#on the one hand at this level of depression there's nothing that sounds worse than dressing up and hanging out with my bosses for 2 hours

[gideonisms]

Do I go to my work Halloween party because they are offering 2 extra hours of pay and a chance to win a $100 gift card for anyone who comes in costume or do I skip it and preserve my will to live

[rodolfoparras]

okay so this is based off a dream that I had so I apologize in advance if this doesn't fully make sense.

but canine hybrid!price who's retired. he's served pretty long, and when he finally retired he was reluctant. though he didn't have much of a choice because his hearing had been slowly deteriorating over the past years. don't get him wrong he can still hear better than the average human, but his ears are no where as good as they used to be. it's not till he retires that he meets you. I think that you would be the one to point out his hearing, because he's always used to being around loud things that when you guys are watching a movie or something he has it on nearly the loudest volume possible.

once he finds out he looks into how to better take of his ears, which you help with. unknowingly, price's ears are very sensitive, and when you gently stroke them for the first time it sends a shiver down his spine instant boner. it's something that you note for later. but once you get into a rhythm and his ears are about as healthy as can be, you start to incorporate them into sex. whispering praises in his ear, gently stroke them, even just softly blow them, etc.

OH! and just imagine dressing up and going on a date with price at a restaurant, and when you sit down and get further into the dinner you start whispering absolutely filthy things you wanna do to him, just quiet enough that only price would be able to hear. if he walks out the restaurant with a boner and flushed in the face, no one says anything.

Thinking about Price who really isn’t that upset about going into retirement. What upsets him the most is the loneliness that comes with it

Once upon a time Price had found a mate. Back then he thought that the relationship would last forever. He had even promised himself that if he were to go into retirement he’d do it with them but they have long passed away, leaving him heartbroken and lonely.

Work had been his way to cope with the sorrow but now that he was retired he felt cornered. He had nothing but his loss to focus on. On top of that he was too old to find someone to fill the spot, not that he was thinking about finding a new mate anyway.

Needless to say Price had fallen into depression so much so 141 had forced him out the house and into a bar where he’d met you, another canine hybrid, one who’s much younger than him, and who had for whatever reason taken interest in him

You approached him, offered to buy him a drink, talked for a while before exchanging numbers and promising to meet up another time.

Price didn’t want to do it at first, wasn’t looking for a relationship at all. But he thought that it would do him good to make a new friend.

And Price had been right. He now had someone who frequently got him out of the house. Sometimes the two of you went to bars and sometimes you opted to go to parks.

Sometimes you didn’t leave the house at all. Instead you’d visit him with take out in hand. Sometimes you’d stroll into his kitchen and make him home cooked dinner, before putting on some movie to watch (something he appreciated a lot)

And it was nice being friends with a fellow canine hybrid because not only did you understand him on a personal level, but he could also offer you some guidance and advice, and for the first time since his retirement Price felt useful again.

However time continued to pass and his hearing loss got worse, his vision was even starting to blur and for the first time in his life Price needed the help of someone to manage his day to day task but he couldn’t get himself to ask.

Luckily for him you could tell he was struggling with something. You had first noticed it during your movie nights when he’d turn the volume up to the highest setting. You didn’t mind, thought that, like the typical canine, he enjoyed to be surrounded by sounds but it was excessive even for a canine hybrid.

But then you noticed how he’d rarely respond when you greeted him at the door, back turned to you while focusing on whatever task he was doing in the moment.

One time when the two of you were at the store you had told Price that you were going to go to another isle to look for something but he hadn’t heard you at all, looked around and saw you were gone and went into full panic mode.

You spent the rest of the day comforting him, reassuring him while he told you about the issue he’s been tackling lately.

As a canine hybrid yourself, you could understand that he was struggling, so you did everything in your power to help him out.

In one of the articles you read it said that training yourself to locate sounds would help improve your hearing. So you’d take him out in fields, running around in your full canine form and doing your best to identify the different type of sounds you were hearing.

He hadn’t wanted it at first, claimed that you can’t teach an old dog how to sit but he did it anyway, and even though he struggled a lot, you loved the way his face lit up every time he got a sound right.

Another tip was to take good care of the ears. Price would huff and roll his eyes every time you’d show up with a wash cloth and trimmers in hand but he’d let you do whatever you want, even feeling his face burn and mouth dry up at your tentative touch.

Something that wasn’t stated in the article but something you did anyway was that you offered to be his extra pair of ears. You had offered to help him out in his day to day tasks or even when out on hunts.

That offer had him speechless, frozen in place even, because it felt so intimate, more intimate than carrying your bite on his neck.

You had basically offered to be an extension of him and expected him to act normally.

See the two of you have grown much closer to the point where you might as well be courting him. However he still carried someone else’s mark on his neck. He was already claimed. But by offering this, you had basically said you were ready to take it further with him, despite everything.

Price hasn’t felt arousal in so long but when you have him pinned under your weight, while blowing onto his sensitive ears, he can feel blood pooling to the lower half of his body.

But it doesn’t stop there. When you notice just how sensitive they are, you lightly nip at them, hearing the whines and whimpers that escape his lips before he grinds down onto your clothed dick.

You even even yank on his ears, blunt nails digging into soft skin and leaving marks on it as you inch closer to your release, letting everyone know that even though he didn’t carry your scent or bite on his neck, he was yours anyway

[mordenheim]

It’s a new day, let’s go

It was dark in the house. All of the blinds were shut and the curtains had been drawn over them. If not for the vast array of electronics idly blinking away throughout the house it would likely be pitch black inside. Azurite sighed as she picked her way through the room on her soft paws.

The feline put her hands on her hips as her feline eyes let her easily see in the darkness and the place was a mess. Shaking her head, she bent down to grab a pizza box in her black-furred hands. Her tail swishing in annoyance, she tossed the stale crusts in the trash and broke down the box before folding it and sticking it behind the overflowing trash can that Steve used for recycling.

She hadn't heard from her friend in a few days and the group was pretty worried. They know that the crow was susceptible to bouts of depression, especially in the later months of the year. He didn't like to talk about it much, but she knew that something happened that left him hurting.

“This... Is a bit much..” She kicked at the random garbage scattered across the floor, making a face at the loud clatter of soda cans strewn everywhere. Reaching out tot he wall, she tried to click on the overhead light, but nothing happened. Either the florescent tubes had burned out and he hadn't replaced them or something was wrong with the light itself.

Grumbling under her breath, she shoved a few more takeout containers aside and uncovered a desk top lamp. Trying to turn this one on also did nothing. Taking a closer look she could see that the bulb had been removed leaving only the empty socket.

“Oh, dammit Steve, come on!”

Pulling her cell phone from her pocket, she clicked on the flashlight app and looked around the room. Now that she could make out colors everything was so much worse. There was trash piled on almost every flat surface in the room. The television was buried under a leaning pile of garbage. There were even red streaks on the wall, like he had tossed pizza at it to see if it would stick!

Wrinkling her nose, she picked her way through the living room and into the hallway which was mercifully devoid of mess. She tilted her head, her ears twitching as she tried to pick up any sign of him.

“Steve? Steve are you in here?” She knocked softly on the restroom door. “I'm warning you, if the door isn't locked, I'm coming in!”

Carefully pushing open the door, she prepared for the worst. Instead the restroom was completely spotless which came as one hell of a surprise. She stepped into the room a bit further and tried the light switch. This time the lights came blaring to life, blinding her for a second and making her mew reflexively!

Once her eyes adjusted, she blinked. It appeared to be clean, but that seemed to be from disuse. Everything was covered with a thin layer of dust as though he hadn't used it in days, if not weeks. She ran her fingers through the fairly thick powder and rubbed it between the pads of her fingers and thumb.

“What the hell is going on here? Steve? Where are you?”

Making her way back out into the hallway, she made her way through the now dimly lit hallway to Steve's room at the end of it. Several miniature posters were plastered all over it, her favorite of them reading, “Don't make me angry, I'm close to leveling up and you look like just enough exp.” She chuckled a little before nibbling her bottom lip with worry.

“Steve? Are you in there? I'm coming in!”

She turned the knob and slowly opened the door with a creak. It was even darker in here than in the rest of the house. It looked like he had taken everything out of the room except for his bed and a dresser. She slipped in quietly and looked around.

Everything in here was clean too, except for what looked like one of the pizza stains on the wall again. Steve was here, curled up in bed and sound asleep. She snarled in annoyance at the sight of him, safe and sound while all of them had been worried sick! Squaring her shoulders, she marched tight into the room and around the bed, heading straight for the closed blinds and curtains.

“Steve? Steve! It's a new day, let's go!”

With that, she ripped open the curtains and grabbed the string pull for the shades, yanking them up out of the way to let the early evening sun shine in!

The next thing she heard was Steve's bloodcurdling scream! The crow woke up instantly, using his hands and wings to shield himself from the sun. Azurite was about to scold him for being so dramatic when she saw it. Little bits or bright orange glowing in his dark feathers. Embers.

Those embers quickly became a roaring flame so hot that her whiskers curled up upon themselves as she shielded her eyes. Within seconds all that remained on the scorched sheets was a faint outline of her friend that quickly crumbled into a pile of ashes.

[borisbubbles]

Eurovision 2024: #24

24. DENMARK Saba - "Sand" 30th place

Decade Ranking: 87/153 [Above Fyr og Flamme, below Luke Black]

SAND! SAAAAAAAAAAAAAND!!!

You know the drill. We've arrived at the stage of "mostly enjoyable", and there's no better opener to that than "Sand". It's so delightfully average. Nothing but the recognisable sound of a "Scandinavian Eurovision song", something we all know and like to hear.

And its comes with a multipurpose hook too. Allow me to demonstrate:

FRANCE!!! FRAAAAAAAAAANCE!!!!

SCREAMING AT A MICROPHONE STAAAAAND

FRANCE!!! FRAAAAAAAAANCE!!!

I GUESS THAT ALL THE JURIES VOTE FOR FRANCE 😶

Of course "Sand" sounds like it comes out of a can (SPAM!!! SPAAAM!! BARELY MEAT THAT COMES OUT OF A CAN!), because it was one of those scandiblandi pop nothings that were bounced around internal selections for several years. (I hope you like those because I'm expecting 2025 to be infested with them) Remember how "Colours" was peddled first to Michela and then to Destiny to no avail, so that frumpy bat Bernarda was forced to sing it herself in the following Dora? ("NOW ALL I SEE IS COLOURS, YOU TOOK ME FROM BLACK AND WHITE" :is blind: ).

Likewise, the songwriters of "Sand" first tried to sell it to Emma Muscat when she tried to pivot away from "Out of Sight" before she chose "I am what I am" (MAN!!! MAAAAAN!!! I WILL TAKE ONE CUZ THAT'S HOW I AM!). Yep, an Emma Muscat hand-me-down, that's the level of Denmark at Eurovision right now. HOORAY for everyone who is not a Dane!!

So in that sense, it was the perfect match for DMGP, which was the usual depressing affair. So bad people were gravitating towards Basim cheerfully singing about a man dying from cirrhosis, an entry that demonstrated a near Israeli level of unselfawareness and moral corruption. But he lost (ANTS!!! AAAAAANTS! HIS HOPE HAS BEEN CRUSHED LIKE SOME ANTS! :victory dance: ) to Saba, and all was perfectly average in the world.

At Eurovision, I always assumed Saba would be in contention for a spot in the finale simply because of how catchy the hook and melody were. Unfortunately, Servephobia is a Scandinavian illness and both Melanie Webhe and Saba are patients.

Not that Saba didn't attempt to serve.... but um... judge for yourself:

work those armpit fetishists, girl! IMBUE them with the power of irate sexfaces! Like idk, it's "serving" in the same sense of "the headcanon slaying" you and I would do in our bedroom acting out these songs like the useless homos- Zorra stans that we all are. It looks great in your imagination but in reality, :eek: . Kind of how this year's Belgian entrant thought he nailed the performance each time yet never rose above a level of:

Also the staging, um... Look I know the song is called "Sand" and that she sings it's slipping through her hands, but everyone knows it's a metaphor? "Oh we've broken up? I guess that sucks :shrug:" Like the zoomer thing where life sucks I guess but it's not a big deal cuz we'll all die (eventually.)

So why make it so... (g)lit(t)eral?

Literally shooting cgi sand from her armpit in the last shot <3 told you this was aimed at fetishits <3 (PITS!!! PIIIITS!!! the hottest gay thing that ain't bara tids!).

What really killed Saba's chances at Eurovision was the staging. Sure the faces and subpar vocals were already... not helping. (they were entertaining me though, I'll give her that). Still. Denmark have proven once again that they have no ability whatsoever to discriminate good ideas from bad ones. They added so much shit to the NF's performance that made it look worse ♥ and fixed NONE of the issues ♥ The song's uptempo, and restricting Saba's movement to a space smaller than most countries' postal stamps may not have been the most prudent choice here (maybe i should add small platforms to the list of Massive Staging Faux Pas alongside sunglasses, unnecessary headset mics, selfie backdrops and turntables?)

Oh and one of those faux pas was ofc also present like why is this a shot?

YOU CAN SO CLEARLY SEE it isn't her. 😂 😍

Before rehearsals I was on the fence whether Denmark could qualify or not but as soon as I saw the tiktok that showed the backdrop clone and the effects I knew she was gonna be out. Oh well. Time to hop on the MALTA QUALIFIES train I gues.

All in all, "Sand" pretty much what you would expect from Denmark. An average, not unpleasant (and memeable) song that was somehow the only acceptable option in an horrible NF. They tried VERY hard to elevate into goodness, and completely failed. ♥ I love "Sand"'s journey ironically and kind unironically enjoy it for its incompetence, which makes it a good opener for this year's Green tier.

Btw: with Georgia, ☘Ireland☘ and ❤Latvia❤ all reaching the finals this year (EGGS! EEEEEEEGGS!!! DONS'S CLUTCH QUAL IS BETTER THAAAAN SEX!), Denmark now have the longest NQ streak out of all the active ESC countries. Cannae wait to see what creative new way they'll figure out to accedentally get level with Montenegro's as well. ♥

THE RANKING

[shadowedoracle]

The Dark One Doesn’t Get Sick

Summary: The Dark One doesn't get sick. Or so he claims. But since the he clearly has a terrible cold, Belle takes it upon herself to care for him and make him rest up. Cue one baffled, grouchy patient.

Rating: T

A/N: This was originally intended to be my Fluffapalooza fic for last year. It was all drafted in my notebook but I got sick and when it was only partially typed up. And since I felt terrible pretty much all the rest of 2022 it kind of got stuck in limbo ( Like so much of my work. I really do want to go back and finish my WIPs and write new stuff but damn migraines get in the ways). Anyways, I could have left publishing it until this year's Fluffapalooza but, given it was pretty much complete (on paper), that idea kind of depressed me. So tada! I finished typing up and editing a thing!

[AO3]

“I’b not sick,” Rumplestiltskin said with a mulish expression on his face. “The Dark One doesn’t get --” he blew his nose loudly into a brightly coloured handkerchief -- “sick.”

Belle rolled her eyes at him. “The evidence in front of me says otherwise. That cough’s been getting worse since yesterday and your nose is sounded more bunged up than ever.”

He waved a hand dismissively at her, “It’s nothing.” He let out a hacking cough. “It’s just a slight irritation from a dusty ancient tome of potions I was reading. Maybe if you dusted the library more, instant of lying about reading, this wouldn’t have happened.”

Belle leveled a cool glare at him that had reduced many former suitors and her father’s counselors to babbling wrecks. Rumplestiltskin held his ground but his hands started fidgeting in front of him and after a few moments he became very interested in the pattern on a tapestry on the wall beside him. Taking advantage of his distraction Belle darted forward and placed the back of her hand on his brow before her could stop her.

“And I suppose the dust and fumes gave you a raging fever too, did they?” She said, letting the full depth of her incredulity colour her voice.

Large reptilian eyes, which had dilated as soon as he’d realized she had stepped into his space, narrowed into tiny slits to glare at her. “Yes.” He snapped.

She stepped back and crossed her arms, considering the stupid stubborn, sick sorcerer in front of her. Rumple let out another series of hacking coughs and she winced at the rattling sound coming from his lungs. That did it.

“Come with me,” she said, grabbing his hand and dragging him behind her to avoid any argument.

Of course, she knew he could always use his magic to vanish, but had maybe his sickness interfering with his magic or else he’d forgotten its existence (he seemed to do that from time to time) or perhaps decided better of it. And so, after a few moments of dragging his feet, the Dark One meekly allowed himself to be led through the corridors of the Dark Castle by his maid.

“Where are we going?” He grumbled as they climbed the central staircase to the third floor.

“Your room,” she said, not bothering to look at him.

He stopped dead and, when he didn’t move again at her commanding tug, she turned her head back and frowned at him.

“W-w-why?” He rasped.

Belle barely resisted the urge to roll her eyes again. “Because you need to be tucked up in bed, not roaming around making yourself sicker.”

“And… and you plan on tucking me in?” He asked in an odd tone she couldn’t decipher. She thought she saw blush staining his golden-scaled cheeks and his pupils were wider than normal, but those could just be further symptoms of his illness.

Her own cheeks felt slightly hot. She hadn’t actually thought this plan all the way through but there was no backing out now -- anyway Rumple needed to be taken care of.

