#it's mostly thick brain fog lol

[creatchie8]

Yellow Soul: Chapter Nine

Tilleul

Chapter Summary: Something is very wrong in Wabang, Wyoming. And you have everything to do with it.

Pairing: Rhett Abbott/Fem!Reader

Warnings: Minors DNI- A lot of angst and yearning, some suggestive behavior, mentioned dead body

Word Count: 8,800ish

A/N: Hey queens... hopefully this chapter makes sense, it has been brewing so long in my head my brain sort of turned into mush lol. Now we are really gettin into it, juicy juicy juicy.

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The tires crunched over gravel as you pulled up to the bonfire, headlights cutting briefly through the dark before you killed the engine. The fire was bigger than expected and so was the crowd. Laughter spilled out into the night, a few flickering faces turning to glance as your truck rolled to a stop at the edge of the field, parking among a row of other vehicles. 

You sat for a moment with your hands on the warm steering wheel, the engine ticking quietly as it cooled. The thick denim jacket you wore scratched against your bare arms, stiff and coarse at the seams and heavy on your shoulders. You’d nearly left it at home because you hated the way it felt. But the cold bit through you too quickly in just a shirt to go without it now that the weather was getting colder. 

Now it clung to you like a bad decision you couldn’t take back, as if coming here didn't already seem like a bad decision.

Taking a breath through your nose, you reluctantly opened the driver door. The sharp scent of burning wood rushed in and filled the cab with its nauseating scent and the early autumn chill followed close behind. You crossed your arms, half to ward off the cold and half to hold yourself together, tired eyes scanning the mostly unknown crowd. 

There were more people than you’d expected… far more. Beth had promised it would only be a few coworkers and some friends for a going away party for Mateo. Clearly, Mateo had a very broad definition of “close.”

Some clustered near the fire, others spilled into the shadows. Red cups in hand, talking and laughing in the truck beds of those who needed a front row seat, seemingly not worried what would happen if the flames jumped too close to their vehicle. It takes a lot of internal convincing to slide yourself out of the driver���s seat and close the heavy door. 

You hadn’t even shut the door yet. Once you did, that was it. No going back. No retreat.

The door closed with a heavy finality, and the sound echoed in your chest. But, you didn’t move just yet. The nervous flutter in your chest hadn’t settled. Worn boots crunched on the ground as you shifted your weight. 

All at once, the fire seemed very far away from where you were parked.

But, you spotted Beth. The knot in your chest loosened just a little. She stood near the fire, backlit by the warm glow laughing, relaxed, holding a drink and gesturing wildly mid-story as her long, dark hair whipped over her sweatshirt-clad shoulders. Her presence and sharp laughter cut through the noise, steady and familiar, like a buoy in deep water.

With one hand still gripping the edge of your rough denim jacket and the other shoved into your front pant pocket, you started walking toward the controlled flames, ground giving way to packed dirt beneath your boots. Your breath fogged in the air and the cold still clung to you, but your steps felt a little less hesitant now.

As you approached closer, Beth’s face lit up in instant recognition, excusing herself away from the small circle of people that gathered near her so she could meet you halfway. 

The scent of thick smoke and her usual fruity perfume enveloped you as she neared and eventually pulled you into a hug, kissing your cheek, “There you are! And here I thought you stood me up.” Beth pouted her raspberry glossed lips and you laughed, tension melting from your shoulders. 

“Oops, sorry-” She wrinkled her nose and wiped off her gloss mark from your cheek with the cuff of her sweatshirt. Her eyes were glittery and glazed, like she was already a few drinks in. 

The two of you started walking slowly towards the fire, Beth’s elbow linked with yours as if she was afraid you’d run away. 

“So… Mateo has quite a guest list.” You mumble in her ear, dark locks tickling your nose. She let out an exasperated sigh, stalling a bit before you meshed with the rest of the group.

“Hmmm… yes. Are you mad that I lied to you about the small party thing? Because it really is kind of like a friend who brought a friend who brought a friend thing.” She explained sheepishly, almost animated due to the alcohol she had consumed. 

You barely avoided being backed into by a guy who wasn’t watching where he was going, pivoting just in time as Beth led you toward a navy-blue cooler stationed beside someone’s truck. 

A couple occupied the open tailgate nearby, the woman wrapped in a worn blanket while her boyfriend (presumably) clung to her like they were alone. Quickly, you avert your eyes and crouch near the cooler, letting your fingertips skim the cold water and ice bobbing at the top.

Beth nudged your thigh with the toe of her boot, pulling your attention back to the conversation.

“Oh, no- I’m not mad.” You said, raising your voice over the low hum of chatter. “How could you have known there’d be this many people?” 

Beth exhaled audibly, like she’d actually been holding her breath. Relief softened her face, “Exactly!” She exclaims after her sigh, completely oblivious to the couple on the tailgate as she leans against it, sipping whatever was left in her red solo cup. Her loose attitude makes you snort out a short laugh, your attention drawn back to the cooler. 

The selection was bleak. That’s what you got for showing up late. Shiny cans bobbed in cloudy water, firelight flickering across their dented surfaces. 

Cherry seltzer or pineapple seltzer? Neither sounded spectacular but it had to be better than what was left in the soupy ice. It was like whoever put this cooler together just tossed in whatever they had in their pantry that they were just itching to get rid of. 

Lost in concentration, you never heard the boots shuffling behind you nor the man clearing his throat trying to get your attention. It took an arm and a hand brushing past you and plunging into the cooler to snap you out of your internal debate. His sudden movement mixed up the cans you were looking at, and to your dismay he happened to pull out the cherry seltzer.

A huff pulls from your nose and you whip your head around and up to whoever just stole your drink. Your mouth is open but the words die on your tongue.

“What’re you doin’ here?” Rhett asks, seemingly equally as confused as you are. His hand and can- your can- drips shiny little beads of water that gleam in the fire light. Looking down you notice that a white wrap is covering the majority of his hand, the bandage crawling its way up his forearm.  

Standing up to your full height, you cross your arms defensively, “I could ask you the same thing. How do you know Mateo?” You question absentmindedly as you suddenly realize Beth was no longer at your side, but over back with the people you saw her with earlier. 

The crack and hiss of a can brings you back to the man in front of you, opening the silver tab of the drink with rough, calloused fingers. You bite the inside of your cheek and glare at him as he raises the white can to his lips and takes a long, slow drink. 

Like he was teasing you. 

While you await his response, you become hyper-aware of the couple next to you. 

Were they… surely they couldn't be- out in the open? 

And with a quick glance in their direction your (unfortunate) suspicion was confirmed to be true and they were getting much friendlier than appropriate in such a public setting. 

You turned and walked away, pulse quickening- not out of innocence, but a deep, rising discomfort. No part of you wanted to stick around for that. 

Rhett called your name, but you kept walking, needing space to collect yourself. A large hand grabs your wrist and you stop, turning around to see Rhett. A soft, easy smile made its way to his rosy lips, the color complimenting the flush on his cheeks, the same flush you knew traveled down his neck and chest.

“Hey, you don't have to go if it makes you uncomfortable that I'm here. I'll stay away.” 

That wasn’t sober Rhett talking. Sober Rhett didn’t offer comfort. Sober Rhett didn’t say anything unless cornered. And his thumb- his stupid, calloused thumb- was stroking the inside of your wrist beneath your cuff, brushing your bracelet like it still meant something. 

“No I- didn’t you see those people next to us?” His thumb rubbing soft circles into your skin was driving you mad, and the worst part is you knew he was doing it unconsciously. Like it was second nature to be touching you and giving you butterflies.  

“What people?” Rhett furrowed his brows and looked slowly over his shoulder, trying to figure out whatever you were talking about. 

You couldn't take it anymore. You pulled back from his grasp surprisingly easily and watched as his hand fell slack to his side. You exhaled through your nose, steadying your voice. “Let’s not do this right now. Just tell me- how do you know Mateo?” This time it wasn’t a plea. It was a request for clarity. 

Control.

“Oh, I don't.” Ah. So he was the ‘friend of a friend’, “Why are you here?”

“I’m Mateo’s coworker. Well, ex-coworker now. This is-” Rhett leans closer, much too close for your liking, and turns his ear towards you. As if to say, ‘I can't hear you’, “This going away party.” You explain louder and Rhett nods as if he fully understands you. But the way his forehead creases tells you otherwise. Normally, you’d feel the pull to fill in the blanks. To explain. To make it easier.

But not tonight. You were too tired to keep covering for other people’s confusion.

“D’you want a drink?” You don't think he knows he's yelling, deep voice penetrating your eardrums and vibrating down your spine. You don't think he knows he's leaning closer either. 

Instinctively, your hand shoots out and you press it firmly to the center of his chest, soft green flannel meeting your hand, stopping him before he collides with you. 

“I had a drink.” You pointedly eye the cherry seltzer clutched in his hand. Rhett looked down and laughed under his breath, as if he forgot it was there.

“Here.” He shoves the can close, pressing it to your own chest. Not aggressively, just thoughtlessly like he was mirroring you. Rhett’s knuckles brushed against you in the process, light but undeniable. You hated the way it made your stomach twist, low and molten.

“No, you picked it. Keep it.” Your voice stayed even. 

His proximity pressed uncomfortably close. If he noticed, he didn’t show it. Or maybe he didn’t care.

“Oh come on now. Take it.” His tone is playful but firm, making the hair on the back of your neck prickle. He nudged the can higher- too high now, too close. You dropped your hand from his chest, accepting the drink just to make it stop.

“Thanks.” You muttered, avoiding his gaze.

Rhet looks at you expectantly, blue eyes flicking between your face and the drink. 

You grimace and tilt your head as if to say, ‘really?’ and Rhett just nods almost eagerly. Giving up, you take a sip and shoot him a tight-lipped smile, “There you go. Happy now?” 

Rhett responds with a low hum, a pleased look gracing his handsome features. You felt stuck, pinned under his drunk gaze like a caged animal. You shifted your weight, resisting the urge to fill the silence. Let him sit in it, if he wanted to be near you so badly.

Your eyes drifted back toward Beth, her laughter rising above. She felt a mile away, safe and familiar. 

You bit the inside of your cheek.

“I should head back to my friend.” You said finally, soft but resolute. And before Rhett could reply, before that lazy smile could twist into something more, you turned and left, fast enough to feel the escape in it.

-

Beth’s group was much too close to the fire for your liking. Already you shed your jacket and it was resting on the tailgate of someone’s truck. Even with your jacket off the heat from the flames kissed your bare skin and licked at your face, which felt like you had a one hundred and four fever. 

As if that wasn't enough, you were already one cherry seltzer and two beers deep, the sharp edges of your earlier anxiety had dulled, replaced with a slow, ambient hum in your bloodstream. You weren’t drunk, but you weren’t clear either. Just warm, somewhat floaty. 

Uncertain.

And yet, you kept finding his eyes.

He stayed his distance, grouped up a ways away from you. He looked away again, scratched the back of his neck, and said something to the guy next to him without looking back.

And then… there. Again. A flick of the eyes, half a smile, just barely.

You shifted your weight from one foot to the other, suddenly aware of how overwhelmed you were, how warm your face had gotten. You looked down for a moment, trying to school your expression. Then back up.

He was still looking.

Not in an obvious way. Just enough to say I see you. I still see you.

Your pulse stuttered. You hated how easily he could still do that to you.

Hot and cold. That was Rhett. One night inviting you out, the next keeping you at arm’s length like you were too much to deal with. You never knew where you stood with him, and you hated that too. 

“I’m going on a walk.” You whisper to Beth and she nods absentmindedly, giving your hand a quick squeeze before turning her attention back to the woman she was talking with. 

Yes. A quick hike through the cold autumn air will clear your head. It always does. And maybe it'll sober you up enough to start feeling like you can drive home. 

Jacket crumpled up in your fist, you start to head away from the group and past the fire, walking the opposite way of where your car was parked. 

The crowd was thinning, but there were still enough people where you had to squeeze between groups, muttering apologies the whole way.

As you passed his group, you kept your eyes down, begging to seem invisible to the others as you walked. You slipped away from the light, the noise, the heat, stepping into the cool hush beyond the sparse tree line. 

The ground was dry, soft under your boots, and the dark was full of quiet sounds. Pine branches shifting, their sharp needles gearing up for the cold, distant voices, the rhythmic thump of bass fading behind you. 

The cold had deepened, sharpening the air. The stars were brighter now, pushing through the haze of smoke and music. You shivered, and looking down you could see little raised bumps developing atop your forearms. And although you weren't freezing, you knew it was better to put it on now than get sick from the cold. 

"Hey-"

The voice behind you made you stall, the denim only pulled over one arm. 

You turned. It was Rhett. He stood a few feet back, hands in his pockets, eyes shadowed but familiar with a thick Carhart jacket zipped up halfway. He looked a little unsure of himself, like he knew he was trespassing on something private but couldn’t quite help it. 

You lowered your eyes and continued slipping the rest of your jacket on.

“I didn’t think you should walk out here alone.” He explained. Rhett’s tone was neutral, almost casual. But his eyes searched for yours. 

You raised an eyebrow, “I can handle the woods.”

“I know,” He said quickly, rubbing the back of his neck. “I just… still.” 

The flush was almost gone from his cheeks from what you could tell in the moonlight. A silence stretched between the two of you. Not unfriendly. But delicate. 

You could have sent Rhett back. Part of you wanted to. But another part, the bigger part, was oddly glad he’d followed.

You sighed, then turned and kept walking. He fell into step behind you, your feet crunching lightly over twigs and leaves. Your fingers brushed the tree trunks as you passed them, sometimes reaching out to gently stroke the prickly pine needles that got within arm’s reach. 

“Didn't think I’d see you Sunday.” He said after a few moments.

“Didn't think I’d come.” You admit softly, placing a firm palm flat against the trunk of a tree to push yourself upwards on the jutting rock in your path. 

Once up, you wait for Rhett, watching as he does the same. Waiting for him to find the proper footing helps you take a deep breath, crisp air burning the inside of your nose, and it smells like sagebrush. 

Spicy, peppery, and earthy. It reminds you of a simpler time. 

“Do you think you're ready for next weekend? I hear the competition will be tough.” You were already walking back up the trail, further and further from the fire. It was barely a glow from when you started. 

“Can ya give me a break? It’s only Tuesday.” He said, and when you looked over your shoulder, he was smiling. Soft, familiar, teasing like it used to be. 

So he still was a little tipsy. Not that you could judge, it was a miracle you had not tripped over your own feet already and biffed it in the dust. 

“Ah, you're right. Sorry Rhett.” You gave a weak laugh, shaking your head. 

The two of you walked in silence for a while. The small, rational part of your brain begged you to stop and turn back. Why were you still walking? 

Because if you turn back, you'll see him. 

The irrational, yet louder, part of your brain whined. 

If Rhett was concerned by how far out you were getting, he never made it known as you walked along the moonlit trail. Your brain was lulled into a rhythm of listening to his steps married with yours.

Stepstep step… step. Stepstep step… step. Stepstep step… step.

“So… you and Maria?” 

There it was. 

Of all the things drunk you could’ve done- trip over a root, crack your skull open on a rock- you went with that. 

Maria. 

And you would’ve preferred a concussion.

You winced but kept going as Rhett stalled and messed up the soothing rhythm of your steps together. The air shifted with his silence. Now it was all wrong. 

Heavy.

Rhett stayed silent but caught up with you, dragging his feet in the dirt like a kid called in from recess. You almost hoped he wouldn’t respond at all. 

Maybe he’d just fall away, disappear into the trees, and let you walk this off alone.

“Why d’you care?” 

Not the response you expected. You stopped dead in your tracks, nearly causing him to collide with you. He skidded to a halt, too close.

It was like the moonlight had a dimmer switch, because now you had a hard time seeing his expression. But he looked hurt. His trucker hat shaded his face from what little moonlight was left and he looked miserable. Pitiful even. Sad blue puppy dog eyes that searched your face for an answer you couldn't give. 

You stared up at him, mouth parting, but nothing came out. Every reply you ran through sounded dishonest, or worse, desperate. 

