#i want to stop being nauseous and in pain and so so so exhausted all the time. im so tired.

[halo-eater]

I HATE EBV!!!!!!!!!

[sunny44]

Are you pregnant?

Pairing: Mason Mount x wife!reader

Warnings: sickness, pregnancy test, pregnancy talk.

Summary: When Mason and y/n find out they're pregnant with their baby.

I had been extremely tired these past few days.

I was tired of the job that I used to love because after my boss left and an idiot took his place and he’s a jerk.

The projects he was making us do are getting bigger and the time shorter and I was exhausted and today he just let me go home earlier because I almost threw up on him that was so discussed that send me home.

Mason was in training and I didn't want to disturb him so I went back alone and decided to stop by the pharmacy and see if I could get some sickness medicine because I hate this feeling.

"Hello, how can I help you?"

"I've been nauseous for a few days and have been vomiting all morning and I'd like some sickness medicine please." She smiles and I was confused. "Is something wrong?"

"Sorry for this but have you had sex in the last few weeks?"

"Oh, uhm yes I have."

"Have you ever considered the possibility that you might be pregnant?" I widened my eyes and at the same time I felt the nausea once again. "I'm sorry I didn't mean to butt in but your symptoms are the same as a pregnant woman."

I haven’t thought about the possibility of being pregnant but now that she mention it all made sense.

The symptoms, the vomiting and my Kate period that I just realized that was late now.

"Where are the pregnancy tests please?" She gives a half smile and takes one and hands it to me.

"This one is the best one of all. There's a bathroom over there if you want to use it." I agreed and walked to the bathroom.

I took the test but I didn't want to find out the answer in a pharmacy bathroom so I put it in the box and after paying I went back to our house.

As I set foot inside the house I could hear laughter and one of them was Mason's, I felt paws on my legs and looked down to see Milo our Golden Retriever puppy jumping on me.

"Baby? What are you doing home?" He asks and comes over to me and his smile disappears as soon as he sees my face. "What's wrong? Are you okay?"

"I am, don't worry."

"Were you crying?"

"It's nothing, I just have stomachache and you know I don't handle pain very well.” He agrees and kisses my forehead. "I'm going upstairs to take a hot bath and try to get some sleep."

"I'm going to ask Ben and Reece to leave and..."

"No need love, I'm going to sleep anyway so you don't have to send them away."

"Fine, but if there's anything let me know, okay?" I agreed and kissed him as I walked up the stairs and being followed by Milo.

The whole time I was in the hot tub, Milo was lying on the floor there with me and when I went to bed he climbed on the bed and laid his head on my belly.

“Do you think there’s a baby in there?” I asked him that close his eyes when I put my hand on his head. “I think you would like to have a brother or a sister.”

He bark in a low tone and went to sleep.

…

When I woke up it was already 7 o'clock at night so I put on my slippers and went downstairs, the boys were still here as I heard more than one male voice.

"Good night boys."

"Good night Mrs. Mount." Ben jokes and laughs going to hug him.

"Feeling better?" Mase asks and I say just a little. "I made soup."

"Correction, I made soup." Reece says and I laugh.

"Hey, you said you would let me take credit." Mase replies grumpily and they laugh.

"I changed my mind."

"Well thanks for soup Reece." I gave him a kiss on the cheek and started eating and soon I heard my cell phone ring. "Ben can you get it for me please? It's in my purse."

"Yeah, I'll get it." He comes out of the kitchen and takes too long but soon comes back with my phone and a strange face. "Is everything okay?"

"Yeah, I just took a while to find it." He answers awkwardly.

Time went by, Reece had to leave and it was just the three of us until Mason went upstairs to take a shower and as soon as he got out Ben came to my side.

"I need to ask you something and I want you to be honest with me."

"You're scaring me Ben, is everything ok?"

"Are you pregnant?" He asks, and I widen my eyes. "You are, aren’t you?"

"Why are you asking me that?"

"Because I saw the test when I went to get your cell phone."

"Did you see the results?"

"No, I didn't. Did you look at the result?" I silently denied. "Do you want me to look along with you?"

"No, you look I’m scared" He agrees takes the test and looks but I can't decipher his expression. "Ben?"

"It says positive here." He looks at me and at the same time I start to cry.

I didn't know what I was feeling, I didn't know if I was happy or sad or even how Mason would feel because we always joked about having a family but never had a serious conversation about it.

"It's going to be okay, you’re gonna be the best mommy ever" He hugs me from the side and I just cry into his shoulder.

"What happened?" Mason runs up to me and hugs me. "Ben what happened?"

"I'm going home and let you guys talk." He kisses my forehead and just smile at Mason.

"What happened? You're crying, is your stomachache again"

"No, I came home earlier because I spent all morning throwing up and I thought it was because of stress with the big projects I need to finish in an impossible amount of time. So I went to the pharmacy to buy some sickness medicine and I came ou that I’m not sick."

"What's wrong with you then?"

"I'm pregnant Mase."

I felt him go rigid on my side, I really hoped he would stay calm about the situation because if not I would freak out too.

"Pregnant? Are you sure?"

"The test is over there." I pointed to where Ben had left the test.

"How are you feeling?"

"I don't know what to feel."

"Aren't you happy?"

"You know I've always wanted to be a mother but I always thought we'd plan it slow and I'd have time to get used to the fact that I'd be growing a child inside me but it's happening too fast and I'm just not knowing how to handle it." He kneels in front of me and holds my hand.

"Let's make it work okay? We're a team."

"Are you happy?"

"Of course I'm happy my love, there's no one in the world besides you that I wanted to have a family." He cupped my face and cleaned the tears from my eyes with his thumbs. "I love you and our baby so much."

"I love you too."

…

The next day I called my doctor who made an appointment to confirm the pregnancy but according to her from the symptoms I described it was almost a 100% chance that I was.

Today was the day of the appointment and Mason and I were waiting our turn, there were some other women there and one of them had a big belly and a little blonde girl with her. I noticed that the child kept looking at him but Mason was too distracted to notice.

I called out to her with my hand and she smiled and came running over and hugged his legs, who was startled but smiled as soon as he saw the little girl.

"May I?" He asks her mother who agrees and Mase puts her sitting on his leg.

The two of them stood talking until the doctor called and Mason took Mary back to her mother.

"Good morning Mr. and Mrs. Mount, you can lie down over there." He pointed to the Stretcher. "How are you feeling?"

"I've been pretty nauseous but it's gotten better since yesterday."

"Morning sickness is normal in these first months. Do you feel a lot of tiredness, pain in your body, or even sensitive breasts?"

"Yes, I'm very tired even though I don't do much.”

"Have you been feeling anything worrying?

"No, I think that's everything.”

"All right, I'll lift your shirt and pass this gel so we can do an ultrasound." I lifted up my shirt and she put the cold, clear gel on.

The blurry image appeared and after she showed us where the baby was she asked if we wanted to hear the heart and as soon as we said yes the loud sound filled the room and it was at that very moment that we realized how real it was.

Bonus scene!

Y/nmount instagram post

Liked by masonmount, reecejames, benchilwell, sophiaaemelia and others 928382

Y/nmount life lately have been pretty busy but I’ve never been happier 💕 thank you for being here for us, we love you so much @masonmount

@masonmount I love you both very much baby, I’m the lucky one

@sophiaaemelia congratulations mama, you’re so sexy pregnant

@y/nmount you’re the sexy one babes

@masonmount are they really flirting in front of us?

@kaihavertz yes they are and you’re wife is pregnant, I think they’re going to run away and raise your baby together

@sophiaaemelia great ideia babe, let’s do it? @y/nmount

@y/nmount yessss, let’s move to Hawaii

[shslbunnylover]

★★★𝘿𝙚𝙡𝙞𝙘𝙞𝙤𝙪𝙨 𝙥𝙖𝙞𝙣𝙠𝙞𝙡𝙡𝙚𝙧 (𝙆𝙞𝙣𝙠𝙩𝙤𝙗𝙚𝙧 𝙙𝙖𝙮 29: 𝙋𝙚𝙧𝙞𝙤𝙙 𝙨𝙚𝙭)★★★

Character: Morticia Addams

Taglist: @inlovewithgreta @lilfartbox1 @marvels--slut

Trigger warnings (DL, DI): Period sex, eating out (R receiving), cramps,

Genre: Smut

A/n: Morticia definitely has a blood kink I'm sorry-

Word count: 1.2k

...

...

The pain in your abdomen was killing you; the cramps made you feel weak enough that you felt like you could pass out at any moment. You even started to feel incredibly nauseous, so you decided that the best thing to do for now while the pain medicine took effect was go up to your room and lie down for a moment.

"Amor?" You heard the voice of your wife asking you with concern as she saw you stumble into the room, clutching the area where you felt a knife had penetrated through your body.

You smile softly, placing a kiss on Morticia's cheek before sitting down on the king-sized bed, your body comfortably sinking into the plush of the mattress below, allowing your body to relax a little bit.

"Hey Tisha..." You sighed, your eyes hooding a little bit from how exhausted the pain in your uterus had made you feel. "What's up?"

The ravenette stood up swiftly, placing her book on the desk in front of her as she quickly made her way over to you, sitting down and stroking your hair sympathetically.

"I should be asking you that, Preciosa," Morticia replied, a well-manicured hand sliding down to where you were clutching at your stomach, her thumb rubbing circles into the skin as an endeavor to try and soothe you.

"It's nothing, don't worry," You reassured her, moving your palm to overlay the hand that was caressing your abdomen. "I just started my period, and my cramps are much worse than usual," You grumbled, cursing your body for having a uterus.

"Oh, Y/n, you should have said that earlier! You know I would have gotten you everything you needed or wanted," The taller woman cooed, looking at you with worry.

You couldn't help but blush at how kind your wife was being, how it made you feel all fuzzy inside of your body.

"Thanks...but I didn't want to bother you," You mumbled, turning your body over so that you could bury your face in her, her scent comforting you like a gentle hug.

Her scent was overwhelming to your emotions, as they were heightened by the increasing number of hormones in your body, leaving you with some rather lewd thoughts.

You tried to push them away; you could handle your lust for a couple more days, at least until you finally stopped bleeding.

"You know you won't bother me," Morticia chuckled, her eyes looking down at you as she continued caressing your lower stomach. "What medicines have you taken? Do you want me to do anything for you? Or do you just need some time with me?" She asked, propping you up against her body, her arms wrapping around your body before returning to rub circles around where she knew your cramps hurt the most.

You were silent for a couple of moments, debating whether or not to ask her for what you truly wanted.

"I just need some time with you," You lied, looking off to the dresser where you knew she kept her strap-ons and other toys.

Looking down at you with concern, the ravenette followed your eyes to the dresser, seemingly unaware of what you were thinking.

"Are you sure you don't need anything else? I'm happy to provide it to you, Amor," She asked, tilting your head with her hand to lock eyes with her, her eyebrow raising at the sight of how flushed your cheeks had become.

"Can... Can you promise not to be grossed out?" You begged, looking at her with fearful eyes.

"Of course, I'll do whatever you want me to. Besides, you already know my love for the obscure," The taller woman chuckled, a sly smile pulling at her face, leaving you more of a blushing mess.

You remained silent, internally cursing yourself out like a sailor for even bringing it up. But to your surprise, your wife seemed to guess what you wanted just by your sudden lack of speech.

"Why? Do you want me to help you out...in other ways? I know that a good session can help your cramps," Morticia asked softly, sliding her arm to wrap around the waistband of your pants, tugging on them slightly.

"N-No I just... Well... Maybe?" You blushed, covering your face with your hands as you buried yourself deeper down into your wife's body.

Morticia licked her lips seductively, a fat smirk making itself present on her face as she straddled your lap, being careful not to hurt you before kissing you slowly but passionately.

“I’m going to get a towel,” Morticia breathes against your mouth, eyes still closed and body swaying you both ever so slightly. “When I get back,” You watch with wide doe eyes as her lashes flutter open and her gaze starts to appreciate the blush on your cheeks, “I want to see all of you. Is that okay?” She speaks softly, eyebrows lifting and furrowing all at once as she checks for consent.

Her lips were attached to your puffy clit, your eyes rolling back into your head as she began to lick long strides across your sex, your blood falling down her lips and down to her neck.

"Fuck, your blood is so delightful mi amor~" Morticia smirked, looking up at you as your body shook under her tongue, making her chuckle, the vibrations making you squirm even more.

"Please- Need you~!!" You cried, whining at how slow she was being for the sake of your comfort.

"Oh, I know you do," The ravenette teased, her tongue swishing in and out of your hole, the taste of your blood making her feel even more aroused as your moans filled the room.

She had already fucked you clear of any cramps twice since you had started, and you felt like your body couldn't even fathom taking another orgasm. Your hands found their way to her hair, tugging on her black locks slightly as the sensations of her mouth going back to your sensitive bundle of nerves filled every inch of you.

"Please Tisha~!! I need you so badly!!" You continued to mewl, eyes shutting as you felt your muscles tightening while your orgasm came up to you, the knot in your stomach snapping as you felt it washing over you for the third time that night.

Morticia smirked as she felt your used pussy clench down on nothing as your climax took over your body, continuing to lap up both your arousal fluid and blood before swallowing both with a smirk.

"Oh you're so cute like this Amor," The ravenette smirked, watching your body's trembling slow down as it came down from it's high.

"T-Thank you..." You mumbled, a squeak leaving your lips as you felt yourself being picked up by your wife.

"So, why don't I go and run you a bath, and I'll get you some more meds and your favorite foods?" Morticia asked, her smirk softening into a smile as she looked at your beautiful blissed out face.

[fairyniceyeah]

⌛ATEEZ Headcanons - Sick but not sick enough to stay home

🐿️ Hongjoong:

Embarrassed about being sick so he doesn’t speak up

Also he is the captain, ‘nough said

His exhaustion often comes in form of sickness but he will not pause either way

Has come to schedules after throwing up all night - the members were not impressed at all

But especially if he has a fever (which always makes him nauseous) he might not even realize how sick he is

If he can’t hide his sickness - coughing or whatever - he will just quietly stay at the side of the group and watch

Once Seonghwa and the managers or whoever else is there reassure him enough he might take the opportunity to take a nap - likely on the closest member’s lap

They moved into the positions for the dance again. Hongjoong tried to get through it. He really tried. He was the captain after all - he couldn’t let a bit of nausea ruin their practice. He’d been feeling off all day but he would never admit that to the members.

He made it through the beginning. He got through Mingi’s part where he really just got to stand around. But even just staying upright proved to be a task as his stomach cramped relentlessly, making him want to just curl up, and the nausea was getting close to unbearable again. Then Mingi was done and it was his turn.

Of course it went horribly wrong. He was off-beat, already too late in position in the middle of the room. A particularly painful cramp tore through his stomach, causing him to gasp in pain and surprise, and then his knees gave out. He crashed to the floor, his prop-microphone clattering away as it dropped from his limp fingers. With one hand he tried to hold himself up, really not wanting to faceplant into the studio floor and the other gripping his hurting middle. Tears shot into his eyes and he felt his mouth start to water as his body went into overdrive to create saliva. He was vaguely aware of surprised and worried shouts of his name and then the music was turned off. 

Unexpectedly there was a hand on his shoulder and somebody tried to kneel in front of him. He wanted to warn them, whoever it was, but as he opened his mouth to speak another wave of his lunch came up and he retched loudly.

He couldn’t focus on anything else but the dizzying feeling of not being able to breathe, the disgusting taste of the second coming of his lunch and the pain in his stomach. It took a few moments of watching helplessly as his body spewed its contents onto the dance practice room floor before somebody held out a plastic bin. If it wasn’t so tiring and if he had any strength left he would feel humiliated that likely one of his dongsaengs was holding a puke bucket for him but he just squeezed his eyes shut as his body went through its torture.

Finally, after a few minutes, the forceful gagging stopped and he slowly started to regain feelings other than his upset stomach. There was a hand still rubbing his back and another was carding through his sweaty hair. A strong pair of hands were holding up his shoulders, refusing to let him fall into his shame, even as his arms gave out.

“Are you done?”, a voice asked. Seonghwa, he thought it was. Feeling his cheeks burn from embarrassment he nodded and he was pulled backwards till he was resting a few meters away from his stomach contents against somebody's strong chest.

“Rest, hyung”, Yunho mumbled, “you could have told us that you weren’t feeling well.”

“I’m sorry”, Hongjoong whispered, embarrassed as he watched Seonghwa already start to clean the puddle of stomach contents. “I wanted to just get through the practice. I need it.”

“You need rest. I can monitor from here. Sleep. You’re running a pretty high fever”, Yunho advised. Defeated, Hongjoong nodded as his eyes slid shut against his wants. He truly was not feeling well enough to continue. He just hoped that his sickness would not disrupt the schedule too much.

⭐ Seonghwa:

He doesn’t get sickTM

That’s a lie obviously but he has seven dongsaengs to care about - he doesn’t have time to get sick

Catches every single illness really - the moment he starts carrying around a thermos of tea they know

Fevers are very rare so he gets away with a lot since he isn’t rule book sick

Except Hongjoong they all grant him his privacy if he so wishes but Hongjoong pesters him enough to make up for that

“You can pretend all you want, you know”, Hongjoong said as he slid a cup of tea over the table to Seonghwa. Winter was brutally cold in Seoul. Temperatures dropping below freezing and snow always a threat. Still, they were filming an episode of WANTEEZ outside. It didn’t help that just based on the red flush, the glassy eyes and the shivering Seonghwa might be running a fever. The eldest tried to pretend he was fine but Hongjoong saw he was quickly losing strength. At least they had a short break now to warm back up inside. “But we share a room. I can hear you coughing all night. I know you didn’t sleep much all night. You’re clearly sick.”

Hongjoong for the life of him couldn’t understand why on earth they were filming some content outside, barely a week after most members had recovered from the flu taking them down one by one. They had hoped that due to the three dorms they would get spared from infecting each other but that idea had soon turned moot.

First it was just San and Mingi who were a bit sniffly and they really tried to avoid the other dorms’ members. Due to their schedules it wasn’t really feasible though and soon after Hongjoong, Jongho and Yunho started to cough and run fevers. Then Yeosang and Wooyoung came down with it just when they thought they had avoided it. Hongjoong, in fact, was still coughing a bit and Yeosang and Yunho were still constantly on the search for tissues, though they blamed the low temperatures. 

Seonghwa, however, stubbornly refused to admit to his own illness, having spent the past weeks nursing his dongsaengs back to health.

“I’m fine”, Seonghwa growled, voice a bit raw. 

“Sure”, Hongjoong mocked and turned aside to cough into his elbow, “we’re all sick or at least we were all sick. There’s no shame in it. It doesn’t matter that you are the oldest, you know.”

Seonghwa didn’t answer, just staring at a point above Hongjoong’s head.

“I’m fine”, he said with an air of finality.

Hongjoong sighed. He would try again in the evening and if he had to make Yunho sit on Seonghwa for him to admit to illness.

🐶 Yunho:

Runs fevers very quickly

The rumor is that Seonghwa even carries around a thermometer for that reason but it has not yet been proven

The fevers drain him a lot but he will stay at his schedule unless he really can’t deal anymore or he gets dizzy

Everybody knows when he is sick because he gets very spacey due to the fever but he can pull himself together if need be

He can fall asleep anywhere though and will - the members really hate waking him up but they know he wants them to

If he gets offered the chance to lie down somewhere quiet for an hour or whatever he will take in (and might drag Mingi with him)

“And were done”, the photographer yelled. Wooyoung sighed in relief. They had been at a photo shoot since early in the morning and since he had stumbled into the van to the location it had been obvious that Yunho was not on top of his game.

