#i miss you all like a phantom limb some times

[tollundwoman]

Every fuckup, every ruined bridge, every lost connection, every suicidal day, every scar on my body, every fifth of vodka, every sleepless night, it was all worth it to live to see the day where I start to accept myself.

[clockwayswrites]

Birds and wings and hope Part 13

Masterpost

Danny had thought hat if he finished with Frostbite early that he would spend a few days in the zone to catch up with some of the other ghosts. He hadn’t wanted to with the wings. It wasn’t that Danny was ashamed of the wings, not from the fact of having different features, but Frostbite had seemed certain that Danny was in a heavily mutable state right then. The more people that knew Phantom with wings, the more likely they were to stick as they cemented in consciousness and identity.

Or something like that.

Danny had a whole stack of reading tucked away in his chest to go through later.

Just wanting time alone, Danny had given himself somewhere between an hour and a day (time was hard to tell in the zone) to sulk among the sparks and dust that were long dead stars before forced himself to get a grip and go home. He was an adult for, well, him sake he guessed. He could deal with this.

The reading set on the left side of the coffee table with a fresh notebook next to it. It wouldn’t do to mix up this work with his actual work, so Danny was sure to pick out one with a green cover from the stash that he kept on hand of his favorite dot patterned paper notebooks. He’d draw a blob ghost or something on it later. A few color pens and a highlighter joined the little pile, set in a battered and chipped Amity Park tourist trap mug.

Sam had gotten it for Danny as a present due to the so hideous it was funny caricature of Phantom on it.

On the right side of the coffee table went a box of protein bars, electrolyte drinks, suck’em candies, and Danny’s well stocked pill container. He moved the coffee table a little closer to the couch, turned the TV on to a playlist of Mythbuster episodes, and made sure he had his favorite blanket in hand before he transformed back.

And fuck that hurt. Pain shot up Danny’s back, radiating up through his shoulders, and shooting along his Lichtenberg scars so intensely that they burned. Danny collapsed inelegantly onto the couch with a defeated whimper.

Maybe it was the wings? Did having a different set of limbs as a ghost cause transfered muscle aches to his human form? He didn’t even have muscles as a ghost, not really, but the mind was a very powerful thing and not even Frostbite was entirely sure of how exactly the two parts of a halfa effected each other.

After the worst of the pain had dulled slightly, Danny managed to toss back his medication (missing doses while Phantom never did him any good) and pulled the candies close enough that he could use them as a distraction for his senses. Slowly the muscle relaxant worked its magic and Danny became a boneless lump. The episodes of Mythbusters idly distracted him as he just let his thoughts drift over what Frostbite had said.

Frostbite was sure that there had to be a reason— or several— that Danny’s form had shifted into a bird and after retained the wings still. Frostbite felt the first step to this all, if Danny was determined to either control or to get an understanding of where this all was going, was to understand the subconscious or symbolic particulars of the change.

The why Frostbite felt was clear: Danny had been without a haunt for too long now. Yes, he accepted, the pollen may have certain accelerated matters (hence the full bird then and only the wings now), but Frostbite was admit that the change wouldn’t have been occurring at this stage if Phantom had still been the protector of Amity Park.

Phantom had a purpose in Amity Park. Phantom was a protector and guardian. That guardianship extended to a very limited range. Now that Amity Park was many, many years behind him and Danny was living in a place already full of its own protectors, the Phantom part of Danny was left adrift which allowed for this new stage of ghosthood.

Why couldn’t his ghost half just be happy with a nice long nap?

“Fuck you, Phantom,” Danny grumbled as he watched a car be vaporized upon impact on the screen. Idly Danny wondered if he could get an object up to that speed if he flew fast enough.

Several hours and several protein bars later, Danny was managing to sit up enough to start going through some of the reading Frostbite had sent and make notes. Two more episodes and delivered Indian food later, Danny scrawled on the top of a fresh page ‘The Subconscious & Symbolic Particulars of Wings’.

Why on earth and beyond did he have wings?

‘Flying’, Danny wrote first and then as many reasons he could think of why he loved flying from the freedom of it to space to the way that it felt to move through a cloud. ‘Freedom’ branched off into movement and escape and getting to become his own person without the weight of Amity. ‘Gravity’ and ‘Identity’ sprawled into transformation and his death and the million of ways that it had changed everything about his life.

It was hard to think about.

Danny turned the page.

‘Wings’. Wings and feathers. Birds. Pigeons and crows and ducks and robins. And Robins. Biblically accurate angels who created the cosmos. Hope. And always hope.

“‘Hope’ is the thing with feathers — ”

Hope and Robins and Bats.

And always hope.

Was Gotham his haunt?

Was he the thing with feathers?

---

AN: shhhhh I've been writing as my wind down before sleep. Also special prize for @stoiczee. I promise we'll see more batfam next part. Danny just needed some time to react!

[princesssmars]

thinking of morning sex/sucking the strap with abby 😵‍💫 nsfw.

it was just like any other weekend, waking up to the light in your eyes and the soft sheets underneath you. the only thing missing was the familiar hand of your girlfriends arm wrapped around you.

checking the time on your clock, you figure she’s gotten up earlier to hit the gym to get some extra sets in. while you understand she hasn’t been able to workout much because of her schedule, you pout at not being able to spend a few extra hours with your girlfriend.

but you can work with with you’re given, deciding to give yourself a self care day. you take a nice bath, exfoliate and moisturize as needed, before putting on a nice new face mask you had yet to try out. it’s a nice morning of relaxation, interrupted at the shock of seeing abby walk into your apartment as soon as you enter the living room.

“jesus christ abby, you scared the shit out of me!”

“sorry, sorry!” she laughs, setting down some grocery bags on the kitchen island before rushing around to give you a peck, pouting when you eat your finger and point to the face mask. “seriously?”

“yes, seriously. what’s in the bags?”

her mood perks up again, going into the details of her morning, how she woke up about two hours before you did and wanted to rush and hit the gym to be back and make you breakfast in bed, but there was a backup because of an accident on her usual route so she had to find a different way but her stupid phone kept fucking up so she got lost and-

your hands find her shoulders and start to massage, trying to help her calm down as she rants while taking all the missing ingredients for your favorite breakfast out of the bag. she doesn’t notice as your eyes sweep over her body; the stray hairs flying out of her braid, the glow of her face from a post workout shower, the loose shorts you bought for her when her last ones got a hole. you try not to let it show on your face when you notice the slight bulge.

“anyway, luckily it’s still early enough for it be considered breakfast, so you can sit your cute self on that couch while i make these pancakes.”

god, she’s adorable. you can’t help but press a quick kiss to her cheek, loving the little smile she makes before you give her another, and another, before trailing them lower and down to her neck.

“baby, cmon, what happened to no kisses, huh?” her voice is breathy as she very pitifully tried to push your face from her neck, lashes fluttering at the subtle nip you leave on the last one.

“you’re so sweet, y’know that?” your compliment makes her flush like it always does, big girl so fond of praise but so shy about it. “always helping me and caring for me, wanna return the favor.”

she nods her head, breathing out a quick “yes, oh my god please.” when you tell her you need words. you make quick work of giving her some affection on her face, neck, and chest before dropping to your knees, slowly pulling down the waistband of her shorts and trying not to giggle at the way her eyes nearly bulge out of her face.

this was something neither of you had really talked about, but you could tell the blonde had wanted to try it since she’d heard about it. it’s made evident even further by the way her hips buck when you take her strap into your hands, spit dribbling from your lips and onto the head. you want to tease her some more but if there’s one thing you both have in common it’s that you can’t hear the other beg too long without giving in.

you can already tell this is going to quickly become a favorite of both of yours. it’s a repeating cycle of you getting off to her faces and moans like she can feel the toy down your throat, and her thinking she’s died and gone to heaven with the sight of you sucking her off.

while the phantom limb is so strong it’s a bit scary, every time you gently bring your face forward to deepthroat the strap it pushes up against her clit, bringing her closer and closer to her orgasm. her hands are twitching as they grip the counter, unable to grab your wrapped up hair or the sides of your face. but of course you can see her restlessness, gently guiding one of her hands to the back of your neck as the other grasps hers in a tight embrace.

she tries her best to be gentle, timing the thrusts of her hips with the back and forth motion she’s controlling of your neck. her minds running haywire as she admires the plumpness of your lips around her, your pretty eyes staring into her soul as you moan around her and holy shit-

your hands rake up and down her thighs as she cums, drinking up her moans and grunts and “love you, oh my god i love you”’s.

when you can tell she’s finally come down you slip her out of your mouth with a pop, biting your lip at the abundance of your saliva on the shaft and the visible cum running down abby’s thighs.

“you did so good for me, abs. but yknow if you would’ve just told me you wanted this earlier-“

“please stop talking, jesus christ,” her chest moves up and down with heavy pants, her palms covering her face. “i don’t even know how i’m standing right now. i don’t think i can make your breakfast right now. give me ten minutes.”

“the fact that you still want to makes me wanna suck you off again.”

“babe, please.”

you love mornings with abby more than anything. well, almost more than anything.

ong my sims twitter mutuals had her sims sucking strap so i thought of this. immmmm doing Normal.

[otkuhotgirl]

─── 𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐕𝐀𝐓𝐄 𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐖 .

# with akagami no shanks.

the captain was drunk — and a bit self-conscious. not to fret, for you were his favorite entertainer.

KINKTOBER, day ten. smut (mdni!). strip-tease. lap dance. masturbation (reader!receiving). thigh riding. dry humping. usage of conqueror’s haki. afab!reader. no y/n used.

WC: 1.9k.

akagami no shanks had lost his arm.

upon his return to the wild seas of the new world, those had been the most frowned upon words. the fearsome captain, the unmovable force, somehow would miss a limb forevermore. the reactions were but a divergent cacophony. fear — for what human could achieve such a feat? was it even a human? if not so, how close was the beast? if it had been enough to face him, what chance did the commoners have? anger — for mihawk no longer had a worthy rival. it would be far from honorable to face in combat a swordsman whose dominant arm was gone. and, at last, curiosity — for why was the truth hidden? one did not brag about a loss, but aside from overused jokes, shanks refused to spare a single word. who was he protecting? it was hilarious to witness the fuss as part of the select number of people aware of what had, in truth, happened.

akagami no shanks had lost his arm. and you had been the one to hear his puns ever since.

of course, he faced decent struggles. waking at night phantom pain; forced to master the art of the sword yet again with a hand he had no experience with whatsoever. yet, above the frustration soared an undeniable truth — for luffy, it had been worth it. besides, a decade past and shanks had grew accustomed to the mandatory shifts, living as though had not lost a thing.

however, as it seemed, there was yet one he would never cease to whine about.

the man was drunk — a common occurrence — and awfully clingy — another common occurrence. you had dragged him from the bar, pitying the poor beckman, for the man deserved a break from the captain’s shenanigans, and shanks had been hugging your waist ever since. he sat on the bed, drooling on your flesh, not allowing you to at least go fetch some water. his grip was a prison of itself on usual hours, but it did not help that you, too, were a bit intoxicated, swaying to the sides and failing to pull his face off your body.

“dooooooooooooll,” he drawled out, hiccuping. “i miss your ass.”

shanks gripped a considerable amount of flesh, daring to whine. “get over it, you’re a grown man.”

