#gods i really need to snap out of this hyperfixation it's taking over my life helpshdlfjlskdjlfk

[zhongrin]

bye guys i'm ascending to celestia rn living the y/n life and thriving

cw.selfship heavy, poly relationship (zhongli x s/i x al haitham), fluff turning to suggestive (but nothing explicit bc i cut that part away), light worship themes, biting/marking

[444tsumu]

HAPPY 100 MARS!!!/&/&: AHHH! okay so i’d love a tier three if you didn’t mind! i wanted to know which 3 characters would smoke ouid and what you think smoking with them would be like? ily tysm!

▭ WHICH CHARACTERS SMOKE WEED?

includes matsukawa, hanamaki, suna

warnings drug use, explicit content, doing things under the influence, implied sexual content, slight nsfw.

authors note lol ik some people don’t like the whole “w*ed” and dr*g use hc but it’s all fiction and based on my own personal opinion (: i don’t mean to offend anyone lol i smoke too <3

This is a long one, beware <3 also it’s also my dream blunt rotation LMAO

                          𖥻 MATSUKAWA, ISSEI !

definitely the philosophical stoner

always has a question or an answer

depends on how much he’s smoked though

eyes get really red and he looks really hot

prefers backwoods over regular papers

always smoked regular papers though bc woods are bad for you (:

does that thing where they lick the paper and look at you at the same time

the hottest man smoking ever god please

always makes sure to have you sitting on his left so that he passes it to you first

loves smoking people out

doesn’t really care if you put in money or not

if issei is around, everyone is getting high

smokes makki’s unemployed ass out like everyday lmao

loves to hotbox

lights you up for the first time and tries to get you into another galaxy

“if you’re gonna get high, at least do it right”

definitely funny as fuck when he’s high

always definitely ready to fuck

very touchy when he’s high

will hold on to you for a long time and forget he’s doing it

but if you make him let go he genuinely feels the skin contact nearly rip off

calm down mattsun your possessiveness is showing

tries to explain all the different types to you but forgets mid sentence

literally cannot formulate a single structured thought

definitely leans in to make out with you more than once

loves shotgunning with you

already lazy but when he’s zooted he’s UNBEARABLE

he really does wanna fuck but ends up smoking too much with you because you played chicago and forgot

doesn’t really get hungry for food but munchies?

ate all of the snacks

has no remorse for his actions either

stares into the deep nothing for like 10 minutes

just to snap out of it and look around suspiciously

“do you guys hear that….?”

“…..no?”

“………..the paint is screaming at me?”

ok buddy don’t ruin this for everyone else

knows how to french & ghost inhale

has argued with makki many times over the earth being flat

doesn’t really think it’s flat

ends up believing it is after makki told him the world was actually dome shaped

has a grinder shaped like a dragon ball

not a peer pressuring kinda guy but thinks everyone should get high at least once

definitely gets iwa and oikawa to try

loves getting oikawa high cause he thinks the guy is fucking hilarious

laughs at everything

just a great guy, especially when he starts smoking

falls into a weed coma and doesn’t wake up for like 3 days though

treats it like it’s a regular hangover

definitely falls asleep with his entire body on top of you and no remorse for the weight

says “i’m fried” and isn’t embarrassed about it for whatever reason

he’s hot so no one judges him

                      𖥻 HANAMAKI, TAKAHIRO !

definitely a comedian when he’s high

always the funniest guy in the room

when him and mattsun are together though?

undefeated

him and issei both smoked for the first time together

after that though?

they became unstoppable

don’t get me started with after volleyball season ended

prefers bongs because he thinks he looks cooler lmao

everyone assumes makki is high but they don’t know he actually gets high

offers to smoke you out cause you’re hot lmao

makes fun of you when you cough

even though he still coughs

hates hotboxing because he can’t handle it

but refuses to pussy out so he’s always the first one to agree

in his own words

“my mother didn’t raise no bitch”

makki please

ideal smoking partner

is one of those people that fuck the passing rotation up because he refuses to pass it to anyone but you

secretly does it because he doesn’t want anyone else’s lips touching yours

prefers to smoke with just his close friends but doesn’t mind a session

doesn’t like shotgunning cause he starts thinking his breath smells bad

gives in anyways because he doesn’t want you doing it with anyone else

loves when you put your legs on him

the pressure gives him chills

makes jokes 24/7 because he likes hearing you laugh

can’t french inhale but mattsun taught him how to ghost inhale and he hasn’t stopped since

takes videos of himself cause he thinks he looks cool

realizes he looks like a fucking idiot but fuck it we ball

falls into a weed coma with his head on your lap and his phone unlocked and still on

does that thing where he lights it up with it in his mouth and looks really fucking hot while doing so

has a breaking bad rick & morty rolling tray and is really proud of it

gets really into music when he’s high

will sing along to all the songs while he’s packing the bong

as i repeat

looks hot while doing so

definitely a hungry high

orders food before you even get to ask

“makki, want some snacks?”

“oh nah it’s cool, i already ordered mcdonald’s”

“????? we just finished smoking????”

prefers smoking over drinking but will do both when he wants to go big or go home

eyes get really low

talks kinda slow but really deep and it’s fucking hot

laughs by throwing his head back and it’s really cute

gets cold when he’s high

it doesn’t matter the season

he gets fucking cold and it makes no sense

so he’ll need your body heat to warm himself up (;

                            𖥻 SUNA, RINTAROU !

a confused high

no doubt about it

this man never knows what the fuck is going on

ik everyone complains about the stoner!suna hc

but i think it’s fucking hot lmao

always has like 2 blunts rolled and on him at all times

is one of those people that will use any excuse to do it

“……(sighs) i’m gonna go take a smoke break.”

“suna we just got here??”

“exactly”

likes joints and edibles the best

not much of a hungry high or munchie high

but he hyperfixates on a certain food and will eat it until there is nothing left

ate an entire pack of gum in one sitting before

definitely watches cartoons the minute he starts to feel the buzz

rarely talks unless to pass it to you or make a single joke that has you about to pee yourself

he doesn’t say much but when he does?

the man leaves an impact

hates smoking with other people

doesn’t like when they fuck his blunt/joint up

hates smoking joints rolled by other people unless he watches them do it

always complains when you ask to smoke with him but secretly loves it

shotguns with you and acts like nothing just happened

hello sir how dare you make me fall inlove like that

forgets everything so don’t try to say anything important to him

zones out because he’s too busy imagining fucking

but then forgets about fucking and starts thinking about what’s on the tv

can’t hold a conversation but will go in-depth as to why spongebob squarepants was more than just a sponge

“no you need to listen to me, patrick star is much more than just his best friend—”

“….rin what the fuck are you talking about?”

“you’re asking me like i know? pass the blunt.”

definitely got into smoking in high school but didn’t actually do it like that until college

lies on his drug tests lmao

smokes after every win as a celebration and smokes after ever loss as a reliever

lmao seek help sir

definitely tries to get you to take your shirt off when he’s in the moment

swears it’s because he’s doing you a favor but really just loves how you look in his clothes when he’s high

doesn’t really know when to stop because he’s never greened out before

all his supplies is a simple shade of black

he’s a simple man

can do all the smoke tricks

but won’t do it in front of anyone cause he hates when people point it out

likes hotboxing because it gets him higher faster

is actually friends with the guy he gets weed from lmao

his perfect date with you was that one time you guys stood home and did nothing but smoke and watch family guy

tears up every time he thinks about it

has a picture of himself with two blunts in his mouth and his eyes really red and it’s really fucking hot

giggles even though he tries not to

uses pens when he can’t physically have weed on him

doesn’t really like it because the pen high makes him knock out after a few pulls

once rin falls into a weed coma???

don’t even think about trying to contact him cause that man might as well be dead

doesn’t wake up to save his own damn life

you can smack him and the most he’d do is probably groan and turn his head lmao

[gracifleur]

okay i'm kidding, more seriously: what drew you to shaymin in the first place? do you have any favorite and least favorite theories and concepts regarding it?

i hope ur ready 2b emotional on this good monday bc this, is the saga of me & shaymin.

so ive been a fan pkmn since the good year of 1998, u could not for the life of u me n dupree get my gameboy from my tiny child fingers n make me put down red or blue. my fav pkmn was pikachu, instantly. i still have my fav pikachu shirt from childhood ok listen. so thru the years watching the anime, seeing the movies in theater, playing the games time passes n we get to rse & admittedly i was burnt OUT. BURT THE FUCK OUT. but also, & pls no hate, i wasnt the biggest fan of the 3rd gen. i loved the sprites, the pkmn, the location, but the story itself just wasnt my thing & i rlly just felt the pang of man idk if im into this as i used to be which sucks when u lose a hyperfixation but also something that u rlly love n enjoyed n brought u immense joy. so i decided to be a wee bit edgy n be all bleh pkmn for babies as i totally very much still replayed rby & gsc etc etc. im a lil hypocrite if nothing. so when the ds came out n news of a new gen was on the horizon, i ignored it. however one of my high school besties did not & got diamond. it was also my birthday( fun fact i do share a release date birthday with platinum in america i will let u look it up ) & pal was like 'i wanted pearl so here take diamond as ur gift n lets go get my game n play together i kno u love pkmn' he was right. i do love pkmn n wow, wow. the first moments of diamond rlly just SNAPPED something within me. it was like falling in love with this series all over again. something about the world, the characters, the story, the pkmn it all fell into place n really really made me remember why i loved this franchise in the first place.

so, naturally i start paying attention again to pkmn news & more importantly: event pkmn. which lead me to this advertisement from toys r us. also fun fact: i have the shaymin image from this ad bc i cut it out, it's in my 3ds case at all times safe.

now, i saw this lil fella & i was like oh my god ur so adorable i need you. && so me n one of my high school besties who was as fanatic abt pkmn as me rushed off 2 our local toysrus n download the mystery gift. i go n open the summery of my shaymin & that was that. idk what happened. suddely pikachu was #2 in my heart( tho nowdays i do consider both shaymin & pikachu as my all time favs, but shaymin is like slightly higher on the list ). idk what it was ! this lil fella made me appreciate grass types, a type i normally dont care for at all but turtwig had started to fix that. i always had them in my party, i got a secondary diamond copy just to hACK TO DO THE OAKS LETTER EVENT. i loved them idk why something about the fact that this lil friend shaped creature is thankful to me in spite of everything was like the franchise itself saying thank you for always loving pkmn, for giving it a second chance, for like idk being a good friend. && that rlly resonated with me.

pkmn has been a franchise that has rlly helped me thru some shit & has always just been consistently there. every game since diamond ive loved more n more n more. && i think like gen4 will always be special for me & so will shaymin bc like as grateful as i am for pkmn it sorta feels like pkmn is grateful for me too & thats just like makes ur heartgut go emotional huh cause it does me too its ok anyways shaymin rules actually

aND FOR THE SECOND PART UHH IDK ABOUT THEORIES I HATE or concepts, its kinda hard to like rlly delve into more than whats there bc shaymin seems to embody the coming of spring, the change of the seasons, to start anew, refresh & rejuvenation all of those are sick as fuck concepts but i guess if i had a criticism i would def say sky forme looks stupid kdJHASKJDhsa IDK THATS JUST ME LAND FORME BEST FORME #HATER

oh uh, pet tax: here is a photo of that said toysrus shaymin currently chilling in my copy of x

[ivorysoapshavings]

So…… my hyperfixation on HxH is back and stronger than ever so I wrote this

TW: Hanahaki mentions of blood and corpses alcohol and minor cursing

Kurapika finally took the time to open his phone after a few months, he opened it to find eight voicemails and over twenty missed calls. He clicked on the voicemails and played the first one that was sent almost two months after Gon, Killua, Leorio, and him first split up.

~The other night dear as I lay sleeping I dreamed I held you in my arms~

“Hey, Kurapika it’s Leorio, I just wanted to check up on you; you’ve seemed pretty busy lately hope you’re not overworking yourself. Anyway things aren’t too interesting here at medical school but I do have a few big tests I need to study for,” there was a pause for a long sigh, “guess I should get to doing that huh? Well, call me back when you get the chance. It's been a while,” there was a small pause before the line went dead.

~But when I awoke dear I was mistaken so I hung my head and cried~

“Hey, Kurapika, it's Leorio, just wanted to check up with you and see how you’re doing. Oh! something hilarious happened I think would have amused you. So me Gon and Killua were eating lunch together and Gon tried to do his impression of you and Killua was taking a drink at the same time, and Killua laughed so hard water came out of his nose,” There was a small chuckle at the other end of the phone, “you know they miss you too,” silence for a couple of seconds, “welp, you know my number call me back when you get the chance,”

~You are my sunshine my only sunshine you make me happy when skies are grey~

“Hey, kurapika, it’s me again. Listen I know you’re probably just busy with your job and all but I can’t help but be a little worried. You’re not injured are you? You don’t even have to call, just send a message of something, anything,” there was a sharp inhale and a light sigh, “Well bye then,”

~You’ll never know dear how much I love you please don't take my sunshine away~

“Hey Kurapika it's Gon! I just wanted to see how you’re doing. I can tell Leorio is kinda worried about you. We’re also been doing a lot of things. Nothing dangerous of course!” Gon paused to nervously chuckle, “It's been fun though I wish you could be here with us. That would make it even more fun! Leorio said he told you about Killua spewing water out of his nose that was really funny but what I bet he didn’t tell you was that he choked on his food and almost fell out of his chair too,” There was a pause and some chittering in the background, “Welp, we gotta go hopefully you’ll call us soon but call Leorio first he really wants to hear from you,” there were a few crashing noises and someone yelled Leorios name then the line went dead.

~I’ll always love you and make you happy if you will only say the same~

“ Kurapika, it’s Killua you better call us back soon or I’m gonna -,” Killua was cut off by someone. Then came a lot of muffled yelling and a loud crash. “Got it ,” Gon yelled triumphantly, clearly having wrestled the phone from Killua’s hands “Sorry about that Kurapika. Killua just misses you too he just has an awful way of expressing it” Another crash and the line going dead.

~But if you leave me and love another you’ll regret it all some day~

“Hey Pika, It’s gotten boring here again. Gon and Killua ran off to god knows where, no heads up just left. I just really hope they stay safe, they’re always getting into the most trouble,” Leorio let out a small chuckle, something about his voice sounded different more weak “I really worry for them sometimes they’re just so young yet they’ve been through so much,” he paused letting out a sigh, “Ugh, I sound like a dad. Anyway hope you’re staying safe kicking ass out there. I really hope you’re at least listening to these and not just deleting them. But stay safe don’t overwork yourself, miss you,”

~You are my sunshine my only sunshine you make me happy when skies are grey~

Kurapika noticed something strange as he was going to click on the next voicemail. They were usually sent two to three weeks apart from each other but this one was sent almost a month and a half after the last one. He brushed it off thinking Leorio was just busy, until he opened it.

