#one day will be too late to choose recovery

[caffeinatedopossum]

Eating disorder recovery remains the hardest thing I've ever done/continue to do. And I've been through a lot

So yeah, if you're struggling with it right now or don't want to recover at the moment, that's understandable

[nightingale-prompts]

Batboy is back baby!

First | Previous | Next

(Back to the regularly scheduled idiots)

Life was not quite back to normal. Danny's lack of wings meant he didn't hang from the ceiling anymore. He also started eating less, he wasn't as much of a fiend for fruits anymore. The white fur collar he had started shedding until there was only a thin layer left.

Danny slept most of the day only moving to new spots occasionally. He would choose the most inconvenient spots as well. Like the roof.

One such day Danny was sleeping soundly in the midday sun when a portal opened behind him. A hand grabbed Danny by the ankle back onto the Ghost Zone. He only managed a single yelp before he was face to face with Clockwork.

"What part of come back do you not understand?" He scolded holding the boy in the palm of his hand.

Danny rolled over in the icy blue hand and sighed. He didn't bother looking up at "Kronos" in his titan form. He knew that it meant that his mentor was in a very bad mood.

"Now look at you. You have bearly staved off going into stasis. You are not fully formed yet young man and can't survive in the physical realm without an energy source. What have you been feeding on other than your own energy reserves?!" He lectured before another voice cut in.

"Go easy on him my love. Let me." Nocturne soothed taking Danny into his hands.

Danny was thankful for a moment before realizing that Nocturne's head was that of a ram which meant he was also mad.

Its very easy to read the emotions of god-level entities. The more imposing and non-humanoid the worse they feel.

"Daniel...what did I tell you to do late time we spoke?" Nocturne's red eyes narrowed, and his horizontal pupils shrank.

Danny knew this was a trap.

"Speak boy." Nocturne ordered.

"To return-"

"To return to the realms!" Nocturne bleated "And yet you stubbornly remained. Now look, you are practically wilting away! You are still a millennia too young to be this reckless. I should ban you from the physical realm. Putting you in a dream bubble for a century would teach you a lesson."

Danny knew that this was a bluff. Nocturne was a huge softie and never went through with a punishment. Clockwork on the other hand never made false promises.

" No, my Lamb. We shouldn't. Not yet at least." Clockwork sighed "For now we should concern ourselves with helping him recover."

Danny sighed with relief as the Titans let him go for now.

He had to leave a note for Dick that he would be at his homeworld for a few days. Clockwork also left a note to assure Dick that Danny was in good hands and is also being grounded.

Recovery by ghost standards was similar to humans.

Ambient ectoplasm could heal with enough time but it's by no means fast. It would take years for Danny to get back to his old self. When Danny first came back after being torn open the recovery was painfully slow without proper care. If Clockwork hadn't stepped in then Danny would still be in that state.

The first step is food. Despite what you'd think ghosts eat. They all have to eat something to survive, but they all just have their favorite foods.

Nocturne was a desire eater.

Clockwork by nature ate everything

Danny himself is a fear eater.

Fear eaters are the most common among ghosts.

But these are abstract foods.

Physical foods also exist. Ghosts cultivate foods of their own.

Danny's favorites are a bowl of Ice Scream with Ambrosia chunks, neck-tarine lemonade, the devil's eggs, and candied meal worms.

It sure beats eating honeyed dates, bread, and cheese with Clockwork and Nocturne. But a growing ghost has to eat alter food to grow in power.

So Danny can only eat offerings until further notice.

Clockwork also sent Danny to do tasks and training.

"You need to steel your mind. Your perception of yourself is too flimsy. The more you believe yourself to be small or a child the more your body becomes so. The more negative emotions you direct at yourself the worst you will appear." Clockwork droned on and on showing Danny complex diagrams about how to properly use his powers.

The time ghost had been firm about not teaching Danny any new abilities until he got this down.

Danny was not enthusiastic. He bearly made it though the first lecture on this.

"Give him a break. How about letting me show him some examples?" Nocturne said entering the room with a tray of tea. "Come with me. We'll go to the menagerie."

For the next few days, Danny was given a crash course on biology and mental conditioning. He practiced changing his form as quickly as possible and accurately copying. Nocturne was strict but fair. Nocturne was actually one of the best when it came to shifting.

On the last day, Danny hugged his mentors goodbye for now. Clockwork made sure to fasten a talisman around Danny's neck that would keep them in contact and help Danny control his power better so he didn't lose too much energy. Nocturne handed Danny a bag of golden Ambrosia for the road.

And like that, Danny was back home. Recharged and ready.

****

Dick tried not to be worried about Danny. He understood that since he wasn't entirely human he had to recover differently. But you can't blame him for feeling anxious.

Going missing once was problem enough.

When he returned to the apartment the first thing to greet him when he opened the door was something fuzzy flying at his face.

That fuzzy thing was a squeaking sliver bat that had somehow go in the house.

Dick peeled it off his face as the bat gleefully chirped at him.

"How did you get in little guy? Did Damian hide you in here?" Dick said as the Bat climbed up his suit.

Suddenly a heavy weight pressed down on him as the albino bat turned into Danny. Dick toppled to the floor.

"Dad!! Look! I finally did it! I flew!" Danny said leaning over Dick and smiling from ear to ear. His blue eyes flashed green.

Dick was stunned silent as he took in the last few seconds.

Did Danny call him dad?

[writersdrug]

The Good Friend

Chapter 1. A New Hobby

Summary: Johnny regularly checks up on Ghost after he sustained a bullet to the hip on their most recent deployment. It's already too late for him to escape, once he sees what's kept his beloved lieutenant so occupied over the past few days.

Warnings: DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT, kidnapping, implied violence, restraining, psychotic behavior, blood, forced to help in kidnapping, obsessive behavior. DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE SENSITIVE TO THESE TOPICS. By clicking "Keep Reading" you are consenting to be responsible for the media you consume.

A/N: The people have spoken

Simon on medical leave: a disaster and a headache for the rest of the 141.

There's a daily text along the lines of "Let me know when we get shipped out next." It never mattered how many times Price responded with "You're not joining us for a while. Find a hobby, Simon." He was persistent in coming back to work as soon as possible - shattered hip be damned.

Price had given Soap the job of checking up on the poor brute. "Maybe he misses the usual company." He'd say. "Go see 'im, check in with the muppet."

Soap was a good friend, but there was only so much grumbling he could stomach from Simon. Those "check-ins" would turn into a pity party, with Simon saying "I should be out there, helpin' you lot. Only wastin' away in 'ere. Losin' my head." And it was true - every time Johnny visited, there was an open can of beer on the coffee table, or a glass of whiskey in his hand. The bottle of prescription, opioid pain killers on the kitchen table. Some ill-advised coping mechanism within arm's reach.

It hurt Johnny to see it, it really did. He cared about Simon, missed him, would do anything to get his beloved L.T. back on the team. But he knew the man needed rest and recovery, despite how much it was sending Simon into a spiral. Johnny offered to help clean up his place, but Simon angrily denied the offer. "Don't need a bloody caretaker." He spat.

Just tryin' to be a good friend, Soap wanted to say, but instead he answered with a slam of Simon's front door and a hushed "feckin' bastard."

Johnny was tired of it. When the fuck was this medical leave supposed to end? Apparently, in two weeks ("thank the feckin' lord") -

But, Soap soon discovered, Simon had requested more time off.

Price stated he'd said something about "still not feeling right", which immediately had Soap confused. That old bawbag would've been back in the game the second the bullet was out of his hip, if it wasn't for regulations. It festered in the back of his mind all day: why would Simon do that? What could possibly hold his attention more than the task force? More than Johnny?

There was only one way to find out.

Soap stands in front of Simon's door, knocking loudly against the dark wood. An unexpected visit, which Simon might be frustrated by - but Soap is dying to see what's got his lieutenant so preoccupied. Hopefully, he hasn't fallen into a pit of depression, choosing to drink himself to death, rather than come back to the team.

However, after just a few moments of standing on his porch, Simon answers it rather quickly. And he looks happy. Delighted, even.

"'Bout time, Johnny." Simon says, stepping aside to let him in. "Was wondering if you got lost."

"Was wonderin' if you'd gone crazy." Soap banters back, kicking the door shut behind him. "Cap said ye want more time?"

Simon chuckled quietly, locking the deadbolt behind Soap. He shoves his hands - gloved hands - into his sweatshirt pocket. "Took his advice. Found a hobby."

"Lemme guess: knittin' me a Christmas sweater?"

"You fuckin' wish."

It's good. It makes Soap sigh with relief (internally), seeing Simon in such good spirits. He tosses the pack of blems onto the coffee table and follows Simon into the kitchen. The smell of rubbing alcohol hits him before he sees the counter; bandages, gauze, bloody gauze, hydrogen peroxide, and an open suture kit.

He stops in the doorway to the kitchen, his teeth bared in a wince. "Shite, Ghost- ye reopen tha' bullet wound?" he says, lifting up one of the bloodied pieces of gauze.

"Hm?" Simon turns to face him, then looks at what he's holding. "Oh- nah, I'm fine. Luvie here bumped her head."

Johnny looks up, confused, following Simon's back with his eyes as he makes his way into the dining room - his mind goes blank when he sees the poor, bloodied thing, tied to one of the chairs.

You're staring back at him, hair messed and blood dried against a nasty gash on your forehead. Fabric is stuffed into your mouth, with a strip of duct tape securing it around your head. Your eyes light up with hope as they take Johnny in; you're heaving, poor thing, breaths more like whines as you fight through the delirium of your concussion. Your right ankle is swollen and a nasty shade of purple. Blood all over the chair, your thighs, and now, Johnny finally notices, Simon's hands.

"Dinged 'erself pretty good on my bookcase." Simon says, too calmly, his broad frame standing behind the chair you're strapped into. "Slippery lil' thing, she is."

Simon rips the duct tape off - your voice immediately fills the room, echoing inside Soap's head with your begging and pleading, please please please get me out of here, please help me, he kidnapped me, he's a monster, please-

Johnny has to look away - there's too much noise, too much going on - his eyes trail down the dark hall and into Simon's bedroom. The bookshelf is toppled over, volumes strewn about the floor, a lamp shattered on the ground and casting an eerie angle of light through the room. He hears the sound of his own blood pumping, his chest and throat feel tight, mind racing a million miles a second. Did his LT do this? His Simon?

"Johnny."

He turns back to you. The duct tape is back in place, and now you're weakly thrashing about as much as you can - which really isn't much. Ghost is staring at Soap, one of his hands wrapped around your shoulder, knuckles white with how hard he's gripping you; which is most likely what's making you cry so much.

"Need ya to help stitch 'er up." Simon says, his eyes cold. It's an order. "'Fore she bleeds out on us."

Johnny feels like he's going to vomit. He needs to stop thinking, to stop shaking, and do something. His lieutenant's kidnapped a bloody civilian, for Christ's sake. Why? And what the fuck did he do to her?

"Won't let me touch 'er. Hard to stitch the wound when she's throwin' a fit - damn near stabbed 'er in the eye. I'll hold 'er while you do th' job."

Johnny finally inhales after holding his breath for so long. He stumbles backwards into the kitchen, remembering where the front door is, thinking he should have been in his car and on the phone with the police by now. If he does, though, Simon will be gone forever. Locked up in prison, far away from Soap. How can he save this? How can he save you, and him? "Simon, ye- ye can't be serious, mate-"

"If you walk out tha' fuckin' door I'll kill 'er before you reach it."

That ruffles your feathers. You're whimpering again, screaming against the gag - at him? At Ghost? He freezes where he stands, trying to remember his training. Act first, think later. Do what keeps the most people alive in the moment. That's what Simon had taught him. The same man who was threatening to kill you, ironically, based on what Soap decided to do.

"Get the sutures off the counter." Simon ordered, apparently sensing Soap's inner turmoil. He knows Johnny wouldn't leave you there, not after the threat.

He couldn't.

Soap exhaled heavily through his teeth, forcing his muscles to move. He snatched the suture kit off the counter and stormed back into the living room. He heard Ghost hum in approval as he slapped it down on the table.

"You do it." he said, his voice low and full with grit. "Ye stitch 'er up, I'll help ye take her to the hospital. We come back n' clean up-"

"Shut the fuck up-" Simon growled out to Soap, gripping your chin in his large hand and yanking your head back against his abdomen. "Get to work. Don't let 'er die on me, now."

Die. Die. You had a concussion and a headwound, but you weren't dying - still, he knew that wasn't what Ghost meant. If Soap didn't help, you would die, one way or another. He had to think of this differently, for the time being. He was helping you. He'd take this little by little - first, patch you up. Figure out what the fuck to do with you later; also, how to keep this from ruining Simon's career, because he couldn't leave the task force. Soap wouldn't let that happen.

So, he took the needle and sutures in his hand, and knelt on the floor, between your restrained legs. Ignored the way you screamed and thrashed, only held still by Ghost's meaty paws. Didn't focus on Ghost's satisfied grin. He was doing this to save your life, you'd understand that later. He was doing this to save Simon's career.

Like a good friend.

Next ->

Taglist: @a-sadmilky

Ghost photo credit to @chatskaja

[magics-neptunes-things]

The Dork And The Nerd

Hello there!

I didn't post anything with Leah since like for ever, so there it is!

Please enjoy :)

TW : None I think, or please let me know :)

Looking around the room, you readjust the camera one last time before starting your stream. It’s your job, even if some people are still saying that it isn’t a real job and stupid things like that.

You were winning your life easily with it, living your dream. You always loved playing video games, you started alone because it wasn’t what your little sisters were loving to do. When you discovered online games it was a life changing for you. You started streaming when you were 18 years old, which was seven years ago now. It was hard at first to be honest, being a woman in this man world.

But you find some friends in popular streamers who took you under their wings and help you to be where you are now.

You have several thousand people who follow you to each of your live, four night each week. You still have some shit to deal with, like harassers, but you took a manager who is the one reading your mail. He takes on him to choose your different partnership and sometimes answer to the people sending you strange things.

You are openly gay, but that doesn’t make stop some of men to send you disturbing pictures. Thanks god it’s your agent who see them, but you are aware of it. Just like your girlfriend, though.

You start your stream like usual, saying hello to your followers and talking a little bit about actuality or what you did today. You have a white kitten, who you called Purrito, who is almost as famous as you are. He keeps coming when you are playing, sometimes lying on your hand, or trying to catch the mouse of your computer. You already have a lot of bloopers because of him, but you can’t be mad with him.

Lately, your passion for video games seems to have catch the attention of your girlfriend. She always was looking at you when you are streaming, when she can. You usually do it during the evening so she’s back from training or games.

When Leah asked you to learn to her how to play video games, at first you thought she was messing with you. But she was really serious and ask you one more time. And who are you to refuse something to your girlfriend?

At first it was just to have fun, but you soon have an idea, and you used your best puppy eyes to get your girlfriend agreed with it. You wanted to make her play with you, but without her showing her face in your screen.

You never talked about Leah being your girlfriend, even if you are together for two years now. The public know that you are in a relationship, you sometimes mention your girlfriend live. They just don’t know who she is.

You met Leah at a ceremony and Katie who is a fan of your job took Leah when she went to met you. You were happy to met Katie, but you find yourself thunderstruck by Leah. You don’t remember if you were really coherent that night, but Leah followed you back almost immediately when you did it on Instagram.

You waited the next Arsenal games to sent her a message, congratulating her for her performance. You even take a picture of you in the stand with your father (who really was surprised when you ask him to go with you to a women football game). Leah answered you that next time you come you have to tell her, so she could give you a better seat.

You didn’t know if she was serious or not, but she then asked you the next game in London if you are coming and she find you a seat in the friends and family area. After the game she offers you to go for a drink. You then had other dates, and the rest is history.

You got together one month before she did her ACL and even if it was a hard time, you both get stronger. You let Lia Wälti take the lead in Leah’s recovery, but you were always around to help too. When Lia return to her home, you were the one staying with Leah at night. And you kept taking her in her rehab and cooking for her.

The day Leah started to run again, you were at the training to watch her. This is the day where she officially asked you to move in with her now that she could do things alone again. Unless cooking maybe, but that’s another question.

You accepted of course and the blonde happily transformed one of her guest room in your studio of stream.

It’s where you are now, Leah peacefully setting on your living room, ready to go live with you.

“Oh, it looks like our guest is here” you smile when you see that Leah is connected too. “Hi Baby!”

You only said to your viewers that it was your girlfriend, without saying anything else. You are aware that maybe someone will recognize Leah’s voice, but it would be fun anyway.

“Hi Love” she answers.

You make a reminder of the game you were going to play, for her first live Leah chose a car games, Trackmania. It wasn’t your favorite game, but you were so happy that she said yes to you that you would have accept a Tetris game.

“How are you?” you ask her, while making the game ready.

“I’m fine. Happy to play with you tonight.”

“I am happy too” you smile before looking at the camera. “Let’s have her a good evening guys so she will accept to do it more often yeah?”

You hear Leah chuckle, and you can’t help but smile. You already are seeing comments saying that you look whipped, what makes you roll your eyes. It seems to you that Leah’s voice is a little different from what it is in reality, but maybe your mind is playing trick.

You play several runs with Leah, before switching to another game after talking with your chat who recommend to you to make Leah try an adventure RPG. When you look at the clock again, it’s past midnight.

“Oh wow I didn’t realize that it was already so late” you exclaimed yourself. “We are going to stop here guys, I’m sorry. Maybe next time we will try Minecraft or something else, I’ll let you know. I hope you had as fun as I had Babe.”

“It was really fun. Thank you for inviting me.”

You can hear Leah smile and you can’t wait to go to the living room for a cuddle and kiss session. When you played together until know, you were able to show each other or tease the other with kisses.

“You will be invited for more times” you smirk.

Leah left and you take the time to thanks your viewers a little more longer before logging off. You stretch, finishing your bottle of water before going to find Leah. You run on the stairs and Leah already knew you were coming before you jump on the couch next to her.

She laughs when you attack her with kisses all over her face, finishing on her lips.

“Did you really have fun?” you ask, looking at her with attention.

She nods, playing with your hair. She’s smiling and every time you look at her, you wonder how in the world you get so lucky. She’s perfect.

“I did” she smiles at you. “I’m not saying that I want to do that all the night every night, but it was great.”

“Mh I maybe have another idea for us to have fun all night” you smirk.

The tone of your voice is very obvious and if Leah had one doubt, she just has to look the way you are looking at her. Your fingers run on her tight and you kiss her one more time, before sucking slightly at her neck.

Leah gulp and just hums, tilting her head on the side for you to have a better access. You know what you are doing, after more than two years, you know Leah’s body and reactions like the back of your hand.

“Let’s go to bed” Leah decides several seconds after, taking your hand before dragging you in your bedroom on the first floor.

********

“It was a great session.”

You smile at Leah who came to your studio after you played together again. You were still sitting when she entered the room, and she passed her hand around your shoulder from behind to kiss your cheek.

“It was” you smile before turning your chair to face Leah.

She sits on your lap, and you pass your arms around her. It wasn’t the second time that you are playing together while you are streaming, today you chose Fifa and it was very fun. You made the pact not to play with Arsenal or England, but it was still very funny. Leah is a very bad looser, so you play several games in the same team too.

“People are starting to have some suspicion though” Leah says.

She was right, you saw on social media some things about your girlfriend being Leah. But it wasn’t the only name coming.

“Yeah, they said I will make a great couple with some of your teammates too” you shrug, before counting on your fingers “They are talking about Sabrina, Alessia, Kyra and Lia.”

Leah frown, not really liking the picture who comes in her mind.

“Nah. You’re mine.” she answers possessively.

“Do you want to tell people?”

Leah looks at you, thinking for several seconds before answering. This is lasting for some weeks now and you know that you can’t stay hidden forever. You attract the attention of the world by playing together.

“Not now. It’s fun like this, don’t you think?”

“It is” you confirm with a smile.

Leah has the habit to be coupled with every teammate and you are sometimes shipped with other streamers. You like to stream with other of them, certain being your friends too. There is nothing much, but that doesn’t stop people to imagine that you are dating one of them.

But you have to admit too that your stream with Leah attracts more people than usual, and you are a little scared that people will assume that you’re using your girlfriend for the views.

Your face being very close to Leah, she seems to realize very quickly that something is on your mind.

“What’s the matter?” she asks.

“Nothing” you say at first, before sighing. “Well, I mean… I already have some viewers saying that I’m using my girlfriend to gain more viewers, so I was wondering how they would react when they realize it’s you.”