“how mean, i am half a grown man,” he laughed at said joke, biting the bare inch of your waist.

“half a man deserves half an ass,” you stated matter-of-factly, fighting off the urge to let out a hiccup yourself.

“but i miss groping both sides at the same time,” shanks insisted, dragging his nose on your belly, daring to grow drunker on your scent.

“you never had this complaint with my tits,” you pointed out, to which he liked his lips, seemingly aroused all of the sudden.

the hand pinching at your waist trailed itself up to rest on one of your breasts, his once slouched figure straightening up so that he could drag a sloppy stripe across your covered nipple. he had no problem with it whatsoever, for he was a man of considerable height.

“i can tease both of my girls at the same time,” he stated, wetting the fabric of your shirt, grinning at the elicit expression. “i can’t slap both your asscheeks at the same time anymore.”

your nipple hardened due to his ministrations, all but his for the taking, for you hadn’t felt the need to wear a bra that night. shanks closed his lips around the bud, humming as he sucked on it, spit soaking clothing and skin alike.

“and you like it,” the man teased, voice a bit muffled; rough.

you arched your back with a sigh, gripping locks of red hair, falling prey to his sensual tongue. yet, though your glance was tethered to his face, shanks’ own eyes seemed ever-so-lost, melancholic, even. you caught on the instance he moved his other shoulder, as though aiming to grip your hip with a nonexistent arm — a maintained instinct despite the absence of the limb. shanks laid down, retreating from your figure altogether, explicit vulnerability that would not have been shown otherwise, was he not drunk.

“see, doll? half a man,” he scoffed, to which your eyes narrowed; face scrunching in concentration as you then pondered on how to comfort him.

your fingers tugged at the waistband of his pants, whistling with faux innocence. shanks observed your approach with hooded eyes, laughing with delight once your chest was pressed against his own.

“my poor, poor husband,” you teased, pleased to witness the sudden shift in his attitude.

shanks and you hadn’t officiated the marriage; no celebration to be seen whatsoever. it had been the initial plan, two years prior. however, with newgate’s death and the aftermath of the war, waiting on a better period was the agreement. that did not mean the titles weren’t used, and shanks, in particular, never failed to be aroused whenever the word husband fell past your lips. a decade worth of lovemaking, too, made you more than attuned to what had him squirming.

“how i hate to see you so sorrowful,” you hummed, kissing the scars etched on the flesh of his eye. “i will fix that.”

“yeah, doll?” he grunted, growing excited when you dodged his advances. “how so?”

shanks sat on the edge of your shared bed, widening smirk and lustful eyes following your every move. you spun around the room, strutting your hips and nearing the corner, positioned far from his reach.

“you’re not allowed to touch,” you ordered, far more daring due to the alcohol. “just watch.”

shanks had his legs spread, a growing erection visible through the thin fabric of his pants. you opened the small, circular window, allowing the music from the outside bar to travel inside. your hips moved accordingly to the beat, an established sensual pace that had your fingers hovering over your breasts as you spun and approached him with languid steps.

you danced around the border of his reach, teasing the thin grip he had on his self-restraint. when he dared move, you dodged with a fit of giggles. “how should we start, sea emperor?”

he groaned at the title. “let me see your tits, doll.”

you hummed, rolling your hips with a languid sensualness born from the usual influence of alcohol. your fingers teased the straps of your shirt, trailing down the fabric until you reached the button of your shirts. rather than listening to his request, you sluggishly tugged down the zipper, perching your ass up as you slowly turned around, movements following the rhythm from the music outside.

the loose piece of clothing threatened to fall, yet you held the hem, controlling the pace of its trajectory, rolling your hips; lowering yourself on your knees. when it was, at last, off, you kicked it away, snapping the strap of your underwear. shanks had a brief sight of your soaked cunt before he was forced to face your front yet again. he cleared his throat, eyes trailed to the lacy, borderline transparent, fabric that left near nothing to the imagination.

“tits?” you mocked, trailing your fingers down your clothed labia.

shanks was left conflicted, his inebriated mind struggling to wrap itself around what to answer. would you concede if he reacted positively? or would you tease him yet again, offering the much desired sight of your intimacy? how could he outsmart that? shanks was far too drunk for an elaborate plan.

“thighs,” he answered smugly, a grin that indicated he felt all much too quirky.

you parted your legs open, pinching and grabbing the bare flesh, mimicking his touch. your lover was drooling, observing the outline of your intimacy; stroking his clothed member. yet again, a temptive roll of your hips deprived him of what he yearned for. shanks gripped his cock, growing out of patience as your fingers gripped the hem of your shirt, raising it ever-so-slowly, a languid set pace. you stretched the fabric, biting on it in order to keep your nipples covered, using your fingers to tease said hardened buds, muffled moans and dancing matching the melody of the song.

when the saliva started dripping down your chin; staining your shirt; you removed it, spinning it on your finger until it fell at his feet.

“doll,” he warned, sweat surging on his temples, ceasing the ministrations of his hand on the hardened member. “c’mere.”

“nuh uh,” you sang, turning around on purpose. shanks had the entire sight of your cunt when you lowered down to remove your panties, dancing with it stuck between your teeth, growing hot at the explicit lust on his eyes.

“come to me,” he demanded, the applied pressure stealing your free-will.

your dance ceased altogether, for shanks had dared use his conqueror’s haki to guarantee compliance. your figure stumbled towards the awaiting man, his index beckoning you in a mocking manner.

“sit on my lap,” you conceded, no questions asked. shanks gripped your chin, a lonesome finger tugging at the lacy underwear dangling from your lips. “i want that.”

he opened his mouth, forcing yours to mimic the movement. your panties fell on his tongue, and he moaned at the taste of your essence, the loud slurping causing your walls to clench around air. you whimpered, neglected and unable to move, and shanks all but spat out the piece of clothing, rutting his hips as though a hound in heat.

“turn around,” he instructed, groaning when you brushed against him. your ass rested on his clothed cock, legs spread and back arched, prepared for whatever he had in store. “dance for me, doll.”

the music fell on deaf ears, overthrown by the choir of your moans once you started to move, the roll of your hips teasing your clit, growing swollen due to the texture of his pants. shanks panted, leaning forward. he sucked on your earlobe, twisting one of your nipples as he teased the clothed erection under your bare entrance. the dancing grew sloppy, for he had your back pressed against his chest; his lips latched to your neck. shanks made out with the flesh, spit trailing down your breast, the wetness used to tease your abused nipple.

shanks’ feet sunk down on the ground for further support, and he interrupted the languid roll of your figure on his lap by rutting his hips, forcing his clothed cock to rub itself on your folds. he licked a trail up your chin, biting on the bone, tilting your head with his nose. expert fingers left your breast to dance down your stomach, finding themselves a home amidst your folds. he drew fast-paced circles on your clit, and you closed your eyes, moaning at the sensation. your legs trembled, thighs burning, yet the pressure of his command lingered. you were but a puppet whose strings he pulled, dancing despite your own tiredness.

the growing knot at the pit of your stomach snapped, your orgasm arriving with treacherous swiftness, for the alcohol had done its part when enhancing your pleasure. shanks laughed, shoving his fingers past your parted lips without warning, forcing you to taste yourself; to lick him clean.

he wrapped his arm around your figure to throw you against the mattress. you had but a brief sight of him — removing his clothes, standing in naked glory — before he hovered above you, teasing your slick, sensitive entrance with his leaking tip.

“you were kind enough to dance,” shanks mocked, his lips mere inches away from your own; hot breath fanning over your face. “but the spectacle won’t be complete until i have you singing.”

— 🐈‍⬛ : i’m running out of things to write here omg, happy kinktober? 😭

[maxlarens]

hi lilli!! i heard angst and i came running, how about searching for each other in crowded rooms, finding each other everywhere with logan or oscar, whoever sparks the most inspo, but plot twist—not being able to be together for some reason (the why is totally up to you, feel free to ignore if this isn't your cup of tea). thank u thank u <3

kait!!! hello!!! thank u for sending this in!!! im gonna do oscar 😁 it genuinely hurt my feelings SO BADLY to not have them make up at the end of this. so i sympathise with everyone that im about to make sad it was a bad time for me too❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹

It's familiar, this feeling.

The squeeze of your chest, the grieving, panicking thing climbing up your throat. You've been feeling it a lot lately, every time you catch a glimpse of someone with hair the same colour as Oscar's; wearing clothes you swear that he has; a person with the same shoulders, the same gait.

You've been seeing him everywhere. You just think you have. Monaco is small… not that small apparently.

When it had first happened, at the beginning of summer break, you’d half expected to be back together within a week. For Oscar to message you and half-beg to talk to you again. In your dreams, you’d both come grovelling back to each other, apologising for cruel words, making amends for various mistakes. Then you would kiss him and you’d tell him how much you love him and things would get better.

Instead, you’ve spent weeks of your summer break totally and utterly miserable. Missing Oscar like a phantom limb. You reach for him, he’s not there. You go to text him, find a thread of messages discussing the logistics of returning the other’s belongings.

You sit in your flat and you watch the Lord of the Rings trilogy twice in a row twenty two hours and forty-four minutes because it doesn’t remind you of Oscar and it occupies your time in a way nothing else can right now. You cry until your eyes are puffy and you write in a diary you’ve never touched before, because it needs to go somewhere. The feeling stuck in your throat needs to be written down said out loud and you can’t say it to Oscar, who you would usually tell everything, because he needs “distance from you right now”.

Briefly, you convince yourself that “right now”, indicates that there still might be a later for the two of you. That this thing between you that’s fallen to pieces might one day be salvaged. In the quiet moments of Lord of the Rings you spiral down a rabbit hole of ways to get Oscar back, pathetic fantasies of how you might convince him to talk to you again. Then Arwen says, “I would rather share one lifetime with you than face all the ages of this world alone” and you cry for two hours straight.

You sob, your face in your pillow and you think that was supposed to me! That was supposed to be us! And maybe it wasn’t, maybe you’re not an elven maiden giving up her immortality for a mere man, but you love Oscar. You wanted to spend the rest of your life with Oscar. And now… now…

Well—

It is the waiting that’s the worst.

No texts, no calls. Lando sends you a few, but you can’t bear to hold a conversation with him, knowing he’s playing both sides. And anyway, you’re just thinking about Oscar. Is he there? Is he reading your texts? Seeing the pathetic selfies of you on your couch in days-old PJs? Is he staring at your stagnant text thread just like you are? Has he blocked you?

Your every waking thought is consumed by him. You drag yourself out of the apartment for coffee down the street and you wonder what he’s doing. Has he been rotting at home like you? More than likely he’s been doing things. Playing padel with Lando, going out for lunch, training at the gym, FaceTiming his family.

You feel sick to you stomach. You can list on one hand the activities that you’ve done since Oscar broke up with you at the beginning of the month:

Sleeping, crying, watching Lord of the Rings, ordering takeout, training because you have to. Going for coffee had been a big step out of your current comfort zone. You’re wearing pants that aren’t sweatpants… you’d even showered properly for fuckssake.

You got your most noise-cancelling headphones on, blasting sad Taylor Swift (who you don’t even like. It’s just something to fill the void) and staring down the barista so you can lip-read if they’re saying your name or the words Large Oat Latte. And then—

Then. The barista is mouthing Oscar and your stomach lurches as the exact object of your ire temporary depression walks to the counter. You try to convince yourself it’s not him, you keep seeing him places but it’s never really him. But it is, that’s his burgundy shirt, his swoop of hair, his knobbly little ankles.

