#im a puddle a mess useless USELESS

[andyclutterfuckme]

"Your dad brought me back. You did." -- Michonne to Carl "You can't just come back here, make me come alive again..." Rick to Michonne

[jakesimfromstatefarm]

[wip!] the art & science of parenting || jay park

update: this fic's been posted!! click here to read!

a/n: hellaur everyoneeee here's a lil summary & drabble into another wip i'm working on rn,,,i had this idea in the back of my head for SO incredibly long (im talking since 2021 pls) and decided to finally go for it :') so here's a lil peek for the time being to prove i'm still alive heh. i hope you guys like this concept,,,idk why but i really envisioned jay in this trope maybe because i plan on making it very fun & lighthearted but mixed in with some serious & angsty tones...we shall seeeee....you know i love my college!aus and e2l!aus heheh anyways saur sorry im yapping now! lmk what you think & if you want to be tagged !!

genre: jay x female!reader, fluff, comedy, college!au, enemies to lovers!au, parenting!au (parenting a robot baby LMAO), sum angst maybe, both reader & jay are smartasses who don't know how to communicate and confront their feelings , also a bit of photographer!jay :')

summary: The Art & Science of Parenting 101 (PSY1009) – In this interactive course, students will explore the psychological, social, and biological foundations of parenthood. Through a mix of theory and hands-on practice, you'll master the art of raising a simulated baby—aka the 'robot child.' Late-night feedings, tantrum taming, and crisis control are all part of the deal. What you didn’t expect to be part of the deal? Getting paired with Jay Park—the last person you’d trust to raise, well, anything. You’re pretty sure he couldn’t even take care of a pet rock. Now, you’re stuck co-parenting this robot baby together for 40% of your final grade.  Warning: Sleep deprivation is guaranteed. And maybe, just maybe, some unexpected feelings for your disaster of a partner. Good luck!

longer drabble under cut! <3

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・

"Y/N and Jay."  

Wait. What?  

Your head snaps up so fast it's a miracle it didn't pop off your neck and roll away.  

You blink. You must have misheard.  

"Y/N and Jay," Professor Kim repeats as if she could read your confused expression, voice too nonchalant for the life-wrecking news she's about to deliver: "You two are partners."  

The words hit you like a bus. No, not even. The words hit you like a bus driven by a T-Rex that flips over, crashes into a building, and explodes into a million ashy pieces. And there you are—standing right in the middle of the wreckage, somehow still alive to suffer through every second of it—while Jay, smug as ever, whips around in his seat to face you.  

And of course, there it is: that look of his that screams 'This is going to be so much fun for me, and so much pain for you.' 

"Guess we're parents now, Y/N!" Jay chimes, his voice dripping with so much sarcastic enthusiasm you swear he just got handed an Oscar for Most Annoying Human. If that tone were a substance, you'd bottle it up and use it as insect repellent. On him. Repeatedly.  

You blink at him, you're sure—you're praying—this has to be some elaborate prank. Maybe Jay bribed Professor Kim with his rare attempt at turning in an assignment on time just to mess with you. Or maybe the universe just hates you and this is your karma for stealing your roommate's last ramen packet that one time a year ago.  

But no, Professor Kim keeps rattling off other pairs like it's business as usual, as if your entire academic career and sanity isn't currently being flushed down a metaphorical toilet, while you sit there, paralyzed, your brain rapidly melting into a useless puddle from the sheer thought of being paired with him.  

"What's wrong, Y/N?" Jay teases as he leans over the back of his chair towards you. "You don't want to play house with me?"  

You narrow your eyes at him, mentally wielding your imaginary bug spray like it's a holy weapon. "I don’t," you reply flatly. "In fact, I’d rather perform open-heart surgery on myself with a plastic spoon than co-parent with you." 

Jay’s eyes light up as his hand goes to his heart. "Aw, you really know how to make a guy feel special. This is why I like our little relationship, you know?" 

"Relationship?" You scoff loud enough to make the people sitting three rows behind you to glance in your direction. "The only thing we have in common is a shared oxygen supply." 

"See, that’s the spirit," he says, turning back to face the front like he didn't just ruin your life. And somehow, that pisses you off even more. Is it his voice? His stupidly perfect hair? The fact that he breathes in your general direction? At this point, he could literally sneeze, and it would still feel like a personal attack.

Is it too late to switch majors? Or schools? Maybe even countries? Surely, restarting your entire college career as a super senior would be better than spending the next six weeks parenting with Jay. Jay Park, who has probably never held anything more fragile than a Red Solo Cup.  

Jay Park, who is just sitting there, all calm and collected, clearly loving every second of your misery.  

While you're frozen in pure, unadulterated horror.  

Your grade? Plummeting as we speak.  Your robot baby? Probably going to need therapy by day two.  And you?  

You're screwed. 

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・

decided to go for a longer sneak peek than usual bc im very excited about this one heh :) i also changed up my title image formatting..trying out smth new !!!

lmk if you want to be tagged!

<3, addie

[hypnoneghoul]

rain and zephyr comfort. I wrote it for my bf but im posting it for any disabled/chronically ill person who needs to hear this

zephyr startles when the door to their room bursts open. they're ready to scold whoever is that has zero regards to their privacy, but their features soften immediately upon seing rain

rain with his cheeks splotchy from crying, chocking on tears

"what's wrong, puddle?"

"everything" rain sobs

"c'mere" the air ghoul shuffles over in their bed and lifts the covers to invite rain. they also move over one side of their pregnancy pillow so that the water ghoul can get inside it

rain sniffles, kicks the door shut and crawls into zephyr's nest

"now, why are we so upset?" they ask

"I just--I tried to make myself fucking dinner and--and I couldn't"

"what happened with dinner?"

"i couldn't open a jar and then--then i dropped so many things because my--my hands are weak and i couldn't open a can either and--and then i fucking passed out so it boiled over and made a mess everywhere. im useless!"

"you are not useless, and you know that, puddle. you're just disabled"

"i don't want to be disabled!" rain wails, hiding his face in his hands. zephyr rubs his back

"i know, sweet thing" they sigh "nobody wants to be disabled, but we are. all we can do is find things that we *are* able to do and find joy in them. there's nothing wrong with the fact that you cant open a jar or a can. they're tricky for able bodied people, too!"

"im so tired, zeph"

"i am, too, puddle"

"sorry, i shouldn't have you--you've got it worse..."

"it's not a competition. i may have more issues than you, but at the end of the day we are both drowning. and i only meant it as--that I understand. probably the most out of all the people you've ever met"

"i know...i just--we didn't do anything to deserve a life like that"

"we didn't. i like to think about my life as...as lucifer sending me other things to make it bearable despite everything"

"like what?"

"music. the opportunity to see the world with the band. my pack, my mate. you. it's all worth so much more than all the suffering and until i have at least one of these thing left, i won't give up. depression and grief is a part of being disabled, but it doesnt mean we dont deserve happiness, too."

"i know...it's just--so hard to accept"

"i know it is, puddle" zephyr brings an arm around rain and pulls him down to cuddle "but it'll become more bearable. i promise you"

there's a brief moment of silence before rain mutters "thank you"

"always, sweet thing. we're in this together"

[hiskillingjar]

your girlfriend to dyke posts make me crazy im crawling up the wall i love tjemmm transfem lawlaw... Slobbering... Fat butch strade ... Im going crazy. girlfreak ren.... mwah. Perfection. when u can please Please write more.... you are the only one on this website with such a huge Massive brain for girlfriend to death writings...

YOU ARE SO WELCOME!!!!!!!! this ask got me drooling like a dog thinking about dykes to death, so YES more of them <333

continued lesbicious daddy kink usage ahead and typical btd nastiness. maybe cw for femcel girlfreak misogynycore in ren's too (g-d forbid a woman does anything)

🥀

"Nghh…hah…"

You groaned softly as Law pressed her fingers into your mouth, feeling each worn callous (she'd quit the warehouse weeks ago but her hard-working hands would never go away) rub against your tongue.

The metal of the ring gag was a little painful on your sensitive teeth and the tight leather strap binding it inside your mouth was pulled to its very tightest around your head, but you didn't have the voice to complain about it now.

Especially not now, while you were drooling into her palm.

Lawrence smiled serenely down at you, as beautiful and detached as an angel was to a human being, as you were reduced to a drooling, incoherent mess in front of her. She slowly took her fingers out of your mouth for a moment to look at their hand; not too surprised to find it all dampened with spit.

Then she looked at you again, trying not to smirk.

"…I think someone's enjoying themselves." She murmured quietly, rubbing her fingers together, feeling the sticky wetness of your saliva clinging to her pale skin as it pooled down her wrist and arm and ran down her sleeve.

"Ufff…"

Any potential words came out in a wheeze and a cough, your face flushed with embarrassment as you tried to beg for her mercy with your gaze alone, a mercy you wouldn't come close to receiving.

Lawrence's gaze shifted from her fingers and back to you, and her eyes never left yours once they were there.

"You're a mess…" She said quietly, leaning forward on her knees (her skirt riding higher up, exposing her tight stockings) to where you were bound, your limbs reduced to useless appendages with a severe amount of duct tape, like they had been amputated at the elbow and knee. "I'm honestly not quite sure if I should be turned on or a bit disgusted. Maybe I'm both…"

She brought her palm to her own mouth, then, and your nose wrinkled with silent disgust as she dragged her tongue along the puddle of drool you had left on her palm, moaning wetly at the taste of you as it spilled down her throat.

Law couldn't resist a slightly airy titter at the look of your face, as she drank up your spit and licked her lips as she did it, like she was indulging in a delicious meal.

"Oh," She said, smiling in a cold way that didn't touch her eyes. "I see. I disgust you, don't I?"

You didn't have the chance to react before she leaned in even closer, gripping your shoulders tightly (where your clenched fists were forced to) and bringing her face close to yours. Her tongue trailed along your spread lip, leaving more spit in its wake as it went. You tried to pull back, despite how tightly you were bound, tried to protest or shout out pleas for help, but your gagged lips simply trembled as she dragged her tongue around the gaping maw your mouth had been reduced to.

"Mmm," She moaned, delicately lapping away a string of spittle that joined your lips. "I didn't know you were the type to shy away when someone touches you….I'm sure that wouldn't be an issue if it was anyone else…maybe it's just me you don't like, hm?" She hummed softly, sweetly, eyeing you through her blonde lashes. "Is that it?"

"Upff…" You wheezed, unable to reply in any thoughtful way.

"Do you want to know why I brought you here?" She then asked, her eyes drifting down your bound body, her hand sliding along the collar of your shirt as she tilted her head curiously.

"Hah?" You looked at her beneath your half-lidded, hazy eyes, your toes curling where they had been tied behind you.

"It's because I want you." She said, leaning in to run the bridge of her nose along your trembling jaw, pressing her hand beneath your shirt and feeling the bulky padding of your bra. "I want you so badly…do you want me too?"

"Ah…"

"No, no, you're right, you can't answer that yet." She said slowly, solemnly, with a slight frown as she continued to toy with the collar of your shirt. "So, I know you can probably guess what comes next…right? I've already got you bound…and you're covered in all this drool. We should get you cleaned up."

"Upff…" You grunted in alarm as she stood to her feet and stepped away from your helpless body, her long skirt swishing back down around her ankles, to find a pair of short, pruning shears from her desk of repotted plants and supplies.

Her placid, angelic smile only grew broader as she looked at the shears in her hand and then looked back at you with that same intensely cool gaze.

"Don't worry sweetie, I'm just going to cut away everything cold, that's covering you." She said softly, her voice a gentle and matronly shush. "Just relax. You'll feel much better once I do, I promise. Just try to relax…"

Swallowing hard (the best you could around the metal ring) you stayed as still as you could manage as she slid the cool, metal shears down the front of your shirt and began to cut away the fabric with the sharp snip-snips of metal and shredding cloth

Her breath caught in her throat as the shirt fell off in damp tatters and she saw your bared skin, sticky and wet with drool and spittle.

Law then slowly slid the sheers back up the front of your trembling sternum, all the way up the bottom of your bra, careful to not cut you in the process. She took in what seemed to be a deep breath and gradually cut through both straps of your bra before reaching back to release the hooks keeping the padded cups closed.

You let out a little grunt of discomfort, your cheeks blazing and your head going a little foggy, as your heavy chest sagged downwards and she removed the bra completely from your body, tossing it to the side so that she could see you fully, with no obstructions.

"Do you know how good you look to me right now? How perfect this is…"

Law leaned in slowly again, setting her shears to the side and slowly, gradually, palming her hardened cock through her skirt. She kept her voice as soft and as gentle as possible like she was trying to entice you and not scare you.

Like she was trying to seduce you.

"You're my little doll right now…my little doll that I can do whatever I want with…"

🦊

"What are you up to?"

You rested your chin casually on Ren's slim shoulder as she stared ahead at her computer, backlit by her colour-changing LEDs and the warm glow of her desk lamp, so wrapped up in what was playing on it that she barely even acknowledged you were there.

Ren was weird, in the hot and cold games she liked to play with you.

She went through all the effort of kidnapping you and keeping you in her house, keeping you dependent on her, and yet, she didn't even care enough to pay attention to you when you actually wanted it.