You shrug to show her that it’s not really important, you don’t want to think you are worried about something so little.

“If someone say that you know what my answer will be?” Leah asks with a serious face.

“No” you mumble.

“I will tell them that we are together for two years, that you have been the best girlfriend in the world since. I will tell them how affectionate, caring, sweet, funny, clever and passionate you are.”

You can’t help but smile and feel your cheek being a little red at that statement. Leah smirks and kisses your cheek.

“And I’ll add that if you use me, it’s only in the bedroom and the way you do is actually very talented and also very private.”

You laugh this time, hitting her on the arm. Leah seems very happy about her joke, her eyes shinning with malice. She’s so beautiful. You bite her jaw before whispering.

“You’re such a dork.”

“The Nerd and the Dork, it would be a great book title” she smirks.

“You’re not totally wrong.”

********

“You’re cheating!”

You can’t help but laugh at Leah. You are playing once again against your girlfriend, during a live. You are playing at Mario Kart and you just won the race for the third time in a row. She’s fuming and even if you can’t see her, the noise coming from downstairs are letting you know that she’s actually kicking the ground right now.

“I’m not, Baby I swear. You can’t cheat in this game.”

“Yes, you are!”

You roll your eyes, not answering anything. You are of course very aware about of much your girlfriend hates to lose. You are at the first place while Leah is third, which is really good for someone who isn’t playing video games daily like you. But not for the great Leah Williamson.

“Someone in the comment is saying that I will sleep on the couch. I won’t Babe, right?”

“I’m not sure about it for now” Leah grumbles. “Or maybe I’ll go sleep to the trai…”

You cough suddenly and Leah stops talking, realizing what she was just about to say. You really hope that no one would understand what she was going to say. Or at least another end of sentence, not “training ground”.

“Alright, next game” you say right after.

“I’m gonna crush you.”

She doesn’t and when you join her in the kitchen after, she seems really embarrassed. You ignore the different messages asking what Leah wanted to say and the answer some of them gave. You saw that some people where right and you know that the research will start again.

“I’m so sorry” she says, coming for you while you’re entering the room. “I was fuming because I was losing, and I forgot for some seconds that it wasn’t only you and me.”

You smile, easily passing your arms around her to give her a hug. She cuddles against you when you kiss her temple.

“It’s ok, don’t worry. Plus, you are the most famous between the both of us, you will be the most annoyed by all that.”

“Why would I be annoyed?”

Leah back up her head a little bit, just to be able to have a better look at your face. You arch an eyebrow before answering.

“Because you always told me you want privacy.”

It was in the early hours of your relationship, and you never said anything against it. You understood Leah’s needs, at this time you weren’t as famous as you are right now. She wanted to be known for her skills, her job in football or her implications in different charities. And the point was very easy for you to be understood. Your friends are families know obviously about you two, it would be strange and difficult to hide a relationship when you live together. Plus because of her answer last time you talked about it, you were really sure that it was what she want.

“I told you that at first, but now I wouldn’t mind if people start to know about us.”

She shrugs like it’s nothing, but your mind just blown. You were used to the idea of people stay in the ignorance about your relationship and the love you have for this woman. As long as you have her, why would you complain?

“Do you… Really?” you frown.

“Yeah, I mean if you don’t want to be out…”

“No, I do. I just thought that you would like to stay private for like forever?”

“I love you. I want the world to know how happy you make me. But in several weeks. I want to play with your fans a little more.”

“Sounds good to me” you smirk. “And I love you too.”

********

For the next weeks, you chose one day of the week to play and stream with Leah. Between those days, you were careful to post some things on social media, giving little clues to your followers about the identity of your girlfriend. You never posted something with Leah or even with a part of her hand or hair. It was more subtle than that.

Until one day, where you were peacefully streaming while Leah went out with her friends. You usually go with her, but today it was more an unexpected drink, so you already have something planned on your channel. You have an entire trust in Leah, and you know that nothing would ever happen with anyone. If you go with her almost every time, it’s only to have a great time with her.

Plus, tonight she’s out with Katie, Caitlin, Steph, her boyfriend, and Kyra, so there are really no risks.

You usually wait for Leah to text you that she was coming home to cut your stream, so you have the time to finish what you are doing and say goodbye to your viewers. Tonight though, either you didn’t see her message, or she forgot to send it to you.

Still, there is suddenly a stunning blonde who enters your studio, showing herself in the camera at the same time. You are so surprised that you only can look at her on the screen of your camera.

“Hello Hot stuff! You won’t believe what I just learned about Kyra! Did you k- … Oh shit.”

That’s the moment she realizes. It was almost comical to be honest, the enthusiastic tone with which she began her sentence, the moment of silence and the last words spoken in a low voice.

You only have like two seconds to decide if you want to cut the stream and never talk about it again, or if it’s time to be honest with everyone. You chose a third way and turn to the camera.

“Well it’s time for me to say goodbye. See you tomorrow at eight. Thanks for being here!”

You wave and cut the stream and the camera before turning in Leah’s direction. She seems amused but she has at the same time the same look on the face of a teenager caught doing something wrong.

“Funny way to outing things, this clip will be viral” you comment with a small smile.

“I’m sorry?”

Leah can’t hide her smile and you can’t either. You can be mad at her for something like that. You let Leah comes to sit on your lap, kissing her softly when she’s settled. She taste like tequila.

“How was your night?”

“Great. But I missed you.”

She hides her face in your neck, and you feel the goosebumps forming when her breath stroke your skin.

“Did you have fun?”

She hums, start to kiss your neck and you know that the discussion you were supposed to have right now is delayed for now. You will have a lot of time to talk about it later. Your phones are way too busy receiving tons notifications to be able to do anything with it right now anyway.

********

YourInstagram and LeahWilliamson

liked by liawalti, leahwilliamson, alessia, bethmead and 199,937 others

YourInstagram Two years and a half with this dork. I love you ❤️🤍

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leahwilliamson I love you more my Nerd ❤️🤍  

[heaven-s-black-box]

Notes- Sleeping In Anemo Boys

Return to File

Recovery date: September 15th, 2024

Description: hiii i'm back again!! Im the anon who requested the shorter s/o one, and this time can i get the gn!reader sleeping in with the anemo boys (separately ofc) and anyone of your choosing? Thank youuuu ^^

Notes: This work was recovered in conjunction with an anonymous researcher, we thank them for their contributions. Welcome back! I would have added more, but then this post would be too long, so I might make a second part of sorts because this was cute.

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Venti

Sleeping in is a regular occurrence

He calls it a perk of retirement

You call it the consequences of his actions (staying at Angel’s Share late)

Venti’s surprisingly strong, if he doesn’t want you getting out of bed you won’t

If he wakes up before you he just watches you sleep

There’s an entire ballad dedicated to you’re sleeping face in the late morning sun

All anonymous of course, the reality is his secret

Xiao

He doesn’t sleep

He will, however, lay beside you

When you sleep in he’s torn because on one hand he has patrol and on the other…

He feels at peace

If you lean into/ on him at all he will not move

Why do his eyes feel heavy?

Closing them for a moment shouldn’t hurt

Run your fingers through his hair and let him sleep please, he deserves a break

Kazuha

Dude’s sleep schedule is so messed up

Between the constant traveling and being up at the crack of dawn on the Crux

He could go to sleep at 1 AM and still be up at 5 AM

But once he settles back down in Inazuma, you’re surprised to wake up before him

The sun is very clearly coming through the window, so it’s weird his head is still against your chest

Whatever, you can’t remember what you needed to do anyways

Heizou

Another with a messy sleep schedule

Investigations have no set hours

But after a long one, he’ll take a day off and sleep in

He wasn’t there when you went to bed, you weren’t even sure when to expect him back

The noises outside the house tell you businesses are just opening to customers

It looks like you’ll be having a late breakfast, what with the way he pulls you closer in his sleep

His eyes open slightly and he mumbles something about it being too early

Sure, it’s too early, for lunch that is; Should probably wait a little longer

Wanderer

Doesn’t sleep

But unlike Xiao he can’t even fall asleep? If that makes sense

He pretends though

You wake up at some ungodly hour, your classes putting you on a weird schedule

His eyes are closed and his “heartbeat” is even

There aren’t any classes or responsibilities today, so you curl into his side and close your eyes again

As soon as you settle back down, he cracks an eye open

He’s gotten good at this

Aether

Hates sleeping in, his sister is out there somewhere and he needs to find her

But sometimes he can’t help it

The stress and injuries weigh him down

He wakes up to your fingers loosely re braiding his hair and wrapping the strands around your fingers

His body is in pain, and the first person he calls for, is you

Not his sister who’d plagued his dreams for years, who he often called for in the dead of night

But you, who holds him close and lets him rest if for a moment

[multifan2022]

Fearless

New story that I had in my WIPS lets see if theres any interest lol. 

The water from the chasm was pouring down into the abyss below, sprinkles of the coolness hitting your face as you waited. Below people were starting to stir, leaving their rooms to find their way to the small shops or cafeteria. From your spot high on the wall they looked like ants, of course you weren't supposed to be up here.. 

Max would scalp you if he saw you. It was a tricky climb to this little alcove, the wall was wet from the waterfall next to it. Small little holes for your hands and feet, people such as Eric never would be able to make it. Even if he could he was too scared to try. That's why it was your favorite place in all of Dauntless. 

"You better get down, Girl.. You gotta get to the train." A voice called from the ledge below, when you looked down you saw the person who was like a mother too you. Her hair slicked back, tattoos on display with a soft smile on her sharp face. 

Tori. 

She was and is the only person who ever looked out for you. Told you that you were strong, strong enough to face the trails as an initiate. Strong enough to get your first tattoo, strong enough when you got your ears pierced. Strong enough when Max ranked you in third when you should've been in second. 

She was there the day you almost died at the hands of your 'friends'. There every day of your recovery. And there even now that you were one of the strongest, still in your corner even if you didn't need her. 

Little did she know you would always need her. 

Slipping down the wall, you could almost hear her eyes roll as you let go off the wall. The seconds of free fall giving you the little boost you need to make it through the day. When your booted feet meet the narrow walkway that has no rails, you turn to look at your mother figure. Confirming the eye roll you figured would be happening. 

Smiling widely at her as she loops her arm through yours, pulling you down the walkway. You could tell she had something to say, she always said that you were one of the few people who could read her like a book. You also knew if she was waiting then it was important and needed to be private. 

That proved to be true as she pulled you into the tattoo parlor, back into her room closing and locking the door before leaning against it. You stood hands folded together in front of her, waiting for whatever it was she was going to tell you. When she opened her eyes, your heart dropped, the line of tears waiting there was something you hadn't seen in two years. 

Since the day after she administered your test.. Since the day she watched you roll off the net after jumping. You stepped closer to her, using your hands to rub her arms slowly as she took a few deep breaths. "Theres another of you.. Shes almost as.... strong.. as you.." 

You felt all the muscles in your body freeze, you knew what she meant by 'strong'. 

Divergent.

Before you could start asking questions the speakers turned on and announced that the trains into the city would be leaving soon. Both of your heads turned back to each other, her hands grabbing you as you had her. "I told her to stay with the Stiffs.. But I have a feeling shes too much like someone else I know."  She had a soft smile on her face as her hands moved to your face, cupping both of your cheeks. 

"If she chooses Dauntless.. You have to protect her as I have you.. As we both have Uriah.. Promise me Y/n." Tori begged, you knew there was no way you could say no. Even though you wanted too. Protecting one Divergent along with yourself was going to be enough work, now there was someone almost as fucked up as you? And shes a stiff?? 

You let out the breath you didn't realize you were holding as she leaned your forehead against her own. The buzzer went off again, you knew you were going to be questioned for being late. So you pulled away opening the door as Tori moved, pausing only to turn back and look at her. She had risked so much for you, how could you tell her no?

"Ill do what I can. But I wont risk myself or Uriah for someone, Zeke is one of my best friends. Riah is like a little brother too me, but I will do what I can. I promise Mom." 

~~

The entire train ride your stomach was in knots, bile heavy in your chest. Not only from not eating breakfast but from nerves. You watch Uriah talk and goof off with the other 16 year olds. You knew this was a big day for all of them, some would be coming home with you and some you would never speak too again. You couldn't help but wonder who would be going where, you remembered you own Choosing Ceremony. 

The day that you left Amity behind. 

Really nobody was surprised, you had never fit in there. Members of Amity are dedicated to peacefulness, kindness, forgiveness, trust, self-sufficiency, and neutrality. They are slow to anger and yet quick to forgive. None of which you are. You still held grudges from when you were five and your use to be brother ate the last pumpkin cake. 

No.. Amity was not where you belonged. While you did miss the rolling fields, and the openness of having the outdoors right there. You were constantly in trouble, always being chastised and then forgiven for everything. 

"Do not run through Y/n, we are all trying to meditate."

" Do not you think it would be kinder to offer the last one to someone older, maybe even younger? Be kinder Y/n."

"Dont worry young one, I forgive you for your stubbornness."

It was exhausting being there, the peacefulness and trust was all you missed. You were self-sufficient enough, part of being in Dauntless was being able to carry out orders without needing supervision. But you are quick to anger, slow to forgive and definitely biased. 

The kids started yelping as the city came into view, most readying themselves to jump. It was then you noticed the two standing near the back. They looked around at there friends, the girl whos name you couldn't remember caught your eye. Her face paling before you sent her a small smile, making your way over to her. 

Your voice was low, so low only she could hear you as you stood behind her. "Make the choice thats right for you. This is forever, dont think about anyone else. Just yourself. It'll be ok, I promise." 

You could read the surprise on her face as you pushed her towards the door, where everyone was already jumping. A quick somersault was all you registered as you stood walking with the group towards the building. Your eyes scan the crowd like you would be able to spot the girl Tori told you about. 

The Stiffs would already be in the building, walking up the stairs like the selfless people they are. 'Fuck that' You thought as you and Zeke broke from the group towards the front doors. The two of you were stationed outside, to make sure everything ran smoothly. That no one would come in and interrupt the ceremony once it started. You wanted to watch now that you knew what was happening, but it was too late. 

Plus who better to work with than your best friend? The hours this would take would go by quickly by his side. The only person you would trade him for was Four, and really he wouldn't be good conversation here. You knew his father was in there, that would mean he would shut down and be rude. 

He would be short and disgruntle. Which is why the last two times this had happened he stayed behind, ready to watch the first jump. 

Inside you could hear them starting, "Decades ago our ancestors realized that it is not political ideology, religious belief, race, or nationalism that is to blame for a warring world. Rather, they determined that it was the fault of human personality—of humankind's inclination toward evil, in whatever form that is. They divided into factions that sought to eradicate those qualities they believed responsible for the world's disarray." Marcus started. 

Your eyes rolled as you held your gun tightly, you had only heard this speech three times but it wore on your nerves. Before you could even think about how disrespectful it might be you started mocking him. 

"ThOsE wHo BlAmEd AgGrEsSiOn FoRmEd AmItY."

Zeke followed directly after you, proving yet again why he was your best friend. "ThOsE wHo BlAmEd IgNoRaNcE bEcAmE tHe ErUdItE."

You both shook your head and chuckled, "Seriously, he needs to revamp his speech. Its getting old, like they dont learn about all that in school no matter the faction." Shifting from foot too foot you could feel yourself getting restless. You were good at following orders, but today something just felt off. 

Zeke noticed almost immediately, you were antys. Moving around constantly, fingers tapping on the butt of your gun. Your face flush and slightly red like you were sweating. "Are you good? Because you look like your going to pass out." He said in a concerned tone, there was no judgement there like there would be with some others. 

You cracked your neck, willing yourself to calm the hell down. Planting your feet and finding your stance you nodded once. "Yeah I didn't sleep well last night" ..Not a lie.. "I always get worried that I'll see my brother here and he will give me that judgy Erudite stare.. " Again not a lie.. Ok not a complete lie. 

You really didn't care about any of Amity's opinions of you. The people whose feelings you cared about you could count on one hand. But for some reason the stare that your brother always gave you, even before you turned 16, always made your stomach turn. Like he knew something you didn't. Like he was disgusted by you. 

Zeke shook his head "I know that's not the reason, but Ill let it go. Just know I'm always here if you need to talk."  Silence fell between you two, you couldn't thank him for not pushing because that would confirm his doubts. After what felt like days the doors open and the few leaders are followed out by those who have chosen the fearless life you have. 

Your eyes stay straight ahead as they all file pass you, walking behind the group where Zeke is in the middle. It isn't hard to pick out the Stiff, taking small but quick steps trying to keep up the kids who are whooping and smiling. Its always easy to pick out the transfers, of course the plain grey dress thing shes wearing helps. 

Your feet move closer to her without you telling them too. Your lungs are pulling in air to speak even though your brain is telling you too shut up.. You made a promise, one that you unwilling would keep. 

"Dont look at me.. Keep your eyes forward and your mouth closed. Just listen."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The blond girl next to you jumped as you spoke, clearly caught off guard. Either by you speaking to her in general or the tone that was clear even in whispers. Your grip on your weapon tightened as you tried to find the will to be reassuring like Tori was. 

"Follow what the Dauntless born do. Don't hesitate when jumping on the train or you'll die." Great job y/n.. That was reassuring.."When we get to headquarters, when they ask for jumpers.. volunteer before the others. Dont ask questions, dont look for help.. Just do as I say and it will be fine.." 

You didn't even look at her or give her the chance to respond before you started running. Didn't look back to see if she was running, or if she was falling behind. In no way would you allow it too look like you were helping her, because in the long run that would only make it worse. For both of you. 

"What the hell is going on?" A transfer boy yells as people start passing him. You shake your head and wonder if these kids even know who they are joining. Had they ever watched the Dauntless? Did they know anything besides that the motto said? 

We believe in freedom from fear, in ordinary acts of bravery, in defending those who cannot defend themselves.

Did they think that being part of this group came easily? That they would just walk into headquarters and be handed a gun and a job? Zeke was next to you jogging as the train horn sounded behind you. Jumping on and off things was one of his favorite things too do, anyone could see it in the way his face lite up. 

"Oh no," mumbles the Erudite boy. "Are we supposed to hop on that thing?"

You hear the Stiff mumble "yes" and feel the tiniest bit better. Maybe she wouldn't be so bad, maybe she knew a little about what was about to happen. But it didn't mean she was prepared for the amount of lying that she was going to have to do. Dauntless begin to pile in, group by group, until only the new initiates are left. The Dauntless-born initiates are used to doing this by now, so in a second it's just faction transfers left.

You watch as they all start to panic, running next to the car you're in. You placed yourself in the last one, where all the others were in the first two. You watched them make it in one by one, the Stiff almost falling off. Had it not been from the girl from Candor she wouldn't have made it. You all watch A short Erudite boy with red hair pumps his arms as he tries to catch up to the train. An Erudite girl by the door reaches out to grab the boy's hand, straining, but he is too far behind. He falls to his knees next to the tracks as we sail away, and puts his head in his hands.

You should feel bad. Hes just failed the first test, hes now factionless. Less than thirty minutes after making his choice he has failed. But you know deep down its for the best, this is the easy part. If he couldn't make it onto the train what you and Four have planned for training would've killed him. 

You listen to the Cador girl and the Abnegation girl talk, watch as she sits down and then instructs the other girl too. It is that moment you see her divergence. A true Dauntless would stay standing, be unafraid of the wind. Would find a way to show courage in the face of the speeding train and whipping wind. 

This is going to be so much harder than you think, so much worse than you had planned. Thankfully Uriah was only a little divergent. His would be easy to hide, this girl.. Beatrice.. She would cause problems, problems you had already promised to try and solve. 

 "I guess we are going to Dauntless headquarters," She says after the other girl Christina speaks, "but I don't know where that is."

"Does anyone?" Christina shakes her head, grinning. "It's like they just popped out of a hole in the ground or something." You chuckle and cross your arms, pulling their attention towards you but you just keep looking out the train doors. If only they knew, you kinda do pop out of holes. 

Then the wind rushes through the car, and the other faction transfers, hit with bursts of air, falling on top of one another. You pinch the bridge of your nose, sighing through it. "Pathetic" You say loud enough for them all to hear, Christina scoffs along with the tall boy from Candor. The rest smartly stay quiet, Beatrice's eyes falling on you silently. 

"Arent you supposed to be like.. guiding us or something?" He says from his place on the floor, it's your turn to scoff. Turning back to the door grabbing the railing and leaning out, you hear the transfers gasp assuming you're going to fall. Like you haven't done this a million times, none of them know if you're a transfer or not. Younger kids don't go to the ceremony, they would have no idea if you were Dauntless born or not.

