling of deja vu from a time he couldn’t remember.

Speaking of things he couldn’t remember, he had no idea what he even looked like. Did he want to know? Considering how much pain he was in, he could only imagine the state his body was in.

Curiosity got the best of him though, so he pushed himself to his feet and steadied himself against the wall. Stumbling, he reached the mirror and held one hand on the wall while he pushed back to look at himself.

His hair reached his shoulders and was matted in blood, what he assumed to be blood that is, and thrown all about the place. His eyes were grey with deep bags under them, and he could see large scars running down the left side of his face from under his eye to his neck and disappearing under his shirt. Said shirt in question was a white shirt sleeved shirt with several tears around his sides and chest area. On his right arm he could see several bruises and cuts lining his arm along with scares around his wrist and hand. His left arm on the other hand was wrapped in bandages all the way from his fingers to his shoulder, and he found that it was incredibly stiff when he tried bending it.

The black pants he was wearing also had rips around his thighs and there were large holes revealing his bloody knees beneath. And just by looking down he could see his beet red feet that no doubt were infected and scraped underneath.

Just as he thought, he looked…well, pathetic. He would hate for someone to see him like this. Then again, who was going to see him? According to Valerie, there were others he was doing to meet after he got some rest. Question is, would he like them or not? In this state, he could guess that he wouldn’t like them.

With not much else to do he eventually made his way back to his bed, and fell asleep with an empty, dull, and numb mind.

———

“Rei! Catch me!”

“I gotta ya Remi what’s got you so happy today?”

“I’m starting highschool, I get to go to the same school you did.”

“Yep! Be sure to say hi to Arlo for me.”

“I will! And let Kuyo know I say hello as well.”

“Don’t worry I will.”

——

“Get up.”

Zero was abruptly awoken by Keon standing over him, his arms crossed and eyes narrowed into a scowl. “We’re introducing you to the others and the people you’ll be working with today. Then Valerie wants to evaluate you on something.” Keon nodded before leaving the room, though Zero could see that he was only standing outside of the doorway.

It wasn’t like there was anything he needed to do, so he simply pushed himself to his feet and followed Keon on the door. “That was surprisingly fast.” He shrugged before Keon grabbed his arm and pulled him behind him. “I’m leading you to the dining hall, make note of how to get here cause I won’t be bringing you here everyday. I’d advise not getting lost, someone might get the wrong message and try to kill you.”

Zero nodded, though Keon couldn’t see it, and merely followed as Keon led him through a set of doors into a small and very crowded room. On one side, there were groups of people sitting and staring at nothing or picking at their food. On the other side, there were people wide eyed and excited and were flipping bottles, wrestling, and borderline food fighting.

Keon sat him down in the middle of chaos.

“Ahem!” At Keon’s voice, the group looked up at him and then to Zero. The young man curled in on himself at everyone’s gaze before the male in front of him spoke up. “Ohhh this is the fresh meat Keon was talking about. “Bundle of joy” he said, that diminished real quick once I was introduced.”

“Cyko,” the man looked up to Keon who shook his head. “Ohhh, interesting,” the man leaned back in his seat with a giggle. “Alright, this is Zero. He’s going to be joining Cyko and Thompson on the field as our trump card. Meaning he is your last resort if the target becomes overwhelming. Though he can be used just for fun as well.”

Keon’s hand was resting on his head as he spoke, and try as he may, he couldn’t remember a word the man was saying to the others. It was like it went in one ear and was pulled out of the other. Instead, he just stared at the man in front of him.

He had black hair with neon blue highlights that complimented his bright blue eyes and a grin laced with insanity painted on his face. And his piercing blue eyes were boring into his own dull grey ones.

“Zero.” At the mention of his “name” he perked up and looked toward the red haired man. “These two are you partners. Cyko, and Thompson.” The older man pointing at the guy with blue eyes and a man sitting next to him. “Eat your food, I will come receive you whenever Volcan wants you.”

Zero nodded, watching Keon release his head and briskly leave the crowded dining hall. Unsure of what to do, he turned back toward the table and found several pairs of eyes pointed at him.

“Zero huh,” the man with the blue highlights leaned across the table toward him, “how is it fair that you get a name cool enough without a nickname, yet you look like a kicked puppy. What’s your kill count? How many limbs have you lost?” The young man stiffened and shook his head, as far as he knew he hadn’t killed anyone, nor did he plan to.

