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oddsconvert · 7 months ago

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Shattered #10 - Happy Birthday, August! Part II

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CW: kidnapped whumpee, captivity (kinda), defiant whumpee, whumpee thinks caretaker is a whumper, forced to kidnap references, vampire caretaker, unwilling whumper, forced to be whumper, ALOT of self-loathing and fucky thoughts and guilt and all of it, weapons, adult language, mentions of blood, brief mention of vomit/nausea, reference to toxic/abusive family dynamic (if I've missed any, please let me know! <3)

Part two! A long time coming! The final part should drop in the next few days/this week! :D thank you to the amazing @whumpcereal for her AMAZING beta on this 🥺🫶

---

August has always dreamt of cake on his birthday, the warm scent of sugar and butter taunting his vampiric senses like forbidden fruit. The cake would be chocolate, of course. Every human loves chocolate; it must be the tastiest thing on Earth. This year, there would have been one hundred and thirty candles, barely fitting on top of it. And August could blow them all out and make his birthday wish. Just like the humans do.

But if the flickering flames on his imaginary cake could really grant his wishes, he wouldn’t wish for chocolate. With a single puff of breath, he’d wish to rewind time and erase this horrific day out of existence. Or, perhaps, he’d wish for a clean slate - a life free from the regret that eats him alive. But above all, he would wish to finally be happy - whatever that means. But where does August get the gall to wish for his own happiness when he is the catalyst of another’s misery?

He stole a human being tonight. He crept through the streets, snatched them from where they slept and locked them away. He’d lurked in the shadows and all, like a true monster. As far as the human is aware, they saw the stars for the last time this eve and they’ll never feel fresh air stream through their lungs again. August could see it the moment their eyes first locked - the human feared the blood coursing through his own veins was his no longer, that he had become nothing more than food.

No, if August had birthday candles, he should be wishing for the human’s pain to stop, not his own. He should pray for any memories of this miserable night to fade away, and for the human to feel nothing but warmth and safety for the rest of his days. How dare August make this about himself?

How dare August call himself a doctor?

Really, if August is anything other than a feral creature, he is a coward. He can’t find a drop of courage in his selfish core to face the human. Of course not. That would mean facing up to what he has done to the human.

Instead, August kneels in the bathroom, and he hugs the toilet bowl tight in his arms. He sputters and heaves as spit dribbles from his lips. It’s a battle against wave after wave of never-ending nausea. August is sickened by himself. Repulsed by the cruelty that he and his kind are capable of. Even if he earned his family’s stamp of approval tonight - something he’s always dreamed of and strived for - it wasn’t worth it. Not one bit. He refuses to hurt, abuse and sacrifice an innocent life for a scrap of their regard. Curse their prideful smiles and damn their hollow praise.

CRASH! Shattering glass pierces through the silence in-between retches. August’s heart leaps up into his throat, and his gut clenches.

His human is awake - no! August shakes that insidious thought from his head. Not his, and never his. The human does not belong to him.

August wills the ground to open up and swallow him whole. The thought of skulking down to that basement with his tail between his legs and shame swelling in his chest - it turns his already churning stomach with bubbles of dread. Still, he must. He peels himself from the bathroom floor, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, and makes his way downstairs to greet his guest. There’s not a second spare to wallow and drown in self-pity.

He grips the stair bannister for dear life, his knees threatening to buckle beneath him. Still, he forces his dragging feet to move one step at a time down to the basement. There’s no backing out of this, no turning and running now. August needs to face the music–or face his victim, rather. He must fix what he’s done to this poor human.

There is the sound of a jarring crash, and then another dull thud resonates from behind the locked basement door. August’s shaking hands fumble to fit the key in the lock. With a click, the door opens, and he cautiously descends into the dimly lit basement, every footstep echoing in the sudden, eerie silence.

That is until he hears the human’s heart. It pounds like a war-drum in August’s ears, each beat louder and more erratic. August flicks the light switch, and as the basement floods with light, he freezes on the spot, beyond horrified at the scene before him.

His life's work, decades of dedication, lay in ruins. His surgery looks like the aftermath of an explosion. All the furniture is flipped over, and shards of shattered glass sparkle across the floor like jewels amongst the blitz. Charts and graphs once meticulously hung on the wall now dangle in tatters, their scientific data reduced to meaningless scraps. His medicinal cabinets have been ransacked; trails of viscous liquid snake across the concrete floor from countless broken vials. The air is thick with the acrid smell of chemicals.

And there, behind his masterpiece of destruction, cowers the human, pressed flat against the farthest wall, a scalpel gripped in trembling hands held out before him. Its sharp tip is pointed in August’s direction, glistening against the surgery's harsh strip lights.

August has seen fear in human eyes more times than he can possibly count, but he has never seen fear like this. The human’s eyes burn with such primal terror that they touch the very core of August’s being. In the man’s eyes, August sees his own fear, his own isolation and his own despair. But August stays there, unable to look away no matter how it hurts him. He is trapped in this man’s stare, lost in a labyrinth of his own reflections.

But August feels something else too. A raw and untamed emotion. Rage. All-consuming anger that makes goosebumps prickle down the vampire’s pale skin. Rage courses through the human’s veins like a river of molten lava.

“You stay the hell back!” the human roars until his voice wavers and wobbles. He swings the scalpel into the empty space between them, stabbing at the air. “Don’t you dare come near me!”

August’s hands fly up in surrender. Words escape him. What could he possibly say to make this right? Where does he even start? Surely nothing he could say could do justice to his regret.

“I’m sorry-”

That’s the first thing that blurts out of August’s pathetic mouth. Because it is the only and the most sincere thought that comes to him. As though his apology could ever mend the damage or heal the pain he’s caused tonight.

August is shaking now. He can’t stop. His palm slams against his mouth as he chokes back a guilt-warbled cry. “I’m - so…I’m SO sorry. I - I don’t - I…I -I never. I didn’t want to hurt you. I - I won’t hurt you! I don’t want this. Please - y-you have to believe me. You’re safe here-”

August moves without thinking, over the rubble and glass shards. He moves barely an inch closer, and the human erupts into panic. Like a great cat, the human swiftly pounces and flips the table in front of him to form a barricade, stopping August dead in his tracks. Surgical instruments clatter about, and yet more glass scatters across the cement floor.

“I SAID STAY BACK!” the human brays like a feral animal. His chest heaves dramatically as his lungs seem to fight for breath, and he takes an unsteady step back to create even more distance between them. Gingerly, he cradles his hand, still clutching the scalpel. A gasp escapes his lips as crimson wells from a sudden gash. The tang of iron hits August’s nostrils, drool coats his tongue and his fangs tingle, ready to feed. He wrestles with his animalistic instincts and pushes back the unwanted and primal hunger that threatens to take over. He knows he doesn’t want it, but his body thinks he needs it.

The human had hurt himself in his own destructive frenzy. August can’t help but feel responsible for that too. But that doesn’t seem to deter the human, in fact, it fuels him. He launches himself at the countertops. In one fluid motion, sweeping his arms across the surfaces, clearing it of every single object in a deafening cascade that shatters across the floor.

“HUMAN! PLEASE STOP!”

The human doesn’t speak, but a slow, cold anger radiates off him. Brows slam together, his jaw clenches until the muscles stand out starkly. A single word, each syllable dripping with disdain, finally leaves his lips: "'Human'?"

August immediately realises his mistake. Guilt eats him from the inside out. You utter barbarian; he scolds himself.

“I have a name, you know!” The human snaps incredulously, bloody hands curling into fists.

“Of course, of course! Just…” August breathes, “What is your name?”

“Why the fuck would I tell you?!”

The bookshelves are the human’s next victim. He doesn’t bother pulling or ripping at them; he just bulldozes them with a barge of his shoulder. The shelves topple with a cacophony of splintering wood and flapping pages. His gaze is already fixed on his next target: a framed diploma hanging on the wall, defying the human’s rampage.

“Wait, no! P-Please, not that!” August begs, hands clasped together in supplication. The diploma represents his proudest achievement, everything that he’s worked so hard for. It is the only proof August has that there may be good in him somewhere. “Please! Don’t destroy anything else! I just need you to hear me out!”

“Open the door and let me walk out, vamp,” the human scowls, glossing over August’s pleas. “Or do I have to go through you?”

August swallows hard, the human’s casual threat sending a fresh wave of terror through him. He doesn’t doubt the human’s raw strength or willpower for even a second. The destroyed furniture and the fiery defiance in his eyes promise more violence. A heavy silence stretches between them, thick with tension.

“I - I want to help you - please just let me explain all of this-”

The human slams his fist into the nearest wall, a crater of dust left in its wake. August flinches into himself. Then, the man lets out a sound that no soul should ever have to hear. It’s a keening cry - a grieving wail for the life he fears he has lost. It rocks August to his core. It’s bloodcurdling.

“Why’d you choose me, huh?!” The human seethes, damn near foaming at the mouth. “Is it because I sleep rough on the streets? Is that it? Because my life is so fucking expendable?!”