In the cars ahead you could see those your age looking back at you.  Zeke, Eric and Shauna all smiling knowing what was coming next. The roof came into view as you all pulled back into the cars, you could hear the Dauntless born whooping again. Turning back to the transfers you smiled, before locking eyes with Beatrice. They were all standing now, frantically talking amongst themselves about jumping. 

"Good luck" was all you said before running and throwing yourself from the train.

[ruiniel]

What You Choose

Fandom: Demon Slayer: Kimetsu no Yaiba

Pairing: Rengoku Kyojuro x f!reader

Count: 2K

Rating: T (M later)

Part I

Summary: Rengoku survives the fight with Akaza, but some battles are not so straightforward.

Tags & Warnings: Rengoku lives AU, blood, injury, death, pining, angst, second person POV, demon slayer!reader, tsuguko!reader, Rengoku POV, eventual smut

Author Note: I am not OK and will never be OK about *waves hands* all that, so this is now a multichapter story.

II.

“Once again, you’re a guest in my healing ward.”

Kocho Shinobu speaks softly, as is her manner. She's seated by his bed with the afternoon sun shining gently on her features, highlighting the amethyst in her hair and eyes.

“I seem to be the only one,” Rengoku replies, looking at the empty infirmary. He’s still bedbound and can barely move his limbs. It hurts to breathe more often than not, and there’s a dull ache where his left eye used to be.

Her kind smile never falters as Kocho looks at the liquid in the syringe she’s preparing. Rengoku always admired her decision to honor her late sister this way, by holding on to that smile Kanae loved so much. After all, everyone has a keepsake of their loved ones in their heart, driving them forward. Memories, moments, words that hone one’s spirit and meld with determination, acting as a guiding light in the darkest places. He knows this all too well. 

“At least you won’t be lonely during your convalescence, those three have been coming here every day, even before you’d awoken.” She giggles, seeking a vein in his arm. 

Oh, of course… young Kamado… the boar lad, the yellow-haired boy. All of them gifted, resilient, and unwavering. He’d promised to train them, but…

That was… before. 

Another image appears before his mind’s eye, drenched in fog—you, running towards him. He, ordering you not to interfere. “Kocho. Tell me, please. How long before I can leave this bed? What is lost, what can I regain?” 

She sets the used syringe aside on a tray, then places her hands on her knees. “My, my, impatient already?” 

Rengoku tries a smile of his own, though it hurts the muscles in his face. If not for the strong sedatives and painkillers administered to him since he regained consciousness, he imagines he’d be squirming in pain. “I want to self-assess myself. Besides…I have promises to keep.” 

She understands. He knows she does. The Insect Hashira gazes out the window, and a small sigh leaves her chest. “Your fatal injuries have been healed by the peculiar blood demon art of young Kamado’s sister.”

He nods. Remarkable. He thought that would be his last battle, and he’d have passed without regret into the land of Yomi. Nevertheless, his gratitude is boundless.

“... your muscle and organ tissue has regenerated and there was no internal bleeding. However, there is still some damage to several vertebrae in your spine, severe trauma to your head I’ve not fully assessed yet, and you have eight fractured ribs.”

“Hah, I can feel them, too! I miscalculated by one, I thought there were seven.”

She looks his way, with that odd expression people sometimes have when he sounds unreasonably high-spirited. He supposes not everyone shares the same outlook, and that’s all well. But what use is there to bow down in dismay and accept the worst life throws my way? 

“Your left eye was smashed, and irrecoverable,” Kocho goes on. “We removed it with surgery and placed an implant inside to fill the empty eye socket. The recovery period in these cases is typically a year, as now you must adapt to your monocular status. But this also depends on the individual, and… this might mean alterations to your fighting style, of course.” She rises and picks up the tray. “I’m convinced that with time, you can return to a state allowing you to perform your duties. For now, please rest, that is a foremost priority.”

My friend, you know all too well that time is never on a demon slayer’s side. “Thank you, Kocho.”  She is right, though: he does feel exhausted, as though he’d climbed a mountain without rest or ever reaching the summit. Expected, though bothersome.

“We’ll do our best to help your recovery. Aoi will return later to change your bandages,” Kocho adds.

Rengoku turns his head as Kocho greets someone on her way out, and sees you, standing in the doorway. “Hello.”

“Hello.”

“You heard?”

You nod, nearing the bed. “Ms. Kocho told me of it all while you were asleep.”

“I’m sorry.”

You tilt your head in bemusement. “What ever for?”

“Because, I won’t be able to help with your training for a while.”

You’ve been at his side often. While in a coma, even if he couldn’t react, even if his body wouldn’t listen, he knew you were there. The thought is a warm one, a foreign sensation: different from the heat bursting in his body during a fight. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t look forward to your visits even now, to see how you’re faring, to hear the latest news on the Corps.

“No,” your voice brings him out of his thoughts, “but that does mean I can help you. When you’re ready, that is,” you add quickly. “With rehabilitation training.” 

“Of course!” The fatigue in his body is stubborn, clinging to him like heavy wet wool. “And… I don’t believe I’ve told you this yet: I’m happy you returned safely.”

You look away, appearing utterly miserable. It confuses him. Rengoku’s seen that shadow in his father’s eyes countless times, so often he can’t stand it: self-loathing.

“Forgive me, Master. I should have been able to do more, after all you strived to teach me. I… I could barely be of any use.”

But you were there, you helped protect all those people. You did your part. “You were unflinching, fast, and aided those who needed it precisely like I taught you. You are rank Kinoe, and what's your demon kill count?”

“Thirty-two.”

“There… now that I think about it, even without further guidance from me or anyone else, you’ll make Hashira soon! Our numbers are dwindling while demon activity increases. You’ve seen it. This is a struggle that needs all of us.” Rengoku pauses. The word ‘need’ felt odd coming from his mouth. But the statement is true. Why does it feel incomplete when he says it to your face?

You look down at your hands. “How can you do it?”

He blinks, frowning. “Do what?”

“Be so supportive and encouraging even when you’re lying broken in an infirmary bed. Sometimes… sometimes you are so very strange, Master.”

You do say that to him often, though less so than before. A smile trembles on your lips—it took you a long time to smile again, he recalls. 

“I merely speak the truth…” He can barely stay awake. The slow drip of liquid in the IV infusion is magnified, drowning out all other sounds, and your face becomes hazy as he drifts away.

Three years prior

The path of blood leads straight into the farmhouse, looking as though someone had been dragged inside by force.

His eyes narrow, and he centers his breaths as he walks forward with his blade drawn. The silence of the glade is eerie, the reek of decay nauseating in the heat of this humid summer.

Soon, he stands on the threshold. Two, there might be two of them. Near the farmhouse is a toolshed, he’ll look there next. Rengoku covers his mouth with his sleeve, eyes closing in pain.

The bodies lie there, some with scattered limbs. This was a family, no doubt about it. The brutality of the mutilation makes his stomach turn, but Rengoku steels his resolve, extending his senses for any hint of the entity’s presence: there is none. He sheathes his katana and enters the space proper. Three hours until dawn.

He descends to one knee, finding the fireplace in the middle is out, but the ashes are still warm. The tatami mats are sticky and stained dark. This all transpired recently. He reaches out a hand, touches an inert arm: not yet cold. Too late, I am too late. But I’ll find you, wherever you are, you damn beasts. 

It’s only due to his reflexes, honed with endless hours of training, that he turns around fast enough, leaping backward before the descending attack.

At first, he thinks it’s the demon, his katana at the ready.

“Don’t you dare touch them!” 

He pauses, nearly too late in avoiding the second strike. A girl’s voice, a human’s heartbeat. His arm shoots out, catching the wooden staff in a strong grip. 

You’re panting, eyes wild and glimmering in the moonlit night. “Let—go!”

“Wait, I’m not an enemy!” he says, taking a better look at you, still holding your makeshift weapon even as you try to wrest it from his hand. 

“How do I know that! Demon!” Your voice is hoarse. Half your face is caked in drying blood, and there must be multiple injuries on your body judging by the torn clothing and the widening dark stains. 

“I’m not a demon,” he speaks calmly but urgently. “I hunt them. Please, they may still be close.”

You jerk your chin towards a corner of the room. “I had him… I don’t need you. Get out of my home!” you yell, more desperate with each word. “Get out, get out, get out!”

Another body lies there in the dark, slitted pupils dark against its milky eyes. The head had been nearly completely crushed. Rengoku freezes in disbelief. You did this? Alone? “Wait, you don’t understand, there’s another—”

A loud crash severs his words as the ceiling collapses, and he barely has time to leap forward, catch you in his arms, and throw himself outside. He rolls onto the ground, pain erupting in his left shoulder with the impact. When he opens his eyes you’re there, safely held against him, face tearstained and body rigid with shock.

But there’s no time to explain further—he feels it. The gurgle of inhuman hunger as a figure emerges from the wreckage of the farmhouse, eyes fixed on them. It does not speak, but growls in hunger; it must be of the feral kind, no reasoning left as the transformation rotted its memories. 

Rengoku rises, changing his stance. “Stand back,” he urges, looking over his shoulder at you as you struggle with your own body. He looks back ahead, grinds his teeth, his breathing attuned to his thought. 

First Form: Unknowing Fire.

It doesn’t last long. He’s been running from mission to mission, dispensing with different kinds of fiends, and this was yet another run in a long chain that will only end with his own life. 

Once the head is removed, the battle is over. Sometimes there is someone left to check on after the fact; often, there isn’t. But now, Rengoku hurries towards you, descending and slipping a hand under your back, aiding you to sit. “Where are you hurt?”

“Thank you,” you say instead, eyes glazing over. He hopes the Kakushi will get here soon. You point towards your ruined home. “Set it ablaze… please.” 

“Hey, hey, stay awake!” Rengoku urges even as your body turns heavier and your eyes roll back. 

He expected this to come. Kneeling and with his forehead pressed to the ground he sits still, prostrated before the leader of the Demon Slayer Corps. 

A voice like the lull of spring reaches him, setting his worries aside. In his heart, he thinks he’s done what is right.

“Rank Kinoe Rengoku Kyojuro, you are summoned to explain why you have brought a non-combatant to headquarters, instead of having the Kakushi transport them to a civilian hospital.”

“Master, the girl shows extraordinary potential. Her family has been murdered by demons, and yet she managed to fell one before I arrived, alone, despite grievous wounds and bloodloss. Forgive me if I overstepped, but I believe…” 

“Go on.”

“I believe once her body heals and her focus returns, she will join the fight. I believe she will want to. If I'm wrong, I accept all consequences.”

“You sound fairly convinced of this, young Rengoku,” says Ubuyashiki Kagaya. “Though there is no reason to know for certain one way or the other.”

He stays quiet, his heart raging in his chest. It will all depend on you, of course. You may want to have nothing to do with this. 

“But… you’ve not failed us thus far. I will allow it.”

“Gratitude, Master.” And then, almost in the same breath, “If she chooses this, I will guide her myself.”

TBC

[coralinnii]

Villainess au Side story: the villain in my heart feat: Vil genre: fluff, suggestive(?)

Note: follows the villain/ess series Vil ver. but can be read independently, no pronouns were used, villain/ess!reader is a simp (as I am), roughly 1.1k word count 

I say I mostly just do SFW but why did this one feel a little uhhh… I genuinely had to pause a couple of times cuz I had to stop getting thirsty

“S-Sir Vil, you really needn’t do this” 

“Hush now and keep still” 

Since your recovery, you finally went back to your duties as part of the Schoenheit family, which includes healing the family’s image after your “incident”. You planned to accept invitations from other families to prove your return to health and you were happy to see that your dear friend Neige has sent an invitation to you like he usually do. But this time will be different. 

“I will be accompanying you” Vil adamantly announced which surprised you knowing his absolute disdain for the young ravenette noble.

“You really don’t need to, Sir Vil. I’ve been to the LeBlanche manor before-” 

“I’m going” 

Honestly, Vil can’t tell if you’re too nonchalant about this or just plain oblivious to the situation. How can you believe that someone of such a high status such as yourself would not be subject to more scandalous rumors should you visit a man’s house alone, no matter how kind and innocent he may be. There is also a more selfish reason as the idea that his partner would choose to visit his rival so casually did not sit well with him, not that he will ever tell you. 

Which is why you were fidgeting as Vil was seated close to you, carefully tying a detailed knot on your tie before he plans to pin a brooch that was from an expensive set, with your husband wearing its matching pair. Vil’s long fingers would occasionally brush against your neck as he soothes your collar leaving goosebumps from his touch which you were sure he could see with how close he was. 

Was heaven supposed to be this hard to breathe? 

“S-Sir Vil, I don’t want to rush you but we’ll be late” you barely spoke through your nerves but Vil kept on with the task he personally took on. 

“Beauty is not to be rushed, I have taught you that” Vil replied, his eyes inspecting the brooch placed upon you before raising to lock his eyes on yours “Speaking of which, I need to teach you out of that bad habit of yours” 

You felt cold sweat as you mentally combed through your recent memories for what the handsome man may have been referring to. Did Vil find out that you’ve been secretly asking for more desserts after dinner when he leaves? Or that you've skipped your beauty routine two days in a row in favor of napping longer? Perhaps he knows about the letters you’ve been exchanging with Rook to gush about Vil that’s been taking away your scheduled beauty sleep. 

Vil watched the internal crisis in your head leak into your expression which leaves him to have an exasperated look on his own face. “I can’t imagine what must be going on in that mind right now but it’s probably incorrect. I’m talking about your manner of speaking” 

Vil continued to surprise you today as you weren't expecting that comment. You supposed you spoke more casually with Rook and Neige (primarily as they’re your fan club buddies) but you were sure you kept your dignity with the nobles as to not disgrace the Schoenheit name. 

“To be specific, I’m not satisfied with the way you address me” Vil clarified your confusion. “I’m not some noble but your husband. As such, calling me by a title such as Sir reflects badly on our relationship.” 

“So, you’re telling me t-to-“ 

“Call me by my name” Vil cut to the chase. “I would rather you’d call me by a more affectionate name but this would suffice for now” 

Vil’s nonchalance over the matter does not extend to you as your mind is processing what the man just requested from you like it wasn’t the most stressful order he has ever made to you. Being able to call the man you’ve idolized before and after you reincarnated so casually is akin to being given the chance to hold the most beautiful diamond in the world, a great but heavy honor to be bestowed upon. 

Vil was silently waiting for you so you had no choice but to give your best attempt, which resulted in a soft utterance of his name with your eyes looking away. Your body burned in embarrassment as you feverishly ask your heart to calm down. 

However, Vil was not merciful as he narrowed his lavender eyes in dissatisfaction. In a swift moment, he gripped your chin between his fingers in order to force your gaze to meet his. 

“It’s rude to speak while looking away, I've taught you better” Vil sternly said but his finger lightly stroked your chin as though he was enticing you rather than reprimanding. “Try again, louder and clearer this time” 

But you couldn't. Your mind was racing as you felt overwhelmed by the beautiful man before you. Loose strands of his soft locks fell from his braid and tickled your burning cheeks as his touch flooded your senses. You might just perish right then, a quick but happy end of your second life.

But Vil thought differently. He was typically a patient man but there was a subtle burn in his heart that called for his attention. A new desire he realized has been building the more he spends his days with you. It builds with every giddy smile you send his way, with every time he sees the sparkle in your eyes as you tell him about your day, with every waft of your perfume that he recommended you and has been wearing every day. This time, he craves for more than fleeting gazes and quick exchange of smiles. He commands you, 

“Say my name” 

“V-Vil!” You startled yourself as you immediately responded. Your voice obeyed without a second thought and that quick reply left you flustered over the secret glee you’re experiencing. It felt like opening Pandora’s box. Now that you have crossed the threshold so to speak, you suddenly crave to say it again and again with a smile on your face. Is this normal, you wonder? 

Vil on the other hand, felt an odd wave of satisfaction hearing his name leave your lips without that pesky title. That subtle act of intimacy has momentarily sated that itch in his heart. 

“That’s a good start. Well done” Vil praised your efforts as he slowly released his grip, sneakily brushing his fingers across your cheek to indulge in the heat of your cheeks. He pondered on this new teasing side of him that seems to appear around you but he’s not too worried about it, especially when you don’t seem to hate it. 

A smirk graced his lips as Vil finally stood up from his seat, before making his way to the door. He paused and turned his head, unsurprised by your immobile figure and mind still processing the events mere seconds ago. His voice cut through your thoughts, breaking your daze. 

“Let’s go. As you said, we’ll be late” 

[wardenparker]

The King's Queen - chapter 1

Javi Gutierrez x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

Prince Javier of the Balearic Islands has always known that one day he would have to follow in his father's footsteps to be the caring and steadfast king that his people deserve. What he did not know is that he would be stepping into the next phase of his life alongside a woman he has never met before - and amidst a rocky sea of unusual circumstances of every kind.

Rating: Mature, but this blog is always 18+ Word Count: 8.1k Warnings: *Blanket warnings for this series: arranged marriage, age gap, classicism, cursing, food and alcohol, mentions of American politics, deceased parents* Illness, cancer. Summary: Javi is given some unexpected and unwelcome news from his father - meanwhile you receive the phone call that you have been waiting for for your entire life. Notes: As always, we do our best to infuse some Spanish into the dialogue when our stories call for it, but neither Keri nor I are fluent by any means. If you see an error let us know, but kindness counts!

The day began, as so many do, with a knock on the door. The palace had stirred to life hours ago, bustling staff all going about their business and, breakfast served and cleared away again, appointments kept, and meetings held. Business, as they say, booms this morning at Castel del Ocaso. The only person not yet risen, it seems, is the crowned prince.

And so his day begins with a knock. A gentle one. There is no need to jar the man into reality cruelly. His valet has a tray with his breakfast so that the kitchen could move on with their duties for the day, and an urgent message from the prince's father. Which is, if one was to ask the valet, the only reason for waking the prince at what is already a late hour. When he stirs at the opening of the windows, the valet clears his throat and sets the tray down on the broad bedside table. “There is a message this morning, your Highness.” The valet tells the bleary-eyed prince quietly. “His Majesty would like to see you in his chambers after you are dressed.”

Groaning, Javi looks over at the clock, well aware that the staff knew that he was to sleep in. It’s a rare night that he is up until the early morning hours and today had been blocked out of his schedule as a recovery day. “What is going on?”

“I only know that your father has asked for you.” Sometimes the king’s staff would impart more details or relay why his Majesty needed a particular thing or requested a particular presence, but this was not one of those times. Indicating the tray laden with croissants, marmalade, yoghurt, and fresh fruit alongside a strong cortado, the prince’s valet offers an apologetic smile. “Would you prefer to take breakfast before dressing?”

“No—” Javi sits up and groans, closing his eyes again at the throbbing in his skull. “Yes.”

The man says nothing at first, but hides a private smile as he hands the prince his coffee before going to his closet to choose clothing for the day. “Was your evening enjoyable, sire?” He asks, always preferring to have the temperature - so to speak - of the royal family each day. There had been shouting from the king’s chambers this morning.

“Too much so.” Javi is desperately grateful for the coffee and he takes a sip with a sigh before reaching for his bottle of aspirin from the bedside table. He had anticipated celebrating too hard and wanted to be prepared. “I am getting too old for all night parties.”

“Then we will simply begin celebrations earlier in the day, I expect.” The prince’s birthday is always a series of extravagances, and this year had been no exception.

“Yes.” Hissing, Javi gingerly crawls out of the bed. “I will shower first.”

“Very good, your Highness.” With a nod, the valet lays out clothes for the day and is gone again, leaving the prince to ready himself to see his father.

******

It takes Javi an hour to shower, dress and make his way to his father’s quarters, frowning slightly as he knocks on the door at the raised voices inside.

“¿Quién es esto?” The king’s deep voice grumbles from inside, obviously irritable. When the doors open a moment later to admit the new arrival, the king is fairly growling and ousts the others from the room. The last to leave is the doctor, sparing a last glance at the king before excusing him to say good morning to the prince as he retreats.

“Javier.” Gruff as he can be, the bedraggling king sighs and waves his son inside. “Come in.”

“You wished to see me?” There is a tenuous relationship between the king and his only son but Javi loves the gruffer man, even if he does not always understand him.