A darker skinned male sitting next to this so called Cyko shook his head and pulled the younger back into his seat. “Leave the newbie alone, the thing looks like he can’t even hold a knife. He’s shaking like a leaf,” the other man had a deep voice and deep brown eyes that were almost black. At his words, Zero looked down at his hands to discover that he was indeed shaking.

“I’m Thompson, and as you’ve seen this is Cyko. We’re your partners on the field.” Zero nodded before Cyko leaned over and spoke again, “you can leave all the dirty work to us if you’re scared.” Again, Zero nodded and Cyko scoffed before sitting back down. “You’re absolutely no fun, it’s like I’m talking to a brick wall. Can you even talk?”

A nod.

Cyko gritted his teeth, “I’m gonna end up killing him Tom, I’m relying on you to hold me back.” Thompson sighed and ran a hand through his hair, “you can’t kill another one of our partners. Keon gave you one last warning and said after the next one they’d throw you in the chamber.”

Zero began to tune them out, he didn’t know what they were talking about. “Chamber,” it must have been where he was before. Considering how Cyko shivered and immediately curled in on himself, he could assume it was a terrible place even the worst people didn’t want to be.

On another note, the two men in front of him acted like killing was the most casual thing to do. Quite frankly, it unsettled him, he didn’t know why but it made him want to leave the table. He could begin to feel his heart pounding in his chest. Did Valerie want him to kill people? Is that what they meant when they called him their “trump card?” But she said they were going to help people, that they were going to stop the bad guys.

He wanted to H̴̛͙͚̮̜̻̰͇̽͛͌͐̈͝e̸̺̯̝͇̗̊̒̋̎̾̽͑̂͋̆́̑͛̅͌͜ͅl̷̛̛͉̘̺̱͓̮̺̼̺̯̗͋̒ͅp̸̧̙̦͓̱̣̦͚͔̼̞̤̏̃̾̒̓̃͐̔ people

He wanted to keep people S̸̡̧̻̻̄a̸͔̱͚͌͗f̴̤͎̘͕̄̔ę̷̛͚̤̳̫̣͂͊̃̉͠

He didn’t want to hurt people

He didn’t want to kill people

Ţ̶̛̜̣̺͑̀͂̊̂̇h̶̨̛̜̞͉͊̿̍̆́̆̿ä̶̻̙̼̤̦͈̥́̊͑̇̊͒ͅt̶̡̲͎̱̒͗̔͆͝͝’̴̲̙͓̮̻̤́͜s̴̢̜͎̬̪̱̬̙̈́̍̌͌ ̸̨̟̺̥̼̠͙͈̔̆͊̕n̸̨̹̲͉̠̭̥͎͐͠ơ̵͇̠̦͐̌̒̅́t̵̹̚ ̸̢͉̤͕̼̱͗͌̈̊̀̂͐͜w̶̰͕͔̹͙͈͙̯̌́͗̑̕ḣ̴̼̜̏̌͆̿͑̌o̴̼̤̓̅̊̋̾͝ ̸̜̤̭͗͒̈͠ḧ̵͚̳̳̰͂̎e̵̡͖͚̗̘̍̔̋͆͊̈́̿̈́ ̷̧̡̨̲̘̫̬͑̊̐͊͘͝w̶̛͉̞̉̾̌̚a̴̢͔̪̍́̏̆̎̎͋͜͜ͅs̸̠̲͌͑̂̑͆̇͘-

Zero blinked, his heart calming down and breathing coming down to a regular level.

“So who exactly are ya kid? Where’d ya come from?” Thompson turned toward him and spoke, neither him nor Cyko managing to see his sudden freak out. Zero shrugged, “I don’t know.” He winced again at the sound of his voice, maybe it would get better with time. Cyko hummed, “so he can speak.” Thompson waved him off with a hand, “you don’t know?” The young man nodded, his eyes flickering between the two men in front of him.

The older man nodded, a small smirk coming across his face, “they made you into their perfect little war machine didn’t they?” Zero titled his head to the side, Cyko mirroring his actions with a look of confusion. “This frail thing? A war machine? Yeah okay, if he’s a war machine, I’ll give you my burger next time we have them.” At that Thompson mature demeanor immediately vanished and was replaced with a childish smile.