Then, it’s as if a dam has burst. The human’s face just crumples as a choked sob croaks from his lips, barely even audible. Slowly, he slides down against the wall. Head in hands, shoulders slumped, any bravado completely drained from his posture.

“You knew no-one would come for me… didn’t you?” The human manages a whisper, his head hung low in defeat. Words just seem to keep failing August time and time again, he can only watch miserably and quietly.

“DIDN’T YOU?!” the human bellows, eyes bloodshot and wild as his head shoots up. August flinches at the outburst.

“What gives you the right to play god?! What makes my life worth any less than yours, or any other person you could have plucked from the damn street. It was a shitty life. But it was my life! There was nothing left to take from me, and you took it all anyway. You’re a… you’re a parasite.”

August bites his lips and nods, a silent, pathetic apology. He is a parasite. Every word burns like a red-hot fire poker but he knows he deserves every scorch. Scarlet-shame colours his cheeks. Monster, parasite, animal - he’s all of the above.

“I won’t stop fighting you,” the human huffs through tears of fury. “I won't stop until I kill you, even if it kills me. You're right. I have nothing, and no-one. Nothing to lose but everything to gain. So if I’m going to go down, I'm going down swinging. Do your worst…leech.”

Leech.

August has always thought of himself as a healer. A protector. It is here, in this moment, he finally realises he is nothing more than the predator he was born to be. Afterall, there is no denying what he has done. He did take the human, he took away everything the human had to take. He, too, sinks to the floor in devastation, landing heavily in a cross-legged slump opposite the tear-streaked human.

Worst birthday ever.

August is drained and depleted, but he won’t waste any more breath on defending himself; he isn’t worthy of any defence. But the very least he can do is comfort the human - help him to weather the storm and be the anchor he needs right now.

“You can keep the scalpel,” August sniffles, “if it gives you some comfort. If it helps you to feel safe.” It’s an impotent gesture. A scalpel would be useless against him in combat if it really did come to that, but hopefully the human can see the sentiment behind the offer. “All I ask is for a minute of your time, and I promise, I will explain everything to you.”

The human stares at the scalpel in his hand and then locks eyes with August’s in a silent duel. No accusation, no defiance this time - only a deep well of desperate inquiry burning in their depths. A million silent questions hang in the air. He begrudgingly nods for August to go on.

“I will take you home tomorrow morning. I swear it. I wish I could open the front door for you and let you stroll free and wave you off into the world, but we’re deep in vampire territory right now. You wouldn’t last five minutes out here on your own. You’ll be snatched back up in a heartbeat, and by a creature less...inviting than myself. We will go after sunrise tomorrow and not a minute later, you have my word.”

“Your word,” the human spits, “Your word means jack all to me.”

“Then let me prove that I am who I say I am - a man of my word. Let me show you to a bed for tonight. Let me give you food and water, and a pillow to rest your head. And then I will leave you be, to get all the sleep you want and need, and I will keep to myself. The next time you see me, it will be to make our journey back to human territory.”

“...Why should I trust you?”

“I’m not asking for your trust.” Heaven knows August doesn’t deserve it, could never earn it. “I’m asking, from the bottom of my heart, for your leniency. You could, and probably should, drive a stake through my chest for what I’ve put you through. I cannot say I would blame you, if you did. But…why don’t we both survive the night, and come tomorrow we go our separate ways?”

Relief floods in as the human seems to reluctantly ponder the deal. It’s just a night. They just need to make it through the night, and then they can both go back to their separate lives and try to forget each other's faces. The human must realise that too, because his boiling anger seems to simmer down. August rises to his feet and slowly moves across the room to extend a helping hand. The human only grunts his curt refusal and snubs the offer, forcing himself up off the cold and unforgiving ground.

“Spare bedroom. First floor. It’s all yours for the night. I’ll show you to it.” August nervously beckons the human over as he heads towards the basement door. The man sluggishly follows behind, keeping a distance that feels like miles. August feels distrustful eyes burning into the back of his head. He half expects to feel the scalpel pierce his spine any second.

But it doesn’t. As August leads the way upstairs, their unified steps echo strangely in the emptiness of the house. With each turn, the sheer scale of this place, his home, hits August anew. In the company of this poor stranger he’s pulled from the grime of the street, the house feels absurdly oversized. Every step reveals yet another opulent space – a bathroom, a bedroom, a study, a library, another bathroom. August marches him through this excessive display of wealth with a sinking heart. Does he truly need all this, especially when the man trailing behind him apparently doesn’t have a penny to his name or a roof over his head?

August pauses before what is now the third bedroom door they’ve come across, this one already ajar. Inside, the air is stuffy and still, as though the room hasn’t been disturbed in decades, and it hasn’t; it is untouched and unslept in. A sliver of moonlight creeps through the drawn curtains and slices across the four-poster bed.

“This is yours,” he motions the human through the doorway, “for the night-” he quickly repeats. He chooses every word with due care and diligence, to reaffirm that this situation is by no means permanent.

Hesitantly, the human steps inside. His eyes flit across the ornately carved furniture and over thick layers of dust. August takes his moment to disappear down the hallway, returning minutes later with a tray holding a jug of water, a glass and a bowl of steaming chicken soup - he was lucky to find the tin of it at the very back of his cupboard. A strained smile tugs at August’s lips as he sets it down on the nightstand.

Again, the human recoils from him, pressing himself into the corner of the room.

“I’ll go now, okay? I-I hope you can get a good night's sleep. If you need me, for anything, my bedroom is on the very end of the hall, on the left”.

“I won’t need you,” the human scoffs. “Go. Leave.”

The rebuff curdles August’s smile, his lips twitch nervously. “As you wish…” he mutters, stalking towards the door with defeat. Hand on the doorknob, he pauses, “My name is August, by the way. Could I please at least know your name, too?”

Rooted to the spot, the human squares his broad shoulders, a challenge radiating from his posture. “Names are sacred, leech,” he declares, teeth gritting together. “I plan to keep that secret for as long as I can keep my mind.”

The human’s words strike August like a physical blow. The air whooshes from his lungs, deflating him like a pricked balloon. Regret, sharp and bitter, settles in his chest. He can’t stay a second longer, not with the humiliating spark of unshed tears threatening to spill. His family is right, he’s a weak and pathetic excuse for a vampire. With a twist of the doorknob, he flees down the hall to his bedroom. He collapses onto his bed and buries his face in the pillow.

—

For the human, however, sleep will be a stranger tonight. Any last vestige of drowsiness flees as the vampire vanishes. Sleep just isn’t in the cards. He has to hold out until dawn. He scrambles for anything he can get his hands on to barricade the door. It’s his first line of defence overnight;it will give him a fighting chance and an advantage over the creature.

The heavy dresser groans in protest as he drags it across the room to block the door, scratching and scraping the floorboards along its path. He doesn’t think twice about the damage, if the vamp gets to destroy his life, then he gets to destroy it’s property. Then the rickety chair and the desk it sits at gets pushed into the barricade. And the bedside tables, the bookcase too. Finally, his gaze falls on the bed and its sturdy oak bedposts. He pulls his scalpel from his pocket and digs his scalpel into the wood, feverishly wedging a chunk out of it with all the strength he has left. Shavings rain down as he whittles it down to a sharpened point. Slapdash, but a stake nonetheless.

Every creek of the settling house, every rustle in the wind sets the human’s teeth on edge. He crawls into the bed and slips under the blankets. He’s pleasantly surprised at how soft they are, and how the mattress feels like he’s floating on a cloud and how warmth seems to instantly envelop his fatigued body. He’s not felt this much comfort in…in, well, years.

But he can’t afford to let his weary eyes slip shut. He stays watching the door like a hawk from his bed, his staked clutched close to his beating chest.

Morning can’t come quick enough.

*!*!*!*!*

Dawn finds the human bleary-eyed but alert. His crafted weapon is still clutched tightly in his palms as he half-stares and blinks drearily at the barricaded door, as ready and poised to attack as he can be. Moonlight has dwindled and now sunlight beams through the velvet curtains instead. He leaps up, rips the curtains open and basks in the sun’s kiss. It’s something he thought he’d never feel again,

He survived the night. It’s nothing short of a miracle. A silent thank you rises in his throat as a single tear slips from his eye. Someone, he thinks, has to be watching over him. His parents, he hopes. There’s no way he would have made it through this without them.

Now the vampire just has to hold true to his promise. If his word holds any weight, the human will be back in human territory before dusk. Yet, the whole situation defies any logic. The human can’t wrap his head around the absurdity of it all. Why would a vampire snatch him, just to return him by nightfall, less than twenty four hours later? He can’t fight the feeling that a deeper motive lurks beneath the surface, a sinister plan at play. Suspicion clings to the human like cobwebs. Beyond the hospitality and kindness… the vampire has to be up to something.

The human dismantles his barricade and heads out to go downstairs. Every fibre of his being screams ‘it’s a trap!’...but the human can’t deny the smallest sliver of hope in his chest, piercing his bubble of suspicion. The vampire had kept true to its word so far, it had left him alone and untouched, fed and watered, a bed to sleep in. It hasn’t laid a hand on him nor tried to feed. In fact, it had kept far away. Maybe the vampire deserves the benefit of the doubt. Maybe, there isn’t anything more to this than meets the eye, and there are no strings attached?