You release a ragged breath that you hope isn’t too loud. You duck your head, try to avoid his gaze as he turns, pretending that you haven’t seen him. Try to look occupied by your phone though you’ve only had time to open to your home screen. Tears prick at the corners of your eyes, you blink furiously, trying your best not to fall apart in this coffee shop.

At least he’s not with someone else, you think as a tightness crawls up your throat to settle at the base of your tongue. But he looks happy, he looks fine, he looks better than you feel right now. God, what if he’s better off without you? What does it mean that you don’t seem to better off without him?

There’s something wet sliding down your left cheek and then you see Nike trainers entering your vision, still directed firmly downward. Someone puts a hand on your shoulder— you don’t jump but it’s a near thing. You reach up to slip your headphones off, wiping the tear discreetly as you go. Then you look up and it’s him, it’s Oscar.

He’s holding out a paper cup labeled, Oat Latte and smiling at you tightly.

“They were calling your name,” he says by way of explanation.

“Right,” your voice is shaky, weak, “Thanks.”

He nods, you take the coffee, careful not to touch his hand. You’re trying to swallow down the lump in your throat that’s rising rising trying to claw its way out of your mouth. You blink away the tears filling the corners of your eyes. You can’t look at him.

You’re looking up at the ceiling instead, biting the inside of your mouth. Breathing in and out, in and out.

He says your name, and then, “Do you want to talk?”

You feel like a tonne of bricks has just hit your chest. Knocking the wind out of you. Tears, hot and wet, are slipping down your cheeks. You can’t speak, you turn around and leave the coffee shop without saying anything because surely you’ll just start crying if you open your mouth. Oscar finds you again across the road, in a dark cobbled alleyway. The heel of your hand is pressed to the middle of your chest, you’re hiccuping, trying to stifle heavy sobs that you’d much prefer to let out in the privacy of your own apartment.

“Hey,” he says, gathering you into his arms before you can push him away, “It’s okay.”

You whine, collapsing into his chest, face pressing into his shoulder, “No, it’s not.”

You cry loudly, trying fruitlessly to keep the sobs in. Oscar’s hand rubs comforting circles into your back, which makes it better until you realise it’s Oscar, which makes it immediately worse. You stay there a while. Until your eyes are puffy and your throat sore.

“Better?”, Oscar asks, the crease between his eyebrows prominent.

You sigh tiredly, shrug, “Sure.”

Your coffee is cold now, your chest feels void, hollow.

You shake your head before Oscar can say anything further, before you’re set off on another fucking pathetic crying fit in the arms of your ex-boyfriend, “I can’t talk, Oscar. I really can’t.”

“Okay,” he says, nodding and swallowing some lump in his own throat.

You bite down hard on your tongue. Turn to leave the dark alley to go home, your back prickling with Oscar’s wet brown-eyed stare on you. He lets you leave. You spend the ten minute walk wiping tears before they fall and itching to run back, to kiss him, to pour all the emotion in your chest into some physical action.

There’s an awful grieving ache in your chest that’s carving out your insides and when you check your phone after walking in the door there’s a text from Oscar that reads:

I miss you. I’d really like to talk to you soon.

not sure if it was weird but the lord of the rings Mentions were kinda about how you’re in such a fragile state during a breakup that something as irrelevant to your break up at lord of the rings will make you cry for hours for no real reason. (and not to expose myself but after a break up i did watch the lotr trilogy two times in a row. told my friends and got a text from one of them asking if i was depressed 😭 like yes… temporarily alright)

send me a prompt/req + driver and i'll write something. pls check if my requests are open first 💖

[moonstruckme]

ok i have a request/idea: gf reader on tour supporting bf rockstar!sirius but she starts to feel homesick being on the road for so long <33333 just feel like sirius would be so comforting and caring

I feel the same babe! Thank you for requesting <3

rockstar!Sirius x fem!reader ♡ 1.4k words

Even after months on tour, you don’t understand why rockstars need to smoke indoors. You’ve found a corner of refuge in the stranger’s house, siphoning fresh air from an open window, but you feel for James, grinning and bearing it while he talks to another band that performed tonight and makes nice with groupies while showing off pictures of his girlfriend back home. 

Part of you is still a bit awestruck that you get to go to these things, another part equally mystified at how routine it’s come to feel. During the first several nights of the tour, you’d been endlessly dazzled by the wealth you were suddenly surrounded with, the vibrancy of the people around you, the novelty of it all. The world had suddenly become so much larger, and everywhere you and the boys went everyone wanted to talk to them, buy you all drinks, invite you to parties and afterparties and after-afterparties. 

Sirius bears it beautifully, like this was always his destiny—in a lot of ways, you imagine it was—but sometimes when the two of you are alone he’ll confess to still feeling giddy that he and his friends have made it this big. You wonder if it’ll ever feel normal for him, the hugeness of it. You can tell by now that it never will for you. 

You’re still very impressed by the glamor of touring, you still have a good time on these nights out, but lately you’ve started to feel the distance between where you are and your real life. It’s almost as if before you could feel something invisible connecting you to home and, somewhere along on the road, it severed without you noticing. Now it just feels like a phantom limb, and when you try to recall the scent of you and Sirius’ kitchen or mime the way you have to jimmy your key to unlock the front door, you can’t manage it. 

You’re still thinking of the scent of your kitchen when it sidles up next to you. 

“You smell like garlic,” you tell Sirius, not without fondness. 

“God, it’s that potent, is it?” Your boyfriend’s tone speaks to a chagrin entirely unlike him, and he corroborates its falsity by caging you in his arms and touching his cheek to yours. You don’t mind, as he knew you wouldn’t. “I was given a choice, gorgeous, and I took a gamble.” 

“Mm. What was that?” 

“Do you want to get out of here?” 

You turn in his arms, tangling your fingers behind his back so you’re holding him as he is you. People start to give you a bit of berth, as one does for couples at parties, and selfishly you enjoy it. 

Touring is non-stop motion, a blur of people and places and sounds, and you miss the slow, quiet moments you and Sirius used to have more of. You’re with him all the time, but it doesn’t always feel like it. It hardly feels like you’re with yourself. Not his fault, not anyone’s, but not ideal. 

“It’s hardly one,” you say. 

“Which means” —he drops his lips to your eyebrow, speaking loudly to be heard over the music but just soft enough to have goosebumps skittering down your arms— “the fast food places will be closing in an hour. Fancy some grease, my love?” 

You tilt your chin up, pecking him on the lips. Truly, you don’t mind the garlic as much as you suppose you ought to. “Sure, let’s go.” 

Getting to the door is a melee, several people stopping you to try and pull Sirius back into conversation or ask if you’re going to the next party and such-and-such’s place in a couple hours, but when you do make it out the noise deadens and the air tastes clean. 

It’s a pleasant night, just cool enough to raise the hair on your arms and refresh your energy. Somewhere above you, the moon is hidden behind clouds, but still it’s bright enough that it casts a silvery glow in the areas not lit by streetlights. 

You make it a few paces down the block before Sirius is fisting his hand in the material of your shirt, spinning you around to face him. 

“Have I told you how stunning you look tonight?” 

Only thrice between the hotel and when he went on stage. “No.” 

“Liar,” he says lovingly, leaning in to give you a kiss. 

You expect from his mood for it to be hot and indelicate, and you’d hardly have complained, but he closes his lips around yours softly. His hand loosens on your front, coasting upwards to cup your cheek, sweet and savoring. 

“Garlic knots,” he says as he pulls back. 

You’re unjustifiably breathless. “Hm?” 

“That was the choice I had to make. One of Ricky’s friends heated up garlic knots, and I wagered you’d prefer kissing someone who tasted like garlic over someone who tasted like cigarettes.” 

“It’s not just someone.” You grin at him, turning and taking his hand to keep walking. “I’ll always prefer kissing you. I would’ve done it either way, you know.” 

You can hear Sirius’ smile in his voice, your favorite sound. “Yeah, but I chose right, didn’t I?” 

“You did,” you confirm, and he gives your hand a triumphant squeeze. “I have no idea where I’m going, by the way. I don’t know why I took the lead.” 

He hums. “Do you ever think you might have one of those honing instincts? Like, the way bees are to their hive, that’s how you are with fast food. My honeybee,” he says it drawn out and extra saccharine, knowing you’ll hate it, and laughs when you let go of his hand and make to walk away from him. 

Sirius grabs for your hand back, tugging you close enough to get his arm around your shoulders and pulling you into his side. You don’t put up much resistance. 

“You’re spot on, sweetheart,” he says. “I clocked a McDonald’s just a few streets down when we were driving here.” 

A buzz of excitement goes through you. “Why are you so keen on McDonald’s all of a sudden?” Sirius is as happy with fast food as the rest of you, but you know he’s been enjoying the lavish meals the boys’ new manager pays for and having room service sent up at your hotel. “We can always have that at home.” 

“You’ve been talking about milkshakes for a couple of days now,” he says, “and you’re getting quiet. I recognize that mood. I missed home last summer, too.” 

“Really?” This is the boys' first big tour—they’ve already been on a shorter, less grandiose one you hadn’t come along for—but it’s hard for you to picture Sirius ever not enjoying it. He’s not someone who sets down roots, and with the way he talks about where he grew up you’ve never thought of him as getting particularly nostalgic for any sort of place. “I figured you’d feel most at home wherever James and Remus are.” 

“Yeah, but we’d left you behind. I was torn in two, gorgeous.” Sirius’ tone is doing that weird thing where it’s teasing but not. You can hear the sincerity lining his words. He mashes a kiss into the side of your head. “Why didn’t you tell me you weren’t feeling well?” 

“Because.” You take his hand where it’s draped over your shoulder, your fingertips dancing in between his own. “It’s not the sort of mood I’d like to give into if I can help it, and I’d rather be here with you than at home anyways, so it’s pointless. There was nothing you could do, baby.” 

“Well, that’s where you’re wrong.” Sirius gives your fingers a playful squeeze. “You should always assume there’s something I can do, haven’t we been over this? Right now, I can get my girl a milkshake and some fries, and then I was thinking we could go find a park to eat them.” 

That sounds so unbelievably nice. You turn your head to smile at him, and find he’s already looking at you with a similar expression.

“And if more things come up that would make you feel better, I can try to make those happen. How does that sound, lovely girl?” 

You steal a kiss to his cheek, but Sirius doesn’t let you get away with just that, stopping to hold you in place so he can peck you properly on the lips. The neon sign of the McDonalds is close enough now to cast you in its glow. 

“You woo me more every day, do you know that?” 

“Yes, well,” says Sirius, wrapping his arm around you again to lead you the rest of the way, “I do have to prove myself better than home somehow, don’t I?”

[unadulteratedsoulsweets]

A DC X DP IDEA # 36

X

Imagine dis…

No this is not the app-related prompt…

I had just introduced my youngest brother to the original Ben 10 and worked our way to the latest to show him what he was missing, so when I saw that episode…

It immediately went to Danny…

…

Danny was falling, a normal Wednesday for us readers but not normal for our resident ghost boy.

To cut the flashback short, he had just been pushed by Clockwork, to where you ask he didn’t know.