“God, m’sorry.” You twisted your hands in front of you, “I don’t know why I-” 

“No, tell me. Why d’you care?” Rhett interrupted, pressing the question further. A deep, dark pit formed in your stomach as you watched him lean against the tree closest to him, crossing his arms as his expression went cold, void of any emotion.

“Jesus, Rhett.” You muttered, voice low and unsteady, “You know I can’t answer that.”

“Then why the hell should I answer you?” His voice rose and you winced at the volume, making yourself smaller as if you would cease to exist if you willed yourself hard enough.

“You don't have to. I said I was sor-” You all but whined, begging him to understand.

But Rhett only laughed, bitter and hollow, and the sound rattled through the trees like something feral, “Oh but I have to. For your sake I have to. Y’know, for some college educated girl you're not very smart.” His words stung like a sharp slap against your cheek, the bite of them ripping through your clothes and leaving you bare, completely naked in front of him. 

You straightened slowly, trying to hold on to something solid… anger, maybe. “That was low.” You said flatly, “Really awful.”

Rhett didn’t flinch. Didn’t back down. The wind picked up between you, snapping at your hair like a warning.

“It’s true. And you know it’s true.” His words took on a mocking tone, “For your whole life you've been doing what other people tell you to do. How to act, how to feel-”

“And you’re the authority on independence?” You snapped, stepping into his space. Your finger jabbed his chest, “You’re so scared of what your folks think, you won’t leave that damn ranch.”

The wind howled through the trees like it was in on the fight. The sky had gone black. No moon, no stars. Just dark clouds and electricity thick in the air.

Rhett grabbed your hand and shoved it away, then took hold of your jacket with both fists and yanked you forward. Your body collided with his, sudden and breathless.

“You need me to tell you one of two things: that I'm with Maria. That I like her and I like her so much that I think we should slap a label on it and wrap our relationship up in a neat little bow.” Rhett leaned closer, his forehead dangerously close to brushing against yours, “Or that we tried. Tried making it work but it just didn't turn out the way we’d hoped and we’re done.”

It was clear he couldn't feel or hear the wind, or saw how the moon was covered with storm clouds. But you could feel his heartbeat against your own, erratic and frenzied. Faintly, you could hear the rumbling of thunder over your panting lungs.

“Rhett, listen to me.” You whispered, panic blooming in your chest. Another roll of thunder groaned above, closer this time, “You hear that?” The scent of pine and fire clung to his clothes, and the storm was so close now, close enough to taste.

But he wasn’t listening. Not really. His voice steamrolled through yours.

“Either way you need me to put you out of your misery because you can't do it yourself. Because you can’t make up your damn mind. You can’t even form your own thoughts about you ‘n me without help.”

You nodded, not even sure why. You just wanted him to see you. But he didn’t. Not yet. 

Rhett doesn't even notice, he doesn't even notice the first little drops of rain plinking on the brim of his hat and the little taps the water leaves on the rocks and dirt. 

“I’m serious.” You tried again, voice straining, “It’s about to storm-” You tried to reason, grabbing fistfulls of his jacket near his chest to try and shake him out of the trance he was in. 

Yet the movements and pleadings are half-hearted as you start to process his words. But before you had time to form a coherent judgement of what he was saying, he was already interrupting your thoughts.

He barreled on, “So you want the truth? Here it is: I don’t know what’s going on with me ‘n Maria. It was easy when you weren’t here.”

His voice cracked.

“But now you are. And I don’t know if I can trust you not to…” He swallowed hard, “not to leave me again.”

There it was.

The last of his armor peeled away, piece by piece, until all that remained was the man you once knew. Heart in hand, afraid to give it away again.

You were panting warm breath into each other's mouths, seemingly both processing every sentence that was uttered between the two of you. 

It hit you, sinking deeper and deeper until you realized what you did. Six years ago you left him. You left Wabang, your family, his family, everything. It was easy for you to leave because you took nothing with the exception of your luggage. 

Six years ago you left a twenty year old Rhett to pick up the pieces, to do damage control of what you destroyed in your wake. 

Rhett endured every one of Perry’s outbursts, the outbursts you didn't hear of because you kept your distance. Rhett was the outlet of his family’s frustrations because of you. And all he could do was silently suffer, because no one knew he lost you too. 

“Rhett, I-” Your voice broke on his name, “I never-” 

A crack of lightning split the dark sky, searing white through the pine trees. 

You yelped, flinching hard as thunder chased it. Loud and violent, rolling straight through your chest. The clouds above broke open without mercy, unleashing a curtain of rain that drenched you both in seconds.

“Shit,” Rhett swore, instinctively drawing you closer. His hands slid from your jacket to your waist, gripping tightly, like holding you would somehow shield you from the downpour.

But it was too late. You were already soaked through. The cold water clung to your skin, your clothes heavy and sticking to every curve. Hair plastered to your cheeks, eyes blinking through water, you twisted in his grasp, jacket clutched uselessly around your shoulders.

“Fuck, where…” You turned in a frantic circle, trying to orient yourself. The bonfire was too far, there was no way you'd make it back without slipping or getting lost in the dark. Another streak of lightning tore across the sky, followed by a violent rumble of thunder that echoed through your ribs.

But where the fuck would you go instead?

“The rock!” Rhett shouted, barely audible over the roar of rain.

“What?” You yelled back, shoving soaked hair out of your eyes.

But he didn’t answer. He grabbed your wrist and took off, hauling you after him. Mud sucked at your boots and the trail blurred beneath the veil of water. You stumbled behind him, heart hammering, lungs burning, too breathless to speak and too afraid to stop.

He veered off the trail suddenly, ducking into the dense trees, branches slapping at your arms and snagging your clothes as you pushed through. Then, out of nowhere, you saw it.

The rock.

Not a rock, really a boulder. Tucked deep between a cluster of old pines, the base hollowed out by erosion and time. A natural alcove, just deep enough for shelter.

You didn’t know how Rhett had seen it, maybe he’d known it was there all along, but in the haze of rain and noise and panic, it looked like a miracle.

He dropped to his knees first, ducking beneath the overhang, then turned to pull you in with him. You scrambled after him, collapsing onto the damp earth, your back pressed to cold stone, water dripping from every part of you.

The storm raged just beyond the mouth of the shelter, wind lashing at the trees, rain hammering down on pine needles and leaves in a relentless drum.

But inside the hollow, it was dim. Quiet by comparison and close.

Too close.

You could barely catch your breath.

You sat with your knees pulled up, jean jacket wrapped tight around you, watching water trickle down the slope just a few feet away. Soaked to the bone. 

Rhett stayed close to you, sitting with his elbows on his knees. He hadn’t said a word since pulling you off the trail. His hat was off, sitting a bit away from his form, hair matted to his forehead.

The silence gnawed at you, “I’m sorry.” You said quietly, your voice nearly lost beneath the soft rumble of distant thunder.

Rhett didn’t turn to face you. But you saw his jaw clench, the flicker of breath in his chest. Breathing hard like the sprint had taken more from him than he’d admit.

He wiped a hand down his face and leaned back against the rock, “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Make it sound easy.” His voice was hoarse. You nodded hesitantly, dropping your chin to your knees as you looked out of the mouth of the shelter. Rain was still pelting the ground in front of you, humidity creeping its way closer to the two of you. 

“I’m not asking for a pass.” You mumble into your knees, “I wasn’t trying to leave you behind. I was just… running. From everything.” Your heart clenches as your mind walks you through old memories, the fear you remember the most being when you found that ring in Perry’s duffle. 

How scared you felt that you might end up trapped forever. 

Rhett sighed through his nose, head leaning back against the stone behind him. The rain was softer now, more like mist than fury. The sound of it filled the spaces where words couldn’t go.

The sudden zip of his Carhart drew your attention back to him, watching with curious eyes as he shrugged it off and tossed it into the dirt next to him. You lifted your head off your knees as he then started to unto the buttons on his dark green flannel.

“What are you doing?” You asked hesitantly, furrowing your brows as he struggled with the last few buttons near the bottom. 

“You're freezing. And your teeth chattering is makin’ me annoyed.” Despite the way he phrased it, there was not an ounce of venom in his voice as he pulled the flannel off and held it out to you. 

Gently, your fingertips came to your mouth, surprised that your teeth were chattering quite violently. 

Your heart caught somewhere between shame and something else- something soft.

Once you accepted the flannel, Rhett was already pulling the Carhart over his shoulders. You followed after him, sitting up on your knees to have more room. Your jean jacket made an audible plopping noise as you dropped it to the ground, the heavy fabric soaked through with rain. Already you felt warmer with it off, even warmer now with something dry covering you up.

Out of the corner of your eye you saw his face turn to you. You ignored his gaze, settling back down beside him, a little closer than earlier. 

Finally, you glanced over at him. His jaw was tight. His eyes wouldn’t meet yours.

“I meant it, you know.” You said, voice low, “I never meant to hurt you.”

His eyes flicked to yours, then away again, like looking at you too long would cost him something.

“You still did.”

You nodded slowly, “I know.”

The silence stretched again, but something inside it had shifted. The fight had burned off into something softer, quieter. Wounded still, but not sharp.

You moved a little closer, not touching him, just enough to close the space between your words and his silence. The rain outside grew louder again, a burst of wind driving it sideways against the rock. Instinctively, you reached for him, fingers brushing the roughness of his soaked jacket sleeve.

He flinched, barely. But didn’t pull away.

“I missed you.” You whispered. And it was true. The truest thing you had ever said in your entire twenty-nine years. 

So true, it ached. 

His voice came out rough, “I don’t know if I can let myself miss you. Not like before.”

“I’m not asking you to.” Your fingers found the cuff of his jacket, holding on like he would run, “But I don’t want to lie to you, either.”

He looked at you then, really looked. Water still clung to his lashes, his cheeks flushed from cold and emotion both. He looked like someone trying not to drown.

And then, slowly, carefully, he reached up and tucked a strand of wet hair behind your ear. His palm grazed your cheek, and your breath hitched.

You leaned into his hand, and when he didn’t pull away, you turned your face just slightly, pressing a soft kiss to the center of his palm.

It wasn’t a kiss full of heat or resolution, it was quiet. Apologetic. A confession in a language both of you still barely spoke. Just a simple brush of your chapped lips to his warm flesh. 

When your eyes met again, he gave you a look you’d seen once before, years ago, under starlight outside of his house: vulnerable and unguarded, scared of the answer.

So when you leaned forward and kissed him, it wasn’t desperate. It was slow and soft. Like you were asking permission with every inch.

And for just a moment, he let you.

He kissed you back. Not deeply, not with abandon, but with the aching weight of someone who hadn’t stopped wanting this, even when he tried.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his eyes half-lidded.

“I can’t go back to how things were.” He murmured and you could still faintly smell the beer on his breath. 

“I’m not asking you to,” You whispered, “just… stay here. For now.”

He closed his eyes and nodded.

You were about to pull back when he pulled you back in, big fist twisting in the material of the flannel. Rhett’s chapped lips found yours once again, mouth moving tentatively against yours, as if he was asking permission but couldn't find the words. 

Kissing back with the same amount of tenderness, you let your eyes slip close. Slowly, as if not to spook him, you rose up on your knees to get a better angle, back hurting at the way you were twisted. 

Your mouth broke from his for just a second, but Rhett was already chasing you upwards. 

You steadied yourself against his broad shoulders, the pads of your fingers pressing in on his jacket as his hands drifted to your hips, skimming his fingers lightly over your sides. Your heart was pounding and your face was warm, his hands finally finding their place against your hip bones, thumbs pushing under the flannel and shirt to stroke against your bare skin. 

As you continued kissing him, one of your hands slowly moved upwards, cupping the sharp edge of his jaw. His stubble scratched against your cold skin, distracting you from the dirt digging into your knees from below. 

The rain and storm had faded from your memory, the only thing you could focus on now was the way Rhett pulled you into his lap, letting your knees fall to either side of his legs as you settled down on him. 

Those thick thighs slotting between your own, his strong arms pulling you close so your body was flush to his. 

Although it was clear that you wanted each other, the touches were kept tame. 

Still, you were kissing with closed mouths, only little slips of the tongue ever graced each other’s lips. Even your hands were respectful, Rhett’s never going any further than to rest on your lower back under the flannel. 

It was almost like you were seeing who would break first. Who would surrender and beg for more. Not in a teasing way, but in a way that would ruin you for the rest of your life. 

And it was looking like you might wave the white flag first. 

Cautiously, as if you didn't want to draw attention to it, you shifted your weight backwards, ass gently resting on the tops of his thighs. Slowly, you sat all your weight down. A little pang stung your heart at his warmth, skin buzzing with want. 

Rhett breaks the kiss and you freeze, worried that you pushed too far. His eyes are half-lidded when they meet yours, cheeks pink and so are the tips of his ears. 

Faintly, you can hear the rain behind you, but most of all the sharp cold smell of damp earth and pine surrounds the two of you, wrapping itself around you as if to reassure you it’s still there. 

He’s pushing you away, and you let him. 

It starts out as a hesitant nudge against your hips, his fingers wrapping around the flesh there. Then he’s averting his eyes, looking away as he firmly pushes you off of him. It’s not rude, not malicious, and you know that. 

But it hurts nonetheless. 

“‘s’too much.” He mutters once you are back in your own space, a respectable few inches between the two of you. And you nod, because it’s the only thing you can do. 

Leaning against the rock, you sigh through your nose, biting the inside of your cheek. The rain comes in waves, sometimes pelting the ground outside, only for the next minute for it to be just barely there. 

While you waited for it to die down, you messed around on your phone. Texting Beth back from her worried messages, wondering if you were okay. You had to hold your phone out and up, at a funny angle for it to even think about sending the text. 

Then, with your head back against the rock and your eyes half closed, his voice breaks through your almost-sleep, “Looks like it’s faded, lets go.” His tone is sudden and hard, like it was difficult for him to get the words out. 

Rubbing the sleep from your eyes, you awkwardly crawl out after him, taking the hand offering to help you up. 

You follow him out into the night, the air cold and damp, heavy with the smell of wet earth. The rain has finally stopped, but everything feels swollen with it. Like the world is holding its breath.

The walk back to your respective vehicles is eerily quiet.

-

You slept hard, too hard. The next morning passed in a blur of paperwork and heavy limbs. You didn’t hear from him at all. You didn’t expect to.

The work day crawls by, slow and gray, a clear sign that the colder months are settling in Wyoming. You scroll through texts you don’t respond to, wash clothes that weren’t dirty, and stare at your own reflection longer than you should in the dirty bathroom mirror.

When the sun starts to dip again, painting the sky in streaks of dull copper and muted indigo, a pressure builds low in your stomach. Like something’s coming, like the quiet is waiting to be broken.

It’s nearly nine when your phone rings. A shrill, confusing sound ripping its way through your dark living room that drowns out the movie you were watching. 

It’s an unknown number, which causes you to hesitate. Probably not a spam call, by the looks of the local 307 area code. Muting your movie, you answer and hold it close to your ear, sinking deeper into the worn couch. 

“Hello?” 

There’s a pause, long enough that has you thinking it just might be a spam call and you debate hanging up. 

The voice on the other end says your name, more like a question than a statement. It’s low and measured, female. 

“Yes, this is her. Who is this?” Your back stiffened as there was another pause. Something dark settled in your stomach. 

“This is Deputy Sheriff Joy Hawk with the Wabang Police Department. We’d like you to come in and give a statement.” The static makes her voice unsettlingly scratchy, hard to hear over the crackle. Your pulse flutters. 

“What’s uhm… What’s this about?” You clear your throat and sit up, picking at a loose fiber on the thigh of your sweatpants. 

“There was a body found this morning. Out in the field just past the Old Wind River Highway.”

You already know who. 

Joy continues carefully, “We believe the deceased may be connected to you or someone you may know.” 

Your breath doesn’t catch. You don’t drop the phone. You don’t say anything for a few seconds. Not because you’re panicking, but because you’re thinking. Trying to line up your thoughts, which suddenly feel like they’ve been spilled out of a well-organized drawer.

“I see…” You take in a shaky breath, chewing at your bottom lip, “Would this be able to wait until morning?” Your eyes flick to the watch sitting on your wrist. Now a bit past nine, but you have work tomorrow. 

Another pause. “We’d prefer to speak with you tonight, if possible.”