But hope is a dangerous thing, tempting him to lower his guard and leave himself vulnerable for thirsty fangs to sink into. No, he thinks grimly, tightening his grip on the makeshift stake. He will not trust, cautious acceptance will have to do. He’s ready to fight with all he’s got when it all heads south.

He reaches the landing and sneakily peeks over the railing. The vampire stands by the front door, guarding it like a troll bridge. To stop the human from escaping? The vampire meticulously folds up his sleek, black umbrella and places it back in his stand. He looks so tall, impossibly tall, even from the human’s vantage point. The vampire is dressed in a three-piece suit and leather dress shoes that seems more suited to an office boardroom than house wear.

As the human strains for a better look, a sudden creak of the floor makes the vampire snap his head up. Chilling red eyes lock with the human’s in a way that sends a jolt of pure terror down the man’s spine. Would he be punished for this? Would the vampire strip him of his free will and send him marching down to the basement for punishment? He’s heard they can do that–and worse. All the fear sparks anew. He can’t catch his breath - he’s panicking.

But the vampire's eyes aren’t actually filled with the predatory and furious glint he expected. Instead, a swirl of emotions flickers within them - concern, sorrow, even…anxiety? It’s a disarming sight. This creature looks nearly as worried as Lucas feels…

—

"There's been a change in plans,” August laments.

August could literally hear the human’s heart drop in his chest, like a lead weight falling into a deep well. The human’s eyes are wide with despair, and his mouth drops open as though he’s been struck across the cheek. A wave of guilt crashes over August, and he isn’t oblivious to how this looks. It looks like the betrayal and deceit the human has anticipated since he first set eyes on August. August is well aware he just crushed the man’s hopes to dust, and confirmed every doubt and fear. But it’s out of his hands. Mother nature is a cruel mistress.

“No-” the human rasps, nearly falling down the stairs as his legs give out on him. “No, vamp. You said you’d take me home. You said today. You promised-”

“That’s not the element that’s changed. My promises are sworn and imperishable. There is, however, a delay.”

"A ‘delay’…” The human repeats incredulously, a hint of sarcasm to his tone. His suspicion eats away at him, misplaced though it is. August is many things - a liar, he is not. But there’s no way the human could know that. Not yet, anyway. The human takes a cautious step back from August, staring him up and down with disdain.

"A storm is raging outside. The streets are thick with snow and ice, and the skies are dark with thundering clouds. It’s too dangerous to make the drive.”

“I don’t care,” the human snidely retorts. “I’ll walk it if I have to. Just open the door for me, and I’ll be on my merry way. I’ll be out of your hair and you can have your big, lonely mansion all to yourself again.”

Yes, his lonely mansion. All to himself. The words sting more than August cares to admit. He winces like a knife is twisting in his belly. When the human goes home, he will be all alone again. It was nice…is nice…the company. Talking to someone that’s not a suffering patient or his own reflection in the mirror. He already feels the emptiness settling over him once again. He longs for companionship, for someone to share his home with. He sighs, knowing that he'll have to wait a bit longer for his wish to come true. He can’t keep the human here–at least not indefinitely. But he will have to make the human understand that tonight is non-negotiable.

“You can’t-” August shakes his head. The man would never make it home. Not with the minus temperatures and the blankets of snow.

“I can. I am. Move,” the human growls, his hands balled into fists. Only then does August notice the crude stake in the human’s white-kncukled hand. No, this human will never be his friend, but even still, August has a duty to him.

The human storms towards the door and tries to push it open. It doesn’t budge. He barges his shoulder into the door, desperately ramming it. Still it doesn’t give. Soon, he’s kicking and shoving and a warbled cry rockets up his throat. Despite his frantic assault, the door only cracks open slightly.

“Snow,” August chimes in, pointing to the falling white powder crumbling through the gap in the door. “We’re snowed in. Must be at least twelve inches of it, I would think.”

“No. This can’t be happening. We-We climb out the bedroom window!” The human’s eyes light up at the idea, sprinting towards the staircase in a panic.

“And then what will you do? Trek all the way back to human territory in this snowstorm? Do you know how far out we are?”

In the blink of an eye, the human tumbles to the floor in a heap, screaming into his hands, pulling at his hair. The blizzard howls like a banshee outside, a gust of snow blows in from outside. The human knows he’s stuck here. He’s trapped here, with a bloodsucker. He’s going to die. Or at least that’s what he must believe.

“I can’t stay here. With you. I won’t do it.”

“Please,” August says. He resists the urge to move closer; there’s no point in riling the human any more than he’s already riled himself up. “My word is my bond. I won’t harm you. But I can’t in good conscience return you to where I found you. I’m a physician. I can’t put anyone in harm’s way. To sleep rough on a night like tonight–it would be a death sentence.”

The human laughs coldly. “Was this your plan all along? Crush my spirits? Delude me into thinking it’s my choice to stay?”

“I don’t control the weather,” August sighs. “This doesn’t change a thing. I will still take you home as soon as the roads are clear.”

The human remains silent, his jaw clenched. With a final, hate-filled glare, he storms towards the stairs, and, like a sulking teenager, stomps upward in a whirlwind of fury. The slam of his bedroom door reverberates throughout the house.

But the human is still here. He is still safe. August hasn’t failed entirely.

An exhausted breath escapes August’s lips. He isn’t used to this, the vulnerability of sharing his haven and bearing the weight of responsibility for another life. A knot of unease tightens in his gut. These forced close quarters may at least offer him a chance to ease the human’s fear and earn a crumb of forgiveness, but August can’t help but wonder – will they be able to bridge the chasm between predator and prey?

This is going to be a long couple of days…

---

@octopus-reactivated @whatwasmyprevioususername @ramadiiiisme @darkthingshappen @whumpsday @thecyrulik @t0rture-me @redwhump @the-cryptid-finch @snowstuffscuff @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump @wolfeyedwitch @interdimensional-chaos @termsnconditions-apply @whump-blog @leyswhumpdump @not-a-space-alien @onlybadendings @darlingwhump @sparrowsage @flynnswhumpprompts @whumpcereal @wolves-and-winters @ashh-ed @idkmansomeusername @whuarri @33-sdtr-45 @pigeonwhumps @canislycaon24 @the-whumpers-grimm @damienxozmoze @predacon-skydrift @morning-star-whump @neverthelass @espresso-depresso-system @only-shadows-dwell-where-we-are @androgynousqueenie @yetanotheraltwhumpblog @kadeee00 @that-one-small-world @doodlepoodle154 @sodacreampuff @cupcakes-and-pain @topsheepstudent @mylovelyme @anonfromcanada @astrokea @turn-the-tables-on-them

#shattered #lucas slater oc #august crinamorte oc #vampire caretaker #bloodbag whumpee #defiant whumpee #whump #whump writing #whump community #whumpblr #whump blog #whumpee #captivity #blood mention #vomit mention #whumper #forced to be whumper

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whumptober · 3 months ago

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shiny-jr · 1 year ago

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Random idea that I probably won’t write but I thought was worth sharing anyways. About Malleus. Did I write this instead of working on a post? Yes. Anyways. I feel like this can be interpreted as yandere and not yandere so yeah. Picture this...

Ever since he was young, ever since he could remember, Malleus has had the oddest dreams. He doesn’t quite know when they started, they just started one day. The earliest memory he has of the strange occurrences were when he was still a kid, when all he knew was the palace and those within the valley. There was always someone in his dreams, someone he didn’t know. It was a stranger, with flat round ears, not like the pointed ones everyone else he knew had. They looked to be around his age, although he assumed it wasn’t so, because if this was a human than they aged differently than a fae like him did.

At first the meetings in his dreams were awkward. This person seemed as hesitant as him. As for Malleus, well, his grandmother always reminded him to uphold a certain amount of dignity and elegance even if he was still a young prince. Eventually though, somehow, interactions were sparked. It could have happened by an unexpected comment, a glance, or one of them taking the initiative, it happened though. As a fae prince with an already worrying amount of power and status, he was avoided, and there were no others his age within the palace. So this curiosity became his friend.

When he told his caretakers and others about his friend, they assumed it to be an imaginary friend of some sort. To which the prince, irritated, tried to explain that his dear friend was real! Eventually, he began to look forward to sleep, because he wanted to play with his new companion in his dreams. It was eventually brought to the queen’s attention that her grandson was purposefully avoided certain tasks so he could go to bed early and spend more time with this “friend” he insisted he had.

Now, the queen was fair, and she loved her grandson, but she would not tolerate disobedience when the prince became more stubborn concerning these issues. When she had the most experienced magicians look into the matter, they discovered slight traces of magic whenever the prince slept and dreamt of his friend. Its origins were unknown, and for what reason was it there, no one could quite understand either. But it was there. And it became evident that Malleus had been telling the truth, he was seeing someone in his dreams.

