#just enough brain fog to not be able to focus on anything

[ghoulfuckersincorporated]

Feeling much better after what feels like 36 hours of straight sleep. Thankfully, my sense of smell has already come back almost entirely. It's so depressing to not be able to taste anything, even for a day or two.

I had pretty mind symptoms the whole time, but I did have a series of creative visions come to me while I had a low-grade fever. We'll see if I still like those ideas once I get them down on the page.

Super fucking annoyed. Despite the fact that I've worn a mask every time I set foot out of the house since September (which is like once or twice a WEEK), I'm pretty positive I have COVID because one of the people I live with has an immune system made of shrapnel and doesn't bother to mask up or take any precautions.

[neckromantics]

More creepy and unsettling, creature Astarion please.

I beg of thee. Vampires are meant to be an uncanny valley type of thing. An undead creature of the night that passes itself as just the right amount of living and mortal for you to let your guard down. I need more examples of his vampiric nature showing once he's grown comfortable enough, and I need it now.

~

An Astarion who is so silent in his movements that you often got jump scared by it in the earlier stages of your relationship.

You'd be lounging around on the sofa. Reading a book, lost in thought, all serene and cozy beneath a nice knitted blanket-- just having an all around nice, relaxing time when you see movement out of the corner of your eye. You glance up for just a moment, to the space before you that was previously unoccupied, and his entire face is suddenly hovering right in front of you.

Just waiting. Not moving. Pupils blown so huge that there's barely any color left to his eyes. Fangs are peeking out over the bruise-purple skin of his bottom lip. He's pallid. White as a corpse. Definitely in need of a good feeding.

His intentions were entirely innocent. He really only meant to ask you a question, and here you are being all dramatic and jumping several feet into the air and throwing your book off to the side in a panic. Thankfully, you're able to catch yourself before you full on shriek in his face.

(You love him and his ghoulishly handsome face, you really and truly do, but you sincerely thought for a moment that he was a spectre come to take you to the afterlife.)

~

Astarion, who routinely forgets to breathe. Yanno, like it's nothing.

You're well aware of the fact that vampires don't need to breathe. It's more of a force of habit than anything else, really-- something left over from when he was still mortal, he says.

Although, during bouts of intense emotion, or some sort of uh, stimulation, the focus on something so trivial gets put on the backburner for a bit.

The two of you will be sharing a particularly passionate kiss (or worse) when you feel the rapid rise and fall of his chest stop short. It's like all of the air has gotten caught in his lungs, and he ends up making these creaky grudge-like sounds in place of his usual low moaning. A clicking in the back of his throat in place of a sigh. If you play your cards just right, there might even be a rattling from deep within his chest that almost sounds like a purr.

When he finally does breathe, usually due to a well executed nip to his bottom lip, or the gentle brush of your fingers against one of his ears as you play with his hair, it comes out as an animalistic hiss. A sharp, choking gasp that sends goosebumps down the length of your arms.

~

How you catch him watching you sleep.

How you'll wake up in the pitch black of your bedroom in a cold sweat. Your hair is stood on end, a fearful shudder threatening to rattle your frame. A spike in your pulse that has your sleep addled brain doing somersaults in your skull. All of your instinctual alarm bells go off at once, telling you that something must be terribly wrong. Something must be watching you.

You try to blink away the bleariness-- try to shake off the fog of sleep for long enough to get your bearings, and catch a glint in the dark so ominous that for a moment you're scared stock still.

Something is watching you. Someone, rather.

Astarion's eyes gleam back at you in the dark like a wild animal's might. A bobcat, maybe, like the ones you'd often find stalking pray outside the tree line of camp all those nights ago. Pupils that glow a filmy, holographic orange despite there being no light to reflect off of them.

You don't notice until after you've taken a second to calm yourself that he's hovering over you. The bed just barely dips from his weight as he supports himself, and you'd be baffled by it all if you had any braincells left.

"Go back to sleep, darling." His voice is so soft, even over the pounding against your eardrums. Soothing. Tranquilizing. And though your eyes do begin to feel heavy, you're not exactly in the mood for rest anymore.

Especially not when he's pressing cold, feather-light kisses down the length of your throat not a moment later.

~

Please, I beg. Give me more.

[seoulmatez]

𝓈𝒾𝓃𝒻𝓊𝓁𝓁𝓎 𝓈𝓌𝑒𝑒𝓉

being a bad influence can have its benefits. . .

• dan heng x f!reader ﾉ 1.5k wc ﾉ NSFW minors do not interact ﾉ college au ﾉ public sex ﾉ unprotected sex ﾉ creampie

A hazy fog fills Dan Heng's head as he breathes in your moans and the familiar taste of mint lingering on your tongue. Your kiss is hypnotizing, so much so that the little focus he is able to muster up is on the way your finger twirls around the dark tendrils of hair at the nape of his neck rather than the precarious situation the two of you are in. Because while Dan Heng can admit that the feel of your clothed pussy grinding into his thigh is heavenly, he knows that this isn’t an activity you should be getting up to in the library.

The spell you seem to have cast on him is strong though, his cock already half-hard, twitching and leaking precum thanks to your ministrations. Regardless of his effort to keep quiet, a broken moan drifts through the otherwise silent air with a particularly strong tug of his hair. A string of spit connects the two of you even after your lips have parted and only breaks when you lustfully lick your lips.

“I have to get back to work,” Dan Heng pants, a hand coming up to push the hair back from his forehead. He hadn’t meant to get so sidetracked, especially on the clock, but he didn’t think you’d be so bold as to drag him away under the ruse of needing help finding a book for class. The logical part of his brain was urging him to turn you down when your pillowy soft lips pressed against his, although the taste of your tongue was too sweet, tempting, for him to even consider pulling away. He thinks this short moment of clearheadedness might be his best bet for regaining his resolve.

You poke your puffy lip out in a petulant pout, fingers dancing over the fabric covering his abdomen. Despite the barrier, you can feel the muscles of his abdomen nervously jump at your contact. “Aww, but I’m already so worked up.”

“We can’t—not now,” he chokes out, taking your wandering hands in his. They’re soft and even though the touch is meant to restrain, it’s more enticing than anything. Still, Dan Heng knows that if he lets you go, you’ll be all over him again in a second. “Baby, I really have to go.”

The words he utters send you one message, though his body relays another. His hold intended to deter is much more comforting than he realizes—thumbs brushing over the hills and valleys of your knuckles. A pink hue resembling cotton candy colors the tips of his ears and paints the apples of his cheeks. and, as much as he’s trying to overlook it, you just can’t ignore the growing bulge in his pants that’s practically begging for your attention. Seeing him, feeling him, in such a state only fuels your arousal. “We’ll be quick… pretty please?”

Your plea is sickeningly sweet, the desperate words dripping with honey that makes it impossible for Dan Heng to do anything but give in. He bends at your will, like putty in your hands, spinning so that your positions are switched. Your back meets the bookshelf with a soft thud before Dan Heng sandwiches you between him and the surface. A surprised gasp escapes your lips as his arm hooks the back of your knees over his elbow, his other hand making work of bunching up your skirt and pulling your dampened panties to the side.

The cool rush of air over your cunt is enough to make you suck in a breath as Dan Heng swiftly pulls out his cock from the confines of his sweatpants. He can’t hide the shaky, satisfied sigh that stumbles past his lips while he spreads the beads of pre up and down his member. You let out another noise upon feeling the tip tapping against your clit.

“You’re insatiable, aren’t you?” Dan Heng asks, though desire is thick in his own voice.

“Look who’s—” your retort is cut short when the length of his cock slips between your soaking folds, the head teasing your entrance. Any imaginable words die in your throat as he inches into you. Slowly, excruciatingly so, his hips rock back and forth, each rut sending him a little deeper into the warmth of your walls until his hips kiss yours. 

Every inch of Dan Heng's skin burns with the lewd squelches that waft through the quiet air of the library. Your position, him caging you against the bookcase and shielding you from the view of any lingering patrons, is nothing shy of indecent and the little noises bubbling up from your throat, pitchy whines and shattered breaths, are only making the man feel all the more wicked for indulging in such an obscene fantasy.

Heat pools in your tummy as you stretch to accommodate the girth of him, and it spreads beneath your skin, setting your nerves on fire, with each of Dan Heng's tender thrusts. He never fails to draw a reaction out of you, this one presenting itself in the form of a choked-out curse that rings through the air.

“Shh,” Dan Heng hushes you, the demand unstable as though he’s having trouble holding back his own moans. “Y-you have to be quiet.”

The vibrations of his voice only excite you more, make you arch your back and let out another noise of content, one that, although not entirely intentional, is even louder than the last. It’s rare for students to stay so late on this floor, much less the anthropology section, but the last thing Dan Heng wants is for either of you to be caught in such an inappropriate situation. There’s only one thing he can do to ensure that the two of you stay unnoticed.

The hand that’s been resting on your waist swiftly lifts from its position in favor of making its way to your mouth. Lithe fingers slip between your lips, pressing down on the wet muscle in a hurried attempt to keep you quiet.

It works for the most part, your moans and whimpers muffled. Though, for both you and Dan Heng, the new sensation acts as fuel for the fire that is your lust. Because when you suck at his fingers—drool around the digits—Dan Heng’s waning patience fades into nothing and his easy pace is traded in for something more frenzied, desperate.

You’re a bad influence.

You’re the one thing in this world that Dan Heng can’t deny, the one person in the universe who’s capable of turning him into someone he barely recognizes. But the truth is, all it takes is a whisper from you, the temptress, to convert Dan Heng into a man who wants nothing more than to please. Right now, all he wants is to bring you to that sweet release that you so fiercely desire.

Skin meets skin when Dan Heng's forehead bumps against yours, when his hips grind against yours in his effort to bring you pleasure. The change of pace comes without warning and you babble around his fingers as he continues with his merciless rhythm, the seeping head of his cock abusing the spongy spot that always makes you come undone.

Cock throbbing and your nails digging into the fabric of his shirt, Dan Heng snatches his fingers from your mouth to replace them with his lips, hungrily swallowing your wanton moans as he rolls his crotch into your clit that he’s been overlooking. Your eyes gloss over at the contact and just one look into them is all it takes for Dan Heng to tell that your head is clouded with pleasure and that the only thing on your mind is how drunk you are on his cock.

It’s a delicious sight that draws a heavy groan from Dan Heng's chest while he continues to rut up into you. The noisy slaps of skin on skin filling your ears has you tightening your hold on your lover, chasing his swollen lips to silence the cries threatening to spill from yours.

And he can feel your walls clench around him, feel your thighs uncontrollably tremble as pleasure overcomes you. The warmth of your breath tickles his mouth, dances over his tongue and lips as his thrusts lose their rhythm and turn sloppy. Following your lead, he plunges into you entirely, ropes of his creamy white essence filling your messy cunt.

His seed oozes from you, drips down your plush thighs and the length of his cock. Dan Heng cringes at the scene before him but you don’t reflect his apprehension. With a carefree smile, you tuck your finger beneath his chin, tipping his head up so that glacier eyes meet yours. Almost immediately, his expression softens.

“See? That wasn’t so bad.”

No, it wasn’t, Dan Heng wants to agree, but he keeps it to himself as he shakes his head and carefully returns you to a standing position. Like the gentleman he is, he adjusts your underwear and skirt in a way that makes it seem like you never stopped for this naughty escapade. As he rights himself and ties the string of his sweatpants into a neat bow, Dan Heng comments, “We could have waited until the end of my shift.”

You breathe out a laugh, placing a surprisingly chaste kiss on his jaw. “Where’s the fun in that?”

manon here ( ≧ᗜ≦) thanks for reading! if u enjoyed, reblogs are greatly appreciated!

[the-fandom-is-now-my-life]

How the iudex sleeps

Unexpectedly enough Fontaine started wondering how the great judge is productive enough to do all his work and some bizarre ideas start pooping up until the iudex himself says his 'secrets'

Read also: otters sleep holding hands and with their babies on their bellies and I found that incredibly sweet

WC: 1,3K

Cw: gn reader, you both have a baby but it isn't specified if he is biologically related or adopted

‘The chief of justice is a busy person’ is a known fact amongst the citizens of Fontaine, who see him working through many cases plus uncountable quantities of paperwork. That led to a question for some people ‘how does he get enough energy for the day’ at first the common guess was coffee but they were told off by an angry melusine.

