#it's mostly thick brain fog lol

[3-inch-doodles]

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

@crowrelli

[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. 

[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.

[nyandereneko]

It’s Getting Late

Word Count: 2,842

Summary: From one black cat to another, Nova’s been struggling  with her conflicted feelings regarding a complicated relationship she helped cultivate. Despite her better judgment, she’s adopted a routine of airing her concerns to a friendly neighborhood cat that just happens to show up every now and again.

Author’s Note: WOW this fic turned into A Lot, I really wasn’t intending for it to get this long, or even necessarily for it to take the turn it did, but…well, this selfship has been keeping me pretty busy lately. Since I don’t have an official bio typed up yet, I’ll just refer people to this post in case they’re confused where this sudden series is coming from. Also, there’s a little bit of lost context in here, mostly because I didn’t want to try fitting it in. In case it isn’t obvious through other hints, though, in this verse Nova has a complicated home life and actively tries to avoid it. This is something her friend notices and also clearly something she shows in her mannerisms and reactions, whether she’s aware of it or not. I don’t really have much more to say other than thanks for reading, and expect more material for this selfship, because it’s the absolute center of my universe right now lol. 

(If you liked this piece and may even want one of your own, please consider checking out my commission info here!)

*****

It was a mild evening, the kind she didn’t mind taking a walk in. To be completely honest, recently she’d been looking for almost any excuse to stay out of the house. Thoughts coalesced in her head like a thick fog, obscuring her understanding, overwhelming her faculties. She strode along with a simple look on her face; any common passerby wouldn’t have thought twice about it. Or perhaps they would have found the blank, empty stare unsettling. It certainly felt unsettling, the chill that set in with the fog as it seeped into her brain and bones. Normally she didn’t mind the cold, but right now…frostbite was the last thing she wanted to add to the various maladies assaulting her injured heart.

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[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.

[shimmershae]

I'm trying, y'all.  I'm trying really hard, but this writer's block?  To say it sucks would be an understatement.

I've had every one of my WIPs open in separate windows waiting for inspiration to strike and the words to start flowing again, but so far?  I've got nothing. 

 Well.  That's not completely true.  Progress varies, lol, with the story. 

 A few little teasers for you.  Proof that I haven't forgotten any of my stories.  At all.  These might change before you read the end result.  In some cases, they most assuredly will.  But, I have to reach that unsticking point first.  Whenever that may be. 

  Ebb

  From Chapter 3: 

The rug beneath his back was thick, plush, and liberally laced with a network of old blood stains.  It was musty, damp still from the months of rain that had leaked through the collapsed roof.  It was the most comfortable place Rick Grimes had lain his weary head in days. 

  between the shadow and the soul

  From Chapter 1: 

   A locker door slams, and Lilly flinches, pauses in the act of pulling her navy scrub top over her head.  A muffled sob is chased by a dull thud, and she peers around the corner just in time to witness her friend crumple to the cold concrete floor, her knees held tightly to her chest and the heels of her hands desperately trying to stem the tide of her tears.  Instant fear wraps itself around Lilly’s throat and squeezes in slow, python pulsations, and her voice is scratchy, gutted and raw with dread as she addresses her friend, drops to a crouch in front of her.  “Jenny?  Jen.  Is it Morgan?” 

   Yours, Mine, and...Ours

 I've got nothing.  Well, that's not completely true.  I have the entire story outlined, which is something I rarely do.  I just have nothing in the way of the next chapter written down.  Boy, did I really lose steam with this one?  Jeez.  This always happens to me when I outline things, and I have no idea why. 

  Caged Bird

 From Chapter 3: 

  Clouds gathered in the distance, rolling shadows that split the evening sky into two distinct halves, dark and light.  Thunder rumbled faintly, an afterthought beneath the excited hum of voices in the slowly dispersing crowd, nothing more than an accompanying murmur as the band packed up their instruments and helped stack chairs. 

  The Fox and the Hound

 I'm super stuck on this one, and it's a shame, too.  It's so much fun to write. 

  The Wonder That's Keeping the Stars Apart

 From Chapter 11: 

  The sun was high, the blue sky clear and unfettered by clouds as the wagon lurched forward, the horses lazing along on the sunbaked ruts and swells of the path home. 

  The Way Back

  From Chapter 4: 

  Carol hadn’t taken much with her when she’d packed up and left home.  Ed hadn’t allowed it.  Hindsight being 20/20 and all, she should have dug her heels in and demanded an annulment right then, right there.  But she hadn’t.  She’d been numb.  Mired in the fog of a broken heart.  She let her new husband drag her clear across the state of Georgia, hundreds of miles from her mama, her friends, Daryl, and she hadn’t said a blessed word.  Didn’t utter a word of protest ‘til her baby girl was born and it became clear that she had fallen head over heels, hopelessly in love for the second time in her life, and by then it was too late.  Story of her life, she thought, recalling Daryl’s frozen, unreadable expression in Mary’s, Jessie’s awkward split-lip smile as the children were formally introduced to each other.  Nanny Sarah always did tell her she’d be late to her own funeral. 