It had been a while since he had permanently entered the Realms to learn to become a king and an Ancient. An Ancient of what you ask, Space, he was a newly formed which made the other Ancients namely  Undergrowth, Frostbite, Vortex, and so on…

They were ecstatic as it had been a while since they met a new Ancient in the making, thus leading him to be pushed by CW to a space for him to not only practice his powers as an Ancient but also practice his newly formed title can help him heal his two packages. Namely, Ellie and Dan previously inhabited a clone body made by Vlad but due to its imperfections led to an early melting form. To gain a stronger body that can wind-stand their ever-growing powers, they both needed to grow into a body aka letting Danny incubate them like some sort of MPREG situation that he accidentally saw Dash’s notebook containing his fantasy writing about him and Phantom, it was a very dark day that was, it could use some work but the fact that he improved due to his sister’s tutoring, he doesn’t know what to feel.

Now he found himself in the middle of nothing with both cores in between inside himself. At first, he didn’t know what to do, the word space kept floating in his mind so stars? He asked himself, and so the first stars came forth. He was hesitant of course, usually whenever he had to use new powers usually under duress or even sometimes instinctively so now he had the time to explore his newfound powers he didn’t know where to start.

But slowly he let his instinct control his actions creating, with a flick of his writs galaxies formed, a single blink black holes were formed, a twitch here Pulsar were made, and so on… Each move and each breath made way to a new formation creating the former vast emptiness into a thriving space life with various life forms that have come first in the race of evolution. They first stayed within the confinements of their homes and in time they began reaching for the stars.

Throughout the years Danny also began to change, Danny, in his new form, is an ethereal being with enormous power. His skin is a deep, inky black that resembles the immensity of space, with constellations and galaxies quietly dancing across it. His eyes, unlike his former look, he has now customary pitch-black voids, gleaming a vivid, intense emerald that exudes alien intensity. These penetrating green eyes appear to reflect the force of the universe, continually moving and pulsing as if they hold the secrets of existence themselves. 

White accents run throughout his physique like celestial ribbons, following his limbs, torso, and face. These streaks shine like stardust, with a faint glow reminiscent of a faraway nebula. The highlights are flowing, almost as if they are shifting and moving like stars in the night sky, creating a captivating contrast against his body's deep black color. His silhouette, while humanoid, seems almost unreal—tall, imposing, and continuously emitting the faint hum of cosmic power.

Danny Phantom—now known as Alien X dubbed by the Green Lanterns who were lucky enough to witness him at the rare times he ever so twitched—floated serenely in space, his visage as unreadable as it had always been. The once-human ghost-boy had evolved into one of the universe's most powerful entities, capable of altering reality with a single thought.

During the thousands of millennia that he spent his time crafting and perfecting his new powers came with a very heavy headache. In all the time that he had spent filling the space, he had gathered enough energy for the two to create new bodies that could accommodate their growing powers, both Dan and Ellie kept on arguing inside his head about what they wanted to look like, like some sort of demented sims game. Always arguing which would look great on them, how this piece fits them better than the other.. and so on…

…

Did you ever have the instinctive feeling that something new is happening somewhere that you can't explain? Today was that day. The silent space around him was abruptly filled with the wailing of two babies. Danny had given birth, causing shockwaves throughout the universe. Alien X, as the Lanterns dubbed him, was not intended to change or reproduce. Yet here he was, cradling two small, glowing children in his arms, their bodies moving between colors and shapes, a clear indication of their limitless potential.

And the relief of Danny as the two finally settled on a form and agreed on something.

The Lantern Corps was the first to notice. The Guardians of the Universe had long feared Alien X's might, and now, with two offspring whose talents remained unknown, they were on high alert. Every Lantern, from the enraged Red Lanterns to the hope-filled Blue Lanterns, was summoned. The stakes were too high; the children had the potential to become the universe's greatest protectors or its most terrifying adversaries.

Hal Jordan headed the Green Lantern Corps, his emerald light shining through the blackness of space as he interacted with his fellow colored Lanterns as the Green Lanterns' primary representative.

Trouble had already arrived. Darkseid, the dictatorial ruler of Apokolips, and Trigon, the demonic conqueror of universes, have established an unusual alliance. Even beings of enormous strength found the promise of possessing the power to modify reality too appealing. They each coveted one of the offspring, knowing that having even one would give them an advantage over the entire cosmos.

The Lanterns fought bravely, their united lights creating a stunning display of force. Hal solicited every favor and ally he could get. Star Sapphire, Sinestro, and even Larfleeze, the ruthless Orange Lantern, heeded the summons. The battle was intense, with cosmic energy crackling across the starry sky. However, for each wave of adversaries, they vanquished, more appeared, drawn by the irresistible power and potential of the 2 new offspring of Alien X.

As the conflict continued, the Lanterns beheld something they had never seen before. Alien X moved. Danny, who had seemed unconcerned by the mayhem surrounding him, switched his attention to the fight. His normally expressionless face softened as he stared at his children, who were now cooing in his arms, unaware of the battle raging on top of his own hands.

Danny's palm began to glow, and to the surprise of all the Lanterns present, his fingers curled into a protective ball around the infants. The difference was slight yet profound. Alien X was operating independently, free of the never-ending internal argument that had before crippled him. His hands, capable of wiping out entire galaxies, were now a barrier, protecting his children from the evil that loomed over them.

Now, both enemies and heroes are trapped together within Alien X’s hands as they all watch in fascination as two beings are now being formed before their very eyes.

…

PS: If someone out there wants to continue or make a fic about this you are free to do so, don’t forget to tag me though.

[coffeeghoulie]

Could we maybe get a little thing with Swiss having chronic back pain from his little "I meant to do that" fall, and Phantom finding out about it and making sure he gets a little extra quint to help take that edge off (just fluffy stuff <3)

I'm really feeling this one bc my shoulder pain is acting up, hope you enjoy!

Technically takes place after one of my mushy may fics, but you don't have to read that to read this one.

Divider by @ghuleh-recs <3

For all of Mountain's ministrations last night, Swiss's back isn't better in the morning. At least, he thinks it's morning. He wakes from the pain radiating through his shoulder, down his back, up his neck. He groans, tries to settle back into the hotel bed and catch a few more precious moments of sleep, but it's fruitless. The pain is too much, too distracting.

Swiss slowly gets up, careful not to disturb Mountain sleeping next to him, his toes hanging off of the end of the queen bed. They all miss their nests back home in the Abbey, but Mountain the most of all.

He's careful unlocking the door. He's as quiet as a shadow slipping out into the hall, shirtless and barefoot, and he winces at the bright fluorescents. Swiss wracks his mind for the room number he knows they're staying in. Aeon had been rooming with Aurora, he knows, but it's a safe bet to guess that she's curled up with Cumulus and Cirrus in theirs.

Swiss pads unnaturally quietly down the hall and counts room numbers. When he finds the one he's pretty certain Aeon's in, he reaches out as gently as he can with his mind. It's anyone's bet if the bug is awake or not. They and Aurora are still so new that they have what the ghouls have dubbed Pit Dreams: night terrors of summoning, things that happened Down Below.

Bug, he whispers mentally. He winces, realizing what this must look like; a creep standing outside of someone else's hotel room. Psst, buggy, are you up?

It takes a moment for a response, and Swiss can hear rummaging behind the door. Jus' a sec, a slurred voice filters into Swiss's mind, and if he were unglamoured, he'd tuck his tail between his legs. He woke them up.

The door opens, Aeon's thin fingers curling around the door itself as they poke their head out. They're unglamoured themself, a mismatched purple eye glowing in the darkness. "Wha's up?" they mumble, a fist scrubbing at their white eye. They almost look like a kit.

"Hate to do this to ya, bug," he whispers, pulling a nonchalant front up, smiling easy. "Sorry to wake ya, but woke up with my shoulder bothering me something awful. I'd get myself with some quint, but we know it doesn't work on ourselves for some Lucifer-blessed reason. Could you spare a little juice?"

Aeon nods, reaching for his wrist and pulling him into the darkness of their hotel room. The air conditioning is cranked as low as it will go, and Swiss shivers, subconsciously kicking his body temperature up a few degrees. He doesn't know how Aeon's just in boxers if he's this cold in his sweatpants, body unnaturally warm to boot.

"Shoulder, you said?" Aeon asks, rolling their neck and sounding far more awake.

"Yeah," he nods. He watches Aeon's face shift into a deeply focused expression. Their brows furrow tight.

"Swiss, what the fuck, how are you even coherent right now?" they ask, their good eye darting over his face searching for something. "I just got a sense of it, it just hit me, that's so much pain, Swiss."

He shrugs with his right shoulder. "You get used to it, after a while."

Aeon takes a deep breath, eyes suddenly very far away, somewhere Swiss can't follow. "Yeah, I get it." They shake their head, shaggy hair falling over their eyes. "But I can help, a little bit. You wanna lay down?"

He smiles, easy and genuine this time. "How'd you know this is just a ploy to get into my little buggy's bed, huh?"

They roll their eyes, turning to head back to the one mussed bed. The other is untouched, proving Swiss correct on Aurora's whereabouts. Aeon arranges themself, limbs sprawled out and starfished, and they pat the mattress. "Whatcha waiting for?"

Swiss gives them a little chuckle, padding over to the bed. "How'd you want me, sweetheart?"

Aeon cocks their head, their violet eye pinning on his face in the dark. "C'mere, lay on me. The way you let me lay on you."

He smiles, stupid with fondness as his love for the bug wells up. He carefully lays down half on top of them, head over their sternum and arms wrapping around their waist. He hums happily, senses flooded with their scent. Already, he feels better as they settle a hand between his shoulder blades.

Swiss jolts, peering up with a toothy, sheepish smile when the first spark of quintessence passes between them. His muscles instantly relax, chuffing happily into Aeon's collarbone. "Fuck, thank you, sweetheart. Tell me if I get too heavy, right?"

"Mhmm," they hum, craning their neck to nuzzle into his locs. They chuff back, a little less sure of themself than Swiss. "Anythin'. If I can ask, what was it? Or did it jus' happen?"

He exhales hard through his nose, settling more comfortably against them. He laughs, a little awkwardly. "Last tour, before you came, I got a little too into Year Zero. Misstepped the stomp and missed the edge of the platform. It's a long way down when you're tall," he chuckles, rubbing his stubbled cheek against the spattering of hair on Aeon's chest like a cat.

Aeon winces, puts a little more quintessence into Swiss's system, reaching to pull the blankets over them. "Ouch."

"Yeah," Swiss agrees. His cheeks burn, and he hopes that Aeon thinks it's just him trying to stay warm in the chilly air. "It's mostly better. Just likes to give me shit now and then. It was- I meant to do it." He spits that last part, halfheartedly repeating the lie he's been telling for a year and a half.

"It's okay if it was an accident," Aeon whispers. "I mean, what do I know, I wasn't there. But you're still hurting and we'll help you. Just gotta ask."

Swiss smiles, kisses the crook of their neck. "Too sweet to me, bug," he hums. "It's a fight. Hate admitting when I'm not doin' good. Feels like I'm bearing my belly to bigger ghouls."

Aeon pulls him closer. "Fuck, I know what that feels like."

He knows they do. He can feel the scars under his fingertips. Swiss holds them tight, the quintessence and late hour making him drowsy. His gold eyes flutter shut, too heavy to stay open. "Love you, bug."