Glancing towards the window by your stairs, you see it’s rather dark. The kind of dark that has you drawing the blinds in fear you may see something out there that you don't want to. 

“Right. I live out in Lander so I-”

“Whenever you get here is fine. I'll see you soon.” Joy interrupts and ends the call abruptly, like something else grabbed her attention.  

You sit very still, your phone resting in your palm like it might ring again, taunting you as the movie keeps playing. The deafening silence settles again. 

And the movie still plays. It continues through a scene you've seen a million times before, and it makes you wildly uncomfortable. It still plays while he is dead. It didn't stop. You fumble with the remote and turn it off. 

You don't cry. Not because you don't feel anything, but because that feeling is complicated, sprawling, and you don’t have the energy or clarity to follow every thread of it right now.

Maybe you actually don't feel anything. Numb, something protecting you like an extra myelin sheath. 

You stand and move through your apartment slowly, methodically. You gather your things- keys, jacket, wallet. You don't bother changing out of your sweatpants and baggy top. Pausing only once, in the hallway mirror beside your front door.

Your face looks somewhat normal. Maybe a little gaunt. You wonder what they’ll see when you walk into the station. If they'll see just another name on a long list of people adjacent to the mess, or if they’ll see something else.

You leave.

-

The ugly fluorescent lights overhead buzz with quiet aggression, harsh against the ink-black sky outside. You can feel them needling into the base of your skull.

You freeze when you spot him.

Perry. 

His back is turned, shoulders hunched and rigid through a glass-paneled room behind the desk. When he glances over his shoulder, he doesn’t look dangerous.

He looks afraid.

You give your name at the front desk. The officer there barely glances up before waving someone over. There’s no waiting in the room, no pause. They were ready for you.

A younger officer escorts you to a narrow room with a window, the pane taking up a full wall and similar to Perry’s. You surrender your keys, phone, and wallet before stepping inside the open door, a small wooden chair waiting for you behind a matching table. 

The room was warmer than it needed to be, stale and uninviting. You take off your jacket and drape it over the backrest as you sit down. When you sit, you keep your spine straight. Not out of confidence, but because slouching would feel like giving something away.

It takes nearly twenty minutes before Joy enters. Her tan uniform wrinkled like she hadn't had the chance to change since coming into work this morning. Her smile, despite being guarded, is warm as she greets you, shaking your hand as you stand before her. 

“Thanks for coming in.” She says, gesturing toward the seat. “Shouldn’t take long.”

You nod and sit again, this time on the edge of the seat. You couldn't run, the door was already closed. But you just couldn't relax in the stifling room. Joy studies you for a beat. You meet her gaze, calm but unblinking. She’s already looking for cracks.

Forcing yourself to relax, you slouched a little bit, the backrest digging into your ribs uncomfortably. 

“How do you know Trevor Tillerson?” Joy asks as she perches herself on the edge of the table, reaching her arm out to steady herself on the flat surface. 

There it is. His name. 

“We went to high school together. We never really talked- didn't run in the same circles I guess." You explained, picking at a hangnail on your thumb. 

Your heart was pounding.

Joy nodded. You expected her to whip out a pen and some paper to start writing your story down, but she stayed put, long braids trailing over her rounded shoulders, “I understand you saw him last Wednesday, at the bar?”

“Briefly, yeah.” You brushed some hair from your face.

“Can you tell me about that night?” 

Hesitating, you look past her and out the window, keeping your head low. You couldn't see anything but a few plaques on the darker beige walls. 

You’re calculating how much to give her. If Perry’s here, Rhett has to be too. 

“I was feeling sick-” You started, looking back down to your hands, “So I went outside to… puke, I guess.” You were embarrassed to admit it out loud, as if she had not seen a decaying body that morning, “I saw Perry in an argument with Trevor and it was getting heated. Rhett came out and broke it up.”

Looking up, her eyes bore into your soul. Joy shifts her weight slightly, the movement subtle but deliberate. 

“Did Rhett and Trevor get into it?” Joy asked, pressing further. You get the sense that she already knew the answer to that question, the tone of her voice gave it away. It was more like she wanted you to confirm her suspicion. 

You nod, “A little pushing. Nothing serious.” A lie. Trevor’s bloody face resurfaced in your thoughts. You vaguely remember Rhett’s request to keep quiet about what happened when he met you in the street. 

“Was Maria there?”

Nodding, you hummed a confirmation, confused why Maria would be important at all to why Trevor’s body was resting in the morgue. 

“And she went home with Rhett?”

Your brow creases, “No. She left with her friends. Rhett walked me back inside. Then he left with Perry.” Your hands were wrung tight under the table. 

“So you saw the Abbott boys leave toge-” She started, furrowing her dark eyebrows.

You shake your head, interrupting her, trying to get your story straight, “I didn’t see them leave. But Rhett went out to get his truck through the front. Perry was the last one I saw with Trevor in the back.”

Joy’s fingers begin tapping a soft rhythm on the table. Her silence feels strategic.

“Alright. Sit tight. If you need anything, Matt’s outside.”

She’s gone before you can respond. The door clicks again. Heavier this time.

You sit in silence. The minutes pass slowly, marked only by the quiet cracking of your knuckles, one at a time, deliberate. You’re not restless. You’re burning through your nerves in controlled bursts.

When Joy returns, her tone has shifted.

“So were you with Rhett that night?” The question lands on you like a stone to your chest, making your face heat up at the insinuation. Joy knew all about you and Perry, it was hard not to in a small town. For her to even be suggesting that made you sick to your stomach. 

“I went home with my friend Beth Dellucci, I can give you her contact to verify.” The words were gritted out between your teeth, cheeks burning in embarrassment as you lowered your eyes to your shoes. 

“Alright boys! Let's get you home.” An unfamiliar man’s voice tore through the station.

Both your heads snap toward the sound. Joy mutters, “I’ll be back.” Her voice clipped as she left again. Even with the door shut with a heavy sound, you can still hear the faint sounds of arguing between a few people, more doors being slammed shut. 

You’re halfway out of the chair when she returns, this time holding everything you gave the younger officer. 

“You’re free to go. Save the number I called you on. We’ll likely need to follow up.”

You pause, standing up fully, “Why do you keep asking me about Rhett? Am I a suspect?” The words come out quiet, the door still being held open with her foot.

Joy lets out a long sigh through her nose, looking into the empty hallway before back at you, shutting the door so the two of you are alone again, “Because earlier today Maria falsely created an alibi for Rhett and told Matt she was with him.” Her words were hushed, “She admitted that she lied but informed me that you were the last one she saw him with.” 

“But I went home with Beth, Rhett walked me to her.” You tried explaining again. You had no idea what happened after Rhett left to get his truck. 

“Trevor’s body was found in one of the Abbott’s pastures.” Joy’s voice was sharp, stinging. But it was nothing compared to the freeze that gribbed your spine. You felt like you might suffocate. 

“So my question still stands.” Joy continues, seemingly satisfied at your shocked reaction so you finally understand why the Abbotts are so important to this, “Rhett was missing for two very important hours and no one can confirm where he was.”

-

The night air hits you like a slap- cool, sharp, alive in a way the interrogation room never was. For a second, you just breathe. The sky above is full of little stars, and the parking lot glows under flickering overhead lamps, each one casting a pale halo on the dry gravel.

Then you see them.

Perry, pacing like a caged animal near the hood of his old pickup truck, cigarette clenched tight between his fingers. Rhett leans against the passenger door of another nearby truck, arms crossed, jaw tight. And Royal, standing between them like a man holding a tight leash on two fighting dogs.

They see you before you can decide whether to turn back.

Perry’s wild, red-rimmed eyes lock on you, “You.” He spits, taking a step forward, “What’re you doin’ here? Dragging our names through like we’ve got anything to do with it.”

Rhett doesn’t move. His gaze shifts to the ground, but you catch the flick of his eyes in your direction. He knows something.

“Perry…” Royal warns, voice low.

“Joy called me, I didn't choose to come here tonight.” You snapped back, planting your feet firmly to the rocks, “And I didn't drag anyone, I told the truth.”

Perry’s already moving closer, arms flaring out from his sides, cigarette forgotten and burning between two fingers, "You're full of shit. What the fuck did you say about us?” All bluster and rage, but you see the fear under it. 

Bubbling up in every twitch of his jaw.

And although you stand your ground, Perry looks at you. That same dead look he gave you outside the bar. Swaying, looking past your form. 

“That’s enough Perry.” Royal barks at him, dropping a heavy hand upon his shoulder. It causes him to look away from you, relieving you of the hold his eyes had on you. 

“I didn't kill him.” Perry hissed at you, but it sounded like he was trying to convince himself more than you. You stare at Perry, heart knocking against your ribs now. 

He’s not trying to clear his name. He's trying to redirect blame. Push it around like a virus no one wants to touch. And you realize something important.

He’s not scared you’ll think he did it.

He’s scared you know something.

“What did you do to him, Perry?” The words come out soft and bare, raw as you ask him truthfully. 

He lunges.

Not far. Not enough to touch you. But his whole body jerks forward, and it’s Royal’s hand that stops him by gripping the arm of his jacket. Rhett pushed himself off of the truck and quickly crossed the short distance, yanking Perry back from you by his elbow. 

You're frozen in time, watching as Perry pants like he’s just run a mile. Something shifts in his eyes again, realizing something.

Pushing the other two men away from him, he storms back to his truck, slamming the door behind himself. Royal follows reluctantly, muttering something to himself as he climbs in his own truck. 

Rhett lingers, hesitating near you. 

“He thinks everyone’s out to get him.” Rhett murmurs. 

You meet his eyes, “Should they be?”

Rhett doesn’t answer. He just exhales through his nose, gaze dark and distant. Then he walks back to his dad’s truck.

Both vehicles roar to life, tearing away before they've even warmed up properly, the night swallowing them up.

But the question stays with you. 

And you don't feel safe anymore in Wyoming. 

See me on AO3 as Creatchie8 too for a full list of tags & more!

Tag List: @keepingitlokiii @deadlybeauty16 @beebeerockknot @scrunchylew @qutequeersstuff

[kitmoas]

when the veneer crumbles

the sounds of water are always relaxing

Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Warnings: **18+ MINORS DNI**, SMUT, dark and demonic themes, death, possession, drowning, magic use, Mommy kink

as per usual if there is anything I missed let me know

Author's Note: I'm so sorry this one was late, had a lot of car and financial shit I needed to figure out but I finally got it finished. This was one that i always knew how i wanted it to end, even from last year when i first planned it for the Occult series, but for some reason it was REALLY hard to put my idea into words. Hopefully it's not HORRIBLE, i'm a bit rusty after taking more then a few months off. The rest of them will be better I promise lol

Kitmoas | Necrosis Kitmoas | Navigation

The crickets in the distance are a welcome change to the busy streets of the city, cars honking 

nonstop during your work day. The world you live in is hectic and out of control but the farther you walk into the almost clear empty darkness the more you can feel the control you naively gain. Stepping into the barely touched woods behind the mostly abandoned house was something that you had missed, a childhood memory that had died suddenly. 

Allowing your mind to wander to the summers that you would spend here out on the lake, jumping off the dock, and laughing with your cousins was the welcome peace you needed as you settled along the rickety wood. Even if those fun times were cut short at your aunt’s sudden death, you knew that being here gave you just a moment of your innocence back. 

Stepping onto the rickety wood carefully, you cringe internally as your arm tightens momentarily around the rolled up soft blanket. You should have known better to bring a water proof material but it was too late for that. Knees cracking slightly as you lean down, the smooth fabric flaps in the wind and you sigh softly in relief as you are able to fully settle on the dock. Deciding to stretch out was a bit of a mistake, in your time away you forgot just how soothing the sound of water lapping at the damp wood was. 

Goosebumps spread across your skin as you slowly came to consciousness, brittle wind chilling you to the bone as you rub the sleep out of your eye. The fog is dense, and confusing as it was supposed to be a clear night. Slowly sitting up, your bones crack as you stretch as much as possible without rocking the dock too much. The unstable wood is loud even with the bare minimum movement causing you to flinch as it echoes across the empty field. 

Squinting through the haze, you try to figure out if you can gauge just how late it is by the placement of the moon. The only thing you can see is a weird tunnel out in the middle of the lake, almost like a tornado of gray. Immediate fear isn’t your first thought, though you begin to question just how awake you are. 

Condensation makes the wood wet, slipping as you try to stand up but it's the glowing red orbs in the distance that makes you freeze in your half crouched position. They are captivating even from afar. The air around you is thick, filled with the now red tinted fog that almost looks like it's bleeding. Heavy and molasses-like as it lays on your skin, eyes flickering around you try to make sense of your surroundings. 

When she gets close enough to see smaller details, your brain slows almost to a complete stop. She’s entirely too breathtakingly beautiful and tragically horrific at the same time. No color to her skin, it’s almost as though she comes directly from one of the old black and white television shows your mother liked to watch. The woman is wearing tight clothing, torn and ripped sporadically. Her eyes almost seem so gray that they are an ethereal foggy green, only flashing ruby when the shrap thin lines all over her body pulsate crimson. Her hair is long and dripping with an inky hue, tangled and disheveled. Fingertips dipped in a steaming tar, dancing near her side as she stalks towards you. 

It’s when you can almost reach out and touch the figure that you finally scramble backwards, putting distance between the two of you as the flight side of your instincts kick in. You barely make it more than five steps when you’re being dragged upwards with some sort of red translucent mist. It wraps around your wrists, dragging your arms above your head as you flop about uselessly. Screams are getting caught in your throat as you have to just hang there, watching this being get closer to you. 

When the lady is directly below you, the hair on the back of your neck stands up straight and your muscles twitch from how tense they are. You want to panic, to yell, but something stops you. Tilting her head, she has to look up at you from where her magic holds you against the rough bark. Her hand comes out to touch you, but the soft feeling comes as a surprise to you. She cups your cheek, a low red spreading in her eyes as you shake under her touch. 

She smiles at you, a soft almost nurturing thing. “You’re just as pretty as I thought you would be, little lamb.” Her voice is chilling, breathy with a raspy tone to it. The older woman’s free hand caresses your stomach, an unwanted warmth sinking into your gut. 

Her nails are jagged, cracked and repulsive, as she takes her time to explore your body. It’s sudden, the vigor in which she gropes your body. Clumsy and completely all over the place, you aren’t entirely sure what she thinks she’s doing. Struggling against your restraints, the chill covers your body like ice freezing over a lake. 

It isn’t until your body takes over, fear and anger sinking into your bones, that the creature seemingly gains control of her actions and her hand becomes confident and firm. Nails pointedly scratching at your skin as fingers map out your skin, almost stabbing at each goosebump she finds. Your eyes are glued to your face as your mind struggles to catch up to what you had done, flinching as her other hand reaches up. It doesn’t strike you as you thought it would, instead she brushes the back of her knuckles against her own face, trepidation stopping your blood from rushing through your body as you finally realize that you spit at her. 

That wasn’t what you wanted to do, you knew that you needed to act smart if you were going to survive this but for some reason all your ability to think logically went out the window. You wanted her more than anything in the world right now, and you knew that you needed to try and do anything to keep her exactly where she was. 

“Do you not have control over your stupid little body, mortal?” Her voice is low, almost filled with gravel as she mumbles. Rust filled eyes not even paying you a second of attention but instead staring at the glistening saliva that drips from her fingers. 

Your head is shaking vigorously, denying inability in hopes that she doesn’t see you as foolish. The desire to be praised by her came as a surprise, but you weren’t fighting it and it seems to have worked. A smile slowly stretches across the surreal creature’s face as she blinks slowly. “It’s so funny to see such a useless being believe they are worth anything more than what I deem them to be. You think by answering my question in whatever way you think I want will make the outcome of your situation better?” 

She speaks softly, almost nurturing as she rubs her soaked fingers along your neck, smearing your own spit against you. You crane your neck as much as you can against the crimson smog wrapped there, trying to hear her voice as clearly as possible. 

“I take what I want and no smart mouthed, stupid brained little human is going to stop that. I like to have fun, and the peak is watching you bleed out for me.” The words are harsh but you can’t help but moan as your body is thrown upwards, red tendrils tightening and dragging you to hang limply from the tree branch. It’s devoid of leaves, and creaks under your weight, but it somehow makes you feel like you have a safety net. You had climbed this tree many times in the past, and even had various hanging sets from this very limb. 