“I wish to speak with you.” He glances at the footman standing near the door. “Alone.” As soon as his son steps inside the door is shut securely behind him and the king smothers a deeper sigh. Standing is quite painful this morning, but since lying down and sitting are, too, he does not move yet. “I sent for the doctor last week. About the pain in my stomach.” Which no one, save extremely close family members, knows about. “He came back to me with answers this morning.”

“Sí?” Javi strides closer to his father, a worried frown creasing his brow. It is not good news if his father is asking to speak to him privately. It is rare that at least his cousin Lucas is not in attendance. Fear and dread coils in his own stomach and the breakfast he had threatens to make a reappearance.

There is no other way to do this, for a man of King Miguel’s temperament, than to do as the Americans say and rip the Band-Aid off. “Javier,” he motions for his son to come closer, not wanting to have to raise his voice and be heard by someone passing in the hall of the drafty medieval palace. “It is cancer.” Which was his worst fear. His fear as a ruler and his fear as the father of a son he is not certain is ready to take his place. “It came on quickly, and spread just as fast.” He tries to hide a wince as best he can, pressing a hand over his aching side as though the disease can hear him speak of it. Laying down may not be any less painful than standing, but it does relieve a bit of pressure, so he lies down again gingerly. “They have given me a few months at most.”

“No.” Javi shakes his head and gives a nervous chuckle. His father is king. He is invincible, always seeming so large to Javi, even now. “No, they are wrong. They have to be wrong.” He blinks, fighting the tears that would be ‘unbecoming’ a future ruler.

“It is always possible for doctors to be wrong.” He would be a fool and a liar to claim otherwise, but Miguel shakes his head. “However, the pain I feel is not a lie. And we must act as though they are correct, in case they are.” He sighs again, clearing his throat to hide pain from his face. Despite the characterization of their relationship as adversarial by the European press at points in Javier’s life, Miguel truly does want the best for his son. It is why he has done what he has done. Made the arrangements that he has made. “Thirty-five is a good age for a king, Javier. Old enough to have some sense but young enough to make the people feel the invigoration of youth.”

The age-old argument of not wanting to be king doesn’t even slip out of his mouth like it normally would. He can’t. Not when his father is lying in a bed looking much older than he had just the day before. Javi realizes how much pain the older man has been hiding from the world. “Sí.” Javi nods. “You have been a good king papá, the people will miss your guidance.”

Surprised at the lack of protest from his only child, the king pats the mattress beside him, hoping for this conversation to go smoothly. He knows Javier would not choose this life if he had the option - but there is no option. Second in line to the throne is his odious nephew Lucas and if that remained his only option, he would sooner find a way to pass the throne directly to Lucas’s new wife. Gabriela may not have royal blood but at least she has a decent mind behind that lovely face. “Steps will have to be taken, mijo. I will have to abdicate. You will have your coronation. And you will also need a queen.”

Javi frowns sadly, aware that the one woman he had wanted his for queen was now married to his cousin. “You took away my queen when you allowed Lucas to marry her.” He reminds his father bitterly. The woman who he loved had just married two years prior and Lucas was always taunting him that she will be pregnant soon.

“When I told you that you could not marry Gabriela, it was not to be cruel or obtuse.” If he had ever hoped that his son could forgive him over that refusal, apparently the hope was in vain. “A bride was selected for you long ago, mijo. So that you would not have to bear the burden of choice yourself.” He looks to his son with interest, hoping this will not begin a shouting match. “It was your mamá’s dying wish that I secure your future. And it is mine that you honour the promises we have made.”

Javi swears he chokes on air. Gasping and stuttering for a moment, eyes widening in shock. “An arranged marriage?” He huffs, swearing if it were anyone but his father it would be a joke. “No. No.” He shakes his head. “My future has been set from the day I drew breath but now my choice of a wife is taken from me?”

“Choosing a queen is more complex than choosing a wife.” There is the objection Miguel anticipated, even if he must admit to being disappointed by it. “The monarchy’s survival means more than simply whose figure you like the most in an evening gown.”

“My queen.” Javi stresses. “So it should be my choice.” He shakes his head. “I have done what you asked but I want to love the person I take as my queen.”

“How do you know you will not love the girl who has been chosen?” The pain of an arrangement is not exactly unknown to the king. After all, his own match was arranged and so was his father’s. Every crowned prince in their family has had their wife chosen from eligible candidates on their behalf - it was perhaps only that Javier’s match was chosen when he was a bit younger than most.

“How do you know I will?” Javi imagines a woman steeped in tradition and molded by pomp and ceremony. Someone who is rigid, only caring about the legacy she leaves behind. “Just because you came to love mamá doesn’t mean the woman you have chosen to be queen is right for me. Or were you only thinking of the crown?” He asks bitterly.

“I was thinking of finding you a partner.” He admits, knowing that his son’s disgust with the idea will not do well if it lasts. “Someone to help you. To stand beside you and to be your support as you find your footing as king.” The tax of sitting up is too much on an injured body and the king lays his head back down again to continue speaking. “Good breeding is done differently in America, but her family is wealthy and prominent, and the photographs I have seen make her out to be quite beautiful.” When he earns a scoff in return, Miguel sighs. “There is a contract in place, Javier. It is legally binding. And— and she has already been sent for. So there is no use fighting with me about it.”

“You arranged a marriage with an American?” The surprise and wistfulness of the statement catches him off guard, even as he shuffles closer to his ailing father. Miguel Gutierrez has never claimed to understand Javi’s affection with America or American Cinema, although they have shared an affinity for Nick Cage. He reaches out and takes his father’s hand, knowing he won’t fight his papá in his last days. “I hope you have chosen well.” He murmurs softly, wondering what this woman is like. His future queen.

“Her mother was friends with your mother at university.” His son’s affection for American pop culture was something he had attributed to his late wife’s own affection that she gained at university. He never understood it for the life of him, but it made her happy to share it with their young son, so he let it pass. “She will be here tomorrow, provided that she is able to travel quickly. The flight from New York is not too tiresome.”

“Tomorrow? So soon?” Javi shakes his head, reeling from the changes that are happening so quickly. “When— when do I have to marry her?” He asks quietly.

“Before the year is out.” The terms of the agreement with the Senator over the marriage of their children was exacting, to say the least. “Seven months is ample time to know her before you walk down the aisle, Javier. But it is more time than I have. So if you wish me to be present when you wed, it must be sooner.”

Javi closes his eyes, wanting to scream and cry and refuse his father. He cannot. He cannot let down the king, the man who has intimidated him and been his idol for his entire life. “We will be married in two months.” He decides, his voice flat. Certainly not happy about the circumstances, but he wants his father at his wedding, he will already miss his mother. “We will get to know each other later.”

Again it’s surprise that crosses the king’s expression first, but a lifetime of schooling his emotions away means it is gone in the blink of an eye. “Your mother and I tried to do what we thought would be best for you,” he tells his son, seeing the frown that forms on Javier’s lips. “This is the daughter of her most precious friend.” Knowing his penchant for the creative, and trying to provide him with a happy distraction, Miguel reaches and pats his son’s arm. “Would you like to choose the suite she will stay in until the wedding?”

The pout that he hadn’t quite ever grown out of nearly comes to the surface. Instead he just nods, not really caring where the American woman who would be his queen would stay but he knows his father is trying. “I will make sure she is afforded every comfort the palace can offer her.” He tells his father, noticing how tired the old man is. “You should rest.” He urges, covering his father’s surprisingly cold hand with his warmer one.

“Not a word to the staff, mijo.” The king warns, though he does lay back again on his pillows. “Only my private secretary knows who she truly is to you. The rest of the staff are preparing for a close friend.”

“They will figure it out when we have a royal wedding in two months.” Javi snorts, reaching out to cover his father up. “Rest.” He urges softly, his heart breaking but he can’t let the king see that. “I will make sure you are not embarrassed.”

“Javier.” It will be the last thing he says in the subject for now, but he does wish to say one last thing before his son leaves the room. “Try to keep an open mind. An arranged marriage is not the worst fate in the world.”

Instead of answering him, Javi just nods, standing quickly and swallowing. “Get some rest, papá.” He murmurs softly, “I have a guest to prepare for.”

******

There is something to be said for a good night’s sleep. Unfortunately, those things cannot be said for you at the moment. Curled up in the apartment you share with your brother, watching a late-night movie with a bottle of wine and a seemingly bottomless bowl of popcorn, you know you ought to be sleeping before your father’s re-election fundraiser tomorrow but you just can’t seem to quiet your mind. Today - yesterday in Mallorca - was his birthday. Another year gone by and another year closer to the impending details of the contract that has dictated your entire life.

You wonder how he celebrated. What sort of party he had, if any. If birthday cake is the same in the Balearic Islands as it is here. The internet doesn’t really have answers to these questions and you never had the courage to ask your mother for details of her lost friend’s life. You should have. But you didn’t.

The things you know about Prince Javier are finite, and you have studied them for decades. Which should be proven by the fact that you’re up late tonight watching National Treasure for the umpteenth time. When your cell phone rings halfway through the film, you mute the television and pick it up immediately. No one calls in the middle of the night unless it’s an emergency.

Private. Mallorca reads the caller ID. “Oh shit…” You murmur to yourself before sitting up straight on the couch and sliding your thumb across the screen to accept the call.

“Hello?”

Your name is spoken in a clear, Spanish accent, “Please hold for the King of the Balearic Islands, His Majesty, King Miguel.” The private secretary of the king announces him before muting the phone so she can pass it to the king.

“Uh—” Dumbstruck, you nearly spill your wine trying to set it down on the coffee table as though it were a video call or the king himself were right in front of you. He has only called you twice before - when you turned eighteen and then when you graduated college - and the last was several years ago. It sort of feels like suffocating, honestly, waiting for him to pick up the line, but you manage to breathe evenly until you hear a voice on the other end again.

“Hello?” Miguel says your name and waits for you to acknowledge him.

“Good morning, your Majesty.” Glancing at the clock, you quickly calculate it to be half past seven in Mallorca. “To what do I owe the honor of this call?”

Miguel takes a moment, composing himself after another brief flare of pain. “I hope you are doing well.” He offers. “The time has come for you to join the royal family in Mallorca. How soon can you be here if we send the jet?”

The time has come. The words seem to drown you, swallowing you up in duty and anticipation. “I will need a day to pack my things,” you tell him as politely as you can, hoping that you don’t sound as scared as you feel. The anticipation of an abrupt call like this one is why nothing in your life truly belongs to you - your apartment, your car, and all of your bills are under your father’s name so he can sell everything after you are called away to fulfill your duty. You’ll have to quit your job with no notice, but that’s a separate issue. “But one day should be sufficient.” Just one day to pack up your whole life.

“I shall have the jet sent first thing in the morning. It will be a direct flight so it should not be too long.” Miguel keeps his voice as steady as he can manage it. “My son will be informed of your impending arrival as soon as we disconnect.”

“As your Majesty sees fit.” It’s an odd thing, to speak to the man who holds an iron fist on your future, but you’ve grown up your entire life knowing that one day this would happen. To be honest you’re surprised it has taken so long.

“We will speak again soon.” Miguel promises, disconnecting the phone and then shouting for the doctor to come back into the room. The pain is worse and he needs him to manage it. There is another; more difficult conversation ahead with his son.

You exhale deeply, staring at your phone as the disconnecting line beeps and goes blank, bringing back your home screen with the background photo of the last beach that you went to with friends from college. Everyone is spread out over the blankets with picnic baskets and umbrellas while they laugh in the summer sun. It had been an amazing time – and now as you look at it you wonder if you'll ever be able to have days like that again. If your freedom, such as it ever was, has just been plucked away with one phone call. Still, despite the time, you have a call of your own to make. Opening your contacts, you select the entry for your father and stepmother's landline and hope that the ringing doesn't wake up your little sister. The preteen is a nightmare if she doesn't get enough sleep, and you don't blame her one bit.

The call is picked up on the second ring. “Hello?” The austere voice of your father comes down the line. “What is going on?” He knows you don’t call at late hours unless it is an emergency. “What do you need?”

"I need to come by the house tomorrow and pick up my trunks." Although you can feel your voice waver, you hope your father is too disoriented from being woken up to hear it. He raised you to be strong and to take on responsibility headfirst. "And I can't come to the fundraiser tomorrow." Deep breath, you remind yourself. "I've finally been summoned."

Silence fills the air between you for a good thirty seconds before the senator answers. “That is very good. It is past time.” The bedsheets rustle and he pulls the phone away from his ear to murmur to his wife. “We will draft a press release as soon as you are in Mallorca.”

"I only have one day to pack." Which means, you know yourself well enough to realize, that you'll be starting immediately. There's no way you'll be able to sleep. "So I was thinking I could drive out to Scarsdale to have breakfast with you and come home with the trunks to make sure I have enough time. Is that okay?"

Sighing, your father mentally files through his schedule. “That will be fine, I have a meeting at 9:30 though.”

"Okay. I'll be punctual." It never would have crossed your mind to be anything else. Not with the way your family operates. Scheduling is everything when your father is a senator. "I'm sorry to wake you, but I thought it was important for you to know right away."

“I appreciate the call.” Your father sighs softly and there’s another small pause. “Go on and start working on your packing list, I know you want to get organized.”

"There's a lot to do." That may be an understatement, but you're nodding as though he were standing in front of you. "I'll see you in a few hours for breakfast."

“See you then sweetheart.” The phone disconnects and your father sighs again before he climbs out of the bed. He will need to draft a press release and start working on the PR for his campaign. This announcement couldn’t come at a better time for him, and he intends to use it to his advantage. Perhaps it might even put him in the running for President.

******

It took every second of the time that you had to get things ready to leave even with your brother’s help, but in the end you drove to the private airstrip at JFK airport with an SUV full of your things and left behind an apartment that barely had a single trace of you left in it. What little you have left behind would be kept by your brother, sold, or saved for your half-sister depending on what you father saw fit.

The crew of the jet was very kind in loading your things on board and seemed to expect you to have much more, but you had kept things contained for exactly this purpose. At any point in your life you would be expected to pick up and move your entire existence across an ocean, so you had kept things contained.

The eight-hour flight would put you in Palma, Mallorca in time for dinner and you know that between not sleeping for the last two days and the jet lag, you'll desperately need to sleep on the jet. Hopefully you won't be too anxious to sleep. That would just make things that much worse.

******

“I am meeting her at the airport.” Javi isn’t shouting, but his voice has pitched up to match the same inflection as his father. Met with resistance when he announced that he would take the boat over to the private air strip to meet the woman who is to become his bride without the fan fair or pomp and circumstance that normally surrounds these affairs. “You wanted to keep people from knowing, it will be suspicious if I am in my formal royal uniform.”

"Why can you not let someone from staff fetch her and meet her properly here?" Miguel is exasperated beyond measure, having had both of his suggestions met with rejection from his son. Javier refuses to be in uniform to meet his intended and he refuses to receive the girl in the throne room. He insists on dressing down in a veritable disguise and going to the airport quietly himself. "I understand that you wish to meet her quickly and I commend that, but your position matters, Javier."

“Of course my position matters.” Javi huffs. “That is all that matters. But I am meeting her casually. I want to know what she thinks of this, of me, without any pretense or need for propriety.” He’s worried that you might be dreading this, resenting him once he had learned of the details of this arrangement. He would like to know if he is to be sentenced to a life of passive aggressive comments and resentment.

The king purses his lips, seeing from the clock on his bedside that time is running short to make this decision. "Fine." He concedes shortly. "But take enough staff with you to have her things brought to the palace separately. If you wish to have a conversation with her then you can bring her back to the palace and show her her rooms properly dressed. If not in uniform, then at least not looking like you've just come out of the pool." Clearly indicating he means that he disapproves of what his son is currently wearing, Miguel nods and sits up a little more in his bed. "Something that would be appropriate to wear at the dinner table, since you will be escorting her directly after showing her to her new home."

Javi sighs and nods. “I will even wear a sports jacket, your majesty.” He huffs sarcastically, annoyed that even meeting you is turning into an argument. He doesn’t want to be so stiff and formal all the time. Royals need to relax as well.

"Good." Glancing at the clock again, the king waves him off. "Go and change, then. You should be on your way."

Rolling his eyes again, Javi turns around and stalks out of his father’s bedchamber. Annoyed with himself and the king. Why must their relationship be so strained? Why is he so different from the man who had sired him? He wonders what this woman will think of him, already deciding he’s going to dress causally chic for the meeting.

******

The chance to wash and change and touch up your makeup on the flight after waking up from a six-hour nap was something you hadn’t expected and are grateful for. The simple but well-tailored white sundress you had chosen to make your first impression on the prince could be put on just thirty minutes before landing instead of being thrown on in the airport bathroom so that it wouldn’t wrinkle after hours on the plane. Everyone on board was so kind and so formal that you have to wonder if any of them knew who you were or if that was simply how they were trained. Either way, when you exit the jet’s cabin to come down the stairs with your travel bag in hand, there is just one person waiting for you. In a powder blue sport coat and linen shirt with perfectly tousled hair, he looks like he ought to be a model and not - you assume - palace staff. Sunglasses shield his eyes but he stands straight and watches you expectantly, suddenly making you question if you even know how to walk down stairs at all.

You are…beautiful. He expected his parents to have chosen someone with all the right characteristics and the right schooling, but the sheer force of your beauty nearly takes his breath away. His father will approve of your outfit, the white dress both prim and proper enough to be considered appropriate and yet Javi likes that you are showing some skin. The length of your arms on display and the legs both making him smile at the idea that maybe you are not as stuffy as he might have feared. “Welcome to las Islas Baleares.” He offers as you stride close. The staff rush to get your luggage and he gestures towards the boat swaying gracefully at the dock. “We have a short boat ride to the palace.”

“Muchas gracias.” As hard as you’re trying not to smile, this man that has been sent to receive you is incredibly handsome. His hair and stature remind you of the very few pictures you’ve seen of the prince, and you wonder if perhaps this man is a cousin. Some lower-level royal sent to be a one-man welcoming committee. “Everyone has been so very kind. I’m grateful to have such a personal welcome.”

He cannot tell if you are being sarcastic or not, figuring that you have recognized him. “Sí.” He simply nods his head and gestures for you to precede him. He will need to help you into the boat and then cast off the lines, preferring to operate the speeder himself.

The man’s silence is surprising but you try not to read into it too much as he walks you to a nearby ramp that leads down to a small boat dock with an elegant speeder moored at the tip. The crystal-clear ocean spreads out around you like its own kind of welcoming and you smile. “The evenings are very beautiful here.” Weather. Weather is safe small talk. “Are the days just as gorgeous?”

“Better.” Javi promises, holding out his hand when you stop next to the boat so he can assist you inside. “Not too hot, not too cold, just right.” He smirks slightly, remembering the childhood story about porridge.

“I have to admit, I won’t miss winter.” Putting your hand in his to accept help into the boat gives you a nearly electric shock that you beg your body to ignore. There is no room to be attracted to anyone but Prince Javier. It’s impossible, you remind yourself harshly.

Javi ignores how warm and soft your hands are, quickly bending down to untie the boat before jumping in beside you. Occupying himself with starting the engines and pulling away from the dock, he knows the staff will ferry your luggage over on the other tender. For now, he wants the race the boat over the waters to calm down his own rattled nerves.

His continued silence signals that the weather isn’t worth talking about, and you fall into an uneasy quiet as the boat speeds out into open water. You have about three million questions but know that you can’t ask them of just anyone. It wouldn’t be proper or ladylike to ramble on, and from the moment you stepped onto that jet at JFK you have done your utmost to be perfectly ladylike. Without knowing who knows what or what is truly expected of you beyond marrying a total stranger to produce royal heirs, you feel like the water might be in your lungs instead of under the boat. Your palms are sweaty and you twist the decorative ring on your finger nervously. At least it’s beautiful here - it would have been cruel if you had to spend the rest of your life someplace frozen when you notoriously dislike snow.

He looks back at you a few times, gauging if you like the water. Finding you looking pensive so he doesn’t speak. Not wanting to make you even more nervous if you aren’t impressed with his boating skills. Or him. Instead he throttles down as the palace comes into view, aware that everyone, even him, likes to take in the majestic site of the Balearic Islands seat of power.

When you first take in the sight of the palace standing high on the cliffside, you gasp audibly before you can stop yourself or muffle the sound. It’s truly remarkable - this medieval edifice that has survived through hundreds of years and countless occupants, and you can’t help but stare. No photograph could ever do it justice, and you’ve seen every single photograph. That is where you live now. That’s home. Unless you fuck up spectacularly and he sends you away in disgrace. Oh god. Don’t fuck up like that. “It’s…amazing,” you murmur, realizing that your escort has turned to see your reaction.

