#panicking screaming crying becoming physically ill

[jadelemonadee]

lowkey don’t even feel like a fan anymore

[alice-after-dark]

Vox's Death and Electrokinesis

So I'm straight up warning everyone now that this is a super dark take on Vox's death and where his powers of electrokinesis come from. Please, please, PLEASE read the trigger warnings. This has been in my head for a very long time.

TW for homophobia, 1950s mental illness views and treatments, homosexuality treated as a mental illness, sexual assault, gaslighting/victim-blaming, and other canon-typical triggers.

Some time during his career, Vox began an affair with a man who was also from the television industry. When his wife eventually found out, Vox was presented with two choices: a very messy and highly public divorce where the affair would be plastered across every media source in the country, or end the affair and seek psychological help. Not willing to destroy his image, Vox chooses the latter. He ends the relationship and quietly takes a "medical leave" from his career and is admitted to a psychiatric hospital. It's supposed to be the best in the country, with the most up-to-date practices and treatments. He is greeted by a man with a kind face names Dr. Robles, who takes Vox's hand in his and promises him everything will be alright. Vox's wife assures him he will be well and home in no time, kisses his cheek as he is led away, deeper into the hospital.

It is Hell.

Vox is quickly labeled as having a "sociopathic personality disturbance" in the form of "sexual deviation" and is considered a curious case as he has positive sexual reactions to both men and women. This makes most standard treatments fairly ineffective as he is already having a positive sexual response to women. So they decide to resort to unmodified electroconvulsive therapy.

The treatments are painful and brutal, often leaving him with nausea, fatigue, headaches, confusion, and even minor memory loss. Worse are the breaks and fractures that result from the induced seizures. Frequently he is left bedridden, confused and delirious and unsure of where he is. His sleep is riddled with nightmares of some horrific creature lurking in the shadows of his room, creeping close and hurting him. It finally ends when the machine malfunctions, sending him into cardiac arrest and killing him.

When his electrokinesis manifested, two decades later, it was...a time. First Vox was afraid, then he started cackling at the irony, before having a complete breakdown and scream-crying for the better part of an hour.

For the first week following the discovery of his new powers, Vox refuses to let Alastor touch him, which is particularly startling for the Radio Demon because he's usually the touch adverse one while Vox is very physically affectionate. Even small bumps and brushes has Vox leaping away from him. He begins to grow concerned that Vox has become afraid of him, which is frustrating because half the fun of Vox is that he isn't afraid of him like most Sinners. Eventually he corned the Tv-headed demon and demands an explanation. This of course leads to Vox panicking and sparking like crazy which in turn leads to even more panicking before Alastor seizes his shoulders, enduring the small shocks as he tells Vox to calm down.

Vox breaks down sobbing and tells Alastor everything he has never told him before: the affair, the choice, the hospital, the treatments, the nightmares, his "mental illness," everything. He's terrified of this ability. He knows what it can do and it terrifies him. And Alastor takes his face in his hands and tells him that his knowledge makes him all the more powerful. Not only can he control electricity, but he has first hand experienced what it can do to a body and that is power. Though Vox is hesitant at first, he accepts Alastor's offer to help him gain better control over this new ability.

---

It's about three months after the battle with the angels when Vox gets invited up to Alastor's radio tower. He's only been there once or twice in the past to silently watch Alastor with his "guests" as he broadcasts. Though initially skeptical of the invite, his curiosity gets the better of him despite Velvette and Valentino's warnings. When he arrives, he finds Alastor calmly tuning his radio equipment while his latest guest lays strapped to a metal table. It is unusually dim in the tower and Vox can't quite see what poor soul Alastor has plucked from the streets of Hell this time, but he can smell blood, which is even more unusual as Alastor usually likes to save every last moment for his broadcast, but from the wheezing it's clear this Sinner has already been worked over well. The Radio Demon greets him cheerfully as though nothing is amiss, as though it's perfectly normal to invite your friend-turned-rival over for a casual hang out. It's only when he encourages Vox closer that Vox understands what he's seeing.

Inky shiny black skin. Six limbs. Distended jaw. Long curling tongue.

Lying on the table is the creature from his nightmares.

Instantly Vox begins to panic. He feels terror, hands on him, pain, so much pain, he can't breathe, he can't think, why is it here why why why-

Alastor grips his shoulder, grounding him. He's saying something about...introductions?

"Vox clearly recognizes you, Dr. Robles, but I'm afraid you may have a harder time recognizing him. Like you, dear Vincent has gone through quite a few changes."

Dr. Robles. Dr. Robles. Dr. Robles. The name rings in his head like a gong.

Warm hands closing around his. A thumb running gentle circles on the back of his hand.

"It's all going to be alright. I promise."

Vox rips out of Alastor's grip and barely makes it to the wastebasket before he is sick. Because he understands now. He understands and he feels disgusting. All the nightmares...all the terror...all the pain...

Alastor's hand is on his back and Vox has barely composed himself when the doctor finally speaks.

"Vincent? Vincent Haynes?"

Vox didn't know exactly what expression he expected to see when he turns to face the doctor again, but the pure unconcealed hatred takes him by surprise.

"Filthy fucking whore!"

His words are venomous as he accuses Vox of being the reason he's in Hell, of tempting him and luring him into sin, of making him crave his flesh. How fitting Hell has stripped him of his beauty and shown him for the vain artificial creature that he is. Even as he says it though, his eyes rake over Vox's body and the TV demon has never wanted so badly for someone to not look at him. Alastor stops the tirade of vitriol with a simple flick of his wrist and a glowing green thread binding Robles' lips together.

"That's quite enough out of you, sir. I hope you don't mind, old friend, I already took a turn with the good doctor. Had to make sure I had the right wretch after all. It didn't actually take all that long. My goodness does this insipid creature like to talk about himself!" Without another word, the Radio Demon slips past them both to slide into his chair. The equipment before him buzzes to life.

"Salutations, listeners!"

Vox's hand crackles with sparks.

[nepenthendline]

A Characterisation/Writing Guide - Autism and ADHD

Hi everyone! This post is going to be a guide on how to accurately write characters with Autism and ADHD. I have been so many works where Autism and ADHD have been terribly written - using so many stereotypes and just nonsense that has nothing to do with neurodivergences, so I hope this helps educate writers and give them more confidence to write such characters.

For reference, I have Autism and ADHD, as well as many friends with either, therefore this information is coming directly from a neurodivergent.

This guide will be split into three parts: characterisation in both Autism and ADHD, Autism chracterisation and ADHD characterisation. This being because Autism and ADHD, while two different disorders, do have some overlaps. 

TERMS:

Neurodivergent - describes those differing in mental or neurological function from what is considered typical or normal

Neurotypical - describes those who are considered normal and do not differ in mental or neurological function

NOTE - Not everyone is the same. Everyone is different and will act and feel in different ways, this is simply an overview of how Autism and ADHD typically can be characterised

MUTUAL CHARACTERISATION OF AUTISM AND ADHD:

As mentioned before, both Autism and ADHD do have overlapping traits that can make them look similar at times, although it is important to remember they are two very different disorders. 

Autism and ADHD are NOT mental illnesses or learning disabilities. They are neurological disorders that people are born with, and cannot be treated or cured. Neurodivergents can learn techniques to help manage their difficulties, however. It is important to note that while these are not mental illnesses, it is very common for neurodivergents to have mental illnesses (particularly anxiety or depression) or struggle with learning as a result of their difficulties.

MASKING:

Masking is a technique that neurodivergents develop in order to act or speak in a way that is ‘socially acceptable’ or neurotypical by observing and replicating neurotypicals in different situations. This includes subjects such as not stimming/keeping still, not saying particular things, following social cues, speaking with specific tones at specific times and so on. 

Not every neurodivergent will mask but most do. Everyone does this to a different extent; some mask 24/7 to the point where you would barely be able to recognise any ‘abnormal’ traits, whereas others only mask in more serious or professional situations and let loose around friends or family. It is up to you as the writer to decide how your character will mask, however there tend to be some trends. For example, those with high-function Autism (especially girls) are much better maskers than low-functioning Autism (especially boys).

Masking is exhausting; it takes a lot of effort to, essentially, act as a completely different person for the entire day. This does not mean that neurodivergents are two-faced in any aspect however. Neurodivergents simply tweak their existing personalities to ‘fit in’ with the people or situation. 

Masking in writing:

It is quite difficult to write masking as the person is essentially just acting like ‘normal’. However, there are some things you can include that help demonstrate masking:

 Adapted stims* that are much smaller and undetectable than a person’s usual stims, such as fiddling with their fingers or edge of their sleeve, looking around often or slight movements such as swaying or playing with jewellery they are wearing 

 Speaking more or less than usual and with much more changes in their pitch and tone

Slight cracks in a character’s masking, such as stimming when others aren’t looking, not holding eye-contact when speaking, face or tone falling flat at points

*Stims will be explained in the next section

STIMMING:

Stimming refers to self-stimulating, repetitive behaviours that are done to often calm a person down when in stress, or to show high levels of emotion such as happiness. Both neurodivergents and neurotypicals stim, however there are some difference. 

The most common examples of stims are bouncing your leg when sitting in a chair, clicking your pen repeatedly or tapping on a table, which are things that most people have done at some point. The difference is that neurodivergents have a lot less control over their stims, and they tend to be much ‘bigger’, louder, distracting or harmful. It is also much more difficult for a neurodivergent to stop or ‘hold in’ their stims, causing more stress and agitation. Some people have small stims like fiddling with their hands, others have much bigger stims like waving their arms around, and some have harmful stims such as scratching or banging their head against a wall. 

Stimming in writing:

If you are ever asked to write about how a character would help someone else/a reader with their stimming, please never ever write about the character stopping the other person/reader. This is extremely harmful for the stimming character and projects a view that stimming is bad or ‘naughty’, and many people have faced trauma over being forced to stopped stimming as it is seen as disrespectful or distracting. Stimming is often one of the only ways neurodivergents can clearly express their emotions. If you stop a stim, the person will simply stim in another way. Instead, try these ways:

Stim toys that the character can use, these are often small and discrete, and can allow the character to stim without harmful, loud or large movements

Distracting the character with something else, possibly an activity, something to hold, or audio/visual distractions

Reassure the character that these stims are ok and they are safe to do around other characters

Take notice of the situation the character is in, why are they stimming? Are they anxious? Are they excited? It is better to prevent the situation in the case of stress rather than try and stop the person from stimming, and allow the character to stim when feeling happy

In romantic situations, allowing the character to stim with their partner shows high levels of trust and acceptance, and it is also comforting for the stimming character to often use aspects of their partner to stim, such as playing with their partner’s fingers or hair

Exercise is a great way of helping those who stim often to release pent up energy

Stimmers can trigger other stimmers, so if you have two stimmers in a room together, chances are they will stim together, getting louder and bigger than usual

SENSORY SENSITIVTY:

Both those with Autism and/or ADHD tend to struggle with sensory sensitivity. This describes how people are easily affected by sensory input (sight, sound, taste, touch and smell). Most cases of sensory sensitivity end in distress, fear, panic and overload, however there are some people who feel comforted by high levels of sensory input. When people deal with too much sensory input, they often go into a ‘meltdown’. This is different for everyone, but often includes irritability, panic, shutting themselves off from others, extreme stimming and a feeling of being severely overwhelmed. Some people cannot speak at all during these episodes. while others may shout or make noises. They are often mistaken for tantrums, bad behaviour or just being grumpy. Young people tend to have much more active meltdowns, such as shouting, stimming, running off etc, however older people (especially girls) then to be more quiet, shut off and unable to continue speaking or doing tasks. That being said, everyone is different and anyone can have a different meltdown. 

Sensory sensitivity in writing: 

The best way to describe sensory sensitivity in writing is relating it to pain or panic. Often those with low tolerance to sensory input describe loud noises, for example, as physical pain in their head, or certain materials as making them feel faint or nauseous. 

Sensory sensitivity relates to any sense, so some people may be terrified of certain noises, feel panicked by certain smells or feelings or feel sick/vomit from certain tastes - please understand the severity of this for some people

Neurodivergents often find techniques to help them with this, such as wearing noise cancelling headphones or playing music or audio to distract them

The best way to help someone during a meltdown is to help them out of the situation and leave them to decompress. This might include letting them sit in a dark room for a while, laying in silence or touching an item/smelling something that brings them comfort

Describing a meltdown for a character can often be similarly written like a panic attack, and often meltdowns can lead to panic attacks for some people, such as an increased heart rate, sweating, crying, hyperventilating/heavy breathing etc.

Struggling to write sensory overload? Try and think how you would feel if you had 30 different voices screaming at you at once, with bright lights and super itchy clothing. Really panicked, scared and overwhelmed right? 

Those who are sensitive to sensory input often hear/feel/smell/see things much louder/easier/more extreme than others, so while something may be quiet to one person, it seems really loud to another

HABITS AND COMPLUSIONS

Neurodivergences come with a lot of habits and compulsions, somewhat similar to traits of OCD. These are things such as having to have particular routines, having to carry certain items with them at all times (mine are my BTS water bottle and earphones lol). Without fulfilling these habits, compulsions and comfort items, a person can become extremely stressed, panicked and overloaded. 

Habits and compulsions in writing:

Writing these can go from very subtle to extreme, it could be that someone has to get ready in the morning in a particular order, eat their food in a certain way/order or follow a particular route to get somewhere

The odd thing is that neurodivergents are actually pretty bad at developing habits, a neurodivergent could do the same thing over and over every single day, but completely forget to do it one day and never do it again

When writing for characters, some characters may be able to mask their distress when their habits/compulsions are not fulfilled, however others can not do so at all, but either way this sends the character into feeling of panic and distress

A character may develop certain habits/compulsions for different reasons, it could be from experiences, completely random, comforting senses or familiarity and fear 

For example when walking into my nearest town I have to walk a very specific route on a specific side of the road or I freak out, this is because it’s what I’m used to and I struggle to deal with change

Speaking of change, a character can be written as anxious or irritated when plans are changed

SPECIAL INTERESTS/HYPER-FIXATIONS:

Probably my favourite topic - neurodivergents often develop special interests and hyper-fixations. These relate to specific subjects or activities that a person will learn about or engage in with extreme focus and dedication. Some common examples are trains and butterflies, where a person will learn and memorise  every type of train, or every type of butterfly to exist, and how different trains work or the life cycles of butterflies. This can be of any topic though, as a child my personal special interest was Ancient Egypt and I spent all of my free time learning about the history. As I’ve gotten older, this has changed and my hyper-fixations have been mostly BTS and Haikyuu (with some short ones in between). 

Special interests/hyper-fixations in writing:

Info-dumping! Characters with special interests can often be written with moments of info-dumping, where they will talk about their special interest for a long period of time to someone else. They are often very excited, talk quickly and possibly even seem a little frantic when trying to explain their interest - this is something they have little control over and tend to talk for too long or at inappropriate times 

Stereotypes are often written in special interests, particularly the example I gave about trains - not every neurodivergent likes trains, please be creative when thinking about what special interest your character may have, if they have one at all

A character may have one long-standing special interest that they’ve been learning about for many years, or they can flutter between multiple hyper-fixations in the span of a few days

Hyper-fiaxtions can affect a character in ways such as forgetting to eat or sleep, forgetting to do other commitments or becoming extremely upset, stressed or unmotivated when that interest is no longer doable (such as if a TV series ends)

Some characters may be embarrassed about their interests, whereas others will happily info-dump with no concerns 

FRIENDSHIPS AND RELATIONSHIPS

Both Autism and ADHD can cause difficulties in making and keeping friendships or relationships. This is often due to struggles in communication, forgetting to speak to people, getting bored of social interaction, getting overwhelmed and feeling too ‘different’ from everyone else. Some people, however, can make friends every easily, particularly more extroverted and confident types. Autistics in particular tend to have small groups of friends that they feel truly comfortable with, and may struggle to understand why a person needs other friends/ a large group. This can lead to feelings of ejectment or jealously. A neurodivergent will often struggle to know how a person feels about them without being directly told, and will need frequent reassurance that this feeling is continuous. 

AUTISM CHARACTERISATIONS

Talking too much or very little - about 40% of people with Autism are mute, meaning they cannot speak. Characters could also be selectively mute, meaning they can only speak in situations they are comfortable with, or certain people

Autism is a communication disorder, majorly affecting a person’s ability to communicate and understand socialisation. Here is how to characterise Autism:

NOTE - I have used functioning labels here as, personally, I prefer to use them and is more often used where I am from, however some people prefer not to, please keep this in mind

Speaking out of turn - this is either because they do not understand the social cue of waiting until someone else has finished to talk, or because they will forget what is on their mind if they don’t say it immediately

Taking jokes or words literally - this can cause character’s to become distressed when they do not understand a joke, or end up doing a task that was not meant to happen because they took a conversation literally. This also include having difficulty understanding figures of speech such as ‘it’s raining cats and dogs’

Having difficulty understanding the rules of social interactions - this covers a range of things, from struggling to know what to say when speaking to a cashier at a store, to not knowing what to say in certain situations. An example of this is if someone said ‘hi, my name is ....”, the social cue is to respond with ‘hello, it’s nice to meet you, my name is ...”, however those with Autism tend not to understand this and may reply with something else. In my experiences, I often panic and say ‘thank you’ instead, despite this not being the ‘correct’ reply

Expressing the wrong emotions - Autism makes it very difficult to understand emotions, either from others or expressing them yourself. While others immediately know a smile means someone is happy, this is not something that is easy to understand in Autism. An autistic person may laugh or smile during negative situations, or look upset or mad in happy situations as they are either unaware of how they are carrying their body language, or simply do not know what body language fits with what emotion

Difficulty understanding emotion of others - whether it be verbal or non-verbal, it can be very difficult for those with Autism to understand what others are feeling and can often jump to the wrong conclusions

Using the wrong tone of voice or having a ‘robotic’ tone - For the same reason as the last point, those with Autism tend to either sound robotic at times, or use the wrong tone in the wrong situations, such as sounding angry when they are not, however they are often unaware of this when it happens. This also means they tend to be more blunt and literal in their own speech

Not understanding hints - those with Autism often need to be spoken to very directly as they struggle to understand hints or ‘read between the lines’. This could be anywhere from not understanding hints of romantic feelings, to someone mentioning that the trash is getting too full (as a hint that it needs to be taken out)

Difficulty with focus and following lists - this is an overlap with ADHD however the reasoning is often different, autistic people are often perfectionists, so if you give them a list of things to remember, they will focus so hard on remembering the first thing correctly that they forget the rest. Difficulty to focus is often due to a lack of interest in the topic 

Attention to detail and ‘all or nothing’ - Autistic people are great at paying attention to small details and often focus on that more than the big picture. They are also very ‘all or nothing’ with how they delegate their focus, if they are interested in something they will put their entire energy and focus into it until its perfect, if they aren’t interested? They probably wont do it at all, this often means that some Autistic people struggle academically because they don’t feel interested in the topics, and therefore have no motivation to do the work

Great at following rules and instructions - despite being bad at lists, Autistic people tend to be good at following rules, this is because they are often black and white, literal and easy to understand, they like structure!