“Yes,” she said shortly. Rumple stared at her in stunned silence, but didn’t let go of her hand or protest as she began dragging him along again.

This wasn’t the first time she’d stunned the Dark One into silence. In fact, she’d done it often enough now that it no longer felt like much of an achievement. But she did still feel a sense of pride and relief that he’d stopped protesting -- for now.

When they reached Rumplestiltskin’s room she ordered the Dark Castle to light a fire. Orange flames sprang up immediately in response to her request and she thought the room would warm up quickly. Certainly, the fires in the Dark Castle seemed faster, and far more effective at heating even the draftiest of rooms, than the fires in her father’s castle had ever been. It was one of the many small bits of magic that she was very grateful for.

Rumple’s hand had gone slack in hers and she grasped his sweaty palm firmly again tugging in towards his bathing chamber.

“What the hell do you think you are doing?” He squeaked, coming to a halt and wresting his hand from hers as she made to enter the small room.

She turned to face him, taking in the rattling of his breathing and the feverish sheen to his scaled skin. “Running you a steamy bath,” she replied striding into the bathing chamber.

She wasn’t sure if Rumple would follow, glancing back she saw he just stood stock still -- stiller than any human or animal she’d ever seen --  and stare at her as she filled the bath with water. She said silent thanks that he hadn’t countered her commands to the Dark Castle or magicked her to some other part of the it.

Deciding to leave him to adjust to the idea, she picked up the bottles around the side of his bath, sniffing them carefully in turn before adding a few drops of Eucalyptus oil and peppermint oil into his bath along with a few other oils she thought would help clear his nose and lungs. A nice cleansing fragrance wafted from the quickly-filling bath and large clouds of steam  spread through the small room.

She turned around, satisfied the Castle could finish the bath for her. At some point Rumplestiltskin had entered the chamber but he was still hovering a few paces from the door, looking like he was unsure what was happening. She hoped his fever wasn’t making his affecting his mind.

“Your bath’ll be ready soon,” she said moving towards him.

“I really don’t see what a bath full of fancy smelling water is supposed to do,” he said casting a suspicious look at the bath.

“The steam should help clear your nose and chest and the vaporized oils will sped up the process and have longer lasting effects. Surely you used to have such baths before you became the Dark One?” His hands fidgeted in front of him. “No,” he finally said, his eyes downcast.

She paused, wondering at his response and trying to decipher his awkward and uncomfortable body language. Myriad other questions rushed into her head that she longed to ask, but now did not seem like the time to press him.

“Well,” she said gently, hoping the soothing tone would mollify him, “it’s very nice and effective. It’s always helped me when I’ve had a cold.”

He sniffed, although whether that was in response to her words or because of his illness, she couldn’t say.

A few minutes later, the Castle finished filling the bath, “it’s ready for you,” she said, smiling at Rumple, but he made no move to come any further into the room or get ready for his bath. She sighed to herself, why do I have to do everything here? Not that this couldn’t have an upside. She hurriedly buried that thought away knowing it was dangerous territory as she walked back towards him.

She stepped into his personal space, only a handsbreadth between them, and heard his breath catch. She waited, but no cough followed. Perhaps the steam was doing him some good already.

Her heart beat quicker at the closeness of Rumple and the heat coming off him (but some of that might be his fever, she thought). Despite the warmth of him, he stood as if frozen to the spot, only the muscles in his face moving. His eyes were wide and round and he was hardly breathing, staring at her like a frightened deer unsure which way to flee.

Gathering her courage she reached out and undid the first button of his waistcoat. As she reached for the second button he suddenly came to life again; letting out a high pitched squawk that was very unbecoming of the Dark One (and that she was sure he’d deny ever making) he jumped out of her reach.

“What in blazes to you think you’re doing?” He cried, now a good few feet from her.

She leveled a steady gaze at him. “Getting you ready for your bath. You can hardly get in wearing all that,” she said waving her hand up and down, indicating the leather jacket, the richly embroidered red and gold waist coat, tight-fitting brown leather trousers -- probably best not to think too much about those right now, she admonished herself.

He was staring at her like she’d grown an extra head and the silence between them was only broken by his raspy breathing and gentle sound of the bath filling itself with water.

As she watched, she saw a range of emotions play out across Rumple’s face: there was yearning there -- a desire to be cared for she could see that. But it was warring with incredulity, reluctance and fear. It seemed to take him an age to decide what mask to wear.

“I’m quite capable of getting myself undressed,” he snarled at her.

She mentally shook her head, he could never intimidate her, for she knew he was all bark and no bite when it came to her. She crossed her arms again. “Fine. Go on then.”

He stared at her. His eyes searching hers as if looking for something although she wasn’t sure quite what.

“Turn around then.” He made one of his signature little twirls of his hand.

She did as he requested, charmed by his shyness. Although a part of her was disappointed not see him strip and stand before her naked… She shook herself mentally. You’re here to look after him because he’s sick Belle, not ogle the poor man.

She heard a splash and a groan from behind her, before he muttered, “you can turn around now.”

She turned around to see Rumple’s head visible over a mound of bubbles. He must have made those himself. Certainly none of the oils she’d added, made thick bubbles like that. But if bubbles were what he wanted, and were what made him comfortable, she didn’t mind.

She smiled at him. “Good. Now you can just stay there until I say you can get out.”

She left the bathing chamber ignoring the muttering about bossy, uppity, little maids, she knew he didn’t really mind those qualities at all. Back in his room. she got to work plumping pillows, and making sure the whole space was nice, cozy and optimally conducive to an invalid’s recovery.

When she had judged sufficient time had passed, she put her head around the bathroom door. Rumple lay in the bath his head back on the rim of the tub, his eyes closed, but the his breathing told her he was still awake. She noticed the layer of bubbles over the bath was still thick and concealing -- there was definitely some magic at play there, for sure.

“You may get out now,” she said, and Rumple’s eyes flew open to meet hers. She smiled at him and continued, “but don’t stuff yourself back into your regular clothes you should wear something soft and loose.”

She didn’t stay to hear his response but instead strode into the bed chamber and stood in readiness beside the bed. After a few minutes Rumple emerged from his bathing chamber, clad in a simple, loose-fitting, light cotton shirt and pair trousers. His wild curls were frizzier than ever, and she longed to comb through them with her fingers to see if they were as soft as they looked.

She smiled at Rumple and patted the bed, hoping her last thoughts weren’t visible on her face. “Now lie on top of the bed here.”

He gave her a suspicious look but, to her slight surprise, he complied without complaint.

“Open your shirt.”

He bolted upright and stared at her. “What?” He spluttered.

She picked up the small jar of lotion from his bedside table and raised it to his eye line for his inspection. “I need to put this on your chest. It with help you breath easier again.”

He continued to stare at her in stupefied silence. “Will you let me?” She asked, aware that this request was tiptoeing along the edge of, and perhaps further blurring, that unspoken boundary between them.

For a few more minutes he stared into her eyes, and she found herself holding her breath, hoping he could see the kindness and friendship she was offering were genuine. He must have found that (or another answer he deemed satisfactory) for without another word he carefully raised his hands to his buttons, his fingers shaking, and undid his shirt buttons one by one. She wondered why he had chosen to undo them without magic. She could never work out when he’d use it or when he wouldn’t. He loved using it and yet, at times, he seemed to need to do things himself physically, and sometimes he seemed to forget he had magic available to use at all.

As he opened his shirt, she tried hard not to stare the gleaming green-gold scaled chest he bared before her. He was slender, yet well-built, his wiry form revealing nicely toned muscles.

She wrenched her gaze away, back up to his face, and found he was gazing right right at her. She could feel her face growing hot and couldn’t meet his eyes. To give herself something else to concentrate on, she knelt on the bed beside him and rubbed lotion onto her hands.

“This might feel a feel a bit sticky and cold at first,” she said. Her hands hovering just above his exposed chest.

He sighed, but inclined his head and replied, “Do your worst.”

Her hands were trembling slightly as she lowered them to his chest. He let out a slight gasp, and she glanced up to see him staring up at her, his pupils even larger and darker than usual, and filled with an awe and adoration that made her whole body warm and her breath quicken. Although she could have stared at him like that forever, she found herself the first one to look away, afraid if she said or did the wrong thing the moment would end and he’d not let her continue to care for him. He was sick, his health was more important that this... whatever, it was that this was. She focused her attention back onto his chest and tried to think of calm, boring things and not what had been in Rumple’s eyes, nor the fact that she was touching him skin-to-skin.

After that first gasp, he remained silent (bar the odd cough and squeeze) as she applied the lotion to his chest. He held himself very still at first, his body palpably tense but gradually, under her gentle ministrations, his muscles relaxed.

The cool of the fresh lotion and her slow pace were at odds with the way her heart raced at the sight and feel of Rumplestiltskin’s bare chest. His scales added a slightly raised texture to his skin and she loved the feel of it against her palms and more than anything she wanted to see if he had those same scales all over him. Her eyes seem to glance down towards his waist almost of their own accord and she had to force herself to stare back at his chest, decidedly ignoring the tug of approval in her lower body and the pulsing of her blood telling her just how much she wanted to look.

No she told herself sternly. You are looking after the poor man because he’s sick. You are not here for your own pleasure. He doesn’t actually want you or even really care about you. He couldn’t. Why, of all the women in the world, would he want you? He certainly wouldn’t want you to look at or touch him like that. So you will not be so depraved as to enjoy his sick body for your own titillation.

When at last she had applied the lotion to his chest  and upper back, she pulled away and scrambled off the bed.

“You can close your shirt and get under the covers now,” she told him as she went into the bathing chamber to rinse off her hands.

When she emerged Rumple was tucked up in bed with the covers up to his chin. She broadly smiled at the sight. “Good. Now you just stay tucked up there for a while.”

“But what am I supposed to do?” he whined, looking somewhat bewildered.

She rolled her eyes. “Relax. Sleep. Sleep will help you heal faster you know.”

“The Dark One doesn’t sleep.”

“Ever?” She knew he was semi-nocturnal, and most spent nights at his spinning wheel or locked up in his laboratory, but she had assumed since he had a bed chamber and a bed that he must sleep at least sometimes. Unless he only keeps them for other… purposes. Her mind helpfully interjected. She dragged her thoughts away from that and tried ignore the images it provided, of what exactly he might use that bed for instead of sleep.

Rumple shrugged. “I suppose the Dark One may have been known to doze.” He paused then added, “Only very, very occasionally though.”

“Perhaps this could be one of those occasions?” She suggested.

He shrugged again. “Perhaps.”

She thought about that. She had meant to just leave him to sleep. But if sleep was such an unusual and rare occurrence and she left him alone and he couldn’t sleep… He’d just get bored and leave this bed far too soon.

“I tell you what,” she said slowly, an idea blooming in her mind. “Why don’t I read to you?”

He stared at her, and was silent just long enough she started to worry before he nodded and waved his hand at her. “I suppose that would be acceptable.” He had obviously been trying for the careless, nonchalant tone he used while making his deals but it was thoroughly undermined by a coughing fit as soon as he finished speaking.

“Stay there then. I’ll be right back.”

He rolled his eyes at her and she smiled as she dashed to her own bedroom to find a suitable book.

When she returned a few minutes later he had buried himself deeper into his covers and she smiled at him wrapped up and cozy, frizzy black hair splayed over his pillow.

A comfortable chair had appeared beside the bed and she smiled at the gesture.

“So what story are you going to regale me with?” He asked as she sat down.

She turned the book towards him. “Her Handsome Hero.” He read aloud in a scathing tone and sneered at her. “I suppose this is one of those insipid cheap romances where the ‘hero’” he said the word mockingly, “is a bland and unnaturally good -- and unnaturally good-looking -- sort of man who rides around slaying villains to impress pretty maidens.”

“No. No. This is not like that. This book is about compassion and forgiveness... the things that truly make a hero. But it doesn’t pretend those qualities are easy, and both the hero and the villain are complicated and nuanced characters not just one-dimensional stereotypes. I swear. Why don’t you give it a try and see?”

He had a stubborn and disgruntled look on his face that she recognized well. And with the mass of covers in his large bed swamping him, she was reminded very strongly of a small child pouting.

She sighed internally. She had known choosing this book was a risk. But she wanted to share this book, share her love for it, and share this part of her with him.

“Just one chapter?” She said, when the silence between them had dragged on for a few minutes. “If you hate it, I can stop.”

He remained silent and she thought for sure he was going to refuse, when finally he let own a grumbling sigh. “Fine,” he said and held up a single finger. “One chapter.”

She smiled and nodded, “Are you ready?”

“As I’ll ever be,” he grumbled.

“Well then, ‘Once upon a time…’” She began, settling into her narration voice. Rumple made several scoffing noises throughout the chapter, and muttered a few things she chose to ignore, but didn’t disrupt her reading.

When she reached the end of the first chapter she looked up and raised an eyebrow in askance at him.

“Fine. One more,” he muttered. “And only because I want to cheer on that obnoxious twit’s foes. They better manage to kill him.” He grumbled.

That second chapter, soon became a third, then a fourth and a fifth. By the end of the fifth chapter he voice was getting raspy and sounded almost as bad as Rumple’s, despite the glass of water he’d provided for her.

“I think that’s all I can manage today.” She said, closing the book. Rumple didn’t reply and she leaned over concerned. His eyes were closed and his chest was rising and falling in the gentle rhythm of sleep.

She smiled. Apparently the Dark One did get sick and did sleep after all. She stood up from her chair and glanced around the room, making sure Rumple had everything he needed in here for now. She’d check on him in a few hours. But she ought to give him some privacy to sleep.

As she began to make her way for the door, Rumple reached out and grabbed her hand. She jumped and turned back towards him, clearly he was not as asleep as she’d thought, though his eyes remained closed. “Stay,” he murmured.

She mentally shrugged, well if he wanted her company a little longer she didn’t mind that. She made to settle back into her chair.

Rumple shook his head. “No. In here… With me.” He gestured to the other side of the bed and she stilled, her heart racing.

An invitation to share his bed. She’d wanted it for a long time, almost since the beginning, if she was honest with herself. Of course, she’d wanted something a little different from this. She hadn’t exactly pictured keeping a sick Dark One company as the first -- and probably only -- time she’d receive an invitation to his bed.

“Please?” He said, tugging on her hand.”

She nodded. “All right.” She said and kicked off her shoes and padded around to the other side of the bed. She hadn’t been going to refuse. But the vulnerable note in his voice tugged her mind to the present circumstances and away from thinking about other kinds of  invitations to his bed.

She settled herself under the covers leaving a few hands of space between them. At first she just lay there on her back, wondering what Rumple expected of her and how she was supposed to sleep with him so close by. She had her answer to the first question, as few moments later, sleepy arms pulled her closer to him and Rumple curled up into her side, his head on her right shoulder and his right arm lying across her stomach.

She reached out and gently swept some of his curls from his face -- they were as soft as satin -- and gazed at the softness and the vulnerability in his sleeping form. Her heart expanded in her chest and her breath caught as she realized what an honor it was that Rumple was willing to share this level of vulnerability with her, how much he had truly come to trust her. Perhaps this was a deeper, more meaningful and more intimate invitation than the one she’d originally desired. She closed her eyes, listening to the soft rasps of his breathing. If this was the only night she had in Rumple’s bed, in his arms, then it was enough. It was perfect in its own way and that was -- would have to be -- enough.

***

Hours later Rumplestiltskin awoke with his head buried in something soft yet firm, that was  most definitely not did not feel like his pillow. He opened his eyes and lifted his head, and felt his eyes widen as he realized it was in fact, Belle’s bosom, still mostly encased in her blue dress and white blouse, that he’d been using as a pillow.

He was closer to Belle than he’d ever truly believed possible. She was breathing slowly and peacefully in slumber, and letting out the occasional slight snore that was unspeakably adorable.

He knew he should move away, put some space between them and place his head back on his own pillow. It would embarrass her if she awoke to find him nestled against her chest. But… he’d slept a little for the first time in ages. Much more deeply than he normally did too. It was highly unlikely he’d fall asleep again tonight. So what was the harm in lying against Belle a little longer and only moving away when she started stirring? Belle need never know.

It was depraved of him he knew, but for some reason she’d agreed to share a bed with him tonight but likely never would again. Besides, he’d never pretended to be either good or strong-willed.

He nestled back into her chest and Belle sleepily wrapped her arms around him, holding him in place. As he lay there in perfect contentment, for the first time in centuries, sleep overtook him once more. His last thought, before unconsciousness claimed him, yet again, was: I ought to get sick more often.

[gay-cryptidz]

The Comfort Between Your Scars

Chapter 6

TW: Animal death

"Didn't expect you back so soon.", Noah grinned, "Miss me already?"

"You wish!"

"Beer?"

Noah hardly waited for Joel to nod before filling up a glass.

"Well, not a lot of people go out on a Sunday night, and I know damn well that you have to get up early, so either you're here for me or your drinking habits are worse than I thought"

"Maybe a bit of both. Better than admitting I got kicked out of the house by my own daughter so she can have a sleepover"

Noah snorted at the thought of Joel being kicked out by a pre-teen. It was kind of sweet, really. Sounded like the type of thing Mari would do.