Swinging freely, you try to move your body as much as possible as the urge to escape your confines sinks in. Entirely too focused, you don’t realize that her hands are moving along your ice cold skin. Groping softly, her movements are controlled and precise to make sure that you barely register it in your brain. It’s when her hands force your legs apart, maroon vapor ropes slithering around your thighs to hold them open, that you finally realize just how hard you are breathing. Your body felt slightly warm, at least in your core, and you could feel your blood rushing downwards. It was almost like your entire being was electrified and you were entirely too conscious of every single thing you felt. 

She doesn’t take her time, her eyes narrow as she focuses on mapping out your skin. The bright  ruby lines she leaves in her wake only entertain her for so long before she finally moves in between your shaking thighs. The older woman’s finger swipes through your folds, collecting the small amount of wetness she finds there. Gasping as she spreads it across your clit, a throbbing ache despite the way your body revolts. Her jaw mockingly drops when for the first time her eyes light up with amusement, giggling when your hips chase her hand. “Oh poor baby, I can’t fuck you if you’re not wet enough. It’ll hurt your small fragile little body too much and Mommy doesn’t want to hurt you.” 

Your head is shaking violently, nonsensical protests tumbling from your lips. It didn’t matter to you, regardless if it was because you wanted her or wanted the situation to be over with, you just needed her to touch you. Even though your wetness wasn’t enough for her, you did feel aroused. Maybe it was your mind tricking you into believing this was what you wanted or maybe it was the glittering crimson behind your irises, but that wasn’t a piece of information that you needed to know. 

She tuts, chastising you. “Now don’t lie to me. I know what you want even if your mind fights it, and your body hasn’t caught up, I know.” You watch as she takes a step back, letting her eyes drink in your form. Letting the back of her knuckles run down your torso, you watch as she slowly kneels on the damp dirt. Her hands are grazing over your thighs, pushing them farther open as she leans in. The grip she has on you, though gentle, is strong and you can’t kick her when you feel her mouth along your skin. 

The smoothness of her strangely sharp teeth is hot against your cooled body, but it’s the sharp pierce and spilling of your blood that leaves a weirdly chilled warmth leaking down your leg. Eyes widening you try to look past the head of dark locks to see what just happened, but it didn’t take long for your brain to catch up and the stabbing pain on your inner thigh. 

She looks up at you, sparkling light jade eyes catching the moon light, with a toothy smile and a small dribble of crimson running down her chin. “You’re a fucking vampire?” You couldn’t help the shocked yelp, body shaking with fear. 

The being doesn’t even answer you, giggling as rolls her eyes up at you. She seems so innocent in those moments but nothing gets rid of the terror emanating within your soul. Looking back at your bleeding thigh, she swipes her fingers through the thick liquid to coat them. Her nails catch on the open wound, sending another wave of searing pain through your body but she pays no attention to you. 

It almost feels like time stops as you hang there, waiting, but the moment the brunette swipes her crimson dipped thumb across your clit something in your body cracks. It’s small but you can feel the change and in your mind you start screaming at yourself. You know being vocal won’t stop this crazy woman, but you wanted to deter her by being completely unaffected. It was the last thing you had on her, to make her believe that what she was doing was just pure torture and you found absolutely no pleasure in it, but you knew that that power over her was no longer available to you. 

Never one for vanilla sex, not even in theory, you shouldn’t be that surprised that being taken by force from a demonic crazy being would be right up your alley. No one could ever keep up with you, your fantasies were just a bit too intense or a bit too dangerous, and for once everything you ever wanted was being fulfilled. This gorgeous being was forcing her fingers farther into you, your blood dripping randomly down different parts of your body. 

Despite your want for intensely kinky sex, you knew that it should be completely consensual right? It should let you know that, and you could feel your anger rising in your body as the heat zoomed between your thighs. This couldn’t be consensual, not with how it started, but if it wasn’t then why did the idea of her actually stopping tear you up on the inside? You couldn’t fathom the idea of her ice cold thumb pulling away from your throbbing clit for too long, for her touch on your body to not cause goosebumps.  

She doesn’t wait much longer, no need to attempt to please you now that she has the wetness she wants, shoving two fingers into you with almost no remorse. A shrill scream gets stuck in your throat as you choke on the force of air rushing up, the pain bringing tears to your eyes. A sign of weakness that this twisted soul revels in as she thrusts her fingers in, letting her free hand drag up crimson periodically.  

The pain was immense and you were certain that she had to be using something besides her fingers, there was no way that the small hands in between your thighs were causing this much agony. You wanted to shove against her, but the moment her teeth sink into your breast you know you’re gone. Hips jumping, trying to get her to move more as the pleasure starts to settle in your tummy, uselessly against her body. It felt so bad that the good started to come from a delirious state, and you just needed her to move. The tips of her fingers just rubbing slightly against the soft spot inside of you, the texture of her wrinkled skin felt wrong but you were starting to become obsessed. 

“Isn’t it comical? A desperate slut like you thought you had everything together, thought I was going to ruin your life by taking what was destined to be mine?” Through the heavy fog that had begun to settle in your head you tried your best to look down at her, shock painted across your face. How did she know what you were thinking? She doesn’t give you any answer, instead her thrusting gets more aggressive as the wetness between your thighs grows, and it mixes with the blood still heavily leaking from the bite marks. 

You want to moan, whimper, maybe even plead but you were no longer sure what you wanted. Logically you needed this to stop if you were to ever be okay again, but at the same time all you wanted to do was feel her mouth on your clit. You wanted her to fuck you until you were incoherent, a drooling mess. Hatred towards yourself and her fueled your motions as you tried to work to take more of her hand, stretching around her third finger as she shoves it ungracefully into you. 

Her mouth is at your knee now, glowing eyes looking up at you as she smirks. “Taking me so well for someone so against getting used.” Her arm is moving roughly, fingers curling inside you as she ghosts her teeth along your thigh. “So clean, so dry. Why don’t you make a mess for Mommy? I like my cunts all wet and messy.” 

It was then you found your power, despite the arousal burning in your belly and the way you clenched around her fingers whenever she swiped her thumb along your clit. You knew that the more you let your thoughts wonder, even if it had to be forced, that you would be able to pull yourself from the situation. Imagine yourself somewhere else and almost black out during everything, your body would be limp and pliant but not give her what she wants. The movie you would go see in a week with your best friends, or the long list of groceries that you knew you needed to get when you went back into the city. Thoughts swarmed your head as you tried your hardest to ignore the way her fingers poked and prodded, the way her thumb caressed your swollen clit just perfectly. 

Screwing your eyes shut, you make your best attempt at seeming unaffected but you don’t realize that you aren’t winning. If anything you just make it more fun for the being below you, giving her the opportunity to make you as wet as she wants. 

Being so focused on the thoughts traveling through your brain was good until you don’t feel the tugging on your wrists, persistent and firm. It’s only when you’re tumbling helplessly through the air that you realize you are no longer hanging from the tree, but instead falling face first into the freezing lake. It’s a shock, breaking the surface of the water. It knocks the breath out of your lungs and forces your throat to close, you can practically feel all your muscles seize as well. You make the mistake of opening your mouth to scream, causing a rush of dirty water to fill your lungs, and it’s only when her hand claws at the back of your head that you feel even an ounce of relief. 

She’s tearing your body out of the water, pieces of the thin ice fly around you and you can’t believe that you relax as your body collides with her. “Don’t think that you can try to outplay Mommy like that you little slut. I know what you want, you are my destiny. You were made to take me, so be a good girl and let me do what I was made to do.” Her voice is sweet, almost soft, as she speaks through her teeth directly into your ear. It shouldn’t calm your racing heart, neither should the almost warm comforting touch of her red mist along your thighs. 

You want to let yourself fall, the intense arousal is boiling in your tummy and you can feel the coil tightening with each brush of her hand along your body. It would be much easier to allow yourself to become immersed in the pleasure coursing through your body, but it wasn’t until she allowed that crimson fog to slip inside you. Despite the fact that whatever she was pushing into you was magical, you were still too tight for her liking. There was a part of you deep down that still didn’t want this and it was causing your body to react subconsciously. 

‘If the slut doesn’t want to get wet, then I’ll keep you wet myself.” Her hands scratch up your side, a nail digging into your nipple on the way up and it makes your hip buck. You feel yourself melting back into her and a moan softly slips from your parted lips. The urge to pretend that it’s from the cold is strong, but you can’t even pretend at this point like the feeling of her hands on you isn’t turning you on. 

Her hands are running along your torso, teasing your nipples and scratching up your stomach. It almost feels normal, just another hookup and it makes you forget. Losing yourself in the way that the ruby swells inside you, rubbing against the soft spot it finds and caressing your clit softly. 

The wetness between your thighs is gathering the longer she plays with you, wine stained mist thrusting lazily into you. It almost plays with you, knowing that it ruts to hard or fast that it will bring you closer to the edge, but it keeps you writhing for more with each movement. You want to beg for more, ask her to touch you with her own hands as you have begun to crave her ice touch, though there is something that is stopping you from doing that. It isn’t necessarily pride, something you lost the moment you began to get turned on by this aggressive form of twisted affection. 

It’s when her nails scratch at the back of your neck that you realize the fog that’s dragging you slowly, almost mockingly leisurely, towards the edge is growing. Almost like a ball, it feels like she’s pushing her magic abilities to stretch you to the point right before danger. You’re confused, as your wetness starts dripping down your thighs and your breath starts picking up, how much more wet could you get? 

Instant regret floods your system almost as fast as the ice cold water that rushes down your throat as she shoves your face directly into the lake. It’s not a quick dunk to shock you this time, her claw-like hand squishing your face into the almost mud like dirt at the bottom. She doesn’t stop forcing more and more into you, her magical fog swelling larger and it presses against where your torso is now pressed against the ground. Even as you struggle against her, your internal will to try and live kicking in, you can’t help the build up in your stomach. The coil tightens as her magic moves within you, moving inside you as her nails dig into her back. 

Sharp stinging pains are a contrast, an added sensation, to your panic as you begin to think maybe she is just going to keep you submerged. There’s no way she would, right? She wants to use you, there would be no reason that she would want to truly harm you. 

A deep belly chuckle is muffled through the water, barely a vibration as your arm and head flail as much as possible. You wanted out but you can’t help but moan instead of scream, the pleasure of her nails into your shoulder blades and her thigh grinding between your thighs into the swell of mist there beginning to get too overwhelming. It was no longer a fight to survive but a fight to enjoy the last moments of life. Somewhere in your mind you knew that you wouldn’t actually make it out of this alive, but for some reason you’ve decided to ignore that. 

“Such a stupid whore, letting just anyone touch your cunt.” She fists your soaked hair in your hand, and just for a fleeting moment the pain mixed with arousal takes over your fogged mind. “You don’t even know Mommy and yet here you are, taking my gorgeous gift like the good little fuck toy you are.” Her free hand abandons your back in lue of groping your ass, pushing down against it to get you to stop moving. Her thigh is pushing against your throbbing clit now, soaked in your wetness despite water lapping up as you splash about. 

You can feel your vision start to darken, the edges of the burning sensation as you try to keep your eyes open have blurred and blackened. Unsure if you are even panicking anymore, your body starts to relax and the only thing you can focus on is the fuzzy warm arousal filling each nerve in your body. The water floating around you becomes tranquil as each muscle in your body softens and you move with each thrust into you. 

A wide sinister smile stretches unnaturally along the being’s face, pulling her almost gray lips as far as they can as she stares down at your almost lifeless body. She can see the signs and for her it motivates her even more, forcing more and more of her magic into you. You were everything she could have ever wanted and she refused to let you stay in the living world, if she was destined to be stuck to this lake forever then so would you. 

Slowly you could feel all the tension in your body start to clump together in your stomach, draining from the rest of you and tightening around the scarlet orb inside you. You craved that last bit of pleasure, that last rush in your veins to end this for good. 

When it becomes almost impossible to move and you are no longer shaking from panic or exertion, but instead trembling from hanging onto the edge, she knows it’s time. Sneering down at your limp form, she uses her grip in your hair to turn your head. Slapping at your cheek until she can just barely see your fuzzy bloodshot eyes, an almost soft nurturing smile paints along her face once she sees your drunk like state. “There’s my girl. So fucked out.” Her sphere cloud inside you starts to vibrate, her cold dark eyes once more glowing a dim ruby. 

Gripping at your jaw, her claw practically breaks your neck as she forces you to keep eye contact with her. Even as your eyes slip closed, struggling to stay open as you start to dangle over the edge, you can’t help but feel drawn in to listen. “Say my name, little toy, say it and stay with me forever.” Her voice is raspy, bordering soft but she’s taunting you. “You know it, you know you do, so say it. Say it now.” Her actions become frantic, her thigh grinding more aggressively into you. She’s trying to force you into a more pathetic state, even at the edge of death she wants you to be begging for her. 

As much as you can you try to deny knowing, because how could you? You had never seen this person, if that’s what she is even considered, before this horrific situation. The attempt at trying to keep water from going down your throat had stopped, your lungs should have filled completely with liquid by now so some other power must have been keeping you alive. 

Though you couldn’t see it, the being was getting annoyed. Her eyes rolled as she realized that you were thinking again, a brain dead creature who could still think. “Say my name and you can cum for Mommy, like the pretty little whore you are.” She spits at you through her teeth, pointed and your blood drying on the dull shine. With her words she sees a change in your stature, even held under the force of her hand, eagerness. Humming slowly she allows her maroon mist to sink into each part of your body. 

Your brain was almost empty, nothing but serene thoughts going through it as you felt yourself slip into the darkness. You thought that there would be a light at the end of the time but instead you start seeing a faint rosy hue. The being above you is yelling at you and the need to give in is strong, you want to end everything on a high. You need that high. 

Her name slips into the water almost silently, your eyes slipping closed as you fall into unconsciousness, but it’s there. She hears it, muffled, “Wanda.” Usually one of her biggest fears, not one to want to go back to the damned dark world but with you she could thrive. A black magic demon who accomplished its goal? She would rule the world with a scarlet leash around your neck. A small smirk as her magic starts to die, a sure sign she’s going back to being contained. Until the end of time you will be her needy little toy, just as you were as you took your last breath. 

[myuniverseinabox]

Okay finally deciding to share this. The map for my headworld, Arcardia!

This map was done in collaboration with a friend who wanted to remain anonymous - but she did most of it. The concept sketch was mine (general crescent shape with the archipelagos in the middle), she did the lineart and the biome map, mountain placement, rivers, sea depth... all of that.

I just traced over it and made it into pixels (cause I was really inspired by my brothers pixel art at the time lol) and made some alterations that I'm sure would have hurt her geology nerd brain.

LORE DUMP BELOW;

Gia is the planet that Arcardia takes place on, and Arcardia.. is a continent about the size of Australia. It is covered by an array of different climates and biomes, but mostly deserts and jungles. The climate can range from -5°C in the northern regions or 30°C in the deserts or tropics. The continent is divided up into the 'mainlands' and the 'outlands' - mainlands being the archipelagos in the middle, and the outlands being the main crescent land mass.

The Pale;

Beyond Arcardia… is… well, nobody knows. Arcadia is surrounded by a thick fog that distorts everything it touches. Gravity behaves in strange ways there- rendering flying machines useless. Compasses point in seemingly random directions, and after a while you don’t know where up or down is anymore. This fog is called ‘The Pale’ - and nobody who has ventured beyond it has ever returned. Life however, lives on. While nobody is known to venture into the Pale and live to tell the tale, it's clear that some of Arcardia's wildlife do find their homes there. Most notably, the Banshees. Banshees are wyvern-like carnivourus creatures that live in very large groups, sometimes up to forty or fifty individuals. They are named as such for their chilling howls and shrieks, and they are well known for their ability to spit acid. Being opportunistic carnivores, they've been known to predate on many races of Arcardia without hesitation. Harsh environments with often scarce prey items has taught them not to be picky.