Increased skills and abilities - those with autism are often more creative and intelligent in a wide variety of skills that neurotypicals, in fact to be diagnosed with high-functioning autism, you must have a higher-than-average IQ. Unfortunately the stereotype is that Autistics are dumb or stupid - this is not the case at all

Boys vs girls - everyone is different, however boys and girls tend to act very differently. Boys tend to be more extroverted and loud and particularly struggle with understanding emotions or talking in turn. Girls tend to be more introverted, quiet and can mask much better, but struggle more when knowing if it is acceptable to speak

No empathy? - this is what people often relate to Autism, however this is inaccurate. People with Autism can and do feel empathy, however it tends to be slightly different. For example, if a neurotypical told another neurotypical about a bad situation they went through, the other person would often reply with ‘I’m sorry that happened to you, I hope you feel better soon”. A neurodivergent, however, would often reply like this, “something similar happened to me once.....”. This often comes across rude to neurotypicals, however it is much easier for a neurodivergent to relate the person’s feeling to their own experiences, and share comfort by letting the person know they are not alone

Difficulty with eye contact -  good body language often explains that eye contact is key, however this is extremely difficulty for neurodivergents 

Forgetfulness - to be honest I don’t know why this is, autistics are just really forgetful. You need to repeatedly tell them to do something or they wont do it

Planning - autistics often need and enjoy planning their schedule. They find comfort in knowing exactly when, where and how things are happening and with who 

Shyness and introverted? - many autistics will be shy, introverted and struggle with social anxiety, but this is not the case for everyone. A person can be autistic and be super confident, loud and extroverted - it is a stereotype that being autistic makes you shy and quiet

REMEMBER - AUTISM IS A SPECTRUM DISORDER MEANING PEOPLE CAN RANGE FROM MILD TO SEVERE TRAITS, NOT EVERYONE WILL HAVE EVERY SINGLE TRAIT

AUTISM STEREOTYPES:

Everyone likes trains

They are rude and blunt

They are stupid/unintelligent

They cannot understand rules

They cannot feel empathy

They are quiet and shy

They are disruptive 

AD(H)D CHARACTERISATION

ADHD is a condition that affects the focus and attention of a person. Here’s how to characterise someone with ADHD:

Not everyone is hyperactive - firstly, the ‘hyperactive’ part of ADHD doesn’t often mean physically hyperactive, but a person can have ADD where they do not show hyperactive traits

Difficulty focusing - this is much more than just not being able to focus, there are many reasons as to why this is, including getting distracted easily (by external sources or their own thoughts). finding it difficult to understand social interactions, feeling overwhelmed

Hyperfocusing - on the flip side, ADHD can cause people to hyperfocus on certain things, where it takes all their time and energy and they forget to do other things such as eat or sleep

Difficulty with eye contact -  good body language often explains that eye contact is key, however this is extremely difficulty for neurodivergents 

Speaking out of turn - this is either because they do not understand the social cue of waiting until someone else has finished to talk, or because they will forget what is on their mind if they don’t say it immediately

Difficulties controlling emotions and mood swings - this is often comes out in anger and frustration. This can be for various reasons: they are frustrated that they cannot focus like others, a lack of motivation, get easily stressed and insecurity

Restlessness - this is often seen as being always ‘on the go’, they need to be busy at all times doing different activities. In writing this can be shown as excessive talking, fidgeting, getting bored easily or taking risks

Rejection Sensitive Dysphoria - this is an emotional response to rejection or criticism which often looks like insecurity and anxiety. This could be real rejection, or perceived rejection, for example someone saying they are too busy to hang out may trigger an emotional response of rejection, low mood and anxiety in someone with ADHD. This can also lead to anger or panic, and causes people to become ‘people pleasers’ or not try at all

Poor organisation - the opposite of Autism where those with ADHD struggle with planning, organising, misplacing items and keeping things tidy. It is difficult to understand priorities, separate relevant and irrelevant information and time management. Those with ADHD often begin tasks and do not finish them due to restlessness, distractions or feeling overwhelmed by the task

Difficulties starting tasks - ADHD can make it very difficult to begin tasks as they feel too overwhelming, difficult or take too much focus. Breaking down tasks into smaller sections can help this a lot

Forgetfullness - out of sight, out of mind is often the case with ADHD, and so things like post-it notes and reminders can help people remember things they need to do

Multiple thoughts at once - neurotypicals tend to only have one thought/idea in their head at a time, however those with ADHD often juggle multiple thoughts which can lead to distraction and frustration

‘All or nothing’ - Those with ADHD tend to be ‘all or nothing’ with how they delegate their focus, if they are interested in something they will put their entire energy and focus into it until its perfect, if they aren’t interested? They probably wont do it at all, this often means that those with ADHD may struggle academically because they don’t feel interested in the topics. Unlike Autism, they tend not to focus well with repetitive  tasks as this lacks simulation

Medication - unlike Autism, ADHD can be helped with stimulant medication that allows them to focus a bit better. This is not a cure as ADHD cannot be cured, however it can be beneficial to some to help manage their struggles

Acting without thinking and being impulsive - to find some stimulation, those with ADHD may act without thinking of their consequences, or can engage in risky behaviour as other avenues may seem boring, please note this is not the case for everyone, and these ‘risks’ may be very mild like trying a new flavour of ice cream. They can act impulsively too and struggle to wait their turn

Communication difficulties - while ADHD is not a communication disorder, it can have affects on communication such as talking out of turn, starting conversations at the wrong times, being insensitive to particular topics or getting too distracted to focus on the conversation

Need reminders to take care of themselves - due to a mix of hyperfocusing and not focusing well, those with ADHD may often forget to do things such as eat, drink, sleep or shower

Quite easy to get their attention - when someone with ADHD is daydreaming, getting distracted or not focusing, it can be as simple as giving them a tap or a smile to bring their attention back to the matter at hand, even if these needs to be done multiple times

Rewarding behaviour - this technique works well as rewarding good behaviour releases dopamine, which is the hormone often lacked in those with ADHD, this allows people to connect activities and behaviours with positive feelings and are more likely to do it again in the future

ADHD STEROTYPES:

ADHD is ‘diet’ Autism

Those with ADHD cannot sit still

They are disruptive

Everyone with ADHD is hyperactive, loud and extroverted

[mxvladdy]

I have a prompt idea! The Brothers reacting to an MC that can regenerate after they die. Someone stabbed them? The wound will close in a bit. Did they fall from a high place and their body shattered? It’s all good, they’re body’ll just snap everything back into place as they’re conscious. We’re they poisoned? They’ll treat it like a stomach bug and be fine the next day. Funny part is MC could tell them the worst ways they died during their childhood in a lighthearted way which makes things more disturbing, especially since demon threats against them won’t work.

Ok first time I read this prompt I had a good laugh bc all I could think about was an MC that made that little squeaking noise those rubber chickens make when they inflate every time they regenerated lmaoooo. Could you imagine the pavlovian response all the brothers get if they hear a squeak? Like Lucifer would be trying to sleep and Cerberus finds one of his old chew toys and the fear it brings is legendary.

TW: Death, Blood, Injuries

Lucifer

When you first tell him he has no idea if it was a crude joke or not. You are so blasé about something that should traumatize you. He hates how you snort at his every threat. What good is blackmail if you don’t go for it?

He does not believe you at first. Just another little human talking big trying to impress him. He would keep a keen eye on you too, making sure they have no reason to get even so much of a scrape on their knee. Believe you or not he doesn’t need this program to fail. Then Belphie happened. Seeing your lifeless body made so many things happen in his mind he felt physically ill. He hadn’t felt like crying so hard since Lilith…

And then you sit up and crack your spine, like you were waking up from a nap instead of getting up after being thrown from the second story.

He-is relieved, and terrified. Were humans supposed to do that? He doesn't remember reading this particular ability in his father’s schematics. He believes you now nonetheless.

But he still doesn’t let you just go getting hurt whenever you feel like it.

“Absolutely not.” He shakes his head firmly. He is unfazed by your cute little pout and huffing.

“Lotan is friendly!” You try again pushing the form back at him defiantly. Lucifer picks it up again against his better judgment and scoffs. Friendly, if Lotan is friendly then Cerberus was a saint. “Come on what’s the worst that can happen? I’m out of school for a day or two if things get dicey.” You plead leaning up and over his desk. Ugh. He rubs at his temple in annoyance.

“The fact that you think skipping a few days of school because you became fish food as a minor hindrance terrifies me.” He drolls but picks up his feathered quill irregardless. You squeal in delight and hug him fiercely, managing to pull a smile out of him. They grab the liability agreement and run out the door already shouting for Levi to hurry up before Lucifer changes his mind. He chuckles leaning back in his chair. Fine, if they are happy… let it be on their head if it severs. Wait- could they regenerate from that? “Shit.”

Mammon

He believes you. Not because he takes their word for it but the first night on duty as your caretaker you fall out of his balcony window.

One minute they are having a heated argument about his unwanted duties, him hovering over you while you lean up against the railing refusing to break eye contact. Next thing he knows the old stone gives and you both tumble.

He has wings and catches himself. You- not so much. He can still hear the sickening crunch of bone meeting stone when he lays awake at night. The first thing he worries about is how much trouble he would be in with Lucifer that he failed again. He's a blubbering mess over your body swearing he would do better if they would just get up. Whatever you want it’s theirs if you just open their eyes.

And of course, you do. He won’t admit to the scream that erupts from his mouth when you ask him to swear on that deal or they are going to Lucifer as soon as they can feel their legs. He agrees readily, glad his hide is saved for now.

When you two become closer he figures why not make some money off of this little quirk. Enter the troublesome duo of grifters.

You whimper, hamming it up for the terrified looking demon glazing between your broken leg and Mammon wiggling his ring heavy fingers at them. “Look what ya did to my human.” He tuts. “What, ya don’t look both ways when riding.” He kicks at the upended bike by his feet. The demon sputters swearing that they did and neither of them had been in the way.

“Mammon~” His human sniffles flashing him a teary eyed pout. To the other lesser demon it looked like a plea, but Mammon knew it was a warning that your leg would start mending soon.

“Who do you think is gonna pay for this?” He goes in for the kill waving his free arm down at his human’s prone form. “You want Lucifer or Diavolo ta hear about this? Ya know this human is special to us.” The demon blanches and shakes its head. Terrified it threw its wallet at the avatar of greed and bolted leaving their bike and bag behind. Waiting for the demon to be completely out of earshot Mammon turns with a dazzling smile. “Damn,” He whistles, helping his human back to their feet. Already the bone and skin had mended leaving only an ugly red stain on the fabric of their uniform. “I think you just moved up the ranks of my most favorite things. Gonna rival Goldie soon if this picks up...” He opens the wallet and pockets the handful of cash in it, tossing the worn fabric to the street floor.

“Hey.” Mammon looks down at you. You were now scowling eying his pant pocket. “Don’t forget your side of the bargain.” He chuckles raising his hands in defeat.

“Alright- Alright. One stupidly expensive ice cream coming up.” He can't hide his blush when you hug his arm close to your chest, excitedly leading him back to the main street.  

Leviathan

Oh like in that one anime???

But really, he is the first to take your word for it. Finds it kinda neat. Not that he is going to test it. Who would he have to play with if you were just yanking his chain?

He listens to absolutely spine chilling tales of your little “mishaps” as a child. But you brush off his concern. Don’t worry about it! Makes for great stories. To tell right?

Of course, when he sees it first hand he forgets for a moment that you would eventually feel better. He left his tank open one night to clean out some debris gunking up the water pump. Damn things get stalled so frequently now. He turns his back for a moment to get a tool and the next he smells human blood in the water!

He scoops you out of the water before whatever fiendish creatures he holds in his aquarium can take a bite and gets you to solid ground. He is panicking hardcore, he doesn’t feel a pulse. He sees that they smashed their head, blood pooling sluggishly down your temple. You must have slipped on the wet tank edge and hit their head.

Just when he is about to name another Henry in your honor you pop up spitting out whatever water that had gotten into their lungs. They flash him a knowing smirk at his red-rimmed eyes and joke that they have a killer headache.

Nurse Levi to the rescue!

Levi checks in on you again, leaning over the edge of his tank. “D-don’t you move a muscle!” He shouts down to you. Squinting he sees a hand emerging from the mound of pillows and blankets inside his tub-bed. you shoot him a quick thumbs up before turning your attention back to his giant flat screen. “You sure you don’t need Barbatos or some pain meds?” He frets. He was close to just giving up on the pump and coming to take care of his miraculously healed guest.

“Levi I’m fine! Not even sleepy.” Your muffled reply wafts up to him. You push down some of the blankets to give him a relaxed smile. “See not even a scar.” You show him the side of their head that had been cut. Sure enough, nothing was there but a smoothed patch of skin. It lessens some of his panic, but barely. He knew internal damage was still a thing to humans.

Finishing up quickly with the pump he slithers back down to your side sheepishly. He had apologized what felt like a thousand times, but he was ready to drop a couple thousand more if need be. His looming causes you to look up from the anime you were watching. The flashing blue and yellow lights illuminate their calm gaze. None of the panic he felt seemed to transfer to you. “Want to join me?” You pat at the covers. “Waters warm.” You chuckle at their own joke pulling the blue covers down and away to give him room to join them.

“I-if you’re sure.” He stammers wiping at his face to hide his flush. You nod, patting the empty side again. He joins you snuggling close, he runs a hand where a gruesome scar had been not even an hour again. You nuzzle in close. His slightly cool fingers felt great on your skin before turning back to the screen completely nonplussed.

What a weird human...

Satan

Much like Lucifer doesn’t believe you. He has never heard or read about humans being able to do that. Will not believe them and gets annoyed by the “fake” stories you kept insisting were real.

The fact that a single human has such a vividly morbid imagination fascinates him, but he won’t divulge in your little fantasy. There is only so much foolishness he can deal with.

He forgets about it after a while and you stop bringing it up. If he doesn’t believe you so be it, he’ll find out one day surely, you aren’t exactly the most careful with your body. When he does find out it about does him in.

He had warned them of climbing on his bookshelves. He doesn’t have them tethered down or stable. He doesn’t need them to be. His shelves would never even dare to topple on him. But this weak little human takes his room as a personal jungle gym, climbing up him and his things for a book. They could just ask but Devil’s forbid they did something halfway intelligent.

You hear him fretting through the fog coating your senses. His fingers shakily poking at your crushed abdomen and legs all bent akimbo clearing broken. “Don’t be dead-please don’t do this.” He hisses about ready to use magic to put you back together again. You pull your strength and grab his hand before he can interfere with your natural healing ability.

He starts, green eyes looking down relieved and amazed at you. “Don’t.” You croak, already feeling your lungs and rib cage healing. “I’m good.”  

“You’re good!” He shouts voice cracking in exasperation. “I’ve seen the aftermath of Beel’s feeding rampages that have looked better!” You snort pushing his hands away to rest up on your elbows. Eh- he wasn’t exactly wrong.

“I look like a chewed-up burger huh?” You joke laughing at his stunted and slightly disgusted look. “I’ll be ok, just help me up? My legs are always tingly after healing.” Wordlessly he follows your instructions amazed at how well you are handling all of this. Were you actually human? You stand on wobbly legs bending and popping your joints. You give yourself a quick check over “Tada!” You give him two very bloody thumbs ups once you see that you are back to normal. “It’s all good!”

He shakes his head bewildered. “I-if you say so.” Satan wrinkles his nose looking at the mess of your clothes and his room. “Go wash up. I’ll get you a new set of clothes and work on this mess.” You nod already heading to his slightly cleaning bathroom. His warm hand wraps around your wrist catching you mid stride. “Don’t tell anyone about this ok?” He pleads. If anyone knew that he had been so foolish, he would never live it down.

You nod miming zipping your lips. “Betcha believe me know huh?”

He rolls his eyes turning to the task at hand. “Don’t push your luck, or next time I’ll leave you under a shelf.”    

Asmodeus

Believes you. You have never lied before so why do it now over something so trivial. Humans die all the time and if you say you can't then ok. He asks tons of questions about how you found out about this.

He doesn't like the stories you tell but doesn't find it off-putting how easily you talk about it. He's been around the block with mortals and they cope in all sorts of ways.

He cuddles you and coos over every story you tell then shoots off hundreds of compliments about your complexion. It's amazing how well your skin holds up to all the foolish actions of your past.

Even though he trusts you and your stories he still is super careful with you. You are not going to get hurt on his watch, absolutely not! Will patch you up if you need it all while gripping about your foolishness.

But accidents happen, and even the most watchful demon trips up sometimes.

Asmo tuts over you rubbing at the potion burning away at your flesh. "I told you the maroon bottle love." You hiss as the antiseptic hits muscle.

"Maroon and burgundy look the same, bite me!" He clicks his tongue and bites off the argument brewing within him. How can you not see how different the two colors are. You grouch some more while he works on getting the rest of his potion off your cheek. You had just wanted to use one of his acne toner, the one that smelled like cucumber and rose. He was preoccupied with his eyeliner but told you to just grab it from his shelf. He had a lot of bottles and a lot of them were definitely not for human use. 

You unfortunately just happened to pick one of them. The one you nabbed was a toner built for his stronger skin. It ate away at your cheeks and flesh of your palm on contact. It's burning and tingling making you yelp in surprise. Luckily for you, Asmo acted fast coming up from behind and knocking the toner-soaked cotton pad from your reddening fingers. He curses at you the whole way to his bathroom. Done with your right cheek and hand he nods in approval, seeing your flesh already knitting back together. "At least you have lovely bone structure. Ahhh~ I'm jealous!" He pokes a nail at the exposed bone of your cheekbone. The mending muscles and nerves almost growing over his nail before he could pull away. You quirk a brow.

"Want them? I'm pretty sure I could regrow my jawline before anybody would notice. " You shrug taking the washcloth from him to dap at your left cheek. Asmo laughs, it was a ridiculously tempting offer after all.

"Could you?" He taps at his own chin in thought. You glance back at him and sits on the toilet. In theory, you probably could. Hadn't happened...yet.  

"Ye- just give me a heads up first? And maybe some good booze to knock me out." You say only half-joking. Asmo nods eagerly, twirling a lock of soft tawny hair. He might take you up on the offer.  

Beelzebub

He doesn't want to know and he never wants to find out. He just likes you too much to see you get hurt :(. It gets to the point where you cannot bring any past stories of incidents (no matter how funny you think they are). If a story comes out be prepared to be carried everywhere by this gentle giant. If you won't cease your foolishness then he will.

Though he probably should have heard a few of the stories. Mostly the ones about poisons and inedible things you use to eat. A lot of his world revolves around food and he loves to share it with you.

He never heard you complain about the foods he had you try with him. It wasn't until Simeon and Luke tagged along did he learn the awful truth that he had been poisoning you almost every time you two went out.  

Takes him forever to get out of his head about it. You are clearly fine and never brought it up because you just loved spending time bonding with him.

You find him in the ally behind the restaurant. His massive form curled in on itself from where he sat. "Why didn't you tell me?" He rumbles hearing you approach to stand next to him. "I could have killed you." You sit squat next to him resting your arms on your knees.

"I mean...if we are keeping count it would be dead about eight times over by this point." You meant it to be funny but he groans in anguish pulling at his hair. You grab his fists and pry them from his scalp. "Hey! Hey!" You pat his knuckles, eyes filled with concern. "I'm still here right, still kicking and eating all these awesome foods, don't worry. Please?"  You can tell your words do not calm him but he doesn't pull from your grasp either. "If you are curious, all the foods that would have done me dirty just gave me some bad cramps and gas for the evening. Nothing a tum and hot tea couldn't fix." You fill the air with useless chatter, all while stroking his knuckles.

You really wish that Luke hadn't said anything. Simeon had read the room, his neat brown brows raising in astonishment as you sank into the meal Beel bought for you. But he otherwise stayed silent tucking into his own meal without a fuss. You couldn't completely blame Luke though. He was young and just looking out for you. Though, he-well- both of you could have handled it better. With him screaming and you screaming, it was a recipe for disaster.

Beel rises a few minutes later rubbing at his burning eyes. "Are you sure you are ok?" He checks in with you once more. You nod perking up as you see him grunt in acceptance. "Just let me know next time you can't eat something."

"But it tastes good!" You pout. He frowns not budging from his spot until he sees you sigh in defeat and agree. No more purposely poisoning yourself just for munchies. "Fine-but you are just saying that to get extra portions."  

Belphegor

He finds out when he kills your dumbass for believing him. It totally harshed his vibe.

Here he was getting an amazing monologue, reveling in his eldest's brothers' anguish and look of anger from the prince. He was ready to give his final performance and hopefully wipe the floor with that red-headed bastard plans to "commingle"

He tossed your "lifeless" body from him, taking a sick amount of pleasure in the way your body flopped down the stairs. He notices how the other brothers seem completely unfazed by your corpse at their feet.

Huh? Perhaps they didn't understand the actions he did. Or maybe they truly have given into the demons they had become. He stops his tirade only when he watches Asmo bend down and poke at your cheek. He didn't look sad, just merely annoyed. Like you were taking too long to get up.

But that is impossible. You would never get up again... 

Mammon rolls his eyes at his youngest brother's actions. Honestly, he loved the little edge lord, but this was ridiculous. He had a racket to go check on. His hand drifts down slowly to his pocket. If he just angled it right he could probably check his phone without looking rude. He makes eye contact with Satan and jerks his head exasperatedly at Lucifer and Belphegor going at it. The blonde shakes his head and shrugs. Slowly he inches closer so Mammon can go on his phone without getting caught. Covering for Mammon Satan looks around the room feigning interest.

Beelzebub and Leviathan seemed mildly more attentive to what was going on than him. The latter of the two eating it up like an arch in an anime, while the former was trying desperately to placate his twin. Asmodeus on the other hand was having none of this. He plops down next to your body turning your head to face him. He checks you over quietly ignoring the storm exploding out of his elder brother and the rest of the gang. "Honestly darling," He strokes the bridge of your nose, feeling the bone and cartilage shifting back into place beneath his finger. "is this a good time to ask if I can have your jawline?" He sees the corner of your lips twitch.  He leans in and whispers in your ear. "How long are you going to play dead?"