Malleus would happily detail his latest adventures to caretakers. He smiled so brightly that he lit up the gloomy dark halls, he was the happiest whenever he got to speak about his friend. He eagerly recounted the stories they shared and the games they played. This friend didn’t know he was a prince, and once they did they didn’t care because they couldn’t realize the influence he had. They were oblivious, but he was happy. Based off what her grandson told, this friend of his seemed just as oblivious as him as to why they met in dreams. Although it seemed harmless at the moment, she could’ve allow it to go on, but Malleus was beginning to prioritize this friend above all. So, she would cut it off. She would not risk it when so much was not known about the circumstances. Much to the young prince’s tears and begging, the queen had her master magicians create a spell powerful enough to sever this mysterious connection and stop these dreams once and for all.

At first, the young prince cried and screamed. The usually calm child threw such a tantrum over the loss of their closest friend. And with his abilities and magic that he had yet to master, he caused such an ominous destructive storm to hang over the valley for several months. It caused flooding and the lightning sparked some fires. For what she did, he never quite forgave his grandmother, even as hundreds of years passed. Whenever it was brought up, he would be bitter and sullen for quite a while. It’s become an unspoken rule to never bring it up around the prince. And still, hundreds of years later, a part of him hoped that whenever he slept, he might dream of his dear friend again. But it never happened, and he’d always wake up to the black canopy above him with them on his mind. It had been so long that he was starting to forget their voice, their face, and it scared him.

So imagine his shock when he had wandered the familiar grounds of the abandoned mansion on campus, as he usually did, only to find it not so abandoned anymore. The lights were on, someone was there inside. At first he was a bit upset that his favorite wandering grounds would no longer be available to him, but his feelings quickly changed when he spotted a figure with an awfully familiar face. The sight of this person on the street that look just as surprised to see him but not for the same reason, caused him to freeze in his tracks and his glowing green eyes to widen. This person standing before him, looked exactly like his dear friend from his childhood dreams, but older.

You were startled to see a tall thin stranger with black hair and black curved horns just outside what was supposed to be your new residence in the dead of night. But what unsettled you even more was the peculiar gleam in his eyes that contained some strange sort of excitement and the wide fang-toothed smile he gave. What caused you to take a step back in apprehension was his smooth voice that greeted you politely, yet eagerly,

“Hello, (Y/n).”

You never once told this stranger your name.

#malleus draconia #Malleus #malleus x reader #twst #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland malleus draconia

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stardustelk · 5 months ago

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The Hidden Meaning of Hollow and Pooky

I saw that some people were mentioning how the imaginary friends resembled a certain aspect of each of the children's personality or someone they knew. I feel like there was something in Hollow that people might not notice.

Hollow: While Hollow looks like an angel, you'll also notice that she has a winder on her back. In the game, Boris (A.K.A. The Ghost) referred to Anthony as a toy. So, Hollow does resemble a wind-up doll. It does make me think that Anthony's parents were never nice people. The moment Anthony was suffering from depression and schizophrenia (some of the symptoms are a little similar), they got cruel with him. Then, send him away so they don't have to deal with him anymore. Similar with a broken toy. The absence of eyes could represent Anthony's trust issues. The inability to see the reality of his parents or grown-ups in general.

Pooky: Someone once mentioned that Pooky looks like a gargoyle. In some ways, that seems appropriate to describe him. Gargoyles are said to ward off evil. Pooky had managed to protect Anabelle from the dangers of her mom and herself. He also reflects Anabelle's caretaker personality and self-sacrificing tendencies.

#imaginaryfriendsasylum annabelle #imaginary friend asylum #imaginary friend #imaginaryfriendasylum

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oligoweee · 1 year ago

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• some whump things I love !!

I don't really make my own whump posts but will give it a try, so here's some I've thought of that I love :)

—

1. Whumpee that can't communicate and due to the injuries caused by Whumper, they have trouble moving due to being in pain and this leads to them just kinda laying in their room alone and crying as they wait for Caretaker to come check on them and gently comfort them.

2. Caretaker wrapping an upset Whumpee in a soft blanket and carrying them to a rocking bench where the two sit down and Caretaker comforts them as they continously rock back and forth until Whumpee calms down.

3. Whumper comforting Whumpee after putting them through a round of torture, they are extremely gentle before proceeding to start hurting them again. Bonus if Whumper still comforts them in a taunting way as they're causing harm.

4. Imaginary/Ghost Caretaker that comforts Whumpee after each and every one of Whumper's outbursts and when Whumper notices that Whumpee is calm they just kinda shake their head disapprovingly and try to come up with ideas on how to break Whumpee.

5. Whumper that conditioned Whumpee to not speak at all and then proceeds to get angry when Whumpee doesn't respond to a question that they can't answer by shaking/nodding their head. Bonus if Whumpee forgot how to speak entirely and it's not just the conditioning.

—

I got inspiration for these from quite a few things so yee ‼️

#whump #whumpee #caretaker #nonverbal whumpee #whumper #comfort #whumper that comforts #imaginary caretaker #ghost caretaker #olive's brain

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helloescapist · 11 months ago

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The Hashiras with a Family | Gyomei Himejima

Word Count: 5665

Setting: Gyomei x gn!reader [established, developed relationship]

Content Warning(s): contains spoilers to Gyomei’s background friend, family discussion, brief mentions of pregnancy, and/or carrying a child.

Summary: headcanons as to what Gyomei Himejima would be like with a family, whether he ever wanted kids, why or why not, what it was that determined he would have a child with you, what he would be like as a parent, and a partner.

There was never a question of whether Gyomei Himejima desired a family. He has always had a natural disposition towards children, towards nurturing the next generation. As though a moth to the flame, he has no will to resist the calling, the gentle pull upon his heart. To care for others comes as naturally as breathing for the Stone Hashira.

Though, it may not have always been his intention to have children of his own. Yet, one cannot deny that he has always gravitated towards a caretaker position.

While other little boys set to work amongst their pretend occupations, the occasional farmer and merchant amongst the would be samurais with sticks at their belt, Gyomei was more than content to accept the duty of caring for the dollies. The warmth of his voice, young and soothed into hummed lullabies, satisfied to rock the playthings to sleep.

Discovered delight in forming little onigiris composed of mud and wild berries for his imaginary family, to greet his pretend spouse from their busy day defending a make-believe castle. Content to live a life of domesticated bliss, to scrub laundry in the rivers, and dry them upon hung lines. Callous of fingers that knew honest work, back that knew labor and the till of the land, and children’s laughter.

It was a desire the Stone Hashira captivated, long before the meaning had proper merit. A dream painted in long nights, in joy of small victories, of first steps, and shoes waiting at the door. Gyomei has never been one to shy away from little ones, such as the way he immediately accepted care for the Kocho sisters upon the loss of their parents, always one to insist in assisting exhausted mothers, and corral rowdy toddlers. Shinobu was a terror as a child, I just know it.

The small press of a smile to his lips, guided only by the sound of their jostled amusement, and the warmth of their tiny hands as the fold into his own, significantly larger palms as though he could hold the entire world his hands and perhaps because to Gyomei, they are the entire world.

As a partner, Himejima is in tune with your needs, with your hopes, and your dreams. He is able to detect from the tone in your voice if he should cook a home cook meal, or just pick up dinner. The Stone Hashira can foresee if there is a need for tea, or if you need something stronger.

There is so much to be said as how overconsiderate of a spouse he is, and because of this, Gyomei was well aware of your desire for a family before it had properly taken form. It was a small smile that had blossomed on your lips on your usual outings. The small coos of an infant during a trip to a grocer that had captivated your attention, drew your eyes in admiration.

Another instance in which a child had been separated from its mother during your tea shop visit, the slight blush met at the touch of realization of how naturally the little one’s hand fits into your palm. The small whisper of hope was the very moment that Himejima became painfully aware of how your gaze lingered for the chubby fingers that bid you farewell when reunited with its mother; the absence of warmth that shattered his own.

The daydreams of a little boy that gave way to the realities of the world as well as the loss of his family, of survival, and little joys of mending ragged clothes, bundled blankets in a rundown temple. A life of blood, sweat, tears, and an empty belly with only the laughter of children to bring meaning to his other wise colorless world. A makeshift family of his own, and for but only a moment, Himejima knew peace. Drew life to his bones, and in the next moment, suffocated him.

Shattered pasts, blistered scars, drudged in planted doubts, insecurities, and the loss of his little ones.

His fault.

To bare witness to the blossom of yearning in your heart… No, no it’s not that the Stone Hashira does not wish for a family. Every aspect of him, has always pined for such a life, dedicated to domesticated bliss, but to dare to dream means to open himself up for the ghost of his pasts.

To face phantoms of those he loved, and those he believed he had damned would only poison his present, corrupt his future. The distant daydream that slipped between his fingers, all too aware of the specters that clasp his heart, and threaten to drag him to the pits of despair. Every time he allows himself to consider the possibility…

The Stone Hashira needs time, and he is all too aware of the scars he bears. As steady as the breath that falls from his lips, the words uttered in quiet shame, asked of your patience. Your understanding. Forgiveness, as he seeks to heal wounds that have only been left to fester. The

To greet the embrace of domesticity, to retire his duties, to know the warmth of children laughter once more. To swallow the guilt of lost lives, of robbed futures to parade upon his own.