“Castel de Ocaso. The royal palace of Mallorca.” Javi announces. “Home of King Miguel Gutierrez and the crowned Prince Javier. Soon to be king along with you, his queen.” He offers before he throttles up slightly to guide the boat into the Royal docks.

“Soon to be?” You startle at that news, feeling your eyes go wide behind your sunglasses. The king had certainly failed to mention that when he called. “I—I did not think…You know who I am?”

Javi laughs for a moment but then he stops, realizing that you don’t know who he is. “Sí.” He nods, turning back around to ease the boat alongside the stone dock. “I know who you are.”

“Forgive me, I just…” It’s like your mouth has run dry and your head is spinning, except you know it’s only nerves. “I was under the impression it was not common knowledge. That only the king and Prince Javier knew.”

He hums, cutting the engine and letting the boat float up next to the dock expertly. Moving to toss the lines to the staff waiting on the pier to tie off. “Come.” He offers, stepping up off the boat and holding his hand down to you. “The king is waiting.”

“May I ask you about him?” Those innumerable questions are all bubbling to the surface as he helps you out of the boat, and you now feel even more sure that his must be a trusted family member that was sent to fetch you. “The prince, I mean?”

“What do you wish to know?” He asks, raising a brow in interest. Curious to know what questions burn in your mind about him.

“Is he a kind man?” You’ve seen official photos and been told what he likes – practically every birthday gift that you’ve ever received from King Miguel was something that Javier liked – but the question of his temperament is completely unknown to you.

“I would say so.” He offers, wanting you to open up more. “Shall we go up to the palace?”

“Thank you.” You nod politely and try to ignore the tingling in your skin at the small touch of hands. Once you’re up the stone steps built in to the cliffside, you look up at the palace again and remind yourself to smile. “Is the prince…” The curiosity is overwhelming. “Is he…shy? Outgoing? Is he a very social man?”

“Ask the questions you really want to ask.” Javi urges you, knowing that there are only a few more moments before propriety will be deemed necessary.

“It’s just…” This man is offering you just enough of a lingering lifeline that your curiosity just can’t say no to it. “It’s just that I’ve never seen photographs of him with friends o-or girlfriends.” You swallow. Hard. “Or boyfriends. And I just…I wondered if…if he…prefers women?” That might be one of the things that terrifies you most. The idea that this marriage was arranged to force him to be with a woman when he’s actually gay.

Javi chuckles. “Women.” He promises. “There is much emphasis on not causing a scandal for the crown.”

“I understand that entirely.” There was plenty of emphasis on that for you growing up as well. “Forgive me if that’s too personal. I just would never want to make him uncomfortable.” An awkward laugh passes your lips and you shrug slightly. “Hopefully just the fact of me doesn’t make him uncomfortable.”

“You care about the Prince’s comfort?” That surprises him, and it’s rather sweet. It is rare that someone cares about someone they’ve never met before, not even someone who was going to marry. You are guaranteed a crown, why would you care about the man placing it on your head?

"Of course." The idea that you wouldn't is fairly shocking to you, if you're honest. "Everyone deserves to be happy, don't they? Especially with the people closest to them. I mean...this arrangement...it's not something either of us chose. What good would it do for us to hate each other?"

“And you?” Javi turns to face you. “You would choose another without a crown? A woman?” The idea that you might be repulsed by men is one that flashes in his mind and it would be a miserably cold marriage if that were the case.

"No." The idea of having a choice is almost incomprehensible if you're honest, but you can only shake your head now. It's not as though you weren't allowed to date, it was just that no one you ever went out with was ever going to last. And if you had been found out to have slept with any of them, your father probably would have disowned you. "I mean I'm interested in men and from all the photos I've seen of the prince he's very attractive, I just...this arrangement was made on our behalf. And I would hate to think that he is dreading my arrival when I'm actually excited to finally meet him." Excited and terrified, but the terror will be kept private. This man does not need to know about your anxiety or your fear.

“Excited?” He tilts his head curiously and smirks. “Why are you excited? You are not worried? I would be.”

"Excitement and worry are two sides of the same coin." That's honest, at least, and very true. You're definitely both. "It's hard to be excited to meet the person you're supposed to spend your life with without also being at least a little worried about disappointing them. That...I guess that's why I'm so curious about him."

“No other questions?” He asks playfully. “Nothing at all?”

"I wouldn't want to be inappropriate." For all you know, you've already overstepped and offended this man or even the prince by accident by asking anything at all.

Javi snorts and shakes his head. “Of course.” He murmurs, slightly disappointed by the way you seemingly cling to propriety.

"It's just...there are personal things that I would prefer to ask him in privacy." Probably your imagination, is what it is, but when he pouts slightly you have the almost unhinged urge to hug him. "I'm so sorry. I never even asked your name and here I am asking questions about someone else entirely."

Javi had turned away, prepared to climb the stairs carved into the cliff to enter the palace but you give him the opening that he wants. Turning around, he pulls off his sunglasses and gives you a small smile. “I am Javi.”

"Oh shit." The words fly out of your mouth before you can stop them and your eyes widen even more, with your entire body burning in embarrassment. Dropping down into possibly the least elegant curtsy of all time, you thankfully manage not to fall over but secretly wish you'd just topple right back over the edge of the cliff behind you. "I—I mean...I'm sorry, your Highness. I...apparently didn't recognize you." And went and made an idiot out of yourself in the process. Fucking hell...

“Obviously.” He smothers the grin and returns your curtsy with a formal bow and looks back up at you. “Now, what questions may I answer for you? Anything at all, since we are to be married.”

"How long have you known about me?" It slips out of you before you can think of anything more articulate or more interesting to ask not that you're standing face to face with him. At least you have the presence of mind to take off your own sunglasses and tuck them away in your bag.

“Two days.” Javi frowns, shaking his head slightly. “My father decided that I would learn of you the day he sent for you so I apologize that I do not know more than you are American and your name.”

"Two days?" It makes your heart sink in a way that you hadn't expected, and you can feel your shoulders roll in on themselves slightly before you push them back again. Ladies don't slouch says your father's voice in your head. "I've known about you almost my entire life."

“And you are…disappointed?” He asks softly. His entire life he had been compared to his father and been found wanting, why would the woman he was supposed to marry think any better of him?

"What? No!" When you look up again he's frowning so deeply that you have that overwhelming urge again to just wrap your arms around him and squeeze. Unfortunately - or perhaps fortunately for propriety - you're frozen on the spot. "I just can't believe that your father didn't tell you. Our parents made the arrangement when I was so little that I've just...always known this would happen one day."

“My father- it’s complicated.” He sighs softly, slightly relieved that you aren’t disappointed. “I am sorry, I meant to just meet you casually, not mislead you as to who I was. It was very nice to realize you didn’t recognize me.”

"I thought you might have been your own cousin or something," you admit sheepishly, instantly wishing you hadn't said anything at all. "You have...very nice hair. I thought it might be a family trait."

“You like my hair?” Javi’s eyes widen slightly and he almost reaches up. “I like that you are wearing a dress that is not stuffy.” He admits.

"It's one of my favourites." That's why you chose it, really. To really look and feel like yourself the first time you met him. "You like it? I—I have more like it."

He nods. “It’s very nice. Perfect for an evening in Mallorca.”

"Is there anything you want to know about me?" Since he hasn't known about you for long, that means that anything about you that might have been communicated between your fathers is probably unknown to him.

“Endless questions.” Javi admits with a grin. “But the king is waiting for your arrival.” He bites his lip and decides to be honest. “My father is sick. So he will only meet with you for a few minutes.”

"I'm so sorry to hear that." The unconscious step you take toward him is like the pull of a magnet. "That's why you said soon to be king when we met, isn't it?"

“We – my father is stepping down.” Javi confesses. “And we will be married in two months’ time. I want— he needs—” Javi swallows, unable to speak the words that his father needed it to be quick. “He has few months left.”

"I see." Vivid flashes of your own mother's funeral burst in your mind but you swallow and reach out to touch his arm gently. "If two months is too long for him, just name the day." This is a commitment that you've been preparing yourself for, for your whole life. If it happens fast, then it happens fast.

“We will discuss it with him.” Javi is grateful that you understand and he covers your hand with his for a brief moment.

This time when his touch makes your skin prick, you accept it wholeheartedly. It's a giddiness in the pit of your stomach that feels a bit shallow but at the same time you can't help but be grateful for. He's incredibly attractive in person, now that you see his whole face, and you fluster a little as the two of you turn to continue walking to the palace together. "So...do you prefer to be called Javi?" You ask after a moment, remembering that he hadn't used his full name when he revealed himself to you.

“I do, Javier is too formal.” He makes a face before he frowns. “My father feels as if I am too relaxed for the throne, that I need to be more rigid, but I do not think it must be so serious all the time.”

"It's good to have someone that you can let down your guard with." That frown makes him look a bit like a sweet, discontented puppy, but at the same time you can't help hoping that you don't see it too often. "I hope that...in time...you might feel that you can be yourself with me."

“You have known about me your entire life?” He asks curiously. “And you agreed to marry a stranger?” There’s no judgement, but he finds it odd that someone so beautiful would agree to this.

"I think we must be a few years apart in age." It seems odd to tell him that you know his exact birthday and secretly always have a little cupcake that day in his honor. "You were a preteen when our parents made the contract. I was in pre-school." The slight shrug you offer says that it doesn't bother you anymore. It is simply a fact. "So I grew up knowing that one day - any day - I might get a phone call to come here and marry you."

“You have never…wanted more?” He asks, wishing that you weren’t so close to the doors. “For yourself?”

"More?" More than being royalty? That would make you about the most demanding and highest reaching person in the world, you think. Certainly it would be a rather extreme expectation. "More than what? I mean, I liked my job and all, but I tend to think I could do a lot more good here than just being an organizer for a non-profit back in New York." Or did he mean more than him? That actually makes you frown instead. "If you mean...personally? All I want is someone who loves me. And if that can't be you...well, you'll be king soon. You can make whatever decision you want."

“There— there is no divorce for the royal family.” Javi reveals, relieved, that it’s not the crown that you wished for, but love. “Once we are married, that’s it.” He might not agree with arranged marriages but he respected the crown and tradition enough that he would not make a mockery of it.

This particular fact has never been related to you so cleanly, but always sort of hinted at. And now that you’re hearing it directly from him, it seems almost foreboding. Like he is trying to see if you can be warned off. “The only expectation I have had for my life is to come here to marry you,” you tell him, fingers twisting around each other nervously. “I am prepared to do it. But if you decide that you don’t like me for some reason…” The possibility is surprisingly devastating to you, now that you’ve met him and feel strings of actual attraction for the man. He seems genuinely sweet. And is incredibly handsome. “If you decide you do not like me, then it is up to you what happens afterward. But I hope that that is not something we will have to think about.”

Javi shakes his head, no longer as resistant to the idea now that he had seen you in person. “My father has assured me that the contract is binding and it would be dishonorable for me to back out of this.” He gives you a nervous smile. “I just— I hope that I do not disappoint you. Our monarchy isn’t like England’s. We are the government and our people are very much our interest. We are small on the world stage.”

“That sounds vastly preferable, if I’m honest.” You’ve lingered outside one of the many palace doors for a few minutes now, and though you’re still nervous it’s slightly different than when you first arrived. “I hope that we can at least be friends? I would hate to be a disappointment to you, either. And I know that you did not ask for this.”

“We will have more time to get to know one another very well.” Javi acknowledges, opening the door for you to enter the palace. “Welcome home, Princess.”

______

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[the-broken-truth]

Al'akh Al'ashghar - Jamil Viper [Platonic Yandere] [Male Yuu][Part 1 of 3]

Summary: During a dinner at Scarabia Dorm, something goes terribly wrong as you suddenly become poisoned, leaving you in critical condition. Fortunately, Jamil steps up to the task of ensuring that you make a full recovery. However, something about Jamil's demeanor seems off, but you can't quite identify what it is from your position of being bedridden.

Notes:

Al'akh Al'ashghar means 'Little Brother' in Arabic; considering Jamil's Name means 'Handsome/Beautiful' in Arabic, I thought this would be fitting to use. (I don't speak Arabic - I used Google Translate)

This story will be told in the Second POV.

Jamil will refer to the reader as 'Yuu' - if you so choose, replace Yuu with your own name.

You are hereby invited to Scarabia Dorm for a Grand Feast hosted by the Dorm Warden, Kalim Al-Asim, as my personal guest. Please, arrive at 6:00 P.M. or earlier if possible. I am hoping you will attend & I am looking forward to seeing you, Prefect. ~ Signed, Jamil Viper - Scarabia's Vice Dorm Warden

It all started with that invitation.

An Invitation from the Vice Dorm Warden of Scarabia, Jamil Viper, for you to come to Scarabia for one of Kalim's Parties and join them for the Grand Feast that would come after the party; Jamil always made amazing food and Grim was insistent that the two of you attended the party so the chimera could stuff his face with the delicatable delicates from the Land of Scalding Sands.

You took time to actually make yourself presentable for the party, wearing a crimson dress shirt with black pants and completed with black shoes before you tended to your hair and brushed any dust or loose hair off your shirt before grabbing your fully charged phone and placed it on your pocket before Grim jumped on your shoulder and the two of you walked out of Ramshackle, making sure to lock the door behind you and placing the key inside of a fake rock before heading to the Hall of Mirrors before walking into Scarabia's Mirror, the fainted warmth of the setting sun hitting your face a bit harder than it was in your own territory.

"Prefect." A very familiar voice called out to you, causing you to turn your head in the direction of Scara'bias Dorm, seeing the Vice Dorm Warden walking over to you wearing Scarabia's Uniform with his hood over his head.

"Jamil-senpai, it's good to see you. Thank you for the invitation." You smiled at the Viper Dorm Warden as he looked at you up and down, taking in your visage before he remained silent for a while, "Senpai, is something wrong?"

"Scarabia's Colors look good on you, Prefect." Jamil said before he returned the smile - a rare sight that Jamil only showed you ever since you foiled his attempted coup of Scarabia and saved him from his Overblot Episode; ever since that day, he found himself attached to you.

He was comfortable being himself around you, and you didn't judge him nor blame him for his past mistakes. In fact, you helped him regain his reputation among the student body and also made sure he took time for self-care. There were times when you even looked after Kalim, realizing that Jamil was overworking himself and needed a break. He knew better than to argue with you, given your impressive record of defeating four Overblots despite being magicless.

"Thank you, Jamil-senpai; I thought it would be fitting to wear Scarabia Colors to a Scarabian Event." You smiled at him.

"Have you ever considered wearing those colors permanently?" Jamil asked.

"Huh?" You questioned with a raised eyebrow.

"Surely you haven't forgotten about that conversation we had a few days ago, Yuu. Have you ever considered my offer?" Jamil asked with a raised eyebrow.

You recalled the conversation you had with Jamil during one of your late-night Mancala matches a few nights ago when you stayed over at Scarabia Dorm after a study session that lasted too long.

The night was young but the inhabitants of Scarabia Dorm were tucked away in their dorms, resting up for the sun to rise in a few hours for them to start their days over again; well, one inhabitant and a visitor were still wide away. Grim was sleeping on the softest pillow he could find in Scarabia's Lounge while The Vice Dorm Warden of Scarabia & Prefect of Ramshackle were sitting on soft pillows with the Mancala game before them; the two of them had completed their weekly study session but it got so late into the night & Grim ended up falling asleep. You didn't have the heart to wake up the sleeping chimera and Jamil offered you a room in Scarabia's Dorm - the same room you stayed in during Scarabia's 'Training Camp'. Ironic, isn't it?

"I'm honestly surprised that you decided to remain in Scarabia after our study session, Yuu." Jamil said while making his move on the game board.

"It's not that big of a deal - I'm mostly at Scarabia when I am not at Ramshackle, in class, or tending to Crowley's Tasks." You exhaled before making your move on the Mancala Board, "Honestly, Scarabia is almost like a 2nd Home to me."

"Second Home? Why not a 3rd Home?" Jamil asked.

"Home is where the heart is, Jamil. It's a place where you feel appreciated and loved. I never really felt 'loved' in my Original World. It was more like I was being tolerated and my efforts were never really appreciated. Ramshackle is the first place I consider home because it belongs to me and Grim. It's a place of my own where I can have my own peace. Scarabia, on the other hand, feels like 'coming home.' You, Kalim, and the other students of Scarabia are kind of like the family I never had but always wanted." You explained while waiting for Jamil to make a move, but he continued to gaze upon you with wide eyes.

"If that is truly how you feel... If coming to Scarabia Dorm is like coming home for you... Why don't you stay?" Jamil asked, causing you to look at him with a raised eyebrow.

'What do you mean??" You asked him.

"I wanted to talk to you about something important. Have you considered becoming an official member of Scarabia Dorm? Kalim and the other members have spoken about it and we would all love to have you here permanently. I have the paperwork ready for a Dorm Transfer, with Kalim's and Headmage Crowley's signatures. All it needs is yours. Please sign it and become a part of Scarabia Dorm. We would welcome you with open arms, Yuu." Jamil looked into your eyes with a smile on his face; his works were genuine.

You looked down at the Mancala Board - Jamil's Words echoing in your head.

"Jamil-senpai, we talked about this: If I was meant to be in Scarabia, the Dark Mirror would have placed me in Scarabia." You explained but that caused Jamil to frown.

"The Dark Mirror was unable to assign you to one of the seven Dorms because it detects magic, and you don't possess any magical abilities, Yuu. Had you been from Wonderland or possessed magical powers, the mirror would have placed you in Scarabia. However, your exceptional intelligence and performance in dealing with the Overblots, despite being from a different world, indicates that you would excel in the Sorcerer of the Sands' Domain. You are meant to be here with us, Yuu."Jamil held out his hand to you, "Come home to us, Al'akh Al'ashghar."

'Al'akh Al'ashghar? What does that...?' You thought before another voice called out to Jamil and you.

"Yuu! Grim! You guys made it here!" Kalim walked out of the dorm and waved over to the Prefect of Ramshackle, causing you to walk around Jamil and walk over to the Walking Ball of Sunshine of Scarabia and give him a hug. Kalim grabbed you by your hand and pulled you away from Jamil who just stood there for a while to be alone with his thoughts before a smile crept along his face as he turned and started walking towards the dorm building.

'I have a very important feast to create.'

Grim rested on your shoulder as everyone sat in the Lounge Room while waiting for Jamil to finish making the food for the feast; Kalim was telling them about how Jamil helped him with his studying and he was able to get a high grade on his most recent test thanks to the Vice Dorm Warden. You sat there while Grim was talking to Kalim about the food Jamil was making but your mind kept going back to what Jamil said before you came into the dorm - his words gave you one message but the tone of his voice, was as if it was hiding another message.

And that name he called you: Al'akh Al'ashghar

You opened your mouth to ask Kalim the meaning of that name, certain that it was found in the Land of Scalding Sands, but before the words could leave your lips - Jamil and several Scarabia Students walked into the Lounge Roo. with serving platters of food and drinks, but Jamil was carrying two smaller platters in his hands: one for Kalim and the other for you. Grim leaped off your head and joined the other Scarabia Students in their feasting while Jamil placed the personal platters in front of you and Kalim; Jamil smiled at you before placing a drink next to your food and another for Kalin - your couple was made of pure silver rather than the gold and it had your name engraved in the side.

"A Gift. For everything you have done for Scarabia." Jamil said before taking his seat next to Kalim to start eating his own food.

You looked at the dish Jamil set in front of you and picked up your spoon before starting to eat; it was divine in texture and taste, just like everything else Jamil made. You continued to eat before you felt your throat getting dry from the spices used in the meat reached to grab your silver cup and took a drink of the tea before swallowing it to soothe your throat; the relief soon came and you continued to eat.

*COUGH*

*COUGH*

*COUGH*

"Prefect, that is a rather violent cough. Are you okay?" Jamil asked as he look up from his meal with concern on his face.

"I'm fine. It's just some spices got caught in my throat and..." You were cut off by another round of violent coughing, you covered your mouth and removed it to get some air in your lungs when your air seemed to get thinner.

"PREFECT! YOUR HAND!" One of the Scarabia Students called out in panic, causing you to look at your hand and your eyes got wide with the same horror - Blood stained your palm and fingers.

Soon enough, your air supply was completely cut off; you grabbed your throat as you tried to breathe but nothing was going in and nothing was coming out - it was as if you were drowning as you threw yourself back and landed on the pillows behind you as you scratched at your throat.