Usually, she would have been ecstatic to have you draping over her, needy and desperate, but not tonight.

"I'm watching a show," She replied a little curly, shrugging you off of her and glaring at you over her shoulder, an eyebrow raised as she tilted his head, her LEDS shifting the a pale blue. "You don't normally hang around my room. What gives?"

"I'm bored, Ren." You complained, just as curtly, toying with the fuzzy point of her fox ear before she swotted at your hand idly. "Is that so wrong?"

"Well, I'm watching this romance anime, so…don't come near me, I need to see this next scene." She said, slightly more aggressively than she probably meant to, and from what you saw, it looked like the episode was nearing its climax.

"Well, what anime are you watching?" You then asked a little tersely, letting out a dejected little huff before sitting on the side of her bed with your arms crossed, watching the screen, feigning interest.

"Shh!" She shushed, sitting forward in her seat, her tail wagging. "This is a very important scene. It's a confession, y'know, the entire show has been building up to this. She just confessed to her!" She muttered under her breath, glancing over at you. "So, can you shut up for a minute?"

"Jesus christ," You mumbled with a slight roll of your eyes and an exasperated chuckle.

"What?" She asked, narrowing her own at you, her ears tipping back, (colours changing to purple).

"Do you realize how much of a NEET you sound? Watching lesbian porn-"

"It's NOT porn-" She interrupted you, raising her voice and pausing the video.

"Whatever," You interrupted back, throwing your hands up. "You're watching pretend girls kiss when you have a real girl half-willing to do shit with you! It's pathetic."

"Well…well," Her cheeks flushed a furious pink in response to what you said and she gritted her sharp teeth angrily, trying her best not to show how much your comment (very obviously) made her blood boil. "Maybe I'd want to do stuff with you too if you weren't such a fucking prude!"

"Excuse me?" You gaped, brows furrowed. "A prude? You're calling me a prude now?!"

"Yeah!" She then stood up with a mean and challenging smile, her ears tipping forward and her tail straight as she stepped closer, intimidating despite her diminutive height. "You really expect me to want to get with you now when it's always you who rejects my advances? You make me sound like a…a," She flounders a little, still red-faced and angry despite her smile. "A disgusting, desperate pervert. No wonder the last boyfriend you had dumped you."

"You are a desperate pervert," You replied through grit teeth, keening back on her bed. "And at least I can date someone. Not kidnap any random girl and hope she learns to like me back."

That was a low blow, you had to admit, but that didn't stop her from replying with a bitter laugh.

"Date someone? Is that what you call settling for guys who probably only want sex from you and will leave you the instant you refuse to do what they say?" She grinned, placing a hand on your bare thigh. "I think you're the pathetic one."

"You sound like an incel," You replied, crossing your arms tighter and frowning (not pulling away as her hand crept higher). "Not a cute look, Ren."

"You know, it's not my fault that no guy wants to stay with you," She replied with a slight tilt of her head, condescending and cruel. "Maybe you should be less bitchy and more compliant."

"Oh, cus that's what you'd want, isn't it?" You replied with a flat look, as her LED lights shifted to pink. "That's why you watch your dumb little, girl's love shows. You want a girlfriend until she starts acting like a person, right?"

"Uh huh," She smirked sardonically without even a touch of shame, her claw toying with the hem of your shorts. "I want a girl to want me back and not complain when I do something she doesn't like. That's what all guys want, too." She scoffed, glancing up at you then and taking your face in her hand, squishing your cheeks and digging her claws into your skin.

"Mph!"

"And really, your looks aren't that bad. I mean sure," She turns your face with a scrutinous look. "You have a face like a mouse…and you have a flat chest. And you're kinda fat, and not even in the cute, cowgirl way." She prodded your chest with her other hand. "But I'm pretty sure if you stopped acting like a prude, a guy might actually like you."

You didn't say anything as she kept a firm grip on your cheeks, turning your face to and fro, not noticing when it started to blaze a bright red.

"Heh, hit a nerve didn't I?" She smirked, bringing her face closer to yours. "Or maybe you should stay with me if you're not going to put in the effort to be a proper girl, hm?"

You made an uncomfortable noise, low at the back of your throat, which made her laugh a mean, yipping, fox-like cackle.

"You know, you're almost cute when you're angry." She joked, before letting go of your cheek and giving it a mean little slap, making you whimper and yelp. "Not that cute, though."

"So, why even keep me here then?" You murmured hotly, eyes flitting to the side and biting your lower lip. "If I'm not even cute, if I'm not what you want…"

"Because you're my property, silly." She said like it was obvious, tilting her head with a wry smile. "Besides, who would care about having my sloppy seconds?"

Your face went a darker red, and you clenched your hands into tight fists in your lap. You couldn't say anything to defend yourself.

Maybe you were the pathetic one after all.

"Yeah, you're really letting me do a number on you. Masochist that you are, hm?" She grinned, her tail wagging a little more. "I can't wait to see what I can get you to do."

🔨

"That's a good girl, my good girl…"

Strade leans in close, her voice dropping to a breathy murmur with a satisfied chuckle, running a hand through your hair as you knelt at her feet (her boots were slightly muddy at the soles, the leather tips scuffed, begging to be looked after) like a well-trained dog.

"You'd be a fantastic little housewife one day, fraulein, I'm sure of it. You're that obedient and eager to serve anyone who raises their voice at you already!" She laughs meanly, ruffling your hair. "For now, though, best to keep you as my little pet plaything, hm?"

"Nghh…" You groan softly as she presses closer to you, her voice low and syrup-sweet, her discomforting warmth radiating off of her and filling you with desire as you tremble and shake despite it. "Uh-huh. Yeah. You should."

She bites her lower lip to hide a broader smile, a hungry groan almost catching in her throat. You can feel the radiating heat in her body, her own desire for you, when she presses even closer, her heavy chest pressing against your bound arms (handcuffed, she didn't have the attention span for anything else), giving away, instantly, that she was not wearing a bra.

You felt your core tighten, with just that little piece of information, coyly eyeing the deep plunge of her cleavage and a dark areola poking out above her low neckline. One of her boots slides between your legs and presses against the front of your panties, and it makes your body tighten further.

"Mmph, god…" She rasps, the hand in your hair turning into an uncomfortable grip as she winds the length of it around her palm and pulls your back straight, rising her leg to press the tip of her boot against the wet patch in your panties as she does so. "Say that again, say you're Daddy's sweet, little plaything…"

It feels good that the obsession is mutual, as she roughly grips your hair, making your scalp tingle and a shot of pleasure run down the length of your spine, and handles you like the plaything she said you were.

"I'm Daddy's little plaything," You say, your voice a little giddy as she holds you tighter, her free hand reaching around to roughly grope your backside. "Mph! I-I love being Daddy's plaything!"

"Yeah, you love it, don't you?" She murmurs hotly, breathing raggedly in your ear as she holds you in a tight grip that makes you almost gasp for air, palming your ass and pulling your face up to meet hers, so you can see her hungry smirk, her deep smile lines, and soft crow's feet. "You love being my little toy, good girl? Du liebst zu dienen, ja?"

You can see a sadistic king of excitement growing in her golden eyes, as her accent grows thick and dangerous, and your cunt is throbbing for it.

"Say you're my toy, say it." She demands, giving your ass a slap before groping your curves some more, pressing more weight between your legs and rubbing your cunt, torturously slow.

"I'm your toy," You gasp with a little shriek, your tone desperate as she growls her pleasure into your neck, as her big hands span your waist, your hips, your thighs, dirty nails digging into your skin, leaving you with marks you would treasure. "Ngh, I'm your toy, Daddy!"

"You're my toy, that's right," She breathes hard, giving you another slap and listening to you yelp. "You're mine. Mine, mine, mine."

"Mmhmm," You whine needily with a dreamy smile as you climb onto her lap with trembling legs (secretly delighted that she let you do it without pushing you away), covering her soft jaw, her neck with hot kisses. You want this, you want her, as much as she wants you and further. "Yours, yours, yours…"

Her hold tightens as she pulls you in, pulling your scarred legs around her full waist. Her fingers detangle into your hair, running down your cheek and your jaw, and her breath is hot against your panting lips.

"You're mine forever." She murmurs, kissing you very quickly. "You belong to me."

Her voice is dripping with obsession, a desire so strong it makes you shiver and you feel like you'll melt right there on top of her before you even get the chance to say anything.

So much for being a plaything.

"Kiss me," You plead softly, holding her jaw in your hands (your handcuffed wrists red raw and bloody), looking down at her like you were looking at your entire fucking world. "Kiss me and love me and take me, just like this…"

Her hands tighten, her grip firm on your cheeks, on your hip, and her parted lips on your neck. Her teeth graze along your throat, nipping and biting and leaving mean little bruises behind, and you can feel her breath hot against your skin.

"I own you," She rasps in a rough whisper as she pulls you in. "I'll love you, in my own special way, but I'll always own you, do you understand that?" "Mmhmm," You nod again, grazing your lips against hers, full and waiting to be kissed. "You own me. I'm yours."

And then she kisses you.

And whatever mind you still had that wanted to hate this dissipates completely.

[fandomfluffandfuck]

okay usually I write my stuff in my notes but im absolutely fucking feral over your natasha/steve/bucky post.

Now, I’m not opposed to Nat being in the mix (I fucking ADORE Nat in everything she does. everything. she’s my pookie and if she wants to commit war crimes she can), but I also want to hear your opinion on sub!steve and sub!bucky just… desperate to please each other. Both of them have just enough dom in them to help the other go all sweet but other than that they’re just two stupid but oh so sweet puppies. Just so needy for each other and to be good for the other.

I’m not even sure that made sense but I just… I am going bananas over this. Also, my brain did come up with the same dynamic with Seb and Chris but honestly if I think about that for more than around 30 seconds I will implode.

related to this

Good, I love it when you're feral

Oooh, yes, sub on sub. Subpiling, if you will. I love nothing more. Maybe I'm just thinking with my dom brain, but yeah 🥴

Soon, soon I'm opening my requests again (I'm so close to being done with this term it's agonizing), I promise, but, until then... I have actually written something like this before:

Okay, But What If Not One Sub But Two!?

Two Subs And Two Johns

Hopefully, you enjoy those, either re-reading them or seeing them for the first time, lol. Go fucking nuts.

Lmao, completely fair. That's an incredible disaster waiting to happen 😮‍💨 although with how subby Sebastian is, I do imagine it would end up with Chris whining through orders while Sebastian turns entirely, completely useless. A puddle of butter in the sudden, just a mess.

Also, might I interest you in Sub!Evanstan With Dom!Hayley And Dom!Anthony? 'Cause I forgot until just now that I did write that 😏

[astranite]

CH2 of Where was he? Pancakes.

Behold, a second chapter!! Thanks for everyones lovely comments and encouragement! I did not quite mean to stay up until midnight finishing this, but ADHD and I'm excited about this!! Enjoy!!!

@idontknowreallywhy yes im going to sleep now.

@edutainer2022 The rest of this, as you've already seen the first little bit!

Tumblr part 1 :)

---

Instead of pulling away from his brothers and getting to work like drill sergeant at the back of his mind nagged that he should be doing, Scott sunk into the group hug. Just a while longer. He needed this.

"What do I do now? I don’t know what to do now," he asked, or rather mumbled into John's t-shirt where he'd smushed his face. 

There. He'd admitted it even to himself. And his brothers. 

His voice was small where he'd meant it to come out as a demand or at least a question, not a pitiful cry for help.

Gordon gripped him tighter and so did Alan, and Scott was already leaning into Virgil's enveloping embrace at his side and John's fingers were still in his hair. 

He didn't actually know what to do with the mess he'd made of the kitchen or the unfinished pancake batter. The useless bowl of ingredients couldn't even be put back in their respective packets because he'd mixed them together because he hadn't thought further ahead than throwing them in. They were wasted. 

The idea of sifting apart flour and sugar and the baking powder that was possibly in there until it was like nothing had ever happened buzzed in his brain. Every solution he could come up with to undo it all was summarily discarded as they were impractical, impossible or simply ridiculous. Life didn't work like that. You didn’t get a do over on your mistakes, and even if anyone could it certainly wouldn’t be him getting the chance. 

But he didn't want to give up. What Scott wanted was to eat pancakes with his brothers, to get to laugh together without the pressing weight of the entire world on his shoulders.

Alright, at this point he would definitely prefer to jump out of One without a jetpack than face the kitchen, or y'know go cry in the shower. He had such great coping mechanisms. 

Just it was easier to think in the middle of a crisis. The present moment swallowed up all the mistakes of the past as the only thing that mattered in the universe was the next several seconds in the now. Doubt didn't have time to eat him alive; there wasn't time for vegetables to go mouldy in the bottom of the fridge. 

Maybe he'd dissolve into a puddle of suspicious goop too. Ugh, then someone would have to scrub the floor, which he'd be responsible for doing given it would be his fault if he liquified into hypothetical ooze. 

Gordon interrupted his thoughts, sing-songing out his name, "Scott, Scotty, Scooter, what can we do to help?" 

If he knew how they could help, that'd solve a lot of problems. 