Wooyoung and Yunho had been paired for the photo shoot for the past hour and it was starting to become clear that Yunho would soon not be able to push through anymore. The lights shining down on them were hot and Yunho was sweating buckets, causing the shoot having to be stopped a few times to wipe him off or to reapply make-up. Seonghwa, Hongjoong and Mingi respectively had all tried to get Yunho to stop but they all were aware how much of an inconvenience a missing member would be. Worst case would be that they wouldn’t be able to book the photographer or the location again and then Yunho would not be in the concept pictures at all. 

The thought had only spurred on Yunho’s stubborn side and the other’s protests had also only been half-heartedly. Wooyoung couldn’t blame his hyung, they all would have done the same thing if in his position.

As soon as the lights got turned off, Mingi and Hongjoong, who were already done with their photos, rushed to meet them. Mingi’s hand immediately went up to Yunho’s forehead, an unhappy frown on his face. 

“It’s definitely higher than earlier”, he said, referring to the fever Yunho was running.

“The lights are just warm”, Yunho said quietly but there was nothing but plain exhaustion in his voice. His eyes were glassy and it was clear he wasn’t quite as present as they wanted him to be.

“You have at least another hour until the group shoot”, Hongjoong explained, a hand on Yunho’s arm in comfort, “if you want to, you can lie down in the waiting room. I talked with the managers already.”

Yunho nodded, grabbing onto Mingi’s hand. “I’ll come with you”, the younger soothed.

“Feel better soon, hyung”, Wooyoung said worriedly, Hongjoong echoing the sentiment, as they watched Mingi take Yunho to rest.

“I hope he will at least let us take care of him when we are done”, Wooyoung sighed. 

👑 Yeosang:

Generally healthy because of his religious taking of vitamins

So when he is sick he might be very overwhelmed but also he is too scared to speak up

It’s not that he doesn’t want attention - quite the contrary really - but he doesn’t know how to ask

Wooyoung knows all his tells though and will smother him with affection - as soon as Yeosang doesn’t grumbled about it they know to keep an eye on him

Medication makes him tired and so he falls asleep on the closest person - if that happens to be a manager or a stylist their fate is sealed

Who would not indulge him really?

“Sang-ah? What’s wrong?”, Hongjoong asked, taking a seat next to his quietest member. Yeosang had been spaced out all day and it was starting to get worrying. They were at rehearsal for their concert the next day and so far everything had gone wrong. Yunho had slipped and bruised his back, Seonghwa had been having issues with his mic all day and Jongho was still on vocal rest until the next day.

Yeosang just shrugged, fiddling with some loose strings of his ripped jeans. Hongjoong was about to press - right now was definitely not the moment to keep secrets - when Wooyoung appeared behind Yeosang and wrapped him in a back hug.

“Not feeling well, are you?”, Wooyoung asked gently, pushing a strand of Yeosang’s hair behind his ear. “What’s wrong?”

Yeosang shrugged again but leaned his head back against Wooyoung’s shoulder, as good as admitting he wasn’t doing well.

“Sang-ah”, Hongjoong scolded lighty, “you’re helping nobody if you don’t tell us what’s wrong. Least of all yourself.”

“I'm just exhausted”, the younger admitted quietly, “I’ll be okay.”

“Hm, and running a fever I think”, Wooyoung said, feeling his neck. 

Great. An injured dongsaeng. Two sick dongsaengs. And one concert the next day with less time to get used to the stage than they had hoped for.

“We’ll make do without you and Yunho for today, there is no sense in you pushing yourself”, Hongjoong concluded. He pushed to his feet to find a manager, who quickly agreed with the captain.

Once they were done with the rehearsal, less than satisfied with what they had achieved but even more worried about their missing members, they found Yunho, Yeosang and the manager at the edge of the stage, where Yunho had diligently been monitoring them.

Yeosang was completely knocked out on the manager’s lap who just shrugged at Hongjoong’s raised eyebrow in a “what can you do”-motion. True, nobody would be able to push Yeosang aside. Hopefully he would be feeling better the next day.

⛰️ San:

He will push through - schedules are more important than a low fever or a cough or whatever

Won’t go to the members at all - likely tries to avoid them because his skin hurts from the fever and he can deal on his own anyway

So he straight up ignores that something is going on

He may be sneezing every five seconds but he is totally fine - the members (read: clean freak Seonghwa) carry around boxes of tissues because he won’t

San is grateful though and might reward Seonghwa with cuddles - or sneezing straight into his face

Twenty-seven. That was how many times San had sneezed during the recording of their new album so far. Still, he refused to stop. No matter his nose was constantly running. No matter he had ruined nearly every single take with a sneeze. No matter he kept sniffling. No matter there was snot everywhere.

Yeosang was not easily disgusted. But the shiny spots of gelatinous fluid all over San’s sleeves were … less than nice. Seonghwa was already slightly greenish and Yeosang assumed he was about three sneezes away from begging San on his knees to just use tissues. Which, he apparently didn’t need to do, because San wasn’t sick, according to him. Yeah, sure.

Hongjoong, too, looked worried for the cleanliness of the recording equipment but he had not yet called the recording to an end. 

Sneeze. Another sneeze. And another. All stifled in San’s hands which he secretly wiped on his pants. Seonghwa would be cleaning for the next month if that continued.

Speaking about their oldest, he seemed to have enough of the drama. He stood up, grabbed the box of tissues he had brought and shoved them at San.

“Use them”, he snarled, sounding equal parts serious and exasperated.

“But, hyung, I’m no … no …” San started but was stopped by a sneeze that seemed to have crept up on him. And sneeze he did. Straight into Seonghwa’s face. 

In any other situation they all might have laughed at the shocked look on both their faces but Seonghwa did look like he was ready to cry. Especially with a spot of snot on his cheek.

“I’m so sorry, hyung”, San whispered, sounding shocked.

Seonghwa stared straight at him, not changing his expression as he tore a tissue from the box to wipe his face. 

“God gave you a brain, use it”, the eldest said, voice dangerously low. For a moment Yeosang feared he would have a psychotic episode right then and there. And he was slightly scared for San. “And I am giving you tissues, so help me God if you don’t use them.”

Seonghwa whirled around to look at Hongjoong and EDEN who were watching the scene with mixed reactions. Hongjoong looked like he had seen a ghost. EDEN was suppressing a laugh, Yeosang was sure. “Excuse me, I need to disinfect my whole existence.”

🐣 Mingi:

His voice is so deep that the moment his throat feels rough he loses his voice

He can try to speak but the sound is so low nobody will be able to understand him - except Yunho obviously

Yunho basically becomes his translator - and mostly Mingi will be fine just annoyed he can’t express himself

Always has throat lozenges on hand and he will eat them like candy - so sue him, they do taste good and he never had any bad side effects so he will indulge in them

A bit embarrassed when the others make light-hearted fun of his voice so they stopped as soon as they found out - but Mingi has had to admit it is kinda funny

“Fix on”, Seonghwa teased lightly, his voice taking on a deep, deep quality. Mingi was glowering at him.

“Hyung, don’t be mean”, Yunho said laughing, patting Mingi’s arm, “it’s not his fault that he lost his voice. He’s already frustrated enough he can’t work with Hongjoong-hyung in the studio right now.”

“It’s more ‘fix off’, don’t you think?”, Wooyoung added, his voice also mockingly deep. San laughed. Mingi pouted. He’d been sent home from the studio by Hongjoong earlier, citing that there was no need for the rapper to be there for the recording of guide tracks. Sadly that was his only schedule today, so he was free like the rest of them except Hongjoong and Jongho.

“It’s not funny”, he whispered, voice raw and even more difficult to understand around the throat lozenge in his mouth.

“It is a bit”, Yunho soothed, knowing that Mingi would get over it soon. He was proud of his deep, recognizable voice and no amount of teasing would change that. If it did, Yunho would not care that the others were his members, there would be war. 

Mingi grumbled a bit but just flopped against Yunho in defeat. 

“Sorry, Mingi-yah, I know you don’t feel that good”, Seonghwa said apologetically and got up from his place on the couch, “I’m going to make tea, would you like some as well?”

“It’s fine, don’t worry. Lemon tee with honey?”, Mingi asked, clearly understandable to Yunho, but Seonghwa just looked at him blankly. 

Yunho repeated what Mingi said and Seonghwa hurried off.

🦊 Wooyoung:

WHINES

He is feeling awful and he wants to be in bed but he knows he has to push through so he does

Not without cuddling his members though - they will indulge him if he mentions feeling off so he uses that to his advantage

Will choose staying with the members during a schedule over laying down in a quiet room for an hour to sleep

Will be happy with any member but prefers Yeosang, San and Seonghwa

“I don’t feel good”, Wooyoung whispered, resting his head against San’s shoulder.

“I know you don’t”, the older answered, a hand coming up to rub his head, “but it’s only another hour and then we can go home. Think of all the things Seonghwa-hyung will do for you the moment you mention feeling unwell.”

“Fair enough, but I want to go home now”, Wooyoung groaned, “award shows are nice but it’s so hot in here.”

Sans sighed. He knew Wooyoung had him wrapped around his little finger as much as all the other members. There was something about Wooyoung pouting at them that had them drop whatever they were doing at a second’s notice the moment they knew he was not feeling good. San, however, also knew that he didn’t not want to fan Wooyoung the whole rest of the show.

“Seonghwa-hyung”, he called quietly, the elder turning to them quickly. 

“What’s wrong?”, he asked.

“Young-ah isn’t feeling so good”, San said, pouting a bit, “can you fan him a bit? He said he’s feeling hot.”

“Why don’t you do that then?”, Seonghwa asked, raising his eyebrows. San quickly elbowed Wooyoung in the side.

“Sa … wha … oh, uh San-ah is my pillow right now, you can’t make him move”, Woyooung said, understanding San’s plan at last. 

Seonghwa groaned. “I hate you two.”

“No, you love us”, Wooyoung said, pouting.

“Alright, I’m getting the fan, hold your horses.”

🧸 Jongho:

Is really bad at telling what counts as “sick enough to stay home”

Fever, stomach flu, a simple cough? Who knows? 

Certainly not Jongho - he isn’t sick often so his experience when he needs to rest is very limited 

Might also have to do with the fact that he was a trainee for so long and never learned when it was time to admit defeat

It drives Hongjoong and Seonghwa (all his hyungs really) up the walls that he will not speak up unless he is really done for - but they knew he doesn’t know

They try to check up on him when he seems off but he brushes them off if he isn’t about to faint

Has thrown up in rather public areas before due to not knowing when to stop

If you had asked Seonghwa what could go wrong that day, he could have listed about a hundred different things only of those he imagined caused by his members. Scratch that, if he only had ninety-nine problems all of them would probably be Wooyoung. So yeah, he knew stuff always went wrong. But he didn’t expect this.

Seonghwa loved pre-recording radio shows with his members. It took a lot of stress from them if he was honest. Even if they were filmed, there wasn’t as much pressure as recording live. While all of ATEEZ had been lucky in the sense that all their mistakes had never been too embarrassing he knew the day would come. 

As they entered the recording room the camera team was still working on setting up their equipment, so they were able to enjoy a few minutes of rest and the eldest took a moment to look around. Hongjoong was speaking to their manager-hyung. San, Mingi and Yeosang were talking quietly with a stylist and Yunho and Wooyoung were doing … something. Before he could get worried, Seonghwa’s gaze was drawn to Jongho. The maknae was sitting on the ground, leaning against a wall, with a strange expression on his face.

Seonghwa didn’t have the chance to check in on him as they were called over by the hosts; apparently the cameras were all set. Seonghwa watched as Jongho looked put down, but he sat down around the mics without any hesitation.

It was about forty-five minutes later when Seonghwa remembered his weird feeling about Jongho. Quite suddenly. One second they were all listening to Yeosang answer the question one of the hosts had asked, the next San shouted in shock. Seonghwa whirled around to see what had caused the younger man to interrupt the recording and he froze. He was vaguely aware that the rest of the members had frozen too.

Yunho was the first one to react. “Cut the cameras and the micros”, he called, not caring that it wasn’t his place. “Jongho-yah?”

Yes, Seonghwa hadn’t expected this. And yet… and yet here he was watching how Jongho sat doubled over on his chair, throwing up on the floor between his legs in the middle of the recording. San and Mingi were sitting next to the maknae, and while  Mingi had scooted away from the younger man - probably not quite sure how to react - San had reached over and gently rubbed Jongho’s back.

Seonghwa was vaguely aware of Hongjoong apologizing to the hosts and managers swarming the director but he was more concerned about his sick dongsaeng. He really should have known. He walked over towards the poor maknae, kneeling down beside him after pushing his chair away from the mess on the ground. Finally Jongho looked up at him and with teary eyes mumbled; “Hyung, I don’t feel well.”

Masterlist links: Fairy's Full Masterlist Fairy's Masterlist - ATEEZ

[dudadragneel]

🖤I was thinking of a lee know/yn fic in which he’s had a lot of work lately and he’s tired and down, so he and yn plan a picnic for the weekend.

it’s all sunny and good weather when the day comes, but inside lee know it’s a whole other story. he wakes up like he didn’t get a single hour of sleep, his stomach is tense and his head hurts. he wakes up earlier than yn so he makes breakfast, but it ends up being a bad idea to eat it and he starts to feel it come right up. it’s random cause he didn’t feel nauseous before, but after the ordeal he definitely is and his stomach isn’t only tense, but also tender now.

when yn wakes up she notices sth wrong but lee know brushes it off as tiredness. she eats her breakfast and they walk to the park with their picnic baskets. good, cause lee know doubted he’d have made it through a car ride.

in the park the sun is bright and it’s hot which messes with lee know quite a bit, but luckily by the time they have to eat a soft breeze has started to blow, calming him down.

they eat their food, but lee know has a hard time and that’s when he may admit he doesn’t feel good, but at this point he’d rather stay in the park, so they do. yn knows that lee know doesn’t like worry, so she doesn’t act too soft about it but obviously cares.

they end up looking at the clouds with lee know laying his head on yn’s legs while she plays with his hair, trying to make loose braids. they unbraid quickly since his hair is short but it’s fine. after a bit he starts feeling better so they film TikToks and decide they want to roll down the hill and see who gets to the bottom faster. childish but fun.

but then everything goes downhill, literally, cause spinning obviously was a bad idea for lee know and now he can really feel his tummy cramping harshly. they go back to their picnic blanket to try to calm him down which doesn’t work, and he starts to feel too hot and suffocated while trying to stop the pain in his stomach, which is making it hard to breathe. it almost makes him tear up cause it’s bad, and when it gets even worse he can’t hold anything back, and I don’t mean only tears…

p.s: I feel like lee know and yn should be kinda similar, so it’d be cool if you could make her have a bit of a teasing and sassy personality like him.

Dear 🖤, I hope you like this one! I tried my best to make them both sassy 😅

A DATE GONE DOWNHILL

Dating an idol wasn't an easy task, first, you needed to mind where you would have your dates so there were no fans or paparazzi around. Second, his hectic schedule made it harder to have actual dates, like dinner, going to the beach, etc, so usually you would meet him at the dorms or your house. And you two had agreed that he'd sleep there whenever he felt like it since being away from the mess and chaos of the dorm could help him relax a bit.

Preparing for a comeback, his last few weeks were totally packed with schedules, he barely rested or ate. He would call you every day to talk about his day and you would listen to every single word he said and you noticed he was sounding more and more tired as the days went by.

When he got a little break, he was exhausted and feeling down, mostly because he couldn't see you and also due to the stress of not getting everything the way he wanted to. He wanted perfection, but that is a hard thing to accomplish.

You couldn't just sit still and watch him like that, he needed a breather so he could relax a bit and replenish his energy for the next round of schedules.

You thought of a picnic and he agreed with the idea. He went to your house so he could get a good night's sleep before the date, he was tired but he wanted to have fun with you.

Morning rose, the day was beautiful and sunny and you were super excited for the date, it was a real one after so many weeks.

However, things weren't looking good for Lee Know, and from the moment he got up, he knew the day would be a tough one. Even after sleeping for 7h to 8h hours straight, he woke completely drained, like didn't sleep at all. He sat on the edge of the bed and assessed his situation, he was tired, his head was hurting and his stomach was acting up.

He liked cooking, especially for you so he went to the kitchen to make breakfast, despite wanting to stay in bed a little longer with hopes that he would feel better.

He made your breakfast, set it on the table, and then made his. He just leaned against the counter and started munching on the light breakfast he made for himself. But after a couple of bites, he started to chew on it and couldn't quite swallow it. He kept on chewing until it turned into mush and forced it down, and it felt gross. He didn't know why that was happening but he soon found out because as soon as he swallowed, he felt it coming back up.

He turned to the sink, opened his mouth, and let out what seemed to be the last bite he had, he quickly turned on the water to wash away that disgusting thing. He was as surprised as he could get because he wasn't feeling nauseous, he thought what he felt when he got up was hunger but now he understood it wasn't. And as if couldn't get worse, he now could say with 100% certainty that he was feeling nauseous and his headache wasn't exactly helping either.

He held himself against the counter, rinsed his mouth, and then took deep breaths to try to calm down. Thankfully he managed to calm down but now his stomach was definitely feeling weird, he had this thought deep in his mind that his stomach would not be accepting food any time soon. Great, what a way to start the day.

After a couple of minutes, you woke up and made your way to the kitchen and saw the image of this handsome boy wearing shorts and a plain white shirt, simple, but the light of the early morning sun shining through the window made him look ethereal.

You walked towards him, wrapping your hands around his waist and kissing him.

- Good morning, Babe.

- Good morning.

He said kissing you as well. When you pulled away from the hug, you immediately noticed his expression wasn't looking too good.

- Are you okay?

You said, looking him in the eyes.

- Yeah. I'm just tired.

- Couldn't sleep well?

- I did but the week's been pretty packed so I'm still tired.

Lies. But he hoped you'd buy that excuse, the last thing he wanted was to worry you and ruin this so-anticipated date.

- Okay then.

- I made you breakfast.

He said, still holding your waist and pointing towards the meal set on the table.

- Thank you, sweetie.

You sat down and started eating your breakfast, Minho sitting in front of you, just admiring and patiently waiting for you to finish.

Once you were done, both of you changed into light comfortable summer clothes and finished setting everything inside the picnic basket.

The park you chose was not too far from your house so you decided to walk there and enjoy the scenery together.

Minho was grateful for your choice because even though he was feeling a little bit better he knew a car ride would have the worst outcome.

The walk to the park consisted of both of you complaining about how hot it was and how it felt like it was burning you alive.

Finally arriving, you two found a nice spot next to the lake and underneath a big tree, which meant you'd have a nice shade for your picnic.

Since you just had breakfast, none of you wanted to eat just yet, and Minho preferred not to eat all. He was feeling better when they left the house, but the walk under the sun and just how hot the park was, had messed with him. His head was hurting and honestly starting to throb, he was feeling a bit lightheaded, and his stomach was acting up.

Shit. Will the date really go wrong? He thought to himself, but he still didn't want to tell you about it, even though you had already picked up.

- While the sun melts us off our bones... Let's chat for a bit.