Politics/history;

In Arcardia there are three main nations; The Anerc Katafygio, the Arkxin Republic, and the Vounomada. The Anerc Katafygio (or Anerc) was the first founded of the three, as it came about while The Pale was still growing, in the year 3002. Anerc was founded by the seraphs and the dragons. During this time, a split off group who named themselves the Arkxin emerged, founded by the serpents. Almost 100 years later, after Arcardia was colonised and The Pale came to a stop, the Vounomada started to take a grip of the north outlands- founded by the griffons and their now healing population. Now, in the year 3302, Arcardia is a place of great political tension. Arcardia doesn't have strict borders, but Anerc controls all of the mainlands, and has made many cities in the outlands into their puppets. Arkxin holds most of its territory in the southern outlands, relying on the harsh climate and the apprehension to war from most in Arcardia to keep their cities from Anercs control. The Vounomada relies on similar tactics. There are no active large scale wars in Arcardia at the moment, but there are constant small scale conflicts with nations trying to expand control over each other, or onto previously unclaimed land. There are many regions of Arcardia that none of the nations have control over. You will find many small villages or settlements scattered across the continent that abides by no law but their own.

More about Anerc;

The Anerc Katafygio, or simply Anerc, is the name of the nation that has control of the Mainlands and a fair amount of the Outlands. They are the ruling nation of Arcardia, with current leader, Pauri - A Seraph, or Divine Dragon of the Light Bringers Clan. Anerc Katafygio simply means 'new refuge', from a language that has long been lost to time - it was the main group that colonised Arcardia and called it their new home as the rest of the world was engulfed by The Pale. People who live under the Anerc Katafygio are called Mainlanders. Anerc Katafygio's entire philosophy is that arcane magic was what was wrong with the world and is what caused The Pale. It is strictly prohibited in any region they can control, and punishment for studying or practising such magic is often met with execution. Anerc present themselves as a safe haven, as peace keepers, and as the preservers of nature - anyone who challenges them or their beliefs are considered enemies of reality as it's known.

---

I have a lot more lore written than just this but I don't wanna bloat this desc all too much. It'll go up on the Arcardia site... eventually lol. If you have any questions, feel free to ask!

[depmode]

OC layers game

i was tagged by @wickedviago & @josiesruffles !

LAYER ONE: THE OUTSIDE

Name: Sasha Ingellvar

Eye Color: left bright pink, right dark brown

Hair Style/Color: naturally black hair, he's been dyeing it since he hit 18 and could to his hearts content. usually blue, purple, or pinky rose gold (limited mostly by what looks good in the DAV CC rather than color preference lol.) usual style is cut short with or without bangs, but tbh i haven't really fully decided what he might do after DAV ends! he might give up on the coloring for a while :/

Height: 6'1  (185cm? according to google lol)

Clothing Style: the fashion inspo section on his pinterest board has 431 pictures so uhhhh. let's see. ominous watcher chic, Gold with Gold, Leather with Leather, disco king, old Hollywood vintage glam, slutty, sparkly, colorful, kookie. the entirety of everything thierry mugler did in the 90s. day to day he dresses pretty normal, but in his heart his wardrobe is the size of an entire room.

Best Physical Feature: smile. though he's more likely to say his arms, or something saucy.

LAYER TWO: THE INSIDE

Fears: isolation/being alone, small spaces or anything that feels vaguely claustrophobic in some manner even if it's not (being stuck in thick fog, total darkness, etc.) doesn't exactly fear animals but gets awkward and nervous when interacting with any.

Guilty Pleasure: nothing? im not sure there is anything he feels guilty for, in terms of interests/enjoyment. there are things he might feel guilty for but that's The Trauma lol.

Biggest Pet Peeve: people who interrupt (he is a people that interrupts :p), weenie ass folks who can't handle the sight of a dead body, people who look down on others/make up unnecessary us vs them superiority complex shit

Ambition for the Future: don't ask him about the future he will laugh and then start crying. he's trying to figure it out.

LAYER THREE: THOUGHTS

First Thoughts Waking Up:  Another Day. it's a very neutral kind of thought. it's not good or bad really, just oh, yeah, time to get up again. probably still sleepy. probably immediately thinking about how he's going to dress/do his makeup today.

What They Think About the Most: in the time before traveling with varric, bones and anatomy and guts and dead stuff. things he needs to do, analyzing other peoples behavior, daydreaming, horny thoughts.

What They Think About Before Bed: everything that happened that day (and why it was Wrong most likely), random ruminations, horny thoughts.

What They Think Their Best Quality Is:  very amiable and generally chill, hot and fuckable

LAYER FOUR: WHAT'S BETTER?

Single or Group Dates: he hasn't been on a proper date in like 6 years and never been on a group one, so no real opinion

To be Loved or Respected: loved

Beauty or Brains: for him, beauty. for everybody else brains. let's call it complicated lol.

Dogs or Cats: no preference

LAYER FIVE: DO YOU?

Lie: typically not. very talented at answering questions without really giving anything away or deflecting conversations, however.

Believe in Yourself: typically not

Believe in Love: yes. but no. but yes. but not for him. but his idea of love is not very healthy lol.

Want Someone: yes<3 because he has fucking awful taste in men<3

LAYER SIX: HAVE YOU EVER?

Been on Stage: probably not? no real reason to have been.

Done Drugs: yeah. idk what drugs even exist in thedas outside Weed but he will have done them all multiple times. party hardy.

Changed Who You Were to Fit In: him? change? nooooo. he wouldn't say he changed just. grew a thick skin and learned to go along with things :o)

LAYER SEVEN: WHAT’S THEIR…

Favourite colours: purple!! black.

Favourite animal: cheeky answer is wolf. real one… hm not sure. small cute stuff maybe? squirrels, bunnies, mice, mini pigs. also cool neon colored frogs.

Favourite book: some old ass anatomy book probably, or a book from his childhood that has good memories attached

Favourite game: hide and seek puzzles? do puzzles count? he likes those.

LAYER EIGHT: AGE

DOB: Harvestmere 19, whatever year makes him 27 (no i dont wanna do the math 🙏).

How Old Will You Be: however old he is, i guess

Does Age Matter: usually no

LAYER NINE: FINISH THE SENTENCE

I love: the Necropolis 🩷

I feel: adrift

I hide: most everything

I miss: the certainty of life before

I wish: to know what to wish for

tagging EVERYBODY this is a discord server and i just hit @ everyone so Do It. and @theoozeboy (that one worked lol here you go!)

[thefanboyhub]

A snippet of a "book" I am writing. I hardly ever write it but I still adore it and 90% of it is literally me just winging it and going with what my brain thinks of. I have a VERY small outline (mostly just facts that are vital to the story and things I thought of and wrote down lol). I started writing this in freshmen year and (about 2-3 years ago, almost 4 now.) And just now finished the preface lol.

ENJOYYYYYY!!!

Preface

Chatters of birds danced in the air, bouncing across the mossy stone walls. The vines drooping from the walls and ceiling swayed in the cold wind to the rhythm of the birds' songs. The soft glow of the sun filtered through the stained glass and bar windows, filling the room with a type of angelic glow. The trees below not quite reaching the window but stretched as far as one can see, the sun making the green leaves glitter like emerald jewels. A small snarl sliced through the peaceful air. From the corner of the room, where an all white bed resided, came sounds of clanking chains scraping across the floor.

A small figure in white sheer fabric clothing tugged and struggled against the bulky metal chains restraining them. Their curly blond hair hung and swayed in front of their face as they continued to try and pull the chain off their dark skinned arm. They hiss as the metal pinched their skin and les out a frustrated sigh. They froze at the sound of a click across the room

The door swung on its hinges revealing a lean bodied person in all white and gold attire, their eyes a smoky blue, skin bronze, and strong, pure white wings. Their brown hair was pulled back into a bun, a thinner and lighter figure trailed behind them. The thin one held a pile of books, their red hair was in braids with their green eyes framed with gold colored glasses, their wings smaller, matching their petite size, but still large. The two enter the room fully before the door shuts behind them with a clank of a lock being put back in place. Heavy silence filled the room like a thick fog

"Good morning. Vesper The one with a bigger build spoke with authority. Their eyes were like icicles digging into any soul of whom they looked at Their eyes shifted from the figure on the bed to the small and knocked over stand oest to them. The floor was covered in some sort of mushy porridge like food with the shattered bowl shards surrounding it. The white wings behind them fluttered before going still again, a very.... [END OF SNIPPET]

[lambsearandlavender]

Epilepsy/seizure whump ideas idk??

I really like whump/sickfic & comfort fics and, as a person being diagnosed with epilepsy, there's not nearly enough good seizure whump/comfort fics. And what is out there is usually grand mal seizures which, don't get me wrong, I get that they're the big dramatic ones and stuff but there is so much more to seizures or epilepsy that's been unexplored here. So I want to like... share some of my personal experiences in the hope of spreading awareness and also seeing more fics in which I can imagine my comfort characters taking care of me in situations I actually deal with irl 😅

Biting teeth together in sleep so hard that they chip; slowly having one front tooth get a series of small chips along the bottom and needing to cope with the dip in self image. Not wanting to smile with your mouth open anymore. Being afraid of chipping your teeth more in your sleep

Biting tongue and cheeks in sleep so hard that they bleed. Waking up with blood in your mouth, all over your face, on your sheets and pillows

For 3 years I had seizures in my sleep but didn't KNOW that was what was happening. What I knew was that I periodically woke up with stroke-like symptoms: dizzy, slurred speech, everything felt like I had to push through an incredibly thick fog in my brain to do it, difficulty thinking at all, difficulty forming sentences, falling over, balance issues, crashing into things. Trying to pick something up and my hand would swing out wildly and knock the thing over instead. Working so hard to pick it up and then my muscles just giving out so I drop it anyway. Walking like I was drunk. Doing everything really really slowly because it was so hard to think, move, or speak at all. Being too weak to lift anything. This lasts 15 minutes to several hours/all day. I often have to sleep it off. Recovering from a seizure is no fucking joke and when you can't remember the seizure, you just wake up like that and it's scary and confusing

Waking up feeling like the world is spinning in circles, rolling like a ship at sea, and shaking violently all at once, and my eyes are also moving uncontrollably (nystagmus is the medical term) so it LOOKS like I'm in an earthquake yet I know that the world isn't moving and it's something wrong with me. Curling into a ball squeezing my eyes shut, waiting 2-3 minutes for it to stop. This will happen several times in one night. These are partial seizures, which you are conscious and aware during.

The general concept of aware seizures where you know full well what's happening but you're not piloting your body and all you can do is wait

Twitching or going rigid in your sleep as you seize, possibly waking your partner. Or knowing you had a seizure and they slept through it; both happen lol

Constantly waking up in the middle of the night dizzy and brain foggy, realizing you've probably had a seizure, going back to sleep hoping you'll be able to function by morning

Some seizures have no warning and others are preceded by an aura. Auras can have tons of symptoms including but not limited to nausea, dizziness, hallucinations of all senses (so not just seeing things, but also hearing/smelling/feeling things), a sense of impending doom out of nowhere, and strong sense of deja vu

Having an aura and being on edge waiting for the seizure to happen. But sometimes it doesn't and the aura IS the seizure bc they are actually like a, idk, smaller but longer lasting pre-seizure seizure. Idk what to tell ya that's how it is

Some folks think they're psychic or haunted or just plain going crazy due to the deja vu and hallucinations until they know it's seizure related

Speaking of, legitimately being told that you're possessed by demons and need to repent at least once a month by some random stranger

Days that you recovered mostly from a seizure but your brain just isn't all there. Forgetting entire important conversations from the day before, or just needing a lot more time to think through and comprehend something that's normally easy for you

Seeing the mix of concern, annoyance and frustration, and just plain making fun of your memory loss from the people around you

Waking up frozen in a weird position mid seizure, or waking up with one body part having its own lil dance party while you seize and otherwise can't move

The Epileptic Scream where you make a weird fucking scream or moan as your lungs seize and force all the air out all at once. I hear this is a pretty scary sound to the people who live with us, I've heard myself do it a few times and it is a pretty strange sound plus it gets tied up with the trauma of your loved one seizing

Having a new weird thing happen and not even knowing if it might be a seizure or not

Being told you can't do things bc you might seize....drive, swim, etc...being told you should have someone monitor you even in the shower and stuff just in case so a loss of privacy and independence until your seizures are "under control"

You know what can trigger seizures? STRESS. Also lack of sleep. Go crazy with that.

You know what stresses me out? Seizures. Which are triggered by stress. And you know what happens when I'm really stressed and anxious? I can't sleep. Some nights I'm so sure I'll have a seizure that I'm AFRAID to go to sleep. Except, the not sleeping also makes me have a seizure. And I know it. So I'm stressed about it...........

Having a really stressful day and just KNOWING a seizure is gonna happen because of it and preparing yourself for it as best you can

Days my face just can't stop twitching really severely. Well, just my mouth and lips. All day. It's embarrassing. Trying to drink something and your lips start going really extra twitchy and everything dribbles out. Fuckin sucks. Are they seizures? Auras? We don't know 🤷‍♀️

"I don't know" just comes with the territory

Miss a dose of your seizure meds? Instant seizure.

Seizure meds often cause severe mood swings (of the angry or depressed variety), serious weight gain or loss, things like hair falling out... but hey if your seizures are controlled maybe you can drive and swim and stuff and also the not having seizures part of course. So it's worth it I guess? But if you have mental health issues already lol good luck

Canceling plans because you're really tired and you know going out already tired will just lead to a seizure

How do they diagnose you? They hook you up to a bunch of electrodes and then try to trigger you to have a seizure on purpose

Just, hitting your head if you fall during a seizure is such a massive issue

SUDEP...sudden unexpected death in epileptic persons. Yeah, sometimes people with epilepsy just randomly die in their sleep (presumably while seizing). If your seizures are uncontrolled (not medicated to no/few seizures), you're at much higher risk

Take a guess how this affects my anxiety about sleeping while I'm still unmedicated

Also every person in my life acts like either my life is over and so tragic (huge overreaction) or like absolutely nothing has changed and have no empathy for it at all (my life isn't over but it is changing a lot and this stuff is scary, so can I get a LITTLE sympathy, please?)

I'm super duper not an expert on epilepsy, just a gal who did a lot of research and talking to other epileptics and taking notes about my own experience... but I'm really happy to chat about it or answer more questions (or if I'm wrong about something/someone knows more than me, I'm really wanting to learn so please feel free to correct me!)

[spinph69]

Idk how to make an a03 account lol i've tried but nothins workin, so im gonna post this here. This was mostly inspired by what master cornflake said, we need more gorey doom fanfics.

Also this is like the first time i've written Somethin and completed it in months so bare with me its not very good lol

TW: Gore, S-icide-?

Vega punched a demon through its stomach, pulling out what he could in one swoop before it fell on its back. Guts and maggots wriggling in his grasp before he dropped it and moved onto the next demon.

He heard a bang before an explosion from his right. "SLAYER-" he called, turning his body in that direction. He spoke calm but he couldnt tell if his voice was worrisome or disappointed, knowing the slayer it was probably his fault something exploded. The pipes behind him popped, some of the wall cracking before exploding. This was probably a result of the last explosion, and the arena was filled with gas and fog.

Vega walked around, trying to listen to groans of zombies or thrown fire balls by imps, pressing onto his helmets speaker button and calling out "Slayer? Where are you?" He let go, waiting for a response.

Soon enough a raspy, gurgled voice spoke "On the top floor, are all the fodder demons down there? I could really go for more ammo."

Vega nodded "i imagine the larger demons rest up top?"

"Mmhm"

Vega shook his head and sighed "i cant see a thing, even the automaps not workin. I'm headin there soon, we'll meet midway."

"Sounds like a plan."

They both were headin towards the stairs, the slayer soon being blinded by the fog, it was rising up.

He heard a familiar noise before looking down from the 3rd balcony, and he called from his helmet as he saw the beams "VEGA, TYRANT-"

Vega turned his body to see if he could find a light, spinning in circles before a blaster soldier ambushed him. Vega grabbed his arm and pulled it out before using it as a bat and wacking the demon unconscious. Soon more demons began circling him, and the slayer jumped down to help. They still Couldn't find one another but they continued to fight as the tyrant shot at anything.