~You’ll never know dear how much I love you please don't take my sunshine away~

“Hey Kurapika it’s Gon again, we just met up with Leorio again and he’s --,”

“Gon! He didn’t want us to tell,” Killua yelled interrupting him

“I know but it’s gotten worse and-,”

“We can ask him again when he wakes up! But its not out place to tell,”

“I know!” Gon yelled exasperated, “but what if we tell him and it’s to late,”

“That won't happen, so give me this an-,” the voicemail cut off there

~You told me once dear you really loved me and no one else could come between~

Kurapika sat in confusion at the voicemail ‘What did they mean it was getting worse? Was there something wrong with leorio? Why didn’t he want to tell me? Is it something bad? Deadly?’  Kurapika wondered to himself as he stood up and started to pace the room with worry. He needed answers so he clicked on the next voicemail which he noticed was also almost a month apart from the last one. About a week ago.

~But not you’ve left me and love another you’ll regret it all some day you have shattered all of my dreams~

“Here, you have to tell him,” It was Killua’s voice, “Or I'm gonna tell,”

“I can’t,” It was Leorio this time but his voice sounded even more different from his last message. It was less preppy and loud and more horse and mellow, “I don’t want him to worry about me. He’s probably doing something important and it’s not like hes gonna listen to this anyway,” Killua let out an angry huff

“Fine than, Kurapika hey it’s killua you better get your ass over here because-,”

“Wait! Killua I’ll tell him just give me the phone,” there were a few shuffling noises and then Leorio started speaking again, “Hey Pika you probably won't get this but I’ve got Hanahaki and it’s you I love you,”

~you are my sunshine my only sunshine you make me happy when skies are gray~

Kurapika stopped pacing and dropped his phone in shock ‘Hanahaki’ ‘it’s you’ ‘I love you’ he was trying to make sense of it all Leorio loved him Leorio had Hanahaki because of him.

“How? How! God damn it!” he yelled to no one. He grabbed his phone off the floor and ran outside. Kurapika had run a couple of blocks before it hit him, he had no idea where to go. He knew they were in the same city but where? So he stopped and dialed Killuas number. It seemed like days as he waited for someone anyone to pick up the phone he gasped out of relief when someone did answer

“Kurapika yo-,” Gon had answered the phone he sounded like he was crying

“Just tell me where you are,” and after Gon had finished telling him the address Kurapika immediately hung up and started running again.

~you‘ll never know dear how much I love you please don't take my sunshine away~

“YOU’RE TOO LATE. YOU’RE TO LATE KURAPIKA. HE’S DEAD HE JUST FUCKING DIED,” Gon shouted furious as kurapika bolted through the door of their hotel room, when he saw what was infront of him he froze in shock from the sunflower petals scattered along the floor, Leorio dead in Killua’s arms, Gon swearing at him, “THIS. ALL. COULD. HAVE. BEEN. AVOIDED. IF YOU PICKED UP. THE FUCKING PHONE. FOR ONCE IN YOUR LIFE,” Gon kept shouting, shoving Kurapika in between each phrase. Kurapika just let it happen because he knew it was his fault Gon was right.

“Gon stop,” Killua said monotone, now behind Gon holding him back from shoving Kurapika even more. Gon didn’t even fight him; he just turned around and crumpled into Killua’s arms. “Kurapika say something please,” Killua begged. After Kurapika stayed silent and didn’t answer, Killua got up from under Gon and stood in front of Kurapika and slapped him across the face. This snapped something inside Kurapika and he fell down to his knees and started sobbing

“I killed him… I killed him.. I killed him I killed him I killed him I killed him,” Kurapika chanted, getting louder each time he uttered the phrase. He turned and looked at Leorio on the floor lifeless, blood stains all up his front, covered in petals, “I killed him,”

~In all my dreams dear you seem to leave me when I awake my poor heart pains~

The funeral came and It was Kurapika’s turn to come up and say his final farewell to Leorio. As he stepped up to the casket he saw Leorio pale and lifeless, no amount of makeup being able to make him look alive again. He was also wearing that stupid suit he always wore but now that he was seeing it for what was probably the last time it wasn’t really stupid. His casket was also scattered with sunflower petals which stared at Kurapika mocking him for not being there when his friends needed him most, for being so selfish and such a workaholic. He stepped down from his place in front of the casket and left the building not bothering to stay for the rest of the service. He didn’t think he could face Leorio’s family or Gon and Killua after being the reason that Leorio died. So he made his way back to the hotel room.

~So when you come back and make me happy I’ll forgive you dear I’ll take all the blame~

It had been a few hours since Kurapika left the funeral which meant it had probably ended by now. All he had done was sit there and think and ask questions that could now never be answered. After a few more minutes passed the door to the Hotel room opened, and Gon and Killua walked in.

“Oh you’re here,” Killua said, slightly annoyed.

“Kill stop now is not the time to be fighting,” Gon practically whispered, his voice being hoarse from crying.

“No! You had your chance to yell at him earlier, now it's my turn,” Killua retorted, slightly raising his voice.

“Listen Killua, I know it’s my fault. I’ll just leave,” Kurapika mumbled, getting up from his position on the floor.

“No! Do you know how much pain he was in? How much blood and flower petals he coughed up? We were the ones to keep him company and comfortable.

We were the ones who had to watch him slowly die as we desperately tried to contact you. We had to make him tell you about the disease because he didn’t want to worry you in case you were doing something important. And you didn’t even show up until weeks after we told you about it. And after all that you don’t even stay for his funeral ,” Killua was flushed and slightly out of breath after yelling and Kurapika stood in front of him, eyes now a beautiful yet frightening scarlet color.

“You know what? No. I don’t know how much pain he was in nor how much blood and petals he coughed up. And I know I should have been there when he needed me, how none of this would have happened if I had picked up the stupid fucking phone sooner, and I couldn’t stand being at the funeral because how could I ever face his family knowing I’m the reason he died,”

“Guys can we please stop this,” Gon begged from the sidelines, desperately tugging on Killua's hand. Killua just shook him off and stepped closer to Kurapika.

“Yeah because you’re a fucking coward , and it’s not like being here would’ve changed anything you probably didn’t even love him back,” this is what made Kurapika snap.

“How do you know what I feel, Killua Zoldyck! How? How would you ever know how I feel when you’re just an emotionless assassin,” Killua gave a sharp inhale

“Yeah, well because of your cowardice everyone you loved is dead, Leorio, your clan -,” before Killua could finish Gon stomped his foot on the ground cracking the ground underneath them.

“Stop it! Stop it! Stop it! You guys are arguing like a bunch of babies and there's no point in insulting each other, it's not gonna bring Leorio back. So just.. Stop it!” Killua just huffed angrily and toed at the ground not looking at either of the two boys in the room. Kurapika just brushed past the two boys towards the door knocking into Killua on his way.

~You are my sunshine my only sunshine you make me happy when skies are grey~

After Kurapika left the hotel room he wanted to find a way to distract him to relieve him of his hurt and stress and fast. So he found the nearest bar.

“Hey kid, aren't you a little young to be in here,” The man behind the bar asked Kurapika. In response all he did was place his hunter license on the bar and said

“something strong,” The bartender grunted in response and went to mix a few things together before pouring it in a cup and sliding it to Kurapika.

“You look like shit,” The bartender told Kurapika after what was probably his fifth drink.

“Yeah? Well, I just killed someone I loved,” Kurapika managed to slur out. The bartender just raised his eyebrows in question, “Hanahaki disease. You know the one where you spit up flowers? All because I couldn’t be bothered to pick up the fucking phone.” And without another he stood up, shoved his hunters license in his pocket, slammed the rest of his drink down and walked out of the bar. Now that he had nowhere to go, no one to return to, he was bound to endlessly wander till he couldn’t wander any longer.

~you’ll never know dear how much I love you please don’t take my sunshine away~

[yelenasdog]

romance and espionage (eggsy unwin x fem reader)

genre: fluff w/ whole lotta angst

summary: who knew names could be such a touchy subject?

words: 2.4k

warnings: literally saying fuck everyother sentence, kissing, golden circle spoilers (is that a thing? idk), mentions of harry’s supposed death, mentions of roxy’s death, guns, and i think thats it.

ok, all my cm moots don’t judge me. 

a/n: ight so uhh as i’m posting this i’m finding out taron is an incel so that’s kinda oW but uhh i haven’t seen the secret service, i just rewatched the golden circle the other night and hyperfixated on taron so... uh here’s this LMAO. also! this takes place after the golden circle, and reader took roxy’s spot as lancelot. ok enjoy!!

♔♂♔

“God, Eggsy, would you quiet down?!”

He snarled meanly in a way that could make Bennie and Jet’s metallic forms cower in fear, his thin lips turning into a grimace.

“Don't call me that here. It’s Galahad, and Galahad only.”

The other agent only scoffed, rolling her eyes.

Lancelot’s surroundings were dark, although quite stunning nonetheless. It was clear and starry night sky, perfect for romance, the worst for espionage. The air felt so refreshing on her skin, allowing her to feel free in some way, even just for a moment, which she savoured, as a feeling such as that was rare in her line of work.

Now, if the girl had been with someone other than the annoying, prickish, and (even though it pained her to the highest degree to say it) handsome fellow, she maybe would have tried to have a little fun to pass the time. Maybe fool around a bit, fraternize with a coworker, eh?

But alas, ever the one with amazing luck, she was stuck with him. 

Which meant rather than perhaps getting crescent shaped markings on her hips from a quick rondevu under the indigo sky and sparkling stars, so roughly placed to match the moon that hung in it, she was crouching uncomfortably, only wishing that the former scenario was taking place.

 Not that she meant with fucking Eggsy, of course.

Well ok, maybe, just a tad.

“Fine, have it your way, Galahad.” She flailed her arms about in a jazz hand motion, making the blondy roll his twinkly eyes in a boyish manner. She fought the urge to grin widely, a warm feeling blooming in her chest, even at his obvious arrogance and upset towards her.

She wanted to blame his feelings towards her on her being a freshmen agent, recruited right after the convergence of Kingsman and Statesman in an effort to rebuild the organization. She had been childhood friends with Roxy, who had long ago tried to get Y/n to join the agency. When faced with her friend’s death, she wanted to honor her wishes, even if this wish was a little, well, extreme.

He only sighed in response to Y/n, tapping the side of his thick rimmed glasses twice.

Y/n’s eyes followed his hands as he did so, enjoying what she was seeing a great amount. She bit her bottom lip subconsciously, losing all focus that was there to begin with.

“Lancelot? Lancelot? For fucks sake, Y/n!”

She snapped her head up, her eyes becoming magnified even further through the faux tortoise shell glasses that Unwin would never admit framed her face wonderfully.

No, not a chance.

He wouldn’t dare even let the thought about how the soft skin of her freckled nose looked even more kissable, her eyes even more full of depth and wonder, or how kind and sweet she looked when she tucked a stray strand of hair away from her face. All because of the damned glasses. Never.

So rather, he settled for pointing over to where the subject of their stakeout was now standing, gun in hand as he conversed with one of his comrades.

But although her body followed his, listening to his directions, most of the information was going in one ear out the other, her brilliant mind occupied by a certain agent and his endeavors.

She was hard in thought, wondering about names of all things. A simple subject, easy to address, you would think. But apparently it was not so, not at all.

You see, Eggsy never had called Y/n by her name. It was always either “Lancelot”, or “Agent”, Y/n only being used for the exception of if he needed to quickly grab her attention.

And on the flip side, she was never allowed to call him anything other than Galahad. Agent was sparse, it put her on very thin ice, close to splitting at any second with no prior notice.

Now obviously, with Y/n being Y/n, she was determined to crack his rough exterior, despite however much he presented himself as “unbreakable”. (His words, not hers.) So, much to his displeasure, she often called out a quick “Oi, Unwin!”, or a “Jesus, Eggsy!” whenever he got in her way, which usually resulted in a similar distasteful glance to what she was recieving now being shot in her direction.

“Alright, Eggsy, I’m thinking that his partner is-“ She used her glasses X-Ray feature, confirming her suspicions. “The partner is in the abandoned pharmacy across the street, should we wait or go now?” He was silent, staring straight ahead, scrutinizing nothing in particular with a stare that was set in stone. 

She whistled lowly, waving a hand in front of his face.

“Eggsyyy-“

“Lancelot, would you shut the hell up! Don’t fucking call me that!” He stood up, leaving a vulnerable feeling Y/n in his wake.

Y/n’s jaw was suddenly like it was wired shut. She was paralyzed, unable to speak, only keeping her gaze fixated on Galahad.

“Look, I’m sorry-“

“Yeah, well good, then! When will you ever learn, we’re not friends, nor will we ever be. Get it through you’re fuckin’ head. It’s like you think you’re Roxy or some shit-“

Sadness and guilt turned to anger rather quickly for Y/n at his unfortunate choice of words.

“Stop it! Would you please, just stop it! For fucks sake!” Her voice was harsh, something he never would had never expected out of Y/n. Tears sprung into her eyes, and her teeth sunk into her bottom lip, no doubt drawing crimson liquid in the process. She tasted iron on her tongue, feeling it seep into her taste buds.

“Lancelo-“

“Fucking hell, shut the fuck up! Really, please, Galahad, listen to me, for once in your life.” She was the one who shot up, inching closer to him with every word. The sticks and leaves crunched under her feet, causing her to cringe at the sound, hoping it didn’t alert the targets.

He nodded solemnly, his jaw locking up, and his hands she had been admiring only seconds before clamped into fists at his sides.

She took a deep breath, trying to calm herself, Harry’s words of “remember your training” ringing through her head. She internally began chanting it like a mantra of sorts.

But if she was being honest, she couldn't quite remember a chapter in the Kingsman handbook (that she most definitely did read during training) that talked about emotional distress due to your coworker who you’re extremely attracted to calling you only by your dead best friend's name, but hey, who knows.

“I know I'm not Roxy. Nobody else could ever be Roxy. I know that, you know that, hell, she knew that. And I would say that you have no idea how it feels to be reminded of one of your closest friends who is dead every time someone calls you by a name that feels as if it isn’t your own, but you do, Galahad. Or you did. But now Harry is back and- and Roxy, well Roxy is gone!”

A single tear slipped out of her left eye. The agent in front of her felt a strong urge wipe away the tears he now felt guilty for playing a large part in. But he resisted, his hands remaining stuck to his side.

“So why would you do this? Say these things, act this way, when you know I have to live every day with you for some reason calling me Lancelot in every situation and me having to call you Galahad all the same! Maybe I shouldn’t have stepped up to be Lancelot when Roxy was killed, if I can’t handle it, can’t handle the dehumanization that comes with only being known as an emotionless fuckin’ agent to you.” 

She stopped, hanging her head. She looked over to the flickering neon lights of the pharmacy, watching the outlines of the targets move around.