No, no Himejima is all too aware of the small fingers that clasped his heart, and now drags him to the pits of despair every time the thought blossoms within his heart. The flow of time to sort out his own feelings, to accept the sorrows of his past, embrace the spirits of the lost to rest with his soul. That to accept that which the Stone Pillar cannot change, the loss of all the love he had captivated, of dreams he had fostered for each of his children, to acknowledge who they were, who they could have been, and what will never be.

To forgive himself.

Grief, loss, and carrying on is never an easy road, and as a partner, you cannot expect him to overcome such devastation with ease. Regardless of how many years have come to pass, and those that will follow, the reality is that they will always be a part of the Stone Pillar’s foundation.

Pieces of his heart, shattered to the night, and even when the time for your family to start, Gyomei will still think of them.

He will hear them in your little one’s laugh, reminiscent of mischief in the middle of the night upon hearing your child’s toes creep against aged wood panels. Danced in wishes across flower petals, childhood games that meet his ears, he will yearn for their hands when your little one folds their fingers of his own. New to the world, and far too small to understand the warmth of love that surrounds it, but it is in these moments, that Himejima can finally… breathe.

Because, you never asked him to forget his children.

If you can find the patience, and compassion for the unique aspect of the man before you, bound to your heart, and tended to scars, you will be more than rewarded. You see, Himejima has no preference for the delivery of your children, or the way that they fall into your lives.

Rather, his only desire is for your children to be healthy. The axe wielder is a patient man, and more than accepting of the world. Over considerate of your needs, he’s just pleased that you both have come to the place in which you are ready to start a family.

In whichever way that may be.

If you are one for the concept of pregnancy, and childbirth, you are in for a pampering, and fretful experience. Gyomei would delight at the round of your belly, his hands naturally drawn to it regardless of the size. Easily captivated between his large hands, one to whisper affection and praise, self-assured that the baby can hear him despite what the taisho era midwives may claim.

In terms of pregnancy, Himejima is perhaps the perfect partner to enter this stage of life with. Bare in mind how in tune he is with your needs, he will be quick to tend to the growing pains of pregnancy. So much so that, you may find it a bit more of a pleasurable experience than others—though you will still have your share of burdens.

You may find yourself frustrated how rigid he can be when it comes to childrearing. Gyomei will take the utmost care to ensure that you are well fed. All midnight cravings satisfied in appropriate quantities, even if it means he must hunt down the tea house owner at 2am to procure your coveted anmitsu with side of pickled plums and steamed silkworms—no he does not understand this by any means, but if it brings you joy, who is he one to question your needs.

Gyomei cannot rearrange the bedding enough to ensure that he has shooed away any of your discomfort, and there will never be enough time to tend to your swollen feet. Fretting, and murmuring over small scoldings to take this delicate time with ease rather than remain steadfast. The early months would only greet the tip of the iceberg. His mother hen ways have only just begun, spent holding your hair, and spending hours dedicated to making porridge. The removal of all potential hazards I know he takes baby proofing very seriously. He’ll remove any potential nausea triggers from your sights and go to extremes to ensure you know comfort.

You will discover all of your original house chores laid to the side, completed without your attendance. Attention to detail has always been a strength of the Stone Pillar, and he will utilize this to provide you with a breezy pregnancy.

If anything, you’re likely to grow bored, and even agitated at how pampered you’ve become. Insisting that pregnancy has not robbed you of your ability to hang laundry.

The second trimester, will only press upon superstitions, the having the joy of sharing your good news amongst the village, and the Demon Slayer Corps. Frequent visits to the shrines, pressed days of Inu no hi, and the insistence that you wear a hara-obi. Fretting over the comfort, and warmth of the baby. He has hunted down the elusive retiree shinobi, requesting locations of recommended onsen—he has heard of the health benefits.

He will shuffle through every Shinobu has supplied him with, and he will delight in any recipes that Shinazugawa recommends, taking extra care of the nutritional value. He is gushing to anyone who will listen about your pending bundle of joy.

The utter devastation upon Mitsuri inquiring if—you would perhaps return to your parent’s home nearing the end of your pregnancy. H-he forgot about that part. His worries, have only just begun, and by the third trimester he is a fretful ball of nerves. Because in the Taisho era, fathers would not have been welcome to be involved in the birth, or the early weeks as they are in the present.

But I mean, is anyone really capable of stopping Gyomei? I mean… bruh.

Should you have zero desires to bear a child no one here blames you, or the inability to do so. Do not worry over your relationship, it is not something that Gyomei would ever be distraught over, nor feel the need to doubt his partner. If anything, it would likely break his heart for you to have ever believed it a deal breaker in your relationship.

It’s true, he would be delighted to see life greet you, but the same joy would be expressed regardless of how your family has begun. He has never placed a high importance upon gender, nor the path to parenting you undertake.

An adoptive child, foster family, all it would suit him just fine. Ultimately, the arrival of your children is only partly determined by you. Should you desire to carry your child, well, the little one will have just as much of his heart and love as the children he adopts. No matter what, you’re adopting some kiddos.

Full disclosure, Gyomei adores children, and it’s only natural that he would welcome as many as could ever need him. Because of this, you will need to be up front, and communicative if you have an aversion to raising, well a horde.

He has always had an open heart as well as an open home policy, and it’s completely okay if you do not. The Stone Hashira favors a bond with his spouse, so much that I imagine he would be wiling to accept the one or two children max policy you have. As long as you are willing to accept that, he will never turn those away in need.

Himejima spent a long, long time selecting a name for your child(ren). Time agonizing over the name, despite the fact that he has a preference for more traditional names.

He adores the nostalgia, the comfort, and would be prone to opting for old school names. I imagine that he would give your little one the same name that the little granny at the grocer has. At the same time, I believe that he would be very intentional with his selection. It would be something with akin to a wish for your child. Something like

Tenmu—heaven, sky, imperial, celestial Kiyomoto – holy, sacred Yoshiko—fragrant, virtuous, beautiful child.

It would be a name that carries so much weight, and adoration, but distant to the touch. A whisper of a name, one that draws a smile to the elder’s faces as it slips from their lips. Reminds them of someone, they used to know, a long, long time ago, and memories that may have been forgotten.

There are those who will struggle with parenting. I mean, most everyone will in some form or fashion. Those who cannot grasp the concept of having someone entirely dependent on them like Shinobu, those who will battle their inner monologues like Obanai, and those who will down right, never have a grasp on disciplining their children in an appropriate way Mitsuri.

However, there are few obstacles that the Stone Hashira would grapple with in parenting. Truthfully, he has faced a few challenges in the past, and in the present raising Genya. He has endured late nights rocking a child inflicted by colic, potty training willful toddlers, navigating the emotional needs of developing children, and the ever-sharp tongues of teenagers.

There is little that will knock the giant from his stance or shake his foundation. If there was ever a parent who soaked in the newborn stage, thrived on the sleep deprivation, and glowed in the early days of parenting, it’s Gyomei. It would greet him well, and verify that this is the very moment, he has waited his whole life for.

The resignation of his loud, thundering heartbeat as comforting as waves coddled n his large arms accompanied by his natural pace falling into a sway that soothes even the restless. Safe, secure. Just imagine snuggling in those arms. In many ways, I believe that if given the opportunity, Himejima would seize the opportunity to be the primary caregiver—to stay home with the little ones.

Delighted to be surrounded by little ones, the sounds of laughter, and wipe away tears. Cuddle the hours away, sooth hair ends, and snub the snot from little rounded noses. To consol and comfort. A stay-at-home parent would suit him well, he is content to remain home and care for the children, to prepare meals, and tend to the laundering.

On the same coin, he is just as willing to ensure the financial well-being of his home, but leaving you is not in his nature, and because of this, he will have to try extra hard to remain steadfast to his cause. He never faltered on his beliefs until your little one entered the home. Yet, he is more than aware that he has a duty, and owes your family dedication as well. Though, the first day Himejima is apart from you, he will fret over every little thing.

Worry over if you have had a moment of peace, if the little one has slept well, if you have had a meal, did he pack enough nappies for the day—all of it? As a father, worrying is his pastime.

Though, he’s not the sort to be a helicopter parent. Rather it’s that he is well aware that looming over their every step will not grant them a happy life. Every aspect of the Stone Hashira desires to become his children’s shadows. To follow their lead, to remain within fingers grasp. To snatch them from certain stumbles, heart ache, and tragedies of lost dollies, but he won’t.

His worries often burden his heart, and his mind, they weigh to him like anchors are always present. However, Himejima is aware that the scars of his past cannot impact his parent. He cannot permit its place amongst his presence. While it may pain the ax wielder to do so, he will relinquish control gradually, allowing them the room for growth, and failure.

To wander from his grasp, to explore their worlds, their identities, to make their own missteps, and discover their destines. Away from you. Away from him. They will scrap knees, they will know heart ache, and failure.

Himejima is the sort of father to accept the agony of his children as his own. To adopt their burdens, and devastation, to welcome them into his arms as they sob into his kimono though they may never realize the depths his heart aches for them. The soothing pat of his large hand gently tending to their tears, offering only the faintest vibration of a hum in the depths of his throat as he chokes back the pain of a father.