"Am I boring you, brother?" Asmo glances up from his position over your head. Belphegor looks down at his face apoplectic with rage at being ignored. "And I see you on your phone Mammon!"

"Shove it! I got shit to do!"

Asmo gets to his feet dusting off his pants and ruffles. He shrugs up at Belphie who was doing a great interpretation of Lucifer when angry. He was so much like Lucifer it was scary sometimes. "Sorry honey! Just check on my bestie."

Belphie snorts making his way down to the first floor. "Just checking I killed-"

You pop up grunting loudly as your spine reconnects. "Help your bestie up?" You raise a hand for Asmo who happily takes it. You turn your back to a dumbfounded Belphie and Lucifer, both not understanding what just happened.

"About time." Mammon sighs pocketing his phone. "I got some idiots we can swindle out of some grimm."

"Oi!" Satan butts in cutting Mammon off. "You had your turn! I have some spells they said they would help me test out."

You grin, not fighting it as the two tug at you like a toy between toddlers.

"Enough!" The two jump away from you at Lucifer's roar. You squeak in surprise when a firm leather-gloved hand spins you around so you could stand face to face with a fully shifted Lucifer. "You!" He runs his hands over you in disbelief. "How..." Your first conversation with him comes back to mind.

I can't die so try to threaten me with something else next time K?

"Would someone tell me WHAT is going on and why they are still breathing!" Belphie pushes through to you and Lucifer.

Beel grabs him up before he could get his claws into you again, stroking his dark hair like you would an angry cat. "It's a long story..."

[bigbangclappin]

Counterblow

Pairing: YoongiXReader, with mentions of Yoonmin

Word count: 2.3K

Genre: Angst

Warnings: implied smut, mentions of infidelity, mentions of revenge. This does mention Yoongi's Bisexuality and if that offends anyone then...I have no idea aside from we can't be friends.

Summary: Born and bred to be the wife of a king. You anticipated obstacles in your marriage as you were forewarned. But never had you thought Yoongi would leave your heart mangled on the floor.

To be jealous of a man is distasteful; to be jealous of two is loathsome. 

You stared at your husband and his consort with baleful eyes. How you wished your gaze would set that useless scholar on fire. 

With clenched fists you stood with all the refined grace instilled in you since birth. Men were all the same no matter who they lusted after. 

A terrible misfortune it was for you that your husband, the king, had one eye for women and the other for men. 

Of course only you and few of the higher court officials knew this about the king. Although a small detail to you, others would feel quite unsettled. 

His peculiar taste had no effect on you when it was reassured that you were the apple of your husband’s eye. 

His Words seemed to buzz around in your skull like an angry nest of hornets. In your gut you felt like he told you a lie in order to keep you and his consort because how foolish could he be to flaunt this relationship in your face. Why make a fool out of you in front of the court? He wasn’t being discreet like you discussed.

The blood in your veins boiled as you recall the memory of him with his consort Jimin. 

Doubtful any relations in the physical form would take place in such a public place as his palace You made the mistake of entering although it was your husband's chamber in which you were allowed to enter freely being the queen mother. The memory of what you saw inflamed your heart; the man that you loved and given your whole heart to was Taking on an intimate relationship. 

The cold stab of jealousy you had felt that day slowly turned the feelings you had, the pure love that you had once felt for your husband into bitter resentment.

You were never under the naïve impression that your husband was bound to only you as he did have the right to a harem. 

The upbringing in which you were raised attempted to prepare you for such an issue. Nothing your mother or sister said prepared you for the pain of a broken heart. Whether it was man or woman it didn’t matter the betrayal still stung. Your husband told you many times that you owned his heart. What a bold faced lie.

The heat that had risen to your cheeks at the sheer embarrassment you felt, the jealousy, the betrayal, made tears rush down your face and the only thing your husband could say to you on the matter is that he was a “free spirit“ you scoffed at the poor excuse he gave you.

Your heart has never been the same; it's like it turned to ice and the barriers you surround yourself with were your own kingdom. Never would you ever allow that man to make a fool of you again. How daft you had been to believe that men could ever truly love one person.

You had vowed to yourself from that day on you would only give what you had to and nothing more.

Yoongi had believed that everything was the same and you had forgiven him. Playing the role Of the dutiful queen not once bringing up the past because you knew that conversation would’ve led to a dead end.

Oh no your plan for revenge wasn’t as obvious as your husband like to think it would be. He had kept an eye on you for the first couple of weeks since you found out that he was laying with Jimin.

You were smarter than that and he should’ve known that. A woman scorned is a powerful, painful, terrible thing to behold. A woman could bide her time like no other in order to get back at the one who broke her heart.

That’s exactly what you did. The court expected you to produce an heir quickly to continue on your husband's line of succession. One month after that haunting scene you had fallen victim to your weak heart and allowed your husband into your private quarters. Shortly thereafter you had fallen ill. Upon the king’s command the royal physician tended to you. He gave you news that wasn’t a large surprise but you were happy much the same. Your husband was delighted; his supporters were thrilled.

The smile on Yoongi’s face when it was announced that you had given birth to a healthy boy is what spurned your idea for revenge. The son you bore for him would never have the bond that you did with him. He would know only of your nurturing and love. 

Afterall how could revenge be any more sweet than never knowing the love of your own child?

Your young prince’s loyalty would never be to his father but to you.

________________________________________________________________

At the tender age of two your son might as well Have just been your son. When his father attempted to do anything with him he would just cry and cry for you. As if his father was a stranger that wanted nothing more than to hurt him. 

True enough, you thought to yourself, hurt a child’s mother, hurt the child right? 

Whenever the man asked you what he had done to upset your child you would just shrug your shoulders and say he was perfectly fine a few minutes ago. You would state it’s probably just a phase.

It wasn’t just a phase. Your baby took after you and was a good judge of character. His father was fickle and unsure. Where your baby was consistent and wise even if he was just a toddler.

Which brought you to the situation you were currently in. You had taken breakfast with your son and you had made it a habit to eat without the king. Especially when multiple reports accounted for him being in the library with his consort.  If he wanted to play happy families then he would have to join you when you had time. Your son would not wait to eat because his father’s priorities were askew.

Sungho was happily munching on his porridge and you smiled as you wiped his face with a napkin nearby when your trusted lady in waiting came into your chamber.

“My lady the king approaches and he does not look pleased.“ Jaeun stated seemingly panicked as her eyes shifted between you, your son, and the door that she knew your husband was going to come barreling through at any moment.

“Do not fret my dear he does not frighten me.“

“But your highness—”

The doors to your chamber suddenly crashed against the wood behind it creating a large racontorous sound that spooked your child and your lady in waiting.

There stood your husband, the king in his black and gold dress robes, his long hair that was tied up into a neat ponytail nearly fell in his eyes. He had an angry, fierce look in those tiger shaped orbs as he took in the breakfast your son and you began without him.

“Were we not supposed to have breakfast together?“ Your husband asked you with a certain grit of agitation to his tone.

“I wasn’t sure if you were going to be able to make it. Namjoon had said this morning that you were preoccupied in the library and our son was hungry.”

  The smile on your face would fool even your worst enemy that everything you were saying was truth and not something planned out of spite. 

You giggled at your little Sungho when he looked at you with more rice on his chubby cheeks. 

Hiding the raging wave of envy behind your child was a habit now. Somehow you thought Yoongi was beginning to catch on.

His nostrils flared in aggravation, “Jaeun please tend to your other tasks…”

Eyes narrowing you weren’t daft; he was trying to clear the room and you weren’t having it.

You raised your hand when your maid began shuffling at the king’s order, she stilled at your wordless gesture.

“Jaeun is fine your highness,” you replied and then pointed to the unoccupied chair across from you. 

Your maid was privy to every little detail between you and the king. Unbeknownst to Yoongi of course, her loyalty also resided with you. She had been your greatest companion and friend throughout your tumultuous relationship.

Your husband glared harshly before forcefully pulling the chair out. It then became a battle of sheer will not to engage in conversation. Preoccupied by Sungho made things a lot easier.

“You declined the invitation to my chamber last night…”

Your husband broke first. Of course he did. He had begun after all this time to feel the iciness you displayed toward him.

You barely spared him a glance as you wiped your son’s mouth, “I wasn’t feeling well.”

He scoffed, his jaw set in anger, “This illness only comes about when I request time with you. You seem well enough now.”

“Very strange isn't it?” You retorted coolly, doing your best to hide your smirk.

“Increasingly.” He spat in annoyance, “Perhaps you should see the physician.”

“I doubt that the physician needs to be bothered your Highness. I'm sure it will subside.”

The king’s agitation became evident after your last statement, “Since when have we become so formal with one another that I am no longer addressed with warmth?”

An eyebrow lifted involuntarily at his question, “I don’t understand what you mean your highness…”

“That is what I mean!” He barked at you, “your highness? When have you ever addressed me as such? It was always Yeobo, my king, my love or at the very least Yoongi!”

You sat quiet in thought after his outburst wondering if now was the time to play your cards but quickly decided against it.It was too soon.

“I had no idea you didn't like being addressed as such my king. I'll make a conscious effort to forgo that title if it makes you unhappy.”

Your eyes followed your husband’s Adam’s apple bob in a frustrated swallow, “why do I feel as if you’re falling away from me?”

Because you had you wanted to scream but you remained poised. Regarding him with fake sadness and empathy.

“I’m sorry that I’ve been making you feel that way, Sungho is at the age where he needs me with him or he does not feel safe. I didn’t mean to make you feel neglected. I thought Jimin had been keeping you occupied while I need to be with Sungho.”

Something in Yoongi’s jaw ticked at the little jab you had thrown in. 

Good you had thought to yourself. Maybe he would realize how asinine he sounded. Complaining about how you spent too much time with your son while he had a companion to warm his bed at night. 

“It isn’t the same…” he said quietly with pain behind his guarded eyes. 

Too little too late.

“I apologize your highness” you said, reaching for his hand, giving it a small squeeze. “I’ll meet you in your palace tonight if you wish after Sungho falls asleep.”

Placing a kiss on top of your hand he was easily appeased with your answer.

Pretending not to enjoy the intimacy your husband showered you with that night proved to be easier than you originally anticipated. 

He placed steamy kisses along your neck and shoulders. Right where he knew it would drive you crazy but he received no response. No indication that you were enjoying yourself the least bit. 

“What’s wrong Jagi?” He asked with genuine concern.

“Hmm?” You responded with deliberate disinterest hoping to wound his pride. “Oh I was just wondering if the kitchen received my request for fresh berries.”

Point blank you shot his ego down. He’s trying to reconnect with you and you’re ignoring him for frivolous cravings. Has he lost his touch with you? Has it been so long since you let him have you that he didn’t know your body anymore? 

He let a humorless chuckle pass his lips incredibly shocked at the hurt he was feeling. It worsened when you lifted the shoulder of your night dress back up over your exposed skin. Had you just rejected him?

“Now that I think of it I should probably check on the preparations for Sungho’s birthday. I’m sure Seokjin is still in the kitchen—” you rose from your husband’s bed but you were halted by the strong grip on your wrist.

“Seokjin can wait!” Yoongi snapped, pulling you down onto his lap. His long blonde hair sheltering you from anything that could take your attention away.

“I haven’t had a single moment with you to myself since you gave birth to our son…” he mumbled into your neck with what you thought was a sniffle.

A small string of guilt tugged at your heart at the pitiful sound. You needed to remind yourself that he did this to your relationship not you. Had he given any thought to your feelings he would’ve realized his mistake.

“Yoongi-ah I’m sorry I thought because you had Jimin you wouldn’t be lonely while I took on the gift of motherhood…” 

“He isn’t you!” He snapped harshly, “You’re the love of my life and I feel like you’re slipping through my fingers…”

He had whispered the last portion of his confession. You sat back enough to take in his harsh features. His pale cheeks blushed pink from his flood of emotions. You touched his cheek and brushed his long hair behind his ear. 

There was nothing you could say to make him feel better. Truly you didn’t want to. The taste of his own medicine tasted bitter just like your heart. He deserved to feel the loss of you by his side. 

“You have no reason to worry my love,” you whispered to him, your stomach doing somersaults at the lie. 

Placing a kiss on his forehead you let him revel in the somewhat fake comfort you gave him. 

He needed to learn that either he continued his affair or he loses you and Sungho for good.

[prose-for-hire]

Love, Hate, Love: Part three

Part One // Part Two

Pairing: Spike x fem!vamp!reader

Request: Spike and the reader disliked each other until they recall their shared past. They finally acknowledge it and their feelings begin to spill - but is it too late? This is the final part !!

Originally requested by: @therapieliteratur​

Warning: Alcohol consumption. Implied sex. Very dodgy/amateur-ish inserted poetry lol

A/N: I don’t have anything for Valentine’s this year, so this will have to do !! Happy Valentine’s Day loves 💖🖤

The evening swept around him, the wind hissing mocking taunts as he ran from the broken promise of your love.

As William sobbed, he stumbled into the field that harboured that oak tree. Once a solace, now a marker of his loss. A gravestone to your love.

His heart was shattered and he made a decision, one that would mean you would never see him again.

In that moment, you were facing your own battle. You still lived with your parents. They did not permit you to leave that afternoon. You panicked, explaining yourself and the reason you were so desperate to go. Which just made it worse.

“Father, please!” You screamed, tears streaming hot and salted, “Please understand, William is a good man. Of a good family”

“Other arrangements have been made, child” He warned, not explaining what these were. You weren’t expected to know or comprehend.

“I love him!” You shouted. The house stopped still. Nobody moved. You were supposed to be seen, not heard. Respect your mother and father’s will. Your mother cried and begged, trying to still you from leaving.

But you managed it, running all the way to the chapel, pleading solace with the vicar. Only to find that your lovers heart was shattered and broken on the floor.

It sounded like broken glass under your feet as your tear-stained wedding gown clung to you.

You had returned from the school a week ago and fitfully rested since. You had offered your hand to help Spike up. He hadn’t taken it, but he hesitated before he told you to go away. The bite in his voice had gone. Neither of you wished to use such harsh tones anymore.

You were back in your home again. Another monotonous fight finished. They all seemed the same. You sighed, shaking your bra to remove the dust from your cleavage.

It was a few days since you last shared your dreams and suddenly you began to crumble under the weight of your tears. Crying almost as much as you had that night as that memory kept flashing behind your eyes. It still felt so fresh. How he hadn’t been there. How you had been too late.

Your legs gave out from under you. Somehow, you were on your knees. Sobbing on the tile of your kitchen floor.

You didn’t realise, but he was out there. Watching. He had followed you home and seen that you lived in a house. A real one. He had scoffed at this and that you had paid over the odds for necro-tempered glass so that you could sit in some kind of sunlight without burning in your own home. He knew this, because he had found an invoice when he had been rooting in your trash.

He was smoking when he saw the kitchen light turn on. You were visible until you dropped to the floor. Eyes leaking with such emotion.

It physically hurt him to see you that way as he moved closer to the window. Tears started to prickle behind his eyes, a lump forming at the back of his throat. He wished to wrap his arms around you. Be allowed in your house, to offer comfort. For you to want his comfort.

He had always hated to see you cry.

In the following weeks, as Spike healed, your hearts began to break over and over. You avoided facing each other, it was too painful even to be in the same room.

Spike stayed outside your house more frequently and you found yourself napping a lot more than usual, just in case you caught the moment he would be sleeping too.

You longed for him in sleep just as he pined for you in reality. You began to want each other in all manner of consciousness. Defying the pain. The hatred you had once been so convinced of. All you wanted was the other and it infuriated you. Whilst somehow simultaneously being a solace.

You were a comfort blanket that the other held close. Wrapped around your hearts for protection. Soft like Sunday morning sheets dipped in the sun’s rays. The warmth of summer days meeting the whispering of cool winter nights.

The care you had weaved in and out of your hearts left a thread. A thread that entwined with theirs and tugged towards the other. The feeling was the last thing you could cling to.

But the pain, the loss. It was creeping up on you both. It always was. Becoming harder and harder to bear. The dreams and memories becoming more and more tainted. The worse, most painful parts taking up most of the dreams.

Despite all of this, you both settled in to sleep much earlier than you ever had before. You still wanted to touch the other, feel the other’s mind. Emotions through the dream. The truth of your love. The promise that it had been real for both of you. Even if it were for mere seconds.

You looked out of the window again, sighing, staring out into the night. Not realising Spike was staring back. You were too in your own head.

You saw it now, where you hadn’t been able to before. His softer side. The lover’s heart that was still firmly planted on his sleeve. How had you missed the attention he had given to Drusilla? How had you ignored the way he spoke about her. Protected her.

Why do you now envy her? Him? For the love story you were never allowed.

You remembered so much now. You both defied convention. You always had. Now you were starting to notice all of the similarities he had to that young man you agreed to marry. You craved him. His touch. His mind.

Through the next few days, the dreams became more frequent again. More scenes from the past. More feelings. Multiple times in the night. Both of you guiltily looking forward to them. The first part, anyway. It was worth the heartache, the hollow loss at the end. To be able to touch each other again, even briefly. Just like it had been.

You had both began to write again, feverish emotions and memories spinning. You had rediscovered your love for poetry as well as that guilty affection you held for the other.

You arrived in the school library one late afternoon. Spike had seen you crying that first time a while ago now and had been watching your house more often than he would like to admit. Your heart ached with every waking moment and you felt yourself walking through life as some kind of emotion-exhausted zombie might.

“Nice of you to join” Xander murmured with a smile. You had been late. You got caught up by the vampire that often tried to make you pay him to pass by ‘his’ turf in the underground tunnel system.

Oh, right, now the vampire that used to make you pay to pass him in the tunnels.

“Yeah, sorry. What’s the sitch?” You asked, a well-practiced smile now stitched on your face for them. You weren’t really expecting much of an update as you started to shake some dust out of your hair.

“It’s Spike. We can’t just let him walk anymore. I’m goin’ out tonight and putting an end to his reign of stupid”

“N-no” You said, unsure why your mouth had moved of your own accord. You had stopped what you were doing and now just staring vaguely at the middle of the room.

“What?”

“Y/n, you know as well as we do, if not more so, what may happen should we allow Spike to continue his ill-thought out tyranny at will”

“He’s not exactly enemy number one is all I meant” You shrugged slowly, still staring unblinkingly as more memories flashed behind your eyes. He was so human in your mind, you couldn’t let that go. Even despite everything you knew about him. The goodness, no matter how limited it appeared, was starting to shine through.

“How can you even begin to defend-”

“Isn’t there a major mayor-related-massacre threatening at any moment? Shouldn’t we care more about immediate threat than some vampire who would sell his remaining brain cell for some box-bleach?”

“Spike’s dangerous though, Y/n. With the threatening and the, uh, hostage-taking-of-me” Willow said softly. It made you feel so guilty. It tore you in half, her words. You berated yourself. For clinging to that rare happiness you felt in those dreams you shared at the expense of real lives.

Your feelings all ran at each other at once. A fated fight. To the death. Neither side was winning or losing, but the battle waged on fiercely.

“Okay. But let me do it” Your eyes almost pleading with them and after some consideration, they agreed. It was you and him, to the very end.

You waited for him at the bar. Simultaneously wishing him to arrive and hoping that he never did.

He arrived, walking towards you, the dim glow of the bar making his prominent cheekbones cast a shadow against his cheeks. Your eyes were transfixed on him, he moved in slow motion. Adjusting the shoulder of his leather duster as he walked.

As he came towards the bar, your eyes flashed between seeing him in reality stalking up to the bar and William walking, smiling towards you. The pictures cutting and splicing themselves together until it was one man.

Nostalgia sticking to your mind like glue, running into your eyes. Blurring the two. He was the same man. Your mind was becoming more and more sure of this.

Which was why this was going to be so hard.

Neither of you pretended the other wasn’t there today, you gestured for him to sit next to you on the spare seat. He stared for a moment, an eyebrow quirked in confusion before he just shrugged and threw himself down beside you.

“Lookie here, if it isn’t the runaway bride” He said, his voice bit deeper than he had expected. He remembered, then. You hadn’t been sure.

“Will- uh, Spike. I didn’t run” You corrected him, without elaboration.

“Yeah, well, suppose it’s not running if you didn’t bother to turn up in the first place”

“That is way not fair! I was totally-” He raised his eyebrows at your phrasing and tensed his jaw at your lie. You cut yourself off, trying to rephrase.

You explained. Exactly what had happened and how you had stayed there all night and through the next day despite the biting cold and rain. Your wedding gown soaked through, but you wouldn’t move.