“I honestly have no idea if any of that made sense, or if I’m just rambling, I don’t fucking have the slightest idea what the fuck I’m even doing anymore.” Her voice got significantly more quiet, her sentences reduced to mumbles.

Aside from the target and his partners yelling at each other, it was so silent you could hear a pin drop.

His usually stern tone he took with the girl was softer now as he spoke, “You made perfect sense.”

She gave him a half smile before continuing, feeling oddly validated by his words. 

“But what I’m trying to say, Galahad, is that I’m a fucking human being. I have a life outside of this Godforsaken job, and-and emotions, too! I mean, I might even have kids that you don’t know about!”

He internally rolled his eyes, yet again fighting another urge, this time to smile widely at Y/n. Weird.

“Do you have kids I don’t know about-“

“Of course I don’t!”

They shared a short laugh as their words overlapped, harmonizing in a sweet way, their voices like thick and golden honey. Weird.

The two were then succumbed to a blanket of comfortable silence, but only for a short moment before the hushed whispers of Unwin’s voice were heard.

“D’you wanna know why?”

Y/n cocked her head, beckoning him to go on with whatever it was he was going to say. “Why what?”

“Why I only call you Lancelot, why I don’t let you call me Eggsy.”

She nodded, sitting down once more and tucking her leg under her chin in a manner that Eggsy found endearing and adorable. It distracted him slightly, but not long enough for his starry eyed staring to become creepy. Not that Y/n would have it in her capacity to ever think that of him, if she was being honest.

“If I start to think of you as ‘Y/n’, rather than Lancelot things get too real. If you hurt, o-or if you get kidnapped, or God forbid- die.” He momentarily paused, looking up to meet Y/n’s eyes.

“It would make it all too real. I can’t do that, Y/n. After what happened to Harry and then Roxy, and everyone else,” he shook his head, his expression showing him close to crying at the thought of what he was speaking of.

“I can’t lose you too.”

It was like her soul had become visibly lighter, feeling an unimaginable relief flood throughout her system at his proclamation. She was able to come down from her, so to say, “high” almost as soon as she had started it, placing her hands on his, using them as leverage to pull herself up.

“You can’t be so afraid, Galahad. You gotta, you know,” she shrugged, offering him a small smile.

“Live a little.” She moved to look down to meet his eyes where his head was suspended in shame, forcing him to look back up.

“And also, try not to let your fear turn you into a dick, which is by all means just a suggestion.” Y/n laughed at the last bit, smiling and glancing to the side slightly.

They both shared a second laugh together, and it seemed as if for a short while, time stopped. It was just the two of them, features illuminated by the pale moonlight. No target, no saving the world, nothing. Just them. 

So he reached forward, unsure if what he was doing was the right thing, just like always. The damn question of righteousness was engrained in his brain, restricting him like it did majority of the time. But for once, he decided to disregard it in it’s entirety.

So throwing all caution to the wind, unable to contain himself any longer, he closed the small gap left between the two, connecting their lips in a long awaited kiss.

One of his hands flew to the side of her face, the other wrapping around her waist, pulling her closer with a squeal. He laughed into the union, and she only smiled. One of her hands went to entangle itself with his on her waist, the other resting on his shoulder.

She could smell his cologne that he most definitely should not have been wearing per Kingsman on the job regulations, and welcomed the scent, doing her best to commit it to memory, a permanent reminder of what it felt like to be so close to the man.

After what seemed like a long time (but never long enough, honestly) they pulled away, panting for breath. Their foreheads rested on each other’s, the cool night air flowing around them, calming the pair completely.

Still struggling to catch his breath, Eggsy reached forward, taking both of her hands. He ran small circles over her knuckles in a way that made her heart flutter, before dropping them gently, reaching a hand out.

“Let's start over.”

She giggled and widely grinned, and he swore it was becoming his favorite thing in existence when she would do either of those wondrous things.

“Come on, put her there.” He shook his hand slightly making a silly face as well, widening his eyes and looking back and forth from his hand and her face. She placed it in his, proudly smirking as she did so. Their shiny rings clanged, which resulted in another small giggle errupting from her throat.

 He shook it back and forth, a sly smile painting itself on his lips. 

“Pleasure to meet you, Eggsy Unwin.”

She quirked an eyebrow, retracting her hand momentarily, letting it linger in the air.

“Eggsy, hmm? Bit of an odd name, don’t you think?”

He scoffed, placing his hand over his heart in false offense.

“Well if it’s so bad, what’s yours then?”

“Y/n Y/l/n.”

He looked to his feet momentarily, lifting his hands on either side of his head. “I digress, you win.”

She bit her bottom lip again, wincing as she hit the same spot from before. She ran her tongue over it, breathing out quickly.

“I’m not so sure. I think Eggsy is growing on me.”

“Is that so?”

“Yeah.”

They smiled at each other like lovesick teenagers, still lost within the moment.

And although the bubble of ignorant bliss they were in was something the two of them never wanted to leave, it was sadly inevitable that it would be popped at some point in time.

And almost like an alarm to wake them up from a beautiful dream, gunfire was able to be heard ringing throughout the building across the way.

They pulled apart with a groan coming from Y/n, and a “For fucks sake” from Eggsy. With displeasure lacing their expressions, they began to run towards the pharmacy when Y/n felt a hand tug at her wrist.

“Y/n wait!”

Her eyes widened as she looked at him as if he was a mad man, only slowing to a backwards jog. She gestured around her to the burst of red and orange explosions that were now going off around her, screaming “What?!”

He sprinted to catch up with her forcing her to come to a complete stop with a firm hold on her shoulders.

“Eggsy, come on! Lets go- Ah!”

He cut her off with a firm kiss, gripping the sides of her head, scrunching his fingers in her hair. She let a small moan slip out at the feeling, which he responded to by chuckling. He then pulled away, a shit eating grin written on his face. 

She stood in shock, unable to move from her place. He started running, turning over his shoulder.

“Come on, Y/n, keep up!”

Not focusing on where he was going, he tripped over himself, letting out a small yell of surprise. Y/n laughed loudly, going to chase after him with a miniscule shake of her head at his antics.

But nonetheless, the only thing going through Y/n’s mind during that situation that should have been horrifying, was that maybe she was wrong all this time.

Romance and espionage did go well together, especially when it was with Y/n and Eggsy.

♔♂♔

hello!!! so this was a multi-fandom account to begin with anyways so honestly i feel like i should start a seperate masterlist for “hj’s hyperfixations”. but yah this was my first fic for him and idk if i’ll do another but i hope u enjoyed this! also it’s my bday tomorrow (sept 7th) so this is a self indulgent fic. as a treat. ok love u bye!

xx hj

also avery asked me to tag her so @spideyspencer​ LMAO i’m so sorry for this mess.

[a-solitary-marshmallow]

Rewind Chapter 7 - Mistakes are Made

Oh jeez, I mean to post this days ago but I totally forgot! Whoops.

As you might have noticed, updates are coming pretty slow at the moment. This fic is getting hard to write, due to personal circumstances and shifting hyperfixations, but I will continue it once I’m able to get invested again. Until then, updates will probably be slow. Rest assured, this fic will be completed!

Hope you guys enjoy this chapter :)

_______________________________________________________________

After a few more necessary hours of sleep, which for Ford were deep and dreamless, the construction itself began in two different corners of the lab. On one side Fiddleford dove into making a working prototype of the gun, while on the other side Ford began cooking up ammunition.

Few things could kill a dream demon. Protective unicorn magic could halt one, and the right concoction of ingredients could harm one, but working together they might just be able to kill one. Therein lay the rub – how could the two be combined into a single shot? Luckily, Ford didn’t have his three PHDs for nothing, and he was nothing if not persistent.

:readmore:

By mid-morning he had worked out the necessary ratio of ingredients for the most effective attack power. By afternoon he had created the first prototype, and by late afternoon he had a dish full of them.

The final bullet design had a pill-like appearance, spherical in shape and filled to the brim with cloudy, iridescent magic. They made a glass-like tinkering noise as they dropped into their dish. Ford took a pair of tweezers and lifted one to the light, admiring its shine.

“That looks cool.” Stan said hesitantly from behind him – how long had Stan been being him? Ford yelped and fumbled, nearly dropping the capsule. “Sorry.”

“Don’t sneak up on me when I’m working!” Ford snapped. He hurriedly placed the ammunition back on its tray before it could get broken and turned to frown at his brother. Stan, for his part, looked suitably ashamed. “What are you doing down here anyway? I told you, you’re not allowed in the lab.”

“I know, I know!” Stan’s shoulders were around his ears and creeping steadily higher with each second that passed. “Just – I thought you and Fidds would be hungry? You’ve been doing your science thing for ages and I made food, so…”

“Oh.” For the first time, Ford comprehended the tray in his brother’s hands. “Well, thank you. You’re still not supposed to be down here though.”

Stan stood on his tiptoes to lift the tray onto Ford’s workbench. The normally exuberant boy seemed unusually down, stepping back and rubbing his arm after placing down his load, and a twinge of guilt went through Ford. Okay, maybe a little more than a twinge. He sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose.

“Look – Stanley. I need to apologize for my behaviour earlier. I shouldn’t have gotten short with you.”

Stan shrugged and did not meet his eyes. Ford crouched to be at his brother’s level.

“I. Um, those dreams you told me about. Did you have any more last night?”

Stan stared at his feet and mumbled, “No.”

Ford took a deep breath, but before he could speak Fiddleford called out from across the lab.

“Stanford, I could use a hand over here!”

Ford straightened and hurried over to where his partner was soldering parts together. The gun was beginning to take shape on his workbench – maybe the size of a small hunting rifle but thicker, runes scratched into every inch of shiny metal and shimmering with Bill-proof magic. Fiddleford lifted his soldering mask to wipe his damp forehead.

“I already added yer magic wards and the last of that shiny hair stuff, an’ I gotta finish the magazine. Hold the thing steady for me, will ya? It’s delicate and we’re all outta unicorn hair to make another one, so for god’s sake be careful.”

“Of course.” Ford slipped on a pair of heat-proof gloves and steadied the rifle while Fiddleford lined up the parts. He made sure to avert his eyes from the glow of white-hot metal as his friend worked.

“Watcha doing?” Stanley called from across the lab.

“Attachin’ the last piece.” Fiddleford called back, not taking his eyes off the rifle. “Don’t get to close, or ya might get burned.”

“What bit is that?”

“It’s where the ammunition is stored.” Fiddleford explained.

“Oh! Like the shiny things Ford made?”

“Exactly.”

Once the soldering was complete Fiddleford lifted his mask to inspect the job, squinting through his glasses. He nodded to himself.

“Could use a bit a’ fine-tuning, but I’d call that almost done.”

Footsteps sounded as Stanley approached cautiously. Fiddleford grinned at the child, who stretched onto his tiptoes to see the project. “Whaddya think?”

Stan’s eyes lit up. “That looks so cool! This Bill guy isn’t gonna know what hit ‘im!” He looked between Ford and Fiddleford. “Whaddya do with it now?”

“We gotta make sure everythin’ runs smoothly before anything.” Fiddleford pulled off his soldering mask and wiped his sweaty brow. “Ford, would ya get the ammunition? Once this thing cools down I wanna make sure the dimensions are right.” He began pulling off his thick gloves.

“I can do that!” Stan scurried over to Ford’s workbench, ignoring Ford’s cry. He grabbed the dish of capsules and trotted back with the enthusiasm of a golden retriever playing fetch. Ford let out a hiss.

“Be careful with those!” He snatched them from his brother’s hands, heart racing. The ammunition seemed unharmed, but you could never be too careful, especially when there was a child around. Especially when there was Stanley around. He acted so thoughtlessly sometimes, that was the reason Ford hadn’t allowed him down here in the first place!

Stan looked sufficiently ashamed. “Sorry, Ford.”

Ford placed the bullets down very carefully next to the cooling rifle. “Why don’t you go upstairs? This is delicate work.”

“But you guys seem really busy. I can help!”

“No, Stan. This is very important work and you might break something.”

“No, but I’m good at stuff!” Stan protested. “I can carry stuff, and punch people, and get unicorn hair! I can be useful. You wanna move this to a bigger table? I can do it, see?” And to Ford’s horror he grabbed the gun off the table. Ford snatched for it, but Stan had already yelped as his bare hands came into contact with scorching metal and the rifle slipped from his grip.

Fiddleford dove to catch it. He crashed chest-first into the ground and only barely managed to snag it before it was dashed against the floor as well. The ammunition was not so lucky – the dish overturned in the scuffle and pellets skittered every which way, disappearing under surfaces and around shoes. Stan fumbled to try and collect them, but he was only making it worse, knocking them away in his panic.

“Sorry, sorry sorry sorry-”

“I said no!” Ford roughly grabbed his brother’s arm and yanked him away from the workspace, ignoring Stan’s yelp. “Every time, every time I think we’re past this you just have to go and mess everything up again! Are you not capable of doing what I say for once in your life and just leaving well enough alone? I told you not to touch anything! You could well have destroyed our one chance at getting rid of Cipher once and for all!”

“I’m sorry, okay?!” Stan whined and tried to pull away – dodging responsibility once again, just like always. Ford growled and held him in place.

“Now, Stanley, you– quit squirming! – you will sit down and be quiet and not touch anything else, is that understood?”

“Ford, leggo!” Stan squeaked.

“You are to stay away from Fiddleford and I while we work. I will not have you sabotaging me again, not like you did at the science fair-”

Stan punched him in the face.

It was a weak blow from a tiny fist – it barely hurt – but the shock at having his brother strike him made Ford freeze. Stan ripped from his grip and stumbled back with a whimper that sounded dangerously like a sob.

…oh.

Ford didn’t even have to look at his brother’s pale, tearstained face to realize that he had, perhaps, gone a little overboard.

“Stanley-” Ford couldn’t think of anything to say. What was there to say? Stan looked terrified, and Ford supposed he cut a rather intimidating figure to such a small person. He reached out but Stan jerked away violently from his hand.

Why wasn’t Stan getting mad at him in return? The Stan Ford knew would have yelled right back. Ford could handle anger, but he had no idea how to handle fear.

“Stan, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have…”

He reached out again, helplessly. The instant his fingertips touched Stan’s shoulder the child recoiled, throwing his hands up as if to defend himself. But surely he knew Ford would never hurt him?

“No! No no no don’t touch me leave me alone! Go away! I hate you and I don’t ever wanna see you again go away!”

Ford flinched, and Stan took the opportunity to spin on his heel and bolt for the stairs. Ford froze, torn between chasing after him and staying to clean up the mess.

“Ford, a little help!” Fiddleford yelped, and Ford made up his mind. He whipped around and hurried to help his friend lift the rifle back onto his workbench. As he took the weight of the rifle Fiddleford snatched his hands back, wincing at the bright red burns that seared across his palms. “Ouch.”