“Really?!” Cyko groaned and rolled his eyes, “you’re so immature.” Zero looked between the two, they seem to be friends. That was a nice thought to have, he wanted to have friends in this place, maybe it would make him less…less what? This place didn’t make him feel anything. That was one thing he had noticed while staying here, he felt, nothing.

Physically he had felt pain, and exhaustion. But mentally, he hadn’t felt anything in his entire time here. Nothing made him sad, nothing made his happy. He felt as though he was just existing, as if he was just following an invisible string that was pulling him through his life.

“Hey,” Cyko’s high pitched voice shook him from his thoughts and he looked at the blue haired man. “Are you gonna eat that?” The other gestured to his full plate of food, white stuff that he really hoped was mashed potatoes, purple carrots, and a single apple. The hell kinda meal is that? He grimaced before pushing the plate forward toward Cyko he smiled before absolutely devouring the plate.

Thompson cleared his throat, “you’re gonna have to learn to eat that stuff. Trust me, one only get full meals maybe one every three months. And burgers only come twice a year. The food is shit, but at least they give us food.”

Zero nodded, he would force himself to eat his food tomorrow. For now however, he simply sat and listened to Cyko and Thompson talk, along with whatever conversation he managed to hear from other people. I’m doing so he found out that Justine had an affair with Cole and now Erin was going to slit Cole’s throat. One of the lunch ladies died the other day and her body was found in the kitchen with several stab wounds, the suspected murderer was Cyko who giggled about it. A girl named Lumina got thrown in the chamber after refusing a job given to her directly from Volcan.

His name floated around the dining hall a few times as well despite his limited interaction with any other people. He had just managed to start ignoring the several mentions of his name when he spotted Keon out of the corner of his eye. The male gestured out of the room with his head before disappearing around the corner.

Zero could only take that as his cue to leave. So silently, without another word to anyone, he stood from the table on wobbly legs and slowly made his way out of the dining hall. He could definitely feel every pair of eyes on him as he left, but he kept his head straight and slipped out of the room.

“I’m shocked you actually understood my gesture, and that you’re standing. Maybe this will work after all.” Keon began walking once more and Zero followed behind him, that invisible string of fate pulling him in the direction Keon wanted him to go. Maybe Keon was pulling the string, maybe Valerie was, maybe this Volcan person everyone spoke about was.

He then realized that it had been a while since he last peed. His nose scrunched up, did that mean he had been peeing himself while in the chamber? Zero held in a gag, if that were true, then he was walking in pee stain pants and was very lucky that they were black.

“If you’re done having dirty thoughts, we’re here. And be assured, your pants have been changed.” Zero nodded, a feeling of relief coming over him. Feeling calmer, he let Keon lead him through a large set of metal doors and found himself outside. He blinked against the harsh light of the sky and the sun, it was the first time he had been outside in ages, and only now did he realize just how pale he was.

Where he stood he only saw sand spreading far away from where his eye sight could reach. All around him there were props, decorated to look like people. It was a little too realistic for him, if he hadn’t looked twice, he would have though they were actual people.

“Zero!” He looked up and behind him to what seemed to be an observation deck and found Valerie standing in the edge of it. She smiled down at him and waved, and he found himself do the same. “How are you feeling, well rested?” The young man nodded, never seeing Keon’s disgusted face next to him. “That’s amazing, listen I’m gonna give you a challenge. You see, if we’re gonna go out and stop those bad people, we have to train you. Understand?” Zero nodded again and looked back toward the training dummies.

He could see where this was going. She wanted him to take out all of these training dummies and would evaluate his abilities at doing so.

Keon made a noise and Zero looked over, in his hand was knife and it was gently placed into his own.

“Listen Zero, the best way to stop these heroes is to immobilize them quickly. They can’t hurt you or others if you knock them down first. We’re not sure how well your ability works at the moment, so we’re focusing on this first, okay? All I want you to do, is find the best method to immobilize the training dummies. You don’t have to use the knife if you don’t want to.”

He looked down at the knife in his hand. It felt heavy, like it wasn’t supposed to be in his hands. He felt like dropping it would made the feeling in his stomach and chest ease up and go away. He gripped the knife tighter, it was a self defense mechanism, he would only use it if he had to.

Slowly, he made his way to the first dummy in front of him. He stopped when he was face to face with the dummy and stared at it. These are meant to be the people Valerie says are our enemies. He stared at the black button eyes in front of him and gripped the knife tighter. They hurt people.