"Yeah, that would be ridiculous and extremely embarrassing. Being an alcoholic is much better. Cheers"

He raised his glass at Joel, who did the same with one of those gorgeous little smiles of his, and downed the rest of his drink before refilling it.

"So, anything new going on?"

"Same old. Went hiking with Sarah yesterday, she loves that stuff. That girl uses every opportunity to climb stuff, it's crazy"

Mari was the same. Always running, always climbing, like she was trying to get away from something. Well, maybe she was.

"That sounds fun. I used to hike a lot. More like take walks, I guess. In, uh, in my hometown. Small town, we lived right on the edge, near the train tracks. When I needed to get away from everything I used to just wander into the woods, sit down somewhere and watch the trains go by. Always thought one day I'd hop one one day, see where it takes me"

Noah almost felt like he was back there again, the smell of dirt and rotting leaves and iron and the trains sending vibrations through the ground under his feet and a breeze through his hair. His only escape, some of the few good memories of his time in that godforsaken town.

"Did you ever?"

"No, no. Couldn't get myself to leave, as much as I wanted to get out of that hellhole. Don't think I ever really believed I'd do it at all, I guess it was just wishful thinking. Something to hold on to, you know?"

Joel nodded. Noah noticed another patron approaching the bar and got them their drink before returning to the conversation.

"What was it like? Your hometown"

"Oh, you know. Nothing special, pretty small, religious as fuck. The name tells you everything you need to know, really. Trinity, Texas. You can imagine the general attitude people had towards me"

With a thoughtful hum from Joel, the two of them fell silent. Joel seemed to zone out a little, absentmindedly looking at the shelves behind Noah and massaging his ring finger with the index and thumb of his other hand. Noah carefully watched him, every little shift in his face, every movement of his eyes and- god, his eyes. Something about them reminded him of one of those days in the forest.

"I saw a deer once, on the train tracks. It was just standing there, staring at me. You know, you kinda think of deer as these scared prey animals but in that moment it... It didn't even look bothered, even when the train came. It was like it was staring right into my soul, like it knew me on some deep level, it's hard to describe. There was something so wise, so... ethereal about it. I tried to scare it off, get it to run, I even threw a rock at it, but it didn't move a muscle. Looked me right in the eyes when the train hit it. I don't know, in that moment, it felt like it was some sort of message. Like an omen. Like... I'm that deer and I'm just standing there, staring in the other direction instead of running while death is barrelling towards me"

He took a quick sip from his drink, realising he'd been rambling, and tried to laugh it off.

"Sorry, that's kinda depressing"

"No, no. That's... I mean it's depressing as shit but... I don't know, it's a good story. You know what I mean"

"Well, thanks for listening to my good depressing stories", Noah laughed. "Hey, at least I got a cool tattoo out of it! Hold on"

He had to unbutton his shirt a little to reveal his left shoulder and the tattoo of a deer head with pitch black eyes, a circle of train tracks resembling a halo behind it and leaves jutting out from the bottom.

"One of the first ones I designed"

"Damn, how did I miss that one before? That's gotta be one of the best ones!"

"Thanks!", Noah grinned, putting his shirt back into place. "Now you know the story behind it too"

One of the few anecdotes from his past he'd share willingly and yet it still felt like giving away a piece of his soul. He wondered if it would ever get easier, if he even wanted it to be.

"You know, I didn't expect seeing an animal die like that would stick with me for so long. Guess it's mostly those few seconds before it happened, but still"

"I think most people remember the first time they ever saw something die, 'specially if it's brutal like that. Just burns itself into your brain, I think"

Tap, tap, tap.

"Never said it was the first time"

Joel shot him a curious glance but he had no intention of elaborating, taking another sip and changing the topic instead.

"Well, let's not dwell on dead things. How's Sarah doing?"

<< Beginning | < Previous | Next >

Check out the artwork based on this chapter!

[sinvulkt]

Small Elements by xelay

Somewhere along the string of endless bait-and-chases, detectives and criminals alike finally figured out the fastest way of one-upping Kaitou Kid: defenestrating the closest person at hand.

Shinichi was less than impressed.

It might or might not have to do with the fact that said person was usually himself. Serie of one shots, 12k words.

*** ** * ** ***

Part 2 chap 1:

"I could have gotten myself killed," Kid complained. "Or worse, arrested."

Briefly, Shinichi suspected that the stress had gotten to him, or at least his hearing, after all. His suspicion lasted about as long as his sympathy did.

"Care to elaborate on your skewed priorities?"

"Uh," Kid paused in contemplation. "I'll…live to see the consequences...of my sins?"

He was sounding serious. He was actually still sounding serious. Shinichi found himself reevaluating the probability of unfortunately lasting effects from blunt trauma to the head.

The odds were…somewhat depressing.

"Fine," he relented. "I'll aim somewhere other than your face next time. If only because a bigger head is the last thing you need on top of that ridiculous get-up."

Someone gave a snort to the side, not even bothering to hide the fact that she was listening in anymore.

Kid looked very much like a put out salesman, roped into accepting a poor deal by an unexpectedly tricky customer.

"I'll take what I can get." He brought up a gloved hand for shaking. Shinichi leveled a flat stare at it, and he dropped it again smoothly. "All right. We've got a deal."

"- Aaand thus let it never be said that Edogawa Conan, dubbed the worthiest opponent of the great Kaitou Kid himself, is a deceptive, devious, despicable little ingrate. For when he next ran into Kaitou Kid a week after their agreement, true to every word of his sacred promise, he aimed for the groin."

Shinichi rolled his eyes. "You dodged it."

"By the skin of my teeth!" Kid fumed.

"I gave you an extra second of warning, didn't I?" Shinichi said. "I'm not a complete monster, you know."

Kid muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like "could have fooled me".

"What was that?"

"Nothing!"

[muddthebugg]

Miscellaneous: "Mourning"

This is a thing I whipped up based around two of my lads, Tweety and Sweiyn. If you're interested, "Urru" is another story/drabble/oneshot-thing that features them!

. . . . . . . . .

Length: 801 words

Characters: Tweety the Khuu'jjá, Sweiyn the Thylacine

Summary: MOURNING

[TW: panic attack, blood]

MOURNING

Sweiyn wasn't really sure what was going on with his beloved. it had woken up slower than normal, practically dragged itself from their "nest". And something about it was just... dampened. Hollow.

They didn't know what was wrong. It didn't ear nearly as much as normal, and barely remembered to greet them goodbye.

he put it out of his mind; he didn't need the distraction for work today. The night was sure to be busy. It always was.

But when he came home, he was surprised to see that all their fruit had gone. Well—all the softer ones. The apples still remained.

Sweiyn glanced about their tiny apartment, throat rung high and nervous. Then there, on the window sill, sat a tiny and unassuming tent of paper. They picked it up. It read,

Do not worry for me. Will be back soon. Will replace fruit. Sorry.

"Hnn." Considering the weirdness of that morning, Sweiyn wasn't sure that the note helped his mood. So he did all he could do at the moment; get in the shower and the usual self care.

They soon sat on the couch with a game loaded up though found that they couldn't find the will to press "play".

So they waited. And waited. And slept.

They woke to soft clicking and taps, startled gaze to the window. The stove blinked 0400 in their peripherals. It was Tweety.

Sweiyn got up to let it in, yawned and stretched. "Baby, what's got ya? You good?"

It didn't make a sound, just slithered through the opened window. Sweiyn pouted. The dread was returning, worse than before.

"Baby...." Sweiyn closed the window. They turned around and took a good look at the creature, finally noticed how its fur and feathers were clumped up and sticking. There was a faint sheen of residue and some sort of color stuck in them, too.

"Tweety, what happened? What's all in yer...?" Those green eyes drift, and notice the trembles of its wings. Oh. Oh.

"What—what happened, T?" The creature broke into shakes, eyes squinting. A pathetic little noise left its throat, and it collapsed on the ground with a barely-held wail.

"Oh, shit, babe—" The thylacine knelt at its side, then froze. That. Was blood.

"Tweety you're bleeding." The alien ignored him, and that frustrated worry bubbled in his throat. Had it gotten into a fight? Where was all the blood coming from? And what the fuck happened to all his fruit?

"For the love'a fuck, T, what's wrong?!" The desperate let me help you! went unsaid while his voice grew taut.

The other trembled under his worrying paw, many eyes screwed shut in agony. The bleeding wasn't heavy. A sensitive wound, then? Shit, was it some poison?

"I don't—can't treat no poison, Babe, that's way outta my level—" they mumbled, breath hitching a tic. Their chest hurt.

"Don' even—know what on this ffucking planet could—could poison—" Sweiyn's teeth grew numb, red string coiling around his lungs. Spirits his chest hurt.

"You can't be—" he couldn't do this. He didn't know about poisons—not like this! He knew of envy and greed, depression, anxiety—not this, this biological shit!

Tweety was gonna die.

"No no no no no—" his right arm zinged, fingers clenched so hard they drew blood. The limb burned fiercely just above his elbow, and he wanted to scream.

Their left arm reached for the right and caught nothing. Sweiyn fell to their knees and pitched forward; left hand gripped right shoulder, and the right hand caught nothing.

His body hit the ground. Where was his arm? His chest hurt. It was hard to breathe. Where was his arm? He couldn't breathe but where was his arm?!

The scent of fruit became so overwhelming so quickly that he wanted to throw up. Contour and semiplume feathers smothered his senses. There was just fruit, blood, and—

Gentle clicks—chitters shake through their chest, something to distract from the pain. Just a little. Very appreciated because they felt like they were going to pass out.

Sweiyn slowly raised their arms—their arm— and clutched to those suffocating feathers.

Slowly, slowly, the red string grew loose. Their breaths quit hitching so much that they could all begin to breathe again. Their chest still hurt, though.

"Not poison, Sweiyn." They heard, very faintly, but just enough.

"Not poison. Just..." The feathers shifted, and the thylacine whined their displeasure. And fear. Mostly fear.

A weighted warmth slowly encircled their body, drawing them into a tight hug. It knew those coils. They were safe.

"Just. Grief." They didn't know what the hell it was talking about. But those coils did just the thing.

Next thing he knew, he woke to the afternoon sun in the arms of his beloved.

[dippietheham]

Smogeol, the smog of depression

Have you ever had the experience of looking through clouds, or fog?

I had the unfortunate (?) experience of having to walk through an insect fogging before. I could have chosen another path, but I was tired - and it was during the COVID period, so I had a mask handy. I thought, it can't be THAT bad.

Spoiler alert: it WAS that bad.

Walking through that cloud of insect repellent laden smog was an experience and a half. As you enter it, the smell hits you like a punch to the nose even through the mask. You recoil. And you start thinking, this was a baaaad move.

Then comes the confusion. In the thickness of the smog, you can't see beyond more smog. All you see are tendrils of whiteness, or a wall of whiteness, depending on where you look. You can't see the ground much, if at all. A minute or less ago, you would be sure that the path in front was danger free, and wide enough for two people to cross. But as you step forward, there is constant fear. You mutter to yourself, steady there, and remind yourself that just a bit ago, you could see to the other end of the cloud of smog and the path has no dangers in sight. You need to keep stepping forward. The escape, if you want it, is to move faster ahead.

And then suddenly everything lightens up. You start to see colours other than the gray whiteness that has enveloped even your tastebuds. You start to hear without the dulled roar of the fog emitter that the worker had just gone on by with. You start to feel lighter, and your pace quickens, and then you're out of the smog.

You pause, look behind, and grin at how silly that confusion and fear felt. It was always just a single cloud after all. There had been no need to fear or worry and already, you're thinking, I overreacted. It wasn't THAT bad after all.

Yet, given half an option, you'd never want to have that experience again.

Depression is kinda like that. Except... worse.

---

There're a few key differences. No one chooses willingly to walk into the cloud that is depression. No one sees the cloud and decides, that's something I can overcome so let's go into it and walk out the other side. The clouds of depression don't rise - it's more of descending into its depths. You can't really tell you're descending, even if there are warning signs that you're in trouble because there IS a fog at chest level and below. And you can't see the ground, but you keep walking because you have to, or you're told to have faith in the unseeable future. So you keep stepping and treading, and then suddenly, like a sudden unmarked drop in a 5m pool, you find that you're IN the fog.

Flailing doesn't work. Screaming increases the sound bouncing back at you. You seem to hear voices around you, that might help you get back to safety, out of the fog, but they are distorted and you can't tell which direction to turn. You react by pushing away at anything that comes close because it might hurt you as it did in the past before the fog. You can't trust. You can't hope. You can't see. You're trapped in that loneliness with only your feelings and thoughts, and boy are they some thoughts. And feelings. Boy oh BOY.

I'm having trouble writing this because of how real it is to me. Are we having fun yet?

What happens, then, when you see a hand reach out to you? It's just a hand looming out of the gray wall. It means nothing. It could pull you to safety, or it could jerk you forward into pain. And falls. You can choose to take it, and sometimes we do take it, and the hand slaps us in the face instead. Perhaps, as they say, the slap was given with the best of intentions. Perhaps, we just need to wake up out of the smog. But we wake up and the smog remains while the slapping hand gets to walk away feeling like they did us some good. We just chose not to listen.

But when that hand is attached to a kind voice, or that hand is one that is known to be safe, or that voice tells us, we're here to help, and we're here to talk you gently through the fear because it IS freaking scary, what you're going through, it becomes a little easier to take the hand.

There's a lot of nuance to this of course. Sometimes we still slap the kind hand away no matter how many times it gets offered. Sometimes, we just stop everything and stand still because the fog is too deep and there is nothing to be seen in any direction. Sometimes, we whisper to ourselves that in this smog, no one will notice if I'm gone. Sometimes, we just run blindly, never minding the other bodies we hit, or the cuts and bruises that come from falling onto gravel and then still crawling and running because that is all we can allow ourselves to do.

But here's the thing.

I'm sharing this to explain, no one chooses the fog. Most people are pushed into the fog by the past or circumstances. It's not all hopeless - because sometimes, I see my wife and boys peering at me worriedly through the fog, and I reach towards them. I don't want to walk forward, because what's the point. But for them, I will.

And sometimes, it's God's warmth that slips through the fog. He hasn't chosen to remove the fog with a wave of a magic wand. Perhaps so I can describe the fog to others, so that they too, can seek the help they need.

Medicine helps. Medicine helps us to not panic, and look carefully at the next step. Therapy helps us to make sense of the fog, thinning it in places. The more this happens, the more I see things like my values, or the glimmerings of my identity. The idea that I can do something that matters to me, allowing me to step in that direction, instead of stumbling blindly into yet another hole dug by the people in my past, or dug by myself as a protection.

Because, hey, if I'm slapping myself, it'll hurt less when someone else slaps me by telling me how much they don't want me in their lives because I'm not what they think a good human being should be like.

The worst part? No one else SEEMS to be able to see the fog that is so real to you. You try to describe it and you only get confused looks. You try to explain it, and people just shake their heads and walk away. Only the kind few will sit, listen, nod, and then, placing their arm around you, give you a hug that makes you finally feel like someone cares, even if they don't understand.

---

So the next time you feel tempted to tell someone to just get over something, consider that you're pushing them into the fog, instead of helping them by working with them to understand why there's fog in the first place. Consider too, that people already in the fog, are not there by choice. Yanking on them and pulling hard will only injure them - because you, in all your good intention, cannot see the path that is ahead of them. You're trying to force someone to walk the path you're on. You never realised that they're on a different path altogether - and in a fog so thick you'd find horrible to taste.

So please, be kind. Please offer your hand, don't slap it in their faces. And please please, let them know you're there for them, not force them to be where you are.

Thank you.

(Images taken from Image by Elias from Pixabay and John from Pixabay because I don't have good fogged pictures.)

[lshark-cs]

Iron God Chapter 22 [Haode]

Haode lay listless in the wreckage of the cabin, gripped by the deepest depression he had ever experienced. He had managed to drag himself under some rubble, so he was at least safe from the snow and wind, but Ido's lightning strike had left him horribly burned to the point that every small motion was excruciating.

He tried to look ahead. As his future visions cycled through all the possible ways his life might end, he felt a strange apathy. He wondered why. His fear had been agony, but this was somehow worse. A shred of him wondered if he should drag himself out into the cold and let himself freeze.

The vision that almost reignited him was one of Styzia's spectacled snake with arms around his boys, consoling them. Haode twitched. What kind of future was that? His mind struggled to grasp it at first, but gradually, it sank in that this might be the true outcome. And for perhaps the first time, Haode understood where he had gone wrong.

He opened one eye. The world beyond him was all cold and white and hostile. He closed it again. He'd spent so long running through this white waste, chasing a white lie with white hair. All the while, he had lost himself in darkness and dragged Ido and Dakko down with him. Those boys deserved so much better. Why had he ever raised a hand against either of them?

He wanted to go back instead of forward, to pull his fist back each time and mend the bonds he had beaten and shattered to splinters. Haode's teeth clenched. He knew all of the regret in the world meant nothing and that he could never repent. Still, he wanted them back. He needed them back. Maybe healing could happen over time, maybe...if only he had time.

Haode reached a ravaged hand out into the snow. The cold aggravated his flesh where the skin had been scorched off. He clenched his fingers tight. All he wanted right then was to feel something. The snow melted in his palm. He almost relished the sensation. Hurt and cold was better than numb and hollow.