Ford was careful to keep away from the hot section of metal as he lifted the gun back onto the table. When it was secure he was finally able to take a breath and turn to his friend.

“Fiddleford, are you alright?”

“Ah’m fine, just gotta get these in some water. Where’d Stanley go?”

“I – I don’t know.”

Fiddleford’s eyes widened. “If he goes outside the barrier-”

There were more words, but Ford had stopped processing them. He bolted for the stairs.

 Stan was such an idiot.

He hadn’t even stopped to put on shoes before running into the woods, and he already couldn’t feel his toes from the stinging cold. Well, who cared anyway? He just had to get away.

Stan’s numb foot caught on a root and sent him hurtling to the ground, grating his face and hands on frigid, snowy dirt. He let out a squeaking wheeze as the air left his squashed lungs, letting out little hitching coughs and sobs as he struggled to regain his breath.

Shut up shut up shut up, stop being such a wimp. He pushed himself up on shaky arms and sniffled, rubbing at his nose with a pathetic whimper.

Okay. So, everything was crashing down around him. That was fine. Everything was just fine. He still had – um.

What did he have?

There was something in his fist. Stan sniffed and uncurled his fingers to reveal a tiny shimmering pearl resting in his palm. He stared at it, blinking tears from his eyes.

“What the heck are you?”

Oh, wait. It was one of Ford’s bullet things. Stan’s grip tightened around it, that stupid little ball that was so important to his brother.

He placed it on the ground, climbed to his feet, and lifted a foot to stomp down on it.

And hesitated.

Because it was stupid, but Ford seemed to think these were so important, and Stan just couldn’t crush something that meant that much to his brother. He hiccupped and growled to himself.

He couldn’t do it.

Stan shoved it in his pocket and headed further into the woods.

 Stan wasn’t in the house.

A quick, desperate search revealed Ford’s home empty. Luckily a fresh layer of snow lay on the ground outside – a trail of footprints disappeared into the woods and he bolted after them, snatching his coat on his way out. Of all the places to go! The forest wasn’t safe, Ford had to get his brother back inside the barrier where Bill couldn’t reach them-

His foot slipped on wet snow.

Ford barely had time to flail before his legs slipped from under him and his head hit a tree trunk with a decisive clunk.

[kayte-overmoon]

"Slow Cherry" Chapter 4

(cross-posted on AO3)

Tags: Mild Depressive Episode, Drinking (everyone is of age; no alcohol abuse), drunk texting, accidental face reveal

Snippet: A soft laugh drifted over the line. “Are you still drunk, Dream?”

He hummed. “Maybe a little.”

“You’re a mess, Dream.”

“Yeah, I know. Thanks for putting up with me.”

“Anytime, love.”

Read Chapter 1 Here

Read Chapter 2 Here

Read Chapter 3 Here

No sexual content in this chapter.

Dream spent the next few weeks losing himself in his schoolwork.

Every time he closed his eyes, he thought of George, heard his voice, saw his smile. It was wreaking havoc on his attention span. His feelings toward the older man were confusing to say the least. It was easier to hyperfixate on school than to try and sort out why he felt this way about a man he’d never even met face-to-face.

Knowing they were only a few short weeks away from living not only in the same country, but the same city made it very, very hard to think about anything else.

Luckily, he had a hardcore coding assignment coming up, so he locked himself in his bedroom with the lights off and drowned himself in Python.

Sapnap noticed something was off and made sure to text Dream whenever he got food (conveniently always with a little more than one person could eat alone). On the rare occasions Dream emerged from his cave, Sapnap looked at him with concern written in every corner of his face, but he didn’t ask what was wrong. He just pushed a bottle of water or a granola bar across the counter to him and told him he looked like shit.

Dream was sure he was right. It was winter, so he hadn’t properly been in the sun in months—for a Florida boy, that was too long. He’d skipped a few showers, and the only time he’d eaten was when Sapnap made sure he did. He shuffled into the bathroom to scrutinize himself under the fluorescents. He squinted in the bright light, so used to the darkness of his room. His hair was a mess, several days overdue for a wash and unbrushed for longer than Dream could remember. He also needed to shave, not liking the scratchy growth around his jaw. There were dark circles around his blood-shot eyes and his skin was paler than it had been in years. He scoffed at himself before stripping and jumping in the shower.

The hot water burned his skin, but it was a religious experience. He hadn’t realized how far he’d pushed himself and how deep he’d let himself fall until it was over. His last final was the next morning, so he was almost done. Thank God.

As it usually did when he had a free moment, his mind strayed to George.

They had still been snapping back and forth, which soothed some of the ache. But it felt like he was looking down the barrel of addiction: he knew that taking one more hit, one more drink, would land him far beyond his limit, pushing him past the fabled Point of No Return. He considered ghosting George, but just thinking about that made his stomach turn. Sex workers got enough shit as it was without their clients pushing boundaries, trying to make something real out of their arrangements, or dropping them outright without warning.

Dream was so fucking pathetic.

He emerged from his shower scrubbed raw, physically and emotionally. He didn’t feel great in his head still, but at least he didn’t stink. He brushed his teeth to cover all his hygienic basics, put on a clean pair of pajamas, and went to bed.

And just like that his semester was over. He did well on his final—not as well as he’d hoped, considering how much time he’d spent studying, but well enough to stay on track to graduation.

He emerged from his final to find a snap from George waiting for him on his phone.

The older man was sitting on his bed, throwing a peace sign to the camera with a huge, cheesy grin. There were boxes stacked around the bed, the only thing left in the room being his bed.

Good luck on your final! Getting ready to put my stuff in the shipping container. Only a few more days.

Despite himself, Dream smiled at the message.

Dream and Sapnap celebrated the end of the semester that night in the only way college kids knew how: by buying as much beer as they could afford and inviting over as many people as they could fit into their apartment. Someone connected their phone to the sound system in the living room, blasting hip hop music over the subwoofer. Dream knew they were going to get a noise complaint from their neighbors, but he was too excited—and drunk—to care.

He got a few drinks in him and danced when he was pulled from the couch. Faces blurred before him, but he knew almost everybody there, so he didn’t mind whenever someone pressed up against him. Someone else pressed another beer into his hands. He was sweating, the heat in the apartment still fighting the December cold even with a few dozen people packed into the cramped space. His jacket came off at some point, so he was only in his beer-stained t-shirt and jeans.

He could happily say he had nothing on his mind. He was just happy, done with school for the next month and surrounded by his favorite people in the world.

But not his favorite person in the world.

No, that person wasn’t here.

He stumbled to the bathroom at one point to piss, wobbling a little and struggling to aim. He washed his hands and stared at himself in the mirror. He looked much different than he had the previous night: he was flushed from the alcohol and dancing, for one, but he also felt lighter. Maybe it was the beer talking, but he felt good. He always liked life better when he wasn’t in school. And that message from George made him so, so happy.

Only a few more days.

George.

Just thinking about him made Dream smile.

He pulled out his phone just to look at the photo, which he’d screenshotted. They’d agreed they could save anything they sent each other except for nudes, which they had to get permission to keep. But innocent little messages like that one were free game. Dream was thankful for that, since it let him get a fix whenever he needed it. He found himself pulling out his phone to look at pictures of his camboy whenever he had a free moment to twiddle his thumbs.

He wrote a message to George, not really paying attention to what he said. Mainly he just wanted George to think of him while Dream was thinking of George. He sent the message and pocketed his phone. The music became unmuffled as he opened the bathroom door and someone immediately grabbed him and pulled him back into the fray.

Dream had… many regrets come morning.

Before he even opened his eyes, he knew how much of a doozy this hangover was. His head was pounding with the beat of his heart, his mouth felt packed with sand, and his stomach was turning. He felt like he needed to puke, but he was too numb to get up. Besides, he had a feeling he’d only end up dry heaving.

He scrubbed a hand over his eyes, debating going back to sleep. Something on the bed shifted next to him (much bigger than Patches), alerting him to the fact that he wasn’t alone.

After some coaxing, he squinted his eyes open and blinked against the scarce light peeking around the curtains—it wasn’t much light, but it was enough to make him want to die. He turned to see someone’s back facing him in the bed, a dude. Dream sent up a silent prayer of thanks that both the dude and Dream himself were fully clothed. He levered himself onto an elbow to see who was next to him. It was Skeppy, of all people, and he wasn't alone. Puffy was there too, curled up against Skeppy’s chest at the edge of the bed. Dream had no clue how neither of them had fallen off yet, so tightly wound together on the ledge. But they were there, snoozing happily.

Someone was snoring, but it wasn’t either of them. Dream sat up further and poked his head around to find Bad sprawled on the floor beside the bed. It seemed he’d wanted to get in with Skeppy and Puffy, but there hadn’t been enough room with Dream there as well. Skeppy’s hand was dangling off the side of the bed where Bad was; they must have fallen asleep holding hands. Despite his head and his stomach trying to remove themselves from his body, Dream smiled. They were all so sweet together.

He extracted himself from the bed slowly, not wanting to disturb them, and grabbed his phone charger from the power strip at his desk. He slipped into the bathroom and closed the door behind himself carefully. His phone was dead in his pocket, so he plugged it in at the bathroom counter as he set about cleaning himself up. He contemplated trying to throw up but decided against it. It might only make him even more sick. He washed his face and brushed his teeth. He definitely needed a shower and a change of clothes, but he didn’t have the energy for it yet.

A soft ding told him his phone was back on. He dried off his hands and picked it up. He had a couple of missed notifications. Karl left one saying he was taking Sapnap back to his place because someone had already taken Sapnap’s room. There was one from his next-door neighbor asking him to turn the music down or they would call the cops. Dream assumed that was a bluff, considering he didn’t remember the cops showing up at any point.

The last notification caught his eye.

It was a Snapchat message from George, received around 3 a.m.

Dream, call me when you get this. I don’t think you meant to send that. I need to talk to you.

Dream’s heart sunk.

What had he sent George? Had he drunk texted him? What had he said?

Oh God, he hadn't told him anything... incriminating, right? Had he said anything about wanting to be more than a sugar daddy, a friend with benefits, a casual observer?

There wasn’t anything saved in their chats above George’s most recent messages. The last message before that was Dream’s response to George’s “good luck with finals” message.

Wait. No it wasn’t.

The time stamp was wrong.

Dream had sent George a picture around 2:30 last night, when he was several drinks deep. He remembered going to the bathroom and texting George, but he couldn’t remember what he’d said no matter how hard he’d tried. He thought it had been a typed message in chat, not a picture.

Maybe he’d sent a dick pic? He hoped not. He had been too drunk to get it up at that point. If that’s what it was, it had to be horribly unflattering. And if not a dick pic, what had he taken a picture of?

His blood ran cold.

He was hitting the “call” button before he could overthink it.

George answered a few rings later. “Dream?”

“What did I send?” His voice was rough. He was trying to keep quiet so he didn’t bother his guests, and his mouth was dry even after brushing his teeth. He sounded like shit.

George sounded uncomfortable when he spoke. “Dream, I’m sorry. I don’t think you meant to—“

“What did I send, George?”

He knew the answer in the silence before George spoke. His stomach dropped when he said it anyway. “You—you sent me a picture of your face.”

Dream hung his head. Perfect. Of course. He’d had grand plans to pick George up from the airport and reveal his face then, or he’d at least make it sexy over their video calls or something. He wanted to make it a spectacle. Instead he’d drunk texted him a selfie.

“It wasn’t bad,” George tried to reassure him. “I couldn’t see it too clearly anyway. It was in the mirror, and you were very drunk. You were a little blurry.”

“What was I doing?”

“You were, like, leaning on the counter. You were smiling. You had a, uh…”

Dream frowned harder. “I had a what?”

“You had—have—a hickey on your neck.”

“What?” Dream stood up straight and pulled the collar of his shirt. Sure enough, there was a dark red mark on his neck, barely hidden by his shirt. “Huh. How the hell did that get there?”

George snorted. “Sounds like you had a fun night.” There was something bitter in his tone.

Dream scrambled for a response that wouldn't put him in the metaphorical dog house. “I don’t—I didn’t sleep with anyone. I would know. It just—my friends are super touchy. One of them probably did it while we were dancing.”

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me, Dream,” George said softly. “I’m a big boy. I know I’m not the only person in your life.”

“I do have to explain myself, though.” Dream ran his hand through his hair. “I care what you think about me. I don’t want you to think I sleep around. I don’t. Not really. Not anymore, at least. And I wanted to surprise you when you saw my face. I wanted it to be a thing.”

“Dream, calm down.” There was something calming about the British man’s voice, especially when he used that tone, like he was soothing a spooked animal. Which, for all intents and purposes, Dream was. “It’s okay. I’m not upset. I was just worried about you. I know it’s a thing for you, people seeing your face.”

“Oh.” Dream’s heart was thundering in his chest. It was making his head throb harder, but he didn’t particularly care at that moment. “Thank you. That’s—you’re really considerate. And did you—I mean, did…”

“You’re very handsome, Dream.”

Dream was dumbfounded. That wasn’t what he was going to ask, but he’s glad George said it. He wasn’t really concerned about that particular aspect of this whole ordeal, but it was nice to know. “Oh. Thanks. That’s… you too. I mean, I think you’re—fuck.”

George’s laugh echoed across the line, settling Dream’s frazzled nerves. “I know, honey. You’ve told me before. But let's continue this conversation when you’re not so hungover, yeah?”

Dream hummed in agreement. “You can tell?”

“You were sloshed last night. I could tell just by looking at you. Partied hard, hmm?”

Dream snorted. “Just a little. I don't even want to see the state of my living room right now. And there’s, like, two-thirds of a thruple in my bed right now.”

“Oh?” Amusement and interest tinged the older man’s voice.

“No, not like that,” Dream laughed. “They passed out in there. Their third is on the floor. They’re good friends of mine. No clue when we all fell asleep though.”

“Sounds like you need to get started making coffee for everyone, then. Be a good host.”

“Probably. I thought about ordering pizza. I have no clue how many people stayed over though.”

“Celebrating the end of term, then?”

A yawn worked its way out of Dream. “Yeah,” he said. “We all finished up yesterday so we just bought a bunch of beer and invited folks over.”

“Sounds fun.”

“We’ll invite you next time,” Dream said, his tongue loose from his hangover. Oh well. “I think you’d like my friends. They’re all… absolutely insane. But they’re the coolest, nicest people you’ll ever meet.”

A soft laugh drifted over the line. “Are you still drunk, Dream?”

He hummed. “Maybe a little.”

“You’re a mess, Dream.”

“Yeah, I know. Thanks for putting up with me.”

“Anytime, love.”

Previous Chapter

Next Chapter

[annnoel]

Previous part: Wraiths CONTENT WARNING: This story contains murder, decapitation, alcohol and heavy language. Read at your own risk.