Scott shrugged. Caring too much left him in the same place on the outside as caring too little. 

His brain steamrollered over Gordon's clarification of whether Scott wanted suggestions for what they could do.

The batter needed to be finished except that needed the eggs and other whatever it was that they didn't have, the fridge stuff needed to be dealt with by putting it in a place that wasn't the fridge, but those containers would have to be cleaned—

When A plus B equals C, you've still got to work out what bloody A is to find C.

"None of you deserve to have to clean up my messes," Scott burst out, "I should be able to do this on my own if I can just get my act together."

I don't need help. I've totally got this, I'm fine. I'm so completely fine, not that any of you would believe me if I said that. Not that he was doing a particularly good job of lying to himself right now either.

He was barely managing not to yell. 

His mind ran at lightning speed even as he knew he was missing out on the looks the others were throwing each other over his head.

He kept going, "I'd been meaning to do this for you guys, you know, as a nice breakfast we could enjoy on our day off..." Scott's voice jammed in his throat.

His brothers were here supporting him, but he still couldn't fix any of these problems because he was the cause of them.

"Scott." Virgil was as always his rock, there for him when Scott couldn't figure out which was was up. "You. Are. Allowed. To. Ask. For. And. Accept. Our. Help."

With how awful he was at remembering that no matter how many times everyone told him, he should let them permanent marker it onto his forehead and be done with it.

"We all need help with stuff. It doesn't make you incapable," Gordon said.

Scott never begrudged fetching Gordon heat packs when his back was bad so he didn't have to get up or rubbing at the sore muscles after missions or assisting with the physio exercises Gordon still had to do.

Alan butted in, “I mean I don’t like chores, ‘cause who does, but Scott, that’s totally unfair if you have to do everything!”

"Sprout, it's alright, I don't do everything," Scott reassured automatically.

Alan gave him a look of utter teenage incredulity. "Yeah, but you try to."

John’s arms tightened around him as he rested his chin on Scott’s head and said simply, "We help each other, on missions and at home. That’s who we are.”

Scott could hear the smile in John’s voice as added, “So, how about breakfast?”

He took a deep breath, filling up his lungs before letting it out, allowing his brothers’ presences steady him. “Breakfast.”

"They're Scott-special pancakes but that doesn't mean we can't all help," Gordon ruled firmly.

"We'd all rather that than you having to do it all on your own." John hesitated then added, "Scott, you remember when we used to cook with Mum and Dad? Sunday mornings, all of us crammed in the kitchen in our pyjamas, covered in flour, everyone helping out?"

Of course he remembered. It had hurt too much to think about for years and the ache of loss was still there, but now he had a chance to make new memories with his brothers right beside him. His small smile matched John's.

"It makes them more special, not less," Virgil said, "Because we get to spend the time together."

"Yeah Scotty, we want to hang out with you," Alan finished, and that was that.

The group hug transformed into a mission planning huddle, though John and Gordon remained propping Scott up on either side. 

Gordon was bouncing on his toes in anticipation, the fins on his clownfish towel flapping. "Okay. Where were we? Oh yeah, suggestions for us helping if you want us to give suggestions, because I don't want to stomp on what you're doing and take away your control over it 'cause that's really not actually helpful. But I do know how hard the 'thinking up what people should be doing' is when your brain is—" Gordon waved a hand about to complete the sentence. "So, yup."

Scott pressed his shoulder to Gordon's in silent appreciation of his thoughtfulness in the face of Scott's overwhelm. That's what he was, overwhelmed. 

"Having some ideas would help. Please."

"We'll clean up the kitchen together. We've all had a part in leaving stuff in the fridge too long," Virgil said calmly, like there wasn't any shame in it. Scott filed that away in the back of his mind for later consideration.

"Alan can take One to Aotearoa and get the eggs and blueberries. He needs the practice flight hours anyway," John put forward.

Alan’s face lit up as he immediately shook off Virgil's arm around his shoulders to jump to the ready. “Can I? Scott. Scott, please? I promise I won’t scratch her, I’ll be as careful as I am with Three, in fact I’ll be carefuller! Wait is that even a word? So can I?”

"Nope. Not quite a word," John chipped in affectionately when Alan had to take a breath.

"Alright, alright." Scott held his hands up. "But you'd better bring her back in one piece or you won't be getting any pancakes," he joked. Mostly. As long as One didn't end up wedged in the swimming pool...

One last moment was spent in the huddle with his brother as Alan darted back for a goodbye hug, no matter how short the flight would be. 

Putting their hands out in the centre in a stack, grinning at each other, they yelled in unison, “Tracies are go!!!”

Alan ran towards Scott's launch chute entrance, tossing over his shoulder, "Don't let Gordon eat them all before I get back!"

Gordon's indignant, "Hey!" was lost as the painting swung around, taking Alan with it.

"He does know that we need the eggs to make the pancakes which he is getting, right?" John asked as an aside.

"Eh, he'll work it out." Scott was looking after where Alan had gone wondering when their undeniably littlest brother had grown up so much. That applied regardless of continued brotherly taunting ‘cause wasn’t like he, John or Virgil had ever grown out of it.

Finally, the rest of them returned to the kitchen. Scott steeled himself as he stepped over the imaginary threshold separating it in the open plan design from the lounge.

The containers of spoilt food were sitting out on the bench where he'd left them, condensation dripping from the outsides in the subtropical heat. Unfinished pancake batter loomed from its bowl. Where would he even start? The multiple frying pans he'd need to cook such a big batch with were languishing in the bottom of the sink too.

Gordon set his hands on his hips, in a stand off against the mess. "Okey dokey. Scott, would you rather do dishes, begin emptying out the containers or make coffee so the Virge doesn't keel over? We'll split up the rest between us."

Scott found himself wandering over to the coffee station before he answered. It was the easiest, most straight forward task right now.

He bit his lips guiltily. "Can I?"

Virgil was already standing beside the sink, putting on an apron. He waved a pink rubber washing up glove at Scott in a 'go ahead' gesture, idly chewing on the corner of his flannel shirt collar.

That was about as much as he'd normally get out of Virgil before coffee, excluding missions and brotherly crises as this morning.

Scott inspected the array of coffee types set out in the cupboard next to the overly complicated, super fancy coffee machine Virgil insisted they have. It had more knobs and dials than Thunderbird Two's console he swore and that was already far too many, but Scott couldn't deny it made the best coffee.

None of that mattered though because above the machine was a laminated sheet of paper covered in Virgil's blocky handwriting outlining exactly the steps he had to follow in the order he had to do them, the same as a pre-flight checklist. Scott relaxed. Like a math problem, if he took it bit by bit he'd eventually end up at the right answer.

He'd make a cup for himself too. Not that it would wake him up, thanks ADHD, but he enjoyed the taste and it might do something for his focus.

Virgil's favourite coffee brand came in an electric green package with its name written in an indecipherable font most expected on a death metal album cover. Though at the strength Virgil drank it, it was pretty fitting. Scott had tried a sip once. Only once, as drinking undiluted tar was not his cup of, well, coffee. But Virgil loved the stuff.

Scott made the coffee and got out their biggest mug with the silly, absolutely tiny in proportion Thunderbird Two perched on the handle for his brother.

After passing Virgil his coffee, his brother turned it this way and that then grinned up at Scott. "Did you draw Two in the middle of the froth for me?"

Scott fetched his own coffee, before standing next to Virgil to squint into his mug. A lighter blob of foam floated in the centre. Those bits on the side could be the stubby wings. Though maybe Virgil was kidding, but he might not be so if he saw the Flying Turtle, the Great Green Bathtub, Thunderblob Two, who was Scott to protest artistic genius?

"Happy accident?" Scott told him as Virgil rolled his eyes and nudged his side.

Gordon stood on tip toe to look too. "It's not green. I mean, I could make it green!"

Virgil hunched protectively over his coffee. Do not get between Gordon and food dye was wisdom learned early.

"I think it looks more like Four," John deadpanned to significant outrage.

Scott cackled as Gordon attempted to mess up John's hair in revenge, both of them laughing at each other.

The coffee was warm going down as he took the moment to lean on Virgil as they both quietly sipped theirs, watching the others' antics.

His own mug had a comic of a Boeing aircraft crashing then bouncing down a runway, captioned 'boing.' Scott had giggled when he saw it in amongst the other mugs in the cupboard as he always did since Gordon and Alan had gifted it to him on his birthday, and decided he needed that today.

He held up for Virgil to inspect, along with John and Gordon glued together in their tackle hug. 

Laughing, he read the text out loud, complete with sound effects.  

Several hilarious minutes followed of them all repeating the sounds between them, bouncing around, echoing and playing off each other. Scott grinned so hard his cheeks ached. He needed this. 

Maybe it was the placebo effect or the time spent freely messing around with his brothers, but with the coffee in him Scott was starting to feel a little better about the world and possibly himself too. 

Better enough that he could face approaching the counter of suspicious containers to help Gordon.

Gordon was currently inspecting them with equal parts fascination and repulsion. He poked at the box Scott had found wedged at the very back of the fridge. 

"Do you reckon that's last month's meatloaf? Or maybe it was the stew. I think it's got its own ecosystem!"

Nope, nope, nope. It looked like it was about to crawl away. "Do not open that, Gords!"

Virgil and John gathered behind him, peering over his shoulders. Scott could tell without seeing exactly which utterly icked out face John made.

Come on, Scotty, he told himself, you've dealt with grosser things on rescues. And in raising very little brothers; he certainly did not miss some stuff. 

"We can sacrifice one container, right?" he said. Right? You had to know when to call it in the hopeless cases.

Unanimous noises of agreement were rapidly made. The container was summarily carried over to the bin with caution equivalent of handling radioactive waste. Scott wouldn't be surprised if it set off a geiger counter.

The punnet of blueberries he'd meant for the pancakes joined it. They were well beyond salvage. 

Scott tugged a hand through his hair, trying his best not to let the guilty regret swallow him up. The frustration surged, as even though they'd finally cleaned out the fridge and dealt with the stuff, he hadn't been able to prevent the waste happening in the first place.

He chewed on the inside of his cheek as he and Gordon wiped out the shelves so they could put back all the non-archaeological bottles of lurking sauces that he'd also taken out to get at the other stuff. The patch of mystery sticky substance probably didn't require as much scrubbing force as he was putting into it.

...it wasn't a mystery. It was the strawberry smoothie leftover from a morning Gordon had made too much that Scott had spilt while getting it out midnight to fuel his deadline induced frenzy of report writing. That had been only after he'd realised the reason he felt so shaky and sick was that he'd forgotten to eat all day despite several heavy, exhausting rescues.

After wiping up the last of it, he tossed the cloth into soapy sink with a splash. Immediately he was apologising for startling Virgil as the cloth flew past him as he did the dishes. 

There went Scott and another stupidly impulsive action. No one even had to tell him off for the gaping hole to open up in his chest. He stood in middle of the room, feet rooted to the floor, frozen as he resisted the urge to storm off to One's hanger or some other darker, damper crevice to curl up and probably sob about such a dumb mistake, so he wasn't abandoning his brothers.

Gordon's much smaller hand slipped into his own. 

"Do you wanna take a break, Scotty?"

Silently, honestly, Scott nodded. 

He followed Gordon's lead as he tugged Scott over to the patch of clear floor in the lounge by the full length windows.

Then, because this was Gordon, he just lay down on the ground with an exclamation of, "Floor time!"

Scott got down next to him and flopped onto his back staring upwards. At least attempting to work out where Gordon's offbeat schemes were going was a distraction from his thoughts tearing him apart. 

Virgil and John were still working away in the kitchen. The guilt gnawed. Scott screwed his eyes shut then rubbed the heels of his hands over them, hard enough to see spots before he opened them again as he really shouldn’t do that. He wound his fingers through the hem of his shirt, fidgeting.

Blue sky stretched above them, framed by the edge of the roof. Beyond the glass, sun shone through the cloudless expanse. Scott let himself relax into the floorboards.

"See, it's all good if you need some time out. We're proud of you, big bro." Gordon edged closer to press their shoulders and sides together.

"Thanks," Scott whispered.

He fixed his gaze back on the sky outside, on the wide, open, beautiful sky.

 "How did you know this would help?"

The fish nudged him. "Sometimes a change in perspective is what you need, getting in the ant's eye view if you will. You're too tall, the air gets thin up there."

"Like you'd get the heights, fish sticks," Scott joked.

Gordon's impression of mock offence, complete with hand clutching at his chest and shocked gasp, was ruined by his giggles.

For a moment he grew serious again, amber eyes taking Scott in. "And like literally it’s also a break so the rest of you can catch up with your brain. I get when there's so much going on up there anything extra tips you overboard."

Slowly, the world felt less like it was about to end as he briefly met Gordon eyes then turned to the blue above.

Scott bumped their heads together. "Thanks, again for everything."

"No problem, I'm always happy to help my bros."

It was impossible to miss the emphasis that this very much included Scott, despite him being the eldest.

Lying on the floor with Gordon in a pool of sunlight streaming in cut through the frantic spiralling he had been nose diving into again. 