The Three Gifts

 I don't have anything written for this one but the title/song choice. I'm so disappointed at myself for losing my momentum on this one.  It was another fun one to write. 

 Stupid Cupid

  From Chapter 8: 

   Carol was back in the courtyard by the time they heard the first faint rumblings of an approaching engine, the distant spit of gravel beneath wheels.  Dinner was long over and the sun was nothing more than a sinking sphere of fire beyond Glenn’s guard tower outpost, but there was still enough light for her to make out his excitement from where she stood.  She glanced over her shoulder when she heard Hershel’s approach, the slight hitch in his ambling steps a dead giveaway. 

Okay.  That's it.  At least for the stories I've already put out there for you.  I have a crossover fic that's been percolating in my wacky brain for a few months now that involves Carol, Daryl, Madison and Nick and Alicia from FTWD, and a little bit of Mulder and Scully from The X-Files, but it's still mostly just a germ of an idea that I've discussed with a tiny handful of people.  I don't know if it'll ever come to fruition, but it's eating my brain, and that might have a little something to do with the mental block I currently have on all my other stories. 

 It takes new twists and turns everyday, so I don't know that it'd be a good idea to commit to actually doing more than outlining a few ideas right now--I want to finish some of my other stories first.  If anybody out there is interested, though, please let me know. Then maybe I'll stop pushing back so hard against my runaway ideas. 

 Maybe you've read something here enough to pester me for more.  Pestering usually helps, lol.  Go figure. 

[thesumofallmyfears]

Autumn Would you Rather, thought I'd answer these while I'm soaking in the tub 🛁

Would you rather:

1. Go apple picking V.S. Go on a hay ride

2. Scary V.S. Sweet... I don't mind either but this time of year heightens my macabre side.

3 Sweaters V.S. Boots.

4. Socks V.S. Mittens... I don't dislike mittens but I prefer a glove with individual fingers.

5. Bonfires V.S. Football... I'm not keen on fire, especially of that size, the unpredictability makes me anxious.

6. Trick or Treating V.S. Watch Scary movies

7. Apple Pie V.S. Pumpkin Pie... For my sins I do not like pumpkin, the only thing I need a pumpkin for are carving, decoration. The innards go in the composter, I am thinking of roasting the seeds for the birds this year too.

8. Halloween V.S. Thanksgiving

9. Bake Pie V.S. Bake Cookies... I love pie, but I doubt my baking skills compared to biscuits. Ready made pastry is my pie skill level.

10. Rain V.S. Fog

11. Black Cats V.S. Owls

12. Ghosts V.S. Wizards

13. Harry Potter V.S. Halloweentown... Never read or seen HP.

14. Go hiking V.S. Sleep in

15. Cinnamon V.S. Nutmeg... Not keen on either flavour, but, from a scent point of view.

16. Reading V.S. Writing

17. Hot Chocolate V.S. Tea

18. Live in a Cabin In a Forest V.S. Have it be fall 24/7... I love Winter too much. I think we know me enough to know this, an idyll in the woods please.

19. Candy Apples V.S. Caramel Apples

20. Blankets V.S. Pillows... more the merrier for cosiness, I require less for sleeping lol.

21. Roasted marshmallows V.S. Roasted Chestnuts... I only like peanuts and pistachios.

22. Coffee V.S. Apple Cider

23. Red Leaves V.S. Orange Leaves... only 'cause we don't get many trees that turn red here, mostly hues of yellow and orange before turning brown.

24. Braids V.S. Bows... I don't really get this, I'm being thick I'm sure, I'm just imagining this in regards to hair, and I don't see a Autumn connection 🤔

25. Scented Candles V.S. The Smell of Fresh Baked Goods

26. Carve Pumpkins V.S. Make Pumpkin Pie

27. Pumpkin Spice Lattes V.S. Chai Tea Lattes... I know very little cafe/coffee shop terminology, but, somewhere my brain is shouting latte is milk in Italian??? So therefore a gross and undrinkable coffee/tea concoction, no thank you.

28. Coats V.S. Oversized Sweaters... Unless I'm likely to freeze, I prefer not to wear a coat, last few years, my coats have got very little wear, I like to layer knits instead.

29. Beanies V.S. Berets... I do not dislike a beret, but other than aesthetically they serve little purpose.

30. Candy Corn V.S. Peanut Butter Cups... yuckity yuck.

31. S'mores V.S. Apple Crisp... Not that I've heard of it, but it sounds superior.

32. Jump In a Pile of Leaves V.S. Swing on a Tire Swing

33. Corn Maze V.S. Haunted House

34. Bob For Apples V.S. Visit a Pumpkin Patch... never deemed sticking my head in a barrel of water, along with several others, knawing after the same apples to be any kind of fun 🤢

35. Whipped Cream on Hot Chocolate V.S. Marshmallows on Hot Chocolate... N/A