Muddy footprints were left in Rhippos wake as he stumbled into a small village, rain bathing the place in a thick mist. Despite the rain some were still wandering about the square, some getting supplies to help them weather the storm until it let up. Rhippo had no care for supplies or a place to stay, he just wanted to drown his sorrows and forget his friend. He stumbled onto a building and placed his hand against the wall, somewhat losing his grip from his rain soaked hands. Regaining his grip he leaned his back against the wall and fell to the floor, taking a swig from a wine bottled he had been carrying with him. Footsteps could be heard coming near him, eventually stopping beside him. "My, you're soaked head to toe! What happened to you?" Rhippo glanced to the side and saw a xweetok holding a lace umbrella leaning down to get a better look at him. Her body fur was a lilac purple while her hair and mane shimmered a dark violet, her eyes a vibrant pink that almost seemed to glow in the shadows. She wore a black dress with purple floral patters coming up from the bottom as if it was winding across her dress. Rhippo paid no mind to her and let out a heavy huff before turning away from her. "Are you doing alright? Do you need any sort of help with shelter or such?" She asked as she leaned down closer to Rhippo. "Go fuck yourself, I don't need any help." Rhippo let out before taking another swig from his wine bottle. "By Gods, such language! You shouldn't talk to someone who offered you help in such a way!" She stood herself back up and placed her hand on her breast, letting out a scoff. "I can talk to you however the fuck I want, like I give two shits about what people think about me." Rhippo peered into the bottle before tilting it, a single drop falling from the brim into his lap. Rhippo flung the bottle to the side, the sound of glass clanging as it ran over rocks and dirt. The xweetok furrowed her brow and pursed her lips, contemplating on how she could get him to talk about his situation. "Sounds like someone you knew betrayed your trust in a way."  She said softly as she scratched at her face, implying how Rhippo had gotten the scar across his face. "Nobody betrayed my trust, I betrayed someone elses trust thanks to my desperation. I tried to help her, and now she wants nothing to do with me." Rhippo let our a heavy sigh before dropping his head into his legs. "How did you betray her trust?" Rhippo clenched his fists onto his knees and slowly raised his head up, glaring back at the xweetok. "You of all people should know why." Rhippo hissed. "I beg your pardon?" She asked as she backed up, clenching her umbrellas handle. "I know it's you wraith, your act is as unpolished as your looks." In a flash all her clothes fell to the floor, the umbrella splashing onto some wet rocks. The black mass manifested next to Rhippo, turning into the xweetok he met before. She held her face in her hands, the lower half of her legs raised in the air crossed. "Guess I'm a bit of an open book now aren't I?" Rhippo snarled at her. "What the fuck do you want with me?" "Oh, I always check back up on my clients to see how they're doing! I see in your case it didn't end too well." "Like HELL it did-" Rhippo slammed his hand down where her head was, but she wisped away before he could grab her. She manifested behind him and wrapped her arm around his neck. "You really thought you could get me like that? Oh that's so very cute." She rested her other arm on top of his head, pressing her cheek onto his. Rhippo clawed at her arm, but his claws just phased through her arm. "Also, I can tell you got yourself a wraith as well, I can feel them. Gave you a bit of a struggle now, didn't they?" She ran a finger on top of the scar covering his face. Rhippo yelled and stood up, getting the wraith to finally manifest off of him. "You need to just- get the hell away from me. You ruined my life enough, and I don't want you near me ever again!" Rhippos words slurred as they came out, barely just forming a coherent sentence in his anger. "Alright, I'll leave! I was just checking up on you," She winked as she backed herself up, "Maybe you can take this opportunity to restart your life, create a fresh start, make a new you! I feel it would do you some good." He lunged at her but she disappeared into the air before he could grab her, the last of the black wisps faded into the air as Rhippo looked down at his hands. He clenched his fists and yelled into the air before falling to his knees, wrapping his arms onto his head and letting out another desperate scream. He pushed his hair back as he stood himself back up, leaning against the wall as he regained his footing. He staggered back to the entrance of the forest, kicking the wine bottle away as he entered. Rhippo wandered through the woods, barely able to keep himself upright as he would catch himself on nearby trees. He stopped and leaned himself against a tree, his breath forming small clouds of mist in the rain while he panted. As he was about to get back up, he heard a voice in the distance. Listening in he could tell it was elderly, the tone shaky and struggling to get louder as it called for help. A krawk green in tone like Rhippo walked through the frame, holding a makeshift cane as he propped himself on the nearby trees, struggling to keep himself up. Maybe you can take this opportunity to restart your life, create a fresh start, make a new you! I feel it would do you some good. Make a new me Rhippo thought. Create a fresh start, start new. Restart your life, restart your life, restart your life... The voices of reason were drowned out as he wandered towards the elderly krawk, the thought of restarting his life repeating over and over in his mind. His chest and face started to burn intensely, his hands trembling as he wandered closer to the krawk. Rhippo placed his hand against a tree trunk and leaned against it, the krawk hearing him and turning back to Rhippo. "Oh, thank the Gods! C-can you show me where the nearest village is? I got a bit lost in these woods." The krawk trembled, clutching his cane to keep his balance. Rhippo just stared down the krawk, the way he looked reminding him so much of himself. Maybe this was another trick from the wraith? Maybe he's finally gone insane from his sadness? Or possibly drunken hallucinations manifesting in the foggy rain? It didn't matter to him, he wanted him gone. "Make a new me." Black snake like tendrils manifested from Rhippos back, pointed straight down onto the elderly krawk. The krawk gasped as he backed up, dropping his cane and leaning against a tree. "Make a new me!" Rhippo repeated, cackling madly as the snaky tendrils inched closer to the krawk. He tried to run, but all four tendrils shot down at him in a split second. A pained scream rang into the evening rain, birds flying off as it echoed through the forest. *~* Tendrils reached down and grabbed the top of the deceased krawks head, twisting it off as the sound of bones snapping and flesh tearing rang through his head. He removed anything inside the head he didn't want before sitting himself down, dropping the skull into his lap. He used his claws to rip off any skin and hair until nothing but the bone was left. As he brushed off any leftover blood, he placed the skull on top of his head. It was a bit big on him, but that didn't bother him. He sat as he felt the weight of the skull rest on his head, glancing back at the body as the tendrils came into frame. Black and pink wisps ran up the wraithy tendrils as pink spots scattered the top, forming where the rain came down onto them. Rhippo stared back down and played with his fingers, letting out a low cackle and slowly raising his voice until it rang out through the forest. "Make a new me!" Rhippo trembled out. He leaned forward and slammed his hands into the mud, cackling as streams of tears trickled down his face. "Make a new me!" He yelled out as his cackles rang through the misty rain. His cackling shifted to pained sobs as he folded into himself, wailing as he continually repeated the phrase over and over again. Make a new me. ---------------- DID Y'ALL WANNA KNOW HOW RHIPPO GOT HIS SKULL?? No??? WELL NOW YOU DO! I had been wanting to make a sequel to his last piece for a while now, but never knew how to approach it. I always knew it'd be him having some major depressimos and drunk but thats kinda all i knew i got some inspiration recently though from the most recent episode of primal (Plague of Madness) + In This Moments newest album. The two combined just gave me major creepy vibes and made me wanna write something creepy and unsettling, which resulted in this! Hopefully I get the idea i wanted across. Characters losing touch with reality for one reason or another can be hard to write because it can be hard making sense of their actions if not written properly. I MEAAANN TECHNICALLY if the character is losing touch with reality and going insane it doesn't need to make sense, but in this case where he isn't really going insane and is just very drunk and cant really form reasonable thoughts it was a bit harder. But again, hopefully i get what i wanted across!! I had to rewrite this a bunch and might still rewrite it again since some parts I felt weren't that well structured and feel very jarring. Either way, I still had SO much fun with this and i love the whole idea of the story. I already have some sequel stories i wanna make up for this. I never thought i'd hyperfixate on rhippo of all characters fjkghdkjfg

[master-sass-blast]

Authority Issues

Well, well, well. What do we have here?

(AN: I’m not abandoning Strong as Stone. This was just my entertainment for the day.)

Long story short: I had a dream with Piotr Rasputin/Colossus in it last night. It was glorious. I might’ve kissed him.

Like I said. Glorious.

And thus, after kissing the dream Colossus, I woke up inspired to write some fanfiction loosely inspired by my dream.

So, essentially, welcome to my latest hyperfixation.

For the record, I haven’t seen the Deadpool movies. I haven’t read the X-Men Comics. I haven’t seen the X-Men movies.

Yes, you got that right, this is undoubtedly the crackiest fic you’ll ever read.

Or maybe not. I’ll let you be the judge.

So, loosely based in the Deadpool Movieverse/X-Men universe, I present you this: a self insert pic with Colossus.

You’re welcome.

Also, @colossus-and-cable, I blame you for suckering me into this hyperfixation! Because of your brilliant writing, I can’t get enough Colossus content!

Well, they say create the content you want to see.

Rating: M for kidnapping, mentions of abuse, sexual assault, sequences of terrifying action (nightmares), and stong language.

Pairing: Reader x Piotr Rasputin.

Alright, so, it wasn’t your fault. Technically.

Remember that ‘technically.’ It’ll come in handy later.

For context: you are the latest trainee/recruit/refugee at the Mutant Mansion a la Professor Xavier is really stinking rich to afford the utilities bills for this group.

You’d seen the X-Mansion briefly, two years ago, on a newscast that your mother had turned off as soon as she’d seen you watching it, then forced you up to your room to ‘pray for protection against the ungodly lures of the outside world.’

Ah, the joys of growing up in the middle of Bumfuck Nowhere --zero tolerance of the queers, people of color, and mutants.

You’d read about the X-mansion’s purpose --taking in and training mutants to control their powers--in a newspaper article a few months later --well after your parents had decided that TV was ‘too great a portal to temptation’ for someone of your ‘unnatural, hedonistic tendencies.’

You’d been shocked. You hadn’t known that there was an actual group out there that was willing to take in mutants, much less train them.

Your father had ripped the paper out of your hands a few moments later and tossed it into the burning fire, stating that the X-Men were nothing more than heathens upsetting the natural order of God’s holy creation.

Perhaps with some great amount of foresight, your parents had decided to lock you into your room that night. Not that it mattered; the lock on your bedroom door had always been easy to pick.

No one ever said that foresight and practical wisdom were the same things.

You’d packed a bag of everything that mattered --clothes, toiletries, a stuffed bear, your state ID--then crept downstairs and broken into the family safe. You’d taken all of your paperwork --birth certificate, social security card--and all the cash that your parents had kept in there, and left.

Looking back on it, you were incredibly lucky the universe had gifted you with the powers to control air and wind. Instead of having to plot out a route via bus and train routes --thus risking being caught by the authorities and shipped back home--you could simply fly to the X-Mansion, stopping to buy food and rest as needed. Within a couple days, you’d found the X-Mansion, dropped yourself on their doorstep, knocked, and asked if you could stay.

Which, apparently, they were used to, because they’d just said ‘sure’ and let you in.

Two years later and look at you now!

A --still, technically--trainee on account of your difficulty controlling your powers and hot, hot issues with authority, under the tutelage of the X-Men. Free room, personal bathroom, three hot meals a day, and the fastest WiFi the world has ever seen.

And, well... a boyfriend, too.

Piotr Rasputin, code name Colossus, with the real secret to his identity being that he was a massive marshmallow with a heart of gold. He’d wooed you in his own sweet, subtle way as he’d helped you adjust to your new life at Xavier’s, taking your poor impulse control and hot, hot issues with authority in his patient, gentle stride.

It had been a good two years. The best two years of your life.

Which wasn’t to say that everything was perfect...

Right, so this is where the ‘technically’ comes in. And, as with ninety percent of your ‘technically’s, Wade Wilson is along for the ride.

You and Wade get along like a house on fire --compatible in all the wrong ways and usually resulting in some sort of damage to persons and/or property.

Wade, also known as Deadpool, also known as the Merc’ with a Mouth, also known as ‘the Obnoxious Red Dildo,’ has widely known and accepted authority issues, zero impulse control, and a daddy kink a mile wide that he likes to remind everyone of at any given moment --which is all of them.

You, the formerly repressed and abused mutant who has had their first taste of freedom and are itching for more, are --unfortunately--all too willing to help Wade execute any sort of prank, joke, or hijink, because for fuck’s sake, people, live a little!!!

Cue today’s incident.

It had started with a bet. Wade had bet you that there was no way in hell you could use your powers just right to launch a lit firework into Scott Summer’s --aka Cyclops’s--room.

The man had given you kitchen duty for being fifteen minutes late to morning training. The loser had to buy the winner pizza. It was too good of an opportunity to pass up!

You're just about to light the firework when something lifts Wade off the ground and hefts him to the side. A large shadow falls over you, and you look up with a cheesy grin. “Hi, babe.”

Piotr stares down at you, arms across his chest. He’s in defense mode, which means he isn’t here on the friendliest of terms. “What are you doing, myshka?”

You look down at the firework in one hand, the lighter in the other, then up at Scott’s open window. “Uh...” You look back up at Piotr and give him the most convincing look you can muster. “Arts and crafts?”

He isn’t convinced. “Professor Xavier sensed your plan.”

Ah. Well. That would do it.

“Hey! Russia’s Greatest Love Machine!” Wade interrupts, madder than a hornet and a little more crooked than the human body usually looks. “Stop fucking throwing me everywhere, you giant metal dildo!”

“Wade, watch your language, please.”

“Suck a cock!”

“In my defense,” You interject before Piotr can go off on his usual spiel about rules and ‘appropriate language,’ “it was Wade’s idea.”

“Hey!”

Piotr is still unmoved. “You are capable of making your own choices, dorogoy. Wade did not force you.”

“He was going to buy me a pizza, Colossus! How do you expect me to refuse?”

“Hey, that was only if I lost!”

“Yeah, well, you were gonna lose!”

Piotr sighs, shakes his head, then extends a hand to help you off the ground. Even when he’s busting you for misbehavior, he still treats you with the utmost respect and courtesy. “Come. We need to talk to Professor.”

You sigh and trail after him. This is gonna suck.

It does, in fact, suck. Talking to Xavier --again--sucks like a vacuum cleaner gone prostitute that’s hellbent on sucking its client’s dick off.

The professor, as always, is patient with you in talking about rules and your struggles with following them.

Scott Summers, who must have a serious anal kink considering how far he has a pole wedged up is ass, is not. “I’ve just about had enough of your acting out! Either act your age or--”

“Or what?” You interrupt with a roll of your eyes. “You’ll kick me out?”

“No,” Professor Xavier interjects firmly before Scott can speak. “You will always have a safe place at the Institute, Y/N.”

Scott scoffs. “Safe for her and no one else.”

You narrow your eyes at Scott. “Says the guy who has to wear glorified sunglasses all the time or he’ll blow a hole through the wall. You look like a tool, by the way.”

“Your destructive tendencies are way out of hand!” Scott snaps.