Their pain is his own.

In many ways, he is a natural parent. Himejima is warm, and comforting. The shelter against the rain, and the wind that whispers against the wind, he is firm, and protective. He guides and nurtures; the Stone Hashira remains where others would flee.

He has always stood against aversity, and breaths through the storm. Attentive, and quick to rise from slumber upon detecting a small skip in the newborn’s breathing in the dead of night. Adjusting space by the needs of the children simply at the drop of your teenager’s tone. Through puppy love, and heartbreak, Gyomei enjoys observing and noticing all of your little one’s unique traits and strengths.

The small wiggle of their nose when they are upset, the way your youngest’s gaze naturally drifts to the left when they are thinking. The way your middle rocks on their heels when they have a surprise in store, or the way your oldest always tucks a little bite of rice in with his side.

The Stone Pillar notices every little thing, and because of this, he is the first to pick up on change, on growth, and accomplishments. The bend of your infant’s knee, revealing its upcoming crawling days, the dexterity in your toddler’s fingers as they grow capable of feeding themselves.

He’s nostalgic; Gyomei is often easily a victim of reflecting upon his children’s accomplishments, and reflections of their lives. The way your oldest brought home a snake, begging to keep it. How you screamed. At times, his reminiscence are embracing the individuality of your children; other times, it is easy for him to be swept away by prior days and mourn the ones to come.

Easily swept away by memories, and likely to dedicate too much time flipping through old family albums. He will desperately need you during these times. In some of the most bone crushing hugs you can imagine.

Sir has grandpa vibes.

The reality is, the majority of parenting comes easily to him. Almost effortlessly that you may find yourself frustrated with your own lacking in certain areas. His eagerness to care for and teach your children the ways of the world, may grow the tense feelings that perhaps you are not doing enough as their other parent.

He’s dedicated, to ensuring that they are well rounded adults, and far to willing to dedicate his life to the endeavor. His patience with the kids when you are at your wits end; Himejima’s natural ability to swoop end cease tears in their tracks. To remain calm despite the situation, or serious injuries, all of it is easy to feel inadequate next too, and it’s easy to run the risk of feeling a bit bitter at his approach to parenting.

However, if you are open with him about your struggling, the Stone Pillar is quick to search out ways to assist you, even if there just little small things throughout the day such as having your lunch packed, or little sweets hidden for you in your belongings on stressful days.

On one hand, it’s wonderful markings of a father, on the other, it’s easy to feel swept under the rug when he spends all of his time tending to the littles. So much so that he likely struggles to juggle date night, either because he finds reasons to stay home with your kiddos, or because he is fretting over them during your time together and plunging the date down the toilet.

It’s not that the axe wielder intends for this to happen, it is in a sense the occupational hazard of being the primary parent, and you will have to work hard with him to ensure your relationship bonds are secure as ever.

In parenting, Gyomei is the definition of present. He will move mountains to ensure that he is at every recital, every PTO meeting, even the most minor of scrapped knees, he will find the way to be at your side. He is tender, and open to accepting your child’s feelings as they come. Even if at times, they are especially scathing. Kids words cut the deepest.

Ultimately, this is all because he believes that in displaying sincerity in his relationship as a father, that the same trait may be passed down to his children. He wants to foster the sort of relationship in which they know they are free to discuss, whatever their little heart desires from the mundane chasing butterflies to the heavy depths of emerging youth he said, she said.

He is prepared for any scrap, and boo boo alike with a plethora of cutesy bandages at his disposal, and even the accommodations should your child find bandaging discomforting. The home is always well stock prior to alignment, the touch of allergies approaching, he is already pushing all the remedies into your systems.

Himejima is quick to offer affections, although it is true that it may not always be verbal. Let’s be clear that it does not mean that he will lack verbal affirmations for your children, but rather that the physical tending to comes far easier to him, but he is the sort to make the extra effort even if it feels a touch foreign.

He is fiercely protective of his children who can blame him, and because of this you will find that he puts extreme care into his environment. All furniture will likely remain secure well into the formative years.

The bright side, if grandkids should be in your future, you’ll never have to babyproof. It’s still present from your childbearing years. You will likely have to petition him from time to time to scale it back as there is no real reason as to why a seven year old needs a baby proofed toilet.

No, parenting is a natural component of Gyomei’s DNA, and it all comes painfully naturally to him on instinctual levels. Coded in the depths of his gene pool, and because of this, you will find that it is in fact, society norms that plague him.

The knitting of old ladies that share their experience, despite how dated their approaches are, to the societal norms in corporal punishments will have him doubting his natural abilities. Causing him to question his abilities as a father, if perhaps he is not stern enough with his children wellbeing. As though an extra pudding will send them to jail.

The little buzzing of influence in his ears will have him grappling with every decision, debating if it is in fact a good idea. The mass majority of societies expect a father to be stern, to be firm, and forceful, a disciplinary and provider, words that do not coincide with his identity, and will easily be confused as shortcomings as a parent.

As a man, he is far more content to stay home with his children rather than seek a paycheck, and if you yourself are pleased by your career, he is the first to offer to relinquish his for raising children.

There in lies a flaw in the societal pressures exerted on him, whispers if he is truly a capable father, a man, or head of the household. He will need your reassurance that gender norms have no place in your home, and you are very pleased with the order of things, but know that every now and then it will seep in.

The doubts, the worries, and often finds it rears its ugly head when it comes to disciplining.

Gyomei hates criticizing his children. To inflict any sort of sadness, no matter how necessary, will inflict inner turmoil and anxiety. Quick to dote, and likely to let more things slide than he should, in a power dynamic with children, he hopes that his children will remain steadfast to their teachings, and he will crumble when they give to peer pressure.

You may find yourself as the one to reprimand misbehaviors, but given enough time, he will strike a balance between discipline and love. Though you may have to suffer in the meantime as he is quick to fold with the smallest of lip trembles.

As a parent, and a partner, it is true that he will initially struggle to find a balance between tending to the children and your relationship. Grapple with letting go of anxieties and worries, and acknowledge that you will still need him as your partner. This will become expedited as he really, and truly cares for you in all aspects, and while it may slip from time to time, he is quick to find his way back to you.

Himejima views his treatment of you, as his partner, as what his children will seek out in their own mates, and because of this, you will find that there may be times where he is pushing himself more to meet some figment of his imagination.

Grand gestures are not his strong suit, yet he will attempt to compete with Uzui levels of displays, and will just need some reassurance that you love him, and things as they are.

#demon slayer x reader #kimetsu no yaiba x reader #kny x reader #gyomei himejima x reader #gyomei x reader #thehashirasinarelationship #thehashiraswithafamily

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balkanradfem · 2 years ago

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Have you noticed how when m*n are talking down to you, they're taking credit for all imaginary things any m*n have done thru past? They'll tell you 'we built the world and gave you everything you have', as if this guy, personally, did anything for you that you now have to be grateful for. They seem to believe they share credit for accomplishments as a class of people, and as a class, deserve to be rewarded for it (by un-ending gratitude and favours from women, of course).

(This credit doesn't even belong to them, everything they built was created to isolate, oppress and utilize women to their advantage, not for women to have a free and happy life in. They decided among themselves that we need to be grateful just for being alive.)

However, the reverse never applies to women, accomplishments of women in the past are never used to derogatorily talk down to m*n, nor do we feel the right to speak about ourselves as a class of people who has accomplished anything, who's owed anything. This isn't coincidental, this is ensured by keeping us isolated and convinced that anything we do for this world, is highly personal, stays within the confines of our marriage, family, private and not considered an actual contribution. Our roles are not just enforced on us but minimized to the point where we believe 'it's just what we do, there's nothing else that we can do in our position', even as we go and create the entire human population, caretake and keep alive every m*n currently alive on earth, provide food, comfort, emotional support, cleanliness, and comfortable life to every m*n who manages to trap us in their home. And on top of that, we often achieve professional and academic success on level above m*n, but they readily convince us to give up credit for it, and let them claim it for themselves.

It is very obvious once we look at the real order of things, that it's us keeping them alive, and not the reverse. We're not only making them, but nurturing them and making sure everyone stays alive, fed, and happy. Even in the work area, m*n who make the biggest accomplishments are the ones taking credits for the work their wives did for them. We're doing it all behind the shadows, unseen and without anybody owing us anything, not even our human rights. So m*n could keep claiming they are the creators of the world.

But the thing is, if we were let be, if we were in the control from the start, we would have built it better. Males building the infrastructure brought us nothing but severe destruction of environment, annihilation of species, loss of natural resources and a climate crisis. It's not that we're lacking the ability to make better, we're robbed out of authority to do it. M*n have been standing in our way, creating garbage, trapping us in it, and demanding gratitude.