“Huff! As if monsieur Neuville would ever drink such things! Only weird humans can drink something that bitter”

That quickly shut down that possibility and led them back to the board of ideas. About that time reporters started to notice how many people seemed interested in maximizing their energy and being awake for longer, while they aren't life changing or particularly interesting sections, some weeks are remarkably unremarkable and anything is better than nothing.

Now every week there would be a few merchants promoting tonics, pallets and pills that enhance energy, even when they would find ways to waltz around trying to mention the judge in their advertisements.

‘Lawfully energetic’

‘as fierce as a dragon’

‘enough to stand 100 trials’

Even if the last one was almost enough for the mermonia palace to get involved for using Neuvillette's name it was vague enough that it got off the hook.

Usually Furina’s crew would be able to rehearse two scenes before tea time but for some reason it was already 2 pm and they were still rehearsing the beginning of the play.

“ I'm sorry, Ms. Furina, I just can't connect two ideas together today” the female lead says as she grabs her head, sighing deeply. Furina touches her back and before she can ask about it someone shares a thought to the air.

“ Oh! Have you tried nilotpala lotus tea? It seems to stimulate the nervous system and clear up brain fog. Maybe the iudex uses that” the man who was supposed to be practicing the piano to match the scene says with a slight poison over his words.

“ Isn't brain fog rich coming from you?” Furina yaps at him “ your tempo was off the whole day” as she looks over his shoulder and rather than seeing a music sheet she finds the newest issue of steambird “what are you even reading? Focus on the piano! We have a show next week!”

She quickly grabs the paper and starts reading the small column with advertisements and tricks, huffing at the idea “stop reading those newspapers and keep rehearsing! The magic fix you are looking for is simply a good night sleeps, like the iudex you are stalking for an answer” she sighs loudly before looking at her crew.

“Is that all?”

“Simply a good night's sleep. What else were you expecting? An extract with 10 times more caffeine than a cup or liyue acupuncture?” She looks at her crew and finds some of them nodding and others seemingly disappointed “now, a break or can we start from the top?”

Unsurprising enough, very few people believed what she claimed, most likely wishing for a strange concoction that can make up for bad habits. Even then a few girls believed it to be rational enough of an answer, seemingly even one of them must have said furina knew his whole nighttime routine causing a hoard of reporters to crowd her door asking senseless questions.

‘Does he use sleep mists?’

‘What kind of fabric are his sheets?”

‘What does he eat before bed? Does he drink water?’

After being stalked everywhere from her home to the supermarket or the café she started dressing up in disguise to escape, luckily a few days after she noticed the quantity of reporters went down and only one came knocking on her door asking about the rescheduling of her play.

“ Oh, yes, we had to reschedule as there was an ‘important trial’ that had to be dealt with urgently. A representative of the palais mermonia apologized for the inconveniences but in the end the most important thing is justice!” furina says with her characteristic theatrical flare. Now looking at the reporter scribbling things on his notebook she adds a bit “the new date will be in two weeks, if someone presents the special meet and greet tickets with the old date they will still be valid”

As he finishes writing he goes off to write the article “thanks miss!”

Now standing on the doorway to the rehearsal room, Furina was expecting the usual sleepy greetings or the usual chitchatter or gossiping but, unusually enough, the whole room was silent and her whole crew was hunched over a spot, their backs facing her.

Clearing her throat she greets them first but they still don't react “ morning? Guys? Are you all okay?” she rounds them trying to get their attention until one of them catches sight of her.

“Director! Look! Monsieur Neuvillette told his secret to the newspapers!” He grabs the yellow paper and holds it to her face, a big bold font meeting her eyes.

CASE MELUSINE AND OTHER QUESTIONS WITH THE IUDEX: PAST CASES TO HIS GREATEST SECRET

‘Greatest secret?’ Furina thinks for a second ‘did he already publicly state to be the hydro dragon? Doesn't seem like it’ but she quickly smiles at her co actor “So? What is his secret?”

But all her crew look at her with a questioning glare “ what we have been wondering all this time? Who would have guessed our director was right!”

“What is that even supposed to mean?!”

Charlotte looks at the pages full questions she prepared for her so desired meeting, who knew that after so long wishing for it she would truly get a chance to interview the iudex, even if half the questions she prepared couldn't be answered for privacy or because the cases weren't closed she got enough material to fill a good pair of pages. Even then she couldn't lose this opportunity and started asking the ‘dumber’ or sillier questions

Looming over one particular line she wonders, would the judge consider it rude for her to ask that given he was giving her his important time but she simply swallows and asks

“How are you able to work through so much work?”

“My apologies?” Neuvillette furrows his brows and looks confused “I don't think I quite understand what you mean”

Charlotte breathes in deeply before elaborating “People have been wondering how you have enough energy to do all the work you are able to do”

Neuvillette stays silent for a second with his eyes closed

“It's known the iudex doesn't talk about his private life, so if you don't want to answer-”

“ It's not that” Neuvillette reassures her calmly “it wasn't a question I was expecting, that is all” he crosses his legs and details as Charlotte writes

But regardless of how many tries we have thrown to the ceiling we all were wrong, the way our judge is able to power through the day is simple actually, a comfortable bed and his beloved family. Even if he refused to expand on information about his family he did speak more about his routine.

“I'm unsure why people care so much suddenly but it's very simple, really, I always sleep with my lover in bed and keep our child on my chest” even as Charlotte choked on her own spit at a sudden juicy revelation neuvillette barely glanced over the rim of his goblet “we are also rather particular about bedding, but for now we settled on silk flower sheets made I'm liyue”

As he drinks water a small smile creeps up his lips, remembering that very morning vividly, his fingers firmly entangled with yours, almost as if he fears you would leave and meet a cold spot when he wakes up, even when you are practically hugging his side. Or your young baby peeking his head out of his father's sleeping shirt and feeling the soft beating of his heart with a pleased face.

Hm, he is sure that is why he always wakes up with enough energy to power through his duties .

Opening his eyes he finds Charlotte with small tears on her lashes and muttering ‘how sweet’.

“ So about your son…?”

“No”

“Understood”

[narrans]

A Small and Tall Collection | Chapter Seven | Delirious Decisions

Chapter Seven | Delirious Decisions

This was misery. Worse than that. This was purgatory. It was suffering beyond words.

Hot.

Cold.

Tingly.

Aching.

Sore.

Thirsty.

Nauseous.

Confused.

Light-headed.

Ashlynn had never experienced any sickness quite like this.

The day after she ate the food was when she started feeling weird. It was just a little chill and she thought nothing of it; at least, she didn’t think anything of it until she peered down into the human world below and noticed that the two young boys were not well. It was actually the lack of sound that alerted the Borrower to something weird going on.

It was already too late once she realized the boys were sick. By the end of the evening, she was starting to feel more symptoms other than the chill. The usual Borrower trick was to drink water and get plenty of rest, but she couldn’t just wait around with sickness contaminated food. Fresh supplies were necessary and, sadly, she was on her own.

Regret filled her heart as she threw out her well-earned borrowings from the night before and she scurried back down to the human’s apartment where she managed to snag some cracker fragments from an already opened package which was probably safe and a few other odds and ends like tissue paper for her running nose.

Ashlynn knew herself well, and if her predictions were correct she would be up and running in two or three days with plenty of water to flush out whatever illness was currently plaguing her as well as bedrest.

Sadly, this was a particularly nasty virus.

One week of feverish spikes, nibbles of cracker followed by its reappearance, and a horrendous cough that made her chest tight and her abs hurt. Throat coated in some kind of thick mucus, Ashlynn’s already thin supply was officially depleted, and she was still nowhere close to being better. She stared at the ceiling and stifled another bout of coughs which felt weak and unproductive.

Despite all of this, she forced herself to her feet, all of her blankets wrapped firmly around her shoulders, as she shuffled off toward the water tap for yet another glass of water. She was moving nowhere near what she would call a “surviving speed,” but the Borrower thanked her lucky stars she was still able to keep herself upright.

She filled her cup to the brim and sipped on the surface. It was only now she caught a glimpse of herself in the water basin, and the sight was a bit of a haunting one. Her already thin face was becoming more hollow and gaunt. It was obvious she hadn’t been able to keep down food in a day or two. As she stared at her reflection, her hip lamp flickered on and off before dimming ever so slightly.

Now my battery is going too. Plus, I need to get more food. I need to eat, but what? I don’t have anything else. Curses! I managed to cross over the great ice road and get knocked down by the common cold. What a miserable way to go.

Ashlynn’s mental spiral was interrupted only as she heard the humans speaking from down below. It might’ve been the clogging in her ears or the fog her brain couldn’t quite shake, but whatever the case Ashlynn now noticed that there were boisterous sounds coming from down below in the apartment with the three humans.

“But Soren! I’m better now, see?”

“I don’t care. Drink.”

“But I don’t wanna!”

“I don’t wanna either!”

“If you two don’t take this medicine, you’ll get sick again and we’ll have to cancel our plans. Now, drink up.” The argument was obviously going one way, and it was not in the two young boys’ favor. It wasn’t the fact that the human boys were speaking at a normal level which was shattering Ashlynn’s eardrums. It was the one word that pulled all focus and attention.

Medicine.

Medicine! Why didn’t I think of that? Ashlynn scolded herself as she shuffled closer to the opening and peered down into the kitchen. Sure enough, Soren was holding what looked like two small cups of some dark teal liquid and was handing it to the boys. Both had disgusted looks on their faces. Noses scrunched, they both raised the cups to their lips and downed the contents. Instantly, both boys started coughing and gagging, which wasn’t a reassuring sign.

“There, was that so hard?” asked Soren. “Now, don’t forget to drink your water and then to brush your teeth. Early bedtime for you both.”

“But Soren! It’s movie night,” pouted Rey.

“Yeah,” Dorian chimed in.

“We’ll have movie night tomorrow if no one is hacking up a lung. Come on. I told you both it was going to be an early night this morning when we got up. Let’s go. Rey, I’m looking at you,” encouraged Soren as he ushered the two boys out of the kitchen and into the bathroom down the hall, both boys still holding the cups in their hands.

She wasn’t sure what possessed her, but Ashlynn found herself scuttling along as fast as she could at her molasses pace to the piece of trim that was a bit loose. Perhaps it was her dulled instinct telling her to verify what she was about to be borrowing or maybe it was habit to check the surroundings before going down into the human world. Regardless, Ashlynn peered down and saw the ultimate jackpot right there on the youngest’s bedside table. The cup that was in his hands moments ago as well as the opened package of crackers she’d borrowed from before were both right there. Tissues were also on the table and, best news of the night, everyone was going to bed early.

It was the perfect opportunity and her one true shot at trying to beat this sickness.

That’s my ticket. There’s got to be some of that medicine liquid stuff in the cup. I’ll just go down, take – no, borrow – a little, and then I’ll be better in no time. Super simple. In and out. It’s not an option anymore. I need food and meds, and both are on that boy’s bedside table.

Ashlynn’s feet felt heavy and sluggish as she finally made it back to her bed where she began getting ready. Through the dizzy spells and bouts of nausea, the Borrower finally managed to put on her warmest, most flexible clothes and headed down toward the boys’ room to acquire sweet relief.

She went over her checklist as she powered through her aches and pains while walking across the beams toward the entrance she’d used before to enter the infamous room. Hook. Lamp. Tape for hand protection.

Am I missing something? Probably not.

Ashlynn racked her mind, but each thought that came into her head felt muted, like it was something she was hearing from someone else really far away.

She walked in darkness, seeing that the light from her hip lamp was hurting her eyes, and only flicked it on intermittently to better light the path temporarily. It took multiple breaks and she had to shove her mouth into the corner of her elbow as the coughs racked her body, but Ashlynn finally managed to make it to the electrical cover by the dresser.

The Borrower woman crouched and slipped through the hole after listening for a minute or so and approached the edge. She looked up at the vertigo inducing ceiling as she prepared her hook, but then something happened. Looking up triggered some wicked part of the sickness and, instantly, she felt dizzy and nauseous. She choked back a cough and crouched. The bile in the back of her throat burned uncomfortably. It threatened to make her sick.

It was pure luck she managed to choke down the bit of sick that wanted to erupt out of her.

Ashlynn knew she needed to act – and fast, before the sickness in her body decided to do something else rash.

She swung her hook around in the rhythmic pattern, her whole body tingling and aching in protest, before she let it fly through the air. Her senses might’ve been dulled, but pure instinct allowed her to hit her mark on the first try.