Scott calculated the windspeed outside from the movement of the small branches at the tops of the pōhutukawa trees he could see upside-down at the corner of his vision. Little bits of leaves and debris, a constant pain to clean up on their heavily vegetated island danced across the concrete patio outside. 

"You reckon it's blowing about twenty, twenty-two kays per hour out there, Gords?" he said.

Gordon levered himself up and leant towards him to get a better look over to the ocean. "Yeah, thereabouts. Twelve knots."

They heard Virgil's hum from the kitchen before he chipped in, "Closer to twenty-four or so kays, I'd say."

"Bets all in?" The mirth in John's voice was obvious as he pulled up a holo, though Scott didn't doubt he had his own number in mind. "Our weather system puts Tracy Island local windspeed at twenty-two—"

Scott pumped a fist in the air.

"—Point nine kilometres per hour." 

Gordon cheered. "AKA twelve point four knots, boom!"

Scott rolled his eyes and high-fived Gordon in celebration.

With several more breaths of watching the sky, he sat up, stretching his arms above his head.

"Ready to go, Scooter?"

Scott stood before giving Gordon a hand up from the ground. "Yeah, I am." 

Coming back to the kitchen, the first thing Scott did was fall into Virgil's offered hug before he, Virgil Gordon and John gathered in a circle to work out what was next. When John got too wobbly on his feet to keep standing, he hopped up on the counter, sorting through the papers that had been stuck under the fridge magnets as Scott handed them to him. Categorised piles formed from the sticky note and post card debris heap before his eyes.

Alan's holo popped up on the com. "Hey everyone!"

Scott jumped at the sudden noise before grinning at his little brother. 

"I swear I was listening but what am I supposed to be getting, again?" Alan said, twisting one of his hoodie strings up before tucking the end into his mouth to chew on.

"It's alright Alan. Get a dozen eggs, actually make that two dozen if we want to have any for breakfast another day. The blueberries, a couple of packets. Bananas, while you're at it. Maybe more maple syrup, I don't know if we're out," Scott listed as he wandered over to the pantry to check. "More cornflakes!" he yelled back.

Scott returned to the kitchen proper to stick his head in the fridge to find out about their milk situation. He turned back to his brothers after determining they were probably two days from running out.

Alan on the holo glanced up from inspecting the bottle of caramel sauce that had materialised in his hand. "Uhh guys, I kinda missed everything after how many eggs?"

Scott winced. He should've noticed Alan was distracted by the overstimulating hell of a supermarket, and that as ADHDer number three he probably wasn't going to remember all the points on Scott's rambling list, hell, Scott didn't ever remember half of them and he was the one who'd just said them. He hadn't thought—

"Scott, I've got it." John waved his phone in the air before resuming tap-tapping out Scott's dictation. "Allie, I'll send you the list once I'm done.

"Awesome, 'kay thanks! Hey, can I get ice cream, it's half off?"

"Get the one with the marshmallows and the little fish!" Gordon exclaimed as he shoved his way into view. 

Alan hung up before Scott managed to get a word in edgeways. The fish of Gordon's favourite flavour were made of chocolate, not actual fish as Scott had feared the first time he'd tried it.

Alan would have the written list to refer back to, it was all alright. Scott didn't need to worry. Even if Alan had spent a while wandering the shops as One must've gotten there fast, his littlest brother had been more sensible than Scott had been in the past in calling them up for clarification. Or in the present.

It hadn't been the first time and it definitely wasn't the last, but Scott remembered getting sent out to the local shops to get bread as a teen and how he'd made sure to get everything from John's bagels, to the type of cereal Virgil liked and all the other stuff to go on sandwiches for school lunches, except he'd forgotten the bread and Dad had just sighed disappointedly, going back to his way more important work. Scott had barely managed to put everything away before bursting into tears, hiding in the kitchen by ducking below the cupboard level so no one would see at a glance. Damn, he hoped he was doing better than that with Alan.

"Thanks for the save, John," he murmured, approached to lean against the counter next to John.

Typing one-handedly, John reached out to squeeze Scott's hand with his other.

Instead of throwing himself back into the fray with frustrating emotions ready to boil over like he usually would, or joining in with whatever the fish and the tank were getting up to that involved overly loud whispering near the pantry, Scott boosted himself up to sit on the bench with John, carefully avoiding all the papers. With a quiet question so as not to surprise his brother as he was focusing, Scott ended up leaning his head on John's shoulder for a bit to rest. John leant into him too. 

A change of perspective did help. Scott was doing okay. Not perfect, but well enough, no matter how hard that was to admit that when he spent too many nights up worrying about all the things he should've somehow done better. As well, some part deep inside him nudged that maybe, possibly he also deserved the kindness he gave everyone else but never himself. 

Gordon spotted him taking the moment out and they shared a smile. Gordon being Gordon also gave him an enthusiastic thumbs up. See? Scott told himself, Progress.

Shortly, Alan's holo popped up again, back in Thunderbird One.

"Groceries are stowed, enroute to Tracy Island now!" Alan chirped.

"FAB," sounded off from all of them.

Everyone was now listening out for the sound of One. Several stomachs growled.

Soon, soon they'd finally have pancakes.

The minutes passed in suspense. Scott put the organised papers back on the fridge, filed them over at the desk or chucked them in the recycling as John directed.

They discovered the fishtank plan in the form of the opened bag of chocolate bits being squabbled over.

"Can we make some choc chip ones too?" Virgil was practically vibrating with excitement. 

Gordon unrepentantly stole a chocolate chip. "What he said," Gordon campaigned, despite Scott knowing that Gordon actually preferred the blueberry and banana pancakes as his top pick.

Finally rockets arrived with a roar, as the pool slid open and One disappeared into it.

Then the elevator dinged and Alan triumphantly stumbled out carrying far too many bags for one person. 

"Good work!" Scott cheered, as he and Virgil rushed to help.

"Thanks, Scotty!" Alan lit up. "Also I'm starving."

"Well we'll soon fix that problem!"

Scott took the eggs and cracked them one by one into the bowl of dry ingredients for his pancake batter. Just to show off, he did it one-handedly. The blueberries were washed and he added them in, popping a couple in his mouth too for good measure. Someone needed to taste test, it was tradition, all the way back to the ranch and small hands trying to sneak around Mum before she bopped them playfully with the sticky wooden spoon. The berries were the perfect ripeness, sweet with that tiny edge of tartness cutting through right.

"The baking powder," Scott began, "I don't—I've got no idea if its in there or not."

The pancakes wouldn't rise it he had forgotten,  they'd fall flat as unfortunate, failed pancakes. But in reverse, if he had put it in and added more—he'd made that mistake before. The resulting puffy ooze resembled a science experiment more than an edible food.

"I found the box of baking powder open on the bench, if that helps," Virgil gave him.

"Yeah, it was right next to the bowl. Looks like it had just been sat down." Gordon confirmed.

Alan's eyebrows were crumpled into an incredibly serious expression as he contemplated. "I think you probably did put it in, Scotty."

There was no guarantee. But he could take the leap, having faith in his brothers and the best guesses they all had.

"Okay, alright. The batter is done then!" he said, putting as much enthusiasm into his voice as he could muster.

Virgil shooed Alan out to set the table , following with plates so there wouldn't so many cooks in the kitchen with the potential to bump the hot stove.

Gordon set the several pans to heat, guarding over them as he added butter, melting and bubbling.

Scott lingered, beating the last lumps out of the mix with the whisk. He bumped John's dangling legs out of the way of the drawers so he could dig out a ladle. 

"Worse case scenario, we will make another batch. We have enough ingredients," John said quietly, just to him as the others danced about preparing things to eat the pancakes with, Gordon pretending he wasn't listening to them also.

Scott could always trust John to think through all the possibilities on missions, even, especially the hard ones. It was more reassuring to know that they had a plan if stuff all went to hell, than pretend it simply wouldn't. Biting experience had taught him better than that. 

This though was just making pancakes for his brothers, not saving the world from high stakes catastrophe. His brothers, who no matter how badly he messed up would always love him. 

Scott ladled batter out into the pans, flipping the pancakes over once they grew bubbly and cooked at the edges.

Even when the first one fell apart and turned out rather burnt on one side as he attempted to salvage it after flipping too soon, they all tore it to pieces and ate it anyway as a snack before the proper ones.

The next turned out golden brown, speckled with the blueberries.

Scott grinned happily, joy bubbling up inside his chest.

He made sure to make some blueberry and choc chip ones, and blueberry and banana ones, separating out the mixture. Then some all of the above ones too for good measure.

Virgil and Alan were singing along to a boppy pop song Scott would probably find stuck in his head later. Gordon twirled around the kitchen, dancing along with his wonderfully ridiculous clownfish towel swirling. John kept him company, nodding his head with the beat before he joined in the singing, swinging his legs slightly out of time, carefree. Scott flipped the pancakes, tossing them recklessly high in the air, waving the spatula and moving his whole body with the music, wiggling his hips and bouncing on his toes in excitement. 

Scott ate pancakes with his brothers, closer to noon than to breakfast time but everyone swore this lot were the best they'd had. They laughed together and the weight of the world pressing on Scott's shoulders didn't feel so heavy.

[lepusrufus]

Sometimes the girls butt heads, sometimes they tear each other to shreds. This got kinda long so im breaking it into two parts since i have two sketches for it anyways. Enjoy the gory angst under the cut my lovelies (and the sketch although kinda messy)

(Also in case there’s any confusion, here’s my hc on how the daughter’s mutations work. Just in case anyone looks at this and thinks why tf does she have weird bat wings)

Butting heads part 1 (p2)

“Shut up, Bela! Shut the fuck up!”

The shout, bordering on a howl, could be heard all throughout the lower levels of the castle. Cassandra was pinned to the wall by her older sister, an arm pressed firmly against her throat. She was thrashing wildly, talon tipped fingers ripping at anything they could reach. But Bela was more focused on the elongating sharp fangs snapping in her direction. 

“Cassandra calm down-”

“No. You don’t know shit! Fuck you!”

Her skin was starting to turn ashy and thick, dark blood was dripping from her nose and mouth, some of it splattering on Bela’s face. The mutation was even causing her flies to destabilize, part of the swarm buzzing frantically around them, unable to find its place. 

The situation was escalating quickly and Bela’s calm was cracking under her sister's talons. Too focused on keeping Cassandra in place, she couldn’t will her flies to break apart and reform when long claws were slashing at her arms. She could feel her own blood coating her skin and soaking her dress. 

Even on a good day, Cassandra was physically the strongest. What she may have lacked in speed she made up for in sheer brute force. And that was when she looked like a semi normal human.

Daniela was well aware of this, so when she approached the two to help, Bela’s head quickly snapped in her direction. 

“No, Dani stay ba-”

The small distraction was all Cassandra needed to push herself off the brick wall and come crashing down on top of her sister. Her hand was pushing down with all her weight crushing bone and muscle. A choked yelp escaped Bela’s lips when her sister suddenly bit down on her midsection, close to the bottom of her ribcage, and yanked her head back, pulling apart the blood soaked skin. 

Then everything went black.

Bela could faintly hear a fourth voice drowned out by frantic buzzing. Were the flies hers or Cassandra’s? The heavy weight on top of her was lifted and all she could do was curl up and groan in pain. She instinctively tried to cover her abdomen but when her hand came in contact with exposed and torn muscle, pain shot through her entire body like a bullet. Her right arm also seemed to not obey her, pain joining in on the agony party each time she tried to lift it off the dirty floor. The floor had been clean before. Why did it feel so grimy under her body now? The only explanation that her hazy mind could come up with was that she was laying in a puddle of blood. Whether it was hers, Cassandra’s or both was up to debate. 

A series of strangled growls reached her ears accompanied by a rushed exchange of words and the buzzing was starting to feel like static and everything was so goddamn loud. 

She was somewhat snapped out of her haze when a pair of arms lifted her along with a gentle voice.

“Hey, hey, you’re good I got you”

“Daniela?” 

Her youngest sister’s face came slowly into focus after realizing that her inability to see was caused by keeping her eyes tightly shut. She wouldn't normally allow such vulnerability but right now she was tired and the entirety of her upper body hurt and each breath was painfully ragged. So she defeatedly leaned on her sister’s shoulder and allowed herself to be carried to what she assumed was the infirmary. 

----

A couple hallways away, Alcina was carrying her thrashing and growling middle daughter. Without another body to claw at, Cassandra resorted to sinking her talons into her own flesh, clearly in pain now. Her mother quickened her pace and finally ducked into a bedroom. It was one of the more barren rooms of the castle, with only a couple pieces of furniture and a large bed inside. It had no decoration that could be crashed into and cause her child any more injuries. 

Cassandra was gingerly lowered on the soft sheets, Alcinas tenderness a stark contrast to her daughter’s violent shaking and clawing at the fabric on the bed. 

Cassandra had yet to regain any semblance of conscious thought. All Alcina could do for her was sit beside her and wait for hunger to take over enough for her body to be too weak to exist in that state. She tried gentle strokes, but each touch, no matter how gentle, broke the skin into a small frantic swarm that seemed to struggle to find its place again. It felt like hours before Cassandra stopped spasming, but with how fast hunger settled in when the girls mutated it couldn’t have been more than ten minutes. 