You explained that you had hoped he would know you had run into trouble. That you would be there when you could.

And Spike believed you. Even when you were younger, he could always tell when you had been lying. This was probably the most honest you had been with him since you had met again.

Spike’s eyes were threatening to spill over again and he hid it by looking downwards, he was about to say something. Reply to your recount of that day, apologise for leaving so quickly, when you were interrupted.

“He bothering you, Y/n?” The bartender asked, gesturing with his head at Spike. Every time he saw you and Spike together there was a fight and you looked more miserable than usual.

“No, uh, we’re on a date. This is, like, my happy face” You assured him with a blank expression that made him laugh, “I’ll have my usual and whatever William usually drinks.”

The bartender looked at Spike, trying to hide his obvious laughter at his real name. No wonder he had chosen Spike. Spike glared, first at you and then at the bar tender. Who surrendered and moved away to make your drinks.

You did shoot Spike an apologetic look. It had slipped out again.

When you received your round you drank in silence for a while. Your thoughts marinating in your brains. Sitting beside each other, sharing a drink – it was alien. But neither of you could help enjoying it.

He knew now that he still loved you. It hurt and he was confused with himself for it, but he couldn’t deny it. Not any longer. You had been all he ever wanted and even now he just wanted to hold you against him the way he had fantasised about in his human years.

He found himself wanting to understand you. Wanting to be allowed beneath your scarred surface. He wished to comfort you when you cried. He wished to relearn the patterns of your mind. He knew your sweet poetry wasn’t lost, just like it wasn’t in his own mind.

You knew you would have never been able to do it. As soon as he walked in, you just couldn’t bring yourself to do it. The stake in your sleeve was splintering uncomfortably and you let it. Your penance for what you were about to say.

“I came here to kill you” You admitted, “Slayer wants you dead”

“And you and your soul’s okay with that one? Pretty little off switch your morality got, isn’t it?” He laughed humourlessly swigging from his drink, “My life’s not worth anything when there’s nothin’ in it for you and yours”

“You could run” You let the suggestion hang in the air.

“And the Slayer would let that happen? Me toddlin’ off until the next time our paths cross and then it’s dust in the wind. For the both of us” He accused. Telling you what you had always known. Your fates were entwined. You had lived and loved together. Been sired at similar times, managed to grasp onto your unlives despite the constant threat. Your soul ached for him, his missing but still showing even if it was just in your own eyes.

You took it in turns to buy the other their drink of choice. It really was like the date you had never been on. You sat in silence, each considering what had been said. Until it had gotten too much for you.

You couldn’t hide, nor run anymore. The shift was too great. Tectonic.

He caught your eye, as you watched him closely. Were you going to say this?

“I look at you and I see that oak tree, those freckles. That smile you used to give me that was ours. Like a secret that only we knew” You spoke, voice wavering and glass crunching under your hand as you held your cup too tight, “I hear the poetry, feel the breeze on my face. I can even feel the bodice that used to dig into me as we sat on the grass…” Your voice caught as his face started to soften at your confession, “I know this is selfish and… wrong. But y-you’re him. The only love ever allowed in my heart. The only one that ever will be. You’ve not changed in the way you think you have, my love” You finished, your accent switching in and out from the one you used to have and the one you used now.

He was reeling from your words. He had never, in all the time he had known you while you were undead, seen you be so honest. So vulnerable. You spoke from the heart, the way you had always used to.

Her love. Your love. He replayed those words over and over. Unable to hate or cast out any affection anymore. It was you.

You usually hid behind your guilt. Thick insulation, stopping you from moving forwards. Kept you constantly recounting past sins. It held your tongue, bound your actions to those that Angel helped construct. Acting only in a way that would allow for you to atone. No happiness, no light.

But now you were bearing yourself to him. Daring to be vulnerable - to hope that he felt it too. Despite it all. Despite who he had been to you in recent memory. The hatred, the dislike felt more distant a memory than the love your shared now.

“Cognate souls sing in early morning. My heart, begotten” The words spilled from his mouth, tears running down his cheeks now.

“There lies she, a woman. The type one may tie a knot in” You whispered, almost choking on the words and how happy they had made you. How he had asked you to be his. To marry.

You locked eyes. Both still shining. Before he closed his eyes for an extended period of time. Savouring those words. That moment.

You were holding back more tears. These feelings long since hidden, but never lost. Your dead hearts began to flutter.

You leaned in and his lips caught yours. Lips moving slowly to begin with but even the slightest movement of your lips spurred him to kiss deeper. You responded desperately, hands reaching for him.

Needing this. Needing him. You wished to make up for being so late. In this kiss.

You could taste salt and… him. The way he tasted hadn’t changed. His lips were almost warm against yours. His tongue entering your mouth hot and urgent. You kissed as if the threat of being torn from the other was imminent.

Your hands slid up his back, gripping the material of his shirt. Wishing you could take it from him right here. Press your naked skin against his. His hand slid up the curve of your neck. The other grasping at the strands of your hair.

You fumbled, pulling each other desperately closer. Bar stools fallen in your wake. You were lost in the kiss, both of you were. Moving on instinct, lips hungry and desperate to recreate the feelings you had all that time ago.

You somehow had entered his crypt. His bed was covered, completely littered with papers. Scrawled with such feeling. Some aged, that had been guiltily kept and some on fresh lined paper. He shoved them from the bed haphazardly. You missed his slight embarrassment as you attached your lips to his neck instead. Tugging on his waistband, desperate and pleading.

You needed this. You had ached for his touch for too long. This was so much more real than the dream. So badly you wanted him. Quick and now.

Your lips pressed against any skin hungrily and you were working desperately to remove all of his clothes as fast as you could.

But he stilled your hands.

Guiding your head back so you would face him. Your pupils dilated and dazed already by your desire for him. For this act that had been held in reverence. The meeting of your bodies in the way you had been told to save for your true love in your youth.

That time had passed but there was something about it being him. About it being you. You had always wanted to feel his naked flesh against your own.

“Wait, Sweet- let me?” he mumbled against your lips, kissing softly now. Like he used to. You almost wept. His mouth grazed yours, not as cautious as he once was. He had learned since, but the way his lips caressed yours. The feeling, that heart, it was still there. His lips insisted that he was still promised to you.

He wanted nothing more than to take you, rough with desire and throbbing with passion. But there was something he had to do. Something William would never forgive him for if he didn’t take this opportunity. Something he would never forgive himself for.

You nod, you were his. You always had been. You couldn’t turn back now despite him allowing you to think on it for that brief moment.

He took you, laid you back on his bed. His guiding grip strong but surprisingly tender. His hands ran down your body in a silent adoration.

He took his time to remove items of your clothing that were left. The fabric felt binding until his hand rested there. With his touch, a sigh of relief. You both felt yourselves releasing a long-held breath. One you had held inside for centuries.

Your eyes shone. It was emotional for the both of you. To have so much right here in front of them. To have everything you had truly ever dreamed.

In this moment, you felt his love in every stroke. Every murmur, every gentle encouragement. Movement. He enjoyed the way you touched his body with such reverence. Adored every sigh of pleasure.

He was firm in his love, in his touch. Your hands sliding up his back, weaving and clasping at his short, bleached hair. You moved so easily with him. Your bodies in perfect harmony. As if they were truly made for each other.

He kissed every part of you. His lips discovering places he had only ever dared dream about before. Sometimes he pressed his lips a little teasingly but others because he wanted to worship your form. He couldn’t rush this. His lips skimming every curve of your body. William was already writing sonnets in his mind. Pressing them into your skin.

He had wanted to do this since the day he had discovered what love making was. To meet your flesh with his. To consummate his adoration. To prove his devotion to your body, not just the mind he already adored. He had wanted to have you this way. To show you how true this feeling was.

His rhythm peaked and slowed. His touch sensual and yet wholly sensitive to you. Kisses littering your skin. He couldn’t believe you were here. That you were in his bed. He had longed, ached. Imagined exploring the beauty encapsulated in your form. His mind was intoxicated with you. Your touch, even your scent.

His eyes never leaving yours. Your eyes shone, threatening to spill again. You caught his lips when he kissed a trail along your collarbone towards your lips. You whispered such loving assurances against his pale skin. Into his ear as he ran a hand along your thigh. You cradled his body to you, wrapping yourself around him. Ensuring he was ever closer.

You hoped that he knew you were right there with him. That you were his, like you had been all those years ago.

You laced your fingers with his. Locking like your eyes. Every part of you had to be connected. You craved each other and it was only satisfied when you were together completely. In mind and body.

No mere dream.

He woke up the next evening, expecting you to be gone. He screwed his eyes up, not willing himself to look less the desperate pang of disappointment swallow him whole.

But when he dared to open his eyes you were there. On your side facing away from him. Sleeping. You had never slept so well, not since you had got your soul back.

You looked so peaceful when you slept. Much more so than when you were awake. He rolled over to press himself against your body. His hand tracing the curvature of your body. He had been deprived of your touch for so long.

He didn’t want this moment to end. This is what he had been missing all these years. It was you. It had only ever been you.

He cautiously ran a hand along your bare skin and enjoyed as you sighed softly through sleep. Your shoulders were exposed and he pressed his lips to your skin. Slow, gentle kisses. Pressed with such meaning. It was as soft as he remembered, despite the years. The fights.

He closed his eyes at the contact, hearing your contentment. You moved back slowly, needy for his body to further embrace yours.

This was all he had ever dreamed of. All he had written about. This was a century in the making.

Your eyes began to open, in your sleepy state you turned to him. You smiled.

William.

The smile lit up the room, better than the sun he remembered whenever you were around. You leaned in, settling a sleepy kiss against his lips.

Written poetry was scattered around the bed you shared for the day. Surrounding you both. Spike’s passion rekindled as yours was. For love and for poetry.

It was in that state between sleep and wake where reality hadn’t quite caught up. Your guilt hadn’t hit you. Your duty, anxieties. None of it was more important than the scene before you.

Everything just felt right. All you knew was this early evening adoration. You felt comfortable. Safe.

The world had stopped on its axis in this moment. The first shoots of love re-growing from your hearts.

[miridiums-writing]

Loki x reader

This is the longest thing I've ever written, also having to post on my phone because I dont have a computer so I apologise I can to the read more thingy

Summary; Loki decides to prank his brother one night and end up becoming a therapist for Y/N, currently the most withdrawn are tough to crack of the bunch, as a snake

Warning; swearing, panic attacks, depression, self-harm, past abuse, past sexual assault, mentions of medical torture, death of a friend, the team seeming like dickheads, I do apologise. Also, may have plugged in my favourite power again…… please don’t hate me, reader is so oblivious it should be illegal. Please don’t read if this triggers you!!

Word count; 2k

Loki slowly slithered down the hallway, scales making a noise very comforting to him against the floor. Being a snake gave him a sense of peace and freedom. Tonight, he was heading for only one room, Thor’s. he hadn’t pranked his brother in a month and felt it was necessary to do so now. As he passed one more door until he reached his destination, he heard sniffling and hiccupping coming from the room. Loki’s curiosity got the better of him and he decided to investigate. The room was dark, though he could make out to outline of a person under the blankets, full on sobbing now. Loki carefully manoeuvred his small form up the bedframe to the person. They were shaking and sobbing rather badly now, he moved under the blankets and towards the person.

Loki was now curled around the persons hand that was currently gripping onto their hair harshly, almost of the verge of ripping it out. He started to lick at anything he could noticing quickly they were caught in a panic. Their panic was crashing down on them, making them unable to see him or even recognize he was there. Their breathing was laboured and harsh as if they had just run a marathon. Loki tightened himself around their hand in the hopes the pain would ground them. He relaxed when he heard them yelp, pulling the blankets off themselves to look down at Loki. Loki’s blood ran cold when he saw their face. There you were, tears staining your face and eyes red raw, confusion setting into your features as you looked down at him.

“thanks,” you said, your voice rough from crying. “I probably would still be panicking without you.” To you Loki was simply a snake looking up at you curiously. Currently Loki’s mind was screaming. What if they knew it was him and got mad for eaves dropping, what that why you were talking to him as you would a person? You were racking a shaky hand through your hair now, looking as though you were battling with yourself. Like you wanted to say something, but you were unsure. Loki was starting to look to find a way out when you started to speak again. “Fuck it, it’s not like I can talk to actual people,” you look Loki in the eye. “Plus, its not like a snake can look at me with pity.” Loki was slightly confused now, wondering where you were going with this. “ok, how should I? you know what ill just start from the beginning and see where I go shall we?” you gave Loki an unsure smile, though it further confused Loki to see how genuine it was.

“I have anxiety and depression. Um, I self-harmed, still do sometimes when it gets too much, I-uh- fuck I don’t know” you were looking across the room now, fiddling with your hands trying to explain. Loki curled up on your lap again and decided to wait for you to continue. It might help and he didn’t want to leave you alone like this, no matter how scary you were. “My parents were, well, they were shit. I was the oldest, so I took most of the attacks they handed out, punishments I took most of even if I wasn’t the one at fault. When I turned ten-” you cut yourself off to wipe away the tears pooling around your eyes “Sorry,” you chocked out as more tears made their way down your face. “Just, give me a second”

Loki continued to patiently wait for you to continue. He was honestly intrigued now. Maybe learning about your past could help him form a bridge between you, especially since you always seemed to distance yourself from everyone. He knew everyone needed someone to lean on. The tears had slowed again, you took a deep breath, trying to calm your racing heart.

“ok, when I turned 14 I was sold off, my parents were fed up of dealing with me and they ripped me away from those I cared about. I was sold at auction from money and given from person to person” your features were changing now, anger contorting your face “I was used as property, a toy, not a person, something people can just own. Used again and again, my innocence ripped from me!” you were yelling now though when you noticed you took a calm breath “sorry. So yes, I was basically a sex toy for gross old men. Though a good thing came from it. When I turned 17, I met a guy called Phoenix. He was, awesome. So genuine, so kind. We were both in this awful situation, but we had each other, we told everything about ourselves to each other and it was a freedom I hadn’t had before them. An actual friend.” The tears had started again but you just wiped them away and continued your story, Loki hadn’t moved yet, frozen in place through the power of your words. “when we were 18, phoenix was taken out the cell one night. Dragged by his hair outside. I remember vividly, we were both crying reaching for each other.” Your hands were clenched in anger now. “THEY SHOT HIM IN THE HEAD RIGHT IN FRONT OF ME!” you looked down at the snake in anger, though when your eyes met you tried to breath again, trying to keep calm. After a few minutes of deep breathes you continued once more. “I guess I could say a piece of me was lost that day, I lost the only thing I had left and I just broke. I was numb, I didn’t move, I didn’t eat, I didn’t do anything. When they found I couldn’t be useful as a sex toy anymore they sold me off again. To Hydra. I was subject 1843.” Loki internally gasped instantly, that was them? When the team had last broken into a Hydra base, he remembered reading something about them.

Subject 1843

Reported missing for 9 months.

Uses; medical chemicals for the next generation of super soldiers

Experimental aid

Stress relief

Loki was brimming with anger now. Everyone on the team backhanded them as a spoilt kid who didn’t like people, they all brushed them off ignoring them most of the time as most hand given up even trying to reach out to them. The only ones who still bothered were Cap and Spider ling, and even then, the interactions were slim to none, asking how their day was, that was about it. They kept to themselves otherwise. Loki remembered Bucky being mad because they spoke up about their past being bad and Bucky instantly being mad that they didn’t know what true pain was like. Yet there they were taking every punch and all that pain, emotional and physical from the team, people who are supposed to care about them and they said nothing.

“I was used as a test subject of sorts, chemicals were tested on me first, if I had a reaction, they didn’t use them. Simple as. I was used in experiments, my body was simply theirs to play around with, that explains the butterfly thing. One chemical reacted with him body and now I can create butterflies, somehow. I don’t mind the butterflies are rather calming. Anyway, when I turned 19, I found a way to escape and never looked back. Now I’m here, in bed having panic attacks and refusing help from actual people” you chuckled to yourself without humour “I’m so messed up inside, it doesn’t feel appropriate to reach out to them now, I’ve been so cruel.” Without thinking Loki shakes his head, then both of you freeze. You look down at him curiously. “You understand me?” Loki decided it better if you know and nods his head. “huh, cool,” you said smiling down at him. “ok then, who do you suggest I spoke to, who do you think I should trust?” Loki looks at them ridiculously for a second. They didn’t get he wasn’t a snake? Either way Loki decided to make his way to his own room as you followed behind him, your feet making a gentle pitter patter on the floor.

When they both arrive at his room Loki quickly dodges in before them and changes back sitting on the bed and reading. When you walk in, he looks up at you, trying not to show he already knew why you were there. You stand there for a second looking around the room, clearly searching for the snake, your hands massaging each other nervously. “I have some stuff I want to tell someone, will you let me talk?”

-------------------------------------------------------time skip------------------------------------------------------------------

Loki sat with your head in his lap, after so much crying that night you had exhausted yourself, you had fallen asleep on his shoulder, but he carefully moved so you were more comfortable. Though it wasn’t much he felt, almost at peace. He noticed you had told snake Loki a lot more than him, but the fact you had even spoken up, to him of all people, filled himself with pride, you trusted your instincts and the snake to speak up finally, and relieve yourself of the burden you had carried for so long. Though now he felt it was only his place to explain to the team. Before you had fallen asleep, he had asked you about it. You explained how you wanted to tell them but couldn’t work up the courage. He asked if you wanted him to do it and he agreed, before you passed out on him. He picked you up, placing you under the covers and called out to Friday. “assemble the team in the kitchen, this is important”

When Loki arrived at the kitchen everyone was there, expect for you. “right let’s get this started,” he said, clapping his hands together. “we have a lot to get through” Thor looked at him with confusion “what is this about?”

“all in due time brother”

“what about Y/N we can’t start without them” Cap said looking as confused as the rest of them.

“Let me explain first talk later, I need you full attention” and with that Loki told them everything you told human him. The team were just as shocked as him by the end of the story. Tony, and Bucky looked the most shocked, knowing full well how often they spoke down to them about them not understanding true pain. Cap and Natasha looked appalled both questioning their morals. The whole group sat in silence for a full five minutes, taking in the information. Being disgusted in themselves for their behaviour, not noticing sooner, not recognizing. If only they did more.

“standing here feeling bad isn’t going to do anything about it,” Clint said. “we’re heroes. We save people, and now its our turn to save a friend. So, stop feeling bad for yourselves, you can’t change the past. Come one, let’s go help them” Clint’s speech seemed to take them out their slump, their eyes regaining their life again and a of justice settling into all of them. Its time to do what they did best. Save other.

Over the course of the next 6 months the whole team was kinder, sure you still pushed them away to begin with, but it was better. Some night Loki still came back to your room as a snake, to calm you from panic attacks, and help you sleep. You and human Loki got closer too, you both ended up liking each other a lot, both finding refuge in each other. When Loki confessed to you, you felt free, like the shackles holding you back were breaking apart, your wings were expanding and you were taking flight, away from the suffering, away from the pain, towards freedom, towards love, towards peace. And when you both kissed for the first time you knew you were truly free.

[themachofan]

Return

Back on the sea, the sway of the ship, the creaking of the rigging, the sun on his face, the salt on the air and spray of the water. Fjord couldn’t feel more at home, the cold and gray world of Eiselcross was far behind them. He couldn’t help the broad and, rather stupid, grin the spread across his face as he gazed out across the endless expanse of water. He couldn’t imagine a more perfect moment, well, that wasn’t true he thought to himself with a smirk. But he was pulled from this reverie as a pair of hands covered his eyes and a soft and familiar voice trilled gently in his ear.

“Guess who?” she said in a sing-song voice, and he could hear the smile on her face.

“Oh, I wonder who it could be?” he said back playfully and he heard her giggle, her hot breath on his ear sending shivers down his spine.

“Oh, I’m sure you’ll never guess,” she said back, and it was abundantly clear she was trying to keep her expansive mirth in check.

“Is it Beau?” he teased.

“Noooo,” she cooed, before letting another giggle escape her lips.

“Yasha maybe?” he questioned in overtly obvious feigned confusion.

“Noooo,” she said, her voice ringing like a bell.

“It must be Caduceus,” Fjord said in a passable tone of epiphany.

“CADUCEUS!” she squeaked in mock outrage.

Fjord couldn’t suppress the chuckle that rumbled in his throat as he reached up and gently wrapped his hands around Jesters. He closed his eyes as he felt her squeeze his hands back as he gently tugged them away from his face. He turned around his goofy grin back on his face.

“Well, then it must be Jes-” his voice failed him as he opened his eyes. Jester was gone and so was the sun.