Ashlynn couldn’t stop the grin spreading across her face as she gave a couple of good test tugs and realized the hook had gained purchase. The moment was short lived as a bout of nausea and light-headedness overtook her. Ashlynn had to lean against the rope and use it as a brace as she fought off the symptoms.

Almost there. Just a little longer. I’ll get the meds and then I’ll be alright.

Ashlynn took another breath and stared at the vertigo inducing line and began the fateful climb up. Perhaps it was a fool’s errand, but Ashlynn needed this. She couldn’t last much longer if she went on withering away with nothing to eat and nothing to ease her suffering.

Hand over fist, she climbed the line, daring to only take a few breaks as she hoisted herself higher and higher. It wasn’t until she pulled herself over the edge with her shaking arms that she let herself breathe a sigh of relief. The aching in her joints and limbs was excruciating. Her insides twisted, yearning for sustenance to replace the energy she just used.

Just one more minute. I just need one more minute.

Ashlynn glanced across the bedside table and spotted both the crackers and the medicine cup. She also saw the tissues, but her two greater needs were right there in front of her. Feeling more lightheaded than stuffy, Ashlynn tiptoed over to the package of opened crackers and immediately began chewing on the edge of one of the crumbs. There was an immediate relief to her discomfort as her vision seemed to clear up around the edges.

It was only now that she realized the magnitude of where she was and what she was doing. The bedside table was surprisingly sparse, most likely because it needed to be cleared to give the boys room for the medicinal supplies, and Ashlynn was sitting in plain view of both beds. While the two boys seemed to be sound asleep, the two young humans were still both within arm’s reach of the bedside table.

It was terrifying.

From where she was sitting, Ashlynn could see the rise and fall of the bedcovers while the boys slept. The youngest, Rey, had his back to the bedside table while Dorin was facing her. It made Ashlynn’s hair stand on end. Every nerve in her body screamed to run, that this was a bad idea, but neither of them seemed to be at risk of waking at any point soon.

Just get what you need and get out. You’re in no condition to fight or run right now.

Ashlynn swallowed, wincing as the soreness of her throat flared up, and made her way over to the medicine cup. It was mostly barren except for a few large drops of the strange, dark teal liquid. Her head swirled again as she leaned over and dipped some of the liquid into her cupped hand.

Just then, she felt her blood run cold as she heard the youngest inhale sharply and deeply. A massive shuffle of covers created a mountain in a moment. Ashlynn’s entire body shuddered as she watched Rey roll from one side to the other.

Her heart thundered against her ribs, making her hands shake more than the fever had over the past few days, but she couldn’t bring herself to move. All she could do was watch in horror and wait with baited breath as the boy shifted two more times before laying still.

Nothing.

Absolutely nothing.

The boy’s features relaxed and, after a few moments, he was sound asleep again; at least, Ashlynn hoped he was asleep.

Too close. Too close. Take the meds and get out!

Ashlynn tried breathing in the liquid to see whether or not it had some suspicious odor, but Ashlynn couldn’t tell anything through her stuffy senses. She’d never taken anything like this before, so she was uncertain of what to expect. The Borrower figured that it couldn’t be worse than anything else she’d ever taken before.

Still feeling lightheaded, Ashlynn didn’t have the luxury of time. She pressed the liquid bubble to her lips and sucked in, swallowing harshly twice before the taste hit her. It was the most vile thing she’d ever tasted and she now understood why the boys’ faces had twisted the way they did when they took the medicine.

The liquid was thick and had an odd, minty taste to it followed by something that reminded her of Christmas decorations. An uncomfortable warmth coated her throat and made her insides churn. Ashlynn couldn’t stop her body from reacting. Whether it was because the reaction was that strong or because she was too weak to fight it, Ashlynn’s body convulsed and vomit spewed from her mouth.

She lurched once and then twice. On the third time, a tickle formed in the back of her throat and she began coughing, spewing the few bits of cracker she’d managed to slip from the packet mere inches away. The room started to spin as she spat the remnants of what little she had in her out of her mouth when she heard a large shuffling sound.

“Dorian? You okay?” The sound was right in front of her, and Ashlynn knew it was from the youngest boy. The child’s voice was groggy and laden with sleep, but it was still obvious that he was waking up. Every instinct screamed that Ashlynn needed to run, and she wanted to. She wanted nothing more than to sprint to the edge, grab her secured line, and scurry to the safety that resided under the bedside table; and if her head weren’t spinning like a top, she could’ve done just that.

As it was, she couldn’t tell the corner of the tissue box from the corner of the table where her safety line was. She stumbled forward and felt along the edge of the cardboard box, confusion setting in.

“Dorian?”

No. No. No. No. No. No! Curses! Where is my line? How do I get out of here? This isn’t good.

“Dorian? Are you getting si-… what the?” Rey’s voice was louder and more clear now. Panic was setting in. Nothing was going right. She needed to get away, and fast.

Ashlynn couldn’t find the rope. She’d gotten turned around and now she was exposed on the bedside table. She glanced over her shoulder only to see the chilling silhouette of the immense boy pushing himself up onto one elbow and looming forward toward her. Doing the only thing she knew how to do, she dived in between the bedside lamp and the tissue box, but not with enough time.

She could just make out the little hairs on his arm as he turned the lamp on, which emanated a brilliant pale white glow that stung Ashlynn’s eyes. She hunkered down, shaking in her shoes, and hoped that the boy would think it was just part of a nightmare. Kids did that, right?

“Wha-? Rey? What’s your problem? Turn off the light.” The older one, Dorian, was up now too. Ashlynn could barely see the mess of brown-blond hair poking out from under the covers as he too pushed himself upright.

“Dorian, something’s on the table. I just saw it. It’s behind the tissue box,” hissed Rey. Ashlynn’s head pounded relentlessly as it seemed the blinding light above her glowed brighter. Her body shivered and ached while a tickle in the back of her throat threatened to enrage another coughing fit.

“You were probably just dreaming,” grumbled Dorian.

“No! I wasn’t. I thought you were getting sick and saw something dart around the lamp by the tissue box. Come on. Help me look real quick,” said Rey.

No. Please don’t. I can’t… I can’t run… Can you stop being so loud?

Time was rapidly running out, and Ashlynn had no escape plan. The fog in her mind was keeping her immobile, and freezing was the last thing she needed to do right now. She didn’t even realize it, but she’d been slowly backing up further and further, stabilizing herself on the lamp.

“Ug… fine,” moaned Dorian.

No! Not fine! Please, just go back to…

Ashlynn didn’t finish her thought. She couldn’t. Not when she saw those four massive hands from the young boys rest on the top of the table, one of them grabbing the tissue box and the other scooting the lamp away from her.

Ashlynn always thought about what it would be like to be seen. She’d heard stories of it from other Borrowers when growing up, but this was a whole new level of despair. Nothing could have prepared her for what she saw.

The first thing was noticing a pale blue eye, pupil nearly a pinpoint because of how the youngest peered around the lamp, spotting her from in between the lamp cover and the interior mechanisms. The distinct look in the child’s eyes from curiosity to discovery was horrifying. Ashlynn didn’t think she could get any smaller, but she still felt herself shrink under the human’s gaze. Her stomach lurched again, and she doubled over as the last crumb vacated her body.

“Woah… did you hear that?” asked the older boy.

“Dorian, you’ve got to see this,” said Rey softly. From the combination of pain, sickness, and defeat, Ashlynn felt her eyes beginning to sting with what few salty tears she had available. Her ears were starting to clog. The tickle in her throat spasmed her insides finally forced another coughing spasm. Thick mucus coated her throat as her chest constricted.

“Wha-… woah…”

Ashlynn heard things moving all around her which shook the table she was on. Her already fragile footing was shattered and she fell to her knees. Instinctually, she reached over and tried to snag her pin from her hip when a horrifying truth hit her.

She’d forgotten her pin.

In an effort to keep herself light and not have to carry so much weight, she’d left her pin at home. She had no weapon. No way to protect herself.

No… Please no…

The lamp and tissue box parted in front of her and, within a matter of seconds, the faces of the two young boys were clearly visible. Her heart thundered against her ribs, making her already sensitive lungs throb. She swallowed dryly, the remnants of upchucked acid still burning her throat, as she glanced back and forth between the two boys.

So… this is it…

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Continue

Previous

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A Tall and Small Collection | Original Story

[songbirdsanctuary]

Short Scar fic

Word count: 1,229

Warnings: None

Scar sat on his bed, coughing into his sleeve. His chest ached with each ragged breath, the burning sensation in his lungs worse than usual. He had been dealing with this cough all day, the weight of exhaustion settling into his bones like a thick fog. His legs were bad enough that he’d needed to rely on his wheelchair more than usual, and now even the effort of shifting slightly on the bed sent pain shooting through him. He knew what this was—knew it was a side effect of the fires he’d been caught in, the smoke that had permanently damaged his lungs. Most days, he managed. But today? Today was worse than normal.

His tired eyes drifted to his nightstand, where his empty glass jar sat. A flicker of frustration passed through him. The jar had once been filled with small, handmade pills—little spheres of honey and lemon that dissolved in warm water, soothing his throat and easing the ache in his chest. He had originally made them himself, but after a while, Stress had taken over. She had a knack for it, refining the process until the pills were better than anything he could make on his own. She had even started selling them, which Scar hadn’t minded—he liked supporting her work, and besides, they were worth every single coin. But he had forgotten to restock, thinking he hadn’t had many bad days lately.

A fresh bout of coughing overtook him, his body curling inward with the force of it. His vision blurred for a moment, black spots dancing in the corners of his sight. He needed something warm, something to ease the burning in his throat. Tea. He could make himself a cup of chamomile—it always helped, at least a little.

Bracing himself, Scar tried to shift onto his wheelchair, his fingers gripping the armrests tightly. His body felt heavy, sluggish, like his limbs had been weighed down with stones. It took more effort than he liked, but finally, he managed to settle into the seat. He took a shaky breath, trying to steady himself before wheeling toward the kitchen.

The journey felt longer than usual, every turn of the wheels an effort. When he finally reached the counter, he reached up for his wooden tea box, where he kept his chamomile mix. But then another violent cough ripped through him, stealing what little strength he had left. His body acted on instinct—he forgot, just for a second, that his legs wouldn’t hold him. That they couldn’t.

He tried to stand.

Instead, his knees buckled instantly, and he crashed to the floor. The sharp impact sent pain shooting through his hip and elbow, but the real problem was the coughing—it wouldn’t stop. His body heaved with each cough, his lungs burning as he gasped for air. The cold kitchen floor pressed against his skin, and he squeezed his eyes shut, trying to will the fit away.

For a moment, he just lay there, catching his breath, the empty tea box still sitting on the counter above him—just out of reach.

Scar tried reaching out for his communicator, his fingers fumbling as he stretched toward where it had fallen beside him. His hands were shaking, weak, barely able to grasp the smooth surface of the device. His breaths were ragged, his chest rising and falling in uneven, painful gasps. He had to let out a wheezing cough before he could even attempt to unlock the screen, his vision blurring from the strain.

Typing was harder than he expected. His fingers felt clumsy, uncooperative, like they belonged to someone else. He pressed against the screen, trying to form words, but all he managed was a garbled mess.

<GoodTimeWithScar> Hddfkmo

He stared at it, his brain struggling to process whether that was even remotely close to what he meant to type. It wasn’t. He let out a frustrated breath, his thumb shaking as he tried again.

<Grian> ?

The single message popped up almost immediately, a clear sign that Grian had seen his attempt and was now confused. Scar gritted his teeth, forcing himself to focus, forcing himself to try again.

<GoodTimeWithScar> H4l;p

It was slightly more readable, at least. He hoped it was enough. His breathing was getting worse, each inhale feeling like it scraped against raw, damaged lungs. His fingers hovered over the communicator, but he didn’t have the strength to keep typing. His body was trembling too much.

Then, finally—

<Grian> I’m on my way.

Scar let out a slow, shaky breath of relief and let the communicator slip from his grip, his arm falling limply to his side. He curled in on himself slightly, coughing so violently that he could feel the strain in his ribs. It hurt. Everything hurt. Minutes stretched on endlessly, and he wasn’t even sure how much time had passed before a rush of air swept through the room.

Scar barely registered the sound of wings flapping before he felt himself being lifted off the floor. Strong talons gripped him carefully, and a familiar warmth surrounded him as Grian hoisted him up. He was barely aware of being set back into his wheelchair, his body too exhausted to react much beyond a quiet, wheezing breath.