“Mom?” Her voice came out raspy and choked, probably due to the blood stuck in her throat.

“I’m here little one.” 

Alcina tentatively stroked her daughter’s damp hair. When her form remained whole, she gently pulled her head in her lap.

“It hurts-” 

Her complaint was cut short with a groan at the searing pain caused by hunger. She wrapped her arms around her midsection in an useless attempt to ease her own suffering. 

Alcina winced at how Cassandra was dipping her talons into the skin of her abdomen, too delirious to realize that was only causing more pain. So she grabbed her hands and held them still.

Cassandra started to shake again, mumbling under her breath.

“We were-...were hunting and I” she interrupted herself with a sob “messed up. Bela an…. ‘m sorry-”

“Shh, it’s okay love. You need to focus on going back to normal now darling,” Alcina cooed.

 Cassandra scrunched her nose and shut her eyes. She did her best to focus on the flies that formed her body, willing them to set back in their rightful place and to stop shifting and breaking apart. She had mild success and now the big frantic swarm was reduced to a smaller group of flies still buzzing about the room. The hunger and pain were still present as ever though, her bones and muscles breaking and tearing apart from the mutation’s effects. 

Alcina praised her for regaining some semblance of control and told her something that fell on deaf ears. The next thing the brunette knew was that she was being shifted off her mother’s lap and out of instinct she grabbed the white dress in order to keep her near.

“Darling, did you hear me?” Alcina’s voice was soft and she waited until her daughter’s eyes were focused on her to continue. “I’m going to bring you something to eat. I’ll be back in 5 minutes.”

Cassandra only groaned in response, the mere mention of food worsening the pain in her abdomen. She nodded slowly and curled back into herself, allowing her mother to exit the room in a rush. 

Left alone, she kept trying to fight against her own body. She could feel the sickening cracks of her bones placing themselves back in position. Her muscles felt like writhing parasites under her skin, shifting and twisting and occasionally falling apart into flies to reposition themselves. The hunger was the perfect cherry on top of the agony cake she was feeling.

It felt like an eternity before the door finally opened and her mother approached the bed with a big plate of fresh raw meat. Cassandra started to dig in the moment it was within her reach. She didn’t know exactly what body part she was chewing on at the moment but she didn’t care in the slightest. It took her no more than five minutes to finish everything, almost choking a couple of times.

She sighed in relief and let her head fall back on the now stained sheets. The pain was still present, but it felt more like a dull ache rather than jolts shaking her entire body. The comforting circles that her mother was rubbing on her back were also helping. 

“How are you feeling, little one?” 

“Better.”

Alcina smiled fondly at her daughter, leaning down to place a soft kiss on the top of her head. 

“Will you be alright on your own for a bit? I need to check on Bela-”

The brunette’s head snapped up, eyes wide. She had forgotten how this mess started in the first place and now that she remembered, guilt started to gnaw at her like the ache in her bones. 

“I’ll come with y-”

“Ah ah ah, you will do no such thing. Rest for now, I’m sure she’s fine,” she lied. The image of Bela laying on the floor in a puddle of her own blood and her upper body almost torn to shreds was seared in her mind. The only comfort right now came from the fact that Daniela was taking care of her and, while unpredictable, her youngest cared deeply about her sisters and was more than capable of patching wounds.

Alcina planted another kiss on Cassandra's head and placed a blanket on top of her. She left her side with the promise of coming back shortly and exited the room, door left just slightly ajar so she could hear if her daughter called for her.

[stormyoceans]

and when talay will star to grab puen's neck before going for a kiss. then what

THEN I SIMPLY DIE THAT'S WHAT LIKE IM NOT EVEN KIDDING THE DAY TALAY WILL START GETTING BOLDER AND INITIATING STUFF IS THE DAY Y'ALL ARE GONNA HAVE TO RETRIEVE MY USELESS BODY FROM THE BOTTOM OF THE WELL I'LL BE THROWING MYSELF INTO

like talay was never in love before puen and this is the first real relationship he's ever had, so it makes sense for him to still be in his shy era (not everyone can be as shameless and horny as puen), but the moment he will allow himself to take the initiative and start exploring things???? I FEAR BOTH FOR MINE AND PUEN'S SANITY TBH

just look at puen's reaction at the beginning of episode 4 when talay says "i feel you're adorable when you pout"!!!!!! my man was blushing and hiding behind his clipboard and about to melt into a puddle of goo!!!!!! just from a compliment!!!!!! talay is much more reserved when it comes to affection, but literally every time he actively reciprocates puen's feelings with words or actions puen becomes a mess!!!!! and shall i remind us all that the absolute mad man actually told talay that he liked when talay manhandled him out of tess' shirt in episode 7??????

ONE DAY TALAY IS REALLY GONNA GRAB PUEN'S NECK AND STARE INTO HIS EYES FOR A SECOND BEFORE PULLING HIM IN FOR THE DEEPEST KISS AND PUEN IS GONNA BE LEFT BREATHLESS HOLDING ONTO TALAY FOR DEAR LIFE AS HIS LEGS ALMOST GIVES OUT ON HIM AND TALAY WILL JUST KEEP TEASING HIM UNTIL PUEN IS GONNA BE BEGGING FOR MORE RIP TO US BOTH

[trackpup]

Your wish is my command *bows*

I’m going to assume you meant more piss related stuff and, even if you didn’t, now that you have revealed you are a fan I will simply be dumping my ideas because… bark bark

I’m actually in love with the idea of desperate Lando. Him on the radio with his engineer in a soft and embarrassed voice saying how he has to pee. Him being told just to hold it and how the race will be over soon but each jostle of the car makes him painfully aware of how full he is… when it finally does finish he rushes out of the car, crying out as a little bit spills, causing him to clench his legs, whimpering as tears prick his eyes. He quickly makes his way to the nearest bathroom but it’s already occupied. He leans against the wall and crosses his legs, panting and he shakes with need. He eventually can’t hold it anymore and lets go, pissing himself as moans of relief and whines of embarrassment leave his lips. Tears are spilling down his cheeks as the blue of his race suit gets dark around his crotch and flows down his legs into a puddle on the floor. It continues for a good 30 more seconds, and during that time, the bathroom door opens, revealing Daniel on the other side, freezing as he witnesses Lando piss himself. The Brit cries out in embarrassment, trying to stop the stream but it proves futile. When he’s finally empty, Daniel smirks and corners the boy against the wall, hand coming up to squeeze at Lando’s wet fireproofs, grinning at the warm feeling. “Couldn’t wait another minute, huh? How embarrassing, baby. How are we going to explain this to the team when they see your little puddle? Aw, don’t cry, I know it was an accident. Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone, but you’ll have to clean up your mess like the filthy boy you are.”

Woof woof

I hope this satisfies your wishes ;^)

Bonus because of all the talk of Lando’s cock. I want him fucked from behind while it swings around as he’s held up, that’s all. Make him wag that big cock. Please. -💫

of course I meant more piss stuff. thank u for feeding my guilty pleasure my dear

im gonna go ahead and link that dando piss fic I was talking about 'cause this reminds me of it so much...

I genuinely have nothing more to add because FUCK. you always go above and beyond and know exactly what to write

he would be so fucking pathetically desperate. flushed face, tear stained cheeks as he begs and pleads with you to let him piss. maybe throwing in some mommy or daddy kink here. him calling you either as he begs...👀

seeing his cock wag and slap about, being useless as hes getting fucked within an inch of his life is such a delicious image as well...

[themilky-way]

like water {din djarin}

gif credit: no-droids

pairing: the mandalorian/din djarin x fem!reader

summary: when the one person he cares about is threatened, he lets himself indulge in the aftermath of defending them. 

warnings: some violence in the beginning, choking (not in the fun way), depictions of scratches, punches, and minor abrasions; the reader is hurt basically. oh and mando’s gun bc yeah❤️umm that’s it i think? nothing too horrible tho but if this thing triggers you, please don’t read !!

author’s note: not to be conceited or anything (is that even the right word for it lol?) but im super proud of how this turned out! requests are open btw for anyone who wishes to submit anything (if unsure, just ask which fandoms)!

----------

cyar’ika-> darling, sweetheart

nothing in that exact moment had made much sense. one minute the most precious thing to ever exist to him was snatched away, and the next his hands were gripping the treasure beneath his holster. his knuckles were lily-white at this point, holding the gun as hard as his body would allow him to without crushing underneath him, and the urge to cock it made him visibly shake. he’d been given a command, and out of all the merciless men in the filthy galaxy, he needed to follow it, so his weapon of preference stayed where it needed to. 

the meager specks of emotion that still lived within him betrayed his prominent composure, the view in front of him blocked by the sudden glaze of his eyes. the small drops of saltwater puddled together in his now hazy orbs, holding on until it was nearly impossible to stay put and then rivered down his cheeks. the cause? well, you.

you were filling up the mandalorian’s line of vision, his eyes darting between you and the bounty that had gone wrong. an alienated hand was wrapped around your innocent throat, your feeble hands wrapped around its wrist in a dumb attempt to break free. the ground you were roaming on before appeared to be never ending, and in the same way, the darkened sky absorbed you whole. vertigo was now in full effect; any quick movement caused you to shut your eyes tightly and hope to the maker you’d get through it. it took a few seconds for you to regain your balance, a sharp pain pinging around your neck forcing you to find it. you half expected to be back on the mud again, to have the man you had spent the past year flying around with pulling you to safety. instead, you found din frozen in place, an instinctive action rooted in the steel handle of his pistol. he wasn’t moving, too scared to blink as if you’d disappear if he did. 

perhaps you were; someone like you seemed too good to be true. in all actuality, it may be that you were a fever dream, a celestial that had come down from the sanctity of your home to finally rescue him from his burdens. amidst his frantic glances, he reminisced every second he’d spent with you since your unforeseen arrival, and that somehow worked for him. the gears in his brain started to turn again, and with every ounce of his strength, he pounced on the quarry and did what he should’ve done the instant you were taken from him. anger took over his worry, the effects illustrating themselves in a collage of mitted fists and blood. the pistol residing on din’s waist was useless compared to his hits; the softened position of his jawbone was locked firmly as a result of his gritted teeth and he was going to need more than your delicate hand on his shoulders to ground his senses. 

the mandalorian never expected to succumb to anyone, nor to feel remotely joyful upon hearing someone’s laugh. the idea of kindling a relationship was ludicrous, utterly impossible if only he weren’t bound to the chains of his creed. oftentimes, he wondered if someone would one day traverse his path and make him question every moral he’d been taught. din had dismissed the thought, as any other member of his intricate society would have, but the wondrous insight depicting a different lifestyle always lingered faintly in his mind. 

today, the very same visions behind his recurrent insomnia framed themselves in a frail art piece. din’s focus laid directly ahead, the fingers navigating the center controls as tight as they’d been on his gun. his eyes deserved to rest, perhaps take in the splashes of color nature was offering him, but he landed them on the same lovely sculpture adorning his cockpit. 

you were seated in the chair adjacent from the pilot’s, with your knees closely tucked to your chest. one large scrape designed itself on your leg-a dull reminder of the ordeal you were involved in hours earlier-with flakes of arid blood protecting the wound. bouncing off the skin of your throat were shades of red and purple, now properly mixing into a deeper complexion that’d require you to hide it for some time. besides the scattered nicks living on your face, and the other couple dozen on your arms and legs, the outcome wasn’t as terrible as the one your attacker received. it was a rule of thumb to not mess with a mandalorian, much less with the pretty little lady clutching his arm as if it were second nature. the foolest of fools wouldn’t even have done such a foul thing, and this particular creature came to know the punishment for harming what wasn’t rightfully his. 

it truly amazed him; the way you seemed to be so unphased by a traumatic circumstance. the woman beside him-the same one who couldn’t sleep unless a window was open-had endured pain, and the marks on her skin proved themselves in jagged indications of it. through the darkened screen of his visor, din could make out your hands neatly intertwined around your folded knees, your chin simultaneously resting on top. you’d been as observant as you always were, hardly missing his actions as he navigated his newfound family to a safe stop. sure, you were unaware of the loving term he considered of you and the baby, but it didn’t hurt to keep it a secret, right?

“hey.” it came out more hoarse than he intended it to, but the emotion behind it flowed out nonetheless. “you okay?”

not really. i don’t feel good. it was easy to say exactly that, to speak the truth, but it was even easier to lie. for the sake of his own worry, at most. your eyes were still glued to his armor, taking in the rough outline of where you imagined his skin would be underneath, or moreso the abstract idea of feeling it with your hands. reflections of your yearning came and went like the mandalorian’s missions, almost impulsively at times, and the curious, teasing tilts his helmet would bid you only encouraged that craving. much like now; the black “T” of his expressionless face leaned to the side, asking you to earnestly respond. “mm, yeah. ‘m kinda tired, though,” you mumbled.

you threw him a lie and he caught it. “don’t lie to me.” din swiveled his chair to accordingly match the peripheral of yours, his elbows coming to rest on top of his beskar-clad legs. “can you look at me?” he inquired softly. then, his intent fell on the slow shift of your head and how it turned to face him, your cheek settling on your unscathed knee. a breath fell from his lips at the doting admiration swimming in your stare. “there she is,” he confirmed with an upward curl of his lips. “is there anything i can do?” it was sincere; a genuine concern to accompany his question. you hummed in response, fearful to accidentally voice the confessions you hid from him. you blinked once, twice, until his question became a plea. “please, cyar’ika.”

reasonably, you were too busy exploring the shape of his helmet, permitting your creative imagination to paint images of the man next to you; so when your ears perceived his sudden name of endearment, there was nothing amongst the stars that you could’ve possibly denied him from. “you’ve never called me that before,” you smiled, all big and brilliant. 