"POISON! HE'S BEEN POISONED!"

"HOLD ON, I HAVE AN ANTIDOTE!"

Your vision was getting blurry but you could barely make out Jamil's face as he pulled a vial of amber liquid from somewhere on his person and held it to your lips.

"Come on, drink this for me, Al'akh Al'ashghar; I'm here for you. I'm going to help you. Drink for me." Jamil's voice seemed to echo but your body seemed to obey his plead without you thinking about it as your mouth opened and the liquid from the vial went down your throat and slowly opened the blocked passage, allowing the air to flow into your aching burning lungs.

However, the air to your brain was low and you were slowly losing consciousness, but you could make out the last words Jamil said before your world faded into darkness.

"I have you now, Al'akh Al'ashghar"

'What does... that mean?' You thought before you closed your eyes.

And then, you knew no more as you floated in the void of your subconsciousness.

[TO BE CONTINUED IN PART TWO]

[peripaltepsy]

You said you had tips for dealing with hypochondria, right? - Entity

yeah, sorry for the late reply !

So, first of all, check on your necessities as soon as any panic starts. Are you thirsty, hungry, need to use the bathroom, tired? Fulfilling your needs will help a lot

I had 4 stages of recovery.

First stage: actually believing that I had x condition; I wondered if it was just anxiety but the fear was winning.

-> I would google not the symptoms I were "feeling", but the actual condition I thought I had. Notice how most conditions, when acquired, will take some time, like 3 days before onset. I'd think to myself, there's no need to stress right now; if I do feel these symptoms in 3 days I'll worry only then. (And then the symptoms never occurred lol)

-> Identifying triggers: literally anything can be an anxiety trigger, even things you'd never think of. I got anxious at a specific time of the day: 4 pm to 6 pm. Foods with white flour can trigger anxiety too. Chocolate also triggered it for me. It's up to you whether to avoid or deal with stuff (I for example, chose not to avoid chocolate since I already rarely ate it.) If you choose to avoid, keep in mind it's only temporary and you'll be able to expose yourself to these triggers someday

-> THE FAKE SYMPTOMS YOU'RE FEELING ARE EITHER THE ANXIETY OR NORMAL BODILY STUFF THAT YOUR HYPERAWARENESS IS PATHOLOGIZING.

Example: heart racing? Anxiety. Shivering? Anxiety.

I once got super worried because some parts of my face were warmer and others were cooler. But this is literally NORMAL.

I also worried because I felt the moisture inside my mouth and throat. It's NORMAL AND NECESSARY FOR SURVIVAL

-> If you're able to, go to a low-stimulating place. When I was in school I'd go to the bathroom and play music. It was just a 3 minutes break but I needed that. At home, I'd also lock myself in the bathroom but I'd watch latino shitpost compilations :)

-> I think one of the best forms of distraction is comedy. Have some youtube channels and tumblr pages etc bookmarked.

-> Remember, how many times did you really have the condition your hypochondria was telling you? Zero. ZERO!!!! IT WILL ALWAYS BE ZERO!!! THAT BITCH IS A LIAR!!! XD

-> You can ask friends to help ground you and remind you that the anxiety is wrong

-> sometimes anxiety is developed out of nowhere, but if you can find a "why" you developed it, that's good

Second stage: Knowing it's just anxiety, but the fear of having x condition/dying was still in my mind.

-> thats because your subconscious doesn't believe that your anxiety is caused by a concrete perceived thing; it still assumes its caused by a nebulous grand illness or something. Keep talking to it and asserting its not an illness but actually just X trigger. It'll take time but YOU'LL SUCCEED

-> There's not much to do. Just distract yourself and keep fighting the anxiety saying it's wrong.

Alternatively, if you're confident enough and grounded, you can be the bigger bitch. "Yeah so what if I got x?" "I don't fuckin care" "wow I'm so scared /s"

-> Activities that require active focus like doing the dishes are good distractions as well

-> Panic attacks = anxiety of anxiety. You can't force them, so if you confront something potentially triggering heads on and are aware of your anxiety coming up you'll be able to prevent feeling Real Bad.

Example: you're going to read an article about an illness and know it's gonna trigger you. So you click on it, you're not afraid of feeling anxiety, you're just aware of what you're gonna feel. You start noticing your breathing becoming shallower and think "the anxiety has begun". After reading it you go relax a little with the yt channel you bookmarked, for example. You're aware that your anxiety could use that new knowledge against you (aka it can be a new trigger) but you don't care because YOU'RE the one in control, YOU'RE the bigger bitch and won't let it dictate what you should do or not.

-> KEEP THE GIGACHAD MINDSET : Despite being neck deep in the hypochondria ocean in high school, I wanted to study stuff relating to healthcare in college. I didn't care that I could potentially get triggered everyday, I'd find a way to deal with it. And then I managed to beat hypochondria before entering college!!!

-> Ultimately, (and this may not suit you) what led me out of the second stage was a buddhist meditation called Maranasati. I used to do other types of meditation as well; maranasati is "death awareness meditation". Basically you just confront death and illness heads on and learn to be at peace with them.

Third stage: Knowing it's just anxiety

-> On this stage, the "health anxiety" part of your anxiety is gone or almost gone.

Just ride the bad vibes until the anxiety symptoms subside. And use the coping mechanisms and distractions as well.

Fourth stage: I got so evolved I can cut panic attacks as soon as they start

-> on this stage, I can immediately identify when something is making me anxious and think "oh, X thing is making me anxious"; and the panic symptoms immediately quiet down and stop; since the knowledge that yes, that concrete and perceived thing is the cause of our anxiety is anchored in my subconscious.

I hope anything I wrote can help you, good luck, beat that bitch into a pulp :)

[ace-of-clubs-and-diamonds]

Too Late I'm Dead

After rushing out from a Jigsaw survivors meeting, you meet another survivor who isn't exactly intent on attending group therapy. A companionship blossoms, and then a friendship. And then, something else.

Rating: Explicit, NSFW 🔞 Fandom: Saw Pairing: Amanda Young x AFAB!Reader Word count: 5.1K Content warnings: Gore, mentions of self-harm (both in the Jigsaw trap context and the more typical context), trauma, PTSD, angst, discussions of disability (since a lot of Jigsaw traps are disabling), Saw is its own warning, smoking, alcohol consumption, flirting, kissing, making out, biting, vaginal fingering, friends to lovers, as is Saw tradition gay shit goes down in the bathroom, reader is AFAB but gender neutral AO3 link: Here

Author's Note: And here’s Blood Fest Week 3, with the keywords “twisted” and “fixation” and the prompts “traps” and “rage”!! “Traps”, of course, got me thinking about Saw. And since I’m down terribly bad for Amanda and have seen appallingly few fics for her…. well, why not? Underrated characters are kind of my signature anyway. Hope y’all enjoy! <3

“Hi everyone. My name is Brandon and…. I’m a Jigsaw survivor.”

A subdued chorus of Hi Brandons echoed around the small church room. You barely even bothered to mouth the words. The gesture felt about as empty as the tipped over plastic water bottle you’d discarded by your chair some time ago. There was coffee at the sad makeshift snack table too, as well as a box of pastries that looked a few days past their prime, but you figured you didn’t need the caffeine to make you any more jittery than you already were. Your leg was bouncing enough as it was.

“It’s been about a year since uh. Well.” Brandon smiled nervously and made a vague, fluttery gesture with his hands. “Well. You know.”

A quiet, obligatory response from the other people – a murmur, a nod of heads. You stared at your bouncing knee.

“I’ve made great progress with my recovery. My knees have healed really well. I can fully walk on them again, even run if I’m careful. My dog Rex doesn’t really like it when I’m careful though.” He laughed fondly. A couple others offered the obligatory chuckle. “They hurt if I get too eager with stairs. Or if it’s too humid. But it’s going really well. I’m really, really proud of the progress I’ve made.” He nodded, as if assuring himself.

He’d had to break both his knees in order to get out of his trap. Was in a wheelchair for months and only recently started moving around without it. Or so you’d been told.

You weren’t sure you’d be able to break your own knees.

“Somedays, though.” Brandon looked away from the loose circle you all formed. Blinked rapidly. “Somedays, it feels like I haven’t made any progress. Somedays it’s hard. Really hard. And it feels like I didn’t survive that trap. Or if I did, some part of me got left behind.”

Everyone else was nodding, some with sad, understanding smiles on their faces. Your own pulse thundered in your ears like a distant, approaching storm.

“It’s really hard to have hope on those days, but…. what else can I do?” He shrugged, a helpless smile on his face. “Give up? Wallow around in my own misery? I can’t live like that. No one can live like that. Not forever. You just have to choose. You have to make a choice, just like the choices we made to be here. You have to choose to live. You have to choose hope. Or else you just can’t survive.”

You shot to your feet, heartbeat pounding in your ears, chair scraping back. Every face in the room turned to look at you. The church felt too small. Your ribs felt too tight. You felt too…. seen.

Who was he to judge you for wallowing in what you’d fucking gone through?

You spun around and bee-lined for the exit.

The cool city air against your face was a relief as you barged through the church’s double doors. But you stopped in your tracks as you spotted someone else already there. A woman was sitting on the church stairs. She twisted around, eyebrows raised and half-hidden by the choppy, irregular bangs across her forehead.

“Uh. Hey,” you said, somewhat awkwardly.

She paused, as if uncertain. Of what? You weren’t sure. “Hey,” she eventually said back. Then, after another pause, she twisted further around, a frown crossing her features. “Is the meeting over?”

“No. I just needed some air.” Fuck, you needed something to calm yourself. You dug around in your jacket pockets until you found a lighter and a cigarette. “Um. Do you mind if I…?”

She stared at the cigarette in your hand with an expression you couldn’t quite decipher, but eventually shook her head no. You internally shrugged and lit up. The first drag uncoiled the tension that had built up in your muscles, and you breathed the smoke out on a relieved sigh.

The woman glanced between you and the church doors. “Having fun in there?”

Did she know? The place didn’t exactly advertise, but it wasn’t exactly a secret either. You scanned her face. She looked vaguely familiar, but you couldn’t quite place her. Had you seen her in the meetings before? “Oh, yeah, lots. You know. Fun therapy shit.” Supposedly, anyway. It was supposed to be some sort of Alcoholics Anonymous shit, but instead it was for the few survivors of an active fucking serial killer. Jigsaws Anonymous or whatever the fuck.

“Must be going well if you’re out here,” she said dryly, resting her chin on a propped-up fist.

You shrugged, taking another drag. “Well…” Did you really want to tell her about how Brandon’s words had hit just a little too close to home? How they’d made you feel too small, as if the sticks you’d used to prop up your fragile post-trap reconstruction of the world had suddenly snapped, and the weight of it all was now bearing down on you? She was a stranger waiting outside the church. She could’ve been some Jesus freak for all you knew.

Not that she really looked like one. Not with the sheer red shirt over a black bra and fishnet undershirt, or the combat boots, or the sheer exhaustion around her eyes.

She looked less like a Jesus freak and more like you did on the days you could bear to look in the mirror.

So you just shrugged again. “It can be a lot,” you said. “What about you? What’re you doing out here?” You hesitated. “There’re still seats open if you wanted to…”

“No thanks. I’m good.” She offered you a close-lipped smile. “I’ve heard enough of the sob-stories.”

Yeah. You could understand that.

She didn’t look like she was going anywhere, and you didn’t exactly have plans of your own. So you gestured to the stairs next to her. “Mind if I sit?”

“Be my guest.”

You sat to her right so the wind wouldn’t blow cigarette smoke into her face. The smooth grey stone steps were wide enough that it didn’t feel quite so awkward sitting in silence together. Even though you could feel her analyzing you as you took another puff.

You blew the smoke away and smirked dryly at the cigarette. “Think Jigsaw’s gonna put me in another deathtrap for smoking?” You ignored the tightening in your chest as you said the words. Ignored the tremor of unease. Surely it wouldn’t be enough. Surely lightning wouldn’t strike twice.

“He wouldn’t do that.” She said it with such simple certainty, as if it was an inarguable fact. Even still, you found yourself stubbing the cig out and searching for a trash can to toss it into. You didn’t want to just flick it into the grass. Maybe Jigsaw would get you for littering. Maybe he was really passionate about saving the planet.

Who needed to be God-fearing with the possibility of Jigsaw watching your every move?

You shook the thought off. Introduced yourself to the woman. You smiled awkwardly. “Um. I’d offer you my hand but my, uh–” Personal hell “–Trap involved a hand thing so. I’m not a big fan of handshakes these days.” It had taken a long time for the nerves to repair themselves in your hand. A long time and a shitton of agony and medication and physical therapy. You still hadn’t totally gotten rid of the tremor. Fine motorskills were still harder than before.

Before. That.

But the woman just gave a rueful, understanding sort-of smile. Funny how people smiled so much in the presence of trauma and pain. “Amanda. I still have trouble going to the dentist sometimes.”

Shit, that’s where you knew her from, wasn’t it? You’d heard of her, read about her before, seen a clip of her punching a journalist square in the nose when she tried to follow her. All the photos you’d seen had been such shit quality that you hadn’t recognized her immediately.

Amanda Young. The person who killed a man and rummaged around his guts to free herself from the machine hooked into her jaws. The first person to walk away from a Jigsaw trap. The first survivor. In a weird, fucked up way, it was almost like meeting a celebrity. A celebrity for the most depressingly specific thing possible.

You weren’t sure whether it would make things weird to bring that up. So you just nodded. “So. What’re you doing here then? Are you waiting for someone?”

“Mm no, not really.” Amanda scraped at the chipped black polish on her nails. “I just like to come here sometimes.”

You stared at her. Something about her reminded you of a deer, twitchy and ready to bolt at the slightest sign of danger. Or maybe not a deer. Deer looked like they’d snap in half if the wind blew too hard. Amanda…. did not. She was twitchy, but for some reason you got the feeling that she was just as likely to start kicking as she was to start running

Permanently caught between fight or flight.

You went with freeze, yourself. Or wallow, as Brandon had put it. Anger and embarrassment burned against your ribs.

“Hell of a place to visit.” You weren’t sure if you meant it as a light-hearted joke or a deadpan remark. The words came out somewhere in between.

“You’re one to talk.” She finally turned to you. It was the first time she’d actually met your eyes, you realized. “You actually believe all this bullshit?” she asked, gesturing to the church.

“Not really,” you admitted. “My therapist wanted me to go. Said it would help me to be around others who understand what I went through. That it would help me get closure or something. I didn’t want to. But he insisted.” You shrugged. He’d pestered you about it until you finally gave in a few weeks ago. He thought it would be good for you. Would help you heal. Really, it just made you want to fling yourself out of one of the church’s fancy stained-glass windows.

Amanda gave a derisive snort. You almost took offense until she said, “Half of the time these therapists don’t even know what they’re talking about. It’s a bunch of bullshit, too.” She propped her cheek on her fist again, giving you a side-long grimace. “People don’t change until they have to. Or until they’re forced to. A bunch of psychoanalyzing isn’t going to do anything.”

You…. strongly disagreed. But the slim scar peeking out from her sleeve kept you from saying that. “Bad experience with a therapist?” you asked, flicking your gaze away.

“It never really worked for me.”

“What did?” you asked cautiously.

She paused. Thought about it. Stared at you with an intensity that had you wondering what the hell was going on inside her head. Until eventually, “Jigsaw.”

You blinked. Stared. Tried to figure out how to respond to that.

She thought…. Jigsaw helped?

You didn’t want to judge. Fuck, that was exactly why you’d stormed out of the church. You were self-aware enough to realize that. Different things worked for different people, and different people responded to trauma in different ways, but….

The church doors squealed open. You both shot to your feet and turned around. Your fellow Jigsaw Anonymous members were leaving, the meeting over, spilling out from the doors with all the speed and excitement of molasses being poured out from a jar. You stepped to the side to let them come down the stairs. Amanda did the same, arm brushing yours, and you wrestled the urge to jerk away. You weren’t sure of the last time you’d actually touched someone, or the last time someone had touched you, aside from the gentle but coldly professional hands of doctors and emergency personnel. It was as startlingly foreign as it was familiar.

Amanda seemed completely unaware of your clashing emotions as her gaze locked onto something. You followed her stare to Brandon slowly making his way down the steps. A man with sandy-blond hair and a cane was with him, chatting, the both of them completely oblivious to either of you.

Did she know them? She was staring at them with such an undecipherable intensity and it was the only explanation you could think of. You glanced at the two men again, then back at Amanda. No… she wasn’t staring at them. She was staring at the blond man specifically.

It really wasn’t any of your business, but you couldn’t help but ask, “Do you two know each other?”

“Sorta,” was as much of a response as you got.

Once Brandon and the man reached the bottom of the ramp and went separate ways, Amanda turned back to you. It was just the two of you on the stairs now. And it was a little embarrassing how flustered you were just by her proximity. For fuck’s sake, you didn’t even know her.

Maybe your therapist was right. You did need to get out and be around people more. So you could remember how to fucking act normal again.

“Well.” Amanda bumped her arm against yours again. This time deliberately. You were pretty sure the facial expression you made was not a normal one. “See you round.”

Then she shoved her hands into the pockets of her cargo pants, hopped down the steps, and just. Walked away. You stared after her for longer than necessary.

She was impossible to get a read on. Weirdly confrontational, weirdly evasive, and weirdly magnetic anyway.

You kind of hoped you’d see her again.

She didn’t appear for the next few meetings you obligatorily dragged yourself to. It wasn’t until about a month later that you found her sitting out on the steps again. When you, again, had rushed out to clear your head when the room got too small.

“Hey stranger,” she said, tone somewhere close to teasing. It made you smile. Just a little.

“Hey,” you replied, approaching the stairs. And again, you gestured to the space beside her. “Mind if I join you?”

“Be my guest.”

And so you developed a bit of a routine. She appeared on the steps about once a month, for a reason she never shared and that you never really minded. You would sit on the stairs with her, and the two of you would shoot the breeze. It was a comfortable, casual companionship born from a common factor and convenience. It was never anything very deep. Neither of you were there for therapy, not really. You kept it light, casual. That was the point, wasn’t it?

At least until one day when Amanda was standing by the stairs before the meeting had even started. You didn’t bother to hide your surprise as you approached her and exchanged your usual heys.

“You coming in today?” you asked.

“No. I thought we could head somewhere else.” She tilted her head at you. There was a playfulness to her expression, her smile. A playfulness that made you both a little bit cautious and a little bit excited. “Somewhere a little more fun. Unless you want to stay here. For therapy.” She pointedly lifted her eyebrows at you as she said therapy.

You glanced at the church doors behind her. Really, talking to her about anything but the fact that you were both Jigsaw survivors had done a lot more for you than going to these stupid fucking meetings had.

“Only if you promise not to put me in a death game for smoking,” you joked. Or tried to, at least. It really wasn’t that funny. You winced at yourself. But Amanda, to her credit, just linked her arm through yours. You almost preened at the friendly touch.

“Deal,” she said.

She ended up taking you to a bar. A gay bar, more specifically. You were a bit surprised she’d clocked you so easily but never said a word – but then again, neither had you about her. So you supposed you couldn’t be too surprised.

From there, your casual companionship escalated into something much more like a genuine friendship. You got to know each other properly. You talked about your personal lives and hobbies and interests. You even talked a little bit about Jigsaw, and everything after that. You told her how you’d been struggling with insomnia and how you’d lost your job when you stopped showing up. Because of, y’know, being stuck in a deathtrap. And being too terrified to set foot outside your door for a while after. You told her about the new job you’d gotten and struggled to adjust to. And you told her about your hands.

Nails through the palms Jesus-style. Because according to the hoarse voice on the tape that now haunted your nightmares – “Idle hands are the devil’s workshop”. She’d winced as you told her the story one evening. You’d winced as you’d recollected it. The pain shooting through your fingertips, up your arms, into your very fucking bones. The squelch of blood and muscle, the way you hadn’t been able to stop from screaming or the tears from spilling as you twisted and ripped your hands free of the metal spikes.

It was a miracle they didn’t introduced any infections into your bloodstream, the doctors had told you. A miracle.

You told Amanda how your hands still shook, were still a bit weak. How some days they were worse and some days they were better. And how fine motor skills had become hard now, whereas before you’d taken them for granted. God, had you taken them for granted. You’d been able to write your name, use a knife and fork, all that shit, so damn easily.

It had taken a lot of getting used to.