His hands twitched as he weakly pointed toward the counter where his tea supplies were. Grian followed his gesture instantly, moving to start making the tea without a word. The sound of water pouring, the quiet rustling of tea leaves—it was all muffled beneath the ringing in Scar’s ears and the lingering heaviness of his breathing.

Then, suddenly, Grian was gone.

Scar blinked sluggishly, his mind foggy. Where had he gone? Had something happened? He wanted to ask, but he didn’t have the strength to form words. His head lolled slightly against the back of the wheelchair as he fought against the drowsiness weighing him down.

After what felt like both seconds and an eternity, Grian returned, something small and plastic in his hands. Scar squinted at it, his vision still slightly blurred, but the moment Grian popped open the container and plucked out a small, round object, he realized what it was.

His honey-lemon pills. The ones he usually bought from Stress.

Grian, wasting no time, grabbed a mug of warm water and carefully dropped the pill inside. It began to dissolve instantly, the golden swirls of honey mixing into the liquid as the lemon scent filled the air. Scar could only watch, his chest still rising and falling in uneven gasps, as Grian grabbed the steeping tea next.

Carefully, he handed the mug to Scar, but when Scar tried to grip it, his hands shook too violently to hold it on his own. Without hesitation, Grian reached out, steadying both Scar’s hands and the cup as he helped him take a sip. The warmth spread through Scar’s body immediately, soothing his aching throat and sending a flicker of relief through his exhausted limbs.

Scar let out a quiet, shuddering breath. Grian didn’t say anything, didn’t make a joke or tease him like he might have on any other day. He just stayed there, hands steady, waiting until Scar had the strength to hold the cup on his own.

Scar didn’t need to say anything either. Grian understood.

And for the first time that day, Scar felt like maybe—just maybe—he was going to be okay.

[wereh0gz]

Still thinking abt feral werehog

I don't imagine the actual story of unleashed changing much, but how much sonic is affected by his new form is different. He's still himself, mostly, but he's not doing too well. The transformation affects him physically a lot more than in canon, and it goes far enough to have noticeable effects on his brain

I already mentioned he can't speak before. His vocal cords just don't produce the sounds needed for it in that form. Paws make it hard to sign, so he mostly communicates though growls, grunts, and gestures when necessary. He can still understand others speech, but it's difficult. He needs to focus more than usual

A lot of things that require thinking are harder than usual in that form too. It's harder to remember things, control his impulses, and manage his emotions. He gets a lot of brain fog and feels like his brain is working slower than it should. Like it's lagging. It's distressing and frustrating when he feels like he should be able to understand something but just. Can't

The physical pain and the loss of his speed are bad, but he can adapt to that. Same with the loss of speech. He spent a good chunk of his childhood Not Speaking, so he knows how to deal with it just fine. But it's a lot harder to deal with your own brain not working like it's supposed to

He eventually comes to terms with it just like in unleashed, but not only does he realize his own will is strong enough to overcome anything, he becomes a bit more patient with himself too. He's not always gonna be at 100%, but he knows he can make it through regardless

[everybodyshusband]

this is technically a request fill for a couple of anons but turned into what's basically a vent fic, so i didn't feel comfortable wasting your requests on it. to those anons, your requests will be filled properly at some point, i promise.

cw for self-hatred, and desires of self-harm and suicidal thoughts while regressed. please also be aware that there is one line where rain considers killing an animal because he's so angry. this work is not suitable for regressed kiddos or littles.

but ! without further ado, 2.2k words of rain trying to hide his regression from dew and having a breakdown about it under the cut.

“Rain?”

The water ghoul looks up from his bass at the sound of Dewdrop’s voice, carefully schooling his expression into something typical of how he acts when he isn’t regressed; when he’s normal, his brain unhelpfully supplies. He clears his throat, giving himself a little more time to prepare himself for the conversation ahead. “Hey, sundew. What’s up?”

The words come out easier than he expected them to, but it still feels so wrong. He’s not supposed to talk like that, he’s not supposed to direct the conversation. He’s supposed to crawl into Dewdrop’s arms and let himself be held and loved, but he can’t. Can’t, because he has so much to do today. Has so many assigned duties on top of everything else he’s wanted to get done all week. He can’t focus on any of it if he’s regressed, so if he pretends to be fine—to be normal—then maybe he’ll be able to do what he needs to.

He’s jolted out of his head by Dewdrop’s voice. “Want a practice partner? I– I’m kinda struggling with some of the solos…”

The hesitation in the fire ghoul’s tone immediately sets Rain on edge. Dewdrop needs comforting, he thinks, but that’s not something the water ghoul is able to do when he’s regressed; not well, at least. Still, Rain tries. He smiles what he hopes is a regular, reassuring smile and reaches an arm out, ushering Dewdrop to sit down next to him. The gestures come to him easily. It’s a relief, but he can’t help the small voice in the back of his mind telling him the reason he’s able to pretend to be normal is because he pretends to be regressed.

(Which isn’t true. He knows it’s not. It’s proven by night curled up in Swiss’ arms, unable to murmur even a single word because he’s just too small to do anything else. By all the times he hasn’t been able to function without someone holding his hand, guiding him through the day. Alas, it’s never been something he can stop thinking. That he’s a fraud; so desperate for the attention of his packmates that he’s resorted to lying, deceiving them, in order to gain a shred of affection, a kind word here and there.)

The fire ghoul grins happily and sets himself up quickly, eyeing the music on Rain’s stand to gauge where he should flip to in his own music. “Rats, eh?”

“Mhmm, wa– Rats.” He turns away from Dewdrop, cheeks burning as he clears his throat and attempts to brush the slip off as something catching in his throat. “Good bassline. Hard when you haven’t played it in months, though.”

Dewdrop hums in agreement. “Mmm, I can imagine.” He fidgets with the tuning pegs, tilting his head in Rain’s direction, silently asking for a note to match. Rain obliges. “D’you wanna start from the start, or…?”

“Start’s fine,” Rain smiles. He knows the start best, he’ll be able to do it, he’s sure. He can ignore the brain fog. He can pretend. For Dewdrop, he can pretend. The fire ghoul seemed insecure and burdened enough when he asked to run through the solos. He doesn’t need Rain’s regressed headspace making anything more difficult for him. “Uhm…” he begins, unsure; failing already. “B– Backing track?” He stutters on the B and the K is over pronounced in compensation of his difficulty with the letter, but Dewdrop understands—and more importantly, he doesn’t seem to notice.

“I think we’ll be fine, right, Rainy?” He turns to smile at the water ghoul, eyes so soft and gentle, but there’s something underneath his tone that makes Rain fumble his bass.

“W– Why are you calling me ‘Rainy’ like that? You only say it like that when I’m… small.”

Dewdrop’s smile falters slightly, but his eyes remain warm. Kind. “Well, you can tell me if I’m wrong, but I thought you might’ve been feeling a bit small, love. Am I right?”

Rain readjusts his bass on his hip, refusing to meet Dewdrop’s eyes. “N– No… I– I feel fine,” he lies. “Normal. ‘M good. Promise.” He knows Dewdrop doesn’t believe him, but he can’t help but hope that maybe he’s convinced the fire ghoul. After all, Dewdrop has things to do today as well. He can’t blow off a whole day just to help Rain. Rain can’t ask him to do that.

“Are you sure, puddle? You’re not just telling me that because you feel bad about being small?”

“...Oh. Uhm… N– No?” Rain does his best to sound convincing but he knows there’s no persuading Dewdrop now, not when he already knows.

Dewdrop fixes him with a look, still adoring, but stern. “It’s not nice to lie, my love.”

And just like that, Rain’s facade crumbles.

His eyes fill with tears as he curls in on himself, hugging his bass tightly to his body. “I– I’m sorry, Dewy,” he cries. “I– I didn’ mean to! I’m sorry sorry, I’m really, very sorry. I didn’ mean to lie, ‘m sorry!”

He rocks back and forth, doing his best to self-soothe but it’s not working. He doesn’t know how to calm down. Doesn’t really know why his reaction to Dewdrop’s gentle chiding is a breakdown. He knows the fire ghoul was only trying to nudge him out of his pretences but he can’t help but listen to the voice in his head that whispers softly, cruelly.

He hates you for lying to him. He’s never going to talk to you again.

You got too comfortable with him. Shared too much. He doesn’t want to take care of you. He only does it to have an excuse to tell you what you’re doing wrong.

Such a burden to him. To the pack. Why can’t you just stop regressing? Just stop it. Stop being so small. Stop being so fucking weak.

He lets out a panicked yelp when Dewdrop reaches out to comfort him. “Nuh uh! Don’t touch me. I– I don’ deserve it.”

“Wh–” Dewdrop flounders.

That means it’s true; Rain doesn’t deserve it. He curls in on himself even further; he shouldn’t have said anything. Should have kept it to himself. Should have left the room the second Dewdrop entered it. Should have thought about someone other than himself and his own pathetic, useless needs for once.

“What makes you think that, Rainy?”

“Liar get punish,” he parrots as accurately as he can manage. “Only good boy get to be touch.”

“Oh, love…” Dewdrop sounds so disappointed. Rain braces himself for the inevitable. “That’s our rule for when you’re big and we, uhh…” He trails off, clearly unsure of how to phrase what he needs to say. Rain wishes he could rid the fog from his head enough to be able to reassure Dewdrop that he’s okay; it was just a slip of his mouth that made him say that, it’s not what he really thinks. But if he says that, it’s only fuelling the fire, and he’ll be punished more for lying; he’ll punish himself for lying. “Look, Rainy, love,” the fire ghoul tries again. “My point is that those rules don’t apply to you right now. They’re only there for when you’re big and we have our… Our special playtimes, yeah?” Dewdrop cringes at the words special playtimes and Rain knows exactly why; the phrase sounds so forced. He hates that Dewdrop feels the need to mince his words around Rain when he’s like this, as if the water ghoul doesn’t retain his understanding of the world and his own life when he regresses.

“You– You don’ like special playtime?” Rain’s goading Dewdrop into giving him an answer that he’ll hate, that will make him feel worse, he knows he is. But as long as the fire ghoul doesn’t notice, Rain doesn’t care. He deserves to feel bad, he knows that much. But he doesn’t feel bad enough, and it’s going to be hard to sink himself down to the level of bad that he deserves with Dewdrop watching his every move.

“No, no, Rainy,” he disagrees quickly. Too quickly, Rain thinks. “I love our special playtimes. I love them a lot, I promise. But… I don’t think this is something we should be talking about when you’re little, okay? We can talk about it when you’re big again if you want to, though.”

“O– Okay…” Rain’s heart sinks. It’s always like this. The very nature of their ghoul pack results in him being left out of most things when he’s little. Sometimes he doesn’t mind, and he’s more than content to sit with one of his packmates and fill some colouring sheets with bright pencil markings or curl up in their arms and drift off to sleep. But other times? His pack’s refusal to include him in certain activities or conversations feels less like protection and more like a poor disguise of their hatred of him, of their unwillingness to involve him in pack affairs. He understands, really, he does. He knows that when he’s regressed, there are things he shouldn’t be exposed to. Knows that when his pack are frustrated with him, he’s rarely the one at fault, just the one unlucky enough to bear the brunt of their frustration, no matter how much they try to hide it for his sake. But he also knows that the pack’s exclusion of him is because they don’t like him. Don’t enjoy his presence in any of the forms it takes. Don’t care about him enough to hide their annoyance, despite knowing their frustration directed at him can cause him to spiral so intensely that he barely remembers the rest of the day. He knows all of this, but nothing makes it hurt any less.

If he were in a better state of mind, he might reach out to Dewdrop and ask to be held for a while. Might sob and scream and cry until there aren’t any tears left but it would be okay, because he’d be safe in the fire ghoul’s arms. As it is, he can’t. He tells himself he doesn’t want to, which is true, in part. There’s a part of him desperately fighting to run away from Dewdrop, to refuse to ask for comfort, to never be a burden, never show weakness because otherwise he won’t love you anymore and you’ll be all alone all over again. The other part longs for comfort, regardless of the negative impact he knows it will have on his relationship with Dewdrop. He wants to be held, wants to be reassured that it’s okay to cry, that it’s okay because Dewdrop’s got him and he’s never letting go, never leaving. And so, he finds himself at an impasse and so angry at himself that he wants to punch something. Scream. Break his arm. Kill one of Copia’s rats. Kill himself.