“i’ve wanted to,” the man replied. what resembled ages of pent up stress released with a few curated words. his muscles relaxed, something he never believed to be attainable given his vigorous profession. “god, i’ve wanted to.” 

he followed it with a humble laugh. a sound so familiar and warm, so genuine that it empowered your grin to spread higher. “by all means, keep saying it.” now it was your turn to nervously giggle, and him who embraced the noise with everything he could. a mutual infatuation, so wonderfully obvious, yet it was refused acknowledgment. “i think there is something you can do, though.” silence advised you to continue, “can i sleep with you tonight?” 

the misguided pieces of your minds’, maybe even your souls’, reattached themselves that very same night. as the both of you slept, hands, calloused and smooth, intimately merged against the cushions of the warrior’s bed. tender kisses planted to your forehead left electricity in their wake, and the dark ambiance of his dwelling favored the entanglement of your tired bodies. 

“i wish i could see you, din,” you sighed. the manner in which it was expressed, full of sleep and everything akin, urged him to lift your weightless wrist to his lips. 

“you’ll get to one day, cyar’ika. for now just let me hold you, yeah?”

[d0llhousess]

you can't just call fuwa an overstimulator and then not give us headcanons... the injustice PLS - ❤️🧡

oh um..im so sorry for these. Fuwa just makes me act up ok, so sorry for getting a bit ✨ filthy ✨

Hyou Fuwa

Overstimulation is Fuwa and Fuwa is Overstimulation. 

Like no matter the situation, Fuwa is overstimulating you. Even if you’re having lazy morning sex, he has to make you cum until you’re begging him to stop. 

He overwhelms your senses, taking control of your mind and rendering it a useless puddle as he makes you come over an over again. 

He just loves to see you mindless, eyes rolling back, mouth open, legs trembling as you just cum over and over for him. If you cry for him, oh he goes a bit feral  (plus it just feeds his ego)

He gets sort of a predatory gleam in his eyes, and you know you’re in for it.

Like no matter how hard you push at him or how much you beg him to let up he won’t so unless you use your safe word, you better just lay back and be good for him. 

Uses overstim as both a punishment and reward, the only thing that changes is his tone about it. 

If he’s punishing you, he’s teasing and cruel, commenting about how easy it is to render you a trembling mess, about how simple it is to make you cum because you’re just such a dirty kitten for him. 

He will almost never ruin your orgasm, yet he will force multiple out of you until your body is limp and you’re nothing but a puddle in the mattress 

If he’s rewarding you, he’s praising you, whispering how you’re so good for him, how good you always take everything he gives you. Calls you his good little kitten every time you fall over the edge. 

Will mark you heavily no matter what though (mostly with his mouth bc ORAL FIXATION), thinks if your marking him with your cum, it’s only fair that he litters your body with bruises. 

[emy-loves-you]

Useless Gays: The Prequel Chapter 2

Thick as Thieves

Chapter 1 | Masterlist | Chapter 3

So this chapter is divided into 3 flashbacks: The first one has Roman at 5 years old, 10 in the second one, and somewhere between 20 and 24 in the third one (after high school, before WNaUG). For those of you who are reading this and not WNaUG (which makes no sense but okay), Rebecca/ReeRee is Remus' deadname. Remus and Roman are fraternal twins, with Remus being slightly older. Remus will be using the name Rebecca and she/her pronouns because: 1.) Remus didn't realize that he was a boy until he was 13, so he wouldn't use male pronouns yet. 2.) This chapter is all in Roman's POV. Roman never knew that Remus transitioned, since he ran away before telling Roman. So, until someone tells him, Roman will always use she/her pronouns when describing ReeRee.

“Come on, Ro! It’s not that high!” She laughed, striking a dramatic pose.

“Yes, it is!” 8-year-old Roman yelled, balling his hands up at his sides. She knew he was afraid of heights! Roman started crying, and he glared at the bottom of the tree. He was such a crybaby. Why couldn’t he be brave like her?

She stopped laughing. Roman looked up and saw her smiling softly at him, no longer teasing. “(Sigh) Here, give me your hand. We’ll go up together.” She crouched on the tree branch, using one hand to steady herself and lowered the other one towards Roman.

Roman frowned, eyeing the hand in suspicion. “You’re not gonna drop me, right?”

She raised her arm to place over her heart. “I swear as your big sister-”

“By six minutes!”

“I won’t drop you. Or pretend to drop you. Or shake the branch. Or drop down and leave you up here-”

“Okay, I get it!” Roman yelled, stomping his foot.

She smiled again, the type of smile that Roman wishes he saw more often. It was the smile that said I love you. You mean the world to me. I will always protect you. “I would never use your fear for my own amusement. You know that, Ro. And if you fall, I’ll catch you. I promise.” She extended her hand again. “Now get your butt up here! I have somethin’ to show ya!”

Roman grabbed her hand, and there was a scary woosh before he was in the tree. He buried his head in her hair, so scared. We’re so high up and we’re gonna fall fall fall fall fa-

“Shh,” her hand rubbed against his back, grounding him. “We’re fine, we’re safe, nothin’s gonna happen I swear.” They sat like that for a few minutes, Romans sobs slowly turning into sniffles. She slowly pulled away, using her hands to keep Roman steady. “Better?” He nodded. “Good. Now look.” She pointed somewhere off to his left. He forced himself to look away from her face, his fears resurfacing. He took a deep breath before turning towards his left.

“Woah.” There, on the neighboring branch, was a bird’s nest. There were two eggs, and Roman watched as cracks slowly formed along the eggs. The two birds were nearly identical, with the bird on the right hatching seconds before its sibling. “They’re so pretty.”

“That’s us.” She relaxed on the branch, her back leaning up against the tree. “Birds of a feather flock together. And we’ll stay together, even when our wings are plucked and our dreams are shattered. Twins forever, right?”

He opened his mouth to respond. “Righ-”

“WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING?!” Roman shrieked in fright, suddenly losing his grip on the branch. He screamed as he started to fall.

“Ro!” Suddenly, arms were wrapped around him, and he landed on top of her. “Ah! God that hurt! Are you okay Ro!”

Ro nodded. “Yeah, I’m okay.” He got up and gasped. “Your arm!” Her arm was twisted from where it was crushed underneath him.

She went to move it and hissed in pain. “I think it’s broken.” She smiled, but Roman could see tears in her eyes. “At least I caught you! I told you that you’d be fine!” Before Roman could respond, his mother marched up to them. Momma immediately began to scold them, only noticing her broken arm when she went to grab her and she screamed in pain.

Roman was told to clean his room while they went to the doctor. When they returned, she had a lime green cast on her arm. Momma took away their favorite toys (her dolls and Roman’s foam sword) before telling them to clean up the kitchen. Roman grabbed a red sharpie, signing his name on her cast. She smirked. “Your ‘m’ looks like a ‘v.’”

“Does not!”

“Does too!”

“Does not!”

“Does too!”

“Does too!”

“Does not!” She realized what had happened an laughed. “Good one, Ro.” She used her good hand to ruffle his hair. Her special smile was back, the one that she only gave him.

He giggled, leaning into her touch. “Thanks, ReeRee!”

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Boom!

Roman shrieked, pulling his blanket over his head. He could hear the heavy rain against his window. He loved rain (he stomped in puddles while she made mud pies) but he hated thunder. It was so loud and he could never tell when it would-

Boom!

He shrieked again. He flushed in embarrassment. He was 10, for God’s sake! He shouldn’t be afraid of something as silly as thunder! His sister had gotten over these stupid fears years ago! His mind wandered to his sister. Can I?

He shook his head. It’s really late at night, she’s probably sleeping. When they were younger, Roman would go stay in her room during thunderstorms (he’d tried going to his parents room once, but they yelled at him and sent him back to his room). But that was when they were younger. They were 10 now, and she kicked him out last time he went into her room uninvited.

Boom!

Roman jumped, falling off of his bed. That’s it! He quickly grabbed his Dragon Witch (a stuffed animal that Uncle Terrence gave him for his 7th birthday) and ran out of his room. He made his way down the hall until he reached the pink door. Roman scrunched up his nose. His sister hated pink. She had asked their father if they could repaint her door green, and he yelled at her. He opened the door, stepping into her room. Since their parents never went into their rooms anymore, she had redecorated it. The pink walls were covered in drawings of green tentacles. The floor was filthy, with dirty clothes and torn drawings strewn about. Roman was surprised to see his sister awake, sketching a new tentacle drawing. “Thought you might show up.” She said, setting down her sketchpad. She patted part of the bed next to her. “Come on, I don’t bite.”

Roman hurried over, diving under the blankets. He shrieked as another clap of thunder hit. He felt a hand in his hair and tensed. The hand paused for a moment, before slowly rubbing Roman’s scalp. He relaxed, leaning into the touch. He always loved his sister, but he loved this version of her the most. When she realized that he was actually scared, not startled or mildly uncomfortable. She wouldn’t tease him or ask unnecessary questions. Sometimes she would twist together a tale from nothing, concocting a story of pain and hardship, of love and trust. Other times she wouldn’t speak, offering silent comfort and protection against the world around them. He sighed, finally drifting off to dreamless slumber. The last thing he knew before darkness took him was the press of her lips to his forehead as he drifted off. “Goodnight, Ro.”

Goodnight, Ree...

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Ro, you gotta wake up!”

Roman woke up with a gasp, his chest heavy. He forced himself to breathe, shaking like a leaf. He felt a hand in his hair, and he immediately lunged, burying his face in her shoulder. He sobbed, listening to the gentle shushing sounds as he was rocked back and forth. He felt a second hand on his back, and he started babbling. “ReeRee, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I should’ve listened to you. I should’ve trusted you.”

“Oh, sweety.” Roman jerked up. Patton stared back, tears running down his cheeks. He felt the hand on his back retreat, and he grabbed it, bringing Logan closer. Patton’s hand pressed against his cheek, and Roman suddenly realized that he was crying.

“’m sorry.” He muttered, wiping his eyes.

“It’s okay, sweety.” Patton assured him, pulling Roman into a side hug. He felt Logan do the same on his left. “Do you wanna talk about it?” Roman shook his head, still feeling slightly despondent. “Okay. Do you wanna stay up and cuddle?” Roman nodded, sighing when he felt Patton’s fingers in his hair. In less than an hour, they would all drift back into a dreamless sleep. A few hours from now, they would each go to work, a cheerful facade in place. But for now, they stayed there, silent tears streaking down their faces. For Patton and Logan, it was for the pain their lover was going through. For Roman, it was for the sister that he had pushed away,

You said you would always be there to catch me, ReeRee. But I pushed you away. Now I’m so scared that I’ll fall again. What am I going to do without you there to catch me?

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Taglist: @bisexualdisaster106 @self-taught-mess @itawalrus @arodynamic-enby @sanderssides-angst @whatishappeningrightnow @idont-freaking-know @cute-and-angsty-princess @artsy-enby09 @girl-who-reads @drarrymalecsolangelo @count-woe-laf @im-an-anxious-wreck @ent-is-undecisive

[overly-ironed-waffle]

It’s been so long since I’ve felt so low.

I have so many thoughts swirling about in my head that I want to write down in hopes that they stop plaguing my mind but I don’t seem to have the words. That, and any time I go to write them down or express them to someone who has noticed I am depressed and lost in thought or bothered by something, I suddenly feel as though they aren’t worth sharing either because I must be making them out to be bigger than they are, or because I feel like I can’t trust the possible responses or reactions I will receive. Too many times have I been “too much” or “too intense” or “too attention seek-y” or whatever. I don’t desire to burden those that I love with the thoughts in my head. But still, I’d like to at least write them down. But then how to put the words?

How do I write down that it feels as though each day my body becomes heavier like as if I can slowly feel each individual pound of mass that makes up my body, and god is each pound heavy and pulling me to the ground. I am a skinny underweight afab adult, how is it possible that I feel so heavy? Why does it feel like every piece of my body wishes to melt into a puddle on the ground? And why does it feel like if I tried hard enough, I would succeed in doing so? Just blending into the fabric that makes up my carpet.

And then how do I express that I feel so distant from my husband, and like the distance has only been growing between us? Because I’m sure that it’s primarily just in my head, as he’s just as loving, affectionate, and doting as ever. Yet for some reason I feel as though we’re separated by a barrier, and it’s impossible for me to cross and I don’t understand why. But this causes me to feel as though he’s going to leave me, that one day he will finally wake up and realize that I’m not actually who he thought or hoped I was and he wasted too much time and energy on me, and that he’s not happy with me for a vast majority of reasons and then leave? How do I bridge the gap that I feel like I must have somehow imagined and then created?