Amanda has just listened and nodded her head. Understanding. Not offering the grating sympathy people so often flung your way, all the while looking uncomfortably unsure of what to do with your presence and your hands and your experience and your trauma. But Amanda understood. Because of course she did. She knew what you’d been through and where you were coming from.

And she’d even smiled a bit mischievously, glancing down at your hands on the bar counter, and said, “Well, if you ever need help with anything, I’m pretty good with my hands. I could always lend a finger or two.”

Maybe it was the little smirk on her face, the glint in her eye when she said it. Maybe it was the loneliness and then the sudden friendship. Or maybe you’d just been a little too buzzed, but her words had remained lodged in your mind as you tried to go to sleep that night.

Amanda had shared things about herself, too, in the time you’d spent together. It had taken a little longer for her to open up – she was a bit slower, a bit more cautious. She seemed a lot more eager to listen than to do the talking. And you couldn’t fault her for that. But eventually, you learned that she worked as a mechanic, knew a lot about fixing and building machines and shit like that. She had a pet guinea pig that she’d acquired entirely by accident. His name was Pigeon. Her favorite color was red, her favorite bands were Nine Inch Nails and Hole, and her favorite movie was The Princess Bride. Her dad was a piece of shit she hadn’t seen in over a decade, and her relationship with her mom was strained at best. She was an only child.

You’d also learned more about her Jigsaw trap. How she’d become a drug addict in prison, how she’d woken up in a Jigsaw trap for it. How the little puppet with swirls on its cheeks had rolled out of the darkness on a tricycle and told her that she’d survived. And how she’d ended up in a trap a second time, a hellish prison of a house with several other people, most of whom had died.

The news had nearly brought your drink back into your throat. Lighting did strike twice after all. He did pick the same victims more than once.

God, maybe you really did need to quit smoking.

Amanda had placed her hand on your arm. Touch gentle but grounding all the same. And she’d assured you that that wouldn’t happen to you, Jigsaw wouldn’t choose you again. He had no reason to. She said it so confidently, and you so desperately wanted to believe her. That you wouldn’t be taken a second time. Or that she wouldn’t be taken a third. Not that she seemed too concerned about it.

That was the strange thing about her. When she told you about what had happened, she stared down at the counter. Her hands shook a little bit. The memory terrified her.

And yet…. she had this fixation on the idea that Jigsaw had helped her. The trap had gotten her off drugs. It had put her on a completely different path in life. Rather than dying from a drug overdose, she’d gotten clean. He saved me, she’d said, eyes wide and earnest and afraid.

You’d fought against the urge to argue that, to say No, he didn’t save you, he almost killed you. The idea of Jigsaw possibly helping – all while you struggled to sleep and were plagued by nightmares as you did, while you struggled to make your handwriting legible, while you fought the urge to bolt back home as soon as the sun started lowering in the sky? The idea felt like swallowing glass.

Had Jigsaw ever made anyone do that?

But you didn’t say any of that to her. People dealt with trauma in different ways. You supposed this was just her way of dealing with it. And it wasn’t really hurting anyone, so who were you to judge?

It certainly didn’t stop you from going to the bar with her regularly. It didn’t stop you from laughing with her, from getting close to her both emotionally and physically till the edge of your seats were almost touching and your arms were practically interlinked.

It didn’t stop the spark of warmth in your chest when she offered a genuine smile. Or the electric feeling that shot through your veins when she traced her fingers over your knuckles one night, after the conversation had lulled and your drinks had gone lukewarm.

“I wanna try something,” she said, voice soft enough that you would’ve missed it had you not been sitting so close your thighs were pressed together.

Eye contact right now would’ve been like staring into the sun. So instead, you stared at her hand on top of yours. Her knuckles were scratched up as if she’d gotten into a fight. “Sure,” you said slowly. “What did you have in mind?”

Amanda turned to you. You cautiously met her gaze. Christ, it really was like looking at the sun. Warm and beautiful but intense. Burningly intense.

Confusion turned to shock as Amanda hooked two fingers into the neck of your shirt and tugged you closer till her lips were hitting yours. You must’ve made a noise of surprise, because she drew away almost immediately. It was all you could do not to chase her and ask why did you stop? A small crease appeared between her eyebrows and she opened her mouth. And God for a second you thought she was going to apologize, when in fact she really didn’t need to because holy shit.

“Oh thank fuck,” you blurted. “You were flirting with me.”

Concern turned to surprise. Then Amanda laughed, the sound pure relief. “Yeah, I was. Did it take you that long to figure it out?” she teased.

“Uh.” Your face warmed. “Maybe.”

She grinned, then grabbed you by the shirt and kissed you again. Gentle but insistent. Her other hand curled around your nape. You didn’t know what the hell to do with your own hands until one curled around her back and the other ended up braced against the bar counter.

The bar counter. Right. You were very much in public. Sure, it was a queer bar, but it was still public.

So you reluctantly pulled away. Amanda looked confused for a moment before you said, “Hey, maybe we should… do this somewhere else?”

She blinked at you. Then, wordlessly, she wrapped a hand around your wrist and pulled you off your seat. She dragged you past the other patrons and tables – it was a quieter night, so you didn’t have to fight through a sea of people – and pushed through one of the bathroom doors, yanking you in with her and locking the door behind you.

“There,” she said. There was a look to her eyes, a look that made your heart stumble and your entire body go warm. “We’re somewhere else.”

This time when she kissed you, you let her fully take the lead. You slid your arms around her and melted into the kiss, sighing against her. It just made her more eager. She prodded at your lips with her tongue, slipped inside with a sweet little moan that had your heart racing. Sent your head spinning. You backed up till you hit a wall, dragging Amanda with because fuck you weren’t breaking this kiss. Not as she was getting to know you with her teeth and her tongue. She tasted like alcohol and peaches, smelled of loam and sweat and faintly of men’s store-brand bodywash. It was heady, intoxicating. Addicting.

Her hands slipped under your shirt. You shuddered at the exposure to the overly air-conditioned bathroom. Shuddered harder at her warm touch roving across your skin, the slight drag of fingernails over your stomach. Amanda broke the kiss with a wet smack as your muscles tensed underneath her.

“You’re so cute,” she teased. She dragged her fingernails over your skin again with just a little more pressure. You arced into her touch. Fuck. Fuck.

You wished you could come up with some kind of response. Something to convey just how much you were aching for her, both emotionally and physically. How badly and how deeply these emotions were running through you. But words were currently beyond your grasp.

Amanda leaned in and nibbled at your neck as her fingers slid past your waistband and teased the edge of your underwear. You clamped your teeth down on your bottom lip. Heat swirled through your veins, in your stomach, at the base of your spine. You moved your hips a little, just a little, to urge her on. Nails dug into the soft flesh there. A whimper escaped.

“Mandyyyyyyy.”

“Yeahhhhhhh?” She was all mischief and smugness as she looked back up at you. It just made you more desperate.

“Mandy. Please?” You gave her your best pleading look.

“You’re so impatient.” She said the words lightly, playfully. But she must’ve been impatient too, because she was pushing your underwear down. When her fingers brushed against your clit, you gasped and dropped your head back against the wall. Fuck, God, yes, right there –

“You sure you only just figured out I was flirting with you? You seem pretty fucking wet already.” She punctuated her words with a slide of her fingers against you. Because yeah, you were fucking wet. It would’ve been a little humiliating if you weren’t so achingly desperate for her touch.

“Yeah, well.” You drew in an unsteady breath as she circled your clit. A teasing touch that wasn’t quite enough. Fuck, it was impossible to form a coherent thought. “You’re just…. really fucking hot.”

It was hardly eloquent. But her breath puffed against your neck in a laugh. And you figured it would do for now.

She kissed the hollow of your throat, firmly rubbed her thumb against your clit. You practically bucked against her. Her other hand hooked under one of your thighs and lifted, and you threw your leg around her waist. Let out a moan at how it changed the sensation. “Yeah, like that,” Amanda breathed. “Just like that.” She said it as if you were touching her, as if she wasn’t the one doing all the work, wasn’t the one making you writhe and whimper and leak over her precise fingers.

Christ, you hadn’t felt this good in a while.

The pace was languorous, exploratory, testing what made you shiver and dig your nails into her shoulders and gasp for breath. As if she was intent on taking you apart and finding out exactly what got you going – a machine to figure out and put back together. Slowly, slowly, but in a way you savored, you felt the tension inside of you building up and coiling tight like a spring. You were quivering. Your clothes clung to your sweat-sheened skin. The music spilling into the bathroom from the bar wasn’t quite enough to cover the ragged breathing and wet, rhythmic noises, and it just made the whole thing feel even dirtier. Especially with how Amanda was panting against you, as if she was getting off just from you getting off and fuck it made you clench.

When she picked up the pace, you weren’t able to stop the gasps and moans that spilled out of you, the way you panted and pleaded her name. The sound of her fingers squelching against you had you burning. And when your release hit you cried out, clenching, shaking, clinging to Amanda’s shoulders and digging your nails in as you rode out the high. She didn’t stop, didn’t relieve the pressure against your clit. White hot pleasure burned through your body till tears pricked at your eyes. Distantly, she said something. Soft, sweet words that didn’t quite reach your ears as they rang from the intensity of your orgasm.

She only stopped when you went limp against her. Only pulled away from the mess you’d made – that she’d made too, really – to wrap her arms around your hips and kiss you, deep and slow, as if trying to commit you to memory. You lazily brushed your tongue against hers. Your muscles felt like taffy, worn out in the best way.

“You were right,” you said when you parted. “You really are good with your hands.”

Amanda grinned so widely and genuinely that you couldn’t stop yourself from capturing her lips again. Fuck. You might’ve been a little bit in love. Or maybe that was the post-sex endorphins talking. You weren’t sure. You didn’t particularly care either way.

“I think I owe you an orgasm,” you said.

Amanda brushed her nose against yours. For the first time since you’d met her, she actually seemed truly, fully relaxed. As if she’d properly lowered her guard just now, just in this moment, just for you. “Maybe next date.” The words sent a flutter through your chest. Next date. There’d be a next date. “But first,” she said, moving away to grab some paper towels, “we gotta get you cleaned up.”

[amazingmsme]

Best Served Cold

AN: it shouldn’t really come as any surprise that I’m a Tim Stoker stan & that man needs to get knocked down a few pegs. The role reversal prompt was perfect for them, cause sometimes the tickle monster just needs a taste of his own medicine! Without further ado, here’s day 22’s fic!

Martin was on his way back down to the archives, a fresh cup of tea in hand. He was halfway back from the break room when a loud shriek echoed down the stone halls followed by shrill, frantic giggles. He smiled to himself, rolling his eyes fondly. It seems Sasha fell prey to Tim's antics once more.

Oh well, better her than him.

He walked down the rest of the stairs and around the corner, her laughter growing louder the closer he got closer. Sure enough, Tim had cornered her between the wall and a filing cabinet, giggling herself silly. She looked adorable like this, Martin had to admit, but he sympathized with her plight. He wasn't sure which of them he attacked more frequently...

A rare smirk settled on his face. Perhaps a bit of revenge was in order.

He crept up behind Tim as quietly as he could, but he was too preoccupied with the task at hand to notice anyway. He slowly raised his arms, a predator about to strike.

"Just one more piece! Come on, don't be stingYYYY! Hehehey whahat the hehehell?" His sly bargaining was interrupted by a shocked squeal that quickly gave way to confused laughter.

"What's the matter Tim? I thought you just loved tickling, seeing as you do it to us so much," Martin pointed out, surprisingly bold and teasing with his words, but a rare bout of mischief had taken root, and he was determined to put their resident trouble maker in his place. Sasha barked out a laugh at his words as she recovered, enjoying her front row seat to the show.

"Thahat's not- nohoho don't!" he pivoted mid sentence when Martin's hands scribbled down to his hips.

"I mean, it's only fair to return the favor, don't you think Sasha?" he asked innocently, continuing to hold Tim on his tickly hug. She made a miraculously quick recovery upon hearing those words, already wiggling her fingers at her previous tormentor.

"Oh I couldn't agree more! He's been extra annoying lately, maybe he was just waiting, begging for one of us to just snap," she finally struck, diving right for his belly. He immediately doubled over, bursting out into bright, bubbly giggles.

"I wahahas nohohot!" he denied, twisting in Martin's hold and trying to hold Sasha's hands away. A few quick pinches up his ribs reminded Tim that he was still very much a problem. He arched away with a shriek when he found a spot between his sixth and seventh rib that seemed worse than the rest.

“Noho, please! Nohohot thehehere!” his pleading went ignored as they continued to seek out the best spots.

“Alright then, how about here instead?” Martin asked as he plunged his hands beneath his arms to scribble at the center of his hollows.

“Ahahabsolutely nohohot!” he cried out through his laughter. He snorted and shook his head back and forth when Sasha reached up to flutter her nails along his neck, scribbling at the spot just behind his ears.

“NOHOHO! Ihihi hahate you bohohoth!” he whined through growing hysterics. But it was all for show. Being trapped in a tickle sandwich between your best friends wasn’t ideal, but it he’d choose that over filing any day.

“Awww, we love you too!” she cooed in a false honey sweet tone.

“N-nohot whahahat I said!” he choked out, trying to hide the blush quickly spreading across his cheeks.

“I know, but you forget I happen to be fluent in Tim Stoker sass,” she teased, scratching underneath his chin just to make him squeal.

“Ohoho fuck you!” he hissed through clenched teeth before another snort ripped free from his chest. He gave up on the useless endeavor of fighting back, instead focusing all his efforts on hiding his face.

“Aw, why are you hiding? There’s no need to be so embarrassed Tim!” Martin teased fondly, but he really meant what he said.

“Exactly! So stop hiding, and let me see that handsome smile,” Sasha taunted as she gently pulled his arms away from his face. His blush darkened and he immediately ducked his head to look away.

“Nohoho!”

“No? Well that’s a bit rude, innit?” she asked with a laugh of her own. She went back to poking around his tummy, drawing out jumpy, nervous giggles.

“This ihihis rude!” he argued, and they both gasped.

“What? We’re just sharing the love!” Sasha justified.

“And I’m simply returning the favor!” Martin added. An amused chuckle from behind made them all stop in their tracks as they turned to see Jon browsing a nearby cluttered desk.

“No need to stop on my account, I just needed to grab a few things,” he explained, eyes scanning the surface until he apparently found what he needed.

“Please, carry on. And don’t forget to go for his knees,” he advised with a teasing smirk, going as far as to wink at the crew. He was about to leave, when Martin’s voice called out and gave him pause.

“Or you could do it yourself.” And wasn’t that an enticing thought.

“I’m afraid I’m swamped,” he excused himself with a little shrug.

“Sounds like you could use a break then. And we have the perfect stress ball for you to try out,” Sasha insisted.

He stared at the three of them, all with varying degrees of a smile on their face. And they looked so hopeful, even Tim, that he just couldn’t refuse.

He sighed, setting down the file before cracking his knuckles, flashing a rare, mischievous smile.

They all could use a good laugh.

[etherealphosphor]

Stay With Me, Please.

⟡ Contains: Dottore x Gn!Reader, Reader has an incurable disease, Reader is married to Dottore, Sfw, Angst, No happy ending, Death, Mentions of blood

⟡ Edited <3

Dottore valued you above anything else in his life; you were his one real joy. Before he met you, his life had been dull and monotonous, the days almost seeming to blend together. Passing out at his desk after working too late into the night was a common occurrence back then. However, that wasn’t the case anymore, as his career was far from his biggest worry.

You, his lover and his number one priority, suffered from an incurable disease. That ailment caused your body to become fragile and weak, and as time went on, more and more of your strength was slipping away without any hope of recovery.

You coughed quite a bit, too; the sound made Dottore’s heart sink awfully every time he heard it. It was beyond painful for Dottore to see you in that state, and he tried his best to make life as easy as he could for you.

However, naturally, he did mess up on occasion. Although he promised to stay by your side every night and never to choose work over being next to you, he’d sometimes lose track of time. When that happened, you’d slowly walk step after step to the door of his office to ask him to come back to bed.

When he’d see you standing at the door, your legs shaking with the effort to keep standing, a wave of guilt would come crashing over him. Immediately, Dottore would drop all of his research and run to wrap you up in his arms, apologizing over and over for working as late as he did. 

You’d always put your arms around Dottore’s neck as he carried you, resting your head on his shoulder. Even just walking to his office drained you of all your energy. As you two reached the bedroom, Dottore gently set you down before laying down next to you and pulling you into his arms. 

He’d stroke your hair gently as you were lulled by his heartbeat, whispering to you about how much he loved you and how things would be okay. Only in those moments did you feel truly alright, as you almost forgot all about your debilitating sickness. If only things could stay the same way forever. 

As the months passed, your body only got weaker. Your hands shook any time you tried to use them, and when you walked, you’d only fall over. You could feel your time slipping away. You would die, and you could only wait for it to happen. Stuck in the same bed, day after day.

All you wished for was to become even a just a little bit stronger. To regain the strength in your hands so you could pick up a hobby or two would be a miracle. But as much as you wished for your disease to be gone, nothing would improve. 

Dottore could sense you were dying as well. Your cough had gotten worse as of late, and when he held you at night, your body was so fragile it was almost like glass. He was terrified he’d break you just by being beside you. 

He knew something had to be done. Dottore began working all day—and some nights—on a cure for your disease. Since you could no longer walk properly, you weren’t there to remind him to come to bed, and he’d get swept up in his experiments. 

On the nights he didn't end up by your side, you cried yourself to sleep, hugging your pillow for the comfort you were missing, until you eventually ran out of energy and passed out. You couldn’t let Dottore see you like this; you knew it would absolutely break his heart. 

Dottore hated being away from you all day, but he felt that if he put in enough effort, maybe he could find a breakthrough. Maybe he could save you if he tried his hardest. All the time he spent away from you would pay off once he was able to cure you, right?

This was the only time in his life that he was really, truly worried about anything. And he’d never say a word out loud, but this was also the first time he doubted his abilities on a subject. You were what brought him joy when nothing else did; you were his entire world. He couldn’t lose you. He needed to try everything in his power to keep you alive. 

One night, while you were lying in his embrace, you spoke slowly, your voice shaking. In recent times, you hadn’t been speaking much since your throat had begun to feel painful due to how much you had been coughing. 

"Dottore.."

His eyes widened; your tone sounded serious. "Yes, my love..? What is it? Also, please try not to speak too much; I know how much it has been hurting you."

"There’s no progress, is there? In the cure, I mean. Love, I think you should just drop it at this point." You said, coughing a little.

"What? Why would you suggest that? Don’t.. don’t you want to live?" Dottore stared at you with a worried look in his eyes. He didn’t like what you were suggesting at all.

"I do, darling.. I do, but I don’t have much time left as it is, and we both know that." You stared into those deep red eyes of his. When you first met him, you thought of them as quite unsettling, but now they were one of your favorite things about him.

Dottore ran his hand across your cheek, giving you a sympathetic gaze. "Just give me a while longer, okay? I promise you, I’ll make progress, just—"

You cut him off. "No, darling. If you keep trying to cure me, I’ll be gone before you know it. Just.. spend these last few months with me, okay? I just want to make every second last with you."

Dottore’s voice was filled with concern. "But then.. [Name], you’ll surely die; shouldn’t I at least try to save you? There’s still a chance; I’ve made a little progress—I just need more time, my love. Don’t give up yet."

You put your hand on his, the one that was already stroking your cheek. "Darling, I know it won’t work; I’ve already come to terms with that. I just need your company, that’s all. I can’t die without regrets if you stay in your lab all day."

Dottore tried to object again, saying, "I—[Name], we can still spend time together. I can set up a bed in my lab for you to rest in while I work; I promise you won’t be lonely again. I have to try to save you, don’t I? We’ll never know if we don’t try, [Name]."

You felt awful; you knew that you were all Dottore had, and telling him this was making the realization sink in: he was going to lose you. He had tried to deny it, ignoring it by working on a cure, but the truth was that you were dying, and there was nothing he could do about it.

"[Name].. please. Let me try it." Dottore begged you, his eyes shimmering with tears.

It hurt you to see him like that—it really did. But you couldn’t give in. If you did, you wouldn’t be able to spend your last days the way you wished. You knew Dottore was desperately holding on to hope; he was the smartest person you had ever met, so of course he already knew that his efforts were of no use.

"Dottore.." You reached out to stroke his hair, which was something that always calmed him down. "You know that it’s not going to work, right? You’re the one who’s been studying my disease for years now; there’s no way you don’t know."