He hears Aeon's soft exhale, feels a kiss between his horns. "Love you too."

[flamingpudding]

New Power unlocked: Shapeshifting

A/N: I was remembering that Dan could shapeshift while writing on something else and then this idea took form... just shapeshifting into a cat was to boring for my taste tho... so Danny gets stuck in a little bit of a different from...

Today had to be one of the worst day's in Danny's life. First he forgot about the English test from Lancer and was pretty sure he bombed that one. Second the moment he stepped out a Ghost Alarm blared and Skulker appeared because he was finally going to get 'Danny's pelt' for his wall. Once he finally got him souped his parents and the GIW arrive at the scene and his mom was on blaster duty today.

Meaning after an already exhausting fight he spent the rest of the day dodging them and then finally at the end of the day when he thought he could maybe get some rest for the rest of the weekend, freaking Walker had to appear with some nonsense of him having broken some other law he definitely did not know about.

And what did Walker do? Fucking drag him into the Ghost Zone when he was about to sent Skulker there and chase him around. He didn't even had the time to alert Jazz or his friends about this.

So now he was flying high speed through the Infinite Realms chased by a pissed Skulker who is competing with a pissed Walker, in who can catch the Phantom. Of all the rogues he had he had never thought that these two would team up in some weird competition like way.

Fuck that was his shoulder!

Danny swirled as he clutched his shoulder that was oozing ectoplasm from a wound. Maybe he shouldn't get distracted, but in his defence he was fucking death tired after the day he had. Death get it? He chuckled to himself. If he could just somehow hide from them to catch his breath it would already be great.

Maybe he would get some nice and useful last minute power again to help is situation?

Another blast barely missed him and Danny took a sharp turn around a floating rock. Maybe on second thought better not. Who knows what kind of power he would get stuck with then, worst case it could be something like shapeshifting, which probably would be sort of usefull and help him hide. Maybe.

As luck would have it. Thinking like that Danny pretty much jinxed himself.

Because one second he was in his ghost form dodging ecto-blasts from two of his rogues, the next second he was a snake nearly not getting the curve, then a a bird and smacked ainst a rock because how the fuck do you adjust form having limbs to not having limbs to having wings.

A second later he was a cat and pushed himself of the rock to restart flying away only to end up as a crab somehow aimlessly floating unsure how the fuck he was supposed to move now.

Thanks to the constant size changes Walker and Skulker were missing most of their shots at him. Also Walker was yelling something about unauthorized shapeshifting. Like what the hell man? Danny groaned which sounded like a meow as he smacked into another floating rock his form once again changing.

Panic sized him as a blast hit a little too close, in a panic he pushed himself with newly gained limbs that definitely were paws away from the rock, was he in some feline form again? Either way it didn't matter he needed to get away.

He turned his head for just a moment to see how far away his two rogues were, but that only turned out to be a mistake as Danny did not notice the natural portal opening in front of him.

The next thing he knew was normal gravity taking awakes and his body loudly crashing into metal as clattering filled his ears. In that moment everything hurt and Danny curled up the natural portal closing just as quickly again as it closed. He felt disoriented and he could feel the exhaustion trying to stake claim over his body.

Yet his eyes snapped open on high alert and he sprung to his feet(?). Something was not right.

Wait he was on all four. Danny turned his head to get a lock on himself. He hissed as that caused some pain to jolt but he stubbornly looked down at his arms being… claws… his legs… paws…

What in the name of the Ancients of Time….

He tried to glance over his shoulder but only got a glimpse of what he presumed were crow wings. Okay so his new power appears to have become very wonky too. He had claws, paws and wings. Now he was only missing to check if he had a snake tail and what his head looked like. Then he would probably look like some mythical creation Lancer had told them about when they worked through some old classic texts in school.

That aside he looked around and realized he had no idea where he was, the trash cans he had crashed into did look a whole lot bigger than the ones at home.

"Oh you poor thing." A young sounding voice suddenly spoke and his head snapped towards it. "Don't be scared. I will not harm you."

Wide eyed he stared as he came face to face with a kid that was wearing a Domino Mask? What? And why was he so big, no better question, why was he so tiny?! How tall was he right now?!

"Robin, don't fucking run away just because… what the fuck is that?"

Another voice appeared and Danny stared wide eyed at the even bigger guy with a red helmet. Wobbly he backed away but a pain in his back made him hiss. His panic was probably turning into shock right now because all he could do was hiss more as he suddenly got picked up by the kid, who was handling him surprisingly carefully.

"This appears to be a small chimera-like animal that obviously needs our help. It is injured."

[stormikitty]

Vaggie having lost her wings has me thinking about things that could've happened before the other characters found out she's an angel.

........................................................................

Vaggie: *in pain*

Someone: what's wrong?

Vaggie: you know what phantom limbs are? When someone who's lost a limb feels like it's still there and is in extreme pain? That. That's what's wrong.

Someone: but you're not missing any limbs?

Vaggie: do you know how many people have more limbs in the afterlife than they did in life? Just because I have the basic number of limbs that a human has doesn't mean that's all I ever had.

........................................................................

Vaggie: I used to only be comfortable wearing backless or low-backed shirts and dresses. I wonder if not doing that anymore would have been easier or harder to get used to if there was less going on at the time. I mean, that was 1 of the smaller changes I made as a result of what happened just an hour or maybe a few hours before I met Charlie. And some of the bigger changes were less things I had any control over or choice in and more things I had to deal with...

Charlie: .... I'm sorry you WHAT?- *gay thoughts*

Charlie: WHY'D YOU STOP THO?!?!

Vaggie: I got a couple of ugly scars on my back that I didn't want anyone to see...

........................................................................

Someone: why do you like climbing and parcour so much?

Vaggie: *misses flying* ... uh

[doumadono]

Hiiiii! I am squeezing into your inbox to

1. Congratulate you on your achievement. You deserved it sweetheart and I am so happy for you (maybe even a lil jealous! Hihi). Keep up the wonderful work and keep bringing joy and comfort to other people!

2. To request something!

I want some Vanilla-Mango ice creams in a cup with Maple syrup.

All of this for my one and only bunny Mirko! 🐇🤍I love ya girl!

Stay awesome!

A/N: thank you so much, honeypot! Your support means everything. I hope you'll like this short piece, and please forgive me if the character isn't quite right — it's my first time writing for Bunny Hero Mirko! ♥

5k FOLLOWERS EVENT MASTERLIST MY HERO ACADEMIA

The afternoon sun cast a warm glow over the city, painting the buildings with shades of gold and amber. You were walking through the park, lost in thought, when you spotted Mirko sitting on a bench, her prosthetic leg resting beside her. Her expression was distant, her eyes fixed on something far away.

Approaching her, you noticed the faint lines of pain etched on her face. You knew about her recent struggles with phantom pains, the cruel reminders of the limbs she had lost during the war. "Hey, Mirko," you greeted softly, taking a seat beside her.

She glanced at you, offering a small, weary smile. "Hey, Y/N," she replied, her voice carrying a hint of exhaustion.

"Is everything alright?" you inquired, concern coloring your words as you noticed the faint lines of strain etched upon her face.

Mirko sighed, her gaze returning to the horizon. "Just another rough day, I guess," she admitted, her fingers tracing the contours of her prosthetic leg. "The phantom pains have been acting up again."

You reached out, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. "I'm sorry, Rumi. That sounds really tough."

She looked at you, her eyes filled with a mixture of gratitude and sadness. "It is," she admitted. "It's like… I can still feel them, you know? My missing arm and leg. Sometimes, it's like they're still there, and it hurts so much…"

You squeezed her shoulder gently, offering your support. "I can't even begin to imagine how hard that must be for you. But I'm here for you, okay? You're not alone. You never were, sweetie."

Mirko's eyes softened, and she leaned into your touch, finding solace in your presence. "Thank you," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion.

You hurried to a nearby store to grab two bottles of water and some mochi. When you returned, you paused behind a large tree, watching Mirko.

She was someone you deeply admired, one of the few people who truly inspired you. Her toughness was unmatched, and secretly, you yearned to possess even a fraction of her spirit, to be as brave as she was. She was your role model.

You spent the rest of the afternoon with Mirko, talking, laughing, and sharing stories, sitting on that bench. You listened as she opened up about her fears and insecurities, her dreams and aspirations. And through it all, you were there for her, offering words of encouragement and comfort.

As the sun began to set, casting long shadows across the park, Mirko turned to you, her eyes shining with gratitude. "You know," she began, her voice trembling slightly, "even on my darkest days, knowing that I have you by my side makes everything a little bit brighter."

You smiled, feeling your heart swell with warmth. "And you make everything brighter for me too, Mirko. You're strong, resilient, and incredibly brave. I admire you so much."

Mirko's smile widened, and she reached out, taking your hand in hers. "Thank you," she said softly. "That means the world to me. After Jaku and the war, things really shifted," she said, her brow creasing slightly. "It's not like it broke me, but I've been feeling more uncertain. About everything, really. Even my own abilities."

You met Mirko's gaze with a gentle smile. "Rumi," you began softly, squeezing her hand in reassurance, "you have no idea how many lives you've touched with your bravery. In the chaos of Jaku and the war, you were a beacon of hope for so many. Every leap you took, every punch you threw, they weren't just acts of courage — they were beacons of light in the darkness for all those who lost their hope. You saved countless lives with your unwavering determination and your indomitable spirit. Never doubt your abilities, my dear Rabbit Hero Mirko," you urged gently, your words a steadfast anchor amidst the uncertainty. "You are a hero in every sense of the word, and the world is a brighter place because of you. The echoes of your courage will never fade."

Mirko leaned into you, resting her head on your shoulder. "Thank you," she whispered, her voice tinged with emotion. "I think that's exactly what I needed to hear today."

[heartfullofleeches]

Oh god PLEASE do a short with creep reader giving horrible torture ideas to Host while the contestants look on in horror.

(sorta forgot the short in your ask, but I hope you enjoy)

You are in an office.

The wall directly to your south is missing, but you can't see that far behind you - and so it is still there. A man sits cross from you at the other end of the table. You sense the presence of others in chairs beside you, but trying to make out distinct features from their grainy silhouettes only worsened the dull throbbing in the back of your skull. The amount of attention should bother you, but the significance of that man and yourself overshadowed them like the phantoms they were. Besides you, he's the most important in the room. He's your boss afterall.

Bathed in grey from his suit to his slicked back hair to even his skin, the man nurses an equally monochrome mug branded with the cheeky title of "A Show Host." The only bout of color on him was his tie which was curiously the exact shade and hue as your favorite color, and the book he held in his free hand. A quaint little journal with its lock popped and the key still in your pocket. Your brain screams to steal it back, but same as you can't look anywhere except ahead your body has lost all control of the rest of its motor functions.

The man barks a chuckle at the twisted thoughts you've put to paper. He removes his tie and tucks it smoothly between the pages of your journal, folding his hands neatly on the table as he closes it shut. His excessively wide grin peaks further as your eyes meet where his should be.

"Before we begin our meeting I must say what an honor it is to have such a clever mind in our little studio. Been a big fan of your work for quite some time and I think it's time to put some of your works to action."

The man tilts his sightless gaze towards the table. There are three folders where blank space once preoccupied. You gain control of your limbs as your fingers wiggle in the direction of the one closest to you.