Before either Keon or Valerie could blink, he swung his leg and connected with the dummy’s neck. Keon inhaled sharply, his body tense as he watched the dummy’s head roll down the hill.

The young man took a deep inhale before he broke into a sprint toward the next dummy. In one Swift movement he landed a punch in the chest, his fist going all the way through.

His foot took off the arm of another, his bandaged arm claim another head, and he kicked the feet out from under a dummy before stepping down on its chest. He panted, sweat beginning to fall down his neck, his grip on the knife only growing tighter, enough to wear his hand was beginning to ache.

It felt…exhilarating.

He smiled as he lunged for the next dummy, and giggled as he arm flew through the stomach of another.

On the deck, Valerie could feel her own grin widening as she watch every last bit of sanity escape from her precious experiment. Keon on the other hand, felt as though he would be sick. He clenched his fist together as he watched dummy after dummy fall over. Some missing limbs, some missing heads, he gulped as he imagined what this “thing” could do once he used his ability.

Zero grinned as one final dummy stood before him, and without a moments hesitation he brought the knife into the throat of the dummy and lodged it deep within the thread.

He allowed himself a second to breath before pulling the knife back out and holding it in his hand. He stared at it and his vision blurred, red blood painting the knife and his hands. He looked down at himself and saw blood coating his pants and his shirt.

And he heard his own laughing before he knew that he was laughing. His chest was burning, there were tears streaming out of his eyes, the knife felt like fire in his hands, but he kept laughing.

And like a fire had been extinguished, he stopped.

The knife fell from his hand and he stumbled backwards. He stared at his hands, expecting to see blood covering his body, but all he found was dirt and sand. “Zero.” His head snapped up as he saw Valerie, Volcan, approaching him and he stepped back again. His ankle rolled and he fell to the ground, crawling backwards he tried to make space between himself and the blonde haired woman.

“Zero, you’re okay. I promise, you did very well.” Valerie walked toward the young man, but he only pushed further back. Finally, she stopped, “Rei,” she said with a glare and the mans head popped up. Frightened gold eyes stared back at her and she clenched her fist. “Keon!”

Rei shook his head, scrambling to his feet and running as fast as he could from the duo. “Rei! Get back here,” he ignored Valerie’s yelling and kept running. His body screamed in pain, and he had no idea where he was going, but he wanted far away from wherever they were.

A war machine, their trump card, the prefect vessel. They were making him into their weapon, and he had no way of pushing back against it. He mentally kicked himself, he allowed Keon to get into his head, and now they had complete control over his mind.

He wiped at the tears blurring his vision, he had to make it back to Wellston, and if not to Wellston then he had to get back home. He had to let everyone know he was okay. What about Remi, what about his mom? Were they currently grieving because they thought he was dead? And what about Arlo and Kuyo, were they okay?

He had to get home, he had to help them.

“Rei!”

There was a sharp whistle through the hair before he felt pain spread throughout his leg and send him tumbling forward on to the ground.

He winced, gripping his leg close to his chest and gingerly pulling the tranquilizer dart from his calf. “Please,” he whimpered and attempt to stand up again. He saw Valerie making her way toward him, anger painted on her features and flaming claws emerging from her hands.

The “sweet and caring” demeanor was gone, and was immediately replaced with cold, murderous anger that was currently directed toward him. He held in a Yelp when she gripped his collar with one hand and pulled his face close to hers.

“Don’t ever attempt to escape from me again.”

The greenette screamed as she plunged her claws into his abdomen and twisted them further in. “Or you will never get to see them again.” She yanked her claws back and allowed Rei to fall back down. “Keon,” she addressed the male who was panting as he reached the other two. “Take him back to the chamber, clearly he needs to learn who is in control here before we can effectively use him.”

Keon nodded, his stride directed to the young man rolling on the ground, his ability active.

Rei winced, his vision was beginning to blur but he mustered enough energy to active his ability. From two of his fingers he sent a weak spark toward Keon hitting him in the forearm after he blocked his face from being hit.

“Why you little shit.”

Fear overcame Rei as Keon practically tackled him and held him by his wrist in one hand and gripped his head with another. “I dare you to tell me to stop.”

And in a flash of images he watched Remi, Arlo, Kuyo, he watched all of them smile at him, before everything went dark.