The only benefit to being regressed that he can think of right now is that if he screams, no one bats an eye; all too accustomed to toddlers throwing tantrums that they don’t seem to care. And so when Dewdrop tentatively reaches an arm out, testing the waters to see whether Rain is ready for touch, the water ghoul screams. And he does it properly.

He doesn’t know how long he screams for before stopping, but once he stops, his throat is raw and aching in the silence of the room. He’s curled in on himself on the floor—bass discarded somewhere off to the side, hopefully in one piece—surrounded by pleasant warmth and pressure. Slowly, he realises that he’s wrapped up in Dewdrop’s embrace, and he begins to panic all over again, throat refusing to make another sound dispute his frantic attempts.

A warm hand cards through his hair, soft voice shushing him gently. “If you really want me to let go, Rainy, I will,” Dewdrop reassures him. “But I don’t want to let go, love. I want to help you, and I don’t want to leave you alone like this, okay?”

Rain turns his head and buries himself against Dewdrop’s chest, sobbing quietly. His emotional regulation for the day has been used up, and he knows that any and all emotions he feels for the rest of the day—or week, probably—will be on full display for everyone to see, no matter how much he wants to hide them. He finds himself nodding along to the fire ghoul’s words without his own brain’s permission. It’s impossible to deny for any longer that he wants comfort—he needs it so desperately it may as well be oxygen at this point—but he can’t bring himself to ask for it. He knows he doesn’t deserve it, and he knows that he’ll only feel worse later as a result of talking to Dewdrop and receiving his love and affections, but for now, that’s a problem for future Rain. Right now, all he really cares about is curling up in Dewdrop’s arms and soaking in the gentle comfort that the fire ghoul seems to be so good at providing him when he’s like this.

He doesn’t feel better about it, and he knows he’s not going to. To be honest, he doesn’t even want to try to feel better about it. But now that he’s here, he’ll accept the comfort of gentle caresses and chaste forehead kisses that Dewdrop seems intent on gifting to him. He’ll work on not feeling even worse about the fire ghoul’s affections another time.

[pacifymebby]

Alfie Solomons / All Things Must Pass

Reader is having a ptsd episode at work when Alfie finds her

You had that hollow feeling again, that nauseous shallow feeling in your chest and in your bones. The ache that hurt but didn't feel real. The ache that made you feel like you weren't real.

You stood behind a stack of books starring at your trembling fingers, not sure whether they were really your trembling fingers or not. Your mind had fuzzed again. There were things you were supposed to be doing but you weren't doing anything. You couldn't do anything. Somewhere at the back of your brain the list of tasks you'd been given that morning by your boss hovered like fruit flies, barely there at all. The last little tethers connecting you to reality, floating and buzzing but hardly hanging on. Hardly getting through to you because the fog was so thick.

You'd been full of the jitters that morning as you left the little room you rented in Camden Town. You'd jumped at every sharp sound, unable to focus as the bright morning light got in your eyes and the ruckus from the market overwhelmed your senses. You were trembling as you crossed the bridge over the Thames and took your usual cut down by the lock. And when you'd stepped out in front of a horse and cart because somehow - somehow! - you hadn't noticed it, you'd feared not the horse whinnying, hooves kicking up on it's hind legs, but for the man who had shaken his fists and cursed at you reaching for the whip beside him as if to thrash you with it.

You'd cried out, tears in your eyes as you'd fled the scene without looking back, scurrying like a frightened mouse the rest of your journey until finally you'd found yourself in the little bookshop where you worked 10 hours a day for very little money. Still, there were much worse jobs to have and the quiet little shop hardly ever visited, was a haven of yours. A dimly lit little hideaway which shielded you from the hustle and bustle of the grimy city you lived in.

You'd been relieved to close the little door behind you and close your eyes for a moment, pressing your palms flat to the wood, reminding yourself that the dread which overwhelmed you outside would soon pass. You'd feel alright again soon.

You had to feel alright again soon. There were books to be sold. Money to be made.

But that had been hours ago and despite your best efforts you hadn't been able to drag yourself back from that doomed precipice you'd teetered over that morning. All day you wandered around the book shop trembling, eyes darting around the room, your senses in overdrive, every sound startling you; the bell above the door, the voice of a customer just asking for your help, the jingle of coins falling and scattering across the counter when someone dropped their change.

By the early afternoon you felt physically and emotionally shattered. Like you were a piece of fine china which had been broken and then tenuously pieced back together. The glue barely holding your shape. You felt like the smallest breeze might be enough to see you crumble, turn into dust on the mosaic floor beneath your feet.

And whats left after your senses have driven you over the edge? Once the day has ground you down? Theres only so long that adrenaline can last and when it begins to fade, when it begins to drain from your body it takes a little bit of your soul with it. You feel as though you've been dragged from yourself. As though someones cracked you open and scooped your insides out, left you nothing but a hollow shell. A broken teapot glued back together, about to break again.

Thats how you felt then as you gazed emptily down at your fingers. Your chest ached with the hollow sorrow which cocooned around you now. Your mind a thick cloud, darker than the smog which lingered over London Town. And this time when the bell above the door jingled you didn't even hear it. Didn't notice anyone come in at all.

"Y/N?" a voice called out from the doorway, their tone as if they'd already called out to you three or four times. That air of concern which knitted a frown on your brow as you concentrated hard on pulling yourself out of the smog for just long enough to recognise him.

"Alf?" you forced a tiny smile as you poked your head from round the stack of books which had hidden you from him, "whatre you doing here?" you asked, your voice strange to the man who knew you so well. He could tell you didn't feel yourself.

"Ah there you are zieskiet," he smiled, his crooked smile tugging at the corner of his scarred cheek, "was beginning to think the tyrant had given you that holiday you deserve..." he said trailing off as he stepped closer to you, got a better look at you.

When he raised his hands to your face and held your cheeks in his palms the frown etched onto his brow and the familiar concern which softened his eyes told you it was no good trying to pretend anymore.

"What you doin hiding away in behind all these books eh?" he asked quietly, his usually gruff voice quieter as he spoke to you.

You looked up at him with guilty glowing eyes, little tears gathered just above your lower lashes, threatening to spill if he kept being so soft with you.

"Hiding..." you said, the sad little smirk on your lips almost enough to break the old man's unbreakable heart.

"Right," he said, his calloused thumb brushing your cheek slowly, "right I thought that might be your answer zieskiet..." he mused, "yeah, I thought that might be the case... Alright then..." he said thinking carefully, looking around the huge stack of books which hid you away from the rest of the store. "Alright poppet," he said, "s'alright your Alfie's here now ain't he, no more hidin for you now eh," he said wrapping his big arms around you and holding you tightly to his chest, resting his chin atop your head as he closed his eyes and thought carefully about what he would do next.

This was a side to the older man which only ever came out for you and you knew that if anyone else around Camden town were to walk in and see him now they would presume their eyes decieved them. That it wasn't the infamous Alfie Solomons holding you so careful and tender in the middle of that mustu bookshop. That it was just someone who looked a little like him, that when they thought about it this man really didn't resemble the callous and cut throat man they were thinking of. But it was, the very same Alfie Solomons who put fear into the hearts of all who knew him. He was the only man on this earth who could pacify you, who could make you feel so safe and secure with the simplest of sentences, the simplest of gestures.

As he held you then, his lips pressed firm but gentle in your hair, you felt your trembling temprement begin to settle. Your nerves beginning to ebb because he was here now, your Alfie, and he was going to do as he always did. Fix everything.

."Right then," he mused, "gonna tell you what's gonna happen next alright poppet," he said kissing your head again, kissing your temple once or twice between words as he rocked you gently and did his best to steady you. "Gonna help you shut up shop for the day..."

"Alfie no!" you gasped looking up at him with wide startled eyes but he just raised his thumb to your lips and pressed down gently on them to hush you.

"I'm not finished yet zieskiet," he mumbled with a soft smirk. "I'm gonna help you close up right, because there ain't no ammount of money you can earn for that miserable bastard boss if yours thats worth you spending your day looking so forlorn right..." he said brushing your cheek with his thumb, as he carried on talking to you in that meandering easy way of his.

"Then I'm gonna take you straight home yeah, you and me, we're gonna go straight home right and you're gonna sit down and take those deep breaths you do and I'm gonna draw you a nice hot bath yeah, relax those tired little muscles of yours, wash your lovely lovely hair... " murmured stroking his fingers through your hair as he spoke, one hand tangled, the other holding your lower back, using his hips to move you side to side in a slow and gentle current.

Your eyes had fluttered shut and when he kissed his lips softly over your eyelids you couldn't hide your smile. Your cheeks blossoming a pretty little shade of red.

"Then I'm gonna bundle you up in the softest towels and carry you straight to your bed where, if you ask me zieskiet, you should have stayed this morning instead of abandoning it and me in exchange for this dreary little cave..."

"This dreary little cave is my..." you tried to tell him you needed the job, you'd tried to tell him that so many times already however and you knew Alfie wouldn't listen. He was stubborn about these things, the things he believed to be the best for his girl.

"Ah ah ah don't start that again my little zieskiet, me an you both know that old cunt don't pay you enough..." he said ever defensive of you, ever convinced that nothing, absolutely nothing would ever be good enough for you. "And besides, if you stay a minute longer, he'll have to pay you for being here right... And I've been already decided yeah, that I ain't leaving your side for the rest of the day right... Which means me yeah, thats Alfie fuckin Solomons, the fuckin grudge of Camden Town yeah, infamous gangland one man horror show... Is gonna be loitering yeah, fuckin lingerin in this murky little... This - quite frankly - dusty old shithole... And there ain't a soul in Camden Town who isn't gonna come in here, set their bookish little eyes on me and fuckin flee to the fuckin high hills of... I don't know... "he trailed off with a shrug, "Durham or somewhere I don't know..."

He was smirking to himself by the time he'd finished, partially amused by his own eccentiricity, how even he'd lost track of what he was saying half way through saying it because he'd been adding those extra embellishments to try and draw a smile from you. Partially because he knew he was right and he knew that you knew he was right, and he was feeling pretty smug about the fact that the both of you knew you couldn't argue with the unfathomable depths of his logic.

"So either way no books are gettin sold today zieskiet, not by you anyway... For fear of soundin like that commie Shelby girl who's always shoutin outside parliament eh, if your boss wants to make his money today he's gonna have to get off his lazy good for nothin arse and fuckin make it himself..."

You giggled then, Alfie's apparent hatred for your boss, who was in reality a very meek and mild mannered, bookish type of man, amusing you, leaving a smile on your face which lit you up a little and eased Alfie's worries for you slightly too.

"There we are," he smirked rubbing his thumb over your smiling lips, poking your dimple affectionately, "thats better eh, a proper view to behold that is poppet," he said leaning down to brush a kiss to your lips,taken back when you latched onto him, clutching at the cotton of his shirt and kissing him back a little harder than either of you had expected you to.

You couldn't help it though. There was something about his over protective streak that, when it came out on days like to day, made you feel like the luckiest girl in the world. Made you feel like his kisses were the oxygen you breathed, the water you drank, and you were suddenly so very thirsty.

He chuckled as he pulled away, caressing your cheek with the back of his hand before taking your face in his palms and framing your beautiful expression.

You didn't look calm or even happy but you did look a little more settled. More than that you were looking up at him with these grateful sparkling eyes, little tears there, struggling to swallow a lump in your throat because you didn't know how to behave when he was so kind to you at times like this. Times when you felt fragile and lost, when you felt like you were letting him down. How could someone so breakable as you be good enough for him, the one man walking horror show of Camden town?

But he held you so tenderly, as though to him you were the most precious thing in the whole world, as if you were the center of his universe - and you were. And it was hard to doubt yourself when he looked at you so seriously and full of love.

"Come on now my little zieskiet, let's get you home eh, I've come to take you home..." he said gently, holding one of your hands, your still trembling fingers up to his lips and kissing each finger tip delicately one by one, holding your gaze as he did, "gonna take you home and make everythin better eh and you don't need to be scared or worried about anything right cause I'm your old man yeah, and your old man's gonna fix everything now... Gonna make everything better zieskiet, gonna make it all better..."

And like butter in his hands you felt yourself melting for him, your frayed nerves giving in, your mind which had been full ti bursting with arguments and worries and fears, clouding over as you let him take control of everything for you, let him lead you out of that little bookshop, tucked under his arm, all the way back to his house, which was more your home these days than your actual home.