Fjord felt his blood run ice cold and he manically looked around, his breathing becoming labored and frantic. The sky was black, and the waves had stilled. The silence around him was oppressive, overwhelming, the only sound he could make out was the frantic thrumming of his own heart.

“Jester…” he whispered into the silence, his voice was terrified, hoarse and her name seemed to tremble from his lips when he spoke, only for the sound to be consumed by the obsidian dark and silence. He clutched desperately for his symbol of The Wildemother but what his hand seemed to find wasn’t the symbol of his savior, but a large, cold sphere.

It felt as though his heart had stopped. He didn’t want to look, he couldn’t, but his eyes seemed to be drawn down against his will. When he saw the slit pupil of the cloven crystal starring back up at him he dropped it as though it had burned him. It rolled across the deck of the ship before stopping as though it had suddenly found itself adhered to the planks. It swiftly spun around, it’s pupil staring up at Fjord from the now soaked deck.

“Wha-” Fjord began to stammer as he cast his eyes around the ship again. What had once been a proud vessel looked as though it had been stoved in by some great leviathan. The deck was practically submerged, the ocean’s surface washing over the ruined and warped planks. The masts were shattered and cracked, the sails and rigging torn and tangled. He looked back to where the crystal had fallen to see that it was gone.

“Not real...it’s not real,” he muttered to himself, trying to convince himself, unable to tell if the moisture that caused his clothes to cling to his body was from sweat or the oceanic spray that has started to pick up again. “Not real, not real,” he muttered again to himself frantically, desperately, as he squeezed his eyes shut and gripped his head, his nails digging into his scalp. But closing his eyes did him no good, he could still see the terrible wreck and hungry sea around him. That’s when he heard her

“Fjord?” her voice was soft and questioning, and strangely devoid of fear, she sounded merely curious.

Fjord’s eyes shot open and spun around to see her standing there, bathed in the white light of a moon that hadn’t been there moments before. She looked at him, appearing for all the world as some divine figure, her hair and horns wreathed in light. She looked at him inquisitively, seemingly unaffected by the terror he was feeling.

“Jester,” he croaked, sweat and tears mingling together on his face as he stepped towards her. But no matter how many steps he took, he never managed to get ant closer to her, and the harder he tried the weaker, slower, and heavier his muscled seemed to become.

“We’ll be okay Fjord, we always are,” she said in a whisper that seemed to echo in his mind as she reached out and offered her hand to him, her smile kind and reassuring. Then the white light around her seemed to turn to a sickly amber yellow.

Although he was consumed in terror Fjord forced himself to look up at the moon, which had turned an unnatural shade of yellow before it appeared to start turn as a slitted pupil rolled into view, dilated as it focused and stared at him, it’s gaze like a harpoon piercing his heart.

“RETURN” a familiar and terrible voice shot through Fjord’s mind.

“PROTECT” it rumbled as sinewy coils seemed to rise from the water on the deck and surrounded Jester, gently, almost as if they were guards or sentinels, she seemed to not notice.

“DEFEND” the coils drew closer, seemed to tighten.

“Please…” Fjord whimpered, his eyes shooting from the eye to Jester.

“PUNISH” the coils closed further and Jester finally seemed to notice as her eyes turned to pure panic and she frantically looked around.

“PLEASE DON’T” Fjord screamed.

“LOST” and the coils tightened and closed around her, binding her as she let out a scream of terror and pain. Her eyes meet Fjords, bright, full of tears and fear so pure it made Fjord physically ill.

“Fjord?” she whispered, her voice sounding distant and near as her terror cut through him.

“GONE” the voice of Uk’otoa seemed to chuckle and everything seemed to freeze.

The world was silent, then a slow creaking began to fill the air. Then, in an instant, a cacophony of shattering timbers, rushing water, and screams filled the air as the serpentine coils ripped Jester through the ruined deck of the ship, down into the black depths. Her grabbled screams and the horrid gagging of her drowning filtered directly into Fjord’s mind as his paralysis seemed to lift.

Without thinking, with hesitation, he leaped into the water, swimming faster than he had ever swum before. Deeper and deeper, the darkness somehow seeming to become even more absolute, more oppressive, then he saw her, floating there, lifeless. But he grabbed her and began to make his way towards the surface. It hadn’t been that long, she’d be fine, he told himself over and over again. This mantra driving him to push himself harder than he’d thought possible. Then it happened, he broke the surface and pulled Jester up onto the battered ship.

Desperately he began to compress her chest, trying to force her heart to beat. Putting his mouth over her and forcing air into her lungs before returning to his frantic attempts to make her breathe. Each compression forcing the wet air from her lungs he just breathed into her with a sickeningly weak and wet wheeze. Yet he tried, again and again, five minutes, fifteen minutes, half an hour, an hour. The only sound was his panicked breath and lifeless wheeze forced from dead lungs. As he tried once more to make her breathe he looked into her eyes, something he’d been forcing himself not to do as he knew what he would see.

Half-lidded eyes, partially rolled upwards and devoid the glimmer and light that had always been there. She was gone and had been for some time, and it was too much. Fjord fell back, sitting hard on the deck, not caring about the shock of pain that shot up his spine as he let out a muffled cry of grief and slammed his fist into the deck before burying his head in his hands and silently weeping.

He sat there for what felt like an eternity before he felt a presence around him. He didn’t look up, he couldn’t. A comforting pressure seemed to envelop him, to wrap around him, to hold him close. It was how he had always imagined a mother’s embrace would feel. Then the voice then whispered in his ear.

“RETURN” and he was violently crushed.

________________________________________________________________

Fjord awoke drenched in a cold sweat, his sheets tangled around him as he looked wild-eyed around his room. Frantically untangling himself from his bedding he shot up from his hammock like a bolt and ran from his room. Stumbling as he ran, he made his way through the tower and found his way to Jester’s room. Stopping at her door, he stood and tried to compose himself. His hand shaking he slowly opened the door and looked inside, he saw her sleeping, gently breathing and letting out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding.

It took everything he had not to walk in, wake her up and hold her. To grip her desperately to him, to make sure she was there, she was safe. But that would only scare her, it could wait until morning. They were still in Eiselcross, safe in Caleb’s tower and miles from the sea and Uk’otoa. The serpent could torment him, but he couldn’t harm Jester, not here, for now at least.

Gently closing the door he stepped back before leaning his back onto the wall next to her room before slowly sliding down and sitting on the floor. He went to bury his head in hands and felt something hard strike his skull. Looking down at his left hand his heart stopped.

There, in his grasp, was the horribly familiar serpent eye staring blankly back up at him. When he had retrieved it? How had he not noticed he’d been holding it. He desperately grasped at his holy symbol, glad to find it there, as he stared back into the cloven crystal. The heart now pounding wildly in ears, two words repeated over and over in his mind.

“RETURN”

“PROTECT”

[rainforestseed]

um. i spent far too long on a post abowt jj being neurodiverse.

warning~ ableism ~ableist words mentioned~brief mentions of child abuse and violence...idk  .  this is just what i thunk n i wanna share. i ve been waiting for someone to talk about this so im just gonna go for it  .. im gonna  put it under  read cause its a bit long 

the scene before midsummers, with jj in his room freaking owt ~ he’s having a sensory meltdown. jj is trapped in this scene. he wouldn’t have been allowed to leave in his situation, luke wouldve likely hurt him again if he tried so locking himself in his bedroom was his safest option. But on top of his face likely throbbing with pain and feeling very scared, there was music playing loudly from downstairs and luke screaming over top of it. JJ was responding the same as i do when i have meltdowns from sensory overloads. Pacing, growling, panicking, screaming, pushing his hands into his ears to reduce sensory input while rubbing  pressure into the back of his head, throwing things, kicking, self injurious behaviour.

i do all of these things during a meltdown. I often also spin, convulse, press into my eye sockets, punch my self in the face and throw my head against walls. I have no control over it and this scene hit close to home. JJ’s not only angry and hurt and scared here. he is completely unable to sort through and process his sensory input and the intensity of his feelings and emotions. Afterwards when he is leaving his bedroom luke is passed owt on the couch which shows quite a bit of time has passed and it’s quiet. JJ is still hunched over in his room recovering, crying, hypersensitive, exhausted and terrified.

i’ve seen a lot of descriptions of jj being short fuzed, ill tempered, hot headed,   reckless, aggressive, impulsive, volatile. He’s also called ableist words like idiot, crazy,  psycho, maniac, dumbass by all the characters. baby blue is just neurodivergent. he experiences feelings and emotions and sensations a lot differently from his friends, which is why he is often misunderstood and his thoughts and ideas and emotions are sometimes dismissed.

JJ had trouble reading the compass in episode 2. When he reads it he says “Reddle - Rout. No i think that’s an A” When Kie reads redfield without a beat JJ frowns a lil bit and just says “right” Rudy is dyslexic so mayhaps there is a connection :‐)

JJ becomes visibly distressed to loud sudden sounds, and when people raise their voice at or around him he doesn’t like it. When jjs friends are arguing around him he becomes incredibly distressed, like pacing..unable to look at what’s happening, grinding his teeth distressed. JJs friends are the only stability he has. So when there is tension between any of them or any threat to his family becoming less stable or falling apart or changing, he doesn’t like it. The panic and fear from sudden loud sounds might have to do with ptsd from being a victim of child abuse as well from having to watch his n his friends backs from getting hurt by kooks growing up .

 JJ tactile stims. non stop.  my stimming is different from jjs but also similar, im gonna try my best to understand his.

JJs rarely able to sit still and continuously seeks touch of some kind. He uses self stimulatory behaviours that help him focus when he’s thinking n listening and when he’s talking and to regulate his emotions when he’s feeling them intensely. JJ is the most physically affectionate character by far. He likes touching things and touching his friends.

JJ always has something in his hands. Usually his lighter, he plays with it, almost constantly, in a lot of different ways. Sometimes he flicks it open and closed, rolls it between his fingers, most of the time he’s just holding it maybe for the weight of it and the texture and temperature of the metal

When he doesn’t have anything to touch he shoves his hands inside his pockets and chews the inside of his mouth a lot and grinds his teeth together. I think he was chewing his nails in the hammock

He stims by bouncing his knees repetitively and by taking his hat off to run his fingers along n avert his gaze when he’s anxious . 

he plays with knives and hacky sacks, stones and sticks, touches his rings, even holding his gun could be a thing. 99 percent of time jj has his gun he is just holding it and stroking it lol    

everyone stims. but yeh jj also experiences sensory overloads, meltdowns, has difficulty with reading, impulsive behaviour, n emotional dysregulation whilst stimming constantly for an entire season 

i wanna talk abowt this for a minute. cuz i always have this weird feeling when i relate to a character n end up  loving them n then i think i  put my stuff on them...like ahh yes i am this so they are this too. symptoms of neurodevelopmental disorders like asd, adhd, sensory processing disorder and dyslexia can overlap. this ocean angel is neurodiverse and it makes me feel incredibly ~h a p p y!~   Also makes sense why he relies on weed more than any of his friends. other than him just knowing it works for him n makes him feel better, it’s probable he isn’t quite aware of the extent he is self medicating his negative symptoms.

[ashotofogdensoldfirewhiskey]

Shell Cottage

Ron gasped for air desperately as soon as the crushing sensation of Disapparition had lifted.

He was in the fresh, open air, the sound of the waves crashing peacefully around him, and yet it was still so hard, impossible to breathe.

“Hermione,” he choked, because it was the only thing he could manage, the only thing that mattered.

She was leaning against him so heavily, barely stirring. She whimpered, and the sound might have broken him if he couldn’t still hear the sound of her screaming ringing in his ears.

“Ron?!” a voice called. “Is that— bloody hell is that Hermione?”

Ron forced himself to focus. His thoughts were scattered, panicked, but he couldn’t afford to waste any time. She needed him. “Bill she needs help, now!” he said, his voice shaking.

“What the fuck hap—“

“NOW!” he screamed, as he felt more of her weight collapse onto him.

Bill had reached them and immediately conjured something resembling a stretcher and helped Ron ease her down onto it.

“Ron, what’s going on?” Bill asked urgently as they magicked the stretcher toward the house. “Two random people who said they knew you and a very ill goblin just turned up. Where’s Harry, is he alive?”

Ron was gripping Hermione’s hand, trotting alongside the stretcher. He could barely register Bill’s questions, they reached him as though he were leagues underwater. “Harry’s coming.”

“Where the fuck were you, were you captured? Was it Snatchers again?”

Her hand was so cold. Why was it so cold?

“She’s going to be alright,” Ron stammered. “She’s going to be alright she just- she needs - she’s-“

Bill gripped his shoulder tightly. “We’ll help her Ron, breathe.”

The suggestion was laughable. Didn’t Bill know all the air had been sucked from his lungs, drawn into the void created by the sound of her screaming?

“What ‘az ‘appened?”

Fleur was there, standing in the doorway as they entered the seaside cottage, concern etched into the lines of her beautiful features, but Ron hardly noticed her.

Hermione’s eyelids were fluttering, her hair wild and splayed across the stretcher. But she was holding his hand, he could feel the small pressure of her fingers pressed into his hand. It tethered him to earth, that small pressure.

“She- she needs-“ he stuttered. But what did she need? He didn’t know anything about what people needed after being— he couldn’t even form the word.

Wild, half-completed thoughts were scattered like a deck of cards across the landing. She needed water. Sleep. Were you supposed to sleep afterward? Perhaps not. Or maybe that was concussions. Harry had been under that curse before and he was alright, now. But Neville’s parents hadn’t been alright. St. Mungo’s. The wrappers. The candy floss hair. Hermione’s hair was so long and curly and beautiful, it couldn’t turn to candy floss. And they hadn’t seemed to know anything, had they? Hermione knew everything, everything.

They had reached the small bedroom at the top of the stairs, though Ron couldn’t remember having climbed any stairs. They settled Hermione into the bed. He was dimly aware of some sort of commotion happening in the garden, that Bill had gone outside.

She was so pale. How many times had he seen her face flush, with anger or irritation or exasperation. He’d give anything for her to call him an idiot. Hadn’t she called him an insensitive wart once? But she was silent, except for the small seemingly automatic whimpering sounds she made as Fleur moved her limbs gingerly and poured a potion down her throat.

He glanced out the window, movement having grabbed his attention. Harry was there, digging into the ground. A small, huddled mass lay beside him.

Dobby.

He didn’t have any shock left to feel, only the small rush of relief that Harry wasn’t- that he’d made it out.

He turned back to Hermione. Upon wiping his face, he realized it was slick with tears. She’d been so brave. So fucking brave.

“What ‘appened to your ‘ands?” Fleur asked gently.

He glanced down at them and saw his knuckles were bloodied, bruised. He couldn’t remember how they’d gotten that way, only that he could give a flying fuck about them now.

“Is she going to -“ he choked, his voice sounding foreign to his own ears.

“Physically i ‘ave done all zat I know. We will wait until she wakes.” Fleur laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. “I am going to see if any of the uzzers need ‘elp.” She gave him a small, comforting smile and glided from the room.

Ron sank to his knees beside her bed, gripping her hand again, overcome with a powerful sort of ache at the sight of her. It all seemed so silly now. Had he really once worried about Viktor Krum, about Yule Balls and Harry and his stupid freckles? Had he once willingly walked away from her as she cried his name into the night?

It seemed odd to him that he’d ever doubted for a second that he loved her. It was so obvious to him now that it pained him. Of course he loved her. She was brilliant and sharp and strong and brave and so beautiful. How could he not? He’d been done for the moment she’d insulted his attempt to turn a rat yellow. He’d just been too thick to see it, too afraid of what it might mean.

She stirred, and Ron pulled himself up so that he could brush her hair from her face. “Hermione?”

Her eyelids fluttered open, and he saw the warm pools of brown. “Ron?” she croaked.

He let out a shaky laugh, a relieved thing. She was there, and she recognized him. “Yeah, it’s me.”

If he hadn’t been so completely incapable of removing his hand from hers he might have worried at her reaction, but she gripped his more tightly as a few tears leaked from the corners of her eyes.

“Did- are we- how-“

“Dobby,” he answered simply. “He came, somehow, I haven’t got a clue how. But he could Apparate with us in there. We’re at Bill and Fleur’s.”

“And everyone - did everyone-“

“Everyone‘a safe,” he assured her, though in truth he didn’t really know that for sure. “Except...”

Hermione’s eyebrows pulled together, fear flitting across her features.

“I don’t know if Dobby made it,” he confessed, and he was surprised to feel the lump in his throat, remembering insanely, randomly the way the little elf had so happily worn his old sweater and called him Weezy.

“Oh no,” Hermione answered, and more tears began falling. “Oh that’s horrible.”

“How are you feeling?” he asked. “Fleur did some things for you but I can go and get her if-“

“No!” She said sharply, the grip on his hand becoming vice-like as though she’d feared he would slip through her fingers. “No I- I’m fine.”

He was glad for it, because he had no desire to leave her side. Maybe ever, if she’d allow it.

“Stay,” she whispered. Ron didn’t need asking twice. He raised himself up so that he sat on the bed next to her, and she quickly moved to make room for him. Without thinking, wanting only to feel that she was really there, alive and herself, he pulled her into a hug. She buried her face in his chest and he could feel her shoulders shaking as she cried.

He was crying too, he realized.

He held her against him tightly, wondering how they’d made it out alive but feeling so incredibly bloody lucky that she was there, in his arms, perhaps a bit broken and a bit damaged, but there - wholly and fully herself.

That something so precious could have come from such horror felt insane to him, but he didn’t question it as he held her and let the tears fall.

[starthornisscratching]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Hetalia: Axis Powers Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Australia/New Zealand (Hetalia) (mentioned) Characters: Sealand (Hetalia), England (Hetalia), New Zealand (Hetalia), Australia (Hetalia), Wy (Hetalia), Seborga (Hetalia), Rome (Hetalia) (mentioned) Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Human, Sealand gets beat up oh no, Fights, Big Brother England (Hetalia), Blood and Injury, Violence Series: Part 3 of Starthorn's Whumptober 2021 Summary:

Peter is being bullied at school, what on Earth is his older brother to do?

--- This was the first one I wrote. :)

Read under if you want

Peter and his older brother Arthur had never been extremely close, even if Peter tried very hard to make their conversations more natural- their interactions less forced.

Maybe it had something to do with the situation they were in rather than the people themselves that made it so terrible. That was what Peter liked to think, anyway. (After all, who could blame his older brother for being distant sometimes? The pair lived alone, and Arthur’s life was infinitely more stressful due to having to take care of his little brother. Maybe he was salty about that and their relationship was a little strained because of it.)

Again, Peter wasn’t ever mad at this… well. Yeah, yeah he was. He got angry about the topic pretty often, and became very defensive about it whenever anyone other than him or his brother brought it up. He was mad about that sour look Arthur gave him whenever they ran low on food- like it was his fault. He was mad about the pitying stares the parents at the PTA meetings would give them both- the ones that Arthur seemed to hate so much. He was mad that they had to be alone too, maybe most of all.

So of course it was a bit of a soft spot for him, the fact that it was just him and his brother. (And that they couldn’t manage to be friends.)

Of course, as kids at school do, some of the not-very-nice people in his classes began to catch on to this after not too long. After that it rose to a whole new level of ‘sensitive topic’, mostly because people were actively making fun of him for it. (Those teases could really sting, much worse than any physical injury he had ever encountered. Who ever came up with that dumb old saying anyway? Whenever he heard that one he felt a little bit… ill. He wanted to yell at whoever had made it up, scream and remind them that “hey! Words can hurt too!” But alas, the saying was taken from an anonymous source.)

Maybe even worst of all, the bullying had ‘leveled up’ recently. It wasn’t even just teasing now, as it had started to morph into a physical damage source too- a thing that caused him bruises on his shoulder blades and the top of his arms. (Being shoved into walls and the edge of lockers wasn’t something he’d recommend to anyone- and he’d had the opportunity to get a free trial of the experience many, many times over.)

He’d mentioned it a few times at the dinner table, but Arthur didn’t seem to really be paying attention whenever he had the courage to bring it up. He was either checking the newspaper or cramming for tests, but he always mumbled some sort of weak response. “Shove a coat hanger up their nose next time” and “just unlock the locker from the inside, what do you mean” had to be Peter's top favorite pieces of advice he’d ever received from a sleep deprived adult.

But it was starting to get so bad that Peter could no longer ignore the small cuts on the backs of his hands, the ones left from fighting his way out of the grasp of the aggressors. He couldn’t ignore the strange looks his friends, Flavio and Emma, gave him whenever he showed up for school with a giant bruise on his face, or a black eye. He couldn’t ignore the fact that even his brother, who was usually so distant, seemed to stare at him when he thought the younger wasn’t looking (searching to see what was wrong, because something certainly felt wrong).