He said with a tone of sarcasm and a smile that just made you laugh. The way he managed to say such things and then put on a soft, but also almost menacing smile after was amazing.

- Why are you laughing? Am I funny?

- No. It's just the way you said it

- Oh, so I'm not funny? Okay, I'll remember this.

- Oh stop, Babe!

You said laughing and shoving him, earning a cute laugh.

You two talked, while the sun did indeed melt you, but you two made an effort to not talk about work or it would stress both of you, and your goal was to help Lee Know to get his mind off work.

You really wanted to enjoy the picnic, but it was scorching hot, not even the shade was doing much. The extremely high temperature was still doing its number on Minho, his head was throbbing and the sunlight wasn't exactly helping, he was starting to feel nauseous and worried if he'd manage to eat something or even just enjoy the date. When a sharp pain stung his head, he flinched a little and it caught your attention.

- Honey, what is it?

- Nothing, just looked at the sun and my eyes hurt.

- You didn't bring any sunglasses, did you?

- No.

- Here, put these on, and see if they'll help.

- Thanks.

It did help a bit, but everything else was still annoying him, yet he was in his decision to not tell you anything.

After a few more minutes of chatting, it was about lunchtime, so you started to organize the food you had brought.

Fortunately, the sun was hidden by some clouds and a light breeze cooled both of you down and relaxed Minho, who was tense at the thought of having to eat.

- Let's eat!

He had helped you prepare everything the night before, and both of you were good cooks, so it was safe to say the food was delicious. You were really excited to try everything, now Lee knows, not so much. Just the sight of everything and all the smells mixing together circling around him because of the breeze was making him start to feel sick again. He took a deep breath in and grabbed something to eat.

While you were enjoying and savoring every bite of everything, Minho was having a hard time swallowing the tiny bites he was trying to eat. He'd take a bite and chew until it turned into a tasteless paste, which made it even harder to swallow, he almost gagged a few times.

Surprisingly, he managed to eat a few things but they didn't taste as good as he'd wished, the same process of chewing it and trying to swallow repeated, and then his stomach sent him a warning, telling him that was enough food.

He was almost regretting eating at all when his stomach started to feel really full and off, the food obviously not sitting well. The feeling was so annoying he couldn't quite hide it anymore.

- Honey...

He said quietly, fidgeting with his fingers while looking at you, who was still enjoying your meal.

- What is it? Are you done eating?

You asked with a certain tone of surprise, noticing he didn't do as much as he usually did.

- Yes...I don't feel good...

- What is it?

- My stomach...

- Do you wanna go home?

- Not really, between staying at home and here. I'd rather stay, it's cooler here.

- Alright.

He took a few sips of water and hoped it wouldn't mess with his already sensitive stomach and it didn't, thankfully.

Since the sun was still hidden, you two decided to watch the clouds and just try to get rid of all the stress you'd been feeling.

He lay down on your lap and you lower yourself to kiss him, making his heart skip a beat.

- I like that.

He said with a beautiful smile, extending his hand to touch your cheek and tuck your hair behind your ear.

- I love you.

- I love you too, honey.

You reaffirmed, mimicking the gentle gesture. He closed his eyes and focused on the breeze and your presence, trying to relax every fiber in his body and enjoy the moment.

- Babe?

- Hm?

- Can I braid your hair?

- Only if you make me look pretty.

- Don't you trust my skills?

- Your hair styling skills? Nope.

- Minho!

- I'm joking.

He laughed. You proceeded to make tiny braids in his silky hair but they'd get undone as you went on, but he seemed to be enjoying it so you didn't mind.

Your touch and the light breeze that was still around, helped him feel a bit better, not 100% but enough to enjoy the date a bit more.

- Babe, do you wanna film some TikToks?

- Why? As long as it's not a challenge...

Since TikTok got famous, it became a trend to do challenges of every music that came out, he'd be lying if he said he wasn't a bit tired of it.

- It's not. I just wanted to film this moment. We don't get to go on many dates like this, so I wanna make memories and cherish them.

He smiled at you and got up, and then you set the phone so it would record. He stood out his hand and asked:

- Will you grant me this dance?

- Of course.

You said blushing and taking his hand, he pulled you closer to him and kissed you before starting the dance.

You two were so lovey-dovey, that if it were any of the other members with their s/o, Minho would be teasing them non-stop.

When you decided to do other dances and asked him to teach you some moves, he started teasing you, but you wouldn't let it slide.

- Woah, since when you were so bad at dancing?

- What? I'm bad at dancing? Are you sure you're not a bad teacher?

- I'm the best teacher out there, you're just not a good student.

- Of course, I am! Get off your high horse, Mr Lee Minho. I actually learned some of your choreographies by myself, and they were perfect. Admit it, you're not a good teacher.

You said crossing your arms and smiling menacingly at him.

- Alright, touché.

You recorded a few more videos, dancing together and just laughing and enjoying every single second, and then you had an idea.

- Say, why don't we roll downhill, and the last to get to the bottom pays for dinner?

- Deal.

Minho had no idea why he agreed so quickly, knowing that doing that would probably be the last straw, and boy, it was.

You were enjoying this date like a kid and Lee Know wish he could say the same, it was painful to see you so happy while he couldn't share that with you.

- Ready?

- Ready.

- 1, 2, 3 go!

You started the race and as Lee Know was going down, everything inside his stomach was rolling around as well, it was revolted and angry at him, to say the least.

You got to the bottom faster than him and started to celebrate, but then you noticed that something was definitely wrong, Minho wasn't just tired.

When he reached the bottom, he immediately got up so he was kneeling on the grass. He grabbed his middle with one hand while the other helped keep his body steady, his stomach was cramping really badly and its contents were still swirling around.

- Honey? Are you okay?

- No...my stomach is killing me.

- Let's go back up, come on.

- Can you help me?

- Yes.

You went to his side, put one of his arms on your shoulder, and wrapped yours around his waist helping him up and guiding him up. The pain was bad enough for him to walk up while hunched over, arm still holding his stomach.

- Here we are.

You gently helped him sit down and grabbed a water bottle, handing it to him.

- Try to drink slowly.

He tried taking small sips but it wasn't working, his stomach was cramping without giving him any break. And to add to his misery, the sun was out again and it seemed like it was hotter than before.

- It's too hot...

He complained, fanning his shirt, suddenly his clothes felt tighter against his skin, like it was trying to suffocate him. The air around him felt hot and he couldn't breathe properly, so his breathing was erratic and he was almost hyperventilating.

- Honey, I need you to breathe with me.

You were now getting worried about him having heat exhaustion.

- Honey, you have a tank top underneath, right?

- Y-yes-.

He said weakly, trying to regulate his breathing. You knew he wasn't comfortable with being shirtless, especially in public, as you found out early in your relationship, that he only felt comfortable enough with you or the members.

- Then take off your shirt, it'll help you feel less hot.

He took it off and you placed a cool ice pack you had brought, on his nape. But the discomfort was too much, it wasn't only the nausea or the heat but also the pain in his stomach and the fact that he was ruining the date you were so excited about. It was getting so unbearable he started crying silently.

- Minho? What's wrong?

But he didn't answer, he was too focused on breathing through the nausea and the pain, you noticed his distress and grabbed his hand, trying to ground him.

- I'm right here Babe.

He squeezed it so tightly it almost hurt you, but you didn't mind, as long as it could help, even if just a little bit.

But his stomach decided it had enough, it started cramping even worse as if punishing him for stupidly agreeing with rolling down a hill.

When got really quiet, focusing his gaze on the ground, not moving a muscle.

- Minho?

You barely had the chance to ask anything before he gagged one time and turned around so he wouldn't soil the blanket. He coughed up a thick stream of partially digested food and you could see pieces of the lunch he just had.

You placed your hand on his back and started rubbing it up and down, while still holding his hand. He had his eyes squeezed and a painful expression on his face, as another bout of vomit gushed out immediately followed by another that left him out of air.

- That's it, Babe. Just get everything that's bothering you, out.

His stomach cramped again, making him lurch forward, arching his back painfully forcing out another wave of putrid vomit.

He was feeling so embarrassed that you had to see him like this. The fact that he was the second oldest in the group made him build a wall around him, a wall that only you and Chan could walk through.

For a moment his stomach gave him a break, allowing him to breathe and only making him spit out thick saliva from time to time.

Thank God there weren't that many people in the park, you knew he'd be feeling 10x worse if there were people looking at him.

- Here honey, rinse your mouth.

He rinsed his mouth and then took very small sips, afraid that whatever made its way in would immediately make its way out. You wiped his mouth, and his forehead which was dumped with sweat, and helped him sit back for a while and see if the nausea would ease a bit.

- There we go.

- I'm sorry...

- You don't need to apologize honey.

- But I ruined our date and you were so excited about it.

- You didn't ruin anything. We had fun, didn't we?

- Yes but look at the mess I made.

- Honey, I knew you looked off this morning but I didn't say anything out of respect for you. I know you don't like us getting worried about you, so I decided to just wait for you.

- I appreciate it.

- Say, why don't we go home so you can take a shower and rest? It's getting too hot in here and it won't help you.

- Yes, please.

- Alright. Just let me get this organized first.

You packed everything inside the basket and then walked up to Minho.

- Honey, can you stand? Or are you feeling dizzy?

- A bit dizzy...

The heat along with the ordeal of throwing up everything he'd eaten made him feel weak, he just wanted to go home but he was afraid of collapsing and worrying you even more.

- Just...give me a minute...

- Of course.

You sat down beside him, placing the ice pack on his neck again.

- Take deep breaths, babe.

You said as your other hand rested on his chest, trying to provide him as much comfort as you could.

He grabbed your hand and tried breathing along with you. After a few minutes, he felt well enough to try to walk home.

You helped him up and wrapped your arms around him.

- I'm sorry...

- Minho, stop apologizing, please. Let me know if you feel faint or if you wanna throw up again, ok?

- Yeah.

He was completely exhausted, all his energy had been drained from his body and he was still feeling too hot, it was still difficult to breathe properly. He was a professional dancer, he was an idol, he had to dance and sing at the same time and yet, today, this short walk home was making him insanely tired.

His vision was swaying and his stomach was acting up again, the last thing he needed was to vomit in the middle of the street but his body didn't give him much of a choice.

- Honey...I'm gonna be sick

- There's a bench over there, come on.

You guided him to the bench and gave him a plastic bag that was inside the basket. He grabbed the edges and burped a few times before vomiting what felt like his guts, the sound of it hitting the plastic made you grimace a little.

He didn't take a breather before retching again, bringing stomach acid and water.

- Babe, I don't think you have anything left to vomit.

You took the plastic bag and disposed of it, then you gave Minho some water to rinse his mouth again.

You helped him up again and the rest of the walk back home didn't have any more accidents.

Getting home, he went straight to the shower, wanting to get rid of the disgust he was feeling from throwing up.

When he walked out, face a little red because of the sun, you had already gotten the bed ready so he could properly.

He lay down next to you embracing you, eyes still watery and extremely vulnerable, which was a side of him everyone rarely witnessed.

You embraced him back, placed a kiss on the top of his head and didn't say a word, respecting him. Just holding him, and rubbing his back as he cried, you didn't need to say anything, you just needed to be there and you were.

Minho could be mistaken for a cold person, but deep inside he was a warm person who cared for everyone before himself. He could be the second oldest, but he was Chan's precious dongsaeng and your most cherished soulmate.

[p1xiemeat]

Trigger Warning: Rare Illness/Health Issues [wasn't sure if this need a tw but these topics make some ppl uncomfy so i wanted to be considerate anyway💜]

so a lot of ppl have been asking me why i don't post pics anymore or why i have barely been on social media compared to how i used to be. and the reason is i've been having severe health issues for a very long time. i can't even remember the last time i went more than a month without feeling nauseous, or actually throwing up, or just having headaches and stomach pain that are so bad i can barely tolerate them.

i've known for a while that i have gastritis, but my mom & my bf convinced me to go to a new doctor for a second opinion. after months & months of pure agony and feeling exhausted and sick to the point where i have no energy, i finally know why. i went to a specialist and discovered i have a rare illness called CVS (Cyclic vomiting syndrome). and i also am lactose intolerant which was amplifying my symptoms because i eat dairy products constantly.

i am going to be starting treatment for it and i really hope it improves my life and my ability to function because i am so tired of "living" like this. just existing has been exhausting and painful. i literally haven't been able to accomplish any of the goals i have because i can't go more than a few days without feeling horrible.

i already feel useless because i'm autistic and i have bipolar 1 and i'm waiting on disability payments to come through because i am unable to work with my disabilities. so my bf has been working and doing his best to take care of me and our kids. i just feel so horrible and guilty all the time. and i genuinely didn't know why i feel sick 24/7. all i want is to feel like myself again. and to do all the things i miss doing. i feel like i'm trapped by this illness.

i'm grateful to have answers and know what i'm dealing with finally. but after suffering like this almost every single day for so long its so hard to feel hopeful for the future at this point. i'm literally in tears as i type this. its just been really bad. i never do my makeup anymore or feel good about myself. i can barely move sometimes because the pain in my stomach is so bad or i get pain in my throat from vomiting for hours at a time, and then i get MORE pain from dry heaving due to not being able to hold down any food. and then i get random migraines and headaches that last all day as a result of all of that. its taking a huge toll on my body and my mental health. my depression gets worse during the winter season so when this started getting really bad it just made my mental health a million times worse. its literal hell.

but yeah thats why i haven't been online. real life is hard enough and i haven't been motivated to post because of the hell i'm going through or a lot of the time i physically CAN'T make content. but i'm going to keep trying. i'm going to do every fucking thing my doctors tell me to do because im so fed up with suffering. i promise that i will make content again and post the things i create and other stuff i used to post about before i stopped being able to function. as soon as i start to feel semi normal or at least well enough to do daily activities and complete even small goals, i will post about it. i'll keep u guys updated.

i appreciate every single person who follows me and my content, and all the ppl who keep checking up on me and wondering where the fuck i went. i love you guys so much💜 and i'm so sorry to all the ppl who haven't heard from me. if i can gain at least a little bit of my physical strength and health back, i will be so happy. i also am trying to get vitamins prescribed to me because im severely lacking nutrients but they are so expensive and i can't afford them out of pocket until i get my disability money. i'm also anemic and have to start taking iron supplements again. i'm just a giant ball of health issues😭 its actually ridiculous how bad my health has been. but i'm a mom and for that reason i will never stop trying. i will do whatever it takes to get better. i don't think my health could get much worse than it is currently. hopefully i didn't just jinx myself by saying that😭

sorry for the super long explanation, i just have sooo many messages in my inbox and questions that you guys send me that i haven't answered. i don't want to leave u in the dark. the connections i've made on this silly little blog mean the world to me. and everything i've been going through has been so hard to explain. but since i recently got a REAL answer as to why i'm suffering so much, i felt it was a good time to let you guys know what is going on with me. like i said, when i am able to feel somewhat normal again i will post consistently and re-open my shop too! it sucks so bad having a passion for creating but being too sick to even get out of bed other than to get sick in the bathroom. i've been to the emergency room more times this month than i have in the last 4 years. if i can overcome this awfulness i will not take it for granted. i will work harder than i ever have to create and share it with the world. but for now i just have to sit back and do whatever my doctors tell me to do and hope to god that it helps me 😞

[octo-hyacinth]

HI HELLO IT’S OKAY UWU It’s me, your friendly neighborhood chronically ill anon who made the request!🖤 The request was for dorm leaders(with Malleus and Idia replaced with Jamil and either Rook or the Leech Boys) and how they would be with a Prefect S/O who’s chronically ill(weak due to back/joint pain, struggles to exert themselves too hard as it causes trouble breathing, has dizzy spells and nausea, etc.)but does their best to manage it and keep a positive outlook, even on the rough days!