A noise somewhere startled him. His eyes snapped open, and his body jerked like a puppet yanked up by a careless child. Haode's mind raced ahead to another possibility. At least, he thought it was a vision of some future. It was clearer than any he had seen since his power betrayed him.

The ground beneath him became cold wet stone. Everything was dark until someone very tall crouched by his side and set a lantern on the ground between them. Its soft orange glow lit the face of a staring demon. Haode felt a terrible tingling sensation on the back of his neck. The Styzian master extended a spidery, almost skeletal hand toward him.

Haode yanked himself back. "No!"

Xigon's fingers hovered in the air for a second before returning to the lantern. "What are you afraid of?" He leaned in closer. Slight venom crept into his voice. "What ever gave you the idea that you're a helpless victim?"

Haode sat up and backed himself into a wall he hadn't realized was there. "A...ah!"

Xigon held the lantern up and its light grew scorching. He bared his teeth like a snarling dog, then his expression leveled to one of cold calm. "How long has your power been damaged?"

Haode didn't answer. It wasn't as if he knew for certain anyway. He remembered the sickness that had nearly killed him. He remembered his own body burning him alive with fever, the feeling like an axe was splitting his skull, and the violent hallucinations like they had happened yesterday, but it must have been years by this point.

Xigon's eyes narrowed. "Well?"

Haode ignored the question. "What have you done to my boys, you snake?"

Styzia's father-demon took a sharp breath in, one that almost sounded like a hiss. "I have done nothing to harm them."

"Nothing yet." Haode found a courage in his voice he had not found in a long time. "No doubt you're going to twist them. It's what you do. You coerce lost children into drinking your poison."

"Look who's talking." The master's eyes turned an intense and frightful violet. "Would you rather I kill them?"

"No!" Haode's voice rose to a shout. "I would die before..."

He stopped himself. Would he really rather die than see harm come to Ido and Dakko? No, of course not. Death was coming for him any moment and it terrified him beyond measure. And yet...

Xigon's eyebrows rose. "You..." His ever-steady voice faltered. "Come find me, Haode. Forget Kolo. I'm the one you need." He extended his almost skeletal hand again. His long fingers wrapped around Haode's arm. "Clearly, you can't do what needs to be done alone."

The master's touch swept all pain and fear from Haode's mind. Relieved of his burdens for the first time in ages, he fell asleep almost immediately.

When he woke, it was to the sound of a dog barking.

Haode opened his eyes. A dog's snout poked its way through the rubble and sniffed all around. When it caught his scent, the dog's lips pulled back, curling up into an almost human smile. Haode sat up. When he recognized Linn, he jolted.

The dog's tail wagged. A disjointed voice crackled in Haode's mind like static. Hellohellohello starving.

Linn ate minds and souls. Of course he would be starving out here without anyone to feed on. Haode backed up. "You're not having me, you cur."

notyoubrother

"The fact that we're both Ferash Therall does not make us brothers." Haode crawled out from under the rubble and stood up. "You'll stay away from me if you know what's best for you."

Linn cocked his head. One ear flopped slightly.

He turned his back and started walking away. "I'm going to get my boys back from Styzia." He said it more to himself than to Linn. "If I can, Kolo too."

The vile dog-demon laughed at him. It was such a horrible sound that Haode had to cover his ears. Thankfully, Linn didn't try to follow him.

It barely occurred to Haode that he had no idea where he was going. That didn't stop him. He could only think about Dakko and Ido and how he was going to save them. 

His wasted and lightning-scorched limbs moved him forward without his input, as if he were a puppet. Snow compacted under his tattered boots. He remembered how, the night he had helped the boys escape their cruel father, Dakko had refrozen the ground to cover their tracks. He and Ido had been smaller then. Small enough that Haode could carry them.

He remembered carrying Dakko when his joints froze up. While Ido was never one for touch – his habit of shocking people by accident ensured that – Dakko had always loved to be held. Even though Dakko insisted he never got cold, Haode was certain that was a lie, given how the boy seemed to crave the warmth of someone's arms around him.

Haode's thoughts snapped back to reality when he stepped in icy stream. The cold made him gasp. He clenched his jaw and turned to follow the water. He knew his foot would be frostbitten soon enough, that his flesh might freeze off, and he might lose his foot if a rot set in. None of that seemed important, though. Not now.

But he was cold. So cold. The agony of the past several months, years, or however long it had been weighed him down like a boulder on his back. For a moment, he understood Dakko. He wanted someone to hold him and give him at least a shred of warmth.

Haode looked up as he walked on. Apart from his panting, the world was quiet and empty. No birds sang. Apart from his own, not a single track marked the snow. It was as if he were the only one alive for miles. Somehow, the thought made him colder.

He barely felt his lightning burns anymore. He barely felt anything. Only cold and the silence that screamed in his ears. He wondered if his boys were screaming somewhere and he could somehow hear them all the way out here, in his heart if not in his ears.

He followed the stream until the ground beneath his feet turned from snow to peat and a heavy mist shrouded everything. An ashcrow cawed and flapped away. The noise made Haode jerk like a rope pulled taut. His eyes followed the bird as it vanished into the haze. His feet squelched through the black mud until suddenly there was no ground under them at all.

Haode couldn't even scream as he fell, having walked off the edge of a cliff he had not seen in the fog. It was like falling off the edge of the world.

Water caught him and pulled him down. Bubbles escaped his mouth in a silent cry. He flailed his limbs and tried to fight his way to the gleaming surface, but it was already so far above him that he could never reach it. His lungs begged him for air they might never receive.

A deep rumble shook the water all around him. Haode's eyes widened. Through the blur of the water, he made out an immense dark shape reaching out to grasp him in clawed hands large enough to crush him with a finger's flick.

The need to breathe vanished. His vision sharpened to the detail of dry land. Yellow eyes set in a serpentine head stared back at him. Clawed and webbed hands wrapped gently around his body. A finned tail flicked behind the beast.

No, Haode realized. This wasn't a beast. This was Sothyrion, the bluehole spirit.

Harsh white lights illuminated all along the great being's body. His jaws opened to reveal needle-sharp fangs. Sothyrion's growl thrummed like rolling thunder. Haode jerked back as the immense head leaned in and sniffed him. The growl softened to a whimper. Then Sothyrion spoke in a voice that sounded far too gentle for a creature that looked so ferocious. "Don't fight me, little one."

Haode didn't dare try to speak. He was still terrified he might drown even though he felt no need for air. He grabbed the claw across his chest and heat rushed through his numb hands. The burns that had ravaged his skin scarred over and the pain evaporated. Sothyrion was healing him. Why? Haode extended an arm stiffly toward the serpentine head. He knew he needed more than only his burns mended.

The water spirit's chin lowered to rest on top of the man's head. Haode waited in stunned silence for something to happen. A moment passed before Sothyrion threw his head back and gasped. His yellow eyes shot wide open, then he coughed. Dark blood clouded the water. He took a wheezing breath and coughed again, spewing putrid blood from his mouth and nostrils. His clawed hands clenched tighter in what had to be agony, but Sothyrion was still far gentler than Haode ever could have expected from looking at him.

Still coughing and bleeding from his nostrils, Sothyrion darkened all the lights along his body and rushed to the surface.

Haode gasped as his head broke the surface. Sothyrion's hands released him and sank back below the water. The spirit's color shifted so only his golden eyes were visible. "I know how it feels to suffer for untold ages." His voice sounded almost timid. "Your god is my father, and without him I will eventually die. My ma...my mother, she's still here, but she can't do anything."

Haode spat out a mouthful of water. "Can you fix it?"

"Fix what?" Sothyrion asked.

"My power." Haode raised a hand to clutch his head. "It's...it's turned against me. It's killing me and I can't stop it."

"I cannot cure you." Sothyrion closed his eyes and for a moment Haode thought he had vanished. "The poison used to induce your illness contained my blood. I can still smell it on you, even after all this time."

"You're lying!" Haode kicked his feet, suddenly struggling to keep himself afloat. "There has to be some way. Can't you at least try? You healed my burns so fast!"

There was no response but a ripple on the water.

"Please, I'm begging you." Haode looked down and tried to find the spirit. "You're my only hope at this point."

Silence still.

"You're my children's only hope." The man was barely aware of himself crying as the icy water splashed his face. "Please, my boys, my girl...they deserve so much more than what I can give them now." He took a deep, shaky breath. "They deserve better than the shell I've become. I need to be strong again for their sake if not my own."

The yellow eyes opened again. "Very well. I will try."

Haode's face lifted in a rare smile. Then his terror returned in a rush as Sothyrion snatched him and pulled him back down into the depths. Bubbles poured from his mouth. The water's gleaming surface grew faint so far above. The dark depths enveloped him in their crushing embrace. Light was a distant dream, but so was pain. Somehow, he felt safe. 

[tteokdoroki]

waves that hurt | k.bakugou + i.midoriya.

♡ pairing: katsuki bakugou x gn!reader x izuku midoriya.

♡ word count: 3.04K

♡ rating: everyone.

♡ genre: pro hero!au, hurt, angst and comfort.

♡ summary: dark days mean dark waves that crash across your mind, intrusive and mean the waves pull you under— but they are the helping hands that pull you up and let you breathe.

♡ warning(s): please read ! heavy tw for depression, intrusive thoughts and self depreciation, self doubt and low self-worth. this fic is written mostly from personal experiences and may not be accurate to how everyone feels! mentions of therapy.

♡ author’s note(s):  this is my contribution to @doinmybesthere​ ‘s mental health awareness collab, this is kinda personal to me and something i experienced recently!! i hope it can provide some comfort to anyone out there, please don’t forget to check out everyone else’s works and i hope you’re all safe ‘n well <3

♡ masterlist | requests | kofi

“kacchan, it’s much worse this time, i really think you should come home early tonight.”

deku whispers into the phone, his marred hands rub slow and soothing circles into your back from over the duvet— you can feel his warmth, light and airy through it but he feels and sounds much further away. a million miles across a dark ocean that trickles through your thoughts, intrusive and mean, keeping you under and away from clear air.

you wouldn’t want to pull him into this, bother him with the way you drown in dark thoughts— so you pull away from your boyfriend and tuck yourself away into the sheets.

izuku doesn’t retract his hand even as you pull away, listening to katsuki grunt orders down the phone— make sure yn’s eaten, make sure yn’s had water. basic things you should be able to do on your own but can’t, paralysed by the anxiety and depression that clamps down on you like a vice and refuses to let you up so you can just breathe. you want to breathe and not feel like the world is crashing down on you, to have a second to yourself where everything seems like it’s okay.

brushing fingers over the nape of your neck, toying with the coils of your baby hairs, your boyfriend speaks, only gently. “baby,” says quietly, his weight causing the bed to dip. “katsuki will be home soon, do you want to come with me to let him in?” you shrug, a sick feeling twisting in your gut. you see the black tendrils and waves in the back of your mind, bringing forth a new batch of ugly words that force you down. are you really that much of a burden these days that katsuki has to call it quits on work for you? “how are you feeling?”

you don’t know, you don’t know how to tell him that every thought you have hurts and there’s a pain in your chest with every breath you take. “i don’t know, it’s just...bad izu…” you want to explain how you feel deep inside, but the words are trapped like balls of tar in your throat— fear that if you say something he’ll walk away.

“you don’t have to say anything, don’t force yourself to…” he speaks with a soft voice, cotton to your ears in an attempt to soothe you. you can just about feel the clean air flowing through your lungs at the sound— it tells you he loves you, no matter what and you almost believe it before sinking back under. “let’s get you some water okay? wouldn’t want kacchan scolding us would we?”

the joke hangs in the murky and heavy air for a few seconds before you muster a small smile— your green haired boyfriend lets out a tiny sigh of relief and pressed a kiss into your hairline, the affection simmers under your skin and briefly brings light to your dark mind as izuku starts leading you to the kitchen.

you’re curled up in izuku’s lap when the front door pops open with a click— signifying your other boyfriend had arrived home. you flinch, hiding yourself in the blankets keeping you warm and locking away the dark thoughts from the eyes of your lovers.

part of you hated them seeing you this way, that’s why you forced yourself to keep everything away from them— but they knew, they always did and always came to your rescue. you didn’t want them to feel like they had to look after you when the days were bad and draining and your mind took hold of everything that you felt. you didn’t need the weight of your own problems on the shoulders of two pro heroes who had enough to deal with.

in the end, you would destroy them like you did with yourself.

you can hear katsuki shedding his gear by the door, feeling his intense and heated presence flood the room and barely penetrate the barrier you created for yourself even while you lay in izuku’s arms. for as long as you’d known the two— even from back in your U.A days, bakugou had hated self-pity, of course in recent years he’d cooled down a little and spoke less on the actions of others but even still, you weren’t sure if you could handle him looking down on you for looking down on yourself and for feeling this way.

the blanket is suddenly lifted from your head, momentarily blinding you with the overwhelming light that is your boyfriend, katsuki bakugou. a twinkle of concern lines his ruby eyes and you can see traces of his charcoal eyeliner that he usually smudges underneath his mask— he’s so beautiful but you’re afraid of the twitches of worry, afraid that he’s mad at you for being the way you are.

“hey honey,” bakugou hums, crouching to your level to cup your cheeks, stress bleeding from his body when you nuzzle into him.

izuku gives you a squeeze, an encouraging one and you nod. “hi,” is all you can muster, afraid of blurting the intrusive words that crackle across your brain.

katsuki sits back on his haunches, looking between you and his boyfriend before he attempts to kick off his shoes. the room is full of a thick, ugly quietness that you know you’re responsible for— they don’t have to say anything, you know that it’s you. because when you’re like this it’s hard for bakugou and midoriya to talk, afraid that they’ll say something to set you off and you afraid that they’ll leave if they knew how you really felt. how trapped and alone you felt inside, how the twisted darkness added tones to your vibes and dragged you down with every step that you took.

they don’t need to say it because it flows from your body like a rushing river and drowns them, fills their lungs and it’s your fault for infecting them with your own bitter taste of life.

“have you eaten?” the blonde of the two boys asks, looking you dead in the eye. you want to answer, but again the viscous back from earlier starts to flood through your body. you try to take care of yourself of these days where you feel it the hardest, but it’s difficult to move and to breathe— and the drive to complete even the simplest of tasks is barely ever there.

you move to speak, caught up in the thick smog of your own brain when izuku gives your body a squeeze and shakes his head, the forest of his hair brushing against your cheek. “you’ve had water, right?” izuku has no problem answering for you. “but nothing to eat,” he whispers, keeping his voice low as if to hide his worry from you— it’s light in his tone but tremors throughout the number one’s body. you feel sick for making him feel that way.

katsuki’s gaze shifts back from his boyfriend to you, his expression unreadable because he knows how you get if they worry too much about you. you’re thankful, partly for that at least, his blank face prevents your mind from reading too deep into things and blaming yourself for things out of your own control.

“‘m makin’ your favourite for dinner. you’ll eat it, no questions asked.” the explosive pro hero states firmly, rising from his place crouched down by your side, obviously not before thumbing over your cheeks to wipe away evidence of your dried tears. “gonna run you a bath too, damn nerd better get you upstairs and ready by the time it’s done.” deku’s chest rumbles with a light hearted chuckle beneath you, lifting the heavy weight of the air within the room— bakugou had always loved brashly, with a fiery intensity that hardly left room for the answer ‘no’, and while izuku was more tame, they balanced one another out in a way that felt more like a warm hug than a battle. they grounded you, in the best of ways.

true to his disgruntled words, your blonde headed boyfriend runs you a hot bath. you don’t miss the addition of lavender oil to the perfectly warm water, the baking soda which you’re sure he only knew to add because his mother had said it would remove the demon spawn toxins in his body. izuku is the one to help you strip, holds your hands as you kick off gross comfort clothes and folds them away, after pressing kisses to your groggy face and chin.

it’s almost funny to see the two biggest and beefiest pro heroes sit on your bathroom floor crossed legged and beside the tub— both of them taking up the majority of the room. you know for a fact that no one would believe the sight unless they saw it, but they’re there. both of them, izuku midoriya and bakugou katsuki are with you encompassed in the silence while you wash away the ugly words that plague your mind and fill the pores of your skin.

they’re still there.

even as sweet lavender water moves in soft waves over your bare body, while black ink moves in the same way across your brain— tattooing self-depreciating thoughts into every inch. you’re not worth their time, they say, you’re wasting it. because how could their precious time be put to good use if you’re taking it up, they could be saving people but instead your boyfriends are here, drowning in your own darkness.

they’re still fucking here.

when they could be out there saving the people who needed it, who were suffering out there in the world outside of your home.

and the suds against your body, the warm water sloshing over your thighs isn’t enough to get rid of the burning sensation of vile phrases printing themselves against your body and clouding every thought that you think. toxic, mean and nasty things you can’t scrub away— none of it is enough to make you feel like you deserve bakugou tenderly lathering you up with the rose scented soap his mother had sent you for christmas or the sips of cool water midoriya brings to your lips in order to prevent you from overheating in the steam of the bathroom.

deku catches the painful twist in your face, pausing his movements to study you. “whaddya need?” you need it to stop, to find something to replace the pain and doubts that fill you.