“My destructive tendencies? Logan goes through four phones a month and cut your bike in half because you drank one of his beers! How come he always gets away with it?”

“We’re not talking about that right now!”

You sit back and your chair and nod, feigning amicability. “Ah, I see. You’re a misogynist.”

“Y/N--”

“No wonder Jean’s always looking at Logan the way she does. You must be a pain in the--”

Scott’s hand smacks down on Xavier’s desk, cutting you off. “Are you looking for extra kitchen duty? Because I’ll be happy to provide it for you.”

You refocus on Xavier. “Okay, I have an administrative question. Why’d you make the actual tyrant in charge of punishment duty?”

“I run a fair and understanding system!”

“You gave me three nights of kitchen duty after I was late for morning training! By fifteen minutes!” You look back at Colossus, who is standing post in the back of the room. “Does that seem fair to you?”

Piotr flounders. “Well... being on time is important...”

Your jaw drops. “You’re not honestly siding with him.”

“I think things have gotten out of hand,” Xavier says, reasserting control over the room. “And I think I need some time to speak with Mr. Summers about his ‘system.’”

Scott recoils. “What?”

You pump your fist in the air. “Ha! Suck it, dickhead!”

“In the meantime,” Xavier added with a stern, if somewhat amused look in your direction. “Mr. Rasputin, I’m discharging Y/N into your care. I’d like to keep her separated from Mr. Wilson until she and I have had a chance to talk about the root of her rebellion.”

Your mouth falls open at the Professor’s orders, and your shock only mounts as Piotr actually accepts. You’re so shocked that you let yourself be ushered out by the metal man himself --ever gentle and respectful of your space--into the hall and away from Xavier’s office.

It isn’t until you’re halfway down the hall that it hits.

Rage. Red hot and burning. Rage at being chastised by Scott, rage at Piotr’s refusal to defend you, rage at being unfairly separated from your best friend. You were an adult, for fuck’s sake! You could make your own decisions!

You storm ahead of Piotr, ignoring his concerned calls, and march to your room.

Like the exposition said: hot, hot issues with authority.

You manage to grab the essentials --bag, wallet, ID, phone--and make it halfway to the front door before he catches you.

Technically, he’s already waiting there for you, in his human form.

Well, that would explain how he beat you there and why you didn’t hear him.

Piotr looks up at you, expression patient if somewhat admonishing. “And where I are you going, dorogaya moya?”

“Out,” You say. No point in denying the obvious.

Piotr sighs and shakes his head. “I do not think that would be wise.”

You shrug. “Arguable. I just need some time to blow off some steam.”

Piotr presses his lips into a firm line. “Y/N.”

Uh-oh. You recognize that tone --the ‘we need to talk as serious adults about serious things in a serious manner.’

Right now, it’s just seriously annoying.

“This is fifth incident in as many weeks.”

You roll your eyes. “Okay, can the record please note that Wade and I have been trying to scale back our ‘escapades?’ The car blowing up was a complete accident, not that Scott cared --oh, by the way, thanks for sticking up for me back there.”

That one lands hard, you can tell by the way his shoulders tense. “This behavior is irresponsible.”

“What, exactly, is with the vendetta against having fun?”

“Throwing firework into someone’s room is dangerous, myshka. Someone could have been hurt.”

You roll your eyes again. “It was a smoke bomb, Piotr. Not a 4th of July finale piece! Remember was I said about ‘scaling back?’” You finish descending the stairs and reach for the door handle.

Piotr reaches out --not much of a reach, he’s still a giant in his human form--and places his hand against the door. “No, myshka. You stay here.”

You bristle as you glare up at him. “I don’t remember for asking for you permission.”

Piotr exhales through his nose, the first sign that he’s actually getting frustrated with you. “The Professor--”

“Is not my dad.”

“--has asked me to watch you.”

“Well, I mean, if you want to come with me, I wouldn’t mine.” You grin up at him. “It could be a date.”

“I have things to do here.”

“Of course. Well, in that case...” You yank at the door, but Piotr is unmovable. “Look, Piotr, I’m an adult. I can make my own choices.”

“My instructions are to look after you. I cannot do that if you are not here.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “And how are you going to keep me here? Lock me in my room like my parents did?”

The comparison hurts him, you can tell by the way his blue eyes flash, but it’s enough of a distraction to suit your purposes.

While he’s still reeling from your words, you rip the door open and dart onto the front lawn. You can hear Piotr pursuing you, shouting your name, but outrunning him is easy, even when he’s in his human form. You simply manipulate the air around you to propel you forward. Before he’s even taken three strides, you’re over the wall and out of sight.

You grin as your feet hit the ground outside the wall that borders the grounds of the mansion and run towards the city.

Freedom.

The first thing you do is find a diner and order a heaping plate of food. A massive, greasy cheeseburger with extra bacon, a small mountain of fries, fresh out of the fryer, and a thick, sugary chocolate milkshake that comes in a glass bigger than your head.

It tastes like heaven. Junk food is in rare supply at the mansion, what with Piotr’s obsession with proper nutrition. You love him for it, but you miss your guilty pleasures.

The next thing you do is find that arcade Wade took you to for your birthday. You still have the credit card he bought for you, and you spend the day switching from game to game as you please.

It’s early evening when you leave, and it occurs to you that Piotr is going to be absolutely --you’d use the word furious, but you’re not sure if that’s even genetically possible for him--upset with you when you get back to the mansion, so you stop by the chocolate shop he took you to on your first date and pick up some fudge for him. He rarely treats himself, but you know it’s a favorite.

As you start walking the path back to the mansion, you get the eerie sensation that you’re being watched. Maybe it’s just the unfamiliarity of the city after growing up in a small town, maybe it’s just being a woman in an unfamiliar place while the sun is setting, but--

You look behind you, trying to find anything out of the ordinary.

A man, wearing a black sweatshirt, quickly turns to look in one of the store fronts.

You watch him, anxiety churning in your stomach. You catch his eye, he nods, and starts walking in the opposite direction.

You sigh in relief, and resume your progress back to the mansion. False alarm.

A few blocks later, and that creeping sensation on the back of your neck is back with a vengeance. You turn around again, unable to shake the suspicion that was curling in your chest.

The man in the black sweatshirt was back, standing about twenty feet behind you.

You grit your teeth as you pick up your pace. You focus on trying to find a place where you can duck out of sight and use your powers to run back home, back to the safety of the X-mansion, back to Piotr’s waiting arms --because even when you’ve been an ass, he’ll still oblige you with buckets of affection.

You spot an alley ahead --not ideal, but out of sight enough that you should be able to levitate yourself to a roof top, then hide there until the guy goes away and fly home.

You glance over your shoulder to check the pace of the guy following you and nearly have a coronary.

He’s now five feet behind you. 

How did he catch up that fast? You break off into a run, desperate to reach the alley before the guy reaches you.

A man steps out of the alley, grinning malevolently at you. “Going somewhere, doll?”

You barely have time to skitter to a stop before something hits you in the back of your head, knocking you to the ground.

Your last thought before you lose consciousness is how bizarrely empty the streets are.

“Hey there, doll. Open those pretty eyes for me.”

You come to in some sort of basement, dirty and littered with crumpled beer cans and other garbage. You’re tied to a chair, arms tied to the arms and legs to the legs, with another thick rope tying your waist to back of the chair. There’s a gag in your mouth and odd weight hanging around your neck.

The man that jumped out at you is sitting in a chair in front of you, grinning like the cat that caught the canary. “You’ve been difficult to track down. Lucky us, you decided to step outside your precious fortress for the day.”

You’d smirk at the man if you weren’t gagged. Apparently, for all their efforts to find you, they didn’t research your powers very well. You flick your fingers, ready to send the man flying across the room with a gust of wind.

Nothing happens.

You try again, then again, stomach sinking with dread as the man’s grin grows.

Nothing.

The man leans forward and taps at the weight on your neck, a soft metallic sound resulting from the press of his fingernails. “Suppression collar. No powers for you.”

Shit.

Left with nothing else, you try to yank yourself out of your restraints. You thrash and struggle to no avail --no amount of training was going to make you as strong as Piotr, even in his human form.

“They told me you were feisty. Apparently, you tried to run away from home several times before finding the X-Men.” The man leans forward, watching you with a lurid gaze as you struggle.

You growl at him through the gag. Just wait, motherfucker. I’ll get out of these ropes, and then I’m going to beat your ass stupid.

“Not gonna lie. It’s pretty hot.”

You try to flinch away as he reaches towards your face, but are ultimately subjected to the unpleasant sensation of his fingers caressing your cheek.

His touch is nothing like Piotr’s --it’s too rough, too forceful, and nowhere near loving enough.

“Now, we’re supposed to just take you back home--”

Your eyes widen at the mention of home --the small town you grew up in--and you start your struggle to free yourself anew.

“--but maybe we should have some fun first. After all, we’re not in any hurry.”

You stiffen and stare at him as your mind puts together what ‘fun’ might mean, then thrash around violently, almost knocking yourself over in the process.

The man reaches out and grabs the chair, forcing it back into its normal position. “Of course, I’d have to untie you for that, and I don’t want to risk you running away...” He turns to look at the other man --the one that had been wearing the hoodie. “Go get me the paralytics.”

You watch, horrified and on the verge of tears as the other man walks away and up the stairs, and let out a muffled scream.

“Oh, it’s alright,” the man said, leaning in to run his tongue over the shell of your ear. “You’ll be doing a lot of that later, and you’ll be loving it.”

You’re about to headbutt him, but are distracted by the sound of several heavy thuds on the floor above you.

You and the man look up in unison, both trying to discern the source of the noises.

Then, there were several brief bursts of gunfire, accompanied by several metallic pings.

Silence follows.

The man growls under his breath and pulls a gun out of his jacket. He points it at your head. “Don’t go anywhere.”

You watch him ascend the stairs, then start trying to work yourself free. In your efforts, you cant the chair sideways and fall on your side, back to the stairs. You wince at the impact --your arm’s going to be bruised as shit later.

You flinch at the sound of another gunshot.

Everything’s silent for a minute, and then there are footsteps on the stairs again.

You start crying, tears streaming down your cheeks, and you try anything to wiggle your way free.

Then, there are a pair of hands on your shoulders, pulling you up and turning you around, and--

Piotr kneels in front of you, resplendent even in his human form, smiling reassuringly. “It’s alright, moya lyubov’. I’ve got you.”

You draw in a sharp breath and moan at him through the gag.

“Hang on.” He pulls the gag out of your mouth --carefully, the man is always careful--and lifts it over your head.

A cry bubbles out your mouth, followed by a breathless apology. “Piotr-- I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry--”

His thumbs are already wiping the tears off your cheeks while his lips press sweet, gentle kisses along your hairline. “It’s okay, myshka, I’ve got you. You’re safe.” He leans back and flashes you a crooked grin. “Let’s get you out of here, da?”

You nod, already itching to be out of the chair and in his arms. “Da. Yes. Si. Now, please.”

He chuckles and pulls a knife off his belt. “I need you to hold very, very still, moya lyubov’. Can you do that for me?”

You nod again and focus on holding still while he works at the ropes holding you in place. “How did you find me?”

“Tracker on your phone. Men forgot to turn it off.”

You manage a weak, half-hearted giggle. “Idiots.”

He chuckles back, mostly because it’s clear that’s the response you wanted. “So, what did you get up to before all this happened?”

“Oh, you know.” You tip your head back to try and hold back the tears that are threatening to reappear. “Got a bite to eat, smashed Wade’s highscore in Pac-Man at the arcade.” You manage a wavery smile as you tip your head forward to look at him. “I stopped by that chocolate shop you took me to on our first date, got you some fudge.”

“That was very sweet of you, dorogoy.” He’s done with your legs and waist and already halfway through the ropes on your left arm.

Your laugh comes out less as amused and more as hysterical. “Yeah, well, I figured it’d pay to have a bribe.”

“Bribe?”

“To get back in your good graces after being an ass.”

He smiles at you, soft and sweet, as he tosses away the rope that had been holding your left arm in place. “You don’t have to earn my ‘good graces,’ Y/N. You’ll always have them.”

It’s serendipitous timing that he finishes freeing your right arm in that moment, because you want nothing more than to be in his arms after that comment. You launch yourself at him, winding your arms around his neck. You sob, the weight of what could’ve happened hitting you full force, and press your face against his chest.

Piotr is forced to temporarily abandon his knife, tossing it off to the side so he can wrap his arms around you. He’s massive, exceedingly so, and it’s easy for him to curl himself around your --much smaller--body. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”

“I’m so, so sorry, Piotr! I shouldn’t have run off, and I shouldn’t have said those things, and--”

“It’s okay, dorogaya moya, it’s fine.” He presses his lips against your forehead. “Let’s get you out of here, then we talk. But first.” His hands turn to the solid steel you know so well, and he presses his fingers against the suppression collar. “Hold still.”

You keep yourself still as he tears the collar off of you, then let out a relieved breath, sending a gust of wind throughout the dusty basement.

“Much better,” Piotr murmurs as he rubs his hand up and down your back.

You press against him, trying to close every tiny gap between you and him. You’re shaking like a leaf in a gale, body trembling with adrenaline and relief. You let out a tiny squeak as he lifts you into his arms and wind your arms around his neck as he starts carrying you up the wooden stairs. “I half expected you to come down in full metal.”

“House is very old,” Piotr grunts as he navigates the rickety steps with ease. “I am surprised I did not fall through floor.” He pauses halfway up the steps to look at you. “You may want to close your eyes.”

You oblige him and lean your head against his shoulder. “A grisly scene, unfit for the eyes of a lady?”

A puff of laughter ghosts over your cheek. “There was struggle.”

You can’t resist the temptation to peek at the scene as he carries you through the house. You open your eyes and gasp at the sight of bodies crisscrossing the floor, riddled with bullet holes.

“I thought I told you to close eyes.”

“You should know by now I’m not good at listening.”

That finagles a chuckle out of him. “Stubborn girl.”

“Well, duh.” You peer at the bullet holes --some in the bodies, some in the walls--then check Piotr over for any sign of injury. “How’d you survive the shooting?”

“I came in defense mode. I was not sure stairs would hold me, so I changed.”

“They should’ve thought about the ricochet.”

“Da.”

The sun is almost done setting as he carries you outside to the awaiting jet.

You wince as your eyes adjust to the fading natural light, then blink as you realize you couldn’t have been captured for more than a few hours. “How did you know to come looking for me in the first place?”

“Professor Xavier got letter from intelligence operative. Said your parents had hired bounty hunters to find you and to keep you at X-Mansion until coast was clear.” He clears his throat and ducks his head, looking sheepish. “My... over-protective instincts got the better of me.”

You can’t help but tremble in his arms at the mention of your parents or the fact that they hired a fucking bounty hunter, good God. Your stomach churns as the memory of the hired man threatening to rape you and asking for paralytics, and you cling tighter to him. “Well, I’m glad they did.”