Hello, my lovely anon! thanks so much for the requests, anddd im sorry if these hc’s don’t really apply to you, but i promise i tried bc you deserve to be comforted by your favorite boys <3

~~~~~

The Boys with a Chronically Ill S/O

Characters: Riddle Rosehearts, Leona Kingscholar, Azul Ashengrotto, Kalim Al-Asim, Vil Schoenheit, Jamil Viper, Floyd and Jade Leech

Content Warnings: total fluff, written on mobile, these boys are so smitten with you its not even funny, mentions of drugs(?)/getting high in Jade’s but its just cuz of his shrooms

A/N: guys omg i finally figured out how to get motivation to write omg [i immediately keel over and die from being scholastically overwhelmed] but putting life’s crap aside, this was actually quite fun to write!

Riddle Rosehearts

Initially very upset when he sees that you tend to push yourself and ignore your pain and exhaustion on a daily basis.

With how much he fusses over you, you’re half convinced there’s a rule about this situation somewhere, but no, he’s just like an angry mother hen, pecking at you constantly to take a break, or running to Sam’s store to get you painkillers or whatever else you need at all.

Totally wants to yell at Vargas when he hears that he was pushing you a bit too hard in PE, and you got super exhausted as a result and had to force yourself to take a break.

However, Riddle’s very proud of you for powering through every day despite your sickness and pain. He doesn’t know very many people at the rest of the school who could endure what you have without complaining.

During the evenings, he likes to sit with you in bed and have a few cups of tea while going over homework or just having nice conversation, whether that’s just how your day went or deeper topics, whatever you want to do, he’ll do, for you.

Sometimes he’ll ask Trey to bake you some sort if pastry or sweet, if you so desire. If not, then he’ll treat you to whatever you want at the cafeteria for lunch, and every time he’s fighting the urge to yell at Crowley for not supplying you with enough funds to have a comfortable life like everyone else.

No matter what, he always wants to support you and ease your suffering however he can, you just have to tell him what you want, and he’ll do it. He may be the ‘Queen’ of Heartslabyul, but he’ll always be there to serve you.

Leona Kingscholar

At first, he probably doesn’t even know that there’s such a thing as an illness that causes you nausea, and bodily weakness, and everything else. Because he kind of grew up around royalty, he was only ever around people who received the best healthcare money could buy, and never really stopped to consider there were people like you who weren’t exactly in top shape.

He never blamed you for it, though. If anything, he was irritated at whatever created you and decided to mess up your body like that. Why shouldn’t you get to live painlessly, and be able to run free and do whatever you want without getting dizzy and nauseous? Bullshit.

Always dragged you away from PE class (and maybe other classes too) to go nap with him. He tended to unconsciously hold onto you like he was trying to protect you from the illness trying to snatch you away. Maybe if you slept by his side enough, all that stuff would fade, and maybe you could sleep peacefully enough to dream about a world where you could live without this chronic garbage. That’s what he said, anyway.

He DEFINITELY yells at Vargas when he’s picking on you, no restraint to be seen anywhere. Leona’s very protective of you like that.

When you’re out and around the school, he’s not by your side all the time (can’t come off as clingy, now, can we?) but he meets you in the halls when he can, and subtly praises you for making it through the day so far.

Sends Ruggie to get you painkillers, nausea medicine, your favorite snacks, anything. Doesn’t care how much it costs, if it’s for you.

Azul Ashengrotto

Once he becomes aware of your chronic illness (and he finds out very fast. He’s a well-informed boy), he’s dropping everything to go help or comfort you at any given moment. He’ll even leave class if he needs to.

Not that he needs much excuse to skip PE class in particular.

Will procrastinate on paperwork and Mostro Lounge duties when he can to be with you, and send Jade, Floyd, or both to accompany you when he can’t. Don’t worry, they have your best interests in mind (most of the time).

Always has medication and snacks on hand in his office, and a spot permanently reserved for you in a quiet part of the Lounge for you to retreat to whenever you needed a break, free of charge! And he always told his waiters to gift you one free drink of your choice. He’s just benevolent like that, isn’t he?

However if you need to get away from the noise, the door to his office is always open. He’d be glad to have you stay with him for a little while.

He’s also very proud of the way you constantly seem to have a glass-half-full mindset in your life, even when things can be so rough for you. It’s quite admirable, really. He wished he was able to hold onto your positivity when he was younger during his own rough days of being teased by everyone else.

If it seems at all like you’re struggling during the day, he’ll gently thread his fingers through yours and whisper encouragements like “I think you’re doing wonderful today, darling” softly into your hair. And in the evenings, if you happen to be in Azul’s room, he likes to hold you in his arms, offering complete protection from the pains and worries of the world, and gives you an opportunity to relax or even fall asleep if you wish, in as safe a place as he can give you.

He’s never been so soft and open with anyone like this before. It’s new to him, all of it, but he’s willing to do absolutely anything for you, because he’s never, in all his life, found a pearl that shines as beautifully as you, and he’s not going to wanna let you slip through his fingers. He wants to treasure you as softly and as reverently as you deserve.

Floyd Leech

Aww man, does this mean he can’t squeeze his Shrimpy as hard as he wants?

It’s fine, he understands that it’ll hurt a bit too much for you, but it still makes him sad :(

Only gentle squeezes for this Shrimpy

HOWEVER given how tall and strong he is, he could totally pick you up and carry you with ease, and he doesn’t even need an excuse to do it (maybe for the teachers he needs one. But he can just say he’s taking you to the infirmary)

He’ll fight ANYONE who even tries to give you shit for not being as physically healthy as everyone else, and you better believe those guys are not walkin’ out of that fight without a couple missing teeth or some broken bones.

After he beats the shit out of those haters though, he just grabs you like there’s not a problem in the world and carries you bridal-style through the halls and away to… somewhere else. Maybe he’ll take you to the Mostro Lounge and get you some food! As long as you give him affection in return.

You tell him about anything you need him to get from Sam’s once, and he’s got that memorized for GOOD. Always knows what you need and want after that without you ever needing to repeat yourself.

Totally down to let you sleep in his bed every night if you wanted to, he loves cuddling with you at night, it’s comforting! And it helps him sleep more solidly. Down in the Coral Sea, as a general rule, if you were alone, you were unsafe, especially if you were sleeping alone. So it’s nice to be able to hold onto you and let him feel like he’s got someone with him. He’ll always be there to protect you as well, obviously!

He’s proud of you for staying positive on your rough days, but he’s there for you to fall back on if it just gets too tiring one day. But on the regular, he’s cheering you on and telling you how awesome you are for looking at the bright side all the time. Even when he’s in a bad mood, once he notices your optimism, it lightens a bit, because seeing you so bright and happy can’t help but make him feel a little better.

Jade Leech

He’s always very attentive to your needs. There’s never a moment when he’s unprepared for anything you might desire, it’s like he’s psychic.

Like, you’re wanting to leave PE class? Before you even open your mouth, Jade’s already on his way to Vargas to inform him that sadly you will be absent for the rest of the period due to unfortunate circumstances, and he will be accompanying you to the nurse’s office shortly.

In reality, you can go wherever you want to go and do whatever you want to do once Vargas is out of sight, because Jade gives exactly no shits as long as you’re happy.

Somehow he has pain and nausea meds on him like, all the time. You don’t even need to go anywhere to get any cuz guess what, your boy Jade’s gotchu.

May or may not have you experiment with some of his mushrooms to test their healing or pain-numbing abilities (don’t you worry, he would never drug you on purpose without permission, as curious as he is. He’ll save the hallucinogenic ones for messing with Floyd and Azul.)

He’s also very good at potions as well, so he may get a bit experimental with those as well, possibly adding in a few shrooms here and there. But it’s all for your benefit— he truly does want to help you and wants to get you some relief from the chronic pains.

He’s not exactly surprised you’re able to keep a smile on your face day to day— he knows thats just how you are. However that doesn’t mean he isn’t impressed at how you continue the positivity without showing a hint of wanting to break most days. He’s impressed by how it’s not entirely a façade, that you’re truly happy most of the time.

But when you’re at your lowest, when you’re in the most pain or unusually tired, he’s always there for you to fall into his arms and forget about the world for a little bit.

Kalim Al-Asim

He’s really really sad for you once he realizes that because of your illness, you can’t do anything that requires lots of moving around, like dancing as jubilantly as he can! He’d really love to dance with you, and he expresses as much with a sad, almost puppy-like face.

It sucks that you can’t really do particular things, but he’s determined to find something you CAN do that you’ll both enjoy, that doesn’t mean you have to experience any pain!

Would a carpet ride work? He wishes he could take you on a carpet ride. Hmmm.

Well, while he figures that out, he asks Jamil to maybe come up with a potion to take away some of your pain, so that he can teach you to dance!

But on most regular days, he’ll constantly tap on your arm and slip you little notes during class that say stuff like “hey r u doing ok? :)”

But it’s like. all the time. almost to the point of being annoying. He just wants to make sure that you’re doing okay enough to still be in class, and if you ever give the slightest indication it’s getting kind of bad, he’s dragging you by the arm and already on his way to the door, not even stopping before he’s saying “We’ll be right back, professor!” with a happy wave before he’s already gone with you in tow.

Makes you dizzy with how fast he’s speed-walking, and you actually have to tell him to slow down so it goes away. He didn’t mean to, though, but he’s endlessly apologizing anyway. He loves you a lot and would never do that on purpose! :(

He has Jamil whip up some Scalding Sands specialty dishes whenever it’s been a rough day for you, and makes sure it’s to your taste, whether you like spiciness or not. It’s supposed to be a comfort food after all!

Kalim’s always your number one cheerleader, and he wants to motivate you throughout the day to keep going, and is always happy to see you staying upbeat!

He’s always by your side, if that wasn’t clear. Always trying to be there to make you laugh or keep your mood up and to check in on you, and until you literally tell him to go away he’s not leaving you, he cares too much to want to leave you on your own… but if it’s solitude you need, of course he’ll respect that. He knows not to cross clear-set boundaries when it comes to you.

Jamil Viper

Not super clingy like some of the others, but he definitely gives you more attention and care than he normally would.

Cooks for you almost every day, whether its a simple lunch or an extravagant dinner he set up in his room for just the two of you. He puts a lot of thought into your taste preferences when he shares his food with you, and never forgets your reactions to anything, no matter how subtle your facial expressions are. He always remembers what you definitely seem to like, and knows how to tweak other dishes to make them even more delicious.

Despite his ever-busy schedule, he’ll make trips to Sam’s every day to get you any medication or painkillers you need. Sometimes he’ll even brew a potion for you to try and ease the pain.

If you’re tired or in pain during class and can’t focus, he’ll automatically share his notes with you and personally go over everything you might have missed later.

If you’re sleeping in his room (let’s face it, his bed is likely much more comfortable than the one in Ramshackle) he gathers all the pillows he can and makes it as comfortable as possible for you if you need support for your back or joints.

Keeps a stock of whatever you could possibly need right in his room. And if he doesn’t have it, he’s already off to get it for you.

He’s not really a very physically affectionate person, but he will massage you if you’re in pain, and rub your back or run his fingers along your scalp if you’re tired or even while you’re asleep.

It’s acts of service for him. Maybe he’s so used to serving the Asim family that it’s just become second nature, but part of him truly wants to serve you and do whatever it is you ask of him, and he wants to do things for you of his own accord as well. Just make sure to show him you love him back.

Vil Schoenheit

Always treats you like royalty. He personally goes to get you whatever you want, medicines, food, anything.

Has a night where he sits you down and just doesn’t let you move around or exert yourself, just lightly massages you with fragrant oils to release any tension you have in your body, and hopefully release some of your back and joint pain temporarily. Washes your hair with only the best stuff, gives you a facial, anything for you. Not to make you more beautiful (although its not like his treatment makes you uglier) but he does it to pamper you and show his affection through giving you attention like this, sharing his coveted beauty products and only focusing on you.

Lets you get as much beauty sleep as you need, yes, even if it’s during class. If you’re sleepy and your head starts to drop he will give a horrendous death glare to anyone who even looks like they want to disturb you. And yes, he’s usually incredibly strict about paying attention in class and excelling academically, but you’re a special case to him. He wants to spoil you.

Always is the one to volunteer to help you out of PE class (or any class) when you need to stop from exhaustion or pain. He’ll sit with you, far away from everyone else, and let you do what you want to do instead. You wanna take a break and eat? Sure. You wanna go back to the dorm for a bit and sleep? Of course. It’s whatever you want.

Vil doesn’t express the extent of his love for you through his words, rather his actions. He’d much rather show you how much he cares, instead of using words that hold no meaning without acts of love to prove it. It means more to him, and words are so limited anyway. So even if he’s not telling you every day outright that he loves you, just make sure you notice how he shows he loves you in everything he does.

[vorezone-act8]

Inside your mouth I cannot see

safe vore fic. sorry if you realize what these characters are from lmao (owen is an oc stand in for the player but) warnings: emeto, body dysphoria/dysmorphia, mentions of actual cannib.alism/"h.ard vore" but it doesnt actually happen, suicidal ideation somewhat, suggestive implications unrelated to the vore

Owen couldn't keep this up for much longer. 

He'd been running from "Uthman" for twenty minutes at this rate. He couldn't claim to be in good shape, either, even before this happened; he'd barely slept since he got here, and he'd already been walking for ages. This place was awful labyrinthine for a place of work.

He was wont to give out eventually.

And so he did, a momentary falter of his footing resulting in him being tackled to the ground, vision spotting from the impact his head made with the floor.

"Owen," the thing mumbles. No—even like this, Uthman wasn't a thing. He was a person; a person who would feel terrible about this when he woke up. "Need them. Your organs." His breathing is ragged.

Fighting to keep consciousness, Owen writhes in his grasp, but it's no use. Instead, he tries to reason, "You don't want this; you’re going to feel horrible, later. Uthman, wake up, please—"

Uthman's hands, pinning the other man to the ground by his wrists, tremble. His eyes focus again for a moment, practically drawing his own blood by how hard he's biting his lip. "Trying." Tears prick at his eyes, despite the grin his face has contorted into. It's pained. “I’m sorry.”

He's not sure why he wants to tell him that it's okay, to comfort him, as he finally slips into darkness.

Uthman is fighting himself. He's just lucid enough to resist the hunger for a few more moments, but it's impossible. It hurts—and the only thing that will make it stop is if he sates it, or he’s knocked out. But Owen wasn’t able to do the latter. He has to hold off, just for a few more moments. He won’t forgive himself if—

He half-doubles over in pain on the other’s unconscious form, yelping like the animal he is. His stomach feels as though it’s trying to digest itself.

The opposing instincts of the desire to protect him from further harm and to consume him, thus stopping the pain, converge into overwhelming mixed signals that freeze him in place. In inaction. A momentary blessing.

But unfortunately, it results in a bizarre compromise.

The Devil's mouth experimentally opens, and he shoves Owen's head inside. It fits alarmingly well. The clay making up the flesh makes it disgustingly flexible, too. Impossible. It shouldn't be able to fit a man inside. But it can.

Even screaming inside, the hunger is now beginning to cloud his horror. He can taste Owen’s blood, which he can’t stop himself from licking off his chin. The animal in him wants to finish the job. Wants to be full. It's been starving for so long. 

The human is terrified.

But this is the only conclusion The Devil can come to that will satisfy both instincts. Swallowed whole, instead of torn to shreds. No longer hungry, but Owen might survive if Uthman snaps out of this state fast enough.

All it takes is a swallow to bring his shoulders into his throat, then another for his torso, then his legs—

A purr rises in his middle as his poor friend's form settles into it, arms wrapping around him in a lovesick fondness. He curls up on the floor around his stomach, like an animal at rest.

Lucid again for a moment, Uthman is wracked by a sob as his bleary eyes grow heavy against his will. It's too late.

————————————————

Uthman wakes up nauseous, and aching all over—from falling asleep on the floor, apparently. He groans as he sits up, aching back popping. Eyes squinting from residual exhaustion, he scans the room. He doesn't know how he got here, or why.

Confusion quickly turns into alarm.

The last thing he remembers is being with Owen. Where is he? Did they split up? What would cause a lapse in memory like—

He notices a splatter of human blood right beside him.

Panic rises in his core.

"Mr. Webb?" He calls out urgently, fearing the worst. "Owen??" He attempts to stand up—but his stomach lurches unnaturally at the sudden movement, as if bloated.

His blood runs cold. The lingering taste of metal in his mouth—

He retches, but nothing comes up. He buries his face in his hands—both of which he doesn’t want to be his own, especially right now. But they are. This monster is you. You killed and ate that poor man. Didn’t you?

Hot wet tears deface his disgusting visage even further, as they should. He curls in on himself, no, around what was left of the friend he didn’t deserve. “I’m so sorry,” his monotone cracks. “I-I knew I should have stayed away—I’m so selfish. I’m sorry, Owen.” 

He really is selfish. Owen will never get to see his children again, nor will he get to go home. All for what? Because he was just so desperate for human connection that he couldn’t just help from the sidelines, when this man’s family was on the line—when he knows how dangerous he is? Boo fucking hoo.

He shudders violently as he gags. It’s painful.

That man is dead, and

“...Uthman?”

His ringing ears almost don’t catch the sound. Not until it’s repeated, louder: “Uthman! Hello?” It’s Owen’s voice, oddly muffled. Eyes blurry but wide, he once overs the room in disbelief. “Owen?” His voice trembles. He doesn’t see anything. “Where are you?”

“I don’... know,” the man tiredly answers, then poses a question of his own: “It’s too dark to tell. Were you… crying?” 

A shuddering breath is taken in. He scans the room again. “I was worried I… killed you. I’m glad I didn’t. Are you hurt? Do you recall anything? You sound tired, so I’m assuming you were unconscious.” 

There’s a beat of silence.

“...I remember you… knocking me over. Hit my head, must have conked out. I don’t hurt anywhere else, though. Guess you… left me alone?” He seems to be just as confused. 

It’s starting to concern him how clearly he can hear Owen’s voice, despite neither of them knowing where he is.

“I should check you for a concussion,” Uthman thinks aloud. “Can you move?”

Immediately afterwards, a wave of nausea hits him as he feels—something move, inside of what, unmistakably, must be his stomach. Realization hits him like a truck, but as a literal doctor, he finds it hard to accept that this is possible for him to do. They should both be dead. 

Well… if he were human, that is. Right.

“...I’m cramped. Can’t really tell.” Owen’s voice is alarmingly lacking any fear about the situation he’s in. Even without knowing what Uthman has realized, being trapped in a cramped space you can’t see is terrifying. Maybe he does have a concussion. “Wet, also.”

“Owen,” Uthman starts, trying to keep his voice level. He nearly tries to make eye contact with his stomach, but averts his eyes out of shame. “I think I know where you are.” He sucks in a breath. “...For some reason, in that state, I just…” The words are hard to get out of his mouth, because he can hardly believe them. 

“Swallowed you whole. Instead of something more immediately lethal.”

There isn’t a response for a moment. 

Then, wordless, panicked thrashing against his internals. There it is. The fight or flight response kicking in. He grits his teeth in pain, instinctively clutching at his middle, as if to make it stop. He releases his grip near immediately, not wanting to hurt Owen any further. It’s like nothing he’s ever felt before—and it’s terribly nauseating. 

Maybe that’s a good thing, vomiting would be welcome to this situation. But—

“...Y-you shouldn’t care, but just in case you do, that does hurt,” he clarifies.

It stops quickly. “Sorry,” Owen apologizes. His voice grows quieter. “...I was scared.”

“No, it’s—it’s completely understandable.” Uthman sighs heavily as his muscles relax. “I mean, anyone would be afraid if they were… literally eaten by a monster.” His eyes unfocus, staring into nothing. He really is one, isn’t he?

“...Don’t… call yourself that,” Owen manages, shifting himself around in an attempt to get more comfortable. Uthman cringes at this horrendously invasive feeling. This is, quite possibly, the worst way to have to confront his non-human biology. He almost tuned out what Owen said.

“It’s true, though. A human, and most other animals, physically could not do this.” He grips his wrist as it trembles. “But that’s not important—I need to get you out of there. Our digestive systems aren’t designed to handle this much, so you should be fine for a while, but I’m not going to wait around for you to get hurt, and I’m sure you don’t want to, either.”

There’s a beat, as if Owen were thinking on what to say, for whatever reason. Uthman finds the answer pretty cut and dry, so this strikes him as odd. His passenger settles with a, “...Fair.”

Uthman pinches the bridge of his nose, sucking in another breath through his teeth. “Yes.” He moves to stand up—but hesitates. “...Uh. I’m going to get up. Alright?” There’s a noise of acknowledgement from inside, so he takes that as his go-ahead. Legs trembling slightly, he uses a nearby wall to stand to his feet…. hooves, rather. Right. He hates this.

It shouldn’t be as easy to walk as it is. He hates that Owen is like nothing more than a little added weight to his body. That’s an entire person. You can hardly even notice that he’s there.

…It’s hard for him to calm his spiraling thoughts with this situation. 

Thankfully, Owen breaks the silence: “What are you, uh… going to do? Try to throw up, right?” …Maybe not so thankfully. This is another thought rabbithole to go down. At least it’s a more helpful one to go on.

“Well…” Uthman has to think about the logistics of this. He was able to get Owen down, so he should be able to come back up. But the space is so tight he doesn’t trust he won’t suffocate within, or that he won’t choke on him, this time. Actually, is there even enough oxygen in his stomach for Owen to begin with? Is it not a concussion, but a lack of air?

His head is spinning with concerning questions and possibilities.

“...I think I’m just going to cut you out.”

“HUH?” Owen barks in alarm. “Just throw up! You’re a doctor, you know sometimes you just gotta throw up—”

“I’m not scared to throw up!” He blurts, feeling the skin beneath the fur on his face flush. “I’m worried you’re going to suffocate. It’ll make me feel better if I just… surgically remove you.”

“Have you ever even performed surgery on yourself? What if you mess up? You could cut me.” Owen strategically doesn’t mention that he’s actually more concerned about Uthman hurting himself, because he knows that he doesn’t care about his own wellbeing right now.

It works. Uthman groans, pinching the bridge of his nose. “...Okay, good point. Maybe I should just… try. But I’m not sure… where would be an appropriate location. The floors here are all hard.” God, this is embarrassing. “I guess I’ll head back to my office. There’s pillows and stuff…” He sighs. 

Just as he was about to start moving again, he feels some sort of pressure from within. He can’t help but look down, as much as he really doesn’t want to, and thus confront this reality in its entirety. It’s repetitive, it recedes and presses in again a few times.

“It’s really not that bad. Take your time to get there.”

…He realizes it must be Owen’s hand, patting him.

His face grows hot. He doesn’t like that it felt nice, and especially not that his stomach responds with a growl. No, no, no, you don’t like this. “D-don’t tell me that,” he chides, trying to keep himself composed. “It’s not okay, and I don’t want to think that it’s okay. My instincts might kick in again, and then they might not let you go. I won’t forgive myself if I…”

Pat, pat. “You’re more freaked out about this than I am, Uth. Breathe.”

“You SHOULD be freaked out!” He explodes, all of his emotions finally breaking the surface and spilling. “What if I killed you? What if I DO kill you by waiting too long? Your kids need you, and—and I…” I need you. I’m so selfish. God. 

His breath shudders as he continues, “...When I get you out of there, I think you shouldn’t even talk to me from a distance—I’m more of a danger to you than any help, at this rate. I’m not to be trusted. I have selfish intentions. I want this.”

“No!” Owen moves suddenly with his exclamation, causing Uthman to wince. “God damn it, Uthman, you’ve helped me more than anyone else down here! I don’t care that you lose control now and then—honestly, I don’t even mind if you do end up killing me. I’d prefer that over anything else doing it!”

That takes him out of it. His eyes open wide in horror. “...What? Owen, you—you wouldn’t just let me kill you, would you?”

“Of course not! I just—well…” Owen sighs, and Uthman can tell that he’s curling into himself, receding away the farthest he can in the little space he has. He tries not to notice how much he can feel this, implying that the walls of his stomach are squeezing around him. “...You heard Stinger. I’ve… probably already failed my kids. I don’t care what happens to me, I just… want you to be there.”

Now he’s really concerned. He pushes the welling warmth in his chest, much too literal, aside. “...You haven’t given up, have you? Stinger’s full of it. Even if he isn’t, you should still try, you know.”

“I was supposed to be comforting you, stupid.” 

Uthman laughs a little at that. “...It worked, I think.” 

He becomes aware again of the present situation and urgently starts walking, thankfully recognizing a nearby hallway as a reference point for the distance to his office. “I’m such a hypocrite, I said we shouldn’t wait but I drew this out longer by stopping to argue with you,” he hums, allowing himself to find a little amusement in this. 

As he walks, he notices how much the movement jostles Owen’s weight around, as though he were lugging him around in a bag. That can’t be pleasant. Cursing himself internally, he places a hand on his belly to keep it as still as he can. 

Pat, pat. Owen’s hand meets his, seeming to have caught on.

His face screws up in embarrassment, heat returning to his cheeks. ————————————————

Owen is expelled harmlessly out onto Uthman’s makeshift bed. It’s a lot less warm out here, but he prefers having his full range of motion, which he immediately uses to sit up and stretch his back out with a pop.

He looks up to poor Uthman above him, coughing still. “Uuugh,” he groans, wiping at his mouth. “You okay?” Owen asks gently.

The mascot blinks, then narrows his eyes at him. He clears his throat, composing himself. “I should be asking you that. I wasn’t the one that was nearly eaten alive.” He takes off his labcoat, using it to methodically dry off the other man in place of a towel. 

…Oh, yeah, he’d gotten so used to it in the past… 30 minutes? That he forgot he was absolutely drenched in spit and whatever else.

He crosses his arms, just letting it happen.

“If you had a concussion, it seems to have cleared up. I should check you for burns, though,” Uthman comments idly as he works.

“You gonna undress me?” Owen immediately regrets saying that, shutting his mouth from saying anything further at practically mach 5.

Uthman stops. Even with the fur covering his face, Owen can spot that hint of teal to his cheeks underneath. Actually, it was probably long present. “No, but I was going to ask you to remove them. Even besides possible injuries, your clothes are… probably ruined.” He looks away ashamedly. “I have a change of clothes in here.”

Owen chuckles awkwardly. “...Sorry, didn’t mean it like that.” He sort of did. “I appreciate it, but are you sure you don’t need them?”

“...They… don’t fit anymore, anyways,” Uthman bemoans as he continues to dab at any remaining saliva. Owen frowns sympathetically.

————————————————

Uthman finds nothing out of the ordinary after checking his skin, which is a relief, but also puzzling. Is the acid in a Gi.vanium-based digestive system that weak? Thank god for that design flaw.

The both of them find themselves hit with exhaustion after Owen gets changed and everything settles down, and Uthman… frustratingly hungry, with his stomach no longer full.

A distressing element about his body’s cravings is that they’re not supposed to happen at all. He has no biological need for food. But like a phantom limb, he still experiences the ghost of getting hungry from his memories as a human. 

He wishes it was just that, and that it didn’t manifest in animalistic, predatory instincts.

Having nothing else, he settles on a few granola bars, offering some to Owen, as well. He has to look away from him as he eats.

Uthman tries to convince Owen to go sleep somewhere else tonight, but isn’t able to—he’d have to risk running into another dangerous Case, or collapsing from exhaustion. There’s nowhere else to go. Begrudgingly, he allows it.

They settle into their separate makeshift beds. But… neither of them can sleep, despite how tired they are from the scare of the earlier situation.

“...Hey,” Owen pipes up after a while.

“Mmm?” Uthman barely manages to vocalize.

“...Could I sleep with you?” 

His eyes shoot right open, and he sits up. “What?? I’m sorry, I know you probably got used to it, but I could have killed you earlier, and I’m nervous even about this proximity.”

“I’m just cold,” Owen clarifies, embarrassedly. He feels like a little kid asking to get into their parent’s bed, and he’s a 40 year old man. “...And you’re warm. But I’ll deal.”

…Right. The temperature is low in here to kill germs, like a doctor’s office. He has no way of changing it. Naturally, being drenched probably made him chilly, too—

He sighs. “...Fine. I kind of owe this to you after that, I don’t want you to freeze.” He pulls up his blankets and gestures him over. Owen crawls in and settles next to him, unable to help nuzzling into his fur, sighing as he feels the other’s warmth wash over him. “...Thank you,” he mumbles.

Uthman tenses up. There’s those butterflies in his stomach again… oh, no, that’s physical, actually. It’s growling. His face flushes, turning his head away with a distressed grimace. He’s certain that he heard that. “Do you see what I mean? You really shouldn’t trust me.”

“It’s not a big deal—I mean, maybe you’ll just do that instead of trying to, uh, eat my pancreas, next time,” Owen jokes. Uthman really doesn’t find it funny. He wraps his arms around him, though, selfishly pulling him closer. He paradoxically relaxes, despite his heart beating out of his chest. “...Well, if it happens again, don’t say I didn’t tell you so.”

Owen sticks his tongue out mockingly at him. “Well, it was actually kind of nice, just so you know.” 

Uthman makes a strangled noise at that, hiding his face with his arm. “Please don’t say that.” Owen laughs.

They stop bickering and fall asleep soon after.

[idontplaytrack]

Can I request super flirty Amber x reader where Amber's flirting with reader but they are oblivious and eventually Amber can't take it anymore and kisses reader

Pretty Girl

Amber Appleton x fem! reader

Warnings: fluff, coarse language, kissing

Amber calls reader ‘pretty girl’— always have. But when exactly did that take a turn and become flirting instead of being platonic?

As the thunder roared outside, you were wrapped up under your blanket, comfy— no, sick and exhausted. You had just started your period the night before and have been tormented by the cramps ever since. The pain was so bad, it made you nauseous. You were also, hungry, bloated and craving all sorts of things that you wanted to eat, but at the same time…not really. It was confusing. You hated it, all of this— How terrible you were feeling. So much for a peaceful weekend.

Somehow, you felt yourself dozing off so you snuggled closer to your pillow and hoped you’d fully fall asleep. But hey, of course not. You felt the vomit creeping up your throat before you leaned over the bed and the trashcan, barely making it and letting it spill into the plastic under your mouth. It’s not like you much of anything left in your stomach, but did that stop you from feeling absolutely shitty? No way. Lazily cleaning off your mouth with a tissue you’d grabbed from the box on your nightstand, you stayed on your stomach, and just slept. Tried to, at least.

You woke up after what must’ve been no more than an hour, the rain had started to pour which would typically be the ideal for staying in, getting cosy and just lazing around. But now, you wanted nothing more than to get out of bed and do something with your day. Alas, you could not exactly move. The doorbell rings, making you groan. “It’s pouring out there. Who is it?!” You shrieked, scarily near tears.

The intercom buzzes, “It’s Amber!”

Shit.

You quite literally forced yourself out of bed and walk downstairs, your knees nearly buckled when you first stood up. God, why’d she have to show up now? You got to the door as fast as you could and opened it to let her in.

“Took you awhile.” She says while stepping into the house, “Hi, pretty girl.”

“Sorry.” You muttered, “I’m not—”

“Feeling too well?” She finishes your sentence, “I figured. Wish you would’ve told me.”

You slowly sat down on the couch, groaning, “How’d you know anyway?”

“Honey, I’ve known you, what? Fifteen years now? Give me some credit.”

“So you just figured out I was on my period and decided to show up at my door with…chocolate chip cookies?”

“Yeah, I took a guess.” Amber chuckles, “It’s not that hard to predict it, you know? You always get it around this time of the month.”

“Oh, how nice of you to know that.” You scoffed, leaning forward and burying your face in your hands.

“Did you eat anything?”

You gulped, “Nope, not since dinner last night. Also, I threw that up so please don’t talk about eating.”

Amber sits down beside you, a hand on your head and massaging it, “I’m sorry.” She then guided you to lay on her lap carefully.

You smiled at her a little, it quickly falls though, when you felt another cramp. “Are you sure you don’t want to take something for it?” Amber asks you softly.

“I can, but it’ll just come back up in a few minutes so I’d rather just wait it out.”

You haven’t seen Amber in awhile, honestly. But you knew she had like three part-time jobs that last time you asked her about it. So you figured that was what she was busy with. Oh, and by ‘awhile’, you meant like— at most two weeks. You two haven’t spent much time apart ever. And that’s considering the fact that she has her own little group of friends. You saw them pretty often too, and you knew them but you never really got that close with them even after all this time. But because you were Amber’s best friend, you were always hanging out with them anyway.

Damn, maybe you should really just open your mouth and talk to them more. They were really nice people.

“What’s wrong?” Amber asks, noticing that you’ve gone quiet.

“Oh, nothing. Just thinking about…stuff.”

“Oh, yeah? What kinda stuff, honey?” She looks down at you, bright smile on her face while her eyes formed into little crescents. Her hand was still stroking your hair.

“Random things…I dunno. Like how I gotta talk to your friends more and stop just floating around.” You hummed, “How I haven’t gotten to hang out with you for like two weeks because you’ve been working so many shifts. God, I hope you’re getting enough rest.”

Amber chuckles, “I’m fine. I quit the third job.”

“You did? When?” You ask, absentmindedly playing with the ring on the fingers of her free hand.

“Uh…” She says, her hand in your hair stops moving. You sulked, and she continues the soothing gesture but not without a tiny little laugh. “Like, three weeks ago?”

“Wow, and what have you been up to lately that I couldn’t get to see you?” You joked.

“Shut up, babe.” She giggles. You gasped dramatically and instantly paid for it when you got attacked by yet another cramp, “Babe? That’s a new one.”

She nearly snorted, laughing. Amber’s brows were raised briefly, “You really are so…”

“Don’t yell at me.”

“I’m not gonna yell at you, when have I ever done that?” She squints.

“Well, my mom just did this morning after I told her my cramps were terrible.” You scoffed.

“Do I look like your Mom to you?” Amber couldn’t help but laugh, “Has the pain somehow jumbled up your brain so bad that you’re just saying anything and everything?”

You didn’t know what to say to that you just kept quiet and snuggled more comfortably against her lap, now laying on your side. “Maybe.”

“That’s okay, pretty girl.” You could hear the smile, “I’m sorry you’re not feeling good.”

————

As you laid sleepily in her lap, Amber’s mind started to wander— seemingly recalling every single time she had hung out with you, analysing each day out, and night in…desperately trying to figure something out.

“You’re so pretty.” Amber says, tucking some hair behind your ear.

“Shut up.” You laugh, “I just tried to eat a donut while the wind was blowing in my face. Now I have powdered sugar in my hair.”

“I said what I said.”

“Yeah, yeah. Thanks, Ams.” You didn’t think too much into her little compliment— she says stuff like this all the time. Just to make you smile and giggle. “You’re pretty too.”