———

*1 Month Later*

———

“Your target tonight is a duo by the names of X-Rei and Nobody. X-Rei has a lightning ability at a level of 5.4 and Nobody is a 5.0 with energy discharge. Both of them have incredibly fast reflexes and speed. Exercise caution and keep a distance between yourselves and them.”

Cyko and Thompson nodded, this was a regular night for them.

“They will likely hold out for a long time, whenever you bore of them, send him in.”

In the corner of the room, grey eyes scanned over the files in his hands. X-Rei was a pink haired girl with an x on a grey sweatshirt and Nobody was a redheaded male with almost his entire body covered in black.

“Zero.”

EMBER’s ultimate war machine looked up with a smirk, a glint of silver being seen under his green bangs.

“As you wish, Volcan.”

#unordinary #unordinary webtoon #unordinary rei

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poptod · 5 years ago

Text

Terrified (Elliot Alderson x Reader)

Description: Mental hospitals probably aren’t the best place to form relationships of any sort.

Notes: Angst and self harm and general mental unwellness. This is a mental hospital after all. There is also smut but it’s still gender neutral. Word Count: 3.6k

God, what wouldn't you do for a chance to start everything over. Never gain self awareness, never wake up the day you turned thirteen, never grow to despise yourself to the deepest corners of your soul. That was when it really started after all – around the age of thirteen, when hormones kicked in and you learned the words you said had an impact on those listening. It was also then you learned you were a genuinely awful person, and despite your many efforts to become better, nothing worked.

You didn't even try to hide the fact that you hated yourself. Instead, your logic was that everyone had to know – everyone had to know that you were aware of how horrible you were, and everyone had to know that you were punishing yourself constantly, they had to know that you hated yourself. But no one likes hanging around someone who hates themself, so eventually you were left alone. After that, you never made friends with anyone again, no one bothering to stay.

Elliot didn't stay either. To be fair, he was much like you in the aspect that not very many people liked him. In school he was smarter than most people, quiet and seemingly rude, and though the two of you were never truly friends, he recognized you years later. In prison.

It wasn't really a prison, though most of the people there called it a prison, including much of the staff. But no, it was actually a hospital – a mental hospital, where people with addictions stayed, people fucked up in the head, people like you and him.

You sat in a circle with the other patients, going around and talking about your own traumas and your own issues. Elliot hadn't said anything to you yet, but by the way his gaze kept flickering back to you, it was safe enough to say he recognized you. To your left, the next person stood and talked about their physical abuse. Unfortunately you'd been there long enough that sob stories didn't affect you that much, if at all. You would be next once they were done – and like most times, you wouldn't say anything. Accustomed to your behavior, the instructor moved to the next person, but you didn't start listening until Elliot spoke.

"I'm here for substance abuse," he said, dull and monotone. Nothing else.

You returned to your room shortly after, habitually checking the secret pocket in your night stand, full of unhealthy coping methods that seemed to be the only thing that worked. Sneaking your hand in, you pulled out a blunt, hiding it in your pocket as you stood, heading off to the bathroom. On the way you passed Elliot, who by some remote chance noticed your hand fidgeting with the blunt through the material of your sweatshirt. He stopped you right before you reached the unisex bathroom.

"What's in your pocket?" He asked quietly, wary of any passerby.

"Weed," you answered truthfully.

"Can I join?" He asked, fidgeting. You nodded, and he followed you, the both of you sneaking silently into the bathroom.

Pulling out your lighter, you pulled on the starter, a flame burning at the end of the blunt. Once it began to smoke you tucked it away, taking your first drag as a sense of calm came over you. You handed it to Elliot.

"Maybe our school fucked us up," he muttered, letting smoke fall with his words, "that's why we're both here."

"Nah," you said, staring up at the ceiling. "I fucked myself up, all on my own."

He chuckled.

After that, he stuck with you a little bit. You understood why – you're practically the dealer of the hospital, getting your stash from a man on the outside who visited you every now and then. In return he could stay in your apartment, as long as he kept it clean enough. Didn't really matter to you anyway, since you weren't about to get out anytime soon, and you had quite a lot of money saved up.

Sometimes Elliot visited your room, and on one such afternoon you felt so heavy with dread that once more you reached into that hidden pocket, pulling out a pocket knife, the only sharp object you could sneak in. In plain view of him you dug it into your skin, feeling nothing. You used to feel something – pain, excitement, adrenaline, but now it's such a common occurrence that it's just another day. Another mindless task. Elliot didn't agree, not by the way his eyes widened.