"Those folders contain everything you need to know about the lovely contestants joining us today. Hopes, fears, ambitions, regrets- All you need and more to cook up some delicious punishment for our losers. Anything and I do mean anything is on the table. Give us your deepest, darkest fantasies and we will be more than glad to make them reality. The ball's in your court, and the pen is in your hand."

You open the first folder - gripping the pen in your sweaty palm as you read. As told, the folder is chalk full of notes on some guy just a couple years your senior. Someone's entire life held within rubber bands and pages. You sit in silence for a while. Circling some pieces, crossing out others. The Host watches intently from his end of the table feeling the swell of pride and admiration towards your dedication in whatever part of him resembled a human heart. You set down your tool and gather your notes as you begin your speech.

"Contestant A has severe claustrophobia resulting from locked in a closet by siblings as a child and forgotten for several hours. They also have fears of the dark and needles which are mostly unrelated on the surface. A potential punishment is to lock them in a room with just enough space to move. The walls are covered in spikes, slowly closing on them as time passes. The walls move at different paces so they believe it's safer elsewhere when in reality there's nowhere for them to go."

Silence. The silhouettes turn face each other, muttering amongst themselves with words you can't quite make out before facing Host sitting patiently this whole time. One by one, the silhouettes rise - striking their palms together in a chorus of applause which reaches its peak as one final member joins the frey. Host wipes a fake tear of his cheek. It almost feels...pleasant to receive positive attention for once.

"Beautiful, just beautiful. Childhood trauma, the hopeless hope or escape. I knew there was nothing short of genius in you. Keep going."

Host returns to his chair, resting his chin on the ball of his palm as you reach for another folder. Your hand naturally falls on the next one in order, but upon picking it up the letter on its cover is C. Host picks up his cup and holds to his lips as you look up at him. Skimming through the pages a strange feeling settles in your stomach. The same that plagued when writing nearly every entry in your book. You set the folder down and pick up the third. Then the first. It all clicks.

"Contestant C.... Contestant C is someone who tried to make my life a living hell in the past. In spite of this, with your permission I'd like to make them an offer. The other contestants are close friends of theirs. Life long even. Contestant C is now both an star athlete and plays guitar on weekend. They are also selfish and care for no one but themselves. I would like to give them the opportunity to free themselves and their friends in exchange for their dominant arm. If they refuse they are free to leave, following immediate punishment, torture and killing of their allies they must sit through."

Host stares at you - least you assume so given his lack of eyes, for quite some time. So long whatever he was drinking had to be cold by now. His cup turns out to be empty as it rolls across the floor. Thand resting on his chin covers his entire face as he folds, head bouncing off the wooden as his body twitches and jerks with every giggle he stifles. His attempts are in vain as his laughter echoes through the shadows around you, and the unseen crowd behind you. They convulse in ways unnatural foe the human forms they mimic. The sound reverberates from every corner, drowning your thoughts. You pick up the mug at your feet, reading its message for a second of clarity.

"Reality's Greatest Co-Host."

Host gradually regains his composure. He cards a hand through his hair and fixes his collar as he lifts himself off the table. He shutters returning to focus to you having never known more love or appreciation for the human mind than what consumes him now.

"I... could honestly kiss you right now. Forgive me for my brashness, but you have proven yourself a second time as the perfect member of our team. I'd kill to have a look at your brain, but I much prefer it in that pretty head of yours. I simply can't wait to see what you have in store for future guests, but for now let's focus on the ones we have now. We've kept them waiting long enough..

Blinking once, Host stands over you, holding out his hand as bright light blinds your vision. You're no longer facing the table and now in view of the stage hidden behind that wall that never existed. Three people stand behind podiums, each expressing terror, dread, anger or a perfect mixture of the three. Your lips pull into a smile as you take Host's hand and step out onto the stage. The crowd's cheers pitch higher seeing their favorite hosts hand in hand. A whisper soft as a lover's embrace meets your ear as his lips meet your temple.

"In the impossible chance they agree, you don't plan on letting any of them go - do you?"

He knows you so well.

[str8rat]

In Stars And Time - Fear and Hunger AU

ALSO WARNING, loss of limbs

remember kids, an unspoken rule of the artists; when they've got no twinkles in their eyes, you know they've had it bad.

WOOO ISA'S THE NEXT CHARACTER I DECIDED TO TRAUMATIZE!!!!! YAY!!!!

Mirabelle will be next <3

~ ~ ~

Isabeau; Ophthalmophobia ( fear of being stared at )

Effects; Lost his right arm

Info;

TW!!! DISMEMBERMENT IG aka backstory to how Isa lost his arm

A retired Defender of Jouvente. He capital-C-Changed his body, hoping to become someone that others wouldn't be ashamed of knowing. Lost his right arm months before the party reached Dormont, protecting Mirabelle from a fatal strike coming from a powerful Sadness.

Despite his loss, his bubbly and highly supportive personality remains, always caring for his companions. And even though he does mourn the fact of him most likely never being able to become a clothing designer with just one arm, he does not regret his decision one bit. He's just a stupid Defender, afterall, and Mirabelle is the Chosen one, the one blessed by the Change God, to defeat the King. She is more important than some puny guy that likes bad jokes.

Gets phantom pains quite often. He desperately tries to be the strong, optimistic member of the party, keeping up their morales and spirits, never wanting to let them down. Always hoping that his laughter will light up the room and help everyone forget about everything, if only for a little bit. He also lost his left earring in one of the battles against Sadnesses. Generally he is the person constantly getting hurt for his party, despite the scolding he gets for it regularely.

Due to his phobia, he dislikes crowds and the public, always feeling like he has eyes at the back of his neck. He hates it, and always tries to avoid eye contact while talking to someone. With the party's help though, he's been making progress! The feeling of eyes looking over his body reminds him of all his imperfections, and it makes him spiral, wondering if he is being stared at due to the flaws in his crafted body. It makes him want to Change into someone else.

And yet, he still silently hopes that maybe, just maybe, in an unspecified time in the future, he could make up for the missing earring, and put a bonding one in it's place, if he'd ever dare to confess to Siffrin. He cannot bring himself to do it though, thinking that maybe, even after everything, he may still not be good enough and worthy of being loved. All in all, he still remains just a coward.

~ ~ ~

Sooo yeah. I in all honesty could not find a better phobia for Isa. I've thought about the phobia of love ( his inability to confess ) or maybe the phobia of failure ( failing his friends ) but in the end I settled on a phobia that has him feeling like he is constantly stared at, so much so that he decided to Change his body. Honestly a terrifying phobia. And a very self-destructive one.

Anyways, that's all! see you tomorrow! we're ruining Mirabelle next <3

[mj-iza-writer]

Whumptober Day 30

Recovery - Hospital Bed - Holding Back Tears - "What have I done?"

Warning amputation... quadruple amputation.

Quiet moans left Whumpee's lips as Caretaker adjusted them to a sitting position and tucked pillows around them to keep them sitting up.

"How are you feeling this morning?", Caretaker sat down in a chair next to the bed, "did you sleep well?"

"S-still sore from the procedures", Whumpee whispered, "I still feel them", Whumpee's eyes began to water.

Caretaker reached for a tissue, and dotted at Whumpee's eyes.

"I know" Caretaker sighed, they looked down at what was left of Whumpee's arms and legs. They had been removed by a madman with a power saw. After their rescue, doctors had to go in and correct the amputated limbs, making the stubs even shorter.

"Is it okay if I apply the medicine ointment now for you?", Caretaker smiled weakly, "I know those phantom pains are horrible. Would a little massage help you?"

Whumpee shook as they tried not to cry, they nodded to let Caretaker start.

"Here take a drink first my dear", Caretaker reached for a cup and placed the straw to Whumpee's lips.

Whumpee took small sips, they felt their was a knot in their throat.

Caretaker set the cup down and cupped Whumpee's cheek.

"You don't have to hold back tears in front of me.... you know that right? You have every right to cry, scream, and be angry. What that person did to you... what they took from you... I understand. You are uncomfortable and trying to be brave, but you don't have to do that, not any more."

Whumpee huffed a few times, trying to contain themself. They looked down over themself. Their missing arms and legs. Just stumps.

"Wh... why did this happen... who does this to someone?", Whumpee whispered, "please Caretaker. Help me understand?"

Caretaker looked over them, "I know you are use to me being the fix all the problems person. I unfortunately don't think I can fix this with just talking, and I don't think I have the words that can even start explaining how sorry I am that this happened to you. The guilt I feel that I wasn't their to protect you. I'm so sorry."

Whumpee sniffled a little.

"Can I, can I have a hug", Whumpee whispered.

"Yes you can absolutely have a hug", Caretaker stood from their chair and leaned over the bed, "you know you can always have hugs."

Caretaker lifted Whumpee up and pulled them close.

"I'm here for you. I will help you to the best of my abilities", Caretaker cuddled Whumpee, "I promise you."

Whumpee nodded. They buried their face into Caretaker's shoulder and started to cry.

Caretaker gently ran their hand up and down Whumpee's back.

After a few minutes Whumpee looked up.

"H-how am I supposed to live like this. The doctors already said prosthetics wouldn't work for me. I can't even correctly ride in the car."

Caretaker nodded, "well, in a few days, we will receive a harness seatbelt. This will be able to be installed into any cars you ride in. It will keep you safe", Caretaker started to lay Whumpee back down, "for everything you can't do... you have me to help you. Oh, and you will get a few nurses to help you as well. You'll have one every other day."

Caretaker started to massage the ointment on, "after this and breakfast, what would you like to do? We have some free time today."

"I don't know", Whumpee watched them, "I don't have a lot of energy right now."

"Well I get that. We can have a low energy day if you like. How about we find a series to watch. I'll order some snacks and drinks; we can cuddle if you like", Caretaker smiled.

"I don't know if I can stay awake long enough to watch movies", Whumpee started to get upset again.

Caretaker looked at them with concern, "hey", they whispered.

"I'm sorry", Whumpee sobbed, "I don't... I don't mean to be mean, but..."

"Whumpee you don't have to feel bad or anything. If you are not feeling up to it, that's fine. I'm just talking out loud for if you wanted to do something", Caretaker smiled, "we don't have to do anything at all if you don't want to. I will quite literally sit beside you all day and keep you company or climb in that hospital bed to cuddle with you if you want me to. Anything you want."

Whumpee sniffled a little, causing Caretaker to grab another tissue.

"Cuddles would be nice", Whumpee hiccuped from crying.

"Yeah, we can cuddle. I'll get breakfast in you, then you can pick where we will cuddle", Caretaker smiled, "do you want me to read to you?"

"No", Whumpee looked down, "can we just talk? Like we use to."

"Yes absolutely", Caretaker nodded.

Caretaker laid Whumpee into their bed. Then climbed in with them.

"Alright scoochie, scooch", Caretaker joked as they squeezed in. Whumpee's bed had guard rails on the side so they wouldn't roll out. This made their bed a little snug.

They laid on their side and hugged Whumpee close to them.

One hand wrapped around Whumpee in a hug. Caretaker played with Whumpee's hair with their other hand.

"What do you want to talk about?", Caretaker smiled, they leaned in and placed a gentle kiss to Whumpee's forehead, "I'm all ears."

"Anything except for the amputation", Whumpee sighed, "but I might warn you. I may fall asleep."