Blind to this all, were most of the people who worked at the school.

Not all of them, of course, but many. (His history teacher had pulled him aside one day and asked him why he kept showing up with injuries he hadn’t had at the start of the day, asking if something was wrong at home or if he was being bullied. He shook his head at this, and tried to smile to assure the woman that it was okay, though he wasn’t fully sure that it had worked.)

But at the moment, that was the least of his worries because there was something more important to worry about; the foot about to collide with the side of his head. His breath caught in his throat as he rolled out of the way, breaking out of the grasp of those holding him only because they hadn’t expected him to move.

The boys who were surrounding him started shouting, and it was barely three seconds before someone shoved him back down again and swung his boot into Peter’s side.

He could barely hear their jeering laughter as he cried out in pain, and then the boot collided with his side again and again, and again. Each time it hit him the cheering and yells of insults from the bullies around him got louder, and the world around him shook even though he had his eyes squeezed shut.

His arms had been brought upward to protect his head, but someone’s hands grabbed them and pulled them away just as someone else stomped on his stomach- hard. First he gasped in surprised agony, flinging his eyes open, and then the foot came down again and he felt the breath shoved out of his lungs.

It hurt.

Panicked, and now unable to get in enough air, he took in short gasps of breath and tried to squirm away. But the boys around him held fast, multiple boots and shoes kicking him at the same time now, sending shots of pain through his bones.

He couldn’t even scream, couldn’t even cry. He was too shocked, when had it gotten to this point? It had never gone this far before!

Luckily, because his arms were at the sides of his head due to the boy yanking them up, no one had managed to kick him in the head yet. Still, he could feel bruises forming, and maybe even cuts on his forearms from the fingernails of the boy holding him in place.

The one holding him there was pulling his arms up into the air, lifting his head and parts of his upper body off the ground. This made just the right amount of space for some of the bullies' feet to kick and stomp at his ribs, and God that stung!

Even though he hadn’t gotten his breath back yet he started to struggle, he needed space and time to breathe. He was starting to feel dizzy from lack of oxygen as well as the pain- he was going to pass out at this point! (And he doubted any of the boys attacking him would care, or even notice. There was only so much physical damage they could do to his body when he had a  way to protect it, but once he was out that was it.)

He tried to beg them to stop, but no sound came out of his mouth and his eyes rolled back before he squeezed them shut. “P...lease,” was all he managed to rasp, but no one heard it over the sounds of their own laughter and shoes colliding with flesh.

So he struggled harder, not caring about the feeling of the skin on his arms being pulled the opposite way he was moving. It hurt, but it was no worse than the pounding in his head from lack of air.

His face was turning more and more red as he gasped for breath, hearing the shouts of the boys around him getting louder and louder. He felt like he could hear everything, and yet nothing at all. Why was he suddenly acutely aware of the chirping of a bird in a nearby tree? Or how the pounding of blood through his ears sounded all too similar to the hits to his sides that shook his entire body?

And just as the world was starting to blink into darker tones, just as it was dripping out of view, the air in his lung came crashing back and he could breathe again. His first gasp brought sparks of white to his eyes, and he felt a pain in his head totally unlike the feeling of the air being gone.

The shock of suddenly having oxygen again.

And, not so slowly, he started to become more conscious than before. The chirping of the bird was long forgotten, and the pounding in his head had disappeared.

Peter’s eyes snapped open as he found new strength, unfortunately becoming far more aware of how much his body hurt as well. At least, he might have thought, that served as a reason to fight harder than he ever had.

The pain crescendoed and he twisted in the grasp of the boy with a hold on his arms, bending them and pulling his body up higher, using the strength of the bully’s hold to his advantage. Peter kicked his legs out, hitting the two boys closest to him in the knees and calves, and then crunched his own knees up to his chest.

Now the jeering shouts of the bullies had morphed into panicked yells of “he’s getting away!” and “keep holding on!”

He screamed out as he finally twisted out of the grasp of the one holding him, the other’s had stopped kicking him too, so he had space to jump to his feet. With the adrenaline coursing through his body he didn’t really feel the pain that radiated from every movement, but he was vaguely aware of an ache worse than the others in his left side.

Before the boys who still stood around him could think of what to do, every one of them had frozen in surprise at his sudden fight, he burst into a run. Pushing between two of them he raced down the sidewalk at a speed that his gym teacher would surely be proud of.

He could hear their shouts and calls from behind him, and even the sound of a few running after him, but a different type of pounding in his head quickly drowned all those noises out. The soles of his shoes smacked against the pavement and his thin, slightly bloodied, T-shirt whipped around his sides.

It wasn’t long before the sounds of the people behind him faded out, and eventually he slowed to a walk.

As soon as he did he wished he hadn’t, for once the adrenaline started to seep out of him the pain returned. And it was a lot of pain, probably made even worse by all that fast movement.

Even his knees ached, and he was pretty sure no one had kicked him directly in the knees, at least not too much. When he looked down at his forearms, lifting them- shaking- in front of him, he realized that the skin was red from twisting his arms. Not only that either, because he could see the beginnings of bruises laying over old ones, probably from how hard he had been held in place- and how hard he had fought to get out.

Next, he inspected his chest, feeling a pang in his heart when he lifted his thin shirt to properly look down at it. There were splotches of blood on the torn fabric, and through one of the holes he could see a dark bruise already formed on his side. And not even his ribs, just the soft part of his side near his hips. The bruise continued below the top of his pants too, so there was probably a mark on his hip to match with the hot sweat-like feeling of pain coming from the area.

He felt tears welling up in his eyes, how could anyone be so cruel? What had he ever done wrong? What made them hate him so much that they spent their time after school kicking him around the sidewalk, that they found some sort of sick joy in seeing the agony on his face?

For the life of him, he could never understand that.

But he didn’t have time to think about that, he had to get home. He had to rest, maybe even treat himself to a bowl of that really sugary cereal Arthur wouldn't let him have in the mornings. Yeah, he thought- a shaky sigh quaking through his entire body, that would be nice.

If he was lucky enough Arthur wouldn’t even be home yet and he could have time to cry without needing to explain what was wrong. He tried to think that that would be great, after all Arthur wasn’t supposed to come home until late that night so he couldn’t exactly control it, but something in him twisted at the idea of being alone. That was weird, he normally loved being by himself, having time on his own…

But something inside him dug into the small, sad, child that he was, and he bit his lip in a sad attempt to fight the tears down.

He didn’t need to be alone, he needed his big brother.

---

It had been a very long day for Arthur, even if his boss had let him off the hook super early and go home. (She had probably felt bad because he had to study for even more college tests and he had been working late hours for the last couple of work days to get more credit- so she had told him that he was allowed to leave after all his tasks for the day were done.) He had finished them all relatively quickly and headed home immediately after signing out for the day.

She was a great person to work with, so surprisingly understanding!

Peter should have gotten home from school an hour earlier, but he wasn’t home yet.

Arthur wasn’t too worried about Peter, he had probably just gone to a club meeting or gotten help with the math homework Arthur had asked him to ask the teacher about. Either of those things were good, he seemed so distant recently, even more so than normal.

So he changed into a more comfortable sweatshirt and made himself a sandwich.

Once thirty more minutes had passed and Peter still hadn’t come home, Arthur was starting to get a little worried. After school classes didn’t usually last this long, he knew that- he had gone to that school too.

Eventually the anxieties that came with not knowing where his baby brother was took hold of him and he got off the couch where he had been sitting for the last ten minutes waiting for his brother to get home or to get up the courage to study like he was supposed to. He went over to where he had plugged in his phone and took the cord out, dialing the number of Peter’s friend Flavio’s slightly older brother Veneciano.

The man picked up almost immediately, only on the second ring with a joyous chirp of, “Hello? This is Vene- oh Arthur! Hi, how’re you doing?”

There were crackling noises on the other end of the phone, and just as Arthur tried to speak the Italian quickly interjected and apologized for the background noise- saying that Flavio and Romano were cooking dinner that day. Arthur felt his throat tighten and managed to croak out a few words, “Frankly not too good, is Peter with you?”

Veneciano was quiet for a beat, then seemed to cock his head to the side. “He’s not with you?” the brunet questioned, before hurrying to add a bit more so the Brit wouldn’t panic. “Have you asked Liam or Ari? Peter might be hanging out with Emma, but we haven’t seen him today,”

“Okay,” Arthur tried to swallow his fear, throat shaking, “I’m going to call the school, can you call one of them and get back to me?”

“Of course,” Veneciano nodded, “But I don’t want to interrupt your phone call with the school, so when do I-”

Arthur interrupted with his answer, “They always take forever to pick up, and I need to find the phone number of the front office anyway. They don’t like sending me the parent emails,”

Veneciano hummed understandingly, “Grandfather-” (here he was referring to his father, Romeo, who he called his grandfather for whatever reason) “-used to not get them, and now that he’s moved back to Italy for a while we don’t get them much either,”

Forcing a laugh at this, Arthur rubbed his arm, “Okay, don’t worry. I’ll find it, you just have to ask if Peter is with Emma, oh! And I’d call Ari if I were you- he picks up his phone more than Liam,”

“Good idea,” Veneciano nodded, “I’ll do that. Good luck with the school!”

“Thanks,” Arthur sniffed, and then ended the call with a shaky sigh. Peter didn’t always tell him if he was going to hang out with Flavio or Emma because he was rather forgetful about those types of things, but it was weird that Liam or Ari hadn’t called him if he was at their place so Arthur had a sneaking suspicion that Peter wasn’t over there.

“Okay,” he said to himself in what was supposed to be a calming way, “Just get the number of the front office, that’s not too hard,”

First he scoured his recent emails from the school, but none of them were about how to contact the front office. Second, he opened the phonebook to see if it was in there. (At this point he was starting to question if he should skip calling the school and jump straight to the police, but he knew deep down that they probably wouldn’t do anything because Peter hadn’t been gone for over twenty four hours.)

Before he could either find the number for the school or think too hard about calling 999, he got a call on his own phone. It was Veneciano and he felt his heart swell. Maybe Peter was over with Emma! Maybe he didn’t have to worry.

He picked up the call and lifted the phone to his ear, “Hi Vene,” he sighed, “what did they say?”

Veneciano sighed too, sounding tired, “Ari hasn’t seen Peter today, and neither has Liam. They asked Emma as well but she last saw him walking down the hall after third block- how's your luck with the school?”

Arthur tried to calm the panic rising in his chest, “Well, I haven’t got their phone number yet, so not great,”

“Hm,” the brunet seemed to be thinking hard, then clicked his tongue, voice quieting as he turned away from the phone. “Romano? Can you check to see what the number of the front office is?” Arthur heard Romano respond with a quick ‘sure’ before Veneciano turned back to the phone. “I’m sure Peter’s fine Arthur, try not to panic okay? If we stay calm we’ll be able to find him faster,”

“Okay,” Arthur breathed, closing his eyes and running a hand through his hair.

After not too long Vene spoke up, “I’m going to hand you off to Romano okay? He’s got the phone number,”

“Okay,” Arthur repeated, sounding like a broken record.

Then it was Romano on the other end, “Hey Arthur,” his voice was softer than Arthur had ever heard it before, “How’re you doing? You don’t have to answer that,” he added the last part in a slightly rushed way. “I’ve got the phone number for the school and Vene, Flavio and Liam are going out to look for Peter- in case he just got lost, okay?”

“Right,” Arthur broke the pattern of only saying ‘okay’ and Romano started to read off the number to him. He copied it down onto a piece of paper and thanked the other rather weakly, still consumed by worry.

“Do you want me to head over to your house?” Romano asked, still uncharastically patient. “It might help to calm you down if you’re not alone,”

“No, I’m okay,” Arthur swallowed, “And you’re cooking, right? I don’t want to have you stop making dinner in the middle of doing it,”

Romano hummed, sounding oddly similar to his younger brother when he was worried, “Alright, just call me if you feel like you’re panicking,”

“Will do,” Arthur nodded, feeling sick.

---

Peter’s feet seemed to flash in and out of his vision as the exhaustion began to properly catch up with him. It felt like he was lugging around a fifty pound weight, and with a pang he realized he didn’t have his backpack.

He tried to think back to where he might have left it, but his memory was flickering and it hurt to think so hard- so he stopped. Likely he had left it in a classroom because he knew the boys who always tormented him would be waiting for him, so it should have been safe. He sighed, which hurt a little because of how it shook his aching ribs, too bad he didn’t have his homework.

Maybe he could get to the class fast enough the next day to finish it?

Shaking his head (instantly regretting this too) he ignored that thought. His first priority was to get home. Clean up his bruises and cuts before his brother got the- before the older could see them.

Again, he felt that childish pang in his heart. He just wanted someone to hug, someone to assure him that it was going to be alright, someone who could bandage the source of most of the blood. He sniffed mournfully and rubbed his bruised arms in protection against the cold autumn air, feeling a stronger, fever-like shiver run through his still-aching body.

Gosh, he hoped he would make it to the end of the street without passing out- that was where his and Arthur’s house was. He just had to make it a little further… just a few more sidewalk squares.

His chest tightened and he coughed, feeling an agonizing shock of pain radiate through his beaten body. Grasping his arms around his chest, he bent over and curled into himself, waiting out the excruciating pain before continuing. However, even once he had started his hobbling walk again he didn’t let go of his sides, keeping his arms wrapped tightly around himself for protection that he didn’t get to have when he needed it.

The tears were welling up in his eyes again and he shivered. But the tears felt hot, just like the blood which was still seeping steadily into the thin fabric of his shirt on his left side.

He just wanted his brother!

---

“No, I haven’t seen him since I dropped him off at school this morning,” Arthur was feverishly answering the questions of the man on the other end of the phone, “No, I don’t usually get home from work this early- but he would tell me if he’d was going to be gone for this long!”

“Are you sure? Maybe he went out,” came the crackling reply of the other.

Arthur’s face started to heat up again and he pressed his arm harder against his chest, “Sir I know my brother, he loves the days when I’m scheduled to get home after him- I find him watching TV every time, he never leaves for this long!”

“And you’ve checked with the guardians of his friends?”

“Of course I did,” Arthur snapped, “That was the first thing I thought to do, and some of them are out looking for him in their neighborhoods right now,”

They continued arguing, the volume of both getting steadily louder as they both became more and more annoyed and distressed.

And then the door swung open.

It was Peter, standing there and looking so small in the space- his small frame shaking with heavy breaths. He made eye contact with his older brother, tear filled blue eyes finding panicked emerald ones. Arthur’s mouth fell slightly open and his arm, which had been pressed feverishly against his heaving chest, relaxed just a little bit.

Peter could hear the voice of another person on the other side of the phone his brother was holding. “Mr. Kirkland?” it asked, “What is it?”

Arthur seemed to be brought back to reality by this, and he struggled to get an answer in. “I’m- he just came home-” his eyes searched over his little brother, who was still frozen in place with surprise. Then they snapped with worry, seeming to suddenly take note of all the bruises and cuts. “Oh my God, what happened to you?!”

He dropped the phone on the counter and ran over to his brother, not seeming to care about how terrifying this might have been for the man on the other side of the phone to hear with no context.

Peter finally seemed to understand that his brother really was there, and the tears that had been squinting in the corners of his eyes finally started to fall. He sobbed as Arthur led him inside, gently and by the arm- careful to avoid as many obvious bruises as he possibly could. It didn’t matter that he was a middle schooler anymore, because in that moment he felt just like the child that would fall off bikes and need his reluctant older brother to put a bandage on the scrape.

He felt so helpless- but here was his savior! Here was his older brother, here to help him so he didn’t have to be alone.

Arthur sat him down on one of the kitchen chairs, pressing his own forehead against Peter’s smaller one. The older was quiet save for the soft, tearful, murmurs of apologies which were mostly drowned out by the younger’s sobs and quaking gasps. They held hands and Peter clung on to his as if for dear life, fingers wrapped so tightly around his wrists that the knuckles began to turn white.

When Arthur opened his eyes, staying still because he knew that his brother needed him, he tried his best to look over the pre-teen’s body to see what was hurt. With a pang in his heart he noticed the blood splotching through the left side of his T-shirt, and a pretty large hole near most of it that let him see a nasty red-ish brown bruise on the soft part of his baby brother’s side.

He felt fury roll through him, and his hands tightened around Peter’s index fingers- which were all he managed to hold because the younger insisted on grabbing around the wrists. Arthur tried to control the almost parental fury in his voice. “Who,” his throat tightened and the word shook, “Who did this to you?”

Peter sniffed, trying to break from the hiccuping sort of crying his sobs had dissolved into to think, but he wasn’t able to stop the hiccup-like gasps even as he tried to come up with an answer.

Then Arthur realized- the thought hitting him like a truck- that this wasn’t the first time Peter had come home slightly beat up. This had happened plenty of other times, but not nearly this bad, and Peter always got home before him… he always had time to nurse his injuries because of that.

“Something going on at school that you haven’t told me, right?” Arthur’s voice shivered with emotion, “You know you can tell me, okay?” he pleaded.

Peter just sniffed, and briefly let go of his brother’s hand in order to rub his nose, Arthur took this as a queue that he could back away- just a little. 

As Peter looked through tear filled eyes at his brother the latter’s worried face scrunched up, brow furrowing as he looked Peter up and down. His eyes caught on the bruises and cuts that littered the younger’s body, his blood pulsing in his ears with anger- who would do this to someone? Who could do this to another fucking human being?

“Peter please,” Arthur begged, sitting back on his heels and holding the middle schooler’s wrists. “You can tell me anything! I- I’m sorry for being distant all the time, I didn’t… I don’t mean to- well. I’ll listen! You know I will, right?” 

Sniffing, Peter nodded. This seemed to relax Arthur a lot because he sighed in relief and the forceful grasp he had on the younger’s wrists loosened. “Okay,” he murmured brokenly, “now, lets go get you cleaned up- yeah?”

---

Peter and Arthur cleaned most of the blood off, exchanging the dirtied shirt and shorts for a new set of clothing, before Arthur picked up his phone again.

First he called Liam as Peter ate some yogurt. Liam picked up instantly (which was unusual). “Hi Liam,” Arthur started, but was immediately cut off.

“Is Peter alright?” Came the reply.

“Y-yes, he’s home now, really beat up but... okay,”

He could hear Ari speak up feverently, “Beat up?”

Arthur blinked in surprise, “I thought Ari stayed home with Emma?”

“Emma wanted to help us look, and so did Ari,” Liam said, sounding rushed and tired. Arthur could hear Veneciano and Flavio talking in the background, asking who it was who was calling.

Ari said something and Liam answered with a short ‘yes’ in his direction before turning back to the phone. “Is it alright if I hand you off to Ari? He wants to talk to you guys,”

“Sure,” Arthur blinked, “That’s okay,”

After a moment Ari was on the other end of the phone. “Hey Arthur,” he said softly, “Are you doing alright?”

Arthur rubbed his eyes and felt himself deflate, “No, no I’m- yeah. I’m okay, I’m just worried about Peter, he just… ugh,”

Ari hummed, shifting his weight and clearly stepping aways away from the others, their words becoming fainter and less distracting, “Do you want to talk about it?”

Arthur bit his lip and looked over at the table, where a very tired, still teary eyed and exhausted Peter was slowly licking yogurt off a spoon. “I… I do, but there’s not much I know,” he lowered his voice, “All I know is that some kids at school beat him up, I assume it’s bullying that’s gotten worse recently after going on for a long time,”

There was silence from Ari’s end. In some people’s cases that might mean that the person on the other end of the phone wasn’t paying attention, but Arthur knew Ari too well to think that. He had met the man when Ari and Liam had moved to the town, bringing their adopted daughter Emma with them.

Ari had always been the calm one, the voice of reason- and yet so adventures and ready to try new things. He had wanted to see the world, apparently, but that… just hadn’t happened before he had gotten married. So he settled on saving up for vacations- but none of that was important. What was important was that Arthur knew how Ari was when he was angry.

Because when Ari got angry he went silent.

Arthur bit his lip, “Are you alright?” he asked.

Humming again, Ari clearly shifted his weight once more. “I’m fine, but I’m worried about Peter-” at the mention of his brother’s name Arthur glanced over to where the boy was sitting at the dinner table. “-he’s probably been hurting for a long time if you’re right. I’d contact the police if I were you, maybe pull him out of school if it’s that bad,”

“Well,” Arthur blinked, “I can’t pull him out of school- I don’t think? There aren't’ any others near here, but I do agree on contacting the police,”

Ari’s voice held the hopeful smile that his face must have displayed as he spoke, “Okay, do that for him alright?”