Soon enough a rocket hit Vega, sending him off to the nearest wall and slamming into it. He fell onto all fours before the wall cracked, pipes shooting water and quickly pooling on the floor. The slayer heard it and ran right towards the noise, when he saw the beast tower over his friend.

The slayer pulled out a rocket launcher and balista, setting up both so he could easily switch when he ran out of ammo for the other. He shot the tyrant, trying to derive its attention but it wouldnt budge, he was trying to pick them off one by one, it'd be easier to go after one even if he doesnt survive. He was a child of the dark lord, and so he'd make father proud.

Vega stumbled his way back up, eyes widening as he saw the arm pointed straight in his direction. It felt closer than 5 feet away, freezing in fear as he had no where to dash through. He had the poor boy cornered before setting off his blasters, all 4 rockets slamming into him back to back.

After this the tyrant stumbled, its broken legs growing numb and meat falling off. The slayer jabbed his blade into the demons thick bone, it cracking and chipping like wood as he screamed in pain. He kept pushing it deeper, hitting the bone marrow and deeper blood vessels. He jammed it all the way through, before slicing it down enough to where the rest of the bone folded under pressure. The demon fell to its knees, high enough for the doom slayer to grab onto its horns, crawl onto his face and jab his 12 inch blade straight between the eyes. The vibration hitting through his core as the knife hit his rock hard skull. He did it again, enough for the blade to go through its skull and piercing its brain. Its eyes going blank as blood poured from its nose and wound.

The tyrant fell limp, landing in the water and splashing a wave of water it knocked the slayer down. The rest of the demons in that arena died off burning as their corpses transported back to hell.

The slayer got his balance again and pulled off his helmet as water seeped through, his suit wasnt built for the water.

The fog slowly began to clear up, especially where the water was, and he saw Vega laying limp in his own blood.

The slayer wanted to scream but he knew his already destroyed vocal cords would screw him up even more.

Face laying down in water, the slayer picked him up and laid him on his back. It became abundantly clear his suit was broken, and pieces of it stabbing right through him.

The slayer teared up as he shook vega "VEGA!!" He called before coughing.

Vegas eyes slowly opened but they were only a squint, vegas grip onto him was weak and he breathed heavily. Blood continued to pour from his body, mixing in with the water as his suits helmet fogged up. He didnt know what was worse, 'dying' in the slayers arms or seeing the slayer cry.

He pulled off his helmet and saw his bloody face, nose broken and blood pouring from it. "I'm gonna get you home soon"

Vega shook his head "no.. We're not done here yet"

"You cant take care of yourself alone"

"Which is why im not gonna"

The slayer cocked his head in confusion, Vega continuing with a static and broken voice "I'm gonna die here"

The light his chest bared was slowly fading, it was as bright as it would be when he would sleep. The slayer shook his head "n-" before he could continue Vega pushed his hand against his mouth "you listen to me, take the chip from my suit, bring it back home with you when you're done. We've done this before, i know you can do it again"

The slayer shook his head again and began signing with his hands, throat too scratched up especially when crying. "I can't lose you again, i can't keep losing you."

They both hated watching the other die, even if vegas physical form was just that, a form, and the chip could be transfirmed suit to suit. Even if the slayer had 'lives' an existing boost that would active whenever he was on the brink of death.

Vega pulled the pistol from his side, something the slayer had abandoned ever since hayden shot him back to hell. He put it to the roof of his mouth, it was better to go out this way then to continue bleeding out for what felt like hours.

The slayer looked away as the light flashed, plasma frying every circuit and melting into his core like a fire ball. He dropped him as vega began getting hot, shooting his core the way he did immediately led off to a miniature explosion and his head flying off into pieces. All that was left hanging on his neck was a broken jaw, a few teeth missing and his tongue burnt.

The slayer turned away and puked, it was a horrific sight to see, especially with your husband.

This was one of the hardest moments the slayers had to go through in a long time. His chest no longer heaving with heavy breaths, his light completely gone and body fell completely limp in the slayers grasp. This form had died, and it would take a while for them to make a new one.

But he did what vega requested, abandoned the body, and moved onto the next level.

[superpowered-disasters]

The Sparrow Academy AU

So how do our superpowered children fall into the hands of vegetable harjeebs? Well imagine this as post season 2, except Ben is still with us as a ghost because fuck you I have a soul despite the amount of angst in this cannon. Our OCs are replacement Sparrows. This AU is a bit self indulgent, but it is very very angsty. There is a bit of hurt and comfort, but mostly just hurt lol Let’s give a summary of the characters :D

Number One - Casper: The ghost Casper’s power is to phase through anything. He can control how phased in or out he is making him either practically non existent, or like a thick fog. At 15 years old Vegetable forced him to phase out as much as he could. Even when he hit his limit Veggie forced him to go further, spread himself thinner. And when Casper stopped, too strained from the effort, he couldn’t phase back. He was completely out of energy and now roams around as a ghost. Still visible, but silent to those of the living, having to communicate with ASL [American Sign Language]. Though Casper does have some company. He’s on the same pseudo-plane of existence as ghosts. He can see, hear, and touch them. Ghosts can also hear him when he speaks.

Number Two - Zelda: The Static Sadly Zelda is one of the least developed characters. Her ability is technopathy. She can psychically control and manipulate electronics and their signals. Due to self esteem issues power related stuff she constantly wears a large TV-like helmet. It has a screen as a face which frequently displays emoticons, but can be connected to television networks.

Number Three - Daniel: The mutant Daniel’s power was once the ability to breathe underwater. When he was 7 years old Reginald sent him down to explore a wreck at the bottom of a lake. He found the mangled corpse of an old man, and parasite. Parasite latched onto Daniel, taking him as its host, but in the process stripped Danny of his power. Ever since the incident Daniel has lived with parasite in his body. Parasite can extend from Daniel’s body to create limbs, pseudo-pods, protective shields, the possibilities are endless. But parasite requires animal meat to sustain itself. Human is the most nourishing for it.

Number Four - Autumn: The Nova Autumn’s power is to harness any and all friction to form electricity. It’s stored in her body like a battery and is always constantly building up. Reggie frequently uses her like a battery for his experiments and machines. She’s had a history of anxiety and self-harm from an early age. When the energy inside her builds up it can be extremely painful causing a restless buzzing feeling.

Number Five - Jack: The Voice Jack’s power is telepathy. He has the ability to read and enter the minds of those within a 500-600 meter radius. Sometimes he just ‘hears’ people’s thoughts as if they were spoken aloud. This leads to many an awkward sputtering of, “I never said anything about that.” It’s easier for him to communicate with someone if they make skin to skin contact, but he can still create a mental link between himself and a few others without issue. Jack’s training and punishments often involve being in crowded places, hospitals, schools, or places of large distress. Regilald forces him to both try and block out every single voice, and then try and hear all of them at once, and understand what is being ‘said’. For a time Veggie also used Jack as a living baby monitor. He’d make Jack snitch on his siblings with threats of being locked in the mental hospital for hours or days. For a while Jack complied, but when after Six disappeared Reginald stopped making him do it. Also Jack is trans. poor child is afab :’)

Number Six - Six: The boy Y’all know who it is. BUT a bunch of angst writers are making this AU so the poor boy goes through even more :D Six’s power is space-time manipulation. Six is this universe’s Five Hargreeves. Six’s training is pretty much the same as his doppelganger. When Six is 13 he runs away. In about the same manner as his counterpart, but the apocalypse he arrives in is very, very different. In this universe Jack causes the apocalypse. All his pent up frustrations, anxieties, and guilt come to a head when he finds out how much his siblings truly lied to him. He has a complete meltdown and in the process scrambles the brains of humanity. Some died due to the damage, but most were left as soulless husks. Barely human lying in a vegetative state on the ground. Six arrives in the disastrous nightmare to find his siblings, alive and yet already gone. The only one that is somewhat normal is Daniel, but it’s not actually Daniel anymore. Daniel’s brain was rendered thoughtless and parasite took over the vessel. They just lost their best friend and now have to live in his husk. A couple days after Six arrived, Casper wandered back to the academy. He saw Six, but couldn’t talk to him so he followed him around. Six assumed Casper to be a hallucination, but went along with it, chatting to his not-dead brother. Six does everything he can to take care of his dying siblings, but slowly each of them starve to death within the first year. Parasite survives with Six for a while longer, but even they can’t hold on forever. Parasite dies when Six is 22. A few days after parasite’s death a commission agent offers Six a deal. Work for the commission and escape this hell. Six takes the deal and works for the commission for 14 years. All throughout his time there he worked tirelessly on his math. And then he did it! He time traveled back to March 22 2019, but landed in the courtyard in his 13 year old body. His siblings all ran to give him a hug and suffice it to say, the boy cried. A lot.

Number Seven - Sage: The prophet Sage’s power is to see into the future. She’s able to see the outcomes of situations, but only if the outcome is bad. Her training had a lot to do with premeditated events that Sage had to describe. Regineld pushed her to look farther, to see more than just a few seconds. This did work, but not without consequence. Sage has seen many gruesome events that never transpired. Many deaths narrowly avoided.  Sorry for how sloppily written this is, it’s 1am lol

[brief-candle]

ᴄᴏɴᴛʀᴏʟ - Muzan Kibutsuji

the longest of my boys

took a reallllllly long time too lol. was it worth it? maybe.

had to fix about 20,000 mistakes because as an english person i accidentally kept using american versions and you know we don’t let that slide round these parts

series: demon slayer/ kimetsu no yaiba

notes: yandere, muzan being a dick, muzan in general, many minor character deaths, some gore, self-deprecation, starving.

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ♫ ⋅.} ───── ⊰

It was a dark night; murky and thick was the fog that surrounded you and your fellow demon slayers. You were all rather low down in the ranks, mostly due to lack of experience rather than any lack of effort. The moon hung in the sky as if on an invisible string, a full and bright circle.

"The moon is pretty tonight, isn't it?" Said one of your teammates after more silence than she seemed able to handle. You believed her name was Hanako, though you weren't quite sure. 

Another person merely grunted in response, and another elbowed him swiftly after. 

"Yeah, I think so," that person spoke, not sparing a glance upwards. He only looked towards 'Hanako', seemingly unable to tear his eyes away from her. She only giggled as everyone moved forward,  "Focus, everyone," another person who had taken upon himself the role of the leader had piped up, "the demon's said to be around here. Stay sharp."

Yes, stay sharp. That was the most vital thing when looking for a demon. It was always a case of spotting it before it spotted you; the first blow could very easily be the last. 

"I'm sure it'll be fine. They only sent us Mizunoto, after all," Hanako reasoned, voice light and without an ounce of concern. Everyone muttered in agreement with that, then, before another pitched in: "Yeah, besides if anything happens, we've got a Tsuguko on our side!"

It was then that everyone turned and glanced in your direction. You, the girl who didn't talk much, who no one knew much about, either. It was as if everyone had just now remembered you existed, and stared upon you with newfound awe. It's not as if Tsuguko were common, after all. They were probably even rarer than Hashira, even if they were less powerful. There wasn't much else you could do but glance around at all of the curious pairs of eyes and nod in acknowledgment. Hopefully you wouldn't have to put your training to the test, and you could just be there as a background character instead. That would mean there was no threat, after all.

Thankfully they all looked away soon after, suddenly disinterested. Not that it was extremely shocking; You didn't have the most striking or memorable appearance. Plus you weren't exactly being talkative or upholding a constant flow of conversation with your intriguing personality. Instead you were just following everyone else, two steps behind, beginning to berate yourself for... well, berating yourself. How could you even think of becoming one of the Hashira when you couldn't even stand up to yourself for yourself? It was a miracle that your teacher had even seen any potential in you in the first place. You'd barely been able to hold a sword steady before then, and had survived the Final Selection through luck alone. There really was no hope for-

Putrid.

You slapped your hand onto your nose, cringing immensely from the odour seeping through the air. The Mizunoto ahead didn't even seem to notice you'd stopped, and only one or two appeared to be aware of the disgusting stench ruining the forest air. You could barely call out to them as you were- the more of it that filled your lungs, the closer you got to vomiting. And if there was one thing you didn't need to be known for, it was throwing up before even encountering a demon.

But that smell was unlike anything you'd sniffed out before. It was almost suffocating from a single breath.

"Hey, everyone!" You finally called out, a desperate and breathless outburst that made you want to shrivel up and seep into the floor you stood upon. Especially when their gazes were filled with concern and confusion. But here, you had to cast the shadows lurking in the crevasses of your mind out to focus on the situation: there was no doubt that there was a powerful demon nearby. Extremely powerful- more powerful than any demon you'd come across yet. Maybe even more powerful than any demon you'd come across even in the distant future.

Who are you kidding- such a thing is foolish to think.

“Please... be cautious. I think there's a very powerful demon nearby.” Your mouth was running away with you again, leaving your brain in the dirt as it struggled to catch up and come up with any half-decent sentences to convince your companions to be wary, "Don't hesitate to withdraw if need be." 

For a moment, it was silent. You were almost convinced that everyone had died where they stood before one of them began to laugh.

“Of course there's not a powerful demon around- why would they send Mizunoto to an area full of demons we wouldn't be able to defeat?” He spat, tone scornful and expression condescending. To be completely blunt, he was an idiot, especially as he continued: “And withdraw? Really? Why the hell would we withdraw? What do you take us for? A bunch of cowards?”

Yet his harsh words seemed to spur on the rest of the Mizunoto, who began to chuckle with him. But even still, he wasn't done.

“Real demon slayers don't run from a challenge- they find a way around it. They're skilled enough to find a way around it. How do you think we passed the Final Selection?" 

“To be honest, through luck.” The words flew from your mouth before you could catch them and shove them down to your chests. “Real demon slayers, as you put it, don't charge into battle without a plan. But even a plan isn't good enough all the time. Real demon slayers know when to quit and withdraw.” Your hands seemed to be flying everywhere, at this point very much out of your control. This time the people's eyes were upon you as you began to fume more and more, the demon slayer who you'd very quickly shut up could only stare on, shocked. “But sure, if you wanna go and get yourself get killed for something as idiotic and worthless as your damned pride, then go right on ahead. Be my guest!" With each word, you jabbed your finger more and more aggressively in his direction, your scowl deepening to such an extent that you never thought it'd straighten out again, “But I refuse to die with you! I'd much rather actually do something with my life rather than waste it through one stupid mistake, thank you very much!”

He looked dumbfounded still, mouth gaping similarly to that of a fish. And he made about as much sound as one, too. Everyone else seemed to be in a similar state, looking between one another as if to say: 'is this the same person from just a few minutes ago?' It certainly wasn't unfounded, either, as even you were taken aback by your own outburst. But you certainly weren't remorseful. It was hard enough to train with someone who zoned out constantly, who only gave praise through his silence, who only seemed to think for himself. Never mind being on a mission with people you don't even know, who don't know what you've experienced yet still look down on you for giving them an ounce of your common sense. To say the least, it was infuriating.

He'd taken it gracefully, all things considered. From the now-distant look in his eyes, you also assumed that you'd given him some food for thought as well.

Even though the tension in the air had considerably heightened after your outburst, it tasted a little cleaner as it passed into your lungs and it seemed much easier to focus on regulating your breathing back to its usual rhythm. Not even the sounds of chirping birds filled the silence. It was as if there were no birds in the area at all. Such a thing was so far-fetched that you couldn't tell if it made you want to laugh at its ridiculousness or if it just egged on the part of your mind that was determined that everything was going to go wrong. Either way, you ended up shrugging it off, trudging on with the group in silence.

“What's this demon all about then?” Someone had asked, whether to simply fill the silence or out of genuine curiosity was unknown.

Another demon slayer that you didn't know anything about took it upon himself to reply, "Dunno, probably just some new demon who's gone on a mini rampage."

You felt your eyebrows furrow and lips purse with disapproval with the way he phrased it . However you didn't call him out; you'd made enough of a bad impression as is, never mind attacking someone over how they phrased a demon slaughtering innocent people. With that in mind, you straightened out your facial features with a small sigh. Your first mission again after months of stressful training, and you were being this moody.