“water, hotter,” you croak quietly, tears building up in the base of your throat as katsuki catches on and flicks the tap for a stream of hot water to fill the tub. “please,”

they tell you to let them know when to stop if the heat gets too much, but the scalding water burns away any reminders of the self loathing you feel across every inch of your mind, your body and your soul. it stings at the darkness in a way that’s painfully soothing and maybe if you sink under— it could stop hurting completely. if you could slide deeper into the water, would the waves of darkness not crash so hard?

and then the damn breaks, like a tsunami the guilt and anguish you feel crashes over your body and takes control, leaving you fighting for oxygen in the form of your happiness.

everything that you’d been holding back flows freely in salty tears from tired eyes, scorching a path down the apples of your cheeks and mingling with the contents of the tub below. your boys, they don’t notice at first, how you cry and curl in on yourself until you think the world won’t notice you anymore but then just as they always do, they’re pulling you into their warmth and bubble of light— freeing you from black intrusive tendrils even if it means they have to crawl into the tub and wade their through the ocean you’ve made to set yourselves apart.

“don’t—!” you heave with an uneven voice, signs of you falling apart evident in every way. bakugou and deku pull away from you slowly, with dripping shirts and worry written across freckled faces and red eyes. they’re scared for you, hate seeing you force your feelings down and away from them. “please don’t touch me—you’ll—“

the water in the bathtub sloshes from where you retract from their touch, backing yourself up against the wall and away from your boys. “we’ll what?” izuku presses but only gently, keeping you afloat, stopping you from sinking and bakugou stays put in his place, letting the latter talk you down.

you shake your head, trying to think of the right words but it’s hard to, with the crashing waves heavy against your ears. how do you tell your lovers that everything hurts, to think and to feel, to live day by day. you don’t want to bother them with and an extra stress to their busy lives. but you can’t keep it in any longer, bursting at the seams. “you’ll drown. i-if i touch you, i’ll pull you under, you’ll drown with me and you won’t be able to breathe and all those horrible things that i think about will burn in your lungs until you give up fighting like me,” your tears and hiccups interrupt your words, but they listen. bakugou and deku, they listen and they stay.

“yn—“

“because if you do, then all that i feel will be a burden to you— i’ll break in ways that can’t be fixed and you’ll be forced to pick up the pieces and i’ll just be a burden,” you continue, not even pausing to take a breath while you continue to cry. “if you stay to pick up the pieces, you’ll be taken away from people who need you, who are worth saving, and can be helped and—“

you can’t recount how many nights, similar to this in which you wondered why and how two pro heroes could want and love you, why they dealt with your down days that sometimes outnumbered the ups— even if they’d shown you how much they cared, you couldn’t help but feel guilty as if your sadness took up their time to save someone else.

“you can be helped, yn. you don’t have to go what you’re going through alone, you’re worth the time and the effort of helping, no one deserves to suffer,” the green haired of your two boyfriends cuts through the tail ends of your words, still keeping distance until he knows it’s safe to touch you again. there is no look of condescending pity on his face, no sign to show you’ve pulled him into the dark of your mind. it’s just izuku, trying to help you pull through.

you look to katsuki hesitantly, he hasn’t said a word. “but i don’t want to be seen as...as weak, or to worry you because i can’t get out of my own head—“

“y’not fuckin’ weak, we’d never think that of you. we see you try to hide your pain, pretend things don’t get to you when they do. but fuckin’ handlin’ things on ya own can make y’stronger than any two heroes combined,” a look of anger flashes across his features, finer with age and tired with work. but bakugou isn’t angry with you, but with himself for leading you to believe that you were an extra weight on his shoulders. both of their shoulders. “yer not gonna get rid of us or scare us away, we love ya, we’re here for ya ‘n if it’s help that you need or think yer not worthy of, we’ll find some. it’s okay t’ask for help.”

maybe it’s hearing it from someone else, that your pain and your depression is valid, that you’re not an extra weight on the people you love that allows you to come up from a tar-like ocean for fresh air in your lungs, for the waves to calm and the storm raging in your mind to soothe. maybe it’s the two of your boyfriends being there for you despite the fear that you’d scare them away with not being okay that washes away some of the awful things you think.

you know that their support won’t make things go away over night, that it will take time for you to heal but for now you can keep your head above the water just long enough to breathe.

“can i touch you now? is it okay?” deku asks, feeling less distant from you than at the start of the day, but as your body shakes with the last of your tears all you manage is a nod before the number one hero is pulling you into his chest from the tub and the number two is wrapping a towel and his arms around you.

you sit sandwiched between the two, they keep you at the surface— holding you tight while you let out what you’ve been holding back. “we can get some help if y’want it, the doctors...therapy might be nerve wrackin’...scary even, but it can help and we’ll be there every single step of the fuckin’ way,” katsuki reasures you with pets to your head, rocking you back and forth on your bathroom floor, steam clinging to the air that you can finally breathe.

izuku nods along in agreement, pressing kisses to your wet hairline. “we’ll be here. you won’t be alone.”

the murkiness of the water in your mind starts to clear, but only just— their warmth starts to push through the clouds like sunshine brushing against your skin. a light to the dark that's plagued your every waking moment, the waves no longer crash and destroy but instead lap comfortingly at your painful thoughts and tame them just enough for you to have a moment of clarity.

you don’t have to be alone or millions of miles away, you deserve the hands of your loved ones that offer you help instead of pushing them away. the process of healing and things like therapy or meds will be hard sometimes, but katsuki and izuku will be here by your side, to help you manage days where darkness rolls in waves that hurt and help you breathe once again.

[therealvinelle]

Hi, I was reading a post here in Tumblr about how Edward has two gifts, he can hear thoughts and is super fast, so I wonder what is your opinion about this topic?.

Furthermore, what others power might the Volturi's leaders and guards might have?

Edward has one gift, and it’s telepathy. Being fast isn’t a gift.

Strength, speed and even senses is varied among vampires. Some, like Emmett, are on the extreme end, but that doesn’t make Emmett gifted, nor does it mean that the rest are at an equal level. The Cullens have clear variations between them.

Physique appears to play a dominant role in how these variations play out: Alice, who was malnourished and never made it past 4′10″, is the physically weakest of the coven, while Emmett at 6′5″ and a mountain of muscles is the strongest. This is made very clear during the baseball game:

“Emmett was hovering close to third (base), knowing that Alice didn’t have the muscle to outstrip Rosalie’s fielding." (Midnight Sun, chapter The Game)

There’s also the fact that it’s taken for granted that Emmett would be intimidating to other vampires, and he is dismayed when James is more worried about Jasper, who is lean.

I suspect this disparity exists simply because a large frame means more tissue to have blood in. Newborns, animal, and human-eating vampires all having a difference in terms of strength is proof that blood has the final say in a vampire’s prowess, so Emmett being able to contain more of it than Alice and therefore being stronger makes sense to me.

This isn’t the meta for me to get into that, but I don’t think vampires have muscles in the sense we do. Or rather, we can’t know that they do. Renesmée is proof that Edward retains his human DNA, or she would be a clone of Bella. Nahuel is proof that Joham retains a Y-chromosome. Does this mean that vampires have different cell types? Does a vampire’s stone-like skin still contain human DNA? One would think yes - except, if you rip a vampire apart, you get rubble. The parts are all solid. There’s also Carlisle theorizing that vampires digest blood by absorbing it through porous tissue, which makes me wonder why he dismissed his digestive system (my guess: vivisection fun times with Aro in Volterra. Carlisle couldn’t have done it on his own, and Aro is the only one mad and curious enough to be down for that). I’m getting off-topic - what I’m saying is, we don’t know how vampires work, meaning I can’t build this meta off of the assumption that they have muscles. I simply can’t know for sure that they do.

The important thing is that a vampire’s physique is a deciding factor in how strong they are.

There’s also Laurent’s warning about James, that he has “unparalleled senses”, meaning some vampires are better at sight, hearing, and smell than others. I can believe that, because we have canon examples of vampires being bad at tracking.

There’s Edward in Port Angeles, who couldn’t track Bella’s, his singer, scent to her location, and (I admit this one is conjecture but it’s so probable that I say it goes) Carlisle’s creator, who after taking care of the mob must have realized he’d bitten one of the humans, meaning a newborn would soon be loose in London. This is punishable by death by the Volturi. The fact that he didn’t return to finish Carlisle off means that he was unable to find him. I remind the audience that Carlisle was bleeding and suffering the effects by a venom intended to paralyze the victim. To put it this way, Carlisle wouldn’t have survived James, or anybody with a trace of tracking competence. By comparison, Carlisle was able to locate a dying Rosalie by the smell of her blood, even though there wouldn’t have been a trail for him to follow, as her body had not been moved.

When it comes to these disparities in strength and speed among the Volturi, I imagine Jane and Alec are the physically weakest members of the guard, and among the slowest. They’re prepubescent, meaning no muscle for them, and their height (a humble 4′8″ and 4′10″) implies very short legs. They’re simply not going to get as far as an adult would, not in the same number of steps. Renata at 5′0″ is another tiny vampire lady who likely isn’t very strong or fast.

That’s not to say I think these physically weaker members of the Volturi guard are necessarily useless in hand-to-hand combat, Alec at least is a boy stuck in a playful age, and the males around him are trained warriors. He’s probably picked up a few things over the years.

As for the others, Aro is described as frail-looking, which hints at him being quite thin. I don’t think he’s weak, if he couldn’t win a fight he wouldn’t be around, but I do think he’s probably below average in terms of strength. Caius I picture as a Harrison Ford type, so of course I’m gonna think he’s a bit burly, but this is me headcanoning and not actually hinted at in canon. Marcus is 19, so I imagine he can only be so strong.

Back to Edward’s speed.

He’s a 6′2″ teen, that’s code for “very long legs”, though I’m actually going to go ahead and posit that he’s not actually that fast. Strap in for this next part:

The guy was a teenager who lay dying for an undisclosed amount of time. The fact that Carlisle had the time to get to know his mother points to a few weeks, at least. And Edward was very ill:

Elizabeth worried obsessively over her son. She hurt her own chances of survival trying to nurse him from her sickbed. I expected that he would go first, he was so much worse off than she was. (New Moon, page 21)

Muscles atrophy quickly, never more so than when you’re a teen ravaged by fever, on your deathbed. And as I’ve explained above, I think your physique in life ties directly into your vampiric prowess.

I think Edward is certainly the physically weakest of the male Cullens, quite likely weaker than Rosalie as well, maybe even Esme.

Now, speed is not the same as strength. However, for humans, the two are connected. It’s the muscle fibers in our legs that determine our speed. Basically, type I fibers make an enduring runner, type II fibers make a speed runner. So, assuming that vampires retain their human musculature, one could argue that Edward had a lot of type II in life. However, Carlisle when he was human was able to outrun the mob he was with:

He ran through the streets, and Carlisle — he was twenty-three and very fast — was in the lead of the pursuit. (Twilight, page 158)

Carlisle clearly had a lot of type II fibers, and unlike Edward he was in peak physical condition when he died. He was also an adult who’d had more time to develop musculature, while Edward was a seventeen-year-old. If musculature was a deciding factor, one would think they would at the very least be of equal speed, though realistically Edward should be slower.

So, if it’s not muscles, what is it that makes Edward faster than the others?

It could be a matter of technique. Except, the way Bella describes movement when she wakes up as a vampire, it’s all very automated. Her body knows exactly how to do everything, and executes it without much input from her:

After that first frozen second of shock, my body responded to the unfamiliar touch in a way that shocked me even more.

Air hissed up my throat, spitting through my clenched teeth with a low, menacing sound like a swarm of bees. Before the sound was out, my muscles bunched and arched, twisting away from the unknown. I flipped off my back in a spin so fast it should have turned the room into an incomprehensible blur—but it did not. I saw every dust mote, every splinter in the wood-paneled walls, every loose thread in microscopic detail as my eyes whirled past them.

So by the time I found myself crouched against the wall defensively—about a sixteenth of a second later—I already understood what had startled me, and that I had overreacted. (Breaking Dawn, page 251-252)

Growling, crouching - those are all distinctly vampiric, non-human ways to act. Bella didn’t learn this, her body knew it of its own accord. When she later runs, she explains it as happening the same way - she just does it.

The way Bella experiences it, vampiric movement is like a package she downloaded, and that executes her instinctual commands with no need for her to actually know how to do any of this. Her grace is another example of this - Bella Swan may be in charge of her own consciousness, but the venom is entirely in control of her body.

Given these facts, I don’t think it’s technique that makes Edward a better runner than others. His technique is likely similar to everyone else’s. If it isn’t, if technique is what makes the difference, then who is and isn’t fast is an arbitrary process.

With that, we get to my controversial theory about why Edward is the fastest Cullen: he’s not.

Running and being fast is the only thing about vampirism that Edward enjoys. This is for another meta, but Edward is extremely depressed about every single other bit of it. Every aspect of being a vampire torments him.

Except the running. He enjoys all of it, especially being the fastest, so much. And as a newborn, he would have been faster than Carlisle.

But after that, when his newborn strength faded…

I honestly think that Carlisle decided to just slow down a bit when running with him, let Edward have this. It’s no skin of his back, and it makes Edward happy, so why not.

Esme joins the family, and of course she would be down for this. Nothing is more parental, more maternal, than losing at checkers to make your child happy, after all. Could also be she’s not very fast herself, but even if she were then she would downplay it to make Edward feel like Jesse Owens.

Enter Rosalie, who would think it’s completely ridiculous, yes, but she would also recognize this excellent opportunity to call in a big favor from Carlisle later on. There’s also the fact that I think Carlisle has a gift (yes, yes, meta is coming, people) that makes him very persuasive people. And also that for all that Rose gets a lot of bad rep, she is very generous and loves her family, if being fast makes Edward happy then alright.

Emmett is an easy-going guy, he goes along with things. Alice adores Edward and would go along with it. She also has tiny matchstick legs and couldn’t outrun him if she tried. Jasper could not care less.

Bella does get outrun by Edward after waking up, but she also did zero exercise in life (listing this in case musculature matter), had Renesmée devour her from within rendering her emaciated, and then died like a slasher movie murder victim. There’s not a lot of blood in her, and what little blood there is doesn’t have a lot to work with. She does defeat Emmett at arm wrestling, so I’ll concede that. However, there are enough extenuating circumstances surrounding Bella that I think my “Edward isn’t that fast” theory survives his ability to outrun her.

So, I believe Edward is the fast Cullen because Carlisle told a white lie in 1919, no one ever corrected that, and now it’s too late.

[omiscurls]

Heyhey! I couldn’t find your rules, so idk if this is allowed or not, and if it isn’t feel free to ignore this, but may I request Childe with a reader who has depression? Thank you

tough

a/n: hi!! sorry for that, the rules are added by now, i chose not to describe depression itself, because it looks different on everyone, and you may not relate to what applies to me, but i'm hoping you'll find this enjoyable instead!!

plot: character helping the reader out of a breakdown, or a bad headspace

contains: tartaglia, kaeya

warnings: bad copying mechanisms, low mental place, nothing too serious mentioned

tartaglia

now, he's a man of action less than words, even though he's good with those, too

and to add to that, he's also a very perceptive person - if some negative vibe lingers on you for too long, he'll notice right away

however, relying on his experience, he opts to give you space to figure it out on your own, first, he wouldn't like to be making a huge deal of something that was just a worse couple of days

it's when you don't show up at your usual dinner spot, that he gets a little tingle in his brain, telling him to not dismiss it this time.

and so, he makes his way over to your place.

"ya there?" you hear on the other side of the door, followed by urgent knocking, sort of breaking you out of a trance, but you can't find it in you to go and answer it. he'll go away, you think, even better. your apartment is messy, you're messy, too, and it's not the right time to be receiving visitors. so you stay quiet.

"you do know i know you're in there, right?" he speaks up again "the blinds would be down if you weren't"

come in, you want to shout, and although no voice leaves your throat, soon the door opens anyway.

"hey, what's up, you weren't on the- oh." he stops in his tracks in the middle of the corridor, and you're already mentally prepared to a snarky remark about your sorroundings, but the only thing he says is a lighthearted "why're you sitting on the floor?"

the first thing he thinks about is to level with you, so he plops himself down right beside you, and you bet it looks funny - you in yesterday's clothes, in a big, probably smelly, mess, and then a harbinger in full military outfit right beside you.

"i-" you try to say, but your throat seems too dry and worn out, so you opt for a whisper "look at his place"

he indeed does, hinting the small note of desperation in your voice.

"what about it?"

"it's a mess!" you sigh, covering your face with your hands, out of both embarrassment, and fatigue. you take a big breath before continuing "so i wanted to clean it up, i even brought all the... all the things, but it's so much stuff to do, and i'm tired, and- and i don't know!" you choose to stop as not to snap right then and there. "i can't even do my shitty chores right like an adult" you mumble, massaging your temples.

"and is sitting on the floor helping?" he simply asks, and for a second, you're almost mad at him for not being more... cooey and fuss over you a bit more. he sounds cold.

"what are you-"

"really, is it helping?" he repeats "because from how i see it, every little thing would seem bigger if you looked at it from this angle. come on" he nudges you before standing up, and offering a hand to lift you up. you, however, shake your head.