Creation of entire human race is not even allowed to be seen as an accomplishment, but males building a world that supports suffering and destruction is. Gratitude is supposed to be given for oppression, but not for being given your life, body, and caring for your survival. In fact, they prove to us just how ungrateful they are, when they throw away all of that meticulous care and effort, by turning around and torturing women. Committing extreme acts of violence, starting wars, raping and degrading women - that's not what we made them for. No woman wants to birth or raise a human only for him to go on and be a rapist, murderer or a torturer. Yet they do it and then turn around and demand us to be grateful, to bow down to us for being allowed to keep being alive. Regardless of how much their class tortured us and made us wish we were dead, we need to be grateful to each and every one of them, for not killing us yet.

It's disgusting. If they're going to take credit for everything done in the world, then we should too. Our class created your class. In return, our class got tortured by your class. We will care for your well being not a second more. See how long you live without women providing for you.

#radical feminism #feminism #thinking as a class of people #women as a class of people #female liberation #radfem #rant

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tblsomedoodles · 1 year ago

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Why the twins abandoned Draxum

Ok, i promised more Imaginary Friend content, and i am here to deliver!

this is a little more of the plot side of things rather than the shenanigans.

i'll put it under the cut since it's long. again.

Ok, so they sneak out to meet with Mikey and Raph for about three years before Draxum realizes what's going on. (or part of what's going on. He knows they have been sneaking out and the caretaker hasn't been doing his job properly, but he doesn't know they were sneakign out to meet, or even who they were meeting.)

Upon finding this out, the caretaker is fired and Draxum decides that, if they are competent enough to constantly leave the house on their own and come back fine, they are competent enough to be properly trained. This means they no longer have the opportunity to sneak out.

Mikey and Raph try to reach out to them via mind meld, but it's too far for a strong enough connection to communicate, not to mention the twins keep purposefully shutting them out. the twins figure that since they can no longer meet up with them, that It's better to cut themselves off completely now than continuing to long for a time, they believe, is gone.

It's two more years before they meet again, and it's on accident.

When Mayhem stole the emperium, Draxum sent the twins to fetch it, treating it as a test.

They're sent out to fetch the emperium, and, of course, run into Mikey and Raph (and April). It's very much a surprise, especially considering they're standing between them and their mission. They're careful not to hurt their siblings but do get Mayhem away Donnie sending Mikey a quick "do not follow us. it's dangerous" mind meld message before they nope on out through Leo's portal. a portal that both April and the soon-to-be imitation crab man go through before it closes.

They appear right in the middle of the lab so neither of the twins quite realize they have stowaways until it's too late. They recognize April as one of Mikey and Raph's friends and figure it's not a good idea for Draxum to realize she's there, so they hide her in a nearby closet before Draxum can notice, miming for her to stay quiet. once Draxum leaves again, Leo portals her back out of the building (he's aiming for topside but ends up just setting her down on their front porch for Mikey and Raph to find.)

Anyways! Mikey and Raph (and April) show up like canon, and, of course Draxum is seeing stars. It's the other two. He could have a full set once again! but they prove to be difficult to coerce into joining him, so he creates that vine monster to fight them (and test them while they're at it.) He sends Leo and Donnie after them as well, but they linger, choosing halfheartedly fight April rather than their brothers. That is, until Mikey ends up weaponless and the target of an attack that could hurt him.

Then the above happens. Donnie instinctively protects Mikey, which angers Draxum, which causes Leo to portal Donnie behind him so he's away from him, and, then they defect, choosing to get their brothers, April, and Mayhem out of the soon-to-explode lab rather than continue fighting.

but yeah, that's how they get away from Draxum. The power of little brother in peril lol.

(fun fact i'm just coming up with now (but have been thinking about) Draxum was super extra dramatic when he named the twins originally. He named them Thanatos and Somnus. though neither of them really acknowledge those names b/c they so rarely heard them growing up. Literally only Draxum used them. which is why when Mikey asked thier names, they just shrugged. Why is that Draxum beign extra, b/c those are the twin personifications of death and sleep respectively (though Somnus is technically the Roman name. but since Somnus's Greek name is Hypnos, i thought it would be too confusing.) also, according to Greek Mythology, Thanatos and Hypnos are the twin sons of Nyx (goddess of night) and Erebus (god of the dark). SO yes, Draxum was being dramatic AF and named a set of twins he was going to train to be ninja warriors, after the mythological twins born to night and darkness. and who also embody death and sleep. (this also gives me a good excuse to jokingly call the twins the Myth Twins, even though the aus staying named Mikey's imaginary Friends. lol))

#tmnt #rottmnt #my doodles #mikey's imaginary friends #tmnt leonardo #tmnt donatello #this was supposed to be one page #it turned into three #this is my friday update #which i didn't finish in time b/c i was getting used to the tablet #i love it but there's a small learning curve #and i'm getting used to it

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fairyniceyeah · 2 months ago

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💎🐢Day 17: Brainfog/Spaced Out

@sicktember

Summary: Hansol keeps spacing out. The 96-liners are working to help him.

CW: emeto

Sickie: Vernon/Hansol

Caretaker: Jun + Hoshi/Soonyoung + Wonwoo + Woozi/Jihoon

Tension was high with Seungcheol and Jeonghan on hiatus at the same time. The members would never admit it to the two eldest and they did try to help out Joshua, who hated his role as vice vice leader more than anything. Especially the 96line felt the pressure as they tried to keep anyone younger than themselves away from any added responsibility. With Hoshi and Woozi already used to their roles as performance leader and vocal leader respectively and Jun and Wonwoo being some of the most responsible members, they managed just fine.

That didn’t mean that they didn't feel the responsibility and the stress.

Especially during that day’s dance practice.

With nerves running high, it didn’t help that Hansol was … well, Hansol. They were used to his particular brand of awkwardness and his spatial unawareness when he was in his own world but it didn’t make the dance practice run any smoother.

No matter how often Hoshi tried to explain the moves, Hansol couldn’t seem to grasp them.

Normally Hansol’s spaciness would not interfere with any schedules or at least not to that degree. But that day? Hansol was all over the place.

Countless times he stopped in the middle of a movement, forgetting either what he was supposed to do or what move he had just done. Other times he stumbled over his own and once even over Dino’s feet. For Hansol’s and their own safety, Jun had even taken him aside at one point to try to teach him the dance one-on-one. It hadn’t really done anything.

Hansol was clearly having a bad day. They all had them and they tried to be careful with the member who was in need of a break and/or unwell. It wouldn’t help to pressure a member further when he was already beating himself up about it anyway and they all cared about each other too much to let things get too far if they could. It took different approaches for each member.

With Hansol it was most of the time enough to speak with him: He wouldn’t feel comfortable admitting to something out of his own accord but if somebody talked to him he wouldn’t hide whatever was going on.

It was during a water break that Wonwoo decided to speak to him, to try to see if he could find out what was happening. Joshua was on the side, talking to a manager and looking more frazzled each second, so having him talk to his fellow America-liner would not work. Hoshi was working with Mingyu and Seungkwan on their dance moves and Woozi was walking over to see if he could help out Joshua. Jun was nowhere to be seen, likely either using the bathroom or refilling his water bottle at one of the fountains.

So, for now, Hansol was his responsibility. With Seungcheol as their Hip Hop Team leader not there, Wonwoo felt especially responsible for Mingyu and their rap-maknae.

“Hansol-ah?”, Wonwoo asked, approaching the younger rapper. Hansol was sitting on the ground, leaning back against the fogged up mirror with his eyes closed. “What’s going on with you today?”

Maybe he should have expected it but Hansol showed no signs of having heard him. To anybody outside the group he might have looked asleep but Wonwoo could easily spot the tension on his face and the way he was absently tapping an imaginary beat with his fingers against his thigh.

Wonwoo crouched down next to him, entangling his fingers with Hansol’s to stop the nervous movement. At the touch Hansol sighed and opened his eyes, blinking blearily up at his hyung. His eyes seemed unfocused and he quickly looked down at their hands before Wonwoo could get a better look at his face.

“Hey, baby”, Wonwoo said quietly, moving into a crosslegged position next to the younger without letting go of him. “What’s going on with you today?”

Hansol shrugged, gripping Wonwoo’s hand more tightly.

“You don’t know?”, Wonwoo questioned, a bit lost and unable to interpret what exactly Hansol wanted to tell him. Maybe the maknae didn’t know himself.

Hansol swallowed and licked his dry lips. “I don’t know”, he echoed, “I feel weird. Floaty. Everything is so hard today.”

Wonwoo hummed, lifting his other hand to feel Hansol’s forehead. He wasn’t particularly warm, just sweaty. A fever would have explained the symptoms easily enough but it seemed like that wasn’t the issue.

“Everybody has hard days”, Wonwoo settled on saying, “do you think you might need to sit out of practice? Dancing while so distracted isn’t safe.”

He didn’t receive an answer. He wasn’t even sure if Hansol had heard him. Yeah, no more dancing for him.

“Sit here, okay? Rest”, Wonwoo said, tapping Hansol’s wrist to get his attention again, “after practice I’m gonna have Jun take you home, okay?”

Technically they had a Hip Hop Team meeting after but Hansol desperately needed rest and he wouldn’t be helpful in his state. Mingyu and Wonwoo would be able to do it as two. They had to. The performance team was free after, hence Jun taking Hansol home to their dorm. Maybe they could get Dino to help them with their rap lyrics.