In a swift movement he snatched the pocket knife from you, putting the knife back into the body and shoving it into his own pocket.

"What the fuck are you doing," he gritted out, scolding you.

"What are you gonna do about it? Tell the doctors? Fuck off," you said, shoving his leg with your foot.

He swore, either to you or himself before leaving, taking your pocket knife with him.

The next thing you got your hands on was a thick sewing needle. It was strong, and the slide into your skin wasn't an easy one, but it was new. Almost exciting. At least you now knew not to do it in front of Elliot; he probably had a thing about blood.

Eventually he found out, though the circumstances sure were, if there was a word to describe it, odd. Odd didn't encapsulate the whole of the experience, but you could think of nothing else to call it.

It's one of those sessions in the bathroom, exhaling smoke and watching the haze slowly disappear into the fan before one of you took another hit. The blunt in your hand was beginning to fade, the very end of it scrunched between your fingers. It was at that point that he stepped close to you, invading your personal space so harshly that the blunt dropped from you and smoldered on the white-tile floor. His chest pressed to yours, his gaze dropped to your lips, where the remnants of your last breath left, laced grey and smelling thick with weed. You tried to back up to get your heartbeat under control, but you were already pressed up against the sink.

Grabbing a fist of your shirt in his hand he pulled you forward, kissing you warm and harsh, and it's a thrill more exciting than the cuts and the needles. For a moment you felt like you were living, like you hadn't wasted so much of your life hating everything. His lips moved frantically against yours, hands gripping your hair and tugging, hips nearly grinding into yours.

You were surprised, to say the least. He wasn't ever the type to enjoy sexual stuff, at least not to your knowledge of what he shared with you, and he never liked to be touched. So while you were quite confused, it wasn't all that unwelcome. He was nice enough and his eyes were pretty, and when he hummed, the vibrations passing into you, you could feel your knees go weak.

It would've been a perfect day, a perfect smoke session if he hadn't wanted to go further. Instead he pulled at your shirt, tugging to try and rid you of the bright white fabric, forcing it over your head and tossing it into a corner of the room. Without thought you tried to continue, but a gasp left him and he stepped back.

Looking down, you remembered your torso dotted with small scabs from the needle, bruises coloring your skin dark purple and yellow. You weren't even scared of him noticing. No, the only thought in your head was fuck, I'm not gonna get more kisses, instead of what it should've been, which was more along the lines of fuck, Elliot caught my horrendous act.

"You really fucking hate yourself, don't you?" He asked, taking another step back till he hit the wall behind him.

"Never said I didn't," you said dully. "Does this mean we can't fuck?"

"Jesus Christ," he muttered. "You have no morality. Maybe you should hate yourself – you don't fucking care about anyone but you. Stuck in your own goddamn world."

He left and you broke down crying, sitting on the bathroom floor with your knees held tight against your chest. You told yourself all of those things – you already knew you were self centered, that you didn't care about other people, that you always said and did the wrong thing, but it always hurt. It always would, and the only thing to ever dull it was drugs and sharp objects. Right then you didn't have your needle, and you didn't feel like getting it, so instead you found your lighter and burnt scars into your skin.

For the next couple days you laid in bed, unmoving save for your breath. Staring at the wall. Hunger gnawing. You didn't deserve food, nor to breathe, though you continued doing the latter. Sometimes you'd forget to breathe, but it never lasted long. You wished it lasted longer.

In the night, before lockdown, he snuck into your room when he thought you were sleeping. He rifled through your belongings, searching for a while before he stood and made his way to the door. You watched from your bed, watching as his fingers curl around your needle and your lighter, watching as he left and closed the door behind him.

It took a little while but you found the energy to confront him, dragging your body out of bed and meeting him in the courtyard, where he spent hours watching birds and squirrels in the trees and fields. He sat on one of the wooden benches beside the water fountain, and you sat beside him.

"I want my stuff back," you said plainly, unsure of how else to put it.

"I want you to stop," he said in return.

With both of you at an impasse, you sat in silence for a while, contemplating how you could either get your things back or get new ones. Your dealer wouldn't be visiting you for another month, but when he did you could ask for another pocket knife. That whole process would take two months – far too long for you. You needed it now. The only way you were hurting yourself was through starvation, and while it could bring some fantastic pain (and a few fainting sessions) it wasn't enough.