“So am I, moya lyubov’. So am I.” He carries you onto the jet and sets you on one of the seats. “Stay here. I will come back when we are in stable flight pattern.”

You try to stay in the seat as he starts the take off process, but you can’t help but stumble up to the cockpit after him.

“Yes, I found her.” Piotr looks up at you as you press yourself against his arm, and pauses to kiss your forehead. “She is alright, a little shaky.” He pauses again as he pilots the jet high enough to clear the top of the trees and surrounding buildings, then nods as the voice in the pilot’s headset speaks. “Da. We are on our way back now.” A few more exchanges between him and the voice in the headset, and then he’s setting the jet on autopilot and taking the headset off. He turns to face you, flashing you a crooked grin. “I thought I told you to wait.”

You try to reciprocate, you really do, but the past few hours as catching up with you. You lower lip starts trembling, and you slump against Piotr, crying quietly.

He wraps his arms around you and presses a gentle kiss to the top of your head. “Come on, dorogaya moya. Let’s get you checked out.” He carries you back into the main bay of the jet and --with a gentleness that completely belies his sheer size--deposits you on one of the seats. “How did they capture you?”

You lift your hand to the back of the head, wincing as your fingers brush against a small lump. “They hit me. Knocked me out.”

Piotr’s lips are set into a tense line as he pulls a flashlight out of his suit pocket. “Look at my nose, myshka.”

You stare straight ahead as he checks your pupil response to the light. “Piotr... I’m really sorry for being such an ass at the mansion.”

He chuckles. “It is alright, dorogoy. I need you to follow light with your eyes now.”

“And...” You add quietly as you track his light with your eyes. “...I’m sorry I compared you to my parents. That was... royally unfair of me.”

“It is okay, Y/N. I forgive you.” He clicks off the light and turns his attention to the nice, ugly bruise forming on your left forearm. “How did you get this?”

“I knocked myself over trying to escape.”

Piotr chuckles as he carefully prods the bruise. “That’s my girl. My fierce myshka.”

“Getting herself bruised,” you mutter with a wince. “That sounds about right.”

“Am I hurting you?”

“Well, it’s a bruise and you’re poking it. What do you think?”

“I am trying to ascertain if it is broken.”

You shake your head. “I’ve broken my arm before. It just feels like a bruise.”

He stops prodding at your forearm in favor of encapsulating your hands with his massive ones. “Did anything else happen? Anything you can remember?”

“No, I was out for most of it.”

“What happened when you came to?”

“I tried to use my powers to throw them across the room.”

Piotr snorts --actually snorts. “I suppose, for them, it was good thing they had collar. You would have kicked their asses otherwise.”

“Good for them, pain in the ass for me,” you mumble, annoyed. “He pointed out the collar, so I tried to yank my arms free.”

“I figured. You have rope burns on your wrists.”

You have to stop to force down the bile creeping up your throat before you can go on. “He said I was feisty. Said it was hot.”

Piotr’s hands tighten around yours. “Anything else?”

You start shaking again. “He said that he had to take me back home... but that he didn’t have to rush. He... asked for some paralytics... said he was going to make me scream.”

Piotr’s jaw clenches, and he pulls you into his arms, holding you tightly.

You giggle hysterically against his chest. “You came in the nick of time. He’d just sent the guy up for the paralytics when you crashed in.”

“Bozhe moi, I am grateful. I am grateful I found you when I did.”

“Me too.”

He presses his forehead against yours, taking deep, shaky breaths. “Was there anything else that happened, lyublyu?”

You frown. “Yeah. He touched my cheek and licked my ear.” You rub your cheek, then your ear. “God, that was gross.”

Piotr is quiet for a moment. Then, he lifts his hand to your cheek, rubbing his thumb against your soft, supple skin. “Like this?”

You lean into his touch, smiling weakly. “Yeah. Yours is better, though.”

“I would hope so.” He’s quiet for another moment, then leans forward.

A shiver runs down your spine as he presses a soft kiss against your ear. “Piotr,” you sigh.

He presses the side of his face against the side of yours. “Better?”

“Yeah.”

And, oddly enough, it is. It was as though Piotr’s touch erased the traces of the bounty hunter’s harassment. Sure, you could remember it happening, but you couldn’t quite remember how it felt. All you could feel was Piotr’s loving, tender touches and the affection he so willingly lavished upon you.

You turn your head towards him and press your lips against his.

He kisses you back for a moment the way he always does --with a tenderness that never fails to make you weak in the knees--and then pulls back. “I must apologize for my behavior earlier. I was too controlling. You are an adult, and I need to respect that.”

“Eh, I think I need to talk to Xavier about that one more than I do you.”

“Still, I am sorry--”

“I forgive you, Piotr. Stop beating yourself up.”

He ducks his head, smiling sheepishly. “Khorosho. I also want to apologize for not defending you in front of Scott. He was out of line.”

“It’s alright. I’m just glad to be with you right now.”

“As am I, myshka. As am I.”

After one of the resident medics gives you a thorough check over and a blood test to ensure you hadn’t been injected with anything while you were knocked out --at Piotr’s worried insistence, and you were too worn out to put up too much of a fight--you're given a clean bill of health and instructions to rest for a few days.

Piotr escorts you to the living space side of the mansion, his hand a warm and soothing presence on your shoulder.

The two of you are met by Professor Xavier and one very pissed off looking Scott Summers.

“It’s about time,” Scott snaps. “We have jobs to do, you know. We can’t just waste our time keeping up with your outbursts.”

You roll your eyes. “Geez, Scott, who rusted the pole up your ass?”

Before he can retort, Piotr steps in between the two of you. “Enough,” he says, voice deep and hard. “She has had long day. She needs rest.”

“Yes,” Professor Xavier agrees. “We’re glad to see you back safely, Y/N. Rest for now. We can resume our discussion when you feel more recovered.”

You nod and let Piotr escort you to your room.

“The medic cleared you for concussion, so you can sleep on your own tonight.”

You bite back a frown. You would rather stay with him --in general, yes, but especially tonight, given the circumstances. Dammit. Why couldn’t I have a concussion? “Okay.”

Piotr cups your face in his massive hands. “If you need anything, come wake me up. Time does not matter, okay?”

You nod, then roll up onto your toes to kiss him. When he tries to break away once, you grab onto his shirt and cling to him.

He humors you for a few moments longer before disentangling your hands from the material of his shirt. He kisses both of your hands. “Sleep well, myshka.”

You manage a smile for him, but it dissipates as soon as he turns away.

You’re not sure sleep will come easy tonight.

You’re not sure it’ll come at all.

The needle glints in the glaring overhead lights of the basement, sinister and clinical.

You wrench at your restraints, but you’re stuck, frozen in place.

The man in the hoodie holds you still while the man from the alley stabs the needle into your arm, slowly injecting you with its malevolent contents.

You try to fight, try to free yourself, but you can feel yourself quickly becoming sluggish. Your limbs are heavy, stiff from the dose of the paralytic.

You can only watch, frozen, as they cut your ropes away. Tears trickle down your cheeks, but you can’t so much as flick a finger.

You’re helpless. Completely at their mercy.

You’re laid out on the dirty stone floor without any decency or preamble.

The man from the alley laughs as he cuts your pants away from you, laughing at your tears and the sight of your shame. He leans towards you, close enough that you can smell the beer he drank while waiting for the paralytic. “You’re going to love this, doll.”

You stare at the ceiling, crying as you try to will your useless limbs to move --to fight.

You jerk upright, breathing hard.

You’re in your room, lonely and terrified in your bed. The darkness around you feels oppressive, like it’s choking you.

You try to calm yourself, to still the tremors in your hands. You use your powers to draw more air into your lungs, to try and quiet your nerves.

You can still smell the beer on his breath...

You can still feel your limbs going numb...

You bolt out of your bed and fling open the door --screw anyone who complains about the noise. You dart down the hall, skidding to a stop in front of Piotr’s bedroom door. You rap your knuckles at the door, trying to stay upright while your knees knock together. “Piotr! Piotr!”

A light flicks on his room, the glow creeping out from around the edges of the door. There’s the thud of footsteps --too light for him to be in defense mode--and the door swings open to reveal Piotr’s confused, sleepy face. “Zdravstvuyte? Hello?” You must look worse than you thought, because the exhaustion drains from his face in seconds. “Myshka, what is it?”

“I had a nightmare,” you whimper.

Piotr ushers you into his room, closes the door behind him, and kneels in front of you. “It’s okay. You’re safe. They can’t reach you here.”

You sniff and slump against him. “I dreamed that you didn’t get there in time, and that they injected me with the paralytics, and--”

Piotr wraps his arms around you and holds you against his chest. “Sh, lyublyu, it’s alright. You’re safe, I’m here.”

You wipe your eyes with the back of your arm. “Can I stay with you tonight? I don’t want to be alone.”

You hadn’t asked earlier to avoid making him feel awkward. Piotr was such a stickler for rules and ‘appropriate behavior,’ and you had no doubts that he would consider sleeping in the same bed --especially since your relationship was still fairly young--to be inappropriate, to say the least.

However, he doesn’t so much as hesitate when you ask. He simply presses a kiss to the top of your head and whispers, “Of course, dorogoy. All you had to do was ask.”

You wrap your arms around his neck and let him carry you to --and set you on--the bed.

There’s bit of shuffling as Piotr finds a pillow for you, and then he shuts his bedside lamp off and lays down next to you.

You wiggle across the bed until you’re pressed up against him.

Rather than mind the invasion of his space, he simply winds his arms around you, holding you against his large, muscular body. “I would’ve have offered earlier, but I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

You can’t help but smile at his sweetness. “Well, I would’ve asked earlier, but I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable. Politeness gets you nowhere.”

He huffs out a soft laugh and runs his fingers through your hair. “You don’t mean that.”

No. You really don’t.

Rather than admit defeat, you opt to trace your fingers over his chest. He’s wearing a loose t-shirt, exposing his collarbone and the tops of his pecs. His skin is warm and soft under your fingertips.

Something in the back of your mind registers satisfaction at the shuddering gasp you pull out of him when your fingers graze over his collarbone, but you’re too tired to let the thought manifest past that.

By all means, it’s really soothing. Piotr’s fingers playing with your hair, his comforting embrace and warmth, the way his skin feels under your fingers. It’s almost enough to lull you into sleep, save for one nagging thought--

You tilt your head back to peer up at him. Piotr’s face is near indiscernible in the dark, but you can make out the shadowy outline of his features and the soft glint of his eyes. “What happens if I have another nightmare?”

“I will wake you up and comfort you.”

That --the promise that you won’t be left to suffer alone--is enough to finish calming you down. You close your eyes, lay your head on his chest, and let yourself fall back asleep.

You wake up --but not in the place you fell asleep in.

You’re in your room --not the one at Xavier’s, but in your old room, back in the middle of nowhere.

You bolt out of bed and race to the door. You yank and pull on the handle, but it doesn’t budge.

You try the windows next. You rip the curtains away, only to find that you’ve been sealed in. The windows are boarded over; not even a trace sunlight peeks into your room --your cell.

You pound your fists against the walls, desperate to find a way out. “Help me! Please, help me!”

A bright light floods the room, seemingly from nowhere. Someone grabs your shoulders--

“Y/N!”

You jolt awake, mid-scream.

Piotr is holding you by your shoulders, expression pinched.

Oh. That’s right. You’re in Piotr’s room. Not at home.

The relief hits you like a brick to the chest, and you start crying.

“Oh, myshka, what happened?”

“I dreamed was back home, trapped in my room.”

His arms slid underneath you and lift you off the bed. “It’s alright, love. I’ve got you.”

You draw in shaky, uneven breaths as you press your forehead against his shoulder. “I know. I’m just happy that I’m here, instead of stuck back there.”

“So am I, lyublyu. So am I.”

You sit at one of the many window seats, staring out at the cool, rainy day. Normally, a view like this --gray skies and damp grass--would leave you in a foul mood. Today, however, you were simply grateful to be seeing it.

It was horrifying to think that if Piotr hadn’t started looking for you, or if you had left your phone at the mansion, or if the bounty hunters had turned it off, or --a thousand other things, who knows. Point stands, you would be on your way back to your parents, never to see Piotr or the other X-Men again.

Or, maybe you wouldn’t have been underway to see your parents by now. Maybe the bounty hunters would’ve kept you in the basement, torturing you however they pleased.

You’re so lost in thought that you don’t hear Piotr sneak up behind you. You shriek as he lifts you off the seat and spins you in a circle.

“ Zdravstvuyte, myshka.”

You can’t help but smile at him as he settles you into his arms, bridal style. He’s in defense mode, which makes things a little uncomfortable, but you don’t mind. “Hey, yourself. I didn’t heart you coming.”

He raises an eyebrow. “I find that hard to believe.”

“I was lost in thought.”

“Good thoughts, I hope?”

Your smile fades. “Not really, no. I was just thinking... what would’ve happened if I hadn’t had my phone on me...”

Piotr’s grip on you tightens. “Easy, dorogoy. There isn’t much to be gained by those thoughts.”

“I know. It’s just kind of horrifying.”

He kisses you gently, then carefully sets you on your feet. “You need distraction. Have you had lunch yet?”

“No.” You intertwine your fingers with his --a near impossible task when he’s in defense mode, but you manage. “But, I can think of a couple other things if you really want to distract me.”

He ducks his head and chuckles. “Perhaps another time, myshka. Skipping meals is not healthy.”

You smile and let him lead you out of the library and in the direction of the kitchen. “Of course. Heaven forbid we mess up our meals.”

[tiny-smallest]

enCOURAGE

Yeah sometimes when I’m hyperfixating on multiple things my brain tries to mash them together. Usually that ends up weird, but sometimes still serviceable. This is one of those times.

So anyway, my version of Henry from Bendy and the Ink Machine talking to Mephy, who belongs (in this capacity) to @raeloganthesonic06fangirl. Where are they? I dunno! How did they meet and what kind of crazy adventure happened for them to become close enough to have this conversation? Search me! When does this happen? Definitely after Flux but otherwise who knows! The old man had Words so I wrote ‘em and that’s about it. I dunno maybe he’s their babysitter sue me I just wanted to get it out so maybe my brain would shut up.

Mephiles wasn’t one who went off to sulk often, but it was a warm night and Dark was distracted by Iblis, so now was as good as time as any. Really, he was due for a good sulk. The last months had been nothing but pure nonsense.

He’d anticipated at least a half hour of alone time, so hearing the old man behind him made his fur puff out and his body force him to his feet.

“Nice night,” he commented, sitting down on the front steps beside the boy. Mephiles twitched his noise, eyebrows drawing together with a little noise.

For a few minutes they sat in silence. Mephiles could almost forget Henry was there. Almost.

“... So... are you going to share what’s eating you?”