~~~~~

Walking through a crowded flea market, your eyes checked out each stall closely, not wanting to miss a good buy. Somehow, you feel an arm wrap around your waist. “Be careful. There’s a lot of people around.” It was Amber. Typical Amber being a worrywart.

~~~~~

“Amber?” You say in a hurry once she picked up your call.

“y/n, it’s 1:30 in the morning.” Amber replied, obviously just woken up by you, “What’s wrong, y/n?”

“Can we go get ice cream?”

“What?” She could not believe her ears. Amber could not believe that you called her at this hour just for that. But hey, she was so relieved that was all it was. Relieved that you weren’t sick or hurt.

“Can we go get ice cream? Please?” You repeated yourself.

“Okay, pretty girl.” She laughs, “I’ll pick you up in fifteen minutes.”

You squealed, “Yay, okay.”

~~~~~~

“Amber, can you help me do my hair? I like when you do it.”

“Okay.”

~~~~~

“Amber, will you please do my makeup? I suck at it.” You groaned.

“Sure, honey.” Amber had her usual smile on her face, “Turn around.”

~~~~~

“Need some help?” Amber asks, watching you struggle to put a necklace on by yourself.

You finally saw her in the reflection and said, “Please.” Handing it to her, she took it from you and pushed your hair in front of one shoulder. Smoothly, she puts the necklace on for you in a matter of seconds.

“There you go.” She smiles, leaning her chin on your shoulder for a beat, her eyes looked at the heart pendant on your necklace then somehow wandered onto your chest. Mentally chiding herself, she gives you a quick hug from behind and then unwrapped her arms, “You ready for your date?”

“Not really.” You admit.

“Aw, you got this, pretty girl.” She gives you a squeeze on the shoulder, “Ben’s really nice.”

“You would know.” You managed a chuckle, “You insisted that you met him first.”

“Of course. He has to be good enough for you.”

~~~~~~

You were at the mall with Amber one Saturday afternoon after having spent the night at her place in the spur of the moment. Actually, that was the last time you saw her before today. So, anyway…because you didn’t have a change of clothes, you were wearing Amber’s clothes. Which was very, very different from your own style.

“Will you stop?” Amber laughs, swinging your hand as she held it, “You look good, okay?”

“Pfft, right.”

“Right.”

~~~~~

Or maybe…the defining moment was right now. Seeing you so pale, so disheveled. Yet, she was completely enamoured by you. She didn’t tell you though. She couldn’t. Because she knew how you’d react. You’d just think she was joking and brush it off. Nothing romantic’s happened between you and Amber, but yet lately, there’s always been the presence of tension from Amber’s point of view.

You on the other hand seemed completely oblivious to her being a little distant for the past two weeks while trying to work through her feelings and piece together what on Earth she wanted to say to you. She could only pray this wasn’t one-sided. Amber loved you too much to mess things up, that was why she said she was busy and didn’t see you for those three weeks. But at the same time, her patience was slowly but surely growing thin. Yet she still couldn’t quite figure out exactly when her calling you ‘pretty girl’ started to have a different effect on her— when she started to get excited to call you that, hoping you’d react the way she wanted you to. But you never did. So she threw in a new nickname, and you were still way too chill about it.

————

Amber didn’t know where that courage came from but…

“y/n?” She said quietly, wanting to get your attention but didn’t want to startle you.

Your eyes came into focus again, meeting her face, “Yeah?”

“I’m in love with you.” She reveals, and before you could even process her declaration, you feel her lips on your own— so soft, and so gentle. So addictive. Fuck.

You’d completely just gave into it, letting her take control as your hand reached up to cup her cheek. It was a bit of an odd position, but you were evidently still in too much pain to move.

“You do?” You tried breaking away for a second to speak but she doesn’t allow it, eagerly reconnecting your lips again. Amber did nod her head, reciprocating with increasingly passionate kisses.

“I fucking love you. I’m not sure when it started, but I am.” She literally speaks into the kiss. And upon hearing that, you could not let her lips go. That was all Amber needed from you. She didn’t even need to hear it— she was too riled up for that now, wanting nothing more than the constant feeling of your lips against hers.

After a mutual breakaway several minutes later, you were breathless and so was she. “So…” She started. “I meant every word I just said. Everything I just did. I want you, y/n, to be my girlfriend.”

“Okay.” You nodded, unknowingly, teary-eyed. “I’m sorry I didn’t realise sooner.”

Amber smiled so widely hearing your response, “It’s okay, pretty girl.” Now in tears, she sniffles and presses a sweet kiss to your forehead, “I have you now.”

“You do.” You nodded, mirroring her smile.

“I love you.” She says, her palm pressing lightly on your lower abdomen to give it some warmth and relief. “Does that help?”

You nodded almost too sleepily, “Yeah. Can you keep doing that please?”

“Of course.” Amber agrees, “Close your eyes, get some rest. I’ll wake you up when lunch is done.”

“No, don’t get up.” You slurred.

“I promise I won’t. Not until you’ve fallen asleep. Then, I’ll make us lunch. Okay, pretty girl?”

“Okay, Ams…okay.”

She chuckles over her words hearing how sleepy you were, “Okay. Sleep tight.”

————

🏷️ Tag list:

@ashecampos @auliisflower @cheesysoup-arlo @frogs00 @reneeswif3 @ludoesartnstuffs @pda128

————

I’m distracting y’all from the fact that the AJ x reader x Capri isn’t even halfway done six days later

Also don’t know how to write a flirty Amber— I’m sorry🥲

[spinchip]

Making Electricity// You Can Feel it in Your Mind

pairings: Gen/no pairings

Wordcount: 2.5k

Authors note: Title from electric feel MGMT lol. I am sick so you know what that means *Inflicts the horrors on my blorbo*

Warnings: Zane is electrocuted. this is what the whole fic is about

Summary: Jay accidentally shocks Zane during a fight.

~

His world is eclipsed by a pain so deep and all consuming that it leaves his body singing after it is done with him.

His vision is a kaleidoscope of colors and shapes that move and undulate in a constant flow. It’s a suggestion of the world around him, scrambled and shaken twice before it makes it to the part of his program responsible for interpreting reality. His vision is swarmed by a color- he knows his friends all have a signature color, but there’s a disconnect in his mind and he can’t understand what color he’s looking at. He is aware of the input but the information stalls and fails to process, leaving him clueless to the body at his side. His hearing is muffled and distant, the person is speaking but its formless syllables echo in his head as he tries to decipher it all. It’s overwhelming and he desperately wants to ask them to stop talking- but much like everything else, Zanes connection with his jaw has failed and he can’t vocalize a word.

He’s on his hands and knees- he doesn’t remember stumbling or falling. The amount of concentration it takes to keep his body off the floor is monumental- all his joints feel loose and liquid, like a light breeze could knock him over and scatter the pieces. He doesn’t know which way up or down is, everything swaying and twisting around him- his gyroscope is off kilter. It has to be. His clothes feel painfully tight- the person beside him touches his shoulder and Zane hisses in pain, and when he flinches away it knocks his hands from underneath him and sends him sprawling to the floor. Every one of his artificial nerves is on fire, like their sensitivity has been turned up past 11. Like someone had taken steel wool and scrubbed down each sensor until the wiring was exposed and sparking. He can’t feel his legs- the strangeness of that exacerbated by the fact he could still move them. The blobs of shifting light that he called his vision changed when he thought about moving his legs. He was watching them move. There was no input from the waist down, no data or pressure or spatial awareness to pin down how they were moving. Just that they were.

The air is sharp and chemical, ozone saturating every breath Zane takes.