"Elliot, please," you tried once more.

Nothing.

"You do it then," you suggested, something that pulled his concentration away from the black squirrel to you. "You hurt me if you want to control it so badly."

"Are you seriously asking me to cut you up?"

"Please," you said softly, your voice cracking with need. Scooting closer to him you rested your hand on his thigh, high enough that his heat is embarrassingly obvious, while you put your chin on his shoulder, nuzzling into his neck with your nose, lips barely brushing his skin. He froze.

"There's cameras," he gritted out.

His discomfort was obvious, but you didn't care all that much. He wanted you for some reason, whether it was sexual or romantic, and you could use that against him. But you didn't really want to do that with him in broad daylight, so you stopped, instead resting your head against his shoulder and intertwining your fingers in his.

He found you at midnight, sneaking in and taking your hand. Your room wouldn't do – there were cameras. The only place without cameras was the bathroom, so like many times before he led you there, locking the door behind the two of you once you entered.

"You're a damn brat, I hope you know that," Elliot growled as he stepped into your space, his hand coming to cradle your jaw, almost like he cared about you. Like you might've been worth his time. It didn't last, of course – the next moment his hand moved to your hair, yanking as he kissed you so fiercely you could feel everything in your body tense up.

A moan fell from you as he ground his hips into you once more, helpless and needy in a way you only felt from your knives. His heat melded with yours, pushing and grinding, pulling from you an excitement that burned through your veins.

"You really wanna feel something?" He asked, breathing heavy against your bare neck as he began to fumble with your pants, his movements forceful and curt. Pulling at the knot he released it, letting your pants sag past your hips. He dug his nails into your side, indenting moons in your skin as his other hand went lower, stroking low around your hips to allow room to insert his leg between yours. With one hand on either side of your body he forced you down, making you grind against him. A broken moan left you.

You barely had the time to hold him, to ground yourself in his touch before he buried his face in your neck, biting so hard you could feel blood dripping down your collarbones. Shocked from the adrenaline your mouth hung open, the softest of whimpers falling between you.

"Come on, baby," he mumbled, once more pushing you down on his leg as he began to leave kisses in a trail up to your cheek. "I want you to grind on me."

"What?" You asked weakly, still caught up in the fact that this was an actual thing that was happening. God, the pain felt sweet. You could feel how hard he was beneath his pants, still grinding into your hips.

"Fucking grind," he hissed out, nails digging deeper into you. You gasped, pained and pleasured as he did so, hesitating only a second before you complied. "That's it," he whispered, kissing your temple when you moaned softly at the sensation.

It didn't take long till he was clawing at your shirt, tossing it onto the floor, but this time he ignored your fading scars in favor of working your pants off you. With his hands mostly off your skin, you gained enough mind to start pulling at his clothes, till both of you stood naked in the bathroom, pressed up against each other in a tangle of limbs and tongue. Now you could see just how you affected him, his cock against your stomach as he kissed you in the same frenzy he first kissed you with.

He prepared you for him slowly, almost caring, though the bite marks lining your shoulders and the marks on your hips said a far different story. With several of his fingers inside you he dug his other hand into his pocket, keeping you pinned with the whole of his body as he drew out your pocket knife. You watched it with a fervor – your knife, and you watched him, watched as he flicked open the blade, watched as he pressed it against the soft skin of your stomach, watched as the bruises indented and blood ran from a cut stark against the putrid yellow and green of your skin. You watched him run his finger over it, bringing the taste of your blood on his tongue before he kissed you, slow and methodical as his fingers left you.

Immediately you missed his warmth, missed being filled up like that, but he replaced himself well, hooking your left leg around his hip and sliding into you with one, smooth thrust. You murmured a sweet sigh, high and happy in all those ways you missed so dearly. Gentle but messy you kissed his cheek and his temple, waiting for the both of you to get used to the feeling before he moved.

As he pulled out slowly, he ran the knife against your skin, keeping the same beat as his hips. A long, shallow cut on your side, droplets of blood already beginning to pool, till he thrusted forcefully back in, squeezing the fresh cut as he did so. You choked on your breath – too much, not enough.

"I knew you'd like that," he mumbled, low and soft. "Fucking whore."