"i really can't deal with it today, childe, i'm sorry"

"just stand up" he pleas, and the second you take his hand, he helps you up in less than a second. when you're on his level again, he sneaks both his arms on the sides of your waist, and sort of sways around a little, before speaking again. "what if, what if we do it little by little? look, we'll start over there" he puts his hand on top of yours, and lifts your arm to point to the full sink along with his. "and that'd be it for today! and then tomorrow... actually, let's not make plans. we'll just pick something tomorrow, and do it then. does the sink sound like a lot to do?" he asks.

"do you want me to be honest, or do you want me to say no" you mutter, earning the heartiest and brightest laughter you've heard in days from him.

"always honest. but come on, i'll help." he rolls you out of his embrace, causing you to feel a sudden wave of cold, it was comfortable back there, you think.

however, as he works through the dishes with you, the pile does seem to lessen, and doesn't rule over your kitchen anymore. every time he hands you a plate to dry, he smiles as wide as he can, and it doesn't seem to bother him at all when you don't smile back.

"remember" he starts again, after a while of comfortable silence. he looks ridiculous, doing the kitchen duties in an outfit designed mostly to look presentable and slay enemies in it, but the look on his face is dead set. "the first lesson you've gotta learn before going off to battle something, is that the best defense is always, always to fight back. and if you don't think you can manage that, well, that's why nobody ever battles alone. it's common sense to have someone watching your back. and as for you, not only are you a great warrior yourself, but you've also got the best second-in-command willing to help you out. don't forget that."

kaeya

as for him, he's also perceptive and empathic, but the difference between him and tartaglia is that he does believe people have the right to figure some things out on their own, he's a firm believer in the magic of secrets

that's probably because he himself doesn't like to share too much about his deeply personal feelings

so he'd obviously see some wave of difficult emotions coming your way, but would he immediately start worrying? probably not

the guy doesn't have healthy copying mechanisms himself, don't think he expects those of others

every other night the two of you meet up at the tavern, kaeya always ordering wine, you asking the bartender for whatever was in store today, but it's never anything alcoholic.

and just like nearly always, you're seated at angel's share, him noticing you're not particularly in the mood for talking, and choosing to entertain you with as many stories of the day that went by as he can remember.

the waiter interrupts him, asking if your minds are already made up regarding the drink. now, kaeya always has you picking first, but since he sees you're still analyzing the card (as if you expected to find anything new), he goes first with a drink he knows charles makes really strong.

to his surprise, when it comes to you, you just mumble "i'll have the same he had"

before the waiter has a chance of writing that down, kaeya tells him that actually, you're gonna need a minute or two more, and to erase the order you've both put in.

as he walks away, the calvary captain's eyes pierce through yours.

"that's a pretty nasty drink you wanted there" he starts, feeling he can't let you handle your mess this time, preparing to dig a little deeper into what's on your mind.

you shrug your shoulders.

"hey" he speaks up a little firmer, hand moving to cover yours, and even though they twitch as to retreat from his grip, you let it be. "tell me what's up."

"nothing's <up>" you accentuate. "can't i even have a drink now?"

"obviously you can" he nods "as long as i know you're trying it just for the taste, and not for the strong kick it's gonna offer, cause that's a dangerous path that only leads to nasty places." concern shines through his gaze, and an encouraging smile is wandering somewhere in his expression, however his lips are still pressed into a tight line, the same he forms when he's either fighting or arguing.

you stay silent for a good long while, before sighing.

"maybe i want the kick. good, or bad, maybe i want to feel... something."

the sentence sounds all too familiar, as he shakes his head and takes your hand, leading you towards the exit.

"what're you-"

"you're obviously not in the right state to be in a bar, of all places" he states almost coldly "so i'm getting you somewhere safer."

the two of you leave the bar, and walk out into the cold of mondstadt's street, covered in the darkness of the night. you walk past him, not leveling up to him, just tagging along to whatever he's going.

it comes as a surprise, that you're neither headed for your apartment, nor his, nor the knights' headquarters. he's guiding you in an unknown direction, until you reach a dead end.

he clims up a small building, offering you a hand and shaking off your confused expressions and questions. "you'll see" he says. the two of you walk from roof to roof, and countless times you tell him it's ridiculous, but then, he jumps onto the city's wall, helping you out with two hands this time, sitting you down right next to him on the stone surface of the wall. it's a little wet from the night's humidity, and cold, and probably dirty too, but the moon shines right at you, and from this perspective, you see thousands of lights in houses, taverns and shops, from the bottom up to the cathedral.

going up from that, a calm and peaceful lake paints the landscape blue on the left, and even from up here, you see a sea of lampgrasses shining through the leaves of wolvendom forest. if you squint, lights are still on in dawn winery, and the path to liyue and all the other lands swirls around near diluc's house. there's so much you can see, even if the night limits your vision.

"i like to come here when i need to gain some perspective over what is happening in my life right now" kaeya speaks really softly and quietly, bordering on a whisper. "it's a beautiful view, even someone as insensitive to art as i am can see that, but other than that... it's huge. and even though it is, it's also alive. every single one of those beings whose lights are dying out as they slowly go to sleep one by one, they're alive. they're not a scenery, they're their own, individual worlds. and they all coexist with each other in such a clever manner, don't you think? they have their differences, they might even hate each other, or wish the worst upon the other's name, but from up here? they fit together like puzzles of one, big picture."

"that's a nice way to put it, for sure" you whisper, looking down onto your knees. his finger pushes your chin slightly to make you face him, and he smiles at you gently, thumb brushing against the skin of your cheek.

"you know, we each have our own worlds, built from scratch from such fragile materials. we have our worlds rise, shine, and crumble before our sights. we look over the ruins of them and think, this is the end of the world. there's nothing more, it's all dust now. but from up here, you see how many other worlds there are - everyone has their own. not everything that is happening in your world is true. you see it from first person's perspective, and therefore the view might be disturbed by many different aspects. you might not see the picture, you just see the broken puzzle fragment that can't fit with the rest, and you're ready to throw away the entire picture, without finishing it. but being here, it reminds me... the world doesn't end on the ruins you see. you can always ask someone to help you build them up again, and of course, you can expect it to fall into pieces once more, but this time, you'll keep in mind, there're-" he stopped, pointing to the city's lights. "so many people to help you raise it up to the clouds."

"your metaphor is really complex" you chuckle, but his face stays still.

"it's not the end of the world if your puzzle piece is broken. and the ruins are not unfixable if you feel too tired to build them up all by yourself. if anything, that's a start." his hand travels up to keep the hair from getting on your face, since the wind blows pretty hard on this height. "what do you say we start your puzzle once more, toghether?"

-

your friendly reminder that you can request things [here]

[that-was-anticlimactic]

reki with tourette’s headcanons

[ID: it’s reki from sk8 the infinity wearing a yellow sweatshirt with his hands on his hips. he’s wearing a red bracelet on his right wrist and he’s smiling. behind him is a touette’s syndrome awareness flag. end ID.]

so. @zukkaclawthorne got me hooked on reki with ts and now imma post headcanons i wrote oops

okay so first—that little skateboard he plays with??? stim toy, actually.

he likes the sound the wheels make—that whirrrrrr sound. it makes his arms flappy :)

he also finds the rolling motion soothing and relaxing and it always calms him down—it takes his mind to a happy place

he rocks back and forth and shakes his legs a lot. that also contributed to why he was terrible at skateboarding the first few times he tried—because his body would be like “time to rock back and forth!” and it would mess him up

neck twitches for days :)

no but for real—neck twitching is one of his worst tics because sometimes—if he’s in a bad mood or if he’s sad or anxious—it gets harsh and violent and really strains his neck.

so, langa gives him neck / upper back neck massages to help with the pain

he went through this phase for a couple of months where whenever his neck would twitch, he would snap his fingers two times.

he has a lot of hand tics which can be stressful when he makes skateboards because sometimes he’ll be in the groove and then suddenly he’ll mess something up

speaking of messing things up, he has a tendency to dig the bottom of his palm into his forehead whenever he feels like he does something stupid—he doesn’t even realize it until someone points it out.

he feels like even more of a failure of a skater because of his tics because they can hold him back and make the course more dangerous.

if his blinking tic resurfaces, sometimes the blinking gets so intense that he literally cannot see for anywhere between five seconds and a minute depending on how bad it is. that is how he got some of his worst scars.

or sometimes he’ll make a really aggressive hand motion and it throws him off balance on the skateboard due to the intensity

anyways back to hand tics: he points a lot and does symbols like the “rock on” sign or certain numbers (for some reason, the most common number for reki to throw up is four—though sometimes he throws up whatever number he hears) he also grunts a lot as a tic so he sounds angry even when he is’t.

sometimes, his hand tics really hurt and his hands become shaky and his fingers start to feel the way his heart feels when he’s anxious. langa helps in different ways—he holds reki’s hand, he gives him something to fidget with to try to distract him (sometimes it’s his own fingers—he’ll just set them in reki’s palm and be like “let me carry some of the pain”—no, reki didn’t totally cry when he said that what)

sometimes, reki sticks pencils in his ears. his teachers have been trying to stop it since he was young, but he always did it anyways—he couldn’t help it.

his hair is also long enough for him to chew on. yes, he chews on the tips of his hair because i say so. sometimes, to stop him from doing that (and from swallowing his own hair), langa will try to make him laugh so it falls out of his mouth and then he’ll scoot close and tuck the hair behind reki’s ears… once they start dating, he kisses him too. but also that’s one reason why he wears the headband—to try to keep his hair out of his face so he doesn’t chew on it.

reki’s favorite form of stimming (other than his skateboard toy, that is) is stress balls. he’s got a couple of stress balls in his room or backpack—even one with string attached so he can carry it around his wrist. he just really likes the texture of them.

after his second race against adam, cherry and joe were so proud of him and also impressed and worried dads that they bought reki a big stress ball, like, the size of a stuffed animal. it was a blue cat. he uses it all the time.

speaking of fricking adam, we all know he would so use reki’s tics against him during a race. like, when he grabbed his wrist and “danced” with him, he would mock reki’s tics or say creepy things about how his verbal tics are music and his motor tics are him dancing along and it makes him so uncomfortable and like even more shaken

oh and adam purposely does things to trigger his tics, like when i mentioned that number tic??? yeah, adam will purposefully say numbers to make reki do the hand gestures

one time, reki wanted to tell langa that he loved him but got nervous so he signed it in sign language instead. but, since reki’s tics are occasionally hand gestures, langa thought that it was just a tic and mentally was like “i wish that was for me…” and reki is like “i wish he knew it was real…” and joe, cherry, shadow, and miya are all facepalming and groaning at their obliviousness

reki prefers taking hand written notes to electronic notes because he draws / doodles to stim and he can’t really doodle well on a laptop. so, he’ll doodle in class all of the time

sometimes, his pictures / notes turn out pretty bad / illegible depending on how bad his tics are, but that doesn’t phase reki. it used to when he was younger, but it doesn’t bother him at all anymore. in fact, he thinks it adds personality

during class, he’ll draw pictures for langa and slid them on his desk. they’re usually really random things like the teacher or the back of someone’s head or squiggly lines or whatever he sees outside. more often than not, it’s abstract art. langa loves these drawings and he keeps them all on his desk in his room.

reki also started drawing pictures for the rest of the sk8 crew and gives it to them during races. when he gave everyone their first doodle, he was like “i’m not the best artist ever and sometimes my tics mess up the doodle, but i thought of you while i drew it so i want you to have it”

(shadow didn’t shed a couple of unwilling dad tears when he got home that night what)

anyways, they all keep them. every single one. miya puts them in their school binder so they don’t feel as alone / isolated at school.

although shadow and miya give reki a lot of crap / teasing about not being as good as everyone else, the second they hear anyone comment about “the weird red head that makes noises” and comments on his ts in a negative way, oh, they will stop you.

sometimes, reki whispers words he hears under his breath as a tic (echolalia, baby~) and when he overhears people saying stuff about “that redhead that always follows snow around” or about him not being good enough or how he’s an idiot to face adam, he ends up muttering that too. and it’s not a one and done kind of thing—like. he does it for days. it makes him so upset (and i already hc him, with depression so it just makes it worse)

having tics while having injuries is not a good combination—especially if it’s with a broken arm. the crew made sure to keep an eye of reki’s comfort / pain level after adam broke his arm and literally tried to kill him in their final race. joe let reki squeeze his hand whenever he felt the urge to tic and cherry would ask him how much pain he was in after he ticced and depending on how bad it would be, would make joe or shadow fetch a heating pad or an icepack for reki.

joe also taught reki about the magical thing called physical therapy tape and helped him put it on his shoulders, neck, and back one time. it was his idea to use the tape on reki’s fingers when he was injured to make him feel better (because it literally makes my fingers feel better)

also langa kisses each of reki’s fingers and knuckles, slowly and tenderly, soft so he doesn’t hurt him or trigger a tic. a way of showing that he loves him not despite his tics, but even with his tics and that he loves him and his tics.

cherry isn’t always the best at showing he cares, so he’ll wear a ts ribbon sometimes in a way to show support (and it makes reki beam)

shadow once gave reki a flower shaped stress ball because there were “extra at work” (not true—he went looking for one)

miya didn’t really know much about ts at first and asked why reki made those noises and made weird movements all the time and langa explained so then that night when miya got home, they did research on ts so they could understand it better. later, they told reki that whenever they called him a slime, they meant it purely about skateboarding and it had nothing to do with his tics—even that his tics didn’t make him less of a skater

all his life, reki had been the different one: the one no one wanted on the team because sometimes his tics messed him up, the one who was asked to leave classes during tests because his tics were too distracting and made him take the test in the hall, when sometimes he’d get too overwhelmed by how close people were in the halls or at races and would have panic attacks, how he rocked in his chair and adjusted his position seventeen times an hour and sat on his feet while the other kids didn’t, how he shook his legs more aggressively than others, how he couldn’t skate as well as everyone else because of his tics and because he wasn’t good enough

which is probably part of the depression that weighs on his shoulders

the first time reki had a panic attack during a race due to closeness and overstimulating noises (and this is the first one after the sk8 crew happened) langa was racing and wasn’t there to help, so shadow kind of panicked and like picked him up under the armpits and carried him away from the crowd since reki could barely process anything other than panic and the sound and feeling of static and they sat in shadow’s car for the rest of the race and once he felt better, he gave shadow a huge hug and shadow returned it.

one time it happened and cherry was nearby and he saw the signs before it got bad (remembered from the previous time / his own experiences) and helped talk reki down before it got bad (he has a soothing voice)

usually, though, when / if it happens (because reki usually feels safe there), langa is the one who helps

but it got so much worse after skating against adam the first time because he no longer felt safe and suddenly everyone cheering adam’s name even after witnessing what he did to reki was too much but langa was racing adam so langa wasn’t there and this time it was joe who kneeled in front of him and started talking just loud enough for reki to hear and he was like “you’re safe—we won’t let anyone hurt you. we won’t let him hurt langa. you’re safe. i’m here and so is cherry and shadow and miya and langa will be waiting for you at the end of the race…”

it happens again at the next race he goes to—and this time it’s miya who notices and they tug on langa’s sleeve and is like “i think you need to take reki somewhere else” and langa does :)

okay i’ll end on a positive ts note or two—langa asks reki to add the ts ribbon to the design on his skateboard

shadow finds chewelry at the store one day when he’s shopping and buys it for reki (and gets a matching one for langa!)

once reki came back after his mental health break, the first thing joe said to him was, and this is nonnegotiable “reki! i missed you and your tics!”

miya once overheard reki muttering to himself about his annoying tics were, so they intervened and was like “your tics aren’t annoying. they’re you and anyone who think s they’re annoying is an idiot”

and for the first time in his life, reki doesn’t feel alone and isolated and so different from everyone (at least, he’s working on that last one) and he’s finally found a group of people who want him on their team and a boyfriend who always supports him and makes him feel less isolated, tics and all <3

i uhh I have a lot of feelings,,,

[miiserableee]

( POLAR MYSTIQUE ) ▸ QUATRO : ! ( tres ) / ( cinco )

scaramouche × fem!reader ! ( summary ) a short take of just how you two finally seal things with a finalizing label , with you being sober-drunk and him finally swaying to confessing himself ! ( mentions ) of reader always being drunk these recent chapters smh , scaramouche dealing with the aftermath , drunk reader ! low tolerance ! reader cussing way more than usual ! ooc scara ! very very ooc scara ! ( 5.4k words )

𖥼 , PUT FLOWERS UP AND SCREAM ILY !

THE , COLD is frustrating . welling up a feeling akin to the likes of it in him . he can't seem to shake off the idea that you were barely a few rulers away from the same man that you've told him , confessed to you so passionately . done something he hasn't even built enough will to do himself , how could that man one-up him . and besides , why is it that when you two aren't on good terms you're always either surrounded by good looking men or stuck sulking under a roof you say you hate when you're drunk . much drunk , like now . "Du-rayvuuuuu !" you lowly mouth and he sighs to himself whilst holding your arm tighter . his brow twitching and he himself , reeling pissed but there's nothing else to do now but have you slump by the passenger seat and driven home to finally sleep . somewhere not within ranges of men obviously in love with you , preferably .