He’s shaking. He’s breathing. There’s an awareness of the room creeping over the fog of his mind and he has to stop the ice from spreading- energy spits from his core and his chest feels hot and wet, his arms ache down to his fingers.

Something that sounds like it might be his name is called.

He’s on a table- a bed- it’s flat. He’s laying down. He’s so exhausted he can’t bring himself to think for several long moments, not processing any data his body is supplying him with. He drags a trembling hand up from his side and tries to focus on how many fingers he’s holding up. The fractals in his vision have merged and sharped to one point, but now everything is so fuzzy he can’t make out any details. His hand looks- dark. The casing is gone? The back of his hand, down his forearm, all bare- maybe more, but Zane doesn’t have the strength to turn his head. He slumps his hand next to his face instead of taking the effort to place it back at his side. A sound. Attempting to be soothing and soft, but his ears hurt anyway. Even that light, gentle sound input is overloading his processor and causing a sharp pain between his eyes. He feels nauseous.

What happened to the fight? Where was he? He doesn’t remember getting here. There were no memories connecting each moment. Did he black out?

His jaw is still locked. He beeps at the voice instead, a downturned note to show his disapproval of the silence being cut. A light turns on above him and his vision whites out completely, sharp piercing pain that feels like a fire has been lit in his face. He can’t close his eyes. He can’t do anything.

Zane wakes up.

He can see. It’s the first thing he acknowledges when his eyes open- still blurry on the edges, but clear enough he can make out where he is. It’s the garage, the one on the lower levels under the Monastery- in a back room that was tucked away from the rest of the place. There were desks in here, a few work tables for smaller scale projects and a couch that Zane was curled up on. There’s a blanket wrapped around his shoulders. His skin still feels raw, but the blanket is soft and welcome and he tugs it closer. The lights are on and dimmed, just enough so that he can see around the room easily. There’s a glass of water next to him that's only half full, and an apple with a bite taken out of it that Zane puzzles over for too long.

His brain isn’t catching up with him. Thinking is like trudging through quicksand, and he keeps losing the thread he’s following and staring blankly into space before remembering he’s trying to figure out what that water is doing here. It means something, right?

A door clicks, and Zane looks up. Someone is in the room. Dark hair. He closes his eyes and thinks, dragging up all his memories until he finds her inside them.

“Nya.” He concludes. His voice is jittery on the edges, but he can speak now.

Nya nearly jumps out of her skin at his voice. She barely avoids spilling her coffee down her shirt, looking up from her phone that she’d been absorbed in. She sighs in audible relief, “Hey, Zane. How are you feeling?”

He stares at her for a long moment, watching as she approaches him and sits in the chair set up next to the couch. She waits patiently for him to formulate a responde, “...it is hard… to think.” He manages. “...Why…?”

She smiles weakly, “You were struck by lightning, Zane.” She launches into a well-rehearsed and poised description of exactly what type of internal damage he had taken and how the blow had affected his body and delicate electronics. Each word is delivered carefully and confidently.

“This… is not the… the first… time…” He closes his eyes at the effort, grunting unhappily.

“No, this is not the first time I've told you all this.” Sipping her coffee, she shoots him a tight smile, “Hopefully it’ll be the last, though. Can you sit up? If you’re feeling up to it, we can do a few tests and see where you’re at recovery wise.”

He pulls the blanket out from under him, struggling to unwrap himself before he hauls himself up. His right hand is completely exposed, no protective casing at all. The wires are all shiny and brand new. Zane doesn’t dwell on figuring that out. He’s not in his ninja suit anymore- he’s in his pajamas. Did someone else dress him..? Uncomfortable, but understandable and necessary.

As Nya tests his reflexes and asks him to unbutton his shirt to examine his power core, Zane tries his best to organize his thoughts. His upper chest plate is brand new- the pieces around it have strange spider webbing marks, yet to be replaced.

“Lightning…” He makes a sound in the back of his throat that’s supposed to be the word how? But it catches on his tongue and doesn’t come out right.

Nya understands anyway, but she hesitates. Finally, “It was Jay. It was an accident- do you remember the fight?”

The fight. He does remember- but he also doesn’t remember. Strange. The thoughts and memories surrounding the moments before his world turned sideways are disjointed and nebulous, hard to pin down and recall. He doesn’t remember why they were fighting. He had been in the middle of a fight with another man- no, he had just defeated him? He was standing alone, taking a moment to… to… analyze the field… no, he stopped because his head hurt. Didn’t he? The guy he’d defeated had gotten a lucky shot. His jaw had ached, possibly dislocated…? Then the world was a bright white-hot pillar of fire and nothing made sense anymore.

“Is Jay… okay?” The feeling of Nya's hands in his chest makes him shudder, which she nods approvingly at. His sensory input was reacting correctly.

“Er… Physically, he’s fine.” She reassures him, “But mentally… Well, he feels really guilty. He thought… we all thought it was possible he killed you. You would wake up but you wouldn’t retain any memories or information we’d give you. You just kept resetting.”

“How long…?”

“How long have you been out of commission?” She guesses. He nods and she sighs, staring at his core, “Three and a half weeks.”

Zane stares at her, dumbfounded.

“This was not a light blow, Zane. Your internal self repair programming system has really been struggling to deal with all the damage. It was touch and go for longer than I’d like to admit.” Her voice is gentle, “We’ve all been taking turns watching over you in case you wake up. This isn’t the first time we’ve had this conversation.”

“I… do not… feel good.” Zane says plainly, weakly pushing her away from him and ending the examination. She doesn’t fight it, leaning away and giving him space.

She motions to the water and apple, “Those are yours from before. You should eat and drink- I know you don’t need to, but your core took some damage and you're on an energy deficit right now. You need physical fuel.”

He falls asleep before he finishes the apple.

He comes back to consciousness again in the same room, curled up in the same way, tucked in with the same blanket. This time, sitting next to him is Pixal.

“Pixal.” he says plainly. He says it like he’s proving that he remembers her.

She’s on her Borg Data Pad when he speaks, and she politely closes the case and sets it on the desk behind her, “Good morning, Zane. How are you feeling?”

The words make more sense, “I remember.” He tries to tell her firmly, with conviction, but his voice croaks out awkwardly despite his best efforts. “I remember… talking to… to Nya last… night.”

She blinks. Her whole demeanor changes- her shoulder slump in a bone-deep relief, and her eyes close, and she even takes a deep breath in. when she releases it, it trembles. When she opens her eyes again they’re shiny and wet, “You scared me.” She tells him before throwing her arms around him in a hug.

“Sorry.” He apologizes, slumping boneless into her arms.

"We're not out of the woods yet but this- this is a huge step in the right direction." She doesn't squeeze him too tightly and he's grateful.

After another examination, Pixal asks Zane if he's feeling well enough to make a trip up the elevator to see the others. To be honest, Zane wants nothing more than to do that. It’s early morning according to Pixal. He could have breakfast with them. He doesn’t respond right away, thinking. Truly feeling out everything.

His body still aches, his vision is still blurry, and it’s hard to think. He has to sort through the fog to remember anything- but he can walk, and talk, and remember.

“...Yes, I.. I want to.”

She helps him hobble his way over to the elevator and braces him while they head into the monastery. They take a break at the couch so he can gather some energy before making the final stretch to the kitchen. She sits him at the breakfast nook table and starts on pancakes at his request.

He leans back in the chair and involuntarily his eyes close until he’s lightly dozing in his chair, the rising sun warming his metal skin.

“Zane?” Cole asks, jaw dropped at the door.

Zane blinks open his eyes and smiles, “I am… okay… ish.” He says gently, and politely ignores Cole's tears as he brings him in for a quick hug.

Kai comes in next and actually jumps up and down in joy, clapping his hands. Nya is after him, and her sour-puss morning attitude does a heel turn and now she’s absolutely glowing.

When Lloyd comes in, he cries the ugliest out of them all. Zane is weirdly thankful he can’t think too clearly, or else he wouldn’t be able to simply not think about the snot patch Lloyd left on the shoulder of his pajamas. As Lloyd wipes the last of his tears he says, “I'm going to wake up Jay. He’s been sleeping in and I think he’d like to see you the most.”

Accidentally, Zane drifts off again. It feels so nice in the morning sun, and he’s exhausted again. He can’t help it.

A hand touches his gently and Zanes' eyes flutter open.

Jay is sitting next to him, looking like a kicked puppy but sixty times more pathetic and sad. He’s staring at the point of contact between their hands and Zane has to focus really hard to understand why. More of those spider webbing patterns wind down his left hand. The casing on his right had been replaced, but his left was still… still scarred from the blow. This makes Zane feel lightheaded. The injury suddenly feels so real.

“I am so… so sorry.” Jay looks like he’s about to cry. Oh- oh Jay is crying.

Zane doesn’t want Jay to cry, “It is.. Okay.” he reassures him, raising a shaky hand to place on top of Jays, “I will… be… alright. It was… an… an accident, I… I forgive you.” He says, and he means it.

“I was stupid and reckless!” Jay insists, looking at Zane with a pleading expression. Like he wants Zane to be angry- like he thinks he deserves it.

Zane pats his hand, “Eat with me.” He says as Pixal brings them each a plate.

He has to let Cole cut his pancakes up for him- his motor skills are severely lacking. It will take time for the fried pieces of his programming to repair. The next few weeks are hard and frustrating- but his friends are there to help him eat, help him walk through the monastery, even remind him basic facts that his processing fog loses.

There are things he’s lost forever. Memories that don’t exist anymore.

“We could watch the original Starfarer movie? But we’ve all already seen it.” Kai hums as he pokes through the stacks of DVDs they were discussing for movie night.

Zane wracks his brain, “I… have not…” He rephrases, “I do not… remember seeing that one.”

“Aw, lucky! What I wouldn’t give to watch it for the first time again!” Jay laments, not stopping to think before he speaks. He looks absolutely stricken when he realizes what just left his mouth.

The words shock Zane so much by their absurdity that he barks out a startled giggle before following it up with actual laugh, tittering at the sheer wrongness of that whole sentence. Jay is smiling again, and the room feels lighter.

They were there to help him laugh, too.

[echo-bleu]

Hi, for the prompt game, can you write about Míriel for either the prompt ‘dust in the golden light’ or ´The empty space that can’t be breached between you in bed’. And if it’s ok, can you make Míriel have hypermobile Ehlers-Danlos syndrome, please?

I can’t sew as much as I want because of the pain and Míriel is a comfort character for me in these instances.

This took a while because the prompt grabbed me and ran away, and it grew into so much more 😅 EDS being genetic, I started wondering about who else might have it...

silver

Míriel/Finwë, Celegorm/Oromë, Celebrimbor/Narvi. Three vignettes about chronic pain and learning to accept help. Also on AO3.

1.

Míriel sticks her needle back onto the pin cushion with more force than strictly necessary. She winces and mutters a curse under her breath when it only accentuates the ache in her fingers, and she lies back down on the bed.

She already made that concession, this morning: working from her bed, with a stack of pillows behind her back, rather than using up what little energy she has to sit in her workroom. But it was not enough to lift the fog from her head, nor the throbbing ache from her hands.

She’s not someone who angers easily, but the frustration is – staggering, sometimes. This is her craft. It’s her passion. Embroidery is everything that she is, how she has chosen to define herself – not as a Walker of the Great Journey, or as the Queen of the Noldor, but as the Broideress. And increasingly, more obviously with every year, she is losing it.

She consciously takes a few deep breaths, and lays her hand on the slight swell of her stomach. Pregnancy is making it worse, she knows. She’s been exhausted ever since the begetting, and her pains have taken a sharp edge, where they used to be dull. Maybe once she gives birth, things will get better.

(They won’t.)

She must fall asleep while brooding, because once she wakes, the light outside the window has turned the silver of Telperion. She missed the Mingling, and the better part of the day, and she barely feels any better. It takes her a moment to realize that she was woken by a sound at the door, and she looks up to find Finwë in the doorstep.

He’s changed out of his court robes already, and his head is bare of the crown, his braids half-undone. She’s been struggling to do his hair, too. On bad days like today, even a relatively simple hairstyle takes all the energy she has, leaving none for embroidering. But she won’t give it up for anything.

She smiles tiredly at him.

“Are you hungry, my love?” he asks.

Míriel shakes her head. Pain kills her appetite, as surely as anything. She knows she needs to eat, for the child growing inside her, but she’s too nauseous now to think about it. “Later,” she murmurs. “Come.”

Finwë – her beloved Finwë, still as beautiful as the day she married him – comes to sit down on his side of the bed, not quite close enough to touch her. He reaches out and very carefully brushes her unbound hair from her temple.

He treats her like fine blown glass. The worst is, he’s not wrong to. There are times when the slightest touch can exacerbate her pains like the blow of a hammer. He doesn’t want to hurt her, and she can’t resent him for it.

But she doesn’t know how to ask. How to ask him to put his arms around her and squeeze her tight, not because the pressure helps (it does) but because she wants him to. She wants to feel him. She wants to stop lying in a fog in the dark. She wants to see the beautiful light of the trees in his eyes from up close.

They will have a child, soon. Míriel has seen him – a boy, as dark-haired as his father, as stubborn as her, and yet new and unheard of among the Noldor: brilliant, driven, proud. Full of fire. Fëanáro, he will be. She already loves him more than she can comprehend.

She doesn’t know how she will care for him, when she can barely care for herself, but Finwë will be there. They will be together.

The empty space between them suffocates her.

“Hold me,” she whispers.

Finwë climbs onto the bed.

(Years from now, Returned into the same aching body, she will more clearly see the unravelling threads of their family’s tapestry.

The tragedy was woven into it long before Fëanáro was even born.)

2.

Tyelkormo fumbles with the tinderbox. Checking that his body is still between the firepit and the rest of the Hunt, he tries again, but he can’t seem to get as much as a spark that he could then sing to life. Not that he has much breath left to sing with – they’ve been on the road for too long.

It’s late, past Mingling time, not that it makes much of a difference here. They are so far north that the Trees are just a guiding light in the distance. If they went due east from here, they would end up on the Helcaraxë.

Tyelko’s hands are shaking, despite the furs he’s wearing and the gloves he just removed. His whole body aches. His hip feels like someone tried to tear his leg off. It’s nothing new, but this is his first really long hunt, and before, he’s always managed to heed the warning signs and get back to Tirion before things got this bad.

Finally, he manages to get a single spark, and he hums it into a proper fire. It’s pitiful – the wood is too cold and wet to take properly – but then Tyelko is the only one who needs it, the only elf among the Ainur. The only one who feels the cold.

As soon as the flame is high enough, Huan comes to curl up in front of the fire, his head on Tyelko’s less aching leg, and Tyelko gratefully buries his hands in the hound’s fur.

“Alright there?” asks a voice behind him.

Tyelko twists around and immediately regrets it. His back gives a pop and pain blinds him for a moment. He whines before he can help it.

“Oh dear,” Tilion says. “Something’s wrong, right? That’s not a good elf sound. Lord Oromë!”

He shouts the last out toward the others. Immediately, Oromë is there, in less time that it should have taken him to walk over. Tyelko is still gingerly trying to straighten his back while biting the inside of his cheek to avoid making noises. He’s breathing in short gasps, which just serves to aggravate the pain, but he can’t seem to get enough air.

Oromë crouches beside him, his not-quite-elvish fana glowing softly in the starlight. “What’s wrong, eldanya?”

“Nothing,” Tyelko says through his teeth, though the time for pretence is clearly past. “Moved wrong.” That, at least, is the truth.

Oromë reaches out with a slender hand to cup his chin. “You’re hurting.”

“I’m fine.”

A breeze brushes his mind, but he clamps down hard on his shields – which leaves him breathless again. Huan whines and nuzzles his hand. Tyelko’s teeth are chattering, he realizes dimly, and the fire has almost gone out. He struggles to get air into his lungs, and the air that comes is cold and biting.

Fuck, they’re weeks away from the closest settlement, and he’s not going to be able to stand up come morning. What is he supposed to do? The Ainur don’t understand pain – don’t understand elven bodies at all. They don’t need to eat, or sleep. They’ve been humouring him so far, but he can feel their impatience at times. If he’s to ride with the Hunt, he needs to keep up.

Trust his body to betray him at the worst possible moment.

“What do you need?” Oromë asks in a tone so gentle that Tyelko breaks.

“To lie down,” he murmurs pitifully. “And to get warmer.”

“Build the tent,” Oromë orders Tilion.

Tyelko closes his eyes, almost unconsciously leaning into Oromë’s touch. His hand, glowing a pale white, is slowly radiating warmth, and it blissfully travels down his spine, taking the edge off the pain.

“Come on, eldanya,” is his only warning before an arm slips under his knees and he is lifted off the ground. Tyelko lets out an undignified yelp of surprise as he finds himself suddenly in Oromë’s solid arms.

Huan follows them under the tent. Tyelko is gently deposited onto a bed of furs, and Oromë stays kneeling at his side, his hands slowly warming him up on each side of his ribcage. Huan settles down at his feet.

“You should leave me here,” Tyelko murmurs.

Oromë tilts his chin, his way of indicating surprise. “Do you want me to leave the tent?”

“No, I mean for the hunt. I’m only slowing you down.”

That’s it, that’s the moment Oromë will finally see. See how much of a failure Tyelko is, how little he deserves the attention of one so great. He’ll gather the others and leave Tyelko here to – die, he supposes. Or maybe he’ll take pity on him and delay long enough to deposit him back in Tirion, for Grandfather’s sake, and wash his hands of him.

“It’s too cold for you here, I think,” Oromë says with an uncomprehending frown. “I did not realize. I still have much to learn of the Eldar. We’ll go south once you have slept.”

“You don’t get it,” Tyelko grits out. He pushes Oromë’s hands away, and immediately mourns their warmth. “I can’t even walk. You’ll have to carry me.”

“That’s not a problem,” Oromë says lightly, completely missing the bitterness in his tone. “You are very light.”

Tyelko sighs and closes his eyes, dejected. The pain in his back is slowly easing, but his hip is only screaming louder, and he just wants it all to stop. “You should leave me behind. I’m not fit for any of this. I’m not fit for you.”

Warm – nearly too hot – hands cupping his face make him open his eyes. Oromë’s terribly intense gaze is drilling into his, searching. “Tyelkormo, eldanya, what have I done to make you think that you are not enough for me?”

Tyelko gapes for a moment, lost in the swirling silver eyes he loves so much. Oromë does not breach his mind, but he brushes it again, softly, just making his presence known. Tyelko exhales and drops his shields, bonelessly falling back onto the furs.

“I—” he mutters. “I’m not… Something’s wrong with my body. I can’t be a good hunter. I’m not even a good elf.”

“What is wrong?” Oromë asks.

“I get pains in my joints. Sometimes they move in ways they shouldn’t.” Tyelko considers detailing, talking about the dislocations and the gut pains and the bruises, but Oromë barely knows anything about elven bodies. “Sometimes it hurts too much to walk. Grandfather says that Grandmother had it, too.”

Because he’s still staring into them, Tyelko can see the brief flash of fear in Oromë’s eyes. It’s gone almost as soon as it starts. Tyelko shivers – it’s not like he’s never wondered. Will Míriel’s fate will be his, too? Father says not to worry, but Father is terrifyingly good at ignoring the things that scare him, sometimes.

“Have you seen Estë?” Oromë asks softly.

“She gave me water from Lórellin that helps with the pain a little, but I can’t carry it with me.”