"That's fine", Caretaker chuckled, "you need your rest. I may fall asleep as well. We can have a sleep day today."

Caretaker thought for a few moments.

"Ah, I know. That writer you like.. they are coming out with a new book, and I've already pre-ordered it for us", Caretaker smiled, "while you were resting in the hospital I went ahead and read the series as quickly as I could to get an idea of what was going on. I am completely caught up, and I understand why you enjoy the series."

Whumpee's eyes twinkled, "you did?"

"Yes we still have a month or so until it ships to us, but we can read it together if you like" Caretaker smiled, "or if you want, I'll help flip the pages for you while you read. I'll read it after you're done. Whichever you want."

"That would be fun to read it together", Whumpee smiled.

Caretaker grinned, that was the first smile since the accident.

Caretaker watched as Whumpee's eyes closed and opened again.

"I think you are getting tired", Caretaker sat up for a blanket.

"I think so to", Whumpee smiled weakly as Caretaker pulled the blanket up and covered them both.

"I think I am too", Caretaker yawned back, "do you want your bed back, or do you want me to stay here?"

"Please, will you stay with me", Whumpee pleaded.

"Yes of course I will" Caretaker went back to playing with Whumpee's hair, "I'll stay right here for as long as you need me to... I promise."

Whumpee nodded.

Caretaker left another gentle kiss on Whumpee's forehead when they finally fell asleep.

'I'm so sorry', Caretaker thought to themself as they cupped Whumpee's cheek, 'you have been through something I would never wish on anyone. You are being so brave, but I know you Whumpee. You are so scared. Even a little ashamed. You are always so self-conscious.'

Caretaker lovingly watched them sleep.

"I love you so much", Caretaker whispered, causing Whumpee sleepily smile.

Caretaker leaned up one last time to kiss Whumpee's forehead.

"I promise... everything is alright."

Taglist. As always please let me know if you want to be added or taken off of the list. It's not a problem at all.

@villainsandheroes @the-beasts-have-arrived

@sacredwrath @porschethemermaid

@monarchthefirst @generic-whumperz

@bloodyandfrightened @freefallingup13

@notpeppermint @cyborg0109

@idontreallyexistyet @painfulplots

@whumpbump @everythingsscary

@skittles-the-whumpee @expressionless-fr

@theforeverdyingperson @legendarydelusiongoatee

@candleshopmenace @whumpanthems

@lavndvrr @ivymyers

@starfields08000 @a-living-canvas

@lumpofsand @watermeezer

@indigoviolet311 @whumpy-mountains

@3-2-whump @risk606

@electrons2006 @paperprinxe

@whumprince @kaz-of-crows

@mis-graves @decaffeinatedtimetraveler94

@sausages-things @ragin-cajun-fangirl

@isikedmyself878 @daffyduckcommittedtaxfraud

@valravnthefrenchie @glennemerald

@jasperthecapser @does-directions

@deafeninglittlecrown @jumpywhumpywriter

@blackbirdsinatrenchcoat @mylifeisonthebookshelf

@thenormalestever @whatwhump

@galatic-worm

[glossysoap]

ready to comply v - изоляция

изоляция or isolation is defined as;

the process or fact of isolating or being isolated.

tags/warnings: pov change from 141 to reader, phantom limb/pain, talk of human waste (sorry), uncleanliness, torture, hallucinations, fake death.

prev chapters here!

word count: 2,876

🏷️: @viylikescats @warenai @briacreations96 @fullmoon-94 @breadboyye @kiroshang @zvdvdlvr @lunitalloronaa @itzzjxlyn @lonely-ofc @m0rganit3 @badbishsblog @wolfyland07 @angelsdemonsmonsters @unkn0wnd3ad @itstokyo-cos @c1rice @venusianlustt @bugonawall @wakusbonkus @blackrose4242 @blackgaladriel @lilpothoscuttings @thvxr @tapioca-marzipan @undercover-smutlover @nickangel13 @luvmeijii @atjamesbbarnes @h-leigh @writingmybeloved @chloeforde @divine--serenity @hunterbunter3000 (if ur name is striked out, it means tumblr wouldn’t let me tag, sorry)

When you assumed that the 141 wouldn’t send out a search and rescue team for you, you were right.

When you assumed that by the time the 141 discovered you were missing, that it would be too late, you were right.

When you assumed that they would be too preoccupied with the next mission to look for you, you were right.

That much was proved to be true when Shepherd uttered the words, “You know I can’t let you do that, John.” The General couldn’t send out his best soldiers to go searching for some medic that was probably already long dead by now. The General wouldn’t.

John chuckled without humor, shaking his head in disbelief.

“So what then, General? Because they were the only surgeon I trusted with my team!” He shouted, nostrils flaring.

Shepherd chose his next words carefully, still paranoid after being ambushed in that conference room and almost assaulted by the Lieutenant.

“So, we’ll hope for the best and prepare for the worst. We will have a list of potential.. replacements as soon as possible.”

John’s throat tightened and tears pricked his eyes but he didn’t let them fall. No, not in front of the emotionless, insensitive General, who John knew never liked you that much anyway.

So the Captain pressed his lips together and nodded to himself, before walking out of the conference room. He walked the halls of his base with a clenched jaw and a feeling of barbed wire wrapped around his throat.

Soon, you were also right about being replaced.

Corporate quickly pulled your name from any employee record or planners. Your name was pulled from payroll and all of your previous medical cases were sealed forever. Any of your current patients were transferred to a different surgeon, along with the medical plan you had created. Your room was even cleared of all of your belongings and put into a box - down to every last post-it note, picture frame and candle. The gold plaque on your door that had your name printed on it was even scraped from the wood, leaving it blank for someone else’s name.

Worst of all, was when the interviews began. Way too soon in the Task Force’s opinion. Laswell, Price and Shepherd had formed a panel including themselves and your previous medical assistants in order to find the best replacement. Price tried to ignore the sullen looks on your assistants’ faces when they were trying to find a new surgeon. You were their friend and mentor, after all.

Once they had finally found someone suitable for the job, the new surgeon moved into your medbay the medbay. They put their grubby little hands on it. They rearranged all of the medical supplies into a different order, one that made no sense compared to the way you organized things. Even the way they triaged patients irked the Task Force, it was all way too busy and chaotic instead of the coordinated way you triaged.

When it came to being treated by your replacement, 141’s hackles rose. They would glare daggers at the surgeon, tempted to refuse treatment from anyone other than you. No one could administer injections like you could. No one could insert an IV like you, they would always end up losing a vein or leaving the patients arm with bruises. Your replacement took too long to come up with diagnoses, leaving the team out of commission for longer than necessary.

At every single turn, the entire Task Force knew that if you were here, you would’ve put that “replacement” to absolute shame.

But when you assumed that the team would be better off with you gone? You couldn’t have been more wrong.

The atmosphere at the base shifted immediately after you were announced missing in action, and presumably killed in action.

It was an unspoken grief that neither Simon or Johnny could swallow, no matter how hard they tried. Where the warmth usually resided in their chest, a piercing ache replaced it, leaving a hole where you should be. The hole in their chest was always there, digging deeper and deeper with each passing minute without you.

Their throats went raw and tight every time they found themselves looking for you, on pure instinct. They would search for you wearing your scrubs in the medbay, only to find your replacement standing in your place. They would listen for the pitter-patter of your feet as they worked out in the gym, so accustomed to you talking to them while they lifted weights. They would listen and listen, expecting you to pop up next to them — only for you to never appear. They would find themselves walking by your door and slowing to a stop. They would raise a fist to knock on your door, only to stop an inch from the door when they remembered that you weren’t there.

Everywhere they looked, they were reminded of you. They saw pieces of you everywhere on base, pieces you left behind.

(….)

For days or weeks on end, you were locked in that room as you slept on that uncomfortable cot.

Days passed, you weren’t sure how many, but you knew they were passing nonetheless. It could’ve been two days, five days, or even weeks. You had no idea.

You were kept in that room with no water. Your stomach was constantly growling and aching for even a sleeve of crackers. Your throat was dry and sore, even swallowing hurt because of how thirsty you were.

The only nourishment you were granted was two protein shakes a day, tossed into your cell first thing in the morning. They tasted of protein powder and synthetic nutrients, making you cringe whenever you sipped it - though you did savor it as the only ‘food’ you ever got.

The shakes were the only calories you could rely on so that you didn’t starve to death in that cell.

The effects of dehydration had already begun taking it’s toll on you. Your head was constantly pounding and you found yourself pressing against your eye socket to try and relieve the migraine. You had already emptied your stomach multiple times throughout your imprisonment because of the nausea, the smell wafting from the buckets only making it worse. You were only thankful that you hadn’t started experiencing hallucinations.

You had no way of knowing how much time had passed because there were no clocks or windows. There was no sunlight to illuminate the room or tell you when the sun was rising or setting. There was no dusk or dawn. Just a cold, grey concrete room.

The lighting panels on the ceiling was the only thing providing light to the dreary room. The light never turned off, not even for an hour. You were thoroughly convinced that your captors knew you might use the light schedule to measure time, so they just kept the lights on. Every minute of every day. Burning your corneas and making it impossible to get any rest.

The room was filled with a disgusting, nauseating odor that stemmed from two buckets in the corner of the room. You were forced to relieve yourself in those buckets, the smell of your waste making you gag with almost every breath.

The only way you could ever sleep during that time was to pull your shirt over your head. At least then you wouldn’t have to see that bright light or smell that putrid odor.

In all that time you were kept there, you sat in the same pair of cargo pants and muscle shirt that you woke up in, never granted a shower much less freedom from this room. For days or even weeks, you were stewing in your own dirt and sweat. Your body reeked and your greasy hair was tangled up in a rats nest in the back.

You could only imagine what you looked like.

You had no socks or shoes, so your feet were adorned in scrapes and bruises from being dragged around weeks prior. From not having any access to a bath, much less a moisturizer, your feet were becoming dry and cracked. There were also scabs decorating the heels of your feet due to pieces of glass and debris scattered on the floor of the room. You winced and limped with any step you took on your bloody, raw feet.

Your body was sore, no doubt holding wounds under your skin. Sore burning wrapped around your right wrist and elbow, serving as a reminder of when those soldiers tore you from that redhead and dragged you into that room. You knew that if your left arm was still there, your real left arm, you would feel the same burning soreness mirrored there.

Your stab wound was messily stitched shut and bandaged over, still leaving you with sharp pains if you twisted or turned a certain way. Your neck was sore and bloody due to all of the needle pricks from off market drugs, steroids and sedatives.

Throbbing, stabbing pain radiated from your left arm shoulder all the way throughout your body. It was pain you couldn’t place — pain that you knew didn’t truly come from your shoulder, but that was the last part of your arm that remained. Logically, that was the only place it should be coming from.

It wasn’t just surface level pain either. It dove deep into your nerves that ran all through your body, shocking each one with a jolt of electricity that made you wince and whimper in pain.

It consumed every cell in your body. Lighting every blood vessel on fire, flaying your muscles alive. It made the nerves in your back and arms tense up, rendering you immobile until your body finally relaxed.

Sooner or later though, delirium would begin setting in. Forcing you to crumble from the pain and surrender to exhaustion, and letting your eyelids flutter closed.