"You stink ." he complains as you scoff , "You stink . . . more , scaraboobies , taking so fucking long . Am I not important to you anymore ?! Just because , because my brother ," you sniff , latching off the snot and wiping it on his sleeve . knowing full well that coat costs more than anything you can ever earn your whole entire life . "My brother set me up , on some , dates ! It's not like I was going to any ?! But naaaaaaaaur , you had to be a piece of eugh shit and get all mad at ," you were crying , though sounding more sad than mad , he doesn't say anything despite the amounts of punching you did on his chest . he's sure as hell better get a kiss or a hug after this . you seem to be more of an aggressive drunk this time . last time it was a depressed version of you brought afloat by liters of vodka and beer . he can't seem to figure out which is more tolerable .

as if he doesn't tolerate anything you do be it you drunk or not anyway . "At me , telling me to just do whatever I want . I wanted you to stop me or something , do one of those things you've always done . . . ! But you didn't ." you cried more , your legs jellying into levels more worse than before , as he scoops you by your waist to keep you still . "Do you hate me now ? After acting so hostile and keeping me single for all these years ! Do you hate me now ? Are you bored of me now ?! Huh ?!" he simply walks to his car , and he was glad you decided to shut up for a bit . he knew you knew the answers to these things you're so mindlessly spouting . he doesn't have to bother with himself and answer or do anything about it .

he opens the car door , and slots you inside , was about to slam it shut and get on the other side but your hold on his coat's sleeve have him looking back . "Are you , Scaramouche ?" the way your eyes dwindle and gleam , the pink scattered along your cheeks , the faint smell of you under the reek of gin , his indigos wasted no time to latch on it all . "Try and guess ." he says before he puts your hand away and slammed the door close . he notices how you simply stare at the door until he got in , when he started the engine , your head was pressed on the tinted window , your eyes blank at the road . "Why is Kazuha not here today . . . ?" you utter and he shrugs .

"Wanna see him ?" you nod , "Want him here ." he laughs , "I don't ." you shut your eyes , "But you're a lot more un-sweet when Kazuha was here ." he turns the curb , one hand on the wheel . "What good is it that I'm not sweet ?"

you mumble incoherent noises for a while , before you say more clearly , words he didn't know comes out from a girl of your kind . "My heart's beating races with horses when you're sweet . What if I die ?" you were drunk . he's sure . if you weren't , then he'd be losing his mind , or having a delusion during a drive . maybe he's the one that's drunk jugs of cheap beer . or maybe for once , he can fully say , that you ; the girl with that unfortunate steel of a heart , is actually capable of being shaken and torn apart . yeah , the first one is more logical , no matter which way he puts it alight .

"I'm not even sweet right now ."

"You've barely cussed , your voice is low , your brows aren't furrowed and your whole body screams ; lax ."

"I doubt that is in any way defining of me being ; sweet ." he had this short lived of a laugh , he can't tell whether you're being serious or not . the last time he checked , you were a talkative drunk , that forgets what she's spoken the next day of awakening . but that doesn't mean you didn't mean whatever it was you said that day . the feeling of being abandoned and lonely after your brother's engagement , he knew you were feeling that those days , all along . he didn't know you'd take up drinking though , he always thought you were the kind to keep your money in your wallet unless absolutely necessary , which was true to itself as you weren't really the one to have paid those countless filled mugs you've chugged down your throat's hollow . xiao did . ah , that guy , he suddenly remembers the way those ambers have glowed both at the sight of him , you , and you two together .

could be regarded similar as the lighting of the bulbs of light posts aligned parallel to your apartment complex . "Can you walk ?" your eyes flutter open and upon realizing the vehicle have stopped , you look at him with a look of discerning , almost studying , the way one of his brow raised as he took of your seatbelt then his , "We have to get you inside . It's late . Is your brother home ?"

"Scara , your voice is gross ."

"The fuck , Y/n ." he retorts and you laugh , hoarseness evident . if anything , your voice more suits the idea of being gross but there was no reason to speak of that , you knew already of the fact . he gets out the car and opens to see you just staring at him , all slump and with that look of daze that got him sighing . already exhausted , just with the knowing outcome of having to help you tread the way up those skimpy stairs . you live on the third floor of this complex by the last door there at that , for fuck's sake . the things he does for you .

"Hurry up , it's getting late ."

"Are you mad ?"

"No , Y/n . I'm delighted to be helping you up these skimpy stairs older than us and obviously more fragile than your weakass alcoholic tolerance. If it was in any way as stoned as your heart then truthfully , it would be more relieving ." he rolls his eyes and you just slap him by the chest again , lightly though . "How road !"

"It's rude !"

"Shaddup !"

"You shut up !"

arguing like children , maybe a part of the many aftereffects of the fact that you two have known each other since toddlers . if it was anyone else , he wouldn't have hesitated to beat anyone up to have even the courage to throw such vile words at him , but since it's you , he'd rather just throw vile words back . beating you up is out of the question , he can't even conjure up a simple confession . "It's not ," you started , as if the fact that you're crouched to the floor and looking so intently under a lifted doormat is in no way weird already , you look back at him and continued , "It's not here ." he crosses his arms , "What is ?"

"The extra keys ." you hiccup , the pink on your cheeks looking pretty under the dimmed barely there light of the street lights . "Don't you have your own keys ?" you blink down , "I lost it . When I was in Xiao's car , I realized I lost it . I think , huh , I lost it at the lecture , hall ???? I dont know , Xiao said , that . . ." he looks up the sky and was met with the ceiling instead , and here he thought he can sleep peacefully now after this , having heard you say that guy's name over and over again just struck his nerves to move his entire body down your level and to cup your mouth shut , "I get it , you fucking lost your keys . No extra keys here either . What do you plan to do now ?"

he holds on one of your shoulders and you just squint your eyes before they widened up , and an idea seemingly soaked up in your mind , ready to bubble right out of your mouth , "Lehmmeh chrash aht yhour phlaceh !" though muffled , he got the bare idea of your sentence which makes him semi-howl a "Huh ??? Y/n , I'm still part of the opposite sex you know-or what ? You intend for me to sleep somewhere else while you lounge at my place ?"

"Why is you acting like thiz the pers time I ever slept in your place ?????"

"Your first time drunk ."

"I'm sleepy , Sca , Scum ! Petty , selfish scum !"

"This woman—fine ! You're sleeping on the couch though !"

assisting you back at the car , true enough the chances of anything happening is higher now , with you staying at his place not for studying for exams or just because of some movie marathon , but still . it felt strangely inappropriate to have you at his place , all drunk and out of it .

"I'm hungry . I can eat a bEAAAAAAaaaaaar . . . !" you slam hands at the dashboard and he simply turns to the road path of the convenience store . he parks , for the umpteenth time this day and says nothing until he's gotten his seat belt off . "What do you want ?" you turn to him from where your hand suctions with his cars' tinted windows , with that delirious look of seriously ?! which he found , undeniably cute , smacking a palm at your face to lessen the damage of your unintentional attack on his unready heart , he spoke of an answer you most felt drunkly happy about . "Hurry or I'm sticking to just buying you some plain ass water ."

"I , I WANT CHIPS !"

"DON'T SHOUT !"

"But , you is shouting too ."

"Shush ."

clicking heard as he takes off to leave , he looks at you one last time , in which seeing you just tilt your head to the side and shoo him away with your eyes . as if to tell him to hurry and get your chips already . chuckling foolishly to himself , he does as untold . smiling sickeningly at the cashier whom asked for his number and walked right out with two bags without giving said digits . entering again with you already dozing off by his window and looking like you could sleep every minute away even as howling ambulance were to ring along the area as he crash his expensive car to some truck of some sort .

he wouldn't . getting into an accident is bothersome .

quite like he wishes he could say right now . finally at his apartment , he now wonders just how the hell he'll get you inside . "Wake up ." which you don't . you do everything but wake up . stirring and mumbling , turning and all that but actually arise ? yeah , no . though of course , he only sucks up a sigh you wouldn't even be able to care about . he carries you this time , on his back , back of your thighs secured by his palms , as your arms quickly circled along his neck , he struggled as he held two bags of foods you asked for , the struggle is real .

plopping you down his bed when he said you'll be sleeping on the couch , he had succeeded on locking the door and putting the snack bags for a bit as he huffs . hands on his waist as he begs for the night to just fucking end already . though to be honest , it had ended the moment the clock have hit 4 : 30 . it's not like he was about to complain again as he did see the time but he released an overdramatic groan and slumped himself to grab his taken off coat . it's time to leave this place and rest elsewhere .

but as soon as he attempts to turn and do as said attempt , your hand had left the premise of his pillow and latched at his wrist . "Where you going ?" you sleepily ask . you reek of booze , he closes his eyes . "Some motel , I'll lock up . I'm sure you'll be fine when you wake up , I'll just send a text or something that'll assist you when you're sober , so let the fuck go ."

"But , laaate , its dark as fuuuuck out ."

"I know ????"

you scrunch the side of your features and gave him a laidback glare . "So you maderpakening known ! Just stay hir or something !" you pull on his wrist for more measure and he clicks his tongue , glaring back , though he never pulls his limb you've held captive . "Y/n , you're a woman ! A FUCKING WOMAN ! And I'm a man ! Capable of things you can never at all permit unless not under influence of jugs of alcohol !"

"You think too much !"

"You think too little !"

"I'm worried about you ! You , you asshole !"

he wouldn't dare say he wasn't taken aback by such honesty , he looks aside and shakily sigh , "I'll be fine ." you shake your head , your hold on him shaking as well , "Stop leaving me all alone everytime , it's road ." he knew what you meant , but he'd rather act like he didn't . "It's rude ."

"Do you hate me ?" you sound less drunk and more whining . he says nothing as he stoops down the side of the bed and throws his coat by the single-seat sofa on the side of the small shelf . "As if you don't know the answer to that ." being honest and direct at the same time have long been an act overdue to him for you . he's never told you anything about how he feels about you , directly . he's never honestly told you that he hated , disliked you . it was always a vague kind of thing . too vague , like glasses fogged through cold days , never was the view in any way clear or straight , from behind it or in front of it . he's gone and veered you away from the idea . yet he goes and pushes you to it with how he behaves , around the men that obviously liked you , the men that deserved you , and even to you yourself .

"I kinda , don't ." you weren't drunk , he simply found it terribly impossible for you to be drunk . not when you're being this logical and sane , not when you're answering properly all of a sudden when all you've done was slur with your words from then to before now . as curiosity kills the cat and he's no cat in fear of being killed , he turns to see how exactly you could enter into his eyes .  how ironic it was that he seem to have forgotten to take in mind that you were always capable any moment where you could bring so much lax that the feeling of his mouth slacking into  slightly open lips , felt more natural than dramatic .

your eyes looked dazed , glossy , shining , aided by the sepia lights of his nightlight . cascaded was your entire being by said ray that you deemed more an angel than a drunk college childhood best friend . he wouldn't really say it aloud , something seems to pull his tongue to ever be able to . it frustrated him that someone like xiao could do something he never can , that some random strangers can compliment you way easier than he ever can . he had none to blame by himself . a part of him still found himself idiotic for falling for someone he had once labeled his rival . he can only ever acts to it , and though he had long believed that actions spoke louder than words , maybe that sort of thing never applied to you .

much like many other things never did .

he had gone and ignored the way his heart rampage , stood to get you a t-shirt of his . "Change , you stink so bad ." he said , already tossing the shirt to you by someway and getting his way into the bathroom to freshen up himself . "You stink so bad . . ." you mumble and he hears before the rustling that indicates you were changing then and there . after a while of self reminding to not or as he says to himself , don't do anything even if she acts like she doesn't care cause man you know as fucking well as i do that she does . he took a whole packaging of wet wipes before he went out of the bathroom completely . seeing you just sitting there with your bent legs by your thighs , your hair still a mess and your clothes already folded by the bedside drawer , topped upon one another . he wipes his face with his own towel as he drags eyes and see you in one of his shorts as well .

"Well , don't you have guts . Rummaging into my drawer like that ." you say nothing and simply look at him with those fish-dead eyes of yours . "Come here ." he says as he pats by the edge of the bed and you immediately go to him , wiping your face with one wet wipe , he goes on with his questioning now that you feel more sober . "How was your date with Xiao ?"

"It wasn't a date . . . Shut up ." you answer back , eyes still closed as he wipes your face fully . "Yet it looked like one ."

"Take me out on one and maybe you'll get to know what a real date actually is ." pinching at your nose with the wet wipe as barrier , he scolds your attempt of engaging with pick up lines , "Doofus ." he simply say , you tried to squirm from his hold as much as you can . he lets you go eventually . "I will , just fucking wait ." flicking your forehead like he would any other day , as if he hasn't said something that dazed your eyes tenfold .

"Why do I have to fuckening wait ?" you lean into him , your sloppy features looking half asleep , a state of yours he can't say he's not used to . "Because I said so ?" he shrugs , you groan . "Don't you like me ? Scaraboobs ?"

you asked this before too . the first time you were drunk . the first time he's met drunk y/n . you also asked this question , but your face wasn't calm , your eyes weren't closed , you didn't look like you're about to have your last time on earth with how in peace you were being . you were crying , weeping and sniffing , the question was the least of his worries when he got you in your own apartment snd sat you down by the entrance , as you told him to not go , and to not leave you , as that's the thing you want to not happen at all that day , to be left alone in that colorful of a home that was drenched in blue by you within selfish notions and emotions . you wanted him to paint that house a calming lavender , or a color akin to his eyes , something to remind him by , to surround you with . he knew of the unsaid wishes , even as all you did was sniff and look at him in a way he's seen you make a few times before .

when he said he had to go , you asked him the same thing . if he loved you , thought the nickname you used back then was scaraboobies . though the face you wore back then was sad and pitiful , enough that he didn't at all think it could possibly get any worse . so he answered , that he doesn't . he doesn't like you at all , and that you can pray to every shrine and god there is but there's no way he ever will . the way those words seem to not break you any further but to actually bring you together , won his stone cold heart's biggest crack . you blinked the jumble of tears away and nod , an oh leaving you within minutes and you shooed him out .

he felt hurt . though he did the hurting . he saw you by the campus the next day and he was ready to apologize though that's something he's never done . you weren't at all ever sensitive , and he wasn't at all ignorant of the fact . he never thought of the day coming where you'll ache with his words , or you'll think of anything by his meanings . maybe it was just his imagination that it'll ever come . as when he approached you , you were the same usual you . your face looking confused and puzzled when he asked you about that evening happenings and all you ever said was that , you couldn't remember anything .

he remembers how kazuha shook his head in utter disbelief when he turned his back to you to get to class and he let out the biggest sigh of relief . just treat her right already . which he ignored and dismissed with a i don't know what you mean , stop talking bullshit .

all said this and that , now is different .

he doesn't know what to say . no , he does know . the problem was that he didn't know , how . he should be relieved that you were the kind of drunk that forgets the events after not being sober , but he can't seem to lie anymore either . he opens up a bag of chips he's gone and grabbed from his way to the bed from the bathroom and opened up the package to get a chip and smack your mouth with it . "I do ." your eyes opening , the chip already gulped down , his answer entering your ears in such smooth sailing that your drunk eyes try to blink it away .

you still reeked of booze .

"Since when ?" if it really wasn't for the lingering of booze then he would've found you sober . "I can't tell . I just do ," he says , no more hesitancy , no more hiding , no more keeping it in . "Is that why you never let me give chocolates out when its valentines day ?"

"Why does it matter ? I give you the best shit you could ever want every white day anyway ." which was true , he still remembers how happy you were to receive those cute cellphone keychains that cost no more than a few dollars , as much as he wanted to buy you a pc set instead , he knew you'd just toss it into his face the moment he even dared offer it . "Is that why you stuck with me , even after so long ?"

your words sway , as you both just munch . as if the conversation wasn't heavy , as if it wasn't something you two should treat more seriously . "Well , duh ."

he doesn't really get where this was going . "Then why didn't you get all , saiyan when I was suggested to go on blind dates by my big bro ?" remembering the spam messaging of your brother about it , got him crashing a chip by his fingers to literal chunks almost nearing to being akin to powder or something . "Because I felt bad for always keeping you inexperienced with these things that your older brother found it logical to get you into dates himself ."

"You should've just told me you liked me then , smh ."

"What if you had rejected me if I did then ?" though aware that a part of you liked him , he's also aware of the parts of him that couldn't be liked . what if your questioning if he likes you or not was just to ridicule him of his long built crush on a person he's long said he despised ? what if , you were incapable of loving him back as he's loved you ? what if the chance of things staying the same decrease to such minimum that it amounted to nothing ? he wanted to tell you these things , once he's sure you liked him back . for someone with such big ego and self confidence , he loses all composure once he pictures you in his head . in more ways than one . hiding behind insults and cussings yet it all seeps from him , with the way he touches and hold and grazes his own limbs with yours , it felt pathetic to be this foolishly under you .

you who never looked at anyone in that way but him . you who never at all rejected any of things he's given . you who never seemed to have any sort of denial with feelings he's yet to unveil , but who does he think he is to think that way . he's liked you , he can't even remember since when , how it happened , what events pushed him to such conclusion , but he doesn't despise any of said emotions . seeing you smile became a daily source of relief , your voice always brought him nothing but butterflies , tickling at his guts . when you were around , the world was blooming . flowers of each kind , everywhere on sight . he had once believed that love was foolish , selfish , idiotic and a nuisance to boot .

he still agrees to such statement , but he's admitted that he's fallen for you . his love for you is foolish , selfish , idiotic and a nuisance . it felt blissful and it almost had him portray such heavy ignorance , but then again , who could blame him , we are , talking about you after all .