“I can carry it. I will go ask her for more. Is there anything else I can do?”

Tears well up in Tyelko’s eyes, and he’s powerless to fight them. “The warmth,” he whispers. “Feels good.” He guides Oromë’s hand down to his hurting hip, where the heat seeps into his tissues and eases some of the tension. Oromë shifts into a more comfortable position against his side, lying more than kneeling, their bodies presses together.

“Eldanya, you are a good hunter, and I want you in my hunt,” he says. Then, after a breath, “You are good, and I want you.”

Tyelko buries his face in his shoulder.

(Years from now, he will remember this night, and wonder when he left good behind.

His fate is so much worse than Míriel’s, after all, and it’s all of his own making.)

3.

“Got a new one for you, Kibil.”

Celebrimbor looks up from his console, where he’s sitting on one of the rolling stools that were a gift from his colleagues of the Guild. Narvi is standing at the door, holding something metallic in their hand. He sees their gaze go from the neat row of silver ring splints on the console, to the roll of bandages in his hands, to his bare torso and slumped posture.

“Bad day?” they ask without detour.

Celebrimbor shrugs, lets his own gaze travel to his aching hands, and nods. Given that he’s been trying to muster the energy to do his compression bandages and put a shirt on for about an hour, it probably qualifies as a bad day.

Narvi doesn’t live with him, though their relationship is hardly a secret among the Gwaith-i-Mírdain. They come and go, sometimes staying in their own apartment in the eastern quarter. They need their privacy, and Celebrimbor is more than ready to respect that.

Besides, he too often forgoes his own bed for the heat of the forges, and dwarves need to sleep more than elves.

Narvi shuts the door behind them, steps closer to set the object in their hand on the console – it’s another silver splint, a prototype for a design they’ve been working on together – and very gently nudges Celebrimbor toward the bed. Even sitting down, he’s half a head taller than them, but they’re more than stubborn enough to make up the difference. When Celebrimbor makes a token gesture of resistance, they simply kick the rolling stool closer to the bed. “Lie down,” they order. “You’re staying right here today.”

“But—”

“No. Bad days are bad days. Isn’t that what you keep telling me?”

Celebrimbor gamely rolls his eyes, knowing when he’s defeated. He’s worked hard to build a system of mutual aid in the forges and the workshops. Craft masters tend to be fiercely competitive and jealously guard their work, but the very purpose of the Gwaith-i-Mírdain is that they make better things by cooperating, by bringing together diverse crafts and races both. The assistants and apprentices, and even most of the other masters, now smoothly step in to help on the days Narvi’s arthritic hands refuse to hold tools.

“You’re not supposed to turn it back on me,” Celebrimbor says.

“Oh, really?” Narvi gently pushes his shoulders until he’s lying down fully. “So it applies to everyone but you?”

Celebrimbor just smiles. Until Narvi got here, until they became close…

For all its purported equality, he’s still the Lord of Ost-en-Edhil. He built the city, built the guild house and the guild itself – he started it all by himself, because few would work with a Fëanorian. Galadriel was the Lady of Eregion on paper, but she never cared about building. She was only there to judgementally watch over his shoulder and slap his fingers whenever she thought that he sounded too much like his grandfather.

He’s the oldest of the guild masters. Half of them were his apprentices at one point or another, and the other came to the city with little to their name beside their craft. They’re misfits, outcasts, dispossessed – just like he was. Celebrimbor takes care of each of them and learns their habits in the forge, their dreams and aspirations, their pains and heartbreaks. But always he keeps himself at a distance.

He’s learned the hard way not to let people get too close.

His family was never perfect, but they were always supportive. From the moment Celebrimbor started feeling the aches, a scant few years after Maedhros abdicated, they rallied around him to help. It was Celegorm who first showed him how to support his joints with compression bandages. Celegorm who taught him to recognize the right herbs for the painkilling teas, who carved him his first cane from a sturdy oak branch.

Celegorm who stayed in Himlad with them, rather than set out for lands of his own.

Father worked with him on his first splint prototypes. Maedhros always popped his bad shoulder back in without squirming. Maglor taught him songs to calm the inflammations. Caranthir was the first to find dwarves with a similar illness, and learned their lore. Ambarussa were always eager to distract him from the pain with stories and games.

Celebrimbor lost all of that in Nargothrond.

“You take care of everyone,” Narvi says. “But who takes care of you?”

I don’t need anyone, Celebrimbor wants to answer, but he looks down at his bare chest, the slightly inflamed scars from his breast removal that he hasn’t been ointing regularly, his left arm that he can no longer raise past his shoulder for lack of the right stretching exercises, his aching, curled fingers, and he stays silent.

“Guess I’ll have to do the job myself,” Narvi says with a mock-sigh. “Flip over, I’ll massage your shoulder.”

As they straddle his back and knead their knuckles into his sore shoulder, Celebrimbor wonders if that’s what it’s like, to have someone outside of family who truly cares. Someone who is there for the bad days as well as the good, who doesn’t think less of him for them.

He’s been yearning for it for a long time, he realizes.

His city is open and welcoming to all, but maybe it’s time he opens himself up, too. As much as Celebrimbor hates to think of it, Narvi won’t be around forever. But starting with them, maybe, with their help, he can learn to trust others again.

(Years from now, Narvi, aged and nearing the end of their life, will be very proud to see Celebrimbor wholly welcome a newcomer into his life.

They will never see how it ends.)

-

Oromë calls Celegorm "eldanya" (my elf/elda). Since Oromë was the one who found the elves and first named them Eldar, it takes on a few added layers of meaning.

Narvi calls Celebrimbor "Kibil", which means "silver" in Khuzdul. Khuzdul is kept secret by dwarves, but since it's likely a borrowing from Sindarin (celeb), I don't think anyone would mind, plus Celebrimbor may have learned at least some Khuzdul with Aulë.

Also, I do art! This Celebrimbor piece was conceived as a companion to the fic, and you can see what the silver ring splints look like (they're a real thing btw). And this Celegorm sketch prompted his inclusion here.

And my disabled Tolkien characters tag for more.

Reblogs and comments make my day!

[ghostampire]

"Now they definitely won't make a shitty movie."

Tara Carpenter x Amber Freeman

Summary: Amber survives the final and now Tara is going to get answers.

Words: 2.4k

Warnings: idk blood death glass hardcore ending I think I died

25th anniversary of the Woodsboro murders. Back to that crazy night that changed this town forever.

A bloody series of murders had come to an end. It only seemed that way at first glance. After all, that's how movies with good endings end, right?

The sounds of sirens and ambulances pierce the air, reporters pull up. It's happening all over again. Sam, Tara, and Mindy, as the surviving trio from the new generation, get proper medical attention. Finally a long-awaited vacation after exhausting games of not only life but death.

The police officers are about to seal the house and get to work, but their attention is drawn to the scream of a man heard from inside the house.

“Stretcher required, we have another survivor!”

Another one. But who? Mindy's firm grip stops the medical worker who was carrying her to the ambulance. Her gaze read hope and fear as her brother was the only one she didn't see among the others. He's Chad-fucking-Meeks-Martin. Would it be any different in this crazy real-life murder franchise? Apparently this time yes, because it's not the tough athlete with the beaming smile who is carried out of the house on a stretcher, but the culprit of their headaches and new scars. Amber Freeman. Second Ghostface. 

At this point, it's as if everyone around the house freezes in anticipation or disbelief, watching the scene unfold, except for Tara. She can't look at her girlfriend, already an ex, of course, but that doesn't save her from conflicting feelings.  From facing reality. The squeezing pain in her ribcage from the realization of betrayal and the relief that it didn't end as horribly as it could have. But... what now? The chaotic thoughts in her head were making her physically nauseous, as was the fantasy of their reunion. Maybe this was just what she needed. Maybe only now would she get her answers from the one who'd treated her so cruelly, though she'd never thought of that earlier. Now she needed the truth. She needed to know who her ex-girlfriend really was.

The younger Carpenter didn't feel as strong now as the older one. Tears were hard to hold back, her lips were starting to hurt.

Not surprisingly, Sam noticed the change in Tara's demeanor, grabbing her hand tighter for support. It was clear without words how hard it was to get through this moment. How hard it would be to get through this night. As if the nightmare wasn't over yet.

It was obvious for sure that for Tara, this nightmare would be forever. In real life and in her dreams. As for Amber? She won't let this nightmare fade away as long as she's alive.

It was a mistake.

Definitely the stupidest and craziest thing the younger Carpenter had ever done in her life. However, this night had long been beyond normal, so it was worth the risk. It was something she wanted to believe in, otherwise it would cost her a broken heart or her life.

Strange to think her heart was still beating for her.

She'd been on such craziness with her girlfriend before, they often got into such messes because Amber wanted more thrills. Tara wanted love.

There's a reason they say that you can't see the monster in your lover.

Not until it was too late.

Tara knew she wouldn't be able to sleep tonight, wouldn't be able to be around the people who cared for her right now. She was drawn to the one who had given her the most love and who had left more scars on her body and soul that would never truly heal. She felt like a moth that was mindlessly giving in to its instincts and flying toward the brightest light of its life. That's what Amber was to her. And it was killing her in every way. So yes, it was definitely a crazy idea to sneak into the hospital where the brutal killer was being held.

The small town had its advantages, but it was also a disadvantage. Everyone knew each other, knew secrets and could use them for good as well as evil. Carpenter thought it was only fair to find out everything from Amber here and now and that was what she was able to convince the policeman who was on duty outside the hospital room today. Only fifteen minutes had been allotted, which meant the questions had to be chosen wisely. 

One short breath. One step forward. One question.

“Why?”

Why did she even think she could get through to Amber? Why did she need answers so badly? Why was her girlfriend a fucking murderer when they could live happily together? Why?

The door was only slightly ajar, so that only a tiny bit of light from the corridor penetrated the room. The room itself was dark and shiveringly uncomfortable. Even in that damn house, the closet hadn't been so scary when Amber had tied her up and locked her in, and it had been chaotic after that. Now it felt like the closet had gotten bigger and locked her in with the killer. Maybe her mouth and wrists weren't taped shut, but the girl was restrained by all those feelings inside her.

Fear. Doubt. Sorrow.

Tara stood a couple steps away from the bunk where the brunette lay in bandages, in such a horribly vulnerable state, but alive. It might have all looked like loving people coming to each other for support, but the reality was far worse.

The silence in the room was agonizingly pressing on Carpenter's so unrecovered psyche. Words stuck in her throat, no matter how much she wanted to say. It was like torture. 

Amber remained motionless, as if frozen in place. As if she was the only one in the room who was conscious. She watched her ex-girlfriend's every move. They both knew that now they would have to choose every word, every tone with extreme care. The last night had taken a lot from them, they were on edge and the slightest slip up could end in disaster. Instinct for self-preservation screamed to run right now, but she felt paralyzed. Tara couldn't move after hearing her girlfriend's husky voice.

“Because it's fun.”

As if that was what Amber needed. To open up to someone and just say, "I am who I am." Like she'd been storing that moment in her heart for a long time.

And she saw Tara's gaze lock on one expression as well, her breathing quickened and her heart began to beat faster. She saw herself realize that there would be no more excuses, no more 'I love you'. No more trying to change things. Just the truth.

Amber saw Tara break down in front of her. It was her choice to tell her everything about herself, to tell her feelings. She wanted to be the one to help her, but she couldn't do that right now. All she could give Tara was the truth, which would break her. Just like the words she'd spoken: "Because it's fun." They could sever all ties between people and destroy any hope of any kind of love.

Carpenter realized this, which was why it was hard to hold back the tears that rolled down her cheeks so scaldingly. She had to muster all the strength she had to look the sociopath in the eye.

“Did I even mean anything to you?”

Amber felt her heart skip a beat at that question. A second later, she nodded her head and a slight smirk appeared on her face. She didn't deny that this relationship had given her something, including the realization that she felt what a normal person should feel. But it wasn't love. She hated to admit it, but she felt something from her that she hadn't felt before. A feeling she could call attraction, but as usual, it couldn't last. A sense of control over someone or something, and a feeling she had never felt before - a desire to take someone under her wing. But this feeling wasn't love, and she knew it. She couldn't fake it. It was on the verge of obsession. She knew exactly how their relationship would end, and she actually enjoyed everything that was happening between her and Tara. Amber took pleasure in the girl's feelings, but that pleasure was selfish. And in a way, it was her way of loving, but it was a twisted feeling that she didn't hide.

“I was trying to help you.”

As soon as those words came out of the ruthless killer's mouth, Tara breaks down completely and all the negative feelings overwhelm her at once. She couldn't believe what she was hearing. It was absurd. It couldn't possibly be true. Tears stop rolling down her cheeks, her gaze becomes hard and filled with burning rage. Her voice trails off into a scream and she takes a step towards the girl.

“Help?! You ruined my life!”

Carpenter didn't have time to think about what she said, but those were exactly the words, the feelings she felt after the betrayal. The lump in her throat again prevented her from saying the rest, but it also prevented her from giving in to her feelings. Biting her lip and glancing over her shoulder at the half-open door, Tara turned back to Amber and took another step so her words wouldn't sound so loud, but now they were soaked with all the pain she'd been through over the past few days. There wasn't much time left to talk.

“You killed people and now you're leaving me alone.”

Amber's face expressed no emotion other than indifference. Her expression remained calm and detached as she watched her lover come closer and closer. Perhaps she liked it when Tara's emotions got out of control, she expected the girl to react that way. Maybe she was waiting for revenge, maybe she was just waiting for her to try to hit her... She couldn't tell. But she knew she deserved it. Did she feel remorse for it? Not at all.

Freeman opened her mouth to say what seemed to be something very important, but she only exhaled and raised her right arm as far as she could. Her movements were restricted because as a criminal she was obviously handcuffed to the bunk. She tilted her head slightly to the side, lowering her gaze. She wanted to believe that Tara would understand her and even after all of this she wouldn't be afraid to touch her. At least one last time.

And that made Tara's breath catch. This was too much. She couldn't see her ex-girlfriend as just a murderer. The problem was, she couldn't love her like before either. It was tearing her heart in two and leaving her with nothing. It was an emptiness so consuming that she wanted to cling to every opportunity just to heal. Just so she wouldn't feel the shards of her broken heart crashing into her soul, and so she took another step. Tentatively at first, with a trembling hand she reached out to Amber, touching her bandaged arm with her fingertips and then placing her palm fully.

It was something Amber had never expected, but had always hoped for. She'd expected many other things from Tara, but not this. She felt the girl's warm hand on hers. It was a wonderful feeling, no matter what. It was as if the girl was trying to show her that there was always room for a little good, no matter how bad or impossible the situation seemed. She liked that. She was even surprised by it. Her fingers closed around the girl's fingers. That little movement was Amber's way of expressing the fact that Tara always had a place in her heart. But...

This wasn't the kind of horror movie that ended with a good ending. At least that's how Amber saw it, especially when her plan went awry. There was definitely nothing left to lose now and she was going to take the one thing that mattered to her with her. She certainly wasn't going to lose to Sam on this one.

Killing people was a lot easier than trying to free one hand from handcuffs by breaking a finger. It wasn't a pleasant feeling, but it was worth it. She'd done even before her ex had arrived, but almost as soon as night fell.  Slowly sitting down on the bunk, she looked sympathetically at Tara, clearly in pretense, and then took advantage of the moment to grab her by the scruff of the neck and pull her to her, holding the girl with a dead grip as close as she could.

There was only frustration and horror in Tara's eyes. It was as if she realized what was about to happen and was trying to prepare herself for the final blow, the worst possible moment. But there was no fear. She had already experienced far worse, she had already experienced betrayal worse than anything else. Now she was ready for the final moment. To meet her death cuddled against her friend's chest. To die feeling her lover's warm body against hers.

“Sorry, baby.”

Amber's words sounded cold-blooded and cruel, yet so gentle at the same time. Deceptively so. Only the breath Tara felt against her ear was scalding hot, reminding her that this monster was human, that this monster was her girlfriend, and that none of that mattered because the younger Carpenter had lost. 

It all happened in a matter of seconds. Amber's soft lips pressed in a gentle kiss to her princess's neck, but only as a false sense of security, because just seconds later her teeth sank into the girl's flesh, digging in as deep as possible, as painful as possible, until she felt she had not achieved her goal. Tara may have been intended in her script as the final girl, but everything had gone to hell at the last moment in that house and now the script had to be urgently rewritten. No matter how much Carpenter resisted, she couldn't get out of this trap.

Hearing the girl's scream, a policeman immediately rushed into the room with a gun at the ready and another holding a walkie-talkie to his chest for communication. 

It was too late. Tara could barely stay on her feet and gave her last strength to cling to the bunk like a lifeline. Blood hotly began to flow profusely from her neck and her vision slowly began to fade.

This time Ghostface had taken his last girl. Now this was the kind of ending that could be called dignified. Not the one she and Richie had planned for.... But it was even better this way.

Amber's gaze shifted to the cop with a wide grin.

“Now they definitely won't make a shitty movie.”

[kendrene]

For the angst prompts:

number 17 and 23

17. "This can only end one way."

An unexpected sort of peace descends over them in what she supposes are the wee hours of the morning. Above her, the sky is absent light, and the world a wall of solid shadow past the ring of torches they set up around camp, enchanted to burn through the night. Beatrice is hyperaware of it. The silence, obstinate in its heaviness, reminiscent of the dusty quiet of a tomb. Were their circumstances any less dire she would welcome the calm, the comfort of Shar’s presence all around them. As things are, it is the restlessness that does her head in; not that of her body, exhausted beyond the possibility of sleep. That of her mind.

The tadpole nestled somewhere near the sphenoid digs deeper, and pain steals both vision and breath away from her. Beatrice sits up. A wave of bile surges up the back of her throat; acidic tides reducing her scream to the wet gurgle of a woman in the last stages of her drowning. After a moment measured in decades the pain recedes. The tadpole slows its burrowing, and Beatrice can breathe in. The freezing touch of the night’s chill against the lining of her lungs is a welcome reminder that she’s still here. Still alive. Still herself.

“Can’t sleep either, uh?”

The first syllable of a cantrip blisters her tongue before she recognizes Camila, knelt by her bedding, a hand stilled mid-air as though she’d been about to shake her awake.

“I’m fine.” Beatrice says by rote and habit. The lie when she knows she’s anything but fine – the unhealed wound on her hand beating out the same song that drums at her temple – is the only way she can still feel in control.

“Sure.” Camila’s weight shifts from toe to heel as she settles in. She acts like they’re old friends who do this every night. Sit after the fire's been doused, gossip, trade secrets in the dark. “You’re totally fine. We all are.” Red burns deep in the centre of her pupils, and it is Beatrice’s gaze that slinks away first. “Ava said to wake her up if you’re in pain.”

“She told you to do that?”

“No.” Camila grins and a fang sticks out, momentarily caught by the meat of her lower lip. “I overheard her when she said you could. So. You should take her up on that.”

“I said I’m fine.” Pain radiates all along her forearm and, on the back of her hand, bluish-black veins writhe under taut skin trapped in the agony of it.

“Right.” Camila stretches, yawns. Her grin bears the sharp edge of a paring knife. “Like I can’t smell it on you.”

Beatrice opens her mouth. Closes it hard enough to make herself wince. She forgets sometimes what Camila is, perhaps because she is so damn good at hiding it. Part of her is tempted to ask about the other things Cam might be able to smell in her blood. She doesn’t, though. Chances are she wouldn’t like the answer.