“Alright,”

Arthur called the school as Peter took a second bath- this one not to clean himself but rather for soaking in the chilly water as much as he could- it made the bruises ache less. “Hi,” he started, hearing the man on the other side sound very relieved to hear from him again, “This is Arthur Kirkland,”

“Is everything alright?” came the crackling voice, Peter shifted his position (cringing at how his hip hit the bottom of the tub) to listen better.

“Yeah,” Arthur struggled to laugh, “It’s okay- though I definitely need to talk to someone soon, the administration, the police even,”

There was silence for a moment, either that or the front desk worker was speaking so quietly Peter couldn’t hear him. Then he spoke (or raised his voice), “Excuse me for asking, but why would you need to speak with the police?”

Arthur scoffed, this time slightly crazed, and rubbed his temples, “Because some kids at school attacked my baby brother,”

The man on the other end was silent again. When he spoke, he sounded incredibly serious, “Is he badly injured?”

In response, Arthur told him everything that had gone down in the last few hours.

[theloupyrenard]

Rusalka

He still spoke of her as his wife. His young, fragile, wife. He often brought young women to the shore of her pristine little pond to show them how hard they must try to win his affections. She was of other worldly beauty. Her voice was something ethereal. There would never be a woman with such purity of complexion. Her hair was a vibrant red and spread out across the water like tendrils of blood; just as her own blood had poured out into the waters to stain the shore. It made her feel ill to think of the acts he coerced of these women by use of her visage and her memory. And yet, when he came to her weeping, lamenting her death and the pain it gave him, her memory grew confused and her disgust lost it’s grip. She would once again sing to him and swim out to stroke his hair; but it never ended well.  He blamed her for his loneliness and his ill-fortune. He came to her pond to cry for her and then would turn on her angrily. She was to blame even in death.

Now, summer had passed, fall had come and gone, and the winter was truly beginning. He no longer visited the pond; it was cold and icy, and he preferred the warmth of his great hearth. Tatiana had lingered here, and was growing still with the waters. She should have ventured out into the stream and down to the river, but she hadn’t the will. His last visit had left her lying on the floor of the pond and staring up at the sky without the wish to move. Her tears meant nothing. They were water into water and without effect; much as her pleas and arguments had been during her life with him.

She knew it was cold; the trees that over-ached her pond were bare and the water was clear and heavy, but she did not feel it. Tatiana had not physically felt much of anything since her death; just the pain and then the emptiness. When she had first felt the emptiness, she had panicked. The tales of the rusalka had been the stories of her grandmother and nothing more; until she had become one.

She had watched her mother and her neighbors approach after her death. She had been singing from behind the small waterfall and one of the young men had heard her voice. It was her mother who saw her body, floating amidst a cloud of red. The wail her mother had loosed wrenched her heart, and made her regret that she had not chosen a more remote and unknown location for her end. Between the moment that the blade had pierced her heart the moment that she had heard that sound, Tatiana had known peace for the first time in years. That blade had freed her from her mortal form and the bonds of a horrific marriage. However, the rusalka in the pond did not remain unknown for long, and he knew it was her. He had returned often to the waterside after her death to speak at her much as he had during her life. And now, she was bound to the water and hadn’t the strength yet to leave the pond and hadn’t lost enough of her soul to drown him in it. So, once again, she could not escape him. The emptiness which had at first seemed so frightening, now seemed to be her only possible release. However, her soul clung to her existence with a tenacity that she did not understand. Her days were once again frought with the same back and forth, love and hate confusion that they had been since she had met him. The pain of loving him and the pain caused by him were a constant. The anxiety and panic of not seeing him for days at a time was only broken by the elation of hearing his step on the shore and then feeling the pain of his sharp criticisms and rebuke or worse, the crushing weight of betrayal when he came to her pond with another woman. She had thought death would end it all. Now she prayed for something more; for the strength of soullessness. Without a soul she would feel no regret, no guilt, and no pain.

She was watching now, as the water slowed still farther and grew crystals at the surface of her lovely pond. It was a lovely place; a small clearing in an ancient wood filled with the ominous presence of old magics. It had been mostly undisturbed until she had ended her life here. Then, he had come with his stink and his foul, infectious aspect. She felt hot rage begin to well up but pushed it back. She wanted to continue to watch the ice grow and thicken without the disturbance of inner turmoil.

She watches as the ice spreads from the shallows of the pond, where it began, toward the center directly above her. For Tatiana, time no longer has meaning; life is all of nothing. She will go on forever. She has no daily chores. No more must she dread the inevitability of wifely duties. There are no expectations of motherhood. There is nothing but that which is, and there will never be anything more or less. Tatiana draws in a useless breath of freezing water, and exhales, letting go of the fear of giving birth; letting go of the shame of not wanting children. Letting go of the anxiety of providing meals and cleaning a home and tending a garden. She begins to view the deepening crystals of ice with less morbid fascination and more open wonderment. The snow has begun settling over the ice covering her pond now and the winter sunlight filters through as a glorious glow. A beautifully vivid memory returns to her; of a winter day, much like this one, calm and still and blazing white all around. She was out gathering kindling just after day break and her mother had caught her staring dazedly off across the valley. It had been just before her wedding and her mother new that she was afraid. It was a memorable moment in that her mother had left her there, alone, without admonishment for time wasted. Tatiana believed that at that moment her mother had probably understood. Tatiana smiled then, for the first time in what seemed forever, at the thought that someone knew. Her mother had come back to the pond only once to set a memorial afloat on the water and nothing more; her mother had let her go with grace and well wishes. He had come back time and time again to strengthen her shackles and lash her heart with his sharp tongue and barbed affections, weakening her will and poisoning her mind.

Steps on the shore. Then confident, playful strides out toward the center of the ice. His shadow fell across her. But she was calm; she was detached. Then another set of feet, smaller and more timid; they gingerly tested the ice in the shallows and carefully felt the way forward, shuffling cautiously before trusting the ice with the full weight of a step. The tone of his voice she could just hear as it changed from playful to mocking and impatient. The anger of past injuries suddenly ripped through her chest and a single, solitary note burst from her and split the ice just behind his feet. The lighter footsteps quickly retreated from the ice and could be heard hurriedly retreating from the pond. He stood there, untouched by fear. Now, he began calling her out, “Tatiana!” he shouted. “Tatiana you bitch!” He began once again his tirade of insults as he had so many times before. But, Tatiana had become, once again deathly calm. She felt the cold creep into her heart. His words failed to wound and the rage seemed to have left as quickly as that girl had. Tatiana stared up at him and felt it curious that she held no emotion for this man any longer. She considered for a moment, the concept of behaving as a rusalka in her grandmother’s tales might have; dragging him down into the freezing waters to drown. Then felt repulsed at the thought of his pollution lingering in her pond. Still he droned on loudly. She had begun rising to the surface of her pond and now floated just below the ice looking at him with the interest of a young child watching ants on a particularly boring day. There was a hum beginning in the forest, of magic. Now, the sounds of anxious whimpering. Next, long and low the howl of a wolf, taken up by his pack from every direction at once. Still the man raved on, demanding that she reveal herself and take responsibility for her “foolishness”. Tatiana’s attention was taken by the wolves, and she wished to get a better view. She drifted over to the waterfall, now frozen and motionless, and pressed her naked form, full length, to the ice. She felt her flesh pull itself into the ice and become the ice, then move through it. And soon, she found herself sitting up in a small alcove created by the still waterfall, her legs below the knee still dangling into the ice as though it were liquid. He hadn’t noticed; he was still shouting down at the frozen surface of the pond. She pulled up one knee, rested her foot on a nearby rock, and reclined comfortably as she began picking out the wolves of the pack still hidden just within the edge of the forest.

It was now that he seemed to become bored with his own tantrum and stomped on the ice one final time screaming, “Lazy whore! Not worth my time!”. Now, the forest was quiet; quiet enough that he heard the low growl, and turned toward the waterfall. But he didn’t see Tatiana. He saw the wolf above her. Then he turned and ran. It took only a few steps for him to cross to the other bank of the small pond and it would have been another four or five to the tree line, but just as he stepped off of the ice three more wolves stepped out of the trees and as he turned around to look for some escape, the first wolf leapt from the ice and knocked him to the ground, tearing out his throat before he could scream. Bright red blood sprayed the snow. Tatiana’s face clouded for a moment as she contemplated what sort of foulness a dead body so near her pond might breed. Then she became aware of someone watching her and looked away from the wolves and the carnage to search the trees. There, an unnaturally tall man stood just inside the shadows of the forest. He was brown skinned with long, dark hair and clothed all in brown and green as though he were a part of the forest himself. His eyes were intense as he looked into hers and he smiled and nodded slightly, then made a slight growling, woofing noise and the lead wolf looked up at him. The tall man raised one dark brow and the wolves began quickly dragging the carcass off into the woods. All that remained was a bit of blood and the muddle tracks of the pack. The man gave her a small smile and a slight bow, then seemed to simply dissipate into the shadows of the trees.

Tatiana felt them in her chest like bubbles, laboriously rising through thick honey in winter. She did not know what they were until they burst from her lips: giggles, laughter. It had been so long since honest laughter born of such pure glee had been elicited from her. She had been born again into a whole new world, just as if she had woken from a nightmare, and this world was hers.

[damsel-in-dissociation]

Sometimes I think I take the meds for reasons beyond my comprehension

Because my mother once told me I was faking my illness for the medication

I am scared to let people in

But I’m even more afraid to let them out

I rely too much on others

And yet never ask for help

I attach myself to blanket people

To coddle my inner child

She never got the help she needed,

The support all children do

I was only told “you’re faking it”

“You know exactly what to do”

What to do for what, exactly?

Make other people see

See the ache in side of me

That makes it hard to breathe?

Now that I am older

I recognize the abuse

But I still can’t bring myself to question

You and the things you do

Instead I question myself

Question my own intentions

Am I making all this up?

Am I drunk on the attention?

Speaking of drinking...

You told me “kids your age are supposed to have fun!

Go out and party hard”

When I was just 13 years old

When I was working hard

So when I went to college,

I partied all night long

Almost every day of the week

To help silence the siren’s song

Too drunk to go home alone

Too sober to forget

Too many nights spent sleeping

On dirty bathroom floors

In frat houses and strange dorm rooms

Who knows what could have happened

I would wake up forlorn

Sad and alone, barely conscious

Trying to breathe air from the deep end

This was all a call for help

This I can now see

But when I told you what had happened

You told me it was me

I told you why my grades were slipping

How I truly felt

You pretended to be supportive

Until I was sleeping on your couch

You told me “you can trust me”

“I’m only here to help”

Once I was back home though

You became someone else

Someone who was familiar

Who I couldn’t ask for help

I was muted by your silence

Your hands wrapped around my throat

You laughed while I cried in silence

And got angry when I choked

I spoke about the violence

And then you kicked me out

For not helping around the house

Although I did all the cleaning

And all you did was yell

What happened with to “I’ll help you”

What happened when I fell?

It had only been two months

You pressured me to get a job

Though I still couldn’t sleep

Through the night without panicking

From something in my dreams

After you fought me physically

(That’s when my demons first came out)

You punched me in front of my “friends”

Who told me they didn’t know

I told them while we were growing up

But you were “cool” and I was drama

Plus their lives were harder,

Riddled with drugs and death

What did I have to complain about?

Screaming and mumbling under your breath?

I should have cut our connection then

After that fist fight in the yard

Would have saved me a lot of time

And the damage that you’ve done since then

That I played off as fine

But now I feel I’m guilty

That you’re not as toxic as you seem

You still never even call me

But you’re perfect on the screen

My mind is constantly screaming

The voices make me doubt

Sometimes I wonder how this happened

How I got so numb

But then I think of what they’ve made me

What I have truly become

I am haunted by the voices

That scream and shout and blame

But then one day I realized,

The voices all sound the same

It’s you!

It’s you!

Of course it’s you

Why did I ever have any doubt?

You were the one who told me

What I should care about

Boys and makeup and parties

And what not to eat

“You’d be so pretty if you ate less

If you would just shut your mouth”

“Shut up and take it, little one

What are complaining about?”

I cry myself to sleep at night

Thinking of the nightmares in my head

I know what my mind is capable of

Especially when it wants me dead

I’ve been stung and burnt and gutted

(More literal than it seems)

But really all these pieces are

Are little bits of me

So if my brain is scary

Then what does that make me?

Because if my brain can send me threats

While I’m awake or asleep

I am just that, personified

I’m shaking in my knees

I don’t want to be this person

So capable of harm

Have I ever hurt someone?

No but I’m always armed

I’m aware of all my demons

They wake me in my sleep

Some may call it PTSD

But I just call it me

[hufflautia]

Hope you’ve had a great day today 💛

funnily enough, i literally just stopped crying. today was a bad day, I don't know 

why but my anxiety was just quite bad today and I was panicking before school started. something happened in my first class and I overthink a lot, so my mind was like, “oh my god why did they write your name last, do they hate me, am I boring, am I forgetful, people are always forgetting about me” and “my teacher doesn't like me, why didn't he respond, I'm embarrassed, why did you have to say what you said??” my English teacher does these “mindfulness” moments in which we sit in silence for a minute and reflect on the day, and I literally started crying. after the minute ended, I just stopped bc I didn't feel like crying anymore, and suddenly my brain said, “ur so fake, ur just acting, why did u stop crying all of a sudden, u just want attention u crave attention ur such a faker!!” also I keep thinking about something that happened years ago with my dad, I don't rlly wanna get into it but I think it would be good if I just say it so that its not jammed in my head. basically, I was really young, like in elementary school; my dad asked me if i wanted to sleep in his room with him, and originally, my mom was sleeping with him and i shared a room with my little brother. however, i was like hmm maybe, and then my dad said, haha ill pay u 5 dollars. at the time, i said YAY OK but now i realized that's so fucking creepy, yall know what its insinuating right?? anyways, i said ok, bc it was just a change from the usual sleep schedule and i liked spending time w my dad, so my mom went to my brothers room (it was a king-sized bed so it was ok, it wasn't a small bed that we had to share or anything like that) and i went to my parents room. basically, what happened was that we went to sleep, and in the middle of the night, (the next part makes me feel so uncomfortable and i feel queasy writing it) my dad slapped my butt really really hard to the point where i woke up and i was like ?????? and then he rubbed it softly immediately afterwards. i didnt know what happened, and i told my sister the day after, and she was confused too. recently i was thinking about it and I'm still confused and a lot more uncomfortable with what happened. here is my theory and i was very upset by it bc no one would want to think things like this- maybe my dad likes hurting women during sex and it was a reflex that night, but once he realized it was me, he tried “soothing me” or some shit by rubbing my butt (i literally hate this, i hate the fact that this happened and i don't like typing it out). no one wants to think about their parents sex life so this was just disgusting to think about. also my brother and mom keep arguing and fighting with each other, and I'm sure i have trauma from hearing my parents argue all the time so i rlly don't like it when they fight. my brother has explosive anger and he literally screams at her, which is very disrespectful; however, she screams at him too and sometimes hurts him, which scares me. I'm not worried about my own safety, I just hate violence i hate abuse, that scares me. so much stuff has happened in my life, and it results in a lot of trauma and other stuff that i don't even know about. i just know im really fucked up, im damaged and it just all felt like crashing down on me today- like everything thats happened, i was feeling anxious for no reason, i was thinking about the past, and i started crying again while watching netflix after school, so i just kept crying and i talked to myself out loud about my day and why i was feeling the way i was. that did help to some extent, and after i did that, i stopped crying, and then my brain said “why do you shut off your crying so easily, you seem fake, you seem like you wanna be sad and cry just so that you can see your pretty little tears drip down ur face like an actress, ur so fake ur so fake ur faking it ur not actually sad”, and the hardest part was that i didnt even object to it bc i didnt feel like anything was real, i felt like i didnt know who i was. i was like ok bitch whatever maybe ur right maybe i am faking it. i dont even know how to explain it, but its like being tired of that nagging and negative voice that you just submit to it, and you say ok whatever sure i am faking it, but in truth, the sadness i was feeling was real and genuine. about 10 min ago, i saw that someone tagged me in a fanfic and while i was reading it, i literally started bawling. i guess it was bc i saw in my email inbox that people had sent me asks, and i was happy bc i thought that maybe the person who sent me the fanfic idea responded back with more details. i was anxious about that before, bc i was thinking, oh god what if they just never respond, what if they just dont care about u anymore. when i saw the asks notifications, i felt a lot of relief bc i thought to myself, oh phew ok people still care about u. when i was crying while reading the fanfic, i couldn't stop crying, it felt endless. i couldn't just stop crying like i had before, and it reminded me of the time when my mom was going out to meet someone that she met on a dating app, and it was in the earlier times when she started doing this; she had gotten involved with some terrible men in the past, men who catfished her and were rlly vulgar and gross. im sure this was somewhere in June, when i had just posted chapter 1 of the slytherpuff series bc when i was freaking out about the date, i wrote about it in my journal and i know that it was somewhere in June bc i wrote something like “mom is going out to meet someone and im nervous, please please please i hope shes ok and careful, im really nervous and scared, no one likes my writing, mom is probably in danger, oh god oh gosh”. it was just a whole bunch of negative and anxious thoughts, including how i was feeling about the whole situation with chapter 1, so that's how i know it was somewhere in June. anyways, basically i was really scared for my mom bc shes had a bad history with online men and i was scared that someone was gonna kill her. i read and listen to a lot of murder mysteries, so my mind was going absolutely wild. i remember on that day, i went to take a shower after writing that entry in the journal, bc showering makes me feel better. when i stepped into the shower i started crying bc i was really scared for her and i was hoping she was safe and ok but i was just feeling so scared so i was crying and i couldn't stop crying. that was the scary part because i just kept bawling and i couldn't stop like i usually do; my brain said ok that's enough, you’ve cried enough, but my heart just kept going on and on and my brain said ok ok jessica holy jesus that's enough and eventually i sucked it up and was kinda ok afterwards but still sad and numb. that was similar to what had happened about 20 min ago. also im sure i was also sad today bc yesterday, my mom talked to me about in-person college visits, and her demeanor was very rushed and controlling. she said, “ok jessica we’re gonna do the college visits, we’re gonna drive there, and your dad is gonna come home for that. tell him that you need to do that, ok? tell him we do the college visits together.” i said that colleges are doing virtual tours, and her facial expression was very strained, she was like “DO NOT TELL HIM THAT. dont tell him that, ok?!” and she was pointing her finger at me and everything. she said, “tell him we’re going to do the physical college tours, which colleges do you wanna visit??” and she kept telling me not to tell him about the virtual tours. it reminded me of whenever she told me to say this or that to my dad over the phone, and i was upset, like oh great ok so dad’s coming home and i dont even wanna see him bc i dont like him that much, and now im gonna have to lie bc dad is probably gonna already know about the virtual tours and im gonna have to pretend that none of the colleges are doing virtual tours. in essence, today was a terrible day. while i was crying my eyes out when reading the fanfic, i wanted to tell something, i wanted to reach out to lee and jolie, but my brain said that i would burden them, im always telling them about stuff that happens (concerning my family or other stuff) and its probably getting too much for them.  my brain said that they wont be able to help anyway, im still gonna have to deal with the stuff im dealing with, and no one can help. that's a sad thought, it seems so helpless and sad. sometimes i overthink the smallest things, and when i see a text from lee and jolie that doesnt seem “right”, i think, oh gosh they hate me now, why did i have to say that?? i usually see my therapist every Thursday, aka today, but we didnt meet this time bc her schedule is becoming busy so now we’re gonna do it every other week, so next week i shall see her. perhaps she can help. 

thank you for this ask, it seemed so out of the blue bc no one rlly sends asks like this anymore. while writing this, i literally thought to myself, shes like an angel sent from heaven

[grandcollections]

by myashke

Summary:

When Arthur pushes Merlin away to protect him, what lengths will Merlin go to to remain in his life?

Comments:

I read this seven years ago. And although I couldn’t remember much about the fic, seeing the name struck a chord in me— so cliche, but it felt like an electric shock. Instant recognition. I remembered it was one of my favorite fics ever. I remembered images of freezing cold and bonfires, and lots of delicious hurt/comfort, probably the best you’ve ever read, my mind told me. And I remembered the tale centering around Merlin, on how much everyone loves him— I saw more images, snippets of the knights and Arthur trying to protect him— one of my favorite parts of the show and something I love to see in fics. 