[sinofwriting]

Pastime - Marcus Armstrong/Reader/Callum Ilott

Words: 990 Prompt: “Just this once” Note(s)/Warning(s): Some Angst, Happy Ending, Talks of Sex, Talks of Period Sex, Talks of Oral Sex (female receiving), Marcus is vocally into period sex, Callum is into the idea but doesn’t say so

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“Just this once.” The words rang in her head, haunting. It should’ve been just once, maybe twice, perhaps thrice, but she couldn’t count how many times it happened. Didn’t have enough fingers or toes to count. Had run out right before August ended.

It was her own weakness that made the phrase so untrue. It didn’t take much, a goading look, her name said low into her ear, a breathless please before lips are pressing against her neck. When it came to Callum and Marcus there was no just this once, it was only forever, just as it had always been.

She’s thankful however two months after the first time, she can finally say no and not give in to them.

She’s under a blanket on her couch, Callum beside her, while Marcus sits on the other side of him. The two had shown up just before one pm and invited themselves in, happily joining her as she rewatches some mindless tv. A hand slips under her blanket and onto her covered thigh, she doesn’t think anything of it, until it slips a little further, and there’s Callum’s lips just an inch away from her ear, saying her name.

The feeling, sensation of it all, makes her breath hitch, but she keeps her eyes on the tv shaking her head and grabbing his hand and pulling it away from her thigh and out from underneath the blanket. “Not today.” She’s surprised by how strong her voice is but is grateful. Maybe it will mean next time, if there is next time, she’ll be able to resist them then as well. “Are you alright?” And a cool hand is touching her forehead. She huffs and pushes away Marcus’ hand. “Of course, I’m alright.” “You’re saying no to sex.” Her lips press together to stop a laugh from spilling. If it had been anyone but Marcus saying that or Callum, she’d be angry, glaring, cursing and threatening them, but they had known each other for so long now and Marcus wasn’t wrong in the slightest.

She had never been one to turn down sex. She liked sex. She liked how it made her feel during and after. The way bodies moved and made noise. The scent of it that thickens in the room, nearly like a fog.

“I’m just not in the mood.” “Okay,” Callum starts, picking up the tv remote and turning the tv off. “Now, something is definitely wrong.” Both of them are turned slightly to look at her and she can see the younger’s hand that's under Callum’s hoodie, fingers moving beneath the fabric. It makes her thighs clench knowing what those hands look like on both Callum and her. “Nothings wrong.” They continue to look at her unimpressed and she rolls her eyes, raising a brow. “I’m on my period.” The British driver’s eyes widen but her focus is on Marcus who has the audacity to pout at her words.

“Does that mean you won’t let me eat you out?” “Kiwi.” Callum groans, though his eyes have a bit of interest as he looks at her as well for an answer. She shakes her head, trying not to think or wonder why exactly Marcus seemed so disappointed at the idea of not getting to eat her out. “It means no sex. Not with me at least.” Now both of them are pouting at her and she sighs. “No. The only people I have period sex with are significant others.” “Well, we certainly fit the bill.” She lets out a hum before reaching for the remote still in Callum’s hands only for him to hold it away from her. “What was that?” “What?” “The hum. After Marcus said we fit the bill.” She looks away from the both of them, heart clenching inside of her chest painfully. She didn’t need a reminder that they weren’t together, that what they had with her was just sex. She keeps her eyes on the powered off tv, words rolling around in her brain before she finally speaks. “I mean, we never talked about anything. It was pretty easy to assume that it was just sex.”

Silence fills the room as tears fill her eyes and it’s broken with an “oh, baby.” and Callum’s hands on her hips, pulling her onto his lap and then half on his and half on Marcus’. “Have you thought that the whole time?” “No, I mean, yes.” She sighs. “It’s just we never talked about it, addressed it. We’d just continue hanging out after or the next day we’d see each other it was like nothing really happened. I didn’t know what to think.” “Well, we’re together, all three of us.” Marcus states, but an elbow to his side makes him retract. “I mean, only if you want to be with the two of us.” Her elbow finds its way into the older’s ribs as she finally looks at the both of them. “Of course, I want to be with both of you.” “Thank god.” Marcus breathes and the slight worry that had been on both of their faces is gone.

“Now please tell me I can eat you out.” “Kiwi!” He pouts at both of them. “You I get,” he nods to her. “But you, Callum. Mate, you're supposed to be on my side.” “Buy her dinner first, mate.” His eyes narrow at the British driver and he’s tugging her fully onto his lap before leaning over to kiss Callum. “I’ll buy you both dinner after. Just let me have dessert first.” He pleads. Her and Callum share a look and he gives her a slight tilt of the head, a silent your call. “I have never had period sex before.” “Splendid, a first for all of us.” He says, but still doesn’t move waiting for clear consent. She’s stifling a laugh from him saying the word splendid, but nods. “Alright, Kiwi. Let’s add another first.”

@benstormy @darleneslane

[heartshattering]

Had my second meeting with the graduate school program director… I'm basically in the program and all that's left is making it official by turning in all of the paperwork and stuff. But my brain really doesn't want to cooperate with anything, even the most basic shit ever… I could barely even drag myself out of bed this morning, and I didn't even have to leave the house for the meeting or anything, it was just online. I'm genuinely excited but life is so overwhelming and stuff keeps piling up. My energy is super low, I am constantly worn out, even with caffeine (which I technically shouldn't be overdoing thanks to my heart issues). My room is still in "disaster zone" mode. I can never keep it clean. I want to keep studying but my brain is zapped and I can never finish as much as I want. I need to eat but I feel too fucking tired to cook and sadly most packaged food these days gives me horrible IBS flare-ups. I know I just need to pull myself together and start doing things a little at a time but I seriously can't emphasize enough how terrible my focus levels are and how frustrating it is to have a brain full of TV static. I want to cry from how little I'm able to accomplish each day. I'm not even having fun… I'm just struggling while feeling completely brain fogged, physically and mentally exhausted, realizing I have 56363552742 different things to do and no help at all in doing any of them. I'm always going to feel like I'm drowning... never caught up in life and just sinking deeper and deeper the more I struggle to pull myself out of this endless mental fog/depression pit.

[your-queer-dad]

Hi dad,

Today I had a panic attack.

I was overwhelmed, because my mom so sick, my migraines and dizziness and other stuff have been getting worse, algebra 2 is overwhelming sometimes, and I just feel drained because of it.

I didn’t lash out or anything, but I kinda just cried quietly and tried to eat dinner. I ate half of it, which was hard, but I threw the rest away.

I wanted to sh so bad, and the urges have been getting worse.

I’ve been finding new coping mechanisms, so that’s good, and they’ve been working.

I was able to lock myself in the bathroom and calm down, but I kinda just feel drained and somehow still anxious from it. I don’t know what to do. I have an awesome mom and older sister I can talk to, but it’s really hard to talk about stuff sometimes, and I really don’t want to bother anyone. I’m in therapy and on meds, but it’s just so hard sometimes, and everything just feels like to much sometimes. And I always feel like I’m faking it. Like my stimming is fakes. Like my interests are fake. Like my emotions are fake. Like my whole sense of self is fake. And like, I know it’s not true. I know I am autistic (diagnosed when I was 8), I know I’m passionate about infectious pathology, I know I feel stuff, I know I’m a guy, and that living as a girl was hell for me, but my emotions always feel fake and distant and numb, and I always doubt myself. I need to cry a lot, like breakdown and sob and scream, but I can’t, and it just feels so frustrating.

And I’ve just been having so many memories come up from my childhood, and it just makes me so sad.

I had a dream last night that I was shopping with my cousin (who helped me through a lot, and was my best friend during tough situations. I haven’t seen her in 5 years), and I just miss her so much. It made me so sad and happy at the same time, and I just wish I could see her again.

I miss my older brother (I haven’t seen him in 5 years either), and I just want to make sure he’s ok, and give him a hug.

I keep getting random memories of an old neighbor we used to live by, who was so seeet and kind. We trusted him a lot, and played in his backyard and porch area frequently. He always had those little popsicles that are in the plastic tube thingy, and he always gave me the blue ones cause he knew they were my favorite. And though we haven’t seen him in years (we moved a lot), I miss him, and hope he’s doing ok.

I always want to help out more, and feel like I’m not doing enough. I just want to be more useful and see people smile. I like being helpful, and it hurts when I can’t do something on my own.

I feel stupid and lazy all the time. I suck at math, and can’t focus. It’s just so hard to focus, and my brain has been fogging more often in the past few years, and I just want to do something right for once.

I don’t know how to tell my mom about this, but I know that I really need to, because I don’t want to relapse again, and I don’t want to scare anyone.

Do you have any advice?

Also, I hope this ask finds you well.

Please make sure to drink some water, eat something, shower/bathe, and get some rest

Thanks for reading this :)

Hey kiddo! That sounds like you're putting a lot of pressure on yourself bud. Im so proud of you for resisting the urge to self harm. I know personally how hard that is but I'm so proud of you. No matter how fake it feels, it isn't. It sounds to me like you're invalidating your own feelings there bud. However you're feeling is true. You aren't stupid or lazy, you have so much going on right now and it's okay to be overwhelmed sometimes. Life is crazy and loud and a whirlwind and calm and warm and painful- it's so many things, it's natural to be overwhelmed by it sometimes. I would really really recommend talking to someone if you feel like you're gonna self harm. It isn't a burden to them, they care about you as much as you care about them.

- dad x

[ptolomeia]

Who wants to hear my thoughts on how my disability, fatness and grief all intersect?

If the answer is not you, please press j to continue to the next post!

So, we're coming up on a year now since our disability meant we had to come to terms with the fact that we would never be able to work and had to drop out of school for our dream job and become a housebound/bedbound lump person. Now my dream job was in construction, it was unionized and extremely well paid and I was three months short of graduating when reality became undeniable. I was never going to be able to do this.

I may have been the only person in my class who had to double check the weight capacity of my harness and shock absorber, but I was fucking good at the work. One of my teachers had me tutoring classmates before the brain fog made that impossible. And while it was hard to find clothes that fit me, mens clothes typically came in larger sizes, which worked for me.

And then came MECFS, slowly robbing my life of, well, most things really. Including, but very much not limited to, my sense of identity and my dream job.

Being a poor student, I didn't really have many clothes that didn't fit with that life. And being very fat, i couldnt exactly go to a mall and buy fast fashion that suited me better for cheap. So, I find myself almost a year down the line with still not many clothes that make me feel good or happy or non additional grief.

Which brings me to my next set of issues. Due to sensory and temperature regulation issues, I can only wear natural breathable fibers (another thing that cuts me off from fast fashion). Between the exhaustion from my ME/CFS and my sensory issues, shopping is hard on me.

But HAHA! I think. I've been sewing on and off for near two decades now (ow my brain). I can just sew myself a new wardrobe! Besides, the non construction worker styles I like (vintage 40s-50s) is even harder to find plus sized, well fitting anyway. If I can't do my dream job, at least I can enjoy some expertly sewn (eh, close enough), perfectly (that could probably use some quotes) fitting clothes in a style I've long loved but thought impractical!

Except, here's the thing. Sewing requires energy. Laying out and cutting out fabric requires energy. It requires precision and focus and when I only have a few good hours a day and have to take care of myself and my home on top of my sewing ambitions...

Last summer I made a pair of shorts (two front pieces, two back pieces, a fly, a waist band, belt loops, 4 pockets and facings) in three days at the start of my decline, and that was on top of doing some basic renovations at my parents house. Last month, an extremely simple t-shirt (front, back, two sleeves and a neckband) took me... a week? More? And there's so much more I want to make working through my stash. Pj's that aren't falling apart. A new raincoat and a new fall coat. A simple 1950s style dress in a wonderfully loud plaid that would just be so much fun.

But this morning I was trying to get my jersey to lie flat and nearly ended up crying (knits are the devil fabric. Curse them and their comfort and stretch). There are days where it feels like there is nothing this disease won't take from me.

But at the same time... even if a year ago I could have trimmed assembled and cut out a pattern in one day, at least today I got to trim the papers? And even if cutting out that jersey took more fabric that it strictly needed to, at least I'm one step closer to having some new, hole free pjs.

So, even as i grieve the many many things I lost, I try to hold to what I still can do. And also rail against the world for making things harder for fat people than they need to be. Because seriously, I'm having to learn to make my own patterns (and yes, they will fit better but that is not the point) because most patterns (and definitely none of the big commercial ones) come in anything close to my measurements. This makes me extremely annoyed.