“Alright.” She concedes, sticking her hand under the blanket still half-covering her as another spasm threatens to lock her fingers into claws. “Maybe I’m not fine. But I’m not waking her up. She deserves rest.”

“So do you.”

“I can heal myself if I need.” Beatrice counters, setting her jaw.

“Except that you’re too tired to.”

Cam’s right, Beatrice knows. The unfulfilled cantrip left her lightheaded. Nauseous. Any number of horrors could emerge scrreching from the cursed lands around them right this second, and Beatrice would be powerless to stop them.

“I’m not waking her.” She repeats more to herself than for Camila’s benefit. She wants to. Wants for Ava’s touch, for Ava’s sword-calloused hands to cradle hers and hold it like she’s been entrusted with the most sacred of tasks, the most holy of relics. But she can’t have it, can’t have Ava and the pain is all too quick to remind her of it.

“But she could-”

“In the morning.” Beatrice cuts her off before Camila can launch herself into a ten-point explanation on exactly how and why she’s being an idiot. “I promise that if I’m still in pain in the morning, I’ll ask Ava for healing.” They both know she won’t, but Camila nods once, finally willing to let the matter go.

Ava’s healing magic is not too far removed from her own. In fact, they’re based on the same principles. And Beatrice has been healed by others in many instances before - more times than she cares to count against her will.

What’s different with Ava is how the process makes her feel. The force of Ava’s faith - not in some god, but in her friends and the fine libe between what's right and wrong - threaded through the magic, warmth equal to that of a thousand suns alighting Beatrice's skin. Ava’s stubborn love for life and all that's held within as the inexhaustible engine behind it. Her “may I?” always before Ava reaches out to touch her, asking permission even in the middle of a fight, if only with her eyes. And Beatrice’s own reply: yes, always, the scariest thing of all because if Ava asked what else would Beatrice answer yes to?

She shakes her head. Thankfully, Camila’s not looking. There is only one way this will end, one shadowed path left for her to walk. She can’t ask Ava to follow.

(She doesn't know yet, as she'd never even dare hope for it, but Ava would follow her anywhere.)

[galaxywhump]

if wren started begging for something during a torture session (a small break bc he feels like he's gonna be sick, or some water) would daniel grant that to him? or would it be situationally dependent?

I know you were probably expecting a straightforward answer, but your ask made a WIP happen, so here it is.

[SV-240 masterlist]

contents: forced relationship whump, slavery whump, creepy/intimate whumper, defiant whumpee, illness, non-graphic emeto, torture, knives, stress position, blindfold, creepy comfort.

~~~

Wren woke up feeling terrible.

It’s nothing out of the ordinary for him, but that morning he felt terrible in a different way. He felt ill; weak and slightly dizzy, shivering despite it not being cold in the house. He didn’t tell Daniel, even though he wanted nothing more than to be given medication, hot tea, and some peace and quiet. No, telling Daniel would also mean him being overly caring and doting, which was the last thing Wren wanted to deal with.

So he didn’t say anything, and then he learned that Daniel was in the mood for some handiwork with his favorite knife.

Shit.

He still didn’t say a word when Daniel closed handcuffs on his wrists and attached them to a chain connected to a hook in the ceiling, forcing him to keep his arms outstretched and stand on his tiptoes. He didn’t say a word when Daniel put a blindfold on his eyes and earplugs in his ears. He just shuddered and gritted his teeth when the knife pierced his arm and was dragged downwards.

Just get through this, he thinks to himself while Daniel makes small, precise cuts around his shoulder blades in a pattern that only makes sense to him and his artistic vision. It’s not the first time.

But it’s the first time when he feels this awful during torture, and the position he’s in doesn’t help. His body is under so much strain, stretched out uncomfortably, he can barely stay upright, his arms hurt, his head hurts, everything hurts, and Daniel’s only adding more pain. He still feels dizzy despite the darkness - or maybe because of it - his face is covered in cold sweat, he starts feeling slightly nauseous. The blindfold is soaked with tears of frustration, he can hear his heartbeat way too clearly, it’s the only sound he hears, he feels horrible, he wants out, he wants this to end, he can’t handle this after all, but that means…

“Stop,” he mumbles weakly, shaking his head and whining when the pain from the cuts seems to intensify now that he’s not fully preoccupied with his illness. Talking with the earplugs in is an unpleasant, almost surreal experience, and he can only hope he’s actually saying something, that his voice isn't too weak. "Please stop."

But this is Daniel, so Wren can imagine him laughing at his begging, making a stupid comment promising that this will be over soon, sweetheart, but this isn't about that. He whimpers when the knife cuts into his back again.

"I'm serious, stop, I-I think I'm gonna be sick, I just need a break."

The knife disappears, and Wren swallows desperately, struggling to take a deep breath.

He flinches when he feels Daniel grip his arm - thankfully an undamaged part of it - and a moment later his wrists are released. Daniel catches him before he can collapse, unable to stay upright after the punishing position.

The earplugs are removed, and the blindfold follows. Wren winces and blinks, and when his eyes get used to something other than darkness, he sees Daniel's face, with worry written all over it.

"Are you still feeling sick?" he asks, and Wren nods.

Daniel wraps Wren's arm around himself to support him and leads him to the bathroom, where the nausea gets overwhelming. Daniel holds his hair back for him, not saying a word for now.

Wren closes his eyes, exhausted, and fuck does everything hurt, but mostly his arms and back now that he's moving again. He's trembling, getting up feels like an impossible task, and he's still crying, from pain and from his awful state, and he's not even mad at himself for it.

"Better now?"

"I think so," he mutters. Daniel lets go of his hair.

"I'll get you some water."

Wren nods, keeping his eyes closed, not daring to move an inch for fear of his body igniting with pain again and the room spinning.

Anxiety creeps up on him; nothing like this has ever happened before, and he doesn’t know what to expect from Daniel.

He comes back and hands Wren a glass of water, then sits down next to him, looking at him with a puzzled expression.

"What happened?" he asks.

"I think I'm sick." Wren stares down at the water, every breath causing his fresh wounds to shift and hurt even more. "I feel like shit, and… you just saw for yourself, I guess." He sighs. “So just get the session over with before it gets worse.”

Daniel firmly shakes his head, frowning.

“No. You need to rest. I’ll take care of your wounds and then you can lie down.” He pets Wren’s hair. “We can continue some other time.”

Wren huffs, shaking his head in disbelief.

“You do realize how fucked up that sounds, right?”

Daniel just chuckles in response. He does know. It changes nothing.

The knife will return in a few days, and yet Wren can’t help but be relieved as Daniel cleans and dresses his wounds, then gives him a shirt and carries him to the living room.

“I can carry you to the bedroom, if you’d like. Unless you prefer the couch.”

“Couch,” Wren mutters. The bed is more comfortable and the bedroom would offer more peace and quiet, provided Daniel leaves him alone, but he wants to stay out of there as much as he can, and the couch is too small for Daniel to lie down next to him.

As much as he hates the couch, he can’t deny that it’s comfortable, and in his exhaustion he practically melts into it. Daniel even brings him a blanket, which Wren curls up under, pulling it up to his neck.

“I’ll bring you some pills,” Daniel says, pressing his palm to Wren’s forehead; he clicks his tongue when he confirms that it’s unnaturally warm, and brushes Wren’s hair away from his face, making him wince. “Do you need anything else, sweetheart?”

“Rest,” Wren sighs, struggling to keep his eyes open. Now that he’s stopped ignoring it, his illness has decided to hit him with everything it’s got.

“Okay. I’ll fetch the pills and you can sleep after you’ve taken them, alright? Try to stay awake.”

“Mhm.”

Daniel leaves, and Wren wraps the blanket tighter around himself, blinking slowly, trying to fight his exhaustion off for a bit longer. Daniel is just as doting as he’d feared he would be, but… aside from his usual sweethearting it feels good to be taken care of, and to be listened to. The wounds still sting, a reminder of the torture he’d gone through and will go through again soon, but he can’t bring himself to care. He waits for his captor and torturer to come back with the medicine, and he has to remind himself not to thank him for this bare minimum of kindness, more than most of what he’s gotten throughout his life.

He wishes it wasn’t like this, moments of kindness and loving care juxtaposed with pain and tears and coercion; he knows how much Daniel enjoys doing this, being the sole source of both suffering and comfort.

He’s aware of so many mechanisms of his captivity, yet he’s powerless to fight them, forced to accept them, and all he can hope for is that all these processes won’t shape him into something else, whatever Daniel, whose smile is unnervingly genuine and fond when he enters the living room, wants him to be.

“Sleep well, sweetheart," Daniel says softly once Wren's washed the pills down with water. "I hope you’ll feel better when you wake up.”

“So you can torture me more?” Wren mutters, closing his eyes. 

Daniel’s lighthearted laughter keeps ringing in his ears long after he's fallen asleep.

~~~

taglist: @faewhump @inky-whump @whole-and-apart-and-between @whatwasmyprevioususername @procrastinatingsab @funky-little-glitter-bomb @goneuntil @redstainedsocks @luminouswhump @lonesome--hunter @as-a-matter-of-whump @renkocchi @whump-only @muddy-swamp-bitch @girlwithacoolcat @watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees @sophierose002 @whump-headspace @to-whump-or-not-to-whump @kixngiggles @ohwhumpydays @whumpvp @wibbly-wobbly-whump @stab-the-son-of-a @his-unspoken-words @pumpkin-spice-whump @onlyhappywhenitpains @suspicious-whumping-egg @morning-star-whump @burtlederp @there-will-always-be-blood

[elitadream]

Okay, counterpoint to the whole "Bowser would neglect basic human necessities while in Mario's body" idea: he tries to do that for like two-three days and then is just on the verge of collapse until he passes out in the middle of plotting something. No need to assemble an army to stop him - he just passed out in the castle foyer.

I mean. Picture this. He sits down at a desk after running around all day and not sleeping the night before and skipping breakfast, getting a headache from dehydration and feeling nauseous from hunger and probably nodding off, and he's just - *ignoring* all that? Nah, whether or not he wants to slow down, he's gonna have to take breaks or he'll suffer.

Though it could be oddly comical if Bowser doesn't actually need to eat/drink/sleep all that often and so he's legitimately just going about his business like normal, wondering why everything seems so much harder to do than normal. "I only need to eat twice a month - why am I hungry? How often do humans eat? Wait - three times a day?!"

...okay I'm just rambling now. I like seeing your posts about this AU. It's a cool idea, and I love your artwork!

Right! 😆 It would only be fair to assume that things such as a lack of food and sleep aren't felt the same way in a different body (especially if we imagine Bowser as normally being extremely resistant that way), and so him accidentally sabotaging himself by essentially starving and exhausting his vessel to abject degrees could very well happen in this concept!

Something that I think could really make this work, and which I've thought about thanks to both @mrspockify and @kymbird's inquiries, is the idea that Bowser wouldn't feel anything while in Mario's body. 👀 No fatigue, no hunger, no pain. Like putting on a costume, or piloting a vehicle using a remote control. He would hardly notice those signs, and less even care because it wouldn't directly affect him.

The only one who it would gravely affect is Mario once he would finally get his body back. 😣

[brokendreamscreation]

   There is a reason that Michael doesn’t sleep. That he works himself to death and pushes it off as much as he can. That he fights to stay awake until his body is so exhausted that when he finally collapses he doesn’t even dream. Passed out, voidless, empty. 

   Lucid gave him something. Tea, some herbal tea that he didn’t realize was designed to help one sleep. He understands the intention, he knows after the incident in his room where he passed out on him, he wanted to try and encourage healthy habits, to help him sleep. He’s the Angel of Dreams, it’s normal for him to want to do that. But when Michael realizes what he drank, that it was making him exhausted enough to sleep, he panicked on the young angel. 

   His hands clutched at Lucid’s shirt, almost a desperation in his voice when he spoke. “I don’t want to sleep–” that was it, begging almost, fear. 

   And Lucid said it would be fine. That he won’t leave him. That he’ll keep things calm. 

   It was anything but calm. 

   The memories are always chaotic, jittering and changing depending on where they start. This one began with such a normal moment, a random day in Heaven. Michael spotted Lucifer near the pond, watching his little ducks like he always did. Warmth spread in his chest and he moved behind his twin, throwing his arms around his neck and clinging to him. Happiness, joy, the love of seeing his brother. At the light that spread through his twin. He clung to him, nuzzled the back of his head and heard that bright airy laughter that he always had. He loved him so much, more than anything. 

   And then the vision was shattered, destroyed just like that. He felt Lucifer vanish from his hold and in his place was the spear, embedded in twin’s back as he screamed in agony. His clothes were drenched, his own golden blood and Lucifer’s dampening his robes, painting them bright and messy. The spear trembled in his hold, Lucifer’s blood dripping down the length of it and into the clouds beneath him. 

   He could see him, the rage in his eyes as he picked his head up and trembled beneath Michael. “I hate you.” 

   No. No, no, no–he never said that. He never said that! He might feel it, it was undoubtedly more than likely true, it was understandable but he never said it. For all that Michael did, for all the hurt and pain that he caused him that day, he never said that he hated him. No matter how much it was deserved. 

   Yet, just hearing the words and the viciousness in which they were spoken, Michael could feel the tears that already rushed down his cheeks. His eyes clouded with them and made it difficult to see. His own body shook, his hands slowly releasing the spear as he stepped back, trying to just breathe through the anguish that washed through him. 

   He hates him. 

   He hates him, he hates him, he hates him–

   He should. 

   Lucifer should want him ĐɆ₳Đ for what he did. 

   It’s just the truth, it’s just what this is, it’s just what he deserves for ruining everything. For ripping his twin apart, from throwing him from Heaven, for hurting him the way that he did. It might not be what he said, ʙᴜᴛ ɪᴛ ꜱʜᴏᴜʟᴅ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ʙᴇᴇɴ.

   He feels sick and as he opens his mouth to tell the vision he’s sorry–it shifts again. Ripped from the edge of the clouds he finds himself standing with his sword in his hand again, across from Lucifer once more, this same place near the Golden Palace where he begged his brother to stop. Where he lost control of his anger. His lips, capped and as dry as his throat, moved on their own. “Sam, please, you have to stop!”

   “I can’t.” 

   The same answer, the same words, and Michael feels like he’s being tortured. Always the same thing, always the same path. History is unchangeable, fate is locked in place. Michael’s body moved as it did before, swinging his sword to block the hit and he stumbled back. He feels nauseous, he doesn’t want to fight him again, he doesn’t want to keep living this ØVɆⱤ ₳₦Đ ØVɆⱤ. When is it enough? When does his mind stop torturing him? When does he get to stop punishing himself for what happened that day? 

   When he’s dead? 

   When he let’s Lucifer ᴋɪʟʟ ʜɪᴍ in revenge? 

   When he gives up? 

   He just wants to stop hurting–and the sword slips from his hand as Lucifer’s own runs right through him. It sinks into his abdomen, pushes through the rest of his body, and his hands tremble as they move to grasp the sword deep inside his body. His throat gags, his own blood filling his mouth and he he’s choking on it as he raises his gaze up to his twin. 

   Ice cold eyes meet his own, the image of the Lucifer he knows now standing in front of him. The top hat, the snake wrapped around it, the red and white clothes. The devil, still his brother but not the same. The red and golden eyes blink at him and the King of Hell’s head cocks to the side. “You think death is a deep enough punishment for what you did? Betrayal is a grave crime, Mikey, you should be tortured like you did to me. Your halo destroyed, your wings broken and burned, left to rot and wander in a pit of your own creation.” 

   He leans in and Michael feels the sword twist in his gut. “You should beg and cry for mercy like I did.” 

Never did Lucid intend to harm Michael or cause his distress, especially when it came to much needed rest. All he wanted to do was help, to ease the sleep deprived archangel into a comfortable slumber so he could regain his health and strength. But when he begged the Angel of Dreams, gripped his shirt and those golden eyes radiated with fear, Lucid began to have second thoughts. Nightmares do plague some more than others, he has seen them in the dreamscape. And they are things that the angel actively avoids. Humans believe if you see oneself die in a dream, you die in real life. Which isn’t wholly true, it could certainly scare them to death such as causing cardiac arrest. But for Lucid, he can absolutely be harmed in the dreamscape, physically throttled by nightmares. They cannot kill him, but the pains he feels when he escapes them are very real.

Scooping Michael into his arms when he passes out, Lucid lay him upon his own bed. If it gave the archangel comfort and rest before, maybe it will now? Still, he will not abandon Michael to the nightmares alone. Sitting beside him, the Angel of Dreams lay palm upon the other’s forehead, closes his eyes and concentrates. A quick and easy way to view just what Michael is seeing.

At first the dream is sweet, bittersweet. Michael and Lucifer, just as they once were, inseparable twins that hung off one another and voices rang with merry laughter. It’s how things should have remained. But the scene abruptly changes and Lucid feels Michael’s mind try to lock him in, even from this back door observation. Horrified he watches on as the Sword of God stands with the bloodied spear jutting through the Morningstar’s back. He can almost feel it himself, Lucid’s ears feeling like they may bleed from the shrieks of agony. His stomach flips and ties itself in knots, forcing him to remove his hand from Michael’s forehead.

Frightened, the Angel of Dreams knows he cannot abandon Michael to these nightmares alone. Even from this bystander view he can feel the emotional intensity, how it holds an invisible force like angelic steel trap jaws. The archangel is trapped in there and Lucid must get him out! Opening a portal, the blue seraph physically abandons the others side and leaps through into his workshop. All six wings unfurl, beating downwards in unison to launch him skyward to the dome-shaped ceiling with galaxies overhead. Like an invisible veil, the Angel of Dreams enters through into the dreamscape.

A hand grips over the moon crescent pendant of carved stardust, feeling its magic signature and pin pointing immediately to Michael’s. Leaping through space at lightning speed, Lucid arrives in front of one of the most dense nightmare clouds he has ever seen. Everything about it screams for the Angel of Dreams to turn tail and flee. But Michael is in there! Lucid cannot abandon him, he put him in this place to begin with! He must fix this, must rescue him! Diving headlong into the nightmare cloud, the Angel of Dreams feels himself being sucked in by a force like hurricane whipped winds. Lucid fights to stay aloft and in control, but even six wings cannot outmatch this fierce and turbulent nightmare. Soon he is violently thrown like a rag doll in the storm, screaming as it hurls him into the depths of Michael’s nightmare.

When it throws the angel free, Lucid crashes near the front Gates to Heaven. Lifting his head, he watches in horror as Lucifer drives his own sword through the squelch of blood and flesh meeting burning bright angelic steel. He cries out Michael’s name, but not a sound is uttered. The nightmare is attempting to mute everything else out except for the words being exchanged between the twins. Stumbling to his bare feet, Lucid runs towards the feuding angels, shouting the whole time. His voice comes out muffled and distant, suppressed as barely audible. All six blue wings begin to glow a radiant white-blue, holy light. Feathers charged with energy, he leaps and slaps three wings at Lucifer, sending the Devil tumbling away. All he has done is bought precious seconds to try and reach Michael, to get him to hand over control of the nightmare so Lucid can save them! Hands reach and hold the archangels face, terrified tears streaming down his apple mark cheeks.

“Michael! Michael can you hear me?! It’s Lucid. You’re having a nightmare Michael! This isn’t real! It’s a dream!”