How do I write out the intrusive thoughts that my brain plays on repeat to torture me? How do I explain that my body seems to be able to recall sensations it has never experienced in this lifetime? I have been hit by large vehicles, and years later I can recall the sensations perfectly but why is it that my body knows how it feels to burn, to drown, to suffocate, to be electrocuted?

How do I get back to a point of being capable of functioning without breaking down over every minor thing? How is it that I was ever functional before? How did I manage to go to school or hold down jobs, have friendships and relationships, how is it that I managed to parent and keep a house clean? How did I ever do things before, when I can’t even seem to drag myself out of bed?

How do allow my therapist to help me, and to tell her the things that are bothering me and that I am struggling with, when I can’t even put it into words for her or even other people? It’s her job to listen to me without judgment, so why do I feel incapable of telling her that I’m struggling and instead play it off like I’m just constantly anxious and manic? I’m not, dammit. I’m fucking depressed and why the fuck can’t I just tell her that?

Why the fuck am I so embarrassed, so ashamed to feel the things that I am feeling? Why am I ashamed to admit that I am depressed and struggling? 

Why can’t I go a fucking day without crying, or a day without feeling completely and utterly worthless and useless?

Why can’t I find words for the fucking feelings I have and the shit that my brain is putting me through? This post doesn’t even describe anything or give any of it justice. 

Why can’t I look at my kitchen without breaking down into a mess and immediately just crawling back into bed under the covers and wishing that I weren’t still here?

Why can’t I stop plotting ways to leave? Not in a scary permanent fashion but more just in a running away sort of deal. I have been trying to avoid the scarier thoughts, but I can feel that they’re there.

I have been neglecting everything, which is something I am ashamed of. Which, obviously makes me feel worse. But I’m so overwhelmed by everything, I can barely move or bring myself to do even small necessary tasks. I break down crying and ask my 11y/o to refresh the cat’s water dishes. That’s ridiculous. It’s a simple task that takes like ten seconds.

And then also why the fuck does my trauma and RSD have to constantly plague my thoughts with shit like I’m not good enough and whatever? I’m fucking tired of it. I’m so fucking tired of it

I’m so done you guys, I’m so done. I don’t want to feel like this anymore. I have been struggling and I have been spiraling, and I just can’t handle it anymore.

People keep checking up on me and I don’t even know what to say at this point. I either just ignore it or keep saying things like ‘yep im fine, just the usual’ because I mean thats not really completely incorrect. It is ‘the usual’ even if for some reason it’s more intense and frequent than usual.

I keep telling myself I just need a mental health day. But how do you even give yourself a mental health day when you don’t do anything or go anywhere? When you have no money to spend on yourself? I already take breaks from everything, to the point of basically just neglecting it. So what would a mental health day even look like? I play my games, I read, I occasionally do art, I try to do things I enjoy. I forced myself to go on a walk yesterday. I wouldn’t say that made a difference. If anything I felt worse later in the evening once my husband got home because I felt like I had done something wrong. (He didn’t do anything to make me think that. He was proud I had gone for a walk and done something to get dressed for and get out of bed. He praised me. But still I wound up feeling like I did something wrong, which is why I think it’s in my head.)

I’ve been playing a lot of video games and mobile games. I’ve been using a lot of escapism and I don’t even know what I’m escaping from. I just would prefer to be in a different world or reality, I guess, and get wildly uncomfortable and unhappy realizing that I’m in the one I’m in. I don’t know.

I’m just... I’m struggling. Badly. and I don’t have the right words to explain it. This honestly didn’t touch it, despite the wall of text attempting to.

I’m sorry.

[books-bring-you-to-wonderland]

im just gonna list ships i like and you can pick and choose (please dont write all of these that is too much). moohmtoonz, pandaohmcat, jiggly noss, daithi de vanoss, moogla, vantoonz, pandacat

Do all of them you said? Okay >:)

Moohmtoonz

-Buff, buff, n fluff. Brock and Luke are broad shouldered and big armed kinda dudes, and Ohm is very lucky for the eye candy and makes sure to tell all of their friends about it every single day

-Brock makes sure that there are fresh flowers on the table everyday, and Ohm doesn't have the heart to tell him that it makes his allergies kick up because the flowers make Brock so happy

-Ohm might not be the best cook, but he'll be damned if he can't be in the kitchen; he usually bakes bread, cakes and cookies and his boyfriends are all too happy to shower him with praise

-Luke usually sleeps in a separate room, since he knows how bad he can snore- but most mornings he wakes up with a boyfriend under each arm anyways, so maybe he doesn't snore as bad as he thinks

-Luther has to dress his boyfriends some days, it's not his fault they're both total dads and have not a lick of style between the two of them ("Ohm, those jeans make your ass look flatter than a pancake")

-Delirious can get pretty jealous that his best friend is busy with double the pretty boyfriends, so he usually ends up 4th wheeling on their dates

Pandohmcat

-Shoes. So many shoes. Between Ohm's boots and Anthony and Tyler's massive sneaker haul, there is no room in the house for anything

-In general, there's no room in the house for anything; there are dog toys, shoes, clothes, plants, figures, collectables, and posters everywhere. It's a very organized but still cluttered mess

-Ohm doesn't get why his boyfriends love cars so much either, but he still smiles when they gush about it and nods along as if he has any idea what they're talking about

-These three absolutely rock date night, and usually end up at their little local bowling alley or at a bar for some good wings and good beer

-Tyler gets a bit pouty when Anthony and Ohm play together all night, and usually ends up crashing one of their offices for some well needed kisses before bed

-Tyler's parents are more than happy that his son not only got one boyfriend but *two*; it just means Wilddad has more sons, and he pulls out the baby album everytime the trio come around for dinner

Jigglynoss

-The "we are never playing mario kart ever again" couple

-Anthony is absolutely astounded by Evan's music career, and more often than not he's in the studio with Evan just watching his boyfriend work and mix, and he finds something really beautiful about Evan's passion for his work

-Late at night (or early in the morning), Evan will stumble into their bedroom and wake Anthony up to have him listen to the latest edit of his song

-Evan isn't the biggest fan of crowds, and usually holds onto Anthony's hand or arm tight- Anthony always makes sure to give a reasurring squeeze or smile to calm him down

-No, Vanoss doesn't pay his gmod mapmaker to put in cute little love notes for Panda to find, that's ridiculous!

-When they're not in the mood to cook, Anthony's go to is a peanut butter and jelly- Evan used to not even like the sandwiches till Anthony started making them for him

Daithi de vanoss

-They're little shits. They're the kinda couple who prank each other- like replacing the sugar caddy with salt, or putting saran wrap on the toilet bowl

-Nogla is the softer of the two and definitely more romantic; he likes to play silly love songs on his acoustic when it's a rainy day or when Evan's come back from tour, and it never fails to make him melt

-That being said, Evan wants to do a collab with his boyfriend bur Nogla always gets so shy, and mutters something about wanting to get better at singing before they work on music together

-They're definitely a sight to see in public or in cons; Evan's always dressed in black, with skinny jeans and designer shoes and his ever present baseball hat- while Nogla usually looks like he's rolled out of bed and threw on whatever wrinkled clothes were on the floor

-Evan does not like chocolate milk, but he drinks it because it's basically the only beverage in the house

-These two kiss in bed all the time- it's where Evan feels most comfortable with the whole affection thing, and let's Daithi kiss him breathless under the duvet and hold him close to his chest

Moogla

-Brock kinda has a thing for being the 'housewife'- he likes cooking and cleaning and taking care of Daithi, and it never fails to make his chest swell with pride when Nogla tells him that the house looks nice, or that dinner was fantastic

-They probably only own comfy clothes, and only dress up for special occasions and anniversarys- and even then, Nogla always asks Moo if he can tie his tie (it's adorable everytime)

-If Nogla wants to hide a gift for Brock, he'll put it in the tallest cabinet or on top of the fridge; so far, Brock hasn't found out about his secret hiding spots

-They're both homebodies and would rather spend an evening in with each other than go out somewhere fancy

-Nogla loves taking Brock out to the fair however, and wins him the biggest prize he can everytime without fail. The collection they have in the house takes up a lot of space in the guest bedroom, but Brock insists they stay

-Oh these two sing Christmas songs together for sure, and they harmonize pretty well (even if David can get a little silly during the songs sometimes). It never fails to make Brock melt into a useless gay puddle when David sings to him

Vantoonz

-These two are a very busy couple; merch, streams, tours, recording, sponserships; they're both usually up far past bedtime, but they make it work

-Evan calls Luke his "trophy husband" and Luke honorably takes the title- he likes dressing up and looking good for his man, what can he say?

-They are CAT DADS and spoil the ever living shit out of their kitties. Evan bought a 300 dollar cat tree that has never been used a day in their life (they liked the box better)

-The only thing that they ever argue about is pizza toppings; Luke likes hawaiian, and Evan thinks it's a disgrace to pizza everywhere (they usually end up getting supreme and calling it a day)

-Luke can get kinda clingy believe it or not, and if Evan's busy recording he'll just wrap his arms around Evan's waist and press little kisses to his hair

-Evan did not like the beard at first, but it grew on him- even if Cartoonz wakes up looking like a dirty old pirate most mornings

Pandacat

-Anthony shares his absolute delight over Pokémon (cards and games) with his boyfriend, who usually returns the enthusiasm. They both think that Charmander is the best starter, but they squabble on which pokemon type is the best

-They probably play football (the american one) with each other in the yard, and things can get pretty rough. Tyler once apologized for a good two hours straight after he accidentally elbowed Anthony in the eye (Panda just laughed and kissed him to shut him up)

-Gym dates, though Tyler really just watches Anthony work out while he just kinda jogs on the treadmill the whole time

-Tyler's a little on the chubby side, and Anthony's all for it- he likes making hearty dinners and loves when Tyler gets second helpings ("You like my cooking? I'm shook, babe")

-Kino is Anthony's son, and nothing in the world can change that.

[dont-rainonme]

thor made you wet

[loki x reader]

[summary] - amidst the stress and problems of the modern world, you find yourself enjoying a small thoughtful moment with your lover. (set after endgame)

[warnings] - swearing?? + tiny pinch of angst

[a/n] - in this story no one dies in endgame!! natasha, tony and steve are all here, along with all the other avengers, because it’s what they deserve!! also this was based off an experience i had, except i have no boyfriend and i just ran in the rain by myself. i had so much fun writing this and i hope you enjoy reading it! <3

“tony stark is going to be the death of me.”

grumbling, loki trailed behind you, as he neatened his pile of papers. you sighed, which was enough to tell him you agreed with him, as you ran your fingers messily though your hair. you could almost feel the built-up stress peel off with every stroke.

it had been a long day at the compound; after the recent events of the battle against thanos and his army, the entire team had been overloaded with paperwork from the government concerning the damages inflicted, the sudden reappearance of those who were snapped, and actual details of what happened.

tony was probably the most agitated - he was the face of the avengers after all. with all the news coverage of him and the team, along with what had happened with thanos, all this paperwork stressed him out and it stressed the entire team out, including you and loki. it was currently half two in the morning, and you were honestly him glad you could finally go home with loki.

you sighed for what was probably the thousandth time today, pushing open each door, as you lethargically progressed down the compound’s corridor. you turned your head around to face loki as you spoke, pushing open the last door that lead outside.

“should we get a take-out? i don’t know if i can be asked to-“

loki yanked you back by your collar, his other hand dropping everything in it and protectively holding you close to his body.

“that was close,” he casually said, heaving slightly.

startled, you looked at what loki was staring at through the doorframe. rain angrily lashed down onto the land, puddles pooling and merging together, as they created a thin sheen of water across the floor.

“ohhh... shit. that’s a lot of rain.”

that was an understatement. the dark, clouds above gave a ruptured growl, and you could feel the powerful rumbles vibrate throughout your body.

“i have an umbrella we can share. i’ll just get it out..”

loki crouched down and slid his bag off, rummaging inside. mesmerised by the rain, you kept your eyes fixed on the view as you spoke:

“thor’s probably the reason this is happening, you know.”

loki heaved a sigh.

“typical. that oaf was always expressive with his feelings. if i had to guess he’s probably in a bad mood right now.”

“you don’t say.”

as if to confirm your suspicions, the sky flashed a sheet of white, the thunder rumbling angrily. you smiled, outstretching a hand to feel the cool droplets hit your skin. after being stuck in an office for the entire day, it was a refreshing sensation. your smile morphed into a smirk; you had a very reckless idea.

loki exhaled as he stood up, opening the umbrella.

“there. now...“

you turned to face him slowly, making sure that he could understand your intention just by your look.

“fuck it.”

and then you ran.

“wait (y/n)-“

you screamed with exhilaration, legs moving mechanically, as you ran as fast you could. your hands instinctively flew above your head to shield yourself from the pelts of rain, but you knew that was useless. your clothes were immediately soaked as if you were in the middle of the flow of a river, not in a rain shower. behind you, you could hear loki yelling, before his voice was overpowered by the violent pattering of the rain.

it hauled down so thickly you could hardly see through the blanket of water. amidst the dripping darkness, two bright lights shone out suddenly, followed by a small ‘click!’. it was the car. this only encouraged you to run even faster, skidding across the slippery surface, as you jerked the car door open. you lunged into your seat, slamming the door, as loki followed just after you.

you both sat there, recovering from your sudden surge of adrenaline, as your chest heaved. it only took one look between you two to break that silence, before you both burst into a fit of laughter.