He kept that rhythm for a while – out slow, in fast, before he apparently tired of it. When that happened he pulled all the way out, spinning you around so you faced the mirror and thrusting right back into you, so deep that your head dropped, your muscles unable to fully work. He kept your pocket knife, leaving scrapes and tiny nicks on your back and chest, watching as the angry red slits swelled in the mirror, and if you were lucky, dripped crimson.

"Elliot," you mumbled breathlessly, too caught up in how he felt to inhabit your own body. How he filled you up, so warm and so rough, the fresh marks you could see all over your body. Just what you wanted. "God, El, please fuck me harder."

His fast-paced thrusts stopped suddenly, his cold eyes meeting yours in the mirror.

"Don't tell me what to do," he said, releasing your hip and curling your hair in his hands, yanking you back so hard you yelped. With his other hand he positioned the pocket knife right at your neck, the blade digging into your skin.

"El, please," you whispered, shutting your eyes.

"Look at yourself," he ordered, and you complied, slowly opening your eyes to see yourself across from you. Bloodied, beaten, sweaty, and needy, and plain pathetic. You couldn’t even tell your own marks from his.

Slowly he inched his way back in, watching your expression carefully till he rested at the hilt, his breathing uneven every time you tightened yourself around him.

"You really want to be this person?" He asked you, his voice suddenly soft, so different from how he was.

"I don't know how to be anything else," you said. It was true – normal people didn't like you, didn't understand you, and though less-than-normal people also didn't like you, they understood you a little better. That placed you with them. You couldn't be anyone else.

Fully sheathed inside you he traced his fingertips against your skin, every movement loving as he placed kisses along your shoulders and neck. He nuzzled against you – that warmth sent a shiver down your back. It was all he wanted, to be close to you, to hold you softly, but you had to go and hate yourself so harshly you wanted him to bleed you.

"I really liked you," he admitted softly, slowly opening his eyes to meet your reflection's gaze. "But you're sick."

"Get down of your high horse, Elliot," you said, voice rough from your own moans and whines, "you're here, just like me."

"I'm glad I got to see you anyways," he murmured, airy as he dug the blade just a little more deep into your skin, promising blood soon enough.

He withdrew the knife, something that sent relief through you. It wasn't even the dying aspect or the pain aspect that had you worried – it was the fact that if any of the nurses saw you with a cut on your neck, you'd be put in solitary with a straight jacket, and no one came out of that room sane. Elliot though, ever one to obey your wishes cut another line into your stomach, another into your hip as he fucked you hard and fast, just the way you'd asked him to.

One moment his thrusts were frantic and the next he halted, burying himself as deep inside of you as he could before he came, a quiet groan as he filled you up. With your own end reached you looked at yourself once more, across the bruises and the old and new cuts. Small pools of blood had gathered on the sink, dripping downwards towards the drain, where you recalled bleeding many times before.

Your arms shook as he pulled out, a weak feeling flooding your muscles as everything let go. The grip you held so tightly on the sink faded away, and your jaw unclenched, allowing you to look up into the mirror and watch him behind you. He was sorting his clothes from your own, his pants already on.

"Happy?" He asked, fluffing out one of the shirts in an attempt to see the size.

You were – at least you should've been. He'd done exactly what you asked of him.

But it wasn't enough.

He hurt you till you bled, clawed into your skin and bit so hard it broke you. It still wasn't enough, and for the first time you asked yourself, what will be enough? If he'd done all that and you still weren't satisfied, maybe it wasn't the pain. Maybe it was you.

Maybe he was right.

"I'm sorry," you mumbled, your knees giving out beneath you and letting you crumple to the floor. He didn't rush to your side, but he looked concerned enough, and dropped the shirt in favor of kneeling beside you.

"Wasn't enough, was it?" He said as though he knew, and you nodded.

With a heavy sigh he sat down on his knees, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you in, allowing you to rest your weight on him. It was nice. He was nice. He smelled sweet and he held you close, a pleasant weight around you with his warm breath atop your head, and a kiss to make it even. In return you showed affection – it was what he wanted after all, how he acted when in complete control with you at his mercy. You cradled yourself in his touch, let your heart beat wildly next to his, your lips pressing the sweetest and first kiss on his sternum. No one else had let you come that close to them.

He did, for some unknown reason. He let you come close to him.

You're terrified of hurting him.

#elliot alderson x reader #Elliot Alderson #mr. robot #rami malek #rami malek character #elliot alderson x male reader #elliot alderson x female reader #gender neutral reader #smut

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