A tear fell from Dottore’s eye, and it rolled down his cheek. A couple of years ago, Dottore practically didn’t even know how to cry. He was a stern man back then who showed no weakness. 

Nowadays, though, it was commonplace to see him with tears running down his face. Often times, he would lay his head on his desk in the middle of his research and let himself sob where nobody could hear him. Dottore never let you see him cry, as he didn’t wish to make you lose hope in finding a cure.

However, now that you had accepted your fate, silent tears flowed down his face. You tried wiping them away and saying gentle words to soothe him, but it seemed like nothing would calm him.

"I— I.. I don’t want to lose you, [Name]. There has to be another way, something.. anything. What can I do? I don’t want you to die. You’re my everything, [Name]. I can’t live without you. If only I could just switch our places.." Dottore’s voice was choked up, and he was speaking in between sobs.

"Dottore, my love, it’s okay. Please don’t worry so much. I still have a couple months left, maybe even a year. We’ll spend every minute together, and make the most out of what we have. That, or you can spend your time cooped up in your laboratory. How does the first option sound to you?" You continued to stroke his hair, speaking in a very comforting tone.

Dottore just nodded, tears still flowing down his face. He wanted to make you happy, but it was so hard to let go of his hope of saving you. Eventually, you and Dottore fell asleep together, with him holding you tightly. 

In the month following that conversation, Dottore reluctantly dropped his research on your disease to spend all of his time with you. Winter was soon approaching, and your condition was only getting considerably worse. Dottore could feel that you didn’t have as much time left as you thought you did. 

One day, Dottore woke up to the sound of your coughing. You were sitting on the edge of the bed, hunched over a little.

"Love..? What’s wrong?" Dottore asked, moving closer to you.

When you turned your head toward him, Dottore’s eyes went wide. Blood was dripping from your mouth.

"[Name], are you okay!?" Dottore took your face in his hands, gently wiping the blood off of it with his thumb.

"I’m alright, Dottore.. it doesn’t hurt too much." You assured him.

"I need to get you to my lab immediately." Dottore said, moving an arm around you to pick you up.

"Love, I’m not getting any better; there’s no need." You objected, but he scooped you up regardless.

"I didn’t say I was going to cure you, darling; I intend to get you some pain medication." Dottore explained, faking a calm tone as he walked.

Once you reached his lab, Dottore sat you down on the medical bed and began to look around the shelves for the correct medicine. Once he found it, he brought the little orange bottle back to you.

"Here, take one of these with water; it might hurt a little, but I promise you’ll feel better in the end." Dottore handed you a glass.

You quickly took the pill, wincing as the water touched your throat.

"Good, good.." Dottore said, distractedly. It seemed his mind was elsewhere at the moment, but you didn’t know exactly why. He snapped back into reality and went to pick you up again, saying, "I’ll take these pills with us."

Throughout the rest of the day, you coughed up small amounts of blood. The next day, it was more. And the day after that, still more. You could see it in Dottore’s eyes; you didn’t have long left to live. At night, Dottore silently cried while holding you in your sleep. He knew you’d leave him eventually; he always did, but not like this. Not this soon.

Another month passed, and now you could barely keep yourself awake. Dottore had to make sure you took your pills and that you didn’t choke on the blood you coughed up. Blood stained your white bedsheets, a constant reminder to Dottore that you had a couple of days left, at most. In the few minutes you were awake at any given moment, he had to tearfully tell you how much he loved you, or else he might never get another chance to.

You were so exhausted. Mentally and physically. At this point, you just wanted the pain to be over. At the same time, you wanted to cling to life, but archons, you were so tired. You drifted in and out of consciousness, almost to the point where you didn’t know what reality was anymore. All you knew was that tears flowed down your beloved husband’s face, and he was desperately trying to take care of you.

"Please drink your water; you’ll feel better, okay?" Dottore put the bottle to your lips, his voice shaking with sobs.

You just stared at him. You really didn't have the energy to drink water right then. However, you took little sips anyway, hoping that maybe he’d smile just a little bit.

"There you go, [Name].. that’s good.. drink some more. It’ll help you." Dottore spoke gently as you drifted off into sleep again. The last thing you saw was him trying to force a smile to encourage you through his endless tears.

Your dreams were all odd and terrifying, blending together into a chaotic mess. This made for restless sleep, contributing to your drowsiness and lack of energy.

The next time you woke up, it took a minute to make sense of where you were. However, once you remembered what was going on, you felt strangely calm. Blood flowed slowly from your mouth, making new stains on the sheets.

".. Dottore.." You managed to sputter out.

"Yes, my love?" Dottore said calmly, but inside he was quite surprised that you were speaking. He hadn’t heard your voice for a while now, due to your condition. 

"I love you, Dottore.." You smiled at him, blood still leaking from your mouth.

Dottore stroked your hair gently and cleaned the blood from your face. Tears still fell from his eyes, soaking into the fabric of your shirt. However, he smiled back to reassure you, his voice breaking. "I love you too, [Name], more than anything."

You gazed up into those deep red eyes of his. Oh, how you loved those eyes. "Can I have one more kiss?"

Dottore nodded. "Of course you can, my love."

Dottore gently tilted your chin up and leaned in slowly, pressing his lips to yours. Your lips tasted distinctly of blood, but that was the last thing he cared about. He hugged you closer to him, running his hands through your hair and kissing you passionately. Tears still flowed steadily down Dottore’s cheeks as he pulled away from you. He could feel your breathing getting slower.

"No.. no, don’t leave me now. [Name], hang on!" Dottore’s eyes went wide, and he spoke in a panicked tone.

You simply gave him the faintest of smiles, whispering again, "I love you, Dottore."

Dottore held your face in his hands, desperately willing you to stay alive. "No, no, no, no! Don’t give up! You’re all I have left; you can’t leave me now!"

However, he could feel your heartbeat slow. His tears were flowing down his face faster than ever. "Please, [Name]! I can’t take this, please!"

Dottore had his arms tightly around you, and so he knew exactly when you took your last breath. He knew there was nothing he could do now.

The sorrow was too much to bear, and Dottore began to scream in pain. "NO! PLEASE COME BACK, [NAME]! DON'T LEAVE ME! I CAN'T LIVE WITHOUT YOU! STAY WITH ME, PLEASE!"

That scream was the anguished scream of a man who had just lost everything he had left to live for. He buried his face in your chest and let out a wail of pure agony. 

You were gone, and you took everything Dottore loved with you.

[furiousgoldfish]

I've been inactive lately, because I'm back at a bad place. It turns out that spending six months frozen in trauma affected me more severely than I would have liked. I'm bedridden, constantly in too much pain to do anything.

I've spent the first week of it in denial, believing that I will snap right out of it and be okay, but I can tell now that I'm going to be like this for a while. Even just getting up to eat something is now too complicated, the struggle of the day is just getting some food in me.

I'm trying to accept this and be okay with it. If I need to spend several months in bed before I can move again, and for a while my achievements will be that I managed to spend a few minutes outside, then what's so wrong about that? I don't need to feel guilty. I don't want this, and I didn't choose this, and I hate that life is just going by while I lie down, unable to do anything, struggling to eat. I've been through this before and it's only ever when I feel better, that I realize how bad it really was, how I was struggling to breathe, how much time I spent wishing my stomach didn't hurt from hunger, unable to fix myself a meal.

Even just writing it down makes it more down to earth. In my mind I'm still struggling with the shame of being inactive, but the reality of it is that I'm in pain, it's not something to be persecuted for. Isn't it interesting how difficult it is to feel compassion towards yourself, when no one else has ever shown it to you? I bear no hatred towards myself, but my instincts still jump to persecution and judgment, just because it's the only thing I've ever experienced in such a state.

I know a lot of people have their symptoms worsen during the holiday season, re-living all of the seasonal trauma and feeling like their recovery is going backwards. I hope you all experience compassion and don't feel that judgment towards yourself any longer, because nobody deserves that. Nobody needs to be persecuted for struggling and staying inactive, it's not even a choice. There's not even a point in it, because it doesn't make the suffering end faster, it doesn't make the person get active more quickly, it makes the whole thing worse and longer. It's not a helpful sentiment, it's just hatred, wanting a person in pain to feel even worse. And nobody needs that on top of already suffering.

[g3tinl0ser]

Other Divergent

The water from the chasm was pouring down into the abyss below, sprinkles of the coolness hitting your face as you waited. Below people were starting to stir, leaving their rooms to find their way to the small shops or cafeteria. From your spot high on the wall they looked like ants, of course you weren't supposed to be up here.. 

Max would scalp you if he saw you. It was a tricky climb to this little alcove, the wall was wet from the waterfall next to it. Small little holes for your hands and feet, people such as Eric never would be able to make it. Even if he could he was too scared to try. That's why it was your favorite place in all of Dauntless. 

"You better get down, Girl.. You gotta get to the train." A voice called from the ledge below, when you looked down you saw the person who was like a mother too you. Her hair slicked back, tattoos on display with a soft smile on her sharp face. 

Tori. 

She was and is the only person who ever looked out for you. Told you that you were strong, strong enough to face the trails as an initiate. Strong enough to get your first tattoo, strong enough when you got your ears pierced. Strong enough when Max ranked you in third when you should've been in second. 

She was there the day you almost died at the hands of your 'friends'. There every day of your recovery. And there even now that you were one of the strongest, still in your corner even if you didn't need her. 

Little did she know you would always need her. 

Slipping down the wall, you could almost hear her eyes roll as you let go off the wall. The seconds of free fall giving you the little boost you need to make it through the day. When your booted feet meet the narrow walkway that has no rails, you turn to look at your mother figure. Confirming the eye roll you figured would be happening. 

Smiling widely at her as she loops her arm through yours, pulling you down the walkway. You could tell she had something to say, she always said that you were one of the few people who could read her like a book. You also knew if she was waiting then it was important and needed to be private. 

That proved to be true as she pulled you into the tattoo parlor, back into her room closing and locking the door before leaning against it. You stood hands folded together in front of her, waiting for whatever it was she was going to tell you. When she opened her eyes, your heart dropped, the line of tears waiting there was something you hadn't seen in two years. 

Since the day after she administered your test.. Since the day she watched you roll off the net after jumping. You stepped closer to her, using your hands to rub her arms slowly as she took a few deep breaths. "Theres another of you.. Shes almost as.... strong.. as you.." 

You felt all the muscles in your body freeze, you knew what she meant by 'strong'. 

Divergent.

Before you could start asking questions the speakers turned on and announced that the trains into the city would be leaving soon. Both of your heads turned back to each other, her hands grabbing you as you had her. "I told her to stay with the Stiffs.. But I have a feeling shes too much like someone else I know."  She had a soft smile on her face as her hands moved to your face, cupping both of your cheeks. 

"If she chooses Dauntless.. You have to protect her as I have you.. As we both have Uriah.. Promise me Y/n." Tori begged, you knew there was no way you could say no. Even though you wanted too. Protecting one Divergent along with yourself was going to be enough work, now there was someone almost as fucked up as you? And shes a stiff?? 

You let out the breath you didn't realize you were holding as she leaned your forehead against her own. The buzzer went off again, you knew you were going to be questioned for being late. So you pulled away opening the door as Tori moved, pausing only to turn back and look at her. She had risked so much for you, how could you tell her no?

"Ill do what I can. But I wont risk myself or Uriah for someone, Zeke is one of my best friends. Riah is like a little brother too me, but I will do what I can. I promise Mom." 

~~

The entire train ride your stomach was in knots, bile heavy in your chest. Not only from not eating breakfast but from nerves. You watch Uriah talk and goof off with the other 16 year olds. You knew this was a big day for all of them, some would be coming home with you and some you would never speak too again. You couldn't help but wonder who would be going where, you remembered you own Choosing Ceremony. 

The day that you left Amity behind. 

Really nobody was surprised, you had never fit in there. Members of Amity are dedicated to peacefulness, kindness, forgiveness, trust, self-sufficiency, and neutrality. They are slow to anger and yet quick to forgive. None of which you are. You still held grudges from when you were five and your use to be brother ate the last pumpkin cake. 

No.. Amity was not where you belonged. While you did miss the rolling fields, and the openness of having the outdoors right there. You were constantly in trouble, always being chastised and then forgiven for everything. 

"Do not run through Y/n, we are all trying to meditate."

" Do not you think it would be kinder to offer the last one to someone older, maybe even younger? Be kinder Y/n."

"Dont worry young one, I forgive you for your stubbornness."

It was exhausting being there, the peacefulness and trust was all you missed. You were self-sufficient enough, part of being in Dauntless was being able to carry out orders without needing supervision. But you are quick to anger, slow to forgive and definitely biased. 

The kids started yelping as the city came into view, most readying themselves to jump. It was then you noticed the two standing near the back. They looked around at there friends, the girl whos name you couldn't remember caught your eye. Her face paling before you sent her a small smile, making your way over to her. 

Your voice was low, so low only she could hear you as you stood behind her. "Make the choice thats right for you. This is forever, dont think about anyone else. Just yourself. It'll be ok, I promise." 

You could read the surprise on her face as you pushed her towards the door, where everyone was already jumping. A quick somersault was all you registered as you stood walking with the group towards the building. Your eyes scan the crowd like you would be able to spot the girl Tori told you about. 

The Stiffs would already be in the building, walking up the stairs like the selfless people they are. 'Fuck that' You thought as you and Zeke broke from the group towards the front doors. The two of you were stationed outside, to make sure everything ran smoothly. That no one would come in and interrupt the ceremony once it started. You wanted to watch now that you knew what was happening, but it was too late. 

Plus who better to work with than your best friend? The hours this would take would go by quickly by his side. The only person you would trade him for was Four, and really he wouldn't be good conversation here. You knew his father was in there, that would mean he would shut down and be rude. 

He would be short and disgruntle. Which is why the last two times this had happened he stayed behind, ready to watch the first jump. 

Inside you could hear them starting, "Decades ago our ancestors realized that it is not political ideology, religious belief, race, or nationalism that is to blame for a warring world. Rather, they determined that it was the fault of human personality—of humankind's inclination toward evil, in whatever form that is. They divided into factions that sought to eradicate those qualities they believed responsible for the world's disarray." Marcus started. 

Your eyes rolled as you held your gun tightly, you had only heard this speech three times but it wore on your nerves. Before you could even think about how disrespectful it might be you started mocking him. 

"ThOsE wHo BlAmEd AgGrEsSiOn FoRmEd AmItY."

Zeke followed directly after you, proving yet again why he was your best friend. "ThOsE wHo BlAmEd IgNoRaNcE bEcAmE tHe ErUdItE."

You both shook your head and chuckled, "Seriously, he needs to revamp his speech. Its getting old, like they dont learn about all that in school no matter the faction." Shifting from foot too foot you could feel yourself getting restless. You were good at following orders, but today something just felt off. 

Zeke noticed almost immediately, you were antys. Moving around constantly, fingers tapping on the butt of your gun. Your face flush and slightly red like you were sweating. "Are you good? Because you look like your going to pass out." He said in a concerned tone, there was no judgement there like there would be with some others. 

You cracked your neck, willing yourself to calm the hell down. Planting your feet and finding your stance you nodded once. "Yeah I didn't sleep well last night" ..Not a lie.. "I always get worried that I'll see my brother here and he will give me that judgy Erudite stare.. " Again not a lie.. Ok not a complete lie. 

You really didn't care about any of Amity's opinions of you. The people whose feelings you cared about you could count on one hand. But for some reason the stare that your brother always gave you, even before you turned 16, always made your stomach turn. Like he knew something you didn't. Like he was disgusted by you. 

Zeke shook his head "I know that's not the reason, but Ill let it go. Just know I'm always here if you need to talk."  Silence fell between you two, you couldn't thank him for not pushing because that would confirm his doubts. After what felt like days the doors open and the few leaders are followed out by those who have chosen the fearless life you have. 

Your eyes stay straight ahead as they all file pass you, walking behind the group where Zeke is in the middle. It isn't hard to pick out the Stiff, taking small but quick steps trying to keep up the kids who are whooping and smiling. Its always easy to pick out the transfers, of course the plain grey dress thing shes wearing helps. 

Your feet move closer to her without you telling them too. Your lungs are pulling in air to speak even though your brain is telling you too shut up.. You made a promise, one that you unwilling would keep. 

"Dont look at me.. Keep your eyes forward and your mouth closed. Just listen."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The blond girl next to you jumped as you spoke, clearly caught off guard. Either by you speaking to her in general or the tone that was clear even in whispers. Your grip on your weapon tightened as you tried to find the will to be reassuring like Tori was. 

"Follow what the Dauntless born do. Don't hesitate when jumping on the train or you'll die." Great job y/n.. That was reassuring.."When we get to headquarters, when they ask for jumpers.. volunteer before the others. Dont ask questions, dont look for help.. Just do as I say and it will be fine.." 

You didn't even look at her or give her the chance to respond before you started running. Didn't look back to see if she was running, or if she was falling behind. In no way would you allow it too look like you were helping her, because in the long run that would only make it worse. For both of you. 

"What the hell is going on?" A transfer boy yells as people start passing him. You shake your head and wonder if these kids even know who they are joining. Had they ever watched the Dauntless? Did they know anything besides that the motto said? 

We believe in freedom from fear, in ordinary acts of bravery, in defending those who cannot defend themselves.

Did they think that being part of this group came easily? That they would just walk into headquarters and be handed a gun and a job? Zeke was next to you jogging as the train horn sounded behind you. Jumping on and off things was one of his favorite things too do, anyone could see it in the way his face lite up. 

"Oh no," mumbles the Erudite boy. "Are we supposed to hop on that thing?"

You hear the Stiff mumble "yes" and feel the tiniest bit better. Maybe she wouldn't be so bad, maybe she knew a little about what was about to happen. But it didn't mean she was prepared for the amount of lying that she was going to have to do. Dauntless begin to pile in, group by group, until only the new initiates are left. The Dauntless-born initiates are used to doing this by now, so in a second it's just faction transfers left.

You watch as they all start to panic, running next to the car you're in. You placed yourself in the last one, where all the others were in the first two. You watched them make it in one by one, the Stiff almost falling off. Had it not been from the girl from Candor she wouldn't have made it. You all watch A short Erudite boy with red hair pumps his arms as he tries to catch up to the train. An Erudite girl by the door reaches out to grab the boy's hand, straining, but he is too far behind. He falls to his knees next to the tracks as we sail away, and puts his head in his hands.

You should feel bad. Hes just failed the first test, hes now factionless. Less than thirty minutes after making his choice he has failed. But you know deep down its for the best, this is the easy part. If he couldn't make it onto the train what you and Four have planned for training would've killed him. 

You listen to the Cador girl and the Abnegation girl talk, watch as she sits down and then instructs the other girl too. It is that moment you see her divergence. A true Dauntless would stay standing, be unafraid of the wind. Would find a way to show courage in the face of the speeding train and whipping wind. 

This is going to be so much harder than you think, so much worse than you had planned. Thankfully Uriah was only a little divergent. His would be easy to hide, this girl.. Beatrice.. She would cause problems, problems you had already promised to try and solve. 

 "I guess we are going to Dauntless headquarters," She says after the other girl Christina speaks, "but I don't know where that is."

"Does anyone?" Christina shakes her head, grinning. "It's like they just popped out of a hole in the ground or something." You chuckle and cross your arms, pulling their attention towards you but you just keep looking out the train doors. If only they knew, you kinda do pop out of holes. 

Then the wind rushes through the car, and the other faction transfers, hit with bursts of air, falling on top of one another. You pinch the bridge of your nose, sighing through it. "Pathetic" You say loud enough for them all to hear, Christina scoffs along with the tall boy from Candor. The rest smartly stay quiet, Beatrice's eyes falling on you silently. 

"Arent you supposed to be like.. guiding us or something?" He says from his place on the floor, it's your turn to scoff. Turning back to the door grabbing the railing and leaning out, you hear the transfers gasp assuming you're going to fall. Like you haven't done this a million times, none of them know if you're a transfer or not. Younger kids don't go to the ceremony, they would have no idea if you were Dauntless born or not.

In the cars ahead you could see those your age looking back at you.  Zeke, Eric and Shauna all smiling knowing what was coming next. The roof came into view as you all pulled back into the cars, you could hear the Dauntless born whooping again. Turning back to the transfers you smiled, before locking eyes with Beatrice. They were all standing now, frantically talking amongst themselves about jumping. 

"Good luck" was all you said before running and throwing yourself from the train.