Arthur laced his gloved fingers through Merlin’s bare ones and lifted them up to his lips. “They’re gone,” he said, lowering their hands to rest on his thigh again, hoping Merlin’s ice cold fingers would warm beneath his own.

Merlin took a deep, shuddering breath, his chest pressing tightly against Arthur’s back. “I don’t know if I can do this,” he whispered, squeezing Arthur’s hand.

“Yes.” Arthur looked down at their joined hands, wondering if it would always be like this, Merlin touching him, their attraction sparking and being smothered over and over under the weight of duty for as long as Merlin stood at his side.

I am so, so glad I decided to reread this now. I needed it. I took my time with it, watching the page count anxiously, not wanting it to ever end. 

To be able to read something like this is a gift. Truly. This fic is not only one of the best merthur fics I’ve read, but one of the best pieces of writing. 

TLDR: Merlin risks his neck to save Arthur without thinking, of course, nearly freezing to death afterwards. Along with the knights (who play a very active role), they revive him and nurse him back to health slowly. Merlin and Arthur’s feelings come to the surface, along with plenty of angst and big sacrificial energy from both boys. Featuring: hurt/comfort, magic reveal, angst (so much angst) the best characterization of every character, Ealdor shenanigans, wonderful smut and delicious sexual tension, the whole gang of knights and a smattering of mergwaine. And my goddamn favorite thing, the best way I’ve ever seen it: Arthur recognizing everything Merlin has done and truly, truly valuing him.

the rest of my long-ass review below the cut lol!

Everything I said in my first review holds true. It’s beautiful and heart-wrenching. It’s pure, sickening hurt/comfort— if that’s your jam (and it sure is mine), oh boy you’ll be in heaven. It’s full of tenderness— the way Arthur, Gwaine, and Lancelot care for Merlin, the depth of Merlin’s feelings for Arthur, the supremely physical nature of this fic— the first half is a mess of tender touches and skin-to-skin, bodies trying save Merlin’s, described in excruciating detail. 

"It’s just me,” Arthur whispered, brushing his hair back from his forehead, his hand slowly rubbing down Merlin’s neck and back, fingers ghosting along his spine, settling finally on his hip. 

Arthur held him tightly in place. He brushed slowly, gently back through Merlin’s hair, whispering in his ear, soothing him. “Shh, it’s alright, Merlin. I’m right here. You’re safe. Sleep now... you’ll feel better in the morning... I promise I’ll be right here...” 

This is the stuff of hurt/comfort *dreams*. It’s achingly tender and beautiful and full of angst as Merlin stays near death, ice cold, goes through fever, and says and does things as his mind isn’t fully presence in his fever-addled state.

Arthur whispered prayers to God Almighty, to the Gods of the Old Religion, to Merlin himself. Be alive. Be alive. 

He’d give up his right to the throne for a blood curdling cry from Merlin right now.

Arthur spends so much of this part of the fic panicking over Merlin, desperate for him to be alright. (One of my favorite merthur tropes)

“Trust me, he’ll thank you for it tomorrow.”

“Gods allow he has breath to thank me with tomorrow,” Arthur whispered, shaking his head as his own words stabbed into his chest. He lowered his cheek to Merlin’s again, whispering,” Gods allow he has breath to rant and rave, if he wants.” 

I really love the characterization of everyone in this fic, but I want to focus on Arthur. The entire time I was reading I believed it was him, I believed I was reading about Uther’s-son-the-prince-of-Camelot, First Knight, all of it. I felt his burdens and his pain, the weight of the heavy choices (and one specific heavy choice, the main plot of this fic I suppose) he made. 

Arthur pressed Merlin harder against the tree and he opened his eyes, gasping.

“I’m choosing Camelot over you, Merlin. An entire kingdom’s welfare. My bloodline’s future. My gods-damned destiny. And yours, if you stand by me.”

This sort of realism may not be every shipper’s cup of tea, but god is it mine. Because it doesn’t lessen Arthur’s love, need, longing for Merlin. It just incorporates the rest of Arthur into that, alongside it. And produces so much goddamn pain.

Arthur is not always gentle, he is possessive and jealous, but always quick to bury those feelings— unless he can lash out with his authority at his back. And if he does that, he apologizes.. sometimes. If he regains control quickly enough. If it’s one of the knights. (Not always if it’s Merlin). He misunderstands things often and is quick to believe the worst. But he never fails where it’s important— he tries, and that’s key. But he can be intuitive, too— I love how the magic reveal is handled, how it marinates in his mind for a while. How he knows before the reader even knows he knows, and long before anyone else does. It’s a credit done to Arthur we don’t see often— sometimes he reacts badly, or is shocked above all else.

“I thought you’d want rid of me,” Merlin said... “Someone who lied about who I really am.”

“Who? Oh, you mean the Merlin that is actually brave, intelligent, and loyal to the death?” he heard, low and close to his ear. “I’ve known him for a while, too.”

This is JUST.... everything I’ve ever wanted. The way Arthur values Merlin and sees everything he’s done post-magic reveal is one of the primary reasons I love this fic so much, as I’ve said, and I’ll talk about it more later. But another result of the magic reveal is Arthur becoming so protective of Merlin once he does realize. It’s the backbone of this fic.

Merlin grinned as everyone laughed, the light in his eyes a gift Arthur wouldn’t soon forget. 

He would have to extinguish it, he knew, but he wouldn’t ever forget what Merlin had looked like in that moment, so entirely at peace with himself and everyone around him....

Pressing his leg harder against Merlin’s, Arthur clenched his jaw on the scream of frustration that welled in his chest. 

^ this is Arthur’s reaction as he watches Merlin practice magic, glowing and happy and powerful and whole, because he is afraid that magic is the reason Merlin will die. 

Had Merlin watched the executions and thought of himself tied to that post? Had he thought he would be able to escape before the fires were lit beneath him?

The very image of Merlin bound there made Arthur’s stomach curl into a tight knot.

The way Arthur would doom himself to be the villain, to deny himself happiness and even SAFETY— because now he knows he’s only lived this long because of Merlin— to protect Merlin, to prolong his life. 

Merlin backed away as Arthur stepped forward again, reaching out to him. He didn’t know how to do this, to push Merlin away when his body felt half-empty with the desire to touch him.

The way he uses his authority as prince and what he is to Merlin to ensure it. (The way Merlin refuses to comply.) I love it so much.

Arthur closed his eyes and took a deep breath, reigning in his anger. “You’re right. I would defy my father and my king to protect you... but it wouldn’t be enough.... it makes me ill to think of how close you’ve come to the pyre.”

“I don’t care. I belong in Camelot, even if I end up a pile of ash.” 

excuse me while I scream

“I have my company of knights to protect me.”

“They follow you, they don’t protect you,” Merlin whispered, letting go of Arthur’s arms and worrying the edge of his tunic, then looking into Arthur’s eyes, pleading. “Please don’t ask this of me.” 

He’d expected a fight, defiance, but not this, not what amounted to begging.

DELICIOUS. ANGST. Arthur’s protectiveness coupled with Merlin’s stubbornness means we get a whole lot of angst and longing. They have to stay away from each other, but they can’t. 

“I should never have let you,” Arthur whispered, shaking his head, “You’re enough of a distraction as it is.” 

As they stared at one another, Merlin felt as if something irrevocable was slipping between them. “Arthur, I--”

“Enough,” he breathed, the word a plea more than a command. “We cannot-- I’m not free to--” Arthur sighed, brushing his thumb across Merlin’s lops, shaking his head. “This cannot happen again. Do you understand?” 

... “Yes, sire.” Merlin pushed at Arthur’s arm, unwilling to wait for Arthur to let go, unable to lie there, so close, touching, when Arthur was already through with him.

.. Like a bucket of cold water, Arthur’s words had shocked him back into reality, holding up in front of him what he’d tried so hard to forget. 

He was a servant, and he would obey.  

excuse me?? do you see why you have to go read this fic right NOW, do you SEE?!!

“I knew. I knew and it still feels like I’m splitting open,” Merlin whispered.

ugh.

If anyone else had put that look on Merlin’s face, Arthur would have laid them out flat.  

ughHH

“Your life is worth more than this,” Arthur said, smoothing the pad of his thumb across Merlin’s kiss-reddened lips...

Arthur clenched his fists and stared after him, desperate to follow. They couldn’t keep tearing each other to shreds like this. Something had to give.

God this fic is full of GOD-TIER PAIN. It’s genuinely baffling. amazing. groundbreaking, never been done before!!!!

And now I must, I must, discuss the clowning glory of this fic. The thing I wanted most from the show, that pained me the most when I was denied, that frustrated me most about the ending. Arthur seeing Merlin as the hero he is, the powerful sorcerer who did so much for Arthur, Arthur’s family, Arthur’s kingdom. But more than that. Arthur seeing and valuing Merlin, the man. Gaius, Hunith, Gwaine, Lancelot, the knights— they don’t value Merlin because of his magic, or because what he has done or can do for them. It isn’t gratitude they feel. It’s love. And it’s the same for Arthur, here. And I can’t tell you how dear that is to me. How lovely it is to read. 

And despite knowing him so well, Merlin had believed in his ability to become a better man from the beginning. Arthur wasn’t blind; he could see that Merlin had reshaped his attitudes over the years, had taught him to think for himself instead of blindly following his father’s example. He learned from Merlin to see beyond pride and the nobility, to be a servant to the people instead of ruling them as his father did. 

From the very first moment they’d met, Merlin had encouraged him in gentlest, surest way to seek out the right thing and do it, say it, help it to happen if he could.

again:

Merlin listened even when Arthur couldn’t say a word. Especially then, in fact.

and again:

“I’ve never know someone like him. He’s so... selfless. How many times has he saved us without our knowing? He never asks for reward or recognition. He’s a servant when he could-- he could do anything. Does he not want anything for himself?”

Gwaine chuckled softly. “He wants one thing with all of his being, but you and I both know he would never presume to ask for it.”  

and again:

Being alone with him was Arthur’s escape, his sanctuary, no matter where they were.

and again: 

“This isn’t negotiable,” he whispered, stepping closer, wanting to comfort Merlin but knowing it would neither be welcome nor fair, given what he was ordering. “You shouldn’t be a servant, Merlin. You shouldn’t have to give up your gift and you shouldn’t waste it on a kingdom that would murder you for it.”

There, he’d said it. Camelot wasn’t worthy of Merlin.

I can’t even react to that line— it’s too wonderful. It’s everything I’ve ever wanted from Arthur. and oh, Merlin returns the favor tenfold. Arthur is Merlin’s existence. 

“Please, Arthur,” he begged, his voice barely above a whisper. “Please don’t do this.”

Hands sliding up to either side of Merlin’s neck, Arthur leaned closer, not quite daring to press their foreheads together. “I won’t watch you die.”

“Then close your eyes, but let me... stay with you.”

One of the most GORGEOUS, pain filled lines I’ve ever read!!! The way Merlin swallows his pain over and over again and does what’s best for Arthur is so hard to read but so Merlin. But I do love how this fic balances all that classic devotion and sacrificial energy with a few instances of Merlin taking a stand, standing up for himself and being selfish, without sacrificing the integrity of the character. 

Now, let’s talk about mergwaine. Because it’s definitely a side-ship in this fic and I have NO problem with it!!! It’s so well done, and only adds another layer of pain. First of all, Gwaine is just perfect in this fic— shameless, cheeky, all-about-Merlin. A good friend to both Merlin and Arthur— and I loved every time he called Arthur out on Merlin’s behalf, while also saying nothing but good and reassuring things about Arthur to Merlin— but he shines in his scenes with Merlin. His presence allows Merlin to show his pain, something he desperately needs as he can’t always do it with Arthur. I love this depiction of them; a close friendship, one Merlin feels completely comfortable in and full of trust and safety, one that could be something else, but. But. As Gwaine himself puts it, he’s not Arthur. That doesn’t take away from the extreme tenderness he displays with Merlin. It’s truly touching. 

Emotions stripped too raw to accept either without the tears starting again, Merlin closed his eyes and pleaded softly. “Don’t let go of me.” 

“Never,” Gwaine swore. He laid his forehead against Merlin’s inhaling deeply before pressing a soft kiss to his forehead. “Sleep, my friend.” 

and:

“Arthur is hurting too, and he is alone.”

“And I have you,” Merlin whispered, tears threatening to spill from his over-full eyes. “I always have you and he always had me.” 

and:

Gwaine kissed his shoulder and hair, arms tightening around his chest. “You deserve him, Merlin. Don’t ever believe that you don’t,” he whispered, drawing out the tears that Merlin had been desperately holding back.

and, for a bit of levity:

“But we’re all better off with me clothed,” Merlin said 

Gwaine shook his head disbelievingly. “You really have no idea how handsome you are, do you?... Ah, well, it’s probably for the best. You’d be impossible to live with if you did know.” 

There’s so many more wonderful parts of this fic. Arthur and Hunith’s lovely, heartbreaking scene (I was thoroughly crying throughout). Arthur’s loneliness upon return to Camelot. The incredible explicit scenes between Merlin and Arthur. But just do yourself a favor and read it. We’re so lucky to have it. 

[chaoswillfallrpg]

SELENA PETROSYAN is THIRTY-FOUR YEARS OLD and a BARMAID at THE WHITE WVRYN in KNOCKTURN ALLEY. She looks remarkably like ANGELA SARAFYAN and considers herself aligned with THE DEATH EATERS. She is currently TAKEN.

→ OVERVIEW:

tw: bodily harm, blood, death, murder

More than just a pretty face, Selena Petrosyan is one of the most deadly women in London you’d hope to never meet. Whilst many are drawn in by her beauty and natural elegance, there are also those who have met a sticky end by making an enemy out of her. Born in Armenia to ANNA and HAYK PETROSYAN, her family lived briefly in the capital city of Yerevan before immigrating to London. The only child of a stage actress and a painter, Selena was surrounded by the arts whilst growing up and always had a strong affinity with expressing herself through creative outlets. Selena wanted to be a ballerina. But not simply a ballerina, the best in the world. Whilst she was academically gifted, Selena knew her future belonged in dance and dreamed of dropping out of school to join the The Royal Ballet School in Richmond. The first few years she was at school in Mill Hill were tiresome for Selena. Surrounded by children with no desire to learn and no aspiration she longed to leave it all behind and be with those most like her but due to the school’s extensive fees and her parents desire to keep her at home during her earlier years she was not allowed to apply until she was sixteen. After various auditions she finally secured herself a place, though the real emotional, physical and mental stress came when she began her schooling. 

Having gone from an environment where Selena was always the brightest star in the room, her peers were no longer just children who loved dancing, they were the very best ballet dancers in the world. MAISIE QUINN had a similar background to Selena, though her years of training had not made her as hard faced as Selena was. When teachers pointed out their faults and made them twirl till their feet could take it no more Selena refused to let it break her. All her life she had never understood weakness, when she felt like crying she pushed it down and used the emotions to try and propel herself forward. Maisie hadn’t been like that. Silently tears rolled down her cheeks when she knew she hadn’t done her best and the first day Selena almost cracked in front of her teachers as she was critiqued Maisie appeared by her side after the lesson. Maisie brought out a softer side to Selena, sensing emotions in her that Selena wasn’t quite ready to admit herself. All Selena’s life she had preferred to be alone. No one really understood her except for her parents and so she had buried herself in things she loved to pave over the loneliness. Maisie was the first person who had really tried to get to know her and from the hard moments at school to being members of The Royal Ballet they had each other. The pair had always been best friends, but something stirred deep inside Selena that told her she wanted more from their relationship and the two began dating. 

Selena was the happiest she’d ever been. Then one night it changed. Stepping out onto the cobbled streets of Covent Garden, cigarette in hand and her ballet bag slumped over her shoulder. She took a back route to Leicester Square and was pulled into a side street. The next few minutes were the most agonising Selena had experienced as the lycanthrope poison took hold and she passed out thereafter till morning. It was the night of one of her shows Selena shifted for the first time. Coming off stage to practise in the basement, she locked herself in one of the practise rooms and lost consciousness. When she awoke the room was destroyed and she had a number of large cuts on her body where the mirror had broken on the wall. A man approached her the next day after the show with a bouquet of red roses in his hand and a strange story he shared with her. LLEWELLYN DEAN had seen Selena on stage and captivated by her beauty had chosen her to become his beta. His judgement clouded by his need for companionship and desire for Selena. Naturally, Selena refused his advances, turning him away and refusing to entertain the notion of what she had become. But the blackouts still kept happening and as Selena woke up on the floor of the destroyed studio each time more battered and bruised than the last she knew she had to get answers, withdrawing from her girlfriend and into research on the legend of werewolves. 

Things finally came to a head one night when Maisie cornered her, following her downstairs and demanding answers. The pair argued and Selena lost track of the time. Blacking out as they spoke and waking up to find the body of her girlfriend lying before her, battered and bloody as if she’d been attacked by an animal. Her cries and screams echoed the halls of the The Royal Opera House and Llewellyn appeared by her side, scooping her up and taking her away. Selena had refused to believe what had happened and now Maisie was dead. Llewellyn took advantage of her grief, taking her to his home in Canterbury and teaching her how to exist in her new life. Llewellyn was all she had and all she knew and despite knowing what he’d done to her was wrong, Selena clung to him out of loneliness and a need to belong as this strange monster. Llewellyn wanted to build a pack for them both and over the years the pair began to find others like them to exist alongside them. FENRIR GREYBACK was a name they had both heard floating around the home counties. Violent and full of range it was up to Selena to draw him into their pack, though Llewellyn hadn’t accounted for what an outside influence might do to his relationship with Selena. With a new experienced werewolf in her life Selena quickly realised she’d been lied to for a number of years, Llewellyn taking advantage of her naivety and failing to tell her of the affects of wolfsbane he’d been keeping for himself.

With Fenrir by her side, she killed Llewellyn. Taking off to begin a new life with a new alpha who cared about her and wouldn’t lie to her the way Llewellyn had. He quickly became her world and the more time they spent together the deeper Selena fell in love with him. Llewellyn had taken her life from her and her happiness with Maisie but Fenrir had given her a new one where he taught her to be powerful. Her skills as a ballerina came in handy as she stalked their prey and her gymnastic prowess helped her be deadly in combat which Fenrir had drawn out of her over countless training sessions. Formally a wizard, he taught her about the wizarding world. He spoke about a Ministry who hated them and a figurehead who would one day help them walk amongst the magical community and finally give them a place in society. THE DARK LORD. Though Selena loved their life together, choosing members for their pack and helping people to grow as werewolves she craved normality more. She wanted Fenrir as her husband, children of their own and a life dancing on stage at The Luminous Theatre. Fenrir knew how much she loved him and her dreams, using them to groom her into the person he needed her to be. Fenrir didn’t want love and soft touches, he wanted domination and her strength and maternal touch she had on their pack members was important for what he had planned but hadn’t shared. 

Stationing her in Knockturn Alley, Fenrir enchanted documents that would help her pass a Squib and acquire a job as a barmaid in The White Wyvern. From the bar she obtained names and information, those who could come in use for their cause and those who would find their names on her hit list. Her deep unwavering loyalty to Fenrir drove her to do things she knew were ill advised. Including tracking and plotting to murder an Auror at the Ministry she knew was tracking Fenrir. ISHAAN PATIL liked to brag about his cases and one evening as he told the pub he was ready to catch the infamous werewolf, Selena hatched her plan. On the next full moon she broke into his apartment and waited. The moonlight touched her skin and she shifted, attacking the figure that emerged through the door with the intent on silencing them forever Her teeth broke into the skin of her prey and as a high pitched scream emerged, a sharp pain coursed through her body causing her to let go and run off into the night. The scream was from a woman and as Selena made her way back to her home in Knockturn Alley above the pub, she panicked knowing not only had her mission failed but a new member of their pack had been created she did not know the identity of. Back at work, Selena is trying to behave as though everything is normal, all the while trying to figure out who she has accidentally bestowed her dark gift upon and praying she finds them before Fenrir finds out.

→ ADDITIONAL INFORMATION:

Blood Status → Muggle (Werewolf)

Pronouns → She/Her

Identification → Cis Female 

Sexuality  → Pansexual 

Relationship Status → Single 

Previous Education → N/A

Societies → The Greyback Wolves 

Family → N/A

Connections  → Lewellyn Dean (maker/deceased adversary), Fenrir Greyback (alpha/object of affection), Jonathan Reeves (pack member/colleague), Arash Moradi (close friend), Ophelia Delacour (close friend), Marcus Faribault (close friend), Ishaan Patil (adversary), Giva Patil (unknown victim), Maisie Quinn (deceased girlfriend)

Future Information → N/A

SELENA PETROSYAN IS A LEVEL 6 WEREWOLF.