Well there went the almost. He drew his shoulders together and went to pull his feet up, but the front step was too small for that position to feel comfortable. With a sound of irritation he set his feet back down on the step below.

“Great start,” Henry added, though his voice had softened. Mephiles turned his head to glare at him.

“What are you gonna do if I decide I don’t want to?”

“I mean... I can’t force you to do anything, and I wouldn’t really want to.” he shrugged. “But fair warning; I am a master at waiting. Lots of practice.”

Boy did he have practice.

“Also, might be a good idea to set a good example for your brothers.”

Mephiles’s frown deepened. “That’s not fair!”

“Oh it’s totally fair.” Henry raised his eyebrows. “You’re the one always telling them to talk about stuff. Not very good for you to not do the same, you know?”

“But-!” He cut himself off with indecipherable grumbling, folding his arms across his chest.

Several minutes later, he looked back to Henry. Well, at least he didn’t seem to find this amusing. “... Fine.”

“Okay, good. So. What’s got you so upset?”

He was back to his arms folded across his chest, head down. “... I’m so tired of being a coward.”

“... Pardon?” He didn’t hear that correctly, right?

“I’m. So. Tired. Of being a coward.” His voice was a pitch higher that time, but still smothered with shame. “Every time! Every time something goes wrong, I lose it!”

“I wouldn’t say that...?”

“I’ve needed the purple Emerald on me just to try to circumvent that! And the second someone realizes I have it that plan goes to pot!” He looked up to fix the old animator with a stare. “I’m always afraid when people need me most!”

“I... you still stick around-” 

“But I still get scared at the worst times! To death! I mean- yeah, I get angry too- when Dire just- tried to take over Dark’s body like that I was furious! I hadn’t been that angry in a long time! But! I was also scared! Especially when he actually- started-”

The world was sliding out of focus.

“Kid... you’re confusing bravery with fearlessness.” Henry interrupted, the world snapping back. “Trust me, those are two totally different things. The latter’s also known as stupidity.”

Sufficiently distracted from his oncoming panic, Mephiles looked at him, mouth slightly open in surprise.

“Fear’s a part of life. It’s natural to be afraid of stuff. It’s why you don’t go doing stupid things; the entire point of that part of your brain-” he tapped the side of his own head “-is to keep you alive.”

“But-”

“No buts, really. To fear is to be a person. Bravery isn’t the absence of fear. It’s the refusal to let bad things happen despite it. And you stayed there.”

“I got destroyed.”

“You did, but what else could you have done?”

“Shadow would’ve found a way,” he muttered, propping his hand up on his chin.

“... Okay, let’s pretend for a minute that he was there, not you. This thing was inside the kid, right?”

“Yes,” he snorted, amused at how casually Henry called Dark a child. As he was every time.

“Okay, so Shadow couldn’t just punch the problem away. Can’t Chaos Spear it. No attacks at all, because anything he might use would just kill the child, not the monster controlling his body. So that leaves... stay, or run away.”

“The camera-”

“Is totally useless if you don’t have it. He didn’t know Dark as well as you did, so Dire would’ve used that moment of taking him by surprise to bat the camera away. Maybe break it. In fact things probably would’ve been a lot worse if you weren’t there because once the camera is broken...”

He didn’t have to finish the sentence. Mephiles stiffened.

“You stayed. You tried. You refused to back down or submit to any of his twisted mind games. There’s a reason Dark calls you brave and anytime something nutty happens, the way you refuse to just let awful stuff happen to the people you love? Makes you braver than plenty of other folks out there. There are those who would’ve left him there and not to get help, either.”

Oh, he did not like the lead that settled in his gut from even the thought of that...

“Your powers are getting stronger. Maybe you’re never going to handle fear all that well, but I don’t think you have to.” He gave him a little smile. “You’ve got everything you need already. If not being quite as scared is something that will come, then... it’ll come. For now just... go be twelve and quit worrying. You’ll get more gray hairs than me, turning that junk over in your mind.”

Maybe he had a point.

“Trust me, I’ve seen a lot, kid.” He ruffled the top of his head. “Believe an old man: It’s not worth it. Go have fun while you’re young. Believe in the people around you when they say nice things about you. You’ll live longer.”

“... Okay.” He stood up, dusted off his front, and smiled. “... Thank you, Henry.”

The human smiled back with a wink. Wow, that family resemblance to his son was so obvious in that face. “You’re welcome, kiddo.”

The front door opened and closed as he went back inside to join the twins and their crazy K’nex contraptions. Henry sighed, standing up and popping his back.

“Ah! I should really stop sitting down on such hard surfaces, yeesh...”

Mephy might be sunshine incarnate but he still throws tantrums several times even after figuring out everything about himself and untangling himself from Dark’s identity and you know what? Sometimes you just gotta let the boy get mad. At least he’s a million times easier to convince to talk than... mostly anyone Henry could’ve been trying to talk to here.

“Oh thank god this is gonna be easier than Bendy. There is a god.” --Henry, probably

[livefromhouseatlantic]

Chain Breaking, pt 19

"Your perception is influenced by conversations you have an experiences you live. As a result, no two people's perceptions are the same."

This was said to me in a conversation with a coworker I barely know earlier tonight. I'm pretty sure he was high, to be honest, but either way, there's a fair bit of truth to that statement.

Something that can and does happen to me, as I've written about before, is that I get "stuck" periodically. I've learned the proper term for this state. The clinical term that has been provided to me in therapy sessions by the doctor is "dissociation".

I knew that term already - I usually see it in memes that offer a light hearted take on mental illness. I'd looked up the term before (I'm an information junkie, remember) but I've been reluctant to apply it to myself up until now, and if I'm being honest, I still am to a point. After all, the therapy sessions I've had up until now have been pretty disjointed. I'm still waiting for a formal session and possible treatment plan. But the pros thus far seem to think that's what's happening to me.

Anyway, perception. You and I could be having a conversation and you might say something that I hyperfixate on. I'll focus in on it to the point where I might lose track of the year of the conversation. Or, while we're having a conversation, nothing you say might bring it on - I might say something or have a random thought that does the same thing.

When this happens, I tend to go very quiet. I'll have trouble focusing on that you say. I lose track of time. I think I've mentioned in previous entries that I've recently lost pretty much a three week period wherein I do still remember all of the events that took place, but I might have them out of order, for instance, or they all sort of blend together into one big event rather than a series of small ones. My physical journal helps me to stay organized mentally and emotionally (to a point), and I'm very glad I wrote in it at least a few times a week in this period.

In addition to losing track of what you say, I'll lose track of what I'm trying to say. This particular part distresses me more than anything. I've been told (did I say this before? I have to check later) that from a very young age, essentially since I started talking in full sentences, I'd take my time before I said anything - sometimes leaving a very noticeable silence between an adult or one of my peers asking me something and me replying. The result was always the same - but the time I finally did reply, my reply would be exactly what I meant to say and would b often elicit surprise from adults for how organized or whatever my reply was. I have an expansive vocabulary and use it because for me, it offers me a degree of precision that I find lacking in day to day conversation. For me, not being able to communicate clearly and effectively is very frustrating. This tends to make my "stuck" moments worse.

"Stuck" for me elicits one of a few responses: sadness, anxiety, or in some cases, a great deal of anger. As mentioned before, my anger generally turns inward in very quick order, if it isn't already directed at myself. So I'm being quiet, probably talking slowly if at all, but internally, my mind is racing along at a million miles an hour with a whole picture show off things that are upsetting me more and more. I tend to try extremely hard not to lash out - it does happen sometimes, and I always end up berating myself later on for my lack of self control - but I might cry, for instance. I'm more likely to cry than I am to snap or yell at someone. Even in crying, generally, you'll see a tear or two, that's about all I can do. Only in the most dire of situations do I really start to bawl.

The thing I get the angriest about is because I feel like I'm playing a part most of the time, I'll be upset that I'm letting someone see the moment I'm having. I feel as though by being in this state in front of someone, I'm somehow manipulating them. I know that I'm not doing that, and I know that I'm just stuck and need to calm down, but I can't stop thinking that I'm either cruel for playing with someone else's emotions by letting them see mine, or I get scared that in seeing it they'll dismiss me as a basket case or not worth the time.

Because these feelings I get come on with little no warning, when things get bad and I find myself getting stuck a lot, I get scared and feel as though I'm not in control of myself. I've mentioned before that I've built up, over the years, a very high degree of self control. I pride myself on it. When I feel I'm no longer in control of myself, I panic. I'll isolate myself and withdraw partially or completely in defense. I do this for myself, but also for others. I feel like because I'm upset, I'm "an affliction", which is a term I've used lately. I'll feel toxic, poisonous, and overly burdensome. Moreso than usual. As is the case with depressive moments in people's lives, this tends to turn into its own feedback loop. I'll be isolated, have no stimulation or distractions, and will thus spiral further, leading to me feeling like more of an affliction, and so on.

Let's switch tracks a bit. There are some advantages to being tightly wound (in terms of self control): most people who meet me consider me chill out down to Earth. On the exterior, I am. I try very hard to project calm even in moments where I might not be. It helps me to help people out when they're facing a hard time, which is something I take joy from doing. I enjoy being a shoulder to lean on. It gives me a sense of purpose. Most of the time, it's not an act. It's only rarely or lately that I've really felt not calm more often than calm. This is sort of part of a trend in my life. Disruptions of any sort tend to throw me off kilter. Give me a traumatic enough event, and I really get thrown for a loop.

Another (sort of) positive is that, since I feel like I'm playing a part anyway, I'm able to change things up in fairly short order. For instance, I might effect a new style by changing up my wardrobe suddenly with no warning. Or I might go out and meet new people, where usually I'm kind of shy and prefer either my own company or the company of those I've known for a long time. I might completely change my hairstyle. Or I might start playing new games or watch television series that I wouldn't normally bother to (I've always preferred the written word to television or film). I've done all of these things before to try and feel less sad. The only thing that doesn't really change about me ever is the music I listen to - but my music tastes are so broad that I will switch between wildly different genres within the same day, so that might not really count for much. These things will make me feel better to a point, but they also reinforce my feeling that I'm acting through my whole life instead of being genuine. I might find a jacket or a pair of jeans that I really like and that look nice on me. I'll then berate myself for pretending to be something I'm not. It's just a jacket, man. Doesn't matter. I don't actually exist.

Let's switch tracks again. Generally speaking, I'm a very careful planner. While I might change my hairstyle very suddenly, there's usually some thought behind what I'm changing it to. I tend to consider things, oftentimes for an unreasonably long time, before I actually go about doing them. For instance, as mentioned before, I'm hoping to become a police officer some day. I thought about that a lot as a little kid, but I only seriously considered that possibility in my adult life when I was twenty. Four years later, I finally decided I was ready to begin getting in shape for the testing involved. I've waited months or years to tell people things that I feel are too important to rush into. I have to consider all of the possibilities that I can, first. "Meticulous", remember. Once I've finally reached a point where I feel capable of acting, I tend to move swiftly, but I'll think about it and look over every angle I can first. Self control. I actually like that, but there are some downsides. Namely, anything that comes along and disrupts my expectations can and will completely rattle me. It could be as simple as a friend flaking out on a plan or something unexpected happening in my day. I get very upset when that happens, because it doesn't fit the plan I have for my day -not that I tend to plan too too much, I actually kind of like to play my days loosely - but I'm still in control of that, see. I've gotten contrary with people over surprise requests or surprise visits. I'll say no just out of reflex sometimes because this wasn't part of the plan. I've gotten much better at that over the years. And there are certain people who I will just drop anything and everything for, so that's when everything I've written about planning just kinda goes completely out the window.

I actually fell asleep (and slept for a full nine hours, praise God and Zopiclone) between that last sentence and this one, so I've kinda lost my flow. I'll put a pin in this for now.

[nacsygen]

i feel like coyote peterson is the embodiment of what adhd was supposed to be for all along.  like it’s why as a trait it was selected for and lasted in our collective dna and what it was supposed to be for all along.  like he’s out there in the wilderness hunting, constantly vigilant (and it is hunting, what they do, albeit for the sake of cameras, not food) and he catches just a glimmer of movement out of the corner of his eye, or spots something just barely the wrong shape, and he’s diving for it before anybody else even fully grasps what’s going on.  “snake! SNAKE!” “it’s a turtle! KEEP UP, KEEP UP!” “I FOUND A TOAD!” *coyote dives into a ditch*

like, can you imagine what amazing hunters, scouts and sentries people with adhd in the Long Ago Days must have been?  the quick eyes and quicker shifts of focus, coupled with the lesser-talked-about symptoms like disregard for personal safety and sudden intense enthusiasm? (see: coyote thoughtlessly diving into cacti to catch a wasp - with the intention of it stinging him later. FOR SCIENCE!).  it’s a recipe for an amazing and fearless and successful hunter. god, they must have got so much pussy back in the day.  curse you and your sexy competence, my hunter/gatherer adhd ancestors of old.

by contrast, like, me, actuallyadhd, i work in an office, doing the same thing over and over all day at a computer.  my mind roams freely since i only need to let a part of my brain go on autopilot to do my work, which is complex stuff, but i’m very good at it. 

me, when i see a flicker of movement out of the corner of my eye, or feel the barest rumbling of vibration under my feet that tells me something large is moving nearby, i instinctively dart my gaze over and...it’s a coworker, walking to or from their station.  occasionally the shadow of my boss behind the tinted glass wall of her office re-arranging her succulents on her windowsill.  sometimes it’s a particularly windy day and i can’t stop looking out the high, narrow windows at the green branches dancing.

without adventurous active outlets in my own life, i became comfortably enmeshed in my coping mechanisms of strict routine to try and live like a normal human, escaping into hyperfixations, and/or elaborate flights of fancy, whole universes and stories within them i may never fully be able to tell. deprived of the opportunity to hunt, to explore and constantly get hit with a new dopamine rush over and over of New Things And Things To Chase, i adventure instead in my mind, both internally and vicariously.  while i am much happier now than i was when i was younger - honestly, i’m happy almost all the time now! - i think it’s safe to say that i am Not Living My Best Life.

coyote and bw have been my favorite hyperfixation so far, though, and made me realize like, hey, we’re like this for very good reasons.  we’re just not...particularly adapted for the modern industrialized world, is all. but though it may take longer than is “traditionally expected” - BW didn’t even really start getting truly successful until coyote was 37, did you know? - everyone will eventually find their niche in the world.

and also, i’m glad i live in florida, bc imo my day’s not complete unless i’ve spotted at least five lizards.  like coyote says with his snapping turtle buddies, i will claim that i am STUDYING them! for SCIENCE! and not just bc it makes something very primordial in me delighted to be able to recognize their subtle shapes in the sun or shade.  they’re my buddies! i know them and their tiny little territories in the bowl of brick and greenery that is my sanctuary of the quiet courtyard at work.  i can’t live without at least a little wildness and plenty of bravery.