Mind lost in the clouds, you didn't see the massive root of the tree sticking several inches out of the dirt. Not even a second passed as the ground rushed up to meet your face. The dirt beckoned, calling out to you mockingly. You were so useless that you tripped over the root of a tree when people several ranks below you hadn't fumbled once. How could you even think that you could protect them if everything went pear-shaped if you can't even notice a root when you're simply daydreaming? The audacity!

That was another thing you'd have to ask Muichiro to teach you.

Well, at least it wasn't all bad- you'd managed to catch yourself with your hands and shoot back onto your feet before anyone had turned around to spot you in such a pathetic state.

Rancid.

That filthy stench was back again, stronger than before. You'd forgotten it had existed between now and the last time. It was overpowering, and you barely held back from gagging from the first lungful.  “What's that smell?” 'Hanako' seemed in a similar state, but on the worse end of it. She'd gone deathly pale, and was visibly trembling. Upon looking closer, her eyes were watering as well, and her hand was clutched around her nose like a vice. A different person had his hands clutched over his ears, and was curled in on himself.

“W-what's wrong with everyone?” Someone, clearly unaffected by the demon's nearby presence, stuttered. It was then that you realised how you all must look to those whose senses weren't so heightened: several people looking extremely ill so suddenly when you'd all barely set foot onto the site of your mission. 

There's a dangerous demon in the area! 

Your vision was only just clearing up from the swift and sudden headache that came with the exposure to such a potent smell. There was no way you could pull yourself together; there was no way you'd be any use at all.

It's probably too dangerous for anyone else to take on! 

Yes, but there was no chance in hell that you could take it on either, was there?

If it appears and you're in this state-

That's right- you're right. Here you were, hunched over, in a worse state than the majority of the Mizunoto, with your level of experience and the privilege of being a Tsuguko. It was cowardly. Yes, you should be careful, but that doesn't mean you should be so downright pathetic in that you're so reluctant to fight a more powerful demon than usual for a few moments so that everyone can escape.

-everyone will die. 

And it'd be all your fault, too.

That, if nothing else, gave you the strength to straighten your back and stand tall. You stood taller than you had for months. Perhaps the false bravado you plastered onto your exterior would trick your muscles into halting their quivering and force the adrenaline through your veins. All the help your body could provide would be greatly appreciated, for this could very well be your final fight.

I might not even become a Hashira...

No, but what would that matter in the end? It's not as if you were ready to become a Hashira anyway, though you liked the thought of eventually being that strong. But today, in this moment, none of that mattered. What mattered was protecting humanity.

That was what a demon slayer of any caliber strived for, wasn't it?

The bravado you had strung up almost collapsed when you saw it stood there, through the trees. Ghostly pale as the moon itself, clad in a white hat to match his trousers, contrasting with a black suit jacket and curly hair like ink. It faced away from you all, so you couldn't see its face, but the sense of dread that filled your stomach was burning as it rushed through your body.

Run. 

You almost listened, instinct to survive barely stomped upon by a trained mind. In these moments when you wanted to run away most, you had to remain the most calm you'd ever be. To show cowardice and fear is to hand defeat to these beasts upon a silver platter.

“Everyone,” your voice was softer than you'd remembered, mellow as you strolled through each word, “get yourselves out of here. Don't waste a single moment; return to headquarters, seek out a Hashira or even Oyakata-sama himself.”

It was incredible how in a moment of peril they all listened to you, hung onto every word. For a brief second, you contemplated if this was how Kagaya Ubuyashiki himself felt, being the centre of attention with every slight movement. “Whatever you do, you must make haste and warn them,” you weren't sure how exactly you knew who the demon was, but your gut screamed the name at you until it shook your very core, “that on this mission we encountered not the demon we were to be hunting, but Kibutsuji Muzan. This is of the utmost importance. And I-"

You had to swallow and pause, almost choking on those words. It was a moment of hesitance to continue, to admit such a thing to not only them, but yourself also. Yet it needed to be said, for if not now, then perhaps never.

“I may very well not follow you out of this forest.”

The tears threatened you at the corner of your eyes, of exposing your frail heart even more in front of these strangers who felt closer to you than your mentor had felt most of the time.

"So treat this as my final request, alright?"

Your voice definitely wavered there, the prospect of dying looming over your head as if it were the Grim Reaper himself, sharpening his scythe with deafening and long strokes. The Mizunoto were silent, like the dead, for several seconds. It was as if the air had been stolen from their lungs and left them physically incapable of speech. This usually wouldn't be an issue, if you weren't anxiously counting down the seconds until the demon reared its head and lunged.

"(L/N)-san..." 'Hanako' had uttered. You felt sorry for her, there. She'd gone and learned your name yet you hadn't bothered to offer her the same courtesy. If only you had the time here to apologise to each and every one of them, for not giving them the time of day to listen to them, to learn who they were. They were like you, each with their own sob stories of ambition and loss that they'd yet to fully live out.

Would you live yours out, or would the curtain fall in just a few short minutes? Or were you being cocky by even giving yourself that long?

“We'll do it." Ah, it was that Mizunoto from before. The one you'd snapped at. You hoped he'd look back on it positively, and learn from it, rather than resent you for lashing out with no prior warning. You saw none of the latter in his eyes- he had such kind eyes- and you almost opened your eyes' floodgates then and there. But you held them tightly shut as you whispered your appreciation.

“Be safe. Take care of each other. I hope to see you all in a few days, okay?”

“Yes. The best of luck, (L/N)-san.” Was the overall message you got from their mumbles as they passed. Their footsteps through the greenery echoed in your ears like thunder, but your own were like their own volcanic eruptions, all melting into each other to form one deafening mess.

Keep calm. That was the first thing you'd been taught. It was the most relevant now, considering you'd mastered the others.

You knew he knew you were there, and approaching. There was no point in adding in some fancy stealth footwork if your target could sniff you out in an instant. Yet that didn't mean you approached without caution- that would be hypocritical of you, wouldn't it? So with one hand grasped firmly on the hilt of your sword, you inched forwards until you were some meters away. Close enough to lunge forward, but far enough that you'd see an attack coming. The silence was thick, tense. You had no desire to fill it, never mind any ideas of what to fill it with. How do you break the ice with a demon, anyway? Oh, lovely weather tonight, isn't it? How many humans have you maimed and tucked into recently? It was such a ridiculous concept that you almost laughed at the mere thought. But in front of Kibutsuji Muzan, as a demon slayer? You already had enough of a death wish by merely standing there.

“Do you really think you're enough to hold me back from those running away?”

You really didn't expect him to talk, especially not while you were internally coming up with demon ice breakers instead of tactics. Why did you distract yourself with something so stupid in such a serious moment? You even had to hold yourself back from asking him to repeat what he said, and by the time you'd recalled what he'd said you'd pretty much ran out of time to respond. And you could tell he wasn't happy with that.

"Well..." what could you possibly respond with here?! Saying 'yes, actually' was way too cocky, way too stupid, and way too big of a lie. So you remain with a, “not really. Hopefully they're quick enough to get away before I have to do any 'holding back', as you put it.” By the latter part, you really meant 'before I'm dead', but it'd come across too weak to say that.

“Don't be foolish,” his voice was smooth and monotonous, yet condescending in every aspect of the word, “they won't set foot out of this forest alive.”

In a way, you were confident he was wrong; you hadn't travelled far into the forest before encountering him, so they didn't have far to go to prove him wrong.

In an act of boldness, which you very shortly after relabelled as foolishness, you blurted out the question: “and what makes you so sure?”

They were a bright shade of red, were his eyes. A saturated crimson that drew the eye, even away from the narrow slits taking the place of his written. They added some colour to the otherwise monochromatic him, and you weren't quite sure if it added to or took away from your near paralysing terror.

Definitely added, you decided, as you whipped your sword from its sheath to block his hand. If your eyes hadn't caught it and your mind not been prepared, it would have been a swift death- an irreparable slash to the jugular. The reality you were facing was beginning to seep in now, no matter how you tried to block it out: the chances you would die at any conceivable moment was incredibly high. The amount of Hashira this man (though you detested likening demons to humans) had mangled and demolished probably outnumbered the total number of people you'd even spoken to. Such a terrifying thought caused your hands to tremble, weakening your hold on the blade. None of you missed this, and just as he moved to shatter your blade with ease, you shot to the side. In fact, your desire to move pulled your upper body faster than your feet could carry, causing you to lose your footing. It was momentary- you soon scampered back to your feet- but it had allowed him to move closer and prepare another ruthless attack. One that was sure to kill if it landed.

You had to move. To move faster, and quicker than you'd moved before, to keep light on your feet with a head clear of doubt. Only then could you keep yourself alive.

Your feet led you to retreat, narrowly escaping those cobalt claws again through a backwards leap. You must be graceful, yet each attack must be as strong as a thousand years of work, for you must challenge someone with a thousand years of slaughter. With a goal and half-baked plan clear in mind, you seized the grip of your sword, shifted your feet away from each other and focussed your breathing. Your subconscious usually handled this with ease, but you couldn't rely on just that. You had to charge your breathing technique into overtime, even if your limbs felt like they would fall apart with a simple touch, even if you collapsed under your own weight and couldn't move even a toe for several days. Because then, at least you'd be alive.

Sixth Form. 

He's approaching. 

Allow him, you thought. As long as you had a chance of pushing him back, of stalling him whilst you fled after your comrades.

Sea of ​​Clouds and Haze.

Such a menacing aura felt as if it was a hair away, though you learned not to judge from that alone as you dashed forwards. Just because it felt so suffocating, didn't mean he was close enough to do that. After all, at his level, he didn't need to be.

You couldn't avoid the slash at your face his talons had left, but you forced yourself to grit your teeth and ignore the severe pain leaking from your forehead.

I'm still alive.

The blade required much more force than you were used to providing to even pierce his skin, yet the adrenaline coursing through your veins aided you massively. You forced yourself onward, unleashing attack after attack. It was a whirlwind of a technique that you'd not yet quite mastered, and you were determined to. Because you'd live past this, you had to! What would all that torturous training be worth otherwise, after all?

.

.

.

A demon slayer of any calibre strove to protect humanity, didn't they?

The stronger demon slayers protect the weaker ones as well, who protect those weaker than them. That's how the cycle worked, wasn't it?

But then why was no one coming to your help?

By this point you weren't sure how much time had passed since you started fighting the original demon. Though 'fighting' probably wasn't the correct term, as it was more of a one-handed beating since your first attack. You must have pissed him off so much by actually cutting him a wee bit that he didn't give you chance to even launch the quickest, and what you thought was the simplest, move. That was an achievement in and of itself, right? You wondered if Muichiro would praise you for that, or whether he'd tell you to get up and continue.

Even with your dominant hand twisted beyond repair, so much so that you wondered if everything would reattach if you somehow got out of this.

Even with your tibia, snapped not-so-cleanly in two, breaking out of your skin. At least, you thought it was your tibia. You only read an anatomy book once years ago, before even thinking of joining the Corps. Your bone didn't look quite like how they were illustrated in the book, with their clean lines and minimum shading. Then again, they didn't really draw bone with edges so jagged that there must be fragments dotted around somewhere in your swelling, bruised leg. Though what part of you wasn't bruised and swelling? What part of you wasn't caked in your drying blood?

You'd been cocky, hadn't you? To think you'd escape a fight with Kibutsuji Muzan as a mere Tsuguko when esteemed Hashira hadn't come close. It was foolish. You'd always prided yourself on being too cautious, telling yourself you had to be with your mediocre skills. Perhaps it was the moment of hesitation rather than launching your next attack immediately that brought you down. That moment where you swelled with pride, thinking 'I really do have potential!' only to be beaten so brutally. You wondered with morbid curiosity on how messed up your face looked. And you wondered with dried-up tear ducts whether Muichiro would mourn your death even a little, whether he'd become attached to you at all through the time you'd spent together.

You wondered what he saw in you in the first place.

There was movement in the upper range of your sight, just out of reach as to what it was. You'd look up, but you weren't sure you could even move your neck at that point. Though it wasn't as if you had a choice. “Humans are pitifully weak creatures aren't they?” Ah, how smooth his voice was. It was calming to listen to now. Perhaps it was due to having very little to worry about now, now that you could almost see the falling of the red velvet curtains. You felt like you wanted to nod, to agree with him, anything to keep from the silence. The silence brought your current existence into question.

“You always sought validation, didn't you? Validation that the demon slayers never gave you.” He spoke the truth, with words spun like silk. How many times had he said those very sentences? And how many times would he say them further?

"Always so worried about how weak you were, how much of a failure to your title you were." It was like he knew you as well as you knew yourself, and you clung onto every word, convinced that you'd finally found someone who understood you. In that moment, you had forgotten who he was, too delirious from pain and blood loss to care if he were the most manipulative demon or the most angelic person.

"But you have potential, one that can grow with my help."

You could be strong? You? How strong? How many lives could you save with that power? How many people would look up to you and think: 'Wow, I want to be like her'?

“So, what do you say?” Your vision, fading in and out of focus, was filled with the image of that pale hand, dancing around and shifting into two before merging back into one. 

There was no argument within when you somehow found the energy to grasp it. 

.

.

.

"Are you starving yourself again?"

Don't answer. 

You didn't have the energy to answer, nor the will. You didn't care about the trouble it'd get you in with him, nor the repercussions from it.

“Answer me, (Y/N).” His voice, silky as ever, held that dangerous tone to it as he uttered each word.

Don't answer. 

In an instant, your face was captured by one hand, eyes that were now filled with such an extraordinary amount of fear being raised to meet furious crimson irises. Veins stood raised upon his alabaster face, lips drawn back into a snarl.

“Did you not hear me?” Rage dripped from every syllable, fingers tightening with the passing seconds. He'd probably break your jaw again as punishment, thereby giving you an excuse not to answer him. "It's useless- such a stupid thing won't bring them back."

You felt the muscles in your face jerk at that comment, images of the Mizunoto you'd tried to help escape flashing through your mind. Your senses tingled as a reminder: the sight of their faces as they saw you approach, initially filled with relief, before swiftly switching to fear, then the expression of pain and anguish that'd forever be etched into their skin; the sounds of their screams, of tearing flesh and snapping bones, of pleas of mercy, apologies to families that would never know exactly what had happened to their children, siblings, cousins; the smell of their blood that seemed so irresistible, so delectable as it seeped into the midnight air; the texture of their skin, how easily they fell apart with the slightest pressure; the taste of their corpses, of those unfortunate enough to still be alive as you tore through them.

It was his features changing that had brought you back to the present, sitting in your new room where you busied yourself through hiding away from the sun and wasting yourself away through starvation. His expression had shifted from incomprehensible anger to smug satisfaction, eyes glued to the lower part of your face.

As a string hit the back of your palm, so did the realisation of why: you were drooling. Drooling over the taste of the comrades you had murdered with your own two hands. No one had forced you to- Muzan hadn't told you to- you simply shot through the forest like a bat out of hell after being turned, your injuries not even fully recovered.

“Oh dear, aren't you disgusting? No manners at all,” it wasn't even teasing with Muzan, no matter how much of a lilt he put onto his voice, it was always mocking, "Really, did anyone even try to teach you such a simple concept?" You knew better than to answer the obviously rhetorical question. The last time you had done that, Muzan ripped out your tongue without a moment's hesitation. If you were to lie and say that no one had taught you, Muzan would gouge out your eyes. Sometimes there was no way to please him other than silence, and there was definitely no way to please him other than complete subservience. Muzan didn't tolerate disobedience in any way, shape or form. You often wondered why he'd kept you around so long, which was what you were doing now as you apologised profusely and wiped your mouth with your handkerchief, especially with how long it took you to completely adapt to the Muzan's-way-or-no-way lifestyle, but that didn't mean by any means that he was gentle with you.

If you weren't as acquainted with him as you were, you'd say he was delusionally and disturbingly infatuated with you, but as he twisted your head to face his and crushed your lips with his, you reminded yourself of your doubt that Muzan can feel such things. As you obediently and swiftly parted your lips for him, careful not to take too long lest he reprimands and punishes you again, you believe the only thing he feels with you is the satisfaction of being fully and completely in control.

[jestbeeextras]

Unfinished: Searching for Starlight

Originally written: 16 Feb 2017

I think I've shared this one before at some point, but I can't remember. I nearly put it on ao3 as is but decided against it.