Hansol nodded.

When Wonwoo got up, he found the rest of the group staring at him in expectation. He just shook his head and walked over to his spot.

“From the top”, Hoshi announced, looking worried but determined to go on.

💎

An hour later, they were taking another much-needed break. They were all running on fumes. This time, Seungkwan went over to check on Hansol, sitting down against the mirror next to him. Hansol, as soon as he noticed his best friend, leaned his head on the older’s shoulder. Seungkwan laid his cheek on top of Hansol’s head and closed his eyes too. They both looked exhausted and, yet, it was a sweet sight.

Wonwoo had sat down by the couch, eyes closed and leaning back against Mingyu’s legs, and Dino sprawled over his lap. Even Hoshi with his endless energy was laying down with his head against Woozi’s thigh, and Minghao, Jun and DK seemed to be trying to become one person, laying on top of one another. Joshua was on his back in the middle of the room, seemingly asleep.

It was quiet in the room, all of them just taking a moment to breathe and relax. So they all heard the small gasp echoing in the room, and the following stunned mumbling: “Shit, oh, oh, okay. It’s okay, it’s okay.”

Wonwoo opened his eyes in time to see Woozi and Hoshi jumping up at the same time, colliding against one another and falling back down, and Jun pushing DK and Minghao off of himself. It was then that Wonwoo noticed where exactly the commotion had come from.

Seungkwan’s eyes, full of panic, locked onto Wonwoo’s. The vocalist’s shirt and sweatpants were covered in vomit, he himself looking stunned. Hansol, looking just as shocked as him, was crying and there was saliva and strands of throw up dangling from his lips.

“Oh, Nonie”, Hoshi broke the shocked silence engulfing the room and rushed over to the maknaes, Wonwoo hot on his heels. He should have noticed earlier that Hansol’s spaciness wasn’t just Hansol having an off-day but sickness. However, the blame-game would have to wait.

“I don’t feel good”, Hansol sobbed as soon as Hoshi pulled him into his arms, away from Seungkwan who looked equal parts disgusted and worried. “I’m so sorry.”

“Hey, it’s okay”, Hoshi comforted, rocking Hansol in his arms, “you’re just sick. It happens.”

He looked up at Wonwoo with wide eyes. Normally this would be the part where Seungcheol would take charge and Jeonghan would help out the sick member. Now…

“Junnie? Why don’t you take Seungkwan to the shower and help him get cleaned up?”, Woozi suggested loudly, coming over to them as well and placing a soft hand on Hansol’s shoulder. “Wonwoo, can you go wake Shua-hyung and get him and the other kids a ride home? They all need rest. Soonyoung and I got Hansollie.”

“Yeah, that’s a great idea”, Jun said, reaching out his hands to help Seungkwan up. It was probably smart to have Seungkwan go with Jun. The dancer wasn’t phased by vomit and he would be able to keep Seungkwan distracted from his own worry.

“Yeah, let’s do that”, Wonwoo agreed.

💎

“Come on, love”, Hoshi mumbled into Hansol’s ear, “let’s go to the bathroom, okay?”

The shaking maknae in his arms whimpered a bit but nodded. Woozi sighed, feeling awful for him. Hansol was so ill and it hurt to see his whole body trembling. Yet he made no move to get up.

Woozi rubbed Hansol’s shoulder and asked: “Sollie, do you want me to carry you?”

There was definitely a risk of getting thrown up on and there was probably already puke on Hansol that would end up on Woozi's clothes but at that moment he couldn't care less.

Hansol turned to look at the producer with teary eyes and nodded. He looked so young, engulfed in Hoshi’s arms.

Woozi turned around and soon he felt Hansol wrap his arms around his shoulders and his legs around his waist. The producer hooked his elbows under Hansol’s knees and with Hoshi helping him he stood up, Hansol snug on his back. When the maknae rested his head against Woozi’s neck, he felt unnaturally warm. He had seen Wonwoo feel the younger’s forehead earlier and realized that between then and now Hansol must have developed a fever after all.

The poor young rapper really wasn’t doing well.

As they walked past the other members, all with worry written over their features, Hoshi just said: “Don’t worry about him. Take your time to rest too. You did well.”

They managed to make their way to the closest bathroom without any incidents but as soon as they sat Hansol down next to the toilet he leaned over and opened his mouth. Instantly more vomit poured into the toilet, dirtying the water. Woozi and Hoshi exchanged worried glances over the maknae’s head before Hoshi scooted closer to their miserable maknae and half-hugged him, whispering reassurances. Woozi noticed the way Hansol’s fingers seemed to seek purchase against the cold tiles, clearly in need of holding onto something. He took the younger’s hand in his, smoothing out the curled digits and rubbing soft circles on the back of Hansol’s hand with his thumb.

“Breathe”, Hoshi whispered, “you’re okay. Breathe.”

Luckily this round didn’t take long and soon enough Hansol was able to lean away from the toilet, basically slumping into Hoshi’s arms.

“Do you want to … Hansollie, can you look at me for a moment?” Woozi interrupted himself half-way through his own question as he realized that the maknae was staring at something only he could see. His eyes were glazed with fever and it took Woozi gently tapping his cheek to get his attention. “Can you try to drink something?”

Woozi held up a water bottle that Hoshi had taken with them. Hansol blinked but didn’t react otherwise.

“He’s really burning up”, Hoshi commented, feeling the younger’s forehead, cheeks and neck, “no wonder he is so spacey.”

“Should we … should we take him to the hospital?”, Woozi asked reluctantly. He was incredibly worried over the younger and he wasn’t sure that they could help him with the limited resources they had on the floor of a random bathroom at their company building.

“Not yet, I think.” Hoshi pressed a kiss to Hansol’s sweaty hair. “He hates hospitals and strangers prodding him nearly as much as you do. If he doesn’t get better with some fever reducers and antiemetics at the dorm, we can reevaluate.”

A knock on the bathroom door startled both of them, yet Hansol didn’t even seem to have heard.

“Hi, it’s me”, Wonwoo said, “I got some fresh clothes for Sollie and orders from the managers to get us back to the dorms asap.”

Woozi reached up and opened the door, revealing Wonwoo with his glasses a bit askew but a soft smile on his lips. It was a tight fit in the stall with already three fully grown men and there was no way Wonwoo would even fit half of his body in there with them.

“Let’s get you into fresh clothes”, Woozi said to Hansol, though he was pretty sure that the younger didn’t really hear him. They managed to get him up and into the open space by the sinks where they had more room to help him.

With Hoshi supporting Hansol and Woozi and Wonwoo working on redressing Hansol, it was surprisingly easy to remove the stained clothing. Though Hansol had mostly thrown up on poor Seungkwan, there was a bit of vomit on his clothes as well.

Some of it had indeed ended up on Woozi's clothes but Hoshi made quick work of wiping the stains away with a wet paper towel. It would suffice for now.

They had a van for themselves back to the dorms, the rest of the team having gone home with Joshua. Hansol fell asleep on Woozi’s shoulder basically the moment they had settled down. They were grateful for it, especially since the younger rapper normally had a tendency to get motion sick. Luckily he slept through the whole drive.

💎

Jun had just managed to get Seungkwan and Joshua to one couch and himself to the other when the door opened again, revealing Woozi, Wonwoo carrying Hansol, and Hoshi.

The dancer had been incredibly worried about the young rapper all day, only momentarily distracted by his worry for Seungkwan. The youngest vocalist had really tried his best, feeling worried for his best friend, but when they had taken off his clothes he had given into his own nausea from being covered in vomit. Jun was glad he was asleep with Joshua now and they could focus on the sick maknae.

“Gimme”, he said without greeting, holding out his arms towards Wonwoo, who laughed softly and deposited Hansol on top of Jun, who instantly wrapped the younger into his arms. Having a half-asleep, sick maknae in his arms was always worrisome but it was cute really, the way Hansol nuzzled his face into Jun’s neck, sighing softly.

“How are you feeling?”, he asked, rubbing the younger’s back.

“Floaty”, Hansol mumbled. The next sound coming from him was a soft snore.

“We need to keep an eye on his temperature”, Wonwoo said, sitting down on the TV table beside them. “Manager-noona says to call if his fever gets over 39.5°C, they’ll take him to the hospital.”

Jun hummed in agreement. Hospitals were never fun but he couldn’t deny that Hansol was like a furnace on him.

“Where is the rest?”, Woozi asked, entering the living room again, trailed by Hoshi. Jun hadn’t even noticed them leaving.

“Spread over the different dorms”, Jun explained, watching in wonder as Woozi pulled various medications as well as a thermometer, fever patches and even a damp washcloth from his pockets. Hoshi placed an old towel on the floor - handing another one to Jun, who placed it under Hansol’s head on his shoulder just in case - and the designated puke bucket on the floor.

“Tea should be ready soon”, he said.

“Looks like we got ourselves sleepy maknaes and hyungs”, Wonwoo commented, raising an eyebrow.

Woozi shrugged. “Could be worse.”

Masterlist links: Fairy's Full Masterlist Fairy's Sicktember 2024

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