"I won't , reject you . I wouldn't have , and I never will ." to be accepted for who he is , to be loved for what he's shown , other people are capable of such feat he knew , but he knew he wouldn't have settled for anyone but you . no matter how much his brain fuzzed around at your current inkling , current looking and current everything . "You're drunk ." he helplessly scoff , a hopeless chuckle leaving him at midst of it all as he looks down at the sheets , staring at the way its all crinkled by how you've rolled and moved around atop of it .

"I am ."

"Don't say these shits then ."

"Why not ?"

"It'll hurt knowing you're only saying these because you're drunk ." the idea of getting hurt , he's never felt that way unless the circumstances had your name written all over it . you only hum , fully understanding him , yet again . "These are true , I'm not saying them because I'm drunk ."

how can he believe you when you reek of booze . when your eyes are all unfocused , when your face is all warm , when you look as if any minute now you'll pass out . he shakes his head . "You don't love me ." trying to flee away from the way a hand of yours have cupped a cheek of his . he wasn't near to crying , but it felt like he was . air gone and almost nonexistent in his lungs as he try to move away yet couldn't . no matter how light your hold was he just couldn't move away . yearning the way you held him so gently , like you've loved him all along . like hurting him is never one of your options . like you'd choose him no matter who there was to come . like you'd stay by his side as he breathes . like you'd never abandon him for any of his misdeeds .

"I do ."

"You're drunk , Y/n ."

"A liar too ." he looks up with what you'd said , his face looking more hurt than ever , you haven't even done anything . "I don't forget shits when I'm drunk . I remember things well . Yes , it is kinda hard to speak straight right now , but I'm as sane as I can get ." sure you were , he gulps down nothing . "Then why did you say you didn't remember anything ?"

"Because you said you didn't love me ."

"Huh ?"

"I love you , Scaramouche ."

it wasn't all that of a sentence he's never heard before . he's heard it more than a million times . said to him shyly , calmly or loudly , he never at all bats an eye . but when you said that to him he couldn't blink , as if he didn't wish to go to waste the face you make as you say such words that made his blood flow rise , his heart race and temperature go high . pupils dilating at how he leans into you like you did , as if he couldn't believe you said those things . "You fucking what ?"

"I fucking love you , Scaramouche ! Yeah ? You hear me ? Like I love you , not in a bestie or broski kinda way , in a way that I'd want us to date , to marry and to be together forever and never be apart ." you by no chance looked shy as you say that , you look at him straight , and as if on cue he lost his breath again . "You're drunk ." he repeats , the third time , and you click your tongue to drag his face by his cheeks on your palms to get him to look at you . "I am ."

"You don't mean this ."

"But oh , I fucking do ."

"Then why have you never told me at all , you fucking knew how I felt about you—" you cut him off with a loud denial , "I DIDN'T ! OKAY ? I didn't ! Never at all in this shitty life of mine have I ever steeled my guts enough to have ever assumed you liked me too ! Didn't you say , multiple fucking times that you hated my guts ? You said that thing when I was drunk one time too ."

you were crying . again . but this time , he didn't make a decision to leave , open the door and leave you there . "Yet even all those words crumble with how you act . You get mad when a guy comes near me and they obviously like me . You get angry when I'm sad , tired , mad or whatever . You smile at me so longingly when I'm doing even just nothing . You were always there for me ."

"That should've made it obvious then ."

you shake your head , bottom lip bitten , a look of pure annoyance in your eyes , drowned with tears , your face seems to melt as it all drip , "You dated other girls . Plural , multiple . Pretty , petite , kind and feminine women . You don't ever , tell me anything directly . It's almost like , you were just doing those things because it was an obligation , because you knew of my situation , you knew that I didn't have anyone else to lean on . How would I know if you were really just a softie , that I'm all special and not just someone you feel the need to care for ? You never tell me shit , Scara ."

"Because you also never told me anything , Y/n . You never have shown a reaction of some sort—HOW THE FUCK WOULD I HAVE KNOWN MYSELF ?! When to stop with the jealous play ? When to confess and when to relay anything when you're a statue unmoving and seemingly okay with everything ?!"

you move back , not afraid of his loud voice , he knew that wasn't the reason . he pulls you by your shoulders , he can't have you running away . you started this conversation , it's not ending with you falling asleep or running away un-sober . "I'm telling you , right now ." your voice hitched , throat empty , words came out like sharp sharingans and you were crying heavily . "I love you . I love you . I love you so much . I love you so fucking much !" you kept on hitting his chest as he held on your elbows . he guessed it always ends with you crying . "So tell me already , that you , piece of shit that I love so much , feel the fucking same . Fully , in a full sentence , with your own words , with your own , volition . Tell me , Scara ." he pulls you in for a hug , a gentle pull by the shoulders which you didn't take long at all to respond to . aligning your body with his and crying on his shoulder like a kid meeting her mother she's long thought was dead .

unexpected as it is for one like you to cry like this . it's more unexpected that he pulls you in for a rough kiss . clash of lips so soft , experience dripping with every push of his lips on yours and he knew you hated that . but you kissed back . his hands resting on your waist as he keeps your upper bodies elevated , he pulls away with a smile as if to prove to his world , to you , that oh , he's happy . happier than he can ever be .

"I fucking love you too ."

one last sentence , before he dips in for another kiss again . well deserved , after long years , finally , he's said words he's long wished he had . and you have no qualms with it , you even speak of loving him yourself . now , there's just one thing to hope all his barely there hope for , will you still be able to remember any of this tomorrow ? or at least , when you do wake up , sober and you .

SCARA-LiNE ! / WORK NAVi !

[just-a-quirkless-loser]

Invective Pain

Alpha Bakugou x F!Omega Reader

Words: 2.4k

Requested by: @goatsenpaiultimate

Hehe, sorry for the wait you guys. It’s been a rough few weeks for me. Also, the song ‘Butterfly’s Repose’ by Zabawa is amazing to listen to while you read this💜

Warnings: harsh language, Bakugou being an asshole, angst

“Get the fuck off me.”

“Alpha, please.”

“I said, get off. What the hell is wrong with you? You’ve been too clingy,” you prove his point and cling to his arm.

“I miss you,” you try to nuzzle his neck so he can scent you. With your wolf quirk, it was getting harder and harder to stay away from Bakugou for long periods of time. Your instincts were on hyperdrive, always wanting him within your reach so you knew he was safe.

“Don’t you understand what ‘no’ means?” Bakugou tenses up as you continue trying to climb his body. Due to his inability to express himself, he’s still not used to your affections.

“I can’t help it,” you ruffle your tail to prove your point.

“Well, try harder to help it.”

“But, alpha-“

“No, I’m sick and tired of your bullshit. As soon as I come home, you want to climb all over me. I can’t even take a fucking shower,” you hunch into yourself as you take a step away from him. Looking back on it, he did have a point. You could stand to at least allow him a few moments to himself before you bombard him. But, it’s just hard on you.

Because of your quirk, you’ve always been the type to cling to people and try to protect them. You miss your parents because you considered them to be your pack but, that all changed when you met Bakugou. After a few months of dating, you moved in with Bakugou (your inner Omega told you she’d love to start her own pack with him). However, it’s been a difficult transition.

Bakugou normally takes your clinginess in stride but, it’s been hard for him lately. All he wants to do is take you underneath him and nuzzle you and treat you like a queen. But, he’s been dealing with this case. It’s been stressing him out and he’s never been the type to deal with stress in a correct way.

“I’m sorry.”

“Fuck, I- FUCK! Omega. I just can’t keep doing this. You’re fucking annoying. This was a mistake. We shouldn’t have moved in together,” his words stung in your mind like a swarm of hornets, making you yelp in your mind. Although, no one would ever be able to tell your inner turmoil from the calm look on your face. Why does he have to tear you down with his words? What does he gain from your dissociation? Does it bring him satisfaction to win the argument? Even at the expense of your heart? The same heart he swore to protect when he chose you as a mate.

“I’m sorry,” and you don’t understand why. You just stand there with a blank expression, no longer feeling that your heart is safe in his hands. And, that is worse than losing an argument the two of you have.

“Sorry doesn’t cut it. I’m tired of you sticking to my fucking side like a toddler. You’re always hovering over me. I need space,” you intend to give him all the space he needs. “Selfish extra.”

He doesn’t know what his words do to you as he goes to the room you share, bumping you out of his way. You want to cry, you want to chirp, you want to-to-die; without him-without your alpha- what is there to live for?

Your omega crawls to your heart, shriveling up like a raisin as if your soul has been sucked by a vacuum. You feel your heart drop; the first sign of Omega Depression and you don’t tell Katsuki. How can you?

He made it clear how bothersome you were in his life. You never meant to be a burden to him. All you wanted to do was love him and give him the love he lacked from his teenage years. But, it’s transparent that you’re not wanted by the person your soul has imprinted upon.

You sit on the couch, staring into nothingness. What did you do wrong? What was so wrong with wanting to love him? You feel weak. Maybe if Katsuki had someone stronger, someone who could take his invective words in stride, he’d be happier.

As you wallow in your own pain, Katsuki is upstairs taking a shower. Part of him feels relieved to finally have some space to himself and the other scolds him for what said; he barely remembers what he said to you exactly. All he knows that your face is blank so, he assumes it’s not too bad since you weren’t crying.

He walks out of the shower expecting to see you but, he’s greeted with an empty bed. He figures you just want space to be angry so, he lets you stay downstairs.

‘It’ll be fine tomorrow,’ it won’t. As he dozes off to that thought, you were downstairs stuck in your mind. It's your fault for always forgiving him after he’s verbally ruined you You just thought your love for him outweighed anything he said to you. But, your unconditional love has reached its limit.

You wait till he falls asleep before you break the facade (you still want him to get his sleep so he can wake up healthy tomorrow). You heave and whimper as you curl into a ball on the cold living room floor. You shake from the force of your tears, tears falling like rain in the spring. You’re trying to smile to stop the tears but, your mouth ends up in a horrible grimace as you silently berate yourself. Your hands scrape at your arms, nails taking patches of your skin as a way to distract your mind. You don’t sleep that night; you don’t sleep for any of the nights that follow.

When you hear your alpha’s alarm clock sound, you climb on the couch with your face smooshed to the cushions. Katsuki follows his nightly routine, not even checking to see if you’re okay. He just gets dressed for his patrol and leaves breakfast on the table for you, kissing your hair goodbye before he leaves out the door.

You’re once again crying as you just lay there. You don’t bother to call your job to notify them of your absence. If anything, you just lay there, your tail curled around your body as if it’s protecting you from the world.

You feel useless against your heart because you know you shouldn’t have allowed Bakugou’s temper to get to this point. You had suggested therapy and anger management to him many times but, he was persistent in telling you that he had it under control. You knew he thought seeking therapy was weak (as he thinks most things are weak) but, you just wanted him to think before he spoke.

You can tell that he’s tried to do better for you and you appreciate that but, it’s not enough anymore.

This was the last straw. Not because you still don’t love him but, because you’re now in your Omega’s Depression. It’s a fairly new phenomenon. The doctors warned Omegas and Alphas that their second genders could drive them into a comatose state if the genders were met with unfavorable conditions. Your omega has started the process and you can only hope that Katsuki figures that out before it’s too late.

At first, Bakugou didn’t think anything about your attitude. He just thought you were giving him space (which he hated. It feels weird to him to be alone when he was always with you and he’s too prideful to admit that) however, he knows something is wrong when you start to avoid him.

You don’t talk to him like you use to, you don’t cook his favorite spicy ramen anymore, hell, you don’t even come to bed anymore. It’s like two strangers living in the same house (well, roommates would be more accurate). And, he misses you.

“Why are you sleeping on that shitty couch?” He’s standing above you with his arms folded, head to the side so he can hide his blush. You don’t respond, dried tear stains on your cheeks.

“Not gonna answer? What you’re too good to speak to me?” He squats down to eye-level. His breath fans across your face, the smokey caramel of his scent bringing more tears to your eyes. “Omega?”

You still don’t answer. He takes that as you still being angry about the argument; he also notes the change in your scent.

“Tch,” he walks to the bedroom and comes back with a few blankets so he can make a small hammock beside the couch at your side. He slips into the covers, hand upon your waist so he can feel you. “Goodnight, Omega.”

The next day, you’re still in the same spot on the couch above him. He does his routine, this time spending longer at saying goodbye.

“I’ll be back, Omega. Cuddling wouldn’t be the worse thing when I get home,” you stare blankly.

“And, I put some of your favorite cookies on the table,” still nothing.

“I love you,” nothing. And, that’s how he knows that everything is wrong. He spends the day on patrol, withdrawn from his hero-work. All he can think about is that blank look in your eye, the stillness of your home, the taste of failure on his tongue.

‘I fucked up,’ he sure did.

He comes home and you're still in the same spot. He doesn’t even think you got up to use the bathroom. You’re the first thing he attends to when his boots cross the threshold.

“Omega, you need a bath,” you don’t move so he picks you up bridal style and carries you to the bathroom. Your body is sweating and that stench gets even worse. “Omega, I’m sorry.”

But, sorry doesn’t fix everything. Sorry is nothing when you truly hurt someone. Sorry is when someone feels obligated to correct their wrongs (not because they want to). Sorry is the Black Licorice of apologies.

“Have you gone to work?” No. He knows you haven’t but, he just wants you to talk to him. His alpha cries for his mate yet, she doesn’t respond. “Baby?”

The bath is spent in silence as you sag on him. His hand's card through your (h/c) hair, trying to release some of your tension. It’s such an intimate moment of him caressing your body as though you are a precious work of art. His lips latched onto the mating mark on the side of your neck, reminding you that he cares.

When he gets you out of the tub, he dries you with your favorite fluffy towel. His carmine eyes gaze at you adoringly from your navel, blonde hair resting against your belly. One in a while, he’ll kiss your legs and feet, silently showing how much he truly cares for you.

Night rolls around and you both follow the same routine as before; you’re laying on the couch and he’s laying beside you on the floor. You’re not eating and that terrifies him. Sadly, this goes on for another month. And, Katsuki is growing desperate to have his omega back.

“I allowed my anger to do this to her- to me-to us. And, now, I don’t know if I can help her anymore,” he joined an anger management group (which, coincidentally helped his public image as well) after he realized the argument caused the rift in your relationship.

And, you’re proud of him on the inside, even if you can’t show it. At least he’s trying but, your omega just turns a blind eye to his efforts. You commend Katsuki for not giving up though.

‘It must be hard trying to change and improve for someone and they don’t even acknowledge your existence,’ you do feel bad for him. It seems that your love does outweigh his words.

But, you’re dying. He knows it. You know it. It’s known. He just won’t accept it.

“Omega,” you’re unconscious. He came home from the weekly session to find you unresponsive (well, more unresponsive than what you’ve been). “Omega, fuck-please-I God I, please wake up.”


So, you’re at the hospital now. The antiseptic burns your sensitive nose as you’re propped up on the hospital bed, sheets crinkling under your body. The doctors told Bakugou that you didn’t really have long to live but, he just can’t allow you to go without trying his best to save you.

“Omega, please, look at me,” you look at him but, it’s like you’re not seeing him. Your eyes don’t have the shine they used to. “Omega, please.”

You can’t answer him. What if you said the wrong thing? You were clinging to life by a single strand of fiber, death clinging to your scent. You knew you couldn’t handle it if Katsuki’s words hurt you once more.

“Please, talk to me, yell at me. Hit me. Do anything,” you can’t. Your voice is stuck in your mind. “Get mad. Throw something. Spit on me! Push me away. Shit, anything. Please just please please pleaseeee, fucking, please. PLEASE I’M NOT STRONG ENOUGH TO BE WITHOUT YOU. Please stop looking like you want to die.”

“But, I do,” you hope he can understand.

“NO! NO NO! I FUCKING NEED YOU. I LOVE YOU,” he chokes on his words as he gathers your face in his hands. “I’m such a piece of shit. It takes you dying for me to realize how much I love you. But, I do. I love you so much it hurts. I can’t lose you.”

“Wipe your tears,” you brush your thumbs across his cheek to gather his tears. “I’m right here.”

“How can you love me still? Your will to live is fucking weak and it’s my fault! And, I’m sitting here asking you to hold on for me. You don’t even have to speak to me. Just stay here. I promise I’ll stay here with you. You can’t leave me.”

“Bakugou-“

“For fuck's sake, It’s Katsuki to you! I did this to you. I’m so sorry for what I said. I’m sorry for pushing you away when I felt I didn’t deserve your love. I’m sorry for making you feel the pain I felt all these years. I’m sorry for being a shitty alpha,” he cries in your lap as you pat his back. Your omega stores, crooning to help her alpha. You’re not dead; the future may look bleak but, you know it will finally bring you the love you longed for.

————————————————————————-

Tag List💕

@orokayagi @sakurashortstack @sinclairsamess