I was in a bit of a dark place and working some stuff out, I had just read, or re-read, Litany in which certain things are crossed out and I guess I was stuck in that feeling. Anyway, I decided against finishing it for fear of where it might go. The text in the doc is purple because its quite purple prosey, and I don't know how many times I can write them LITERALLY bumping in to each other. Lol

---

Mornings are nothing but haze. Dan is always lost, still stuck in the clinging tar of his night times. He’s like an abandoned road under a starless sky, desolate and alone. He rises on his couch, stumbles from a dirty cushion to dingy sheets and lays on his back, contemplates the crack in his ceiling.

He’s trying to remember all the things that he should but he’s coming up empty. There’s a faint memory of damp, heated skin and humid pants against his collarbone which is something akin to feeling, he supposes, but mostly it’s just numb and void and it’s definitely the way he likes it.

The distance is better, the desolate, separate roads and starless skies are better. Because stars are meant to shine, and Dan is a black hole, a singular point where all light disappears. And stars make him feel insignificant, small and inconsequential.

He has to drag himself up at some point, but only once the morning has given way to the afternoon and the sun has tracked a path over its highest point. It needs to be going down when Dan greets it, because anything on its way up would fall at the mere sight of him.

And this is routine too.

The coffee shop on the corner is routine, and the shift at the bar and the beer he throws in to glasses and slides into ungrateful, dirty hands. The chatter that floats into dead air is routine and the bearded man shooting eyes at him, and buying him hard liquor before going home to his stoic wife shouldn’t be routine, but it is. Dan feels the burn of the alcohol on the way down, but it helps him stop feeling much else so he doesn’t mind.

It’s here the routine varies. Between destruction and vague attempts at creation. There are the nights, when the final patron has departed and he’s staring at a row of glass soldiers filled with blessed numbness, that he’ll decide to self destruct. To blow away the remaining fragments of hope he’d had that today would mean anything other than the inevitable, and he’ll fix himself a drink, and another, and he’ll lose himself on that desolate starless road he’s so often wandering down.

Few times he manages to break ranks, drag himself home bone tired and weary and perch on his couch as if poised for something. With nerves and muscles bundled so tight, he’ll set pen to paper, or fingers to keyboard and he’ll leak words until the sun is nearly up. He’s searching for starlight maybe, somewhere, always coming up empty, or wanting. These nights, of pointless creation, he’ll file away somewhere, or leave loose leaf pages scattered and haphazard around his tiny flat, crinkled, misused, and unseen. He doesn’t glance back to them, but keeps them as a reminder, to keep searching perhaps.

Dan is forgiven for being surprised that he’s only twenty two. It’s worn him down the last few years, and he’s exhausted from making it this far. He’s pretty convinced he wouldn’t make it another twenty two. Or ten. Or two. He’s got no definite plans, but tiptoeing a line between creation and destruction night after night isn’t going to last. He would offer up his own destruction if the creation meant anything. But all he has to show for his perfect demolition is a flat littered with torn up pages, protruding hip bones, and a penchant for straight vodka and skin that isn’t his own.

He’s studying the glinting bottles today, weighing up his options. He’s been over them a thousand times before tonight and no doubt he’ll go over them another thousand after it, but he persists, because he won’t fall into inertia, it has to be an active decision. He has to choose to self destruct.

But suddenly there is a manager at his hip, stuttering around clipped sentences about trivialities while his fingers slide into the belt loop of Dan’s jeans. Dan lets a sigh slip past his lips, and it’s almost relief, because the decision to give up on creation for the night is easier when he doesn’t have to blame it on loneliness. It’s a poor substitute for something real but they’ve reach an impasse where they both know it’s nothing, and empty, and pointless, but neither cares enough about the hollowness of their coupling to put an end to it. It’s not all the time, but it’s sometimes.

Dan sets a smile on his mouth. It isn’t real, but it’s the ghost of something real, and he pours himself a drink. It’s quick and heady and they don’t use a bed. Instead Dan perches on the top of a drinks crate in the cellar head and the man at his feet kneels on the cold concrete floor.

When he comes he doesn’t see stars, but he squeezes his eyes tight shut and does enjoy the darkness on the inside of his eyelids and the faint pulse of his blood in his ears. It reminds him that it’s still pumping through his body, that he’s still existing. It’s not comforting, but it’ll do.

Afterwards Dan downs another mouthful of something acidic and burning. It rests in his stomach, queasy and thick, until it enters his bloodstream and helps him to forget.

And then its back to his couch, and the crack in his ceiling, and the routine starts again.

-

Objects in motion stay that way until external forces are applied. Resistance, friction, opposition. Dan's existence isn't so much motion as it is a slip stream, a meander through a pointless narrative he's always trying to pin down. He'd been drinking until the rising sun tinted the tips of rooftops visible from his apartment window in pink, and then laid unconscious and not dreaming for a few hours before rising in a fog.

He should be worried that he's sluggish. That his head is clogged and fuzzy and his tongue feels coated and thick, but it's all such repetition that he stopped worrying about it long ago.

He shuffles into clothes from the night before, needing them only because he doesn't want to be accused of public indecency. He's already indecent, but he covers his bare skin, pale and jagged over his bones, to save onlookers the trouble of looking. It’s not like he feels attached to it, his own body merely transportation for his rambling mind.

Back to the coffee shop, and the sugary caffeinated air. He orders it black, with an extra shot, hoping that the stimulant will enter his bloodstream. It’s a more acceptable drug at this time in the morning, but he knows he’s just counting down the hours, until he gives in or the muse takes him.

This morning there’s a collision. As he turns from the counter, hot salvation in one hand, lid lifted to allow the steam to escape and the liquid to cool, he meets resistance. His front pressed up to another person’s while hot coffee is expelled from the cup in a burning stream that coats both of their shirts. It’s seeping through to his skin and the added irritation of being practically scolded on top of the thrumming headache at his temples is enough to make him yell.

He looks up into bright blue eyes beneath a shaggy black fringe and his whole world focusses in. He’s in pain, and the world is sawing at his already frazzled nerves and he doesn’t like the extra shock the sight brings him.

The guy is smiling and apologising, telling Dan he’s the clumsiest person alive and all Dan can see is blue eyes and black hair and he feels disorientated.

“I’ll buy you another one,” the guy says, swabbing at Dan’s shirt with a handful of useless paper towels.

Dan wants to bat him away, save him the energy of trying to clean up a mess Dan’s involved in. It’s an old shirt, and old skin, and he doesn’t care if he’s burnt. It’d be one more injury to stack on the others and it barely matters in the grand scheme. The fact that the pain has whitewashed his brain is neither here nor there because the face of this stranger is more vivid than anything else he’s allowed himself to be exposed to recently.

He’s been living in a grey world, the shades of it too subtle to distinguish the differences between his nights and days. This guy is a whirlwind of colour, furious hands moving over Dan’s shirt and Dan using his own to move him away.

When he takes the guy’s shoulders into his hands, he’s more gentle than he can ever remember being, scared his destructive fingers will mark this elusive thing.

“Don’t worry.” He’s saying, and his voice is cracked. These are the first words he’s spoken today, besides the order for his coffee. “It doesn’t matter.”

But this is a dismissive the stranger won’t accept, he’s already spinning them back to the counter, still apologising and moving with an ease that makes Dan notice his own creaking bones.

“Um, what were you drinking?” He asks, face turned in expectation.

“Coffee,” He manages to croak, straining for control over how dry his throat is, how rasping he sounds. He swallows around his words.

“Black coffee,” the stranger is saying over the register, and then “caramel macchiato.” Which makes Dan chuckle, because of course this unbelievable and unexpected being has all that sugar and all that foam and all that extra nonsense in his coffee.

“Why order coffee if you don't actually like coffee?” Dan hears himself asking. He's engaging with this person, conversing like a normal, albeit sarcastic, human being. He's dipping his toe into the theory of social interaction, and he's rusty, he hasn't done this in so long.

“I like coffee,” blue eyes says simply, shrugging off Dan’s tone, which must sound confrontational despite his best efforts.

“Coffee with a bunch of sugar and stuff in it doesn't count.”

“Who are you, the coffee police?”

Dan wills the smile on his face not to appear, not to crack through his weary and jaded facade, but it happens anyway. He knows it's the one that makes his dimple appear, fills his cheeks, crinkles his eyes. He doesn't think he's worn that particular smile in quite a while. Not since--

“If I were,” he quips, so he doesn't have to think, “you'd be in trouble for assaulting an officer.”

And his stranger laughs. The tip on his pink tongue poking from the side of his mouth, head crooked slightly backwards, eyes lighting up. Dan thinks he probably doesn't deserve to witness something so beautiful.

He definitely shouldn't be lingering in the conversation once the coffee is pressed into his hands but there is something about the warmth of the stranger that's drawing him in. There is nothing of the drink he had last night left in his system so the gentle vibration running through him at the sound of this guys voice is a mystery. A wonderful enigma Dan wants to capture in over egged prose, scatter this man in the spaces between words.

His brain hasn't been this quiet while sober in a long time.

“What are you?” He asks. Quite accidentally out loud.

“Not the coffee police either,” the warm voice rolls back, across the distance between them as they move from the counter. “Though nearer. I actually work here.”

Dan raises his eyebrows.

“I know.” Thin fingers push their way through a black fringe and the pads of Dan's own itch to follow them. “You think that would mean that I'd be able to navigate the place without crashing in to someone but… There you go.”

Dan can feel his head nodding and is almost surprised at the laugh that makes it way out of his mouth. He certainly hadn't agreed to make the noise, not consciously anyway.

“So that's what I am. Coffee barista. Well… Coffee barista slash graphic novelist.” This is said all in a rush, with a slight frown as if his stranger doesn't know why he's saying it. “What about you?” He settles for eventually.

“Pub down the street. The Three Bells?”

The dark head nods.

“I know the bells.”

“Know it, or know of it?”

There is a smirk that Dan probably deserves. And anyway, he doesn't even know why he's bothering to ask, it has no bearing on this temporary meeting, this fleeting encounter that will no doubt be a mere memory by morning.

“I know it.”

“Ok.”

There's a moment of silence and Dan wonders if this is the space in normal conversations where one should make a move to leave. They aren't moving to sit together, there's no reason why they should, and they're half blocking the gangway between what the counter and the seating. Dan shuffles his feet and tries not to look indecisive.

“That's a new one.”

“What is?” His enigma doesn't make a move to leave, so Dan doesn't either.

“Asking if I know about a gay bar, to establish if I'm queer. Effective but… A bit round the houses isn't it?”

Dan swallows. It hadn't really been what he'd meant. Not really. It's inconsequential what this person does or doesn't like, who or what he is, when he means nothing to Dan, never will and definitely shouldn't. Not if he knows what's good for him.

“Not that I'm not enjoying this little meet cute we've got going on,” Dan says in lieu of answering properly, “But I have to get going.”

“No problem,” there's a confident smile set on pale pink lips and Dan has the sudden and intrusive idea that he wants to wipe it away with his own mouth, “meet cute?”

“A bad one.”

“Is that your slash then?”

“Excuse me?”

“Me. Phil. Barista <i>slash</i> mediocre graphic novelist. You…. Staff in a gay bar slash… Movie writer?”

Dan laughs for a second time and wonders if the sound can really be coming from him when he can't remember actively making it. It sounds wrong anyway, alien, separate from him.

“Dan. Beer slinger slash shitty novelist.”

The confession startles him. It's an admission of a dream only, not a fact. A half truth, sitting flush up against the lie but not quite there.

“Well, Dan, nice to meet you.”

“Yeah, err, likewise.”

“Is this the part of the meet cute where I ask for your number and, noticing that you wouldn't want to embarrass me any further than my own clumsiness already has, you take pity on me and actually write it down?”

Dan glances around him just once. The coffee shop looks the same as it always does, the tinkle of cups echoing in the distance, below the din, the smell of caffeine thick in the air. And yet.

Yet here Dan is, enacting a perfect replica of an everyday encounter. Bumbling through his own timeline, swerving against someone else’s and taking the moment to decide if the two narratives should converge. If feels like a next chapter to a book he thought he'd stopped reading. Not a sequel, just… A potential beginning.

He could type the number into Phil’s phone but instead pulls a beat up biro from his back pocket and, resting his coffee on the edge of a shelf, smudges the digits onto Phil’s palm, holding the back of his hand gently and pressing pressing the nib down. With it, Dan leaves the decision of where this chapter is heading to Phil, not knowing on which side he's pinning his hopes. A beginning or another inevitable end. They're the same of course, but the former has more delay, and perhaps more pain traded for it.

It's a blip. An anomaly to an otherwise steadfast routine. He barely thinks of it again.

Instead, he tries his hand at adding words to paper on his coffee table. But, unsuccessful and only barely annoyed about it, he spends the rest of the day wavering between sleep and awake beneath his threadbare sheets. Later, bleary eyed and a bundle of frazzled nerves stretched over jangling bones and translucent skin, he returns to his humdrum. To the night time and that endless road, starless skies calling to him between shots of something stronger than he is. He's not lost, he tells himself, because he didn't even know where he was headed.

---

If you like this, and you are so inclined, you have my permission go take this, extend it, remix if, make it your own. I would love to see what you do with it.

[tombstone-pisa]

YEAH, I think Ingo is walking around in one big brain fog during PLA. Having my own experiences with it, I can sympathize but it definitely makes things a LOT harder for him. Compared to Ingo in B&W2 and Masters, he seems like he's... drained. He's still Ingo! But tired. Unhappy. Without the drive. I hesitate to call him less (even though I can't think of a different word to use, lol, oh well) because it feels mean in consideration to the fact he's clearly got something going on with his cognition (the amnesia, not knowing what he's talking about and seeming to be confused by the things he says right after he says them) but it's almost like he's being perceived from behind thick glass. Not everything is coming through.

I have a lot of thoughts about how he would interact with people outside of his duties as a Warden or battling. Mostly that he would prefer not to. It's notable that Ingo in B&W2 is the one who does the talking for Emmet but now he just kind of stands to the side while Irida tells you about him.

ANYWAY I gotta get off this train of thought or i'll be stuck talking about cognition, brain fog and everything in between for the rest of the post.

I think he maybe masks MORE in Hisui. He's maybe not even aware that's what he's doing but he's certainly trying it. Like you said, he doesn't have reference to know what he's doing. But he's also battling against whatever the hell is going on in his head. And masking is hard! It's exhausting. Especially when you don't have any memory to base 'normal' on. So there's frustration there, too, because no matter what he tries he can't get it right and everyone just thinks he's even more weird.

And Ingo's a friendly guy. He likes people. It's got to be hurtful to be treated as a suspicious outsider, a potential threat, when all he wants to do is keep people safe. Not being able to assimilate into the Pearl Clan would upset him because he wants to pay them back for their kindness and generosity. He doesn't like it when Irida gets shit for letting an outsider in her clan. It upsets him when people treat him like he's dangerous and pull their children away when he walks by. Maybe he thinks sometimes that it's better to just stay in the highlands. He doesn't want to scare anyone. He doesn't want to cause a fuss.

And that's without even factoring Emmet in. He's gone from spending all of his time with someone who understands him to this. He doesn't even remember the person he misses so much. He knows he misses them! His heart remembers even when his mind doesn't :(

Maybe he gets frustrated because he doesn't know why he's like this. He doesn't remember anything about autism. He doesn't remember anything that could explain the weird brain fog. He's just different. He doesn't know why.

Yeah, if he knew he was he would at least have a reference point for his own behavior. :(

Sometimes I think about the more unpleasant parts of Ingo's stay in Hisui. Not the physical injuries he slowly accumulated but the social aspect. I mean, we see how everyone treated the Protag and they seem to have adjusted MUCH better than Ingo did.

Plus Ingo is... well, he's intimidating! He's loud and strange looking. He's gifted with pokemon and battling beyond what any of the Hisui natives have even thought possible before. He's letting the baby sneaslets hang off of him even though they're venomous. He wears a torn up outfit unlike anything they've seen before and refuses to get rid of it.

He's a weirdo. Have you ever seen him without that stupid hat? I thought so.

And I bet he's really lonely, too.

[3-inch-doodles]

(match🔥stick) whuh. woah. look at this Guy

@crowrelli