“you... are insane,” loki breathed out, his long, jet curls plastered to his face.

“that was amazing. i’ve never felt so alive.”

“we’re soaking wet.”

you grinned.

“i know. can we do it again?”

“you are an absolute child,” loki sniffed, “you could’ve gotten a cold.”

he sounded like an irritated mother. you shuffled in your seat to turn to him, smirking.

“you’re concerned about me catching a cold when i’ve been to space and fought against robots, aliens and the universe’s possibly largest threat?”

“yes.”

you blinked, mouth hanging open slightly. it was such a quick and simple answer that you were surprised.

“i love you,” you whispered, eyes wide with adoration for the god sitting in front of you. loki turned to face you, wearing an expression of equal surprise.

“that was random.”

“sooo.. you don’t want me to love you?”

“no! no! it’s just that... i’ve missed this.”

you raised an eyebrow.

“elaborate.”

“i’ve been missing the times where it was just us two and the world around us didn’t matter for that moment. with all that’s been happening, and what had happened, we never really got to have those small, personal moments again. everything just got in the way. and just hearing you say that you love me made me realise that. it was almost like i remembered that we were together. not like i forgot we were! but it just made me realise how much we’ve been through and how much i love you.”

too dumbstruck by his profound response, you sat in a brief minute of silence. the only thing you could really hear was the lashing of the rain against the car windows.

“i’m sorry if that was weird,” loki mumbled, slumping in his seat as he stared blankly at his shoes.

“loki-“

he continued, voice wavering, “everything just came out in such a mess and it probably just sounded so stupid-“

“loki.”

you said it more firmly this time. he shot his head up, surprised to see you with hands pressed against each other in front of your mouth, eyes gleaming with heartfelt tears.

loki creased his brow. did he upset you?

“are you alri-“

he didn’t even get to finish his sentence. you threw yourself into him, not caring at all about your drenched clothing, as you straddled him, as your arms and legs hugged tightly around him. he gave a started ‘oof!’ the air being knocked out his lungs from your sudden hug.

“i am very much alright. this entire thing makes me very happy.”

you inhaled him deeply, the faint scent of fresh dew, coffee and leather lulling you into an incredibly comfortable slumber.

“(y/n).”

you didn’t respond, but smiled into his chest. you were far too content to be bothered to move. you felt the familiar tug of sleep pulling on your eyelids.

“darling.”

deep down, loki loved this just as much as you did. so he sighed, giving in and slowly ran his fingers down your scalp and through your hair. he stared out the windshield, the rain slowly calming down to a therapeutic background noise, as his head rested on yours. your bodies intertwined perfectly like a jigsaw puzzle.

“don’t stop.”

loki looked down. you stared up at him with such large, bright eyes. he hadn’t even realised he had stopped playing with your hair, after being lured into his own sleep.

“so you’re awake.”

“i was on the verge of sleeping.”

“same thing,” he breathed out, as he shifted in his seat. rubbing your eyes, you clumsily rolled back into your seat next to his.

“i love how there’s the marks from i hugged you,” you giggled, indicating the you-shaped damp marks on his clothes.

“to be fair, you were soaking. my brother got you wet,” loki stopped himself before he could continue. his eyes widened in horror at what he said, whilst you erupted into laughter, “nO! not like that! (y/n) you know what i mean!”

“for someone with the reputation of having a clever tongue,” you said between laughs, “that was probably the most childish thing i’ve heard you say. im treasuring this moment forever.”

loki groaned, sliding his hands down his face, before slumping down on the wheel.

“my dignity,” he whined.

“what about it?”

“it’s gone.”

“you are incredibly dramatic.”

he gave another small whine again, this time banging his head repeatedly on the wheel. it was nice to see loki so... normalised? domesticated? seeing him so open and more expressive about his feelings made you happy.

“cheer up,” you said, edging him on, “look up. it’s not raining anymore.”

loki lifted his head. you were right. the raining had ceased, the water now dripping lazily down the smooth surface of the windows.

“and?”

smirking, you knew what you were going to say.

“it means thor won’t get me wet again.”

“you know what-“

you kissed him before he could say anything else.

and as your lips connected, as you felt that spark you always felt, everything felt right.

this was right.

[spider-bih]

Flower Girl [Peter Parker]

Pairing: Peter Parker x Female!Reader

Warnings: More angst from a mood drop im sorry, based off this fic. A little graphic, so that might be triggering.

A/N: my series are coming along i promise, i just don’t want to hate what i write so i write what comes to me. another long fic yikes.

Dark brown hair, dark brown eyes. Both matching- yet you swore you saw more colors in his eyes- kind of. The colors you saw were very dull, but they were there. Something stripped him of all his colors, and you hoped to be able to put them back for him. Even if it meant dulling some of your own.

You kind of wished you hadn’t been so hopeful or so wanting. You gave him some of your colors without him knowing. He ate them up, yes, but they didn’t change him. He just wanted your flowers and something to numb everything inside of him.

You only gave him flowers.

You were his flower girl. You provided him with some very special flowers. A favorite to someone he knew- someone he mourned. Sometimes he remembered you, and sometimes he didn’t. It was the times that he remembered you that you lived for. It was like some twisted high for you. You hated it, but you loved it as well. You got a look at who he was before. What kind of man he was before the world destroyed him from the inside out.

One day, he remembered you. He carried out a conversation with you, somewhat.

“I just really love these flowers.”, he says, giving you a half warm smile.

“They’re really pretty, so I can see why.”

A different smile takes over his face, it’s big and genuine and your heart jumps upon seeing it, “Heh, you’re really pretty too-”, he cuts himself off, looking visibly shaken.

You’re flattered and for a moment, unaware of why he looks that way. You think it’s embarrassment, innocent embarrassment, so you say, “Hey, it’s okay-”

He shakes his head, “No. N-No it’s not I- you look like her and- and these are hers- hers. I can’t. I’m so sorry- I have to go.”

Then he’s off, leaving you confused and flustered. What do you make of that? Who is she and what had she done to him?

That should’ve been your first sign. The first big red flag. He loved another girl- his heart belonged to someone else, so therefore it’d be wrong and useless to give him yours. Giving him yours might fill the gaping hole in his chest, but it wouldn’t stop the bleeding. It would only leave you empty and cold, and it would make him feel more guilty.

Your flower boy knew he couldn’t love you, not the way you wanted and deserved. You deserved someone fresh- a clean slate. Someone who could move forward from their past, and not cling to it like he did. He clung until his hands bled, and even then he refused to let go. His past was his lifeline, it was all he knew. She was all he knew. He couldn’t remember who he was before her, and he didn’t know who he could be without her. When he had thought of the future, he had thought of her- but she’s gone now, so what was his future?

You didn’t deserve the baggage he had- the scars he hid. He didn’t want you to pour yourself into his empty shell and lose all of what you were. You looked too much like her and he had to constantly remember that you weren’t her. It wasn’t healthy, but god- you looked at him in such a way..

He had to try, just for your sake. Maybe you’d see just how messed up he’d become and you’d leave. Maybe-

He let himself talk to you and befriend you. You grew to know him, taking it all slow. You learned of his bad habit of mixing his meds with alcohol and how he tended to forget for awhile. You did your best to help him out of it- did all you could to learn him and try to ground him, but he was like sand. You could grab fistfuls and hold onto them, but at some point, only mere tiny grains would stay stuck to your palms. Useless and uncomfortable.

Still, you were hopeful, and so you held onto those tiny grains. You clutched them tight and one day, you swore it paid off.

He kissed you.

His lips had been warm and inviting, despite being chapped. It was a feeling you thought you could get used to. It was addicting- but that was the problem. Addictions were hardly ever a good thing, and though the highs could be amazing, the lows were damn near torture. As soon as the kiss had happened, it stopped when his salty tears touched your lips. He pulled away abruptly, horribly shaken and with such a pitiful look on his face.

“I can’t.”, he told you, “I fucking can’t..”

You’d realized that shaken look was not from embarrassment, but some form of regret. Like he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t have and that should have told you just how attached he still was, even after such time. You didn’t know an entire life had been taken from him, not just one, but two. An entire happy future was ripped from him and he couldn’t cope.

His grains of sand were turning into air but you still hung on- you were so sure he would change, so positive this twisted cycle of highs and lows would balance out. You let yourself fall into it- because you loved him. You loved when he touched you and when he held you. You loved when you got to hold him and when you could kiss his tears away. You loved Peter Benjamin Parker and dammit, he tried.

He tried so hard to love you, but it just wasn’t enough. He couldn’t do it.

He’d never been more sorry. His soul was infected with sorrow and emptiness- and he let it eat away at you. He did- and so once he was gone, so was that part of you he took..

You remembered losing it all as if it’d happened hours ago.

“Things are getting crazy out there..”, he tells you, leaning against the wall near your window. He peers out of it, awaiting the signal for him to go.

“You don’t have to leave.”, you say, coming up behind him and wrapping your arms around him. You hug him tightly, but he remains stiff as he always does on low nights.

“I do. It’s my job, you know that.”

“Your job is what hurt you. You’re miserable, and other heroes exist for a reason.”

He sighs and lets his head drop. It’s the same conversation you’ve had since he let you in a little. You tell him he doesn’t have to, he insists he does. It always ends in scratchy throats and tears and he’s so so tired. He knows you are too.

“I know.. so.. after this, after tonight, I’ll stop. I know I’ve been unfair to you. I know... I know it hurts when you hear me talk about her or forget everything so.. I promise. After tonight.. I’ll try.”

Your heart soared- you’d been waiting for this cycle to end. For the coaster of hurt to finally come to an end, “Really?”

“Yes.”, he said, and he’d been sincere. He hopes you know.

He never intended for it to come to what it had. He’d kissed you and held you and you felt so much relief. Maybe it was selfish of you, to press and press and press. You wanted him, but at the end of it all, he was never yours. He belonged to another girl, to another life. Maybe if things were different- maybe if you’d met him first or he left her on mutual terms.. maybe, none of this would have happened.

“Spider-Man down! Everyone is in shock, Queens own hero was last seen falling from a skyscraper..”

People were screaming, some were crying. The sound of reporters buzzing surrounded you as you ran to find him. You remember how your lungs burned and how your legs felt like they might fall off. You could feel your heart thudding in your chest, but at the same time it had felt like it had simply vanished. You shoved past crowds, gaining strength you didn’t know you had. You tore through that yellow tape, dashing into the debris despite the screaming officers behind you. Iron-Man and some others were still around, shouting to you to go, but you couldn’t. You saw how he fell.. where he fell..

You found him on the ground, a disgusting dark puddle surrounding his head and shoulders. There were tiny bits and pieces of something mushy surrounding him, but you refused to let yourself identify them. His limbs were twisted in unnatural ways and he was gurgling slightly. His suit was torn, showing off more, less fatal, injuries. His accelerated healing kept him alive- anyone else would’ve been long gone. However, Spider-Man couldn’t escape this, the healing wasn’t fast enough.

You shakily reached for his mask, but he stopped you with what strength he could muster.

“Don’t.. it’s...no..”

“You promised..”, you say, feeling a lump rise in your throat, “You promised, Peter..”

He coughs, “M’...s-sorry..but I... I see her..”, he starts to choke again, his mask trapping the blood dribbling out of his nose and mouth, “I see them..”

“Peter! You promised! Peter- don’t leave me! Please! I’m sorry I pushed so much, I’m sorry! I only wanted.. I just..please..”

What did you want? What was it? You knew him- but did you really? Did you when you ignored the way he sobbed quietly next to you every night he slept with you? When you turned away and tuned him out every time he tried to set you free? When you clung to a tired and broken man for all this time? Did you really know him? Did you really love him?

Or did you assume he’d bounce back to who you thought he was- to the bright happy man you saw in that diner that one night? To the man his Aunt described him as- the one she hoped you’d find and bring out of him.

“Sorry..”, he gurgles one last time, leaving you there alone in the mess you let fester. 

Dark hair, dark brown eyes. Both matching- yet no man ever met the criteria you were looking for. You tried and tried- but you never got what you wanted- what you craved. You just left more empty souls in your wake. You blame yourself-

He blames himself..

“Iɴ ᴍᴇᴍᴏʀʏ ᴏғ ᴀ ʙᴇʟᴏᴠᴇ�� ɴᴇᴘʜᴇᴡ, ғʀɪᴇɴᴅ, ᴀɴᴅ ʜᴇʀᴏ. Nᴇᴠᴇʀ ғᴏʀɢᴇᴛ.” “Iɴ ᴍᴇᴍᴏʀʏ ᴏғ ᴀ ᴏɴᴄᴇ ʙᴇᴀᴜᴛɪғᴜʟ sᴏᴜʟ. I’ᴍ sᴏʀʀʏ I ʙʀᴏᴋᴇ ʏᴏᴜ..”

“Welcome home, Peter. We’ve been waiting for you.”

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