But yeah, to sum up, disability, fatness, grief, and hope all make a very complex ball. And I wish it could be easier

[taste-thewaste]

fic pride tag

thank you so much for the tags my lovely friends <3 @bigassbowlingballhead @eusuntgratie

Rules: Post your favourite line or passage from as many of your published works as you’d like. Let yourself feel proud of your creations! Tag as many people as you post snippets, so your fellow fic friends can be proud, too.

this is going to be interesting because I have to be nice to myself and proud of my work lol let's goooo (all of these are firstprince because i'm vanilla)

1. Gorgeous. Another short little dude in my T Swift series, inspired by the song. This is the first line, and I've always loved it:

They are in a small bar in Paris, drunk on French 75s and the nearness of each other, staring at the Eiffel Tower when Alex starts making fun of him.

2. i wanna touch your body (so fucking electric). my beloved first smut fic!! so proud of how this one turned out actually. here's my favorite bit of the boys sexting each other

Later that night, when Henry is safely sequestered in his rooms and able to do what he likes, he opens his text thread with Alex and sends a barb of his own.  Thinking about the way your dick looks when it’s curved against your belly. You’re so fucking pretty.  Alex’s phone goes off, and he looks away from the skillet that he’s cooking chicken in to check. He reads Henry’s text and his cheeks flame, a bolt of lightning heads straight to his groin, and his dick stirs.  Pretty? Yes. You have a pretty cock, Alex. Sue me.   Alex moans, and he can’t think of what to say because his mind is flushed with want and need. Luckily, Henry seems to know this and follows up.  I want your pretty cock in my pretty mouth so I can hear you beg.  Alex’s dick is painfully hard, and he’s grateful for just a moment, in his haze of arousal, that he’d swapped his characteristically tight jeans for sweatpants when he’d gotten home. He manages to tap out a response before he starts taking care of himself. I’d be begging so loud that we’d rattle the ghosts of all those dead gay kings in that castle. I’d peel the wallpaper with my screams for you, baby.   Alex finishes coming as soon as the smoke alarm in the kitchen goes off. He’s burned the chicken.

3. i could've danced all night. henry tutu fic!! this fic is so filthy, and i love this bit

“You…your dick is, uh, ahhhh, cock, and…” is all Alex manages to spit out before throwing his head back and abandoning all pretense of sexy talk. He can’t focus on anything but the feeling of Henry’s giant hands on him ( seriously , is anything about this man tiny?) and how close he is to coming.  “My ‘dick is cock’, eh? That’s eloquent. Pure poetry, love,” Henry says with a low, throaty laugh, feeling himself going even harder than he already had been. Alex cock drunk is his favorite thing; the idea that he can fuck Alex stupid does something to him. He strokes even faster, shutting Alex up before he can even attempt some kind of comeback.

4. only bought this dress so you could take it off. alex in a little black dress and red bottoms! utter filth. here's my favorite part.

Alex knows what’s coming soon, who’s coming soon, and the thought brings a grin to his face. “Look at you, so out of your mind that you’re reduced to fucking a carpet because you just can’t get enough. It hurts, doesn’t it, you little slut? It hurts but it feels good, it feels so good , doesn’t it?” He punctuates each ‘good’ with a dig of the heels, and then Henry screams, fucking screams like his spirit is being wrenched from his body.  He waits until Henry’s finished—he can tell by the way he is just lying there, spent, his body heaving and out of breath—and then he steps off. The vague part of Alex that is still himself underneath the fog of arousal that’s clouded his head wants to pull Henry up, clean him off, make sure he’s okay. That part, however, is locked in the recesses of his brain, and he wants to keep going because it’s his turn now, and by the look Henry gives him when he sits up, he knows that, too.  “Come here.” Alex snaps his fingers again, and Henry starts to rise to his feet. “Did I say to stand up? I said to come here. ” Henry stops, looks up at Alex like he is confused, but he isn’t, and Alex knows it. He drops to his knees and crawls forward, his knees pushing through the mess he’s made without even thinking, moves forward until he is right in front of Alex.

5. turn the desert to glass (you would be the one). henry's tummy fic, the fic I am most proud of. i worked so hard on it!! here's two of my favorite parts bc i can't pick just one

After a few moments, Alex rests one hand on the lower part of Henry’s belly, where he’s the softest, and leans over to grab another spoonful of mousse. “You look like the most pampered, spoiled, overfed little prince right now,” he says in a low voice as the bite of rich dessert disappears down Henry’s pretty throat.

and

A tiny sound squeaks past Henry’s lips, a sound he can’t control but knows will drive Alex mad, a sound that means more . Alex slips a finger inside of him, and another, opens him up like he is a book he’s been dying to read, and Henry bares down shamelessly, his own hand twisted in the sheets at his side. 

6. Your Lipstick, His Collar. my multi chap emo early 2000s college au being co-written with my bestie! this fic is so. much. fun. and here's a bit I love from one of my chapters:

“Here, you dropped this.” Alex’s iPod, suddenly pinker than anything in the world had a real right to be, is being handed to him. Alex looks up finally and his stomach does a flip as Henry’s eyes, as blue as any ocean he’s ever seen, lock with his. Now that he’s up close, he can see the remnants of yesterday’s eyeliner still smudged around Henry’s eyes, and he wants to know why and how and when and where he’s worn it. He wants to sit next to him and watch him put it on. He wants to watch Henry squeeze into those jeans that are really too tight to be allowed, really too tight to be anything more than a major tease, and he wants to…oh, he has to stop thinking right fucking now because things are going to get even more awkward if he doesn’t. “Thanks,” Alex says quietly, trying to not think about the feeling of Henry’s fingers against his as he takes the iPod. They’re soft and gentle, and all he can imagine is the delicate way they must hold an eyeliner pencil. “I like that song,” Henry says, and Alex can’t handle the way the words come out of his mouth, the way they fall from his lips in the lightest, most dignified accent, like the gentle flapping of a bird’s wing. “What?” Alex blurts stupidly, the word falling from his lips with a thud and rolling down the sidewalk like a giant turd. Christ, he’s an idiot.

7. take me out, and take me home. my newest, my lil baby!

Alex tells him the things he’s never told anyone, and Henry places a hand on his knee while he talks. He is quiet and still and holds Alex’s words with so much reverence and care. In return, Henry tells him the things he’s most afraid of, the things that have hurt him the most. He stares Alex in the eyes and gives him pieces of himself that he has never given to anyone. 

tagging: @england-would-fall @henrysfox @agostobuwan @stratocumulusperlucidus @priincebutt

@piratefalls @doublecheekedkinard those are my 7 but please feel free to use this open tag and tag me if you want to do it!!

[aquietwritingcorner]

Truth Serum

Title: Truth Serum Day: Febuwhump 2024 Day 20 Prompt: Truth Serum  Fandom:  TMNT 2003 Word Count: 2349  Author: aquietwritingcorner/realitybreakgirl Rating:  T Characters:  Leonardo, Raphael, Donatello, Michelangelo, Master Splinter Warning: NA Summary:  When Leonardo gets a dose of truth serum, a few things he thought he had dealt with come back out into the open. Fortunately, his family is, as always, there for him.   Notes:     ff.net || AO3

____________________________

Truth Serum

Leonardo was not sure what Hun had injected him with, but he was sure that whatever it was, it wasn’t a good thing. When someone who had captured you injected you with something, it was never a good thing. His brothers, come to rescue him, had not quite been in time to stop it. Instead, they had rushed to free him and to whisk him away out of there before the effects of whatever it was could make themselves known.

Leo had, of course, fought as soon as he was able, and he had been doing alright. At least, he had been doing alright until a few minutes ago. He was starting to feel unfocused, and his thoughts were harder to keep a hold of. It had to have been evident, because they stopped, sitting him down on a rooftop, while Don looked over him.

“You alright, Leo?” he asked. “Are you feeling anything unusual?”

“I feel kind of lightheaded and off balance,” Leo said, almost before he realized what he was saying. “And unfocused."

For a fraction of a second, everyone paused, including Leo himself. He hadn’t meant to say that.

“You’re admitting it?” Mikey said.

Leo blinked. “Apparently.”

Don frowned. “If you’re feeling bad enough to admit to it without me having get past layers of ‘I’m fine’ first, then we probably need to get you back to the lair. Think you can make it?”

“I should be able to,” Leo said. “And besides, it would probably be a good idea to get out of here.” He glanced back in the direction that they had come from. “We’re still pretty close to the warehouse.

“You’re right about that,” Don said. “Besides, I want to analyze whatever this was that he gave you.”

“Alright, let’s get moving then,” Raph said, reaching down to help Leo up.

Although the trip back to the lair was quick, Leo’s symptoms only grew worse. His brothers sat him on the couch, where he leaned his head back, trying to stop the dizziness and fog that was swirling around in his brain. It didn’t take long for Splinter to come out to check on him, and Leo could hear the worry in his voice.

“My son? How are you feeling?”

“Terrible,” Leo said, before he could stop himself. “I’m dizzy and my head feels foggy. My tongue feels dry, and my arms and legs feel heavy. It’s hard to focus.”

He could hear shifting steps around him. “Leo? Can you open your eyes for me?” Don said. “I just want to check your pupils.”

Leo nodded. “Yeah, I can do that.”

Leo opened his eyes and let Don do whatever else he wanted to do, including taking some blood samples. He drank the water he was given and did whatever else was requested of him. And then, finally, when Don’s tests were over and he had things running, the question was asked.

“Leo, what happened?”

Despite the brain fog he was feeling, Leo started talking. He recounted how the Purple Dragons had gotten the drop on him during the fight, taking him back to the warehouse, where they restrained him, and Hun injected him with whatever it was he was injected with.

“…I’m just glad it was me and not one of you,” he finished up with, looking at his brothers.

Raph’s head shot up. “What? What do you mean by that?” he asked.

Leo blinked at him. “I mean it was clear that they were targeting us. They wanted one of us. And I’m glad that it was me and not one of you that they ended up getting. Besides, I deserved it.”

His family was staring at him, aghast.

Wait—what had he said?

“Why would you say that?” Mikey burst out.

“Because it’s true,” Leo said, before he could stop himself.

“Hang on,” Don said, cutting in before Raph could. “I mean, I understand not wanting us to get hurt, but—is that the only reason you think that?”

“No, not at all,” Leo said with a shake of his head. Why couldn’t he stop talking? He was laying out his thought process for all of them, and it didn’t feel like he could top himself “I mean, yes, that’s part of it, but—Don, you’re the one that can figure this kind of thing out. It’s better for it not to happen to you. Mikey, you’re the most skilled of us. If something happens and you really focus in, you can easily take point with better results than the rest of is. Raph, you’re stronger than me, and your protective drive is strong. You’d fight to the last for someone. If the three of you are together, then you can break through almost anything.”

The looks on his family’s faces were less than reassuring.

“That holds some amount of logic,” Don said carefully, “and I think you’re selling yourself short, but I’m more concerned with the last part of what you said earlier. What do you mean that you deserved it?”

“I mean that I deserved it,” Leo said, feeling even a little more out of sorts. He leaned forward a little, rubbing at his head. Why were they pushing this? Didn’t they understand? “I’m the leader. I’m responsible for all of you. And if I lead us into a trap or an ambush, then your safety is on me. If you get hurt, it’s on me. If you’re injured or captured or injected, it’s on me. I’m responsible.”

“That’s not true,” Mikey said, clearly upset. “You can’t be responsible for us all of the time! We do stupid things on our own!”

“It is true, Mikey,” Leo insisted, pushing the point further. It felt important for them to understand. “I’m the eldest and I’m the leader.”

“Nuh-uh,” Raph said, standing up and stalking towards Leo. “No. No way, Leo. You don’t get to get off that easy—”

“Easy?!” Leo exclaimed. They didn’t understand. Leo stood, too, meeting Raph head on. “Easy? What makes you think any of this is easy? Do you know what it’s like, Raphael?” he demanded. “Do you know what it’s like to hold your family’s lives in your hands every time you go out? Do you know what’s it’s like to feel responsible for that?”

Leo took a step towards Raph. “Every day when we go out, the entire world is against us! At any moment something could happen! We could get attacked by an enemy we know! We could get swept up in something we can’t control! A mob of people could find us! Someone with a sniper rifle could just take us down! And I have to be ready for that! I have to be prepared! I have to have a plan and know how to jump into action!”