Even in your unconscious state, you were miserable. Your heartbeat pounded in your already aching head. Your throat scratched with every inhale and exhale. The skin that met metal on your left shoulder was still searing as if you were being branded like cattle.

In some ways you were.

With every labored wheeze, your chest screamed in white hot pain that was reminiscent of the knife piercing your abdomen. The stitches threatened to rip open with any sharp intake of breath or involuntary muscle twitch. Every single scrape, bruise and gash that littered your body still screamed in pain while you slept. Your face was still screwed up in agony, brows furrowed and eyes clenched shut.

Your dreams were filled with light and warmth, blossoming safety and protection. You dreamed of your safe haven that lied solely in Johnny and Simon. Your dreams were filled with Johnny's warmth. His tan skin and cerulean eyes, crinkling with his booming laughter at some stupid joke you told him. His big arms that were corded with muscle, wrapping around you in a comforting embrace. His husky, accented voice that sounded like pure honey as he complimented you. Your dreams were filled with Simon's instinctual protection. Flashes of him braking hard in the Hum-vee, making sure to lash out a tattooed arm in front of your stomach to shield you. Flashes of him gently taking your chin in his hand and tilting your face after an explosive goes off, ensuring that your ears weren’t bleeding and no debris had hit your face. Flashes of him sweeping you off your feet and carrying you in his arms the second he sees you sporting limp on a mission.

In the dream, you heard their voices as clear as day. You welcomed it, even in the dream, because you feared that would be the last time you ever heard their voices.

“Bonnie,” Johnny's accented voice echoed in your head, a bit cloudy from being submerged in the rest of the dream.

“Lovie,” Simon's usually commanding voice had softened remarkably, as if he wanted to comfort you and drag you further into slumber.

Their voices continued overlapping in your dream, acting as a tether to your unconscious state. You hung onto every last word, every last syllable, desperate to be out of this hell hole. Even if dreaming would be your only escape, you would gladly take it.

In your dream, they would cup your cheek and wipe away the fat tears that fall down your face. They would pull you into their chests and let you bury your face in their vests, soaking the fabric with your tears and snot.

“We got you,” they would murmur in your dream, pressing kisses to the crown of your head.

They kept repeating that phrase, turning into a mantra of sorts, becoming louder with each repetition.

They became so loud in fact, that it pulled you from your state of consciousness and made you gasp awake.

“We got you, Y/N!” They shouted as you took in your surroundings.

What you saw made tears pool in your eyes. Captain Price, Kyle, Johnny and Simon. They were all storming into your room, dressed in their usual combat gear and sporting their preferred assault rifles. Racing over to your cot with concern etched onto their faces as they took in your injured state, tear stained face and your new arm.

Before they could make even two steps toward you, gun shots rang out from Russian soldiers.

“No!” You wailed, vision blurring and lips trembling.

Blood spattered on the walls and onto the floor as the bullets tore apart the bodies of the four men in your life. Their corpses bodies fell limp on the dirty floor, blood pooling around them. Their guts and intestines were spilling out of their stomach. You could see their muscle and fat, covered in a sheen of crimson.

You could only sob as you watched the life drain from the four men’s eyes.

Captain Price was still just looking at you, his lips freezing in a sad smile as his eyes glazed over. His hat was knocked off during the shooting, revealing his hair bloodied and matted. Brain matter scattered the surrounding area.

Kyle was staring up at the ceiling, eyes looking but not actually seeing. In addition to taking multiple rounds in his chest, his carotid artery was shot, leaving him to quickly bleed to death.

You screamed into your hands when it came to your last two boys, to the loves of your life.

Johnny was smiling, somehow. Even as his mohawk was soaked in blood and brain matter. Even as his face was splattered in his own guts, and blood was leaking from his mouth. He was still fucking smiling at you, his pearly whites now tainted by the crimson liquid. His eyes drove a knife through your heart and twisted. His once vibrant cerulean eyes were now empty and drained of any life. There was no emotion, no warmth.

Looking at Simon is what took that same knife that was buried in your heart, and thrusted it back in. Over and over and over. His mask had fallen off from the hitting the ground so hard. His honeyed eyes that once entranced you, enthralled you, were now rolled back into his skull. His face was revealed for anyone to see. Only it was covered in blood, every single inch of it. His bleach blond hair was drenched in crimson, the strands sticking to his forehead. His eyelashes that used to be so white and pretty were now covered in the same liquid as it dripped down his face. His mouth was open in a silent scream, blood trickling out of his mouth. His neck was torn apart, allowing you to see every muscle and tendon and even some bone.

Both Johnny's hands were outstretched, reaching towards you. Even when they were dead. Murdered. Slaughtered. They were still reaching out for you.

No pain in the world could compare to this. You clutched your stomach and screamed, trying to get rid of the pain in your heart but you couldn’t. You just kept wailing and gasping for air.

They were all dead.

Dead because of you.

No matter where you looked, there was blood. On the walls, on the floor, on the cot. Some had even splattered onto you.

Fitting, considering their blood was on your hands. Literally and figuratively.

You tried to close your eyes but all you saw was dead eyes and gaping holes, skin torn apart and muscle shredded to pieces. You tried to convince yourself that it was all just a dream, conjured up by your state of delirium. But every time you peeked your eyes open, your worst fears were just confirmed.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” You sobbed.

“I’m so sorry. It should have been me.”

Suddenly, the door to your room creaked open and in the blink of an eye, everything changed. The scene before you completely disappeared. All of the bodies were gone, along with all of the intestines and guts piled around them. The pools of blood were gone, the floor wasn’t even stained from it.

The room was exactly the same as it had been for weeks.

It was all a hallucination. They never came for you. They were never murdered right in front of you. They were alive.

You were going insane, but they were alive.

The relief that flooded your chest was short lived once you saw who opened the door. It was the same doctor who wielded the bone saw.

The doctor that dismembered you.

next chapter

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[fanaticsnail]

Left Behind - Snails Rambling Fic Thoughts

Tag list: @mfreedomstuff @since-im-already-here @feral-artistry @sordidmusings @writingmysanity

Notes: I think I like writing fanfic and rambling about this so much because I really got into playing mermaids, fae and princesses as a child 💀.

Also, considering the last thoughts I had on this concept was on Kid's side, I wanted to know how it would look from the other perspective.

Not a fic, just purely a concept - but a long one.

Okay, okay, okay.

But imagine being a Kid-Pirate who was left behind by your captain after he declared he was going to take on Red-Haired Shanks. He left you behind, specifically, because you were the only one who opposed him.

“That is the stupidest fucking idea you've ever had,” you'd voice your reprimand alongside your concern, “He is one of the emporers. He has a crew far stronger than we are. He has an Armada he could call for backup. His Haki is-.”

And after you've aired your opposition, Eustass Kid brushes them aside; convincing you that he'd given up on the idea. He sends you away to gather inventory, casting off and weighing anchor the minute you're out of sight.

And then the chaos, the havok, the injury, the mayhem.

Suddenly your captain is missing an arm, his skin is scorched and mutilated. There's crewmen missing, there's so much blood.

After you regroup with your troop, you rush to your captain and embrace him as he falls to his knees. He whispers between sobs, clutching at your shirt with his remaining fist.

“You were right,” he attempts to embrace you completely, his phantom limb joining behind your back as he attempts to join his wrists together, “You were right. I should have listened. I should have never left you behind.”

He expects your scolding, he expects your wrath, he expects, awaits and anticipates the screams of fury erupting from your lungs.

In it's stead, all you do is lower your tone and elevate his face with your two hands caressing his scarred skin. His cheeks were streaked with tears, his eyes full of glossy sorrow. You’d glare down at him through half-hooded lashes, your lip curling up as your silent rage begins in a low whisper.

“I will destroy them,” you'd confess in a tone darker than the dead of night, “They will bend until they break, their blood will ignite beneath the flames of my wrath.”

Eustass Kid would never see a rage akin to this for as long as he lives. A rage that fuelled your retribution enough to have you break away from your crew and live in solitude while you trained and readied your body to weaponize your grief .

He had left you behind, after all. Why should you continue to claim him as captain as he so easily was able to cast you aside? Although now he is no longer captain to you, he will always be mentioned in the same breath as ‘friend,' or even 'lover.'

Names, faces and titles would be committed to memory. Your persona as an assassin to invoke your revenge would have you take new names and titles of your own. You would practice by taking out some lesser captain's and their crews, claiming bounties and training against Haki-users to develop one of your own.

When you finally feel ready enough to begin picking off members of the Red-Hair pirates, Shanks immediately would sense a game is afoot. He would start off by having his sharp-shooter constantly be on guard and ready for you. That would be fine, you'd trained your body to work tirelessly. Had Yasopp? The closure of his eyes and the slow rise and fall of his chest would state otherwise.

Although it would be far easier to take out their Doctor or their Chef first, your eyes would immediately draw their focus to the first mate. What is a pinky toe to the whole body of a crew? Why should you devote your time to such digits, when you had a window to take out Shanks’ right hand first?

As you'd disguise yourself beneath the shroud of Beckman's shadow, your shock would be adamant when a slow chuckle rattled in his smoke-riddled lungs. As you’d elevated your dagger, readying your blade to strike him in the back, he'd speak up.

“So this is the one that was left behind?” he'd sigh drawing up the filter end of his cigarette, placing it in his lips, “The Kid-Pirate that stood up to their Captain. Left behind for showcasing nothing but loyalty.”

You'd halt your plunge, feeling Beckman’s Haki begin to ignite and compel your body to bend to his will. You'd shake it off, readying yourself to dive forward and take out the larger man once again.

“You took his arm,” your dark, venomous confession would ignite a small amount of fear in the base of his spine, “You mutilated my crew.”

“Aye, that I did,” Beckman would confess, a man of honor amongst invoking such violence, “But you were left behind. Are they really your crew if they left you so easily?”

“They loved me,” your reflection would cause your heart to flutter, and lip to quiver.

“Or did they think you too weak to carry out the task?” his ignition of the flint-lock lighter would break you from your trance, eyes narrowed and glaring at him as he would turn to meet you.

“I don't think you're weak,” Beckman’s confession would have you stumble more, not anticipating praise as your blade now met against his wide chest.

“And why should I care what you think?” you'd spit at him, drawing your body closer as the threat of your blade made its steel kiss the pectoral above his heart, “You're the enemy. You hurt him, my crew, and you deserve death.”

“That may be true,” he'd confess, leaning against your blade to test the resolve of your threat, “But you deserve so much more than abandonment in response to your loyalty.”

“You deserve a crew that would have you'd back,” he'd continue, “A crew that would seek to train you up, uplift you, and never forsake you.”

“I suppose you mean ‘your crew,’ Beckman?” you'd snarl, your resolve beginning to crack and scatter, “I would rather die.”

“Join us. Learn from us, then leave us,” he'd suggest, “Return to your former captain," he'd exhale a long breath of smoke away from your face, "See if they're worthy of having you as their family, or if you'd rather stay with a new, more respectful, one."

Tldr: Eustass Kid abandoned you, returning only when he was defeated and asking for your forgiveness. You didn't grant him forgiveness, but offered him retribution instead. Training for 3 long years, you had finally readied yourself to destroy the red-hair pirates. As you were about to invoke it, you were offered a place amongst the crew you swore you'd defeat. They want to train you to be better than them, a wildcard in a world of piracy.