He moved a step closer. “Do you know what happens if I don’t? If I’m not ready? Do you? When I’m not ready, you get hurt. I wasn’t ready, and April’s shop burned down, and the Shredder nearly killed us all! I wasn’t ready and Master Splinter was hurt so badly the Utroms had to put him in healing chamber! I wasn’t ready and we nearly got killed in an intergalactic war! I wasn’t ready and I got us caught up in a crime-power struggle! I wasn’t ready and giant wasps almost took us out! I wasn’t ready and I was poisoned, and the universe nearly ripped apart! I wasn’t ready and Don got captured and tortured by Triceritons! I wasn’t ready and we were nearly dissected by Bishop! I wasn’t ready and we were thrown across the multiverse! I wasn’t ready and we almost died on Shredder’s ship! I wasn’t ready and all of you almost died when I was gone! I wasn’t ready and Donnie got double mutated! I wasn’t ready and I almost died from using a sword that wasn’t mine! I wasn’t ready and we did all die! I wasn’t ready and we were almost turned into mindless aliens! I wasn’t ready and Master Splinter almost died! I wasn’t ready and April and Casey’s wedding was attacked, and everyone almost died!”

He moved closer to Raph, his chest heaving, air becoming harder to take in, but he still reached up and pushed Raph back just a little. “When I’m not ready, it can cost you all your lives!” He took in as deep a breath as he could manage, his head spinning as the words just slipped out of him. “So yes! When these things happen, I deserve it! Because it means that I failed all of you, that I wasn’t good enough, and that it’s my fault!”

Suddenly, there were arms around him, holding him tight, almost crushing him. Leo let in a sharp breath as he realized it was Raph.

“It ain’t your fault,” Raph said, his voice low, calm, but steady. “You can’t control what life throws at us. You can’t control all of that. Yeah, you’re responsible for us as a leader, but we’re responsible for each other as a family.”

“You can’t control the future,” Don said, and Leo felt his brother’s hand on his shoulder. “You can try to stop what you know is coming, try to prevent it, but in the end, there’s always going to be other factors that lead to other situations. You can’t be responsible for that.” Don’s head squeezed his shoulder. “I know that all too well.”

“You’re not all knowing.” He felt Mikey’s hand come up on his other shoulder. “And we don’t expect you to be. You’re our brother, Leo, and you don’t deserve these things any more than we do.”

Leo was having trouble seeing even Raph’s shoulder clearly, and it took him a moment to realize that it was because there were tears in his eyes and that he was crying. A gentle paw reached up and wiped the tears away. Leo squeezed his eyes shut.

“Oh, my son,” he heard his father say. “I never meant for you to carry such a heavy burden. I am truly, truly sorry.”

Leo couldn’t help it anymore. Wrapped tightly in his strongest brother’s arms, he wept.

Things were a bit of a blur after that. At some point he finished crying, but he felt more than drained. The embarrassment over his outburst kicked in, and he wanted nothing more than to go hide in his room. Unfortunately, Don wasn’t about to allow that, not with an unknown substance running through him, and the best Leo could do was cover himself with a blanket on the couch. He still found himself answering questions far too easily, but considering how tired he was, he wasn’t too surprised. Eventually, he fell asleep, dozing while leaning on Raph.

A few hours later, he woke to Don shaking him awake.

“Mm, Don? What is it?” he asked.

“An explanation to everything,” Don said, kneeling down in front of Leo. “Here—let me give you this while I talk.”

He held out a needle and Leo made a face.

“I’d rather not,” he said.

“I know,” Don said. “Just like I know you’re telling me the truth right now.”

“Uh, what are you talking about?” Mikey asked.

Don took Leo’s arm and prepped it for the shot anyway, even as the family listened in. “I finished analyzing what was in that syringe,” Don said. “And in layman’s terms, it was a very powerful truth serum.”

“A truth serum?” Raph repeated.

Don nodded and put a piece of gauze over where he had injected Leo, pulling out some bandages to wrap it up. “Yep. Different than many other truth serums, but a truth serum, nonetheless. With just a little pushing, Leo wouldn’t have been able to help himself and would have answered any question Hun would have asked him.”

“That explains Leonardo’s outburst earlier,” Splinter said. “He was under the influence of this truth serum.”

Don nodded. “And I just gave him something to counteract it.” He looked up at Leo. “Of course, what you said is still out there, and, knowing this, it’s something that you believe to be true. There’s no denying that.” He gave Leo’s knee a squeeze. “But we can work through that together.”

Leo was still feeling a bit foggy headed, but he nodded. “I know,” he said. “I thought I had dealt with it, but, well…”

“Sometimes, things linger, my son,” Splinter said. “We can use our minds and our reason to work through them, but they still linger and catch us when we are unaware.” He smiled at Leo. “Do not worry, Leonardo. We are all still with you.”

Leo let out a breath and leaned back. “Well at least there’s a reason for it,” he said. “And yeah. We can work through it all together.”

Raph nudged him. “You bet we will,” he said.

“So… how long will this thing take to work?” Mikey asked.

“Somewhere around fifteen minutes, maybe longer,” Don said.

Mikey grinned. “In that case—Hey, Leo, where’s your hidden stash of sweets.”

“Behind a false panel I figured out how to put in my desk drawer,” Leo answered automatically, before realizing what he’d said. “Wait—no!”

“Oh, this is going to be fun,” Mikey said. “Tell us—who’s your favorite broth—"

“Mikey!” Raph lunged at his brother, leaving Leonardo behind on the couch. Mikey screamed and ran, and the game of chase was on.

Don chuckled and sat beside Leo.

“Are you going to ask me anything?” Leo asked.

Don shook his head. “No. I’d rather you tell me in your own time. Although I am curious as to the answer to that last question.”

“Considering Mikey never finished asking it, I suppose we’ll never know,” Leo said.

“I suppose not,” Don said.

He leaned into Leo a bit, a silent encouragement, and Leo leaned back. Perhaps the pressures of leadership got to him more often than he wanted to admit. But at least he knew that even in his weak moments, his family would be there for him.

[cyberrat]

91st Batch Of Fics: 5th Fill

Hanzo/Cassidy – Off Limits AU – loss of virginity; feral behavior – Hanzo is just very determined and Cole is too weak to do anything about it.

---

Cole can’t keep up with the feverish eagerness Hanzo displays. His teeth are a bit too sharp, too eager to nip at his lips whenever he doesn’t open himself enough for the wet, desperate thrust of his tongue. His body is hot against his, especially once he’s managed to wrangle off his clothes.

Cole has had to help him with that quite a bit, mumbling soothingly about how his threads are much too expensive to treat them so poorly… Hanzo had just stared at him as if he hadn’t quite been able to comprehend what Cole was saying to him, but he got distracted enough with fumbling around with the desk drawers behind him that Cole had been able to peel him out of his clothes anyway.

“Good pup,” Cole groaned against his lips once Hanzo turned around again and bore down on him like he didn’t even notice his own new nakedness. He’s just crammed the older Alpha into the chair and kissed him and jerkily moved his hips back-and-forth, rubbing their slippery cocks together and sending Cole into a scramble to grab his hips and try to calm him down so he wouldn’t shoot his load far too early…

It’s how he is now. Pressed into the chair. Kissed within an inch of his life by the near feral man in his lap. Everything beneath his belly button feels hot and wet, their cocks dribbling liberally and leaving him a sticky mess. He must be absolutely reeking of the both of them. He can’t focus enough on it, though. Not with Hanzo being so deliciously needy on top of him.

He’s growling, but it’s softer than before; it’s almost the high-pitched little puppy growls of a kid trying to calm someone older. His tongue is so hot and slippery against Cole’s; fucking deep again and again before he slowly starts to just hang there, their foreheads pressed together as he pants into Cole’s lungs and whimpers, hips jerky and shivering.

“Shhh, shee… good boy,” Cole groans softly against him, his big hands fumbling with Hanzo’s hips, trying to pet him or hold him or make him move more; he doesn’t know himself. He’s getting cumdumb and he hasn’t even shot his load yet.

“Lemme get up, pretty boy. Lemme turn around-”

Hanzo jerks his head and it occurs to Cole that he is shaking it when that puppy growl dips into a deeper, warning lilt.

Cole whines at him, leans up to suckle a kiss against the hinge of his jaw, pressing just a hint of teeth against his skin. “Come on, babydoll. Gonna be so good for you. Gonna let you knot me however many times…” he trails off as his hand is bumped and he finally becomes aware of the fact that Hanzo hasn’t had his hands on Cole for quite a while now.

He feels like he is thinking through some kind of thick fog as he searches for Hanzo’s gaze while his fingers creep around, feeling the tremble of muscle in one of Hanzo’s ass cheeks before his thick fingers bump into the younger Alpha’s fingers. Coated with slick that he must have found in Clint’s desk and busy nervously opening up his own hole.

Cole’s brain short circuits. His hand falls away and he stares up at Hanzo, his mouth hanging open. The other stares back at him. His flush has crawled into those sharp cheek bones and his mouth looks swollen and wet and delicious as he pants with his tongue almost lolling out.

His eyes are so shiny and pretty and dark; it’s always so difficult to see where his pupil ends and the iris begins but in this half-feral state he is in it is practically impossible.

Hanzo moves. Maybe he just feels like this is the perfect moment or he is half afraid that Cole will try to dissuade him; but he grabs Cole’s shoulder with one hand and his cock with the other. His fingers are wet and hot and the thought that they had been inside his body just seconds before is not helping Cole get his bearings. He has trouble wrapping his head around what is happening now.

He feels the young man tilt his cock down and then a wet slide and pressure against his glans. He’s shocked out of his little state of indecision, brows lifting and mouth opening in a little ‘o’ of shock.

“Easy now. Easy. That ain’t the best o’ ideas right now, don’t ya think, pretty boy?” He grasps Hanzo’s hips, fingers digging in, trying to gently dissuade him from his endeavor – but Hanzo is still feral. His eyes suddenly flash and the almost docile calm that had settled over him a moment before is gone in an instant.

The hand on Cole’s shoulder becomes more like a claw as he gets right up in the older Alpha’s face, snarling, bearing down on him and pressing him into the luxurious leather of the seat. His hot breath dancing across Cole’s face, Cole can do little more than let go of the young man’s hips and lift his hands in surrender.

“Easy… easy… just don’t wanna hurt ya, babydoll. Pretty li’l Alpha treat. Don’t want ya to…” he trails off as Hanzo lowers himself onto his cock.

His mouth starts hanging open, mirroring Hanzo’s as the fire once again fizzles out of the young Alpha, at least for the moment as he just stares at Cole’s face without really registering any of it and feels his first ever cock spreading him open.

He’s tight. He’s so, so tight and so, so hot. There’s liberal slick there at least, but the way Hanzo looks and how his insides keep squeezing down on him, nervous and unsure how to take it, it probably isn’t enough.

It certainly isn’t enough for how fast Hanzo forces himself down on him. He’s whining; that high-pitched puppy noise again, like he can’t figure out that he is the one setting the pace and he is the one making him overwhelmed with the feeling of cock.

Cole tries to keep a level head; tries to make low, soothing sounds to calm the young Alpha down, but he’s struggling with the situation himself. He can’t say he’s ever had a real, living hole wrapped around his dick.

The few pussies he’s knotted were all of the pocket variety; all toys that he squirrelled away when he’s been younger and needed the illusion of mounting something before that instinct got dicked out of him thoroughly.

His hands flutter uselessly about Hanzo’s person before they settle on the other’s ribs, thumbs curved up just underneath his pecs. They’re thick with a nice layer of muscle that give him the juiciest pair of tits that Cole has been obsessed with for a while, though he knows better than to call them that to Hanzo’s face.

He likes to be alive, all things considered.

Especially now that he’s got the prettiest goddamn Alpha he’s ever laid eyes on sitting on his cock. He feels absolutely incredible. Breath taking. Perfect.

He stares down at their laps but he can’t see where he is pushing into him like this. All he can see is Hanzo’s cock having flagged into an indecisive half-hard erection, his body obviously unsure of what it is feeling right now, and his muscular thighs trembling as, despite it all, he makes himself move nice and slow.

There’s a high-pitched noise starting up in Cole’s ears, not unlike a tea kettle. For a moment he is absolutely certain that it’s just his brain cooking in his skull; and then he realizes it is the pup making the sound as his other hand grabs a hold of Cole’s other shoulder and he’s holding on for dear life as he bounces on his first ever dick.