#past trauma mention tw

[reidhalstead]

There's an abyssal weight so hollow that it begins to churn and grind the insides of Reid's soul — his body protests and cries out in disgust at the pitiful excuse of what he's consumed. It's vile. Yet, it could be another kind of innocent laid bare, split open before him if not this. It's a sick but tenable sacrifice.

Reid could have sat there, sinking into the mud and the sin of his act for however long she'd let him. Praying to ruthless spirits and Gods for some way out that does not paint him a coward or a deserter of his one and only cause. Arms are wrapped around his knees — a childlike position, staring at the consequence of one's unforgivable actions.

Every hunter has their right of passage, he's participated in his long ago. Halstead wants no part of this tradition. But he's taken part, over and over and over —

His eyes close. His neck is slack under the pressure of her grasp. He's dirty here; covered in guts and grime — smearing remnants of his affair from his lips with antipathic self-hatred. How many times would he decide he did not mind if the trees parted for him and allowed him to be spotlighted by the star in the great sky? Every time, a voice reminds him — goading him at the rear of his mind as it fractures and tempers under the burden of this existence.

Reid doesn't give her the satisfaction of his agreement.

But when Nisha is upside down in his vision — his head wrenched back to look at her goading. He lets her stare him down for too long like he's a petulant child. Maybe he is a feral thing now, years of a shattered morality, humanity has him delusional when Eleazar presses all the buttons she's mastered over time. Halstead hasn't learned that the more he shoves her away, the more she buries her claws into him.

He just can't bring himself to play into her twisted games. That fickle pride he kids himself into clinging onto with all his might is no longer a tangible entity.

It might even have been easier if he gave him. None of this is elementary.

Reid's head is still processing how alone they are in the woods, with the death of this deceased creature as their proof of being there at all. What did it matter if he let rip on Nisha anyway? Isn't that everything she's always asking of him? (Isn't that the war inside him battling with giving in, and fighting still.)

Reid's hand snaps up to clench around the cold fist balling his hair, he squeezes, eyes darkening to an inhumane shade — a crimson pool that clouds the whites of his eyes. He feels his body burning the blood he's just consumed — Reid hisses involuntarily, his boots dig into the dewy ground of the forest when he launches at her.

He's ripped her hand out of his hair — tearing tufts of blonde along with it as he propels forward. Barreling into her. There's no target, he doesn't think to grab a twig or a branch like a hunter, he's another predator here. It's an instinctive reaction he's not conquered as of yet; he's explosive, teeth burying into anything soft, hands grasping at anything that pins her down.

Reid knows — deep in the pits of it all — it'll never last. And the consequence of attacking Nisha for taunting him, almost has him wondering if it's worth it.

Yet the taste of her blood in his mouth is an exhilaration he cannot help but lose himself to.

Nisha smiled -- one of pride and excitement -- as she watches Reid move towards the animal. She'd much prefer it to be a human that he is hunting but... baby steps. Although, her patience for his preferred prey has been growing thin as of late. She had thought it would be easier to convince him. To manipulate him into doing what she thought was right.

But the man insisted on keeping every last shred of his humanity that he could manage. Nisha had yet to try to fully break him in that aspect but she could feel the urge to do so like an itch underneath her skin.

The kill is quick. Much quicker than Nisha would have made it. It annoys her, in a way. That he chooses to not prolong the freshness of the blood.

She's behind him now, her fingers stretching along his scalp; playing with strands of his hair, as she stares down at the mess he'd made. "It's quite disgusting, isn't it?" She tilted her head to the side as her eyes fixated on the deer. Drinking animal blood had been one of the punishments she was given from her sire. Never being fully satisfied. Always craving more. Feeling dirty and horrible after drinking just a little.

Nisha blinked, forcing her thoughts to the present. To the dead deer in front of her. To Reid, who was now cursing at her, telling her to leave. She was used to it now -- the constant need for him to be away from her. Her grip tightened on his hair and she forced his head back until his face was tilted up towards her. "Did I say we were finished?" Her voice was sweet but her eyes had hardened. It was a rhetorical question. One that she hoped would make him think twice when it came to testing her.

Although, knowing Reid, he'd continue to do so.

"I also didn't teach you to waste your food. So drink until there's nothing left."

[desultory-suggestions]

I would like to give a shout out to the gullible folks. The people who were lied to with some ridiculous story by an abuser and taken advantage of. People who can't describe their situation to others bc they know it sounds crazy, but they have fallen too deep to escape.

You aren't dumb. You're so trusting and so full of love. It is not your fault others take advantage. There are people out there that will not lie to you like others have. Your trauma is valid even if the lies you were told were so outlandish people laugh when you try to explain the terror you lived through.

Don't stop loving. Don't stop trusting. Just... Learn how to be more selective with your trust. Because not all have pure intentions for you.

[sweatandwoe]

After reading some Astarion takes, I can say with full certainty, that I would not trust some of you to not slutshame or insult SA victims for having sex

[ninesparrowsoftroy]

To Snakes and Stone | Ominis Gaunt | 2.8k | Part I | Part II

Summary: In which Ominis is persuaded to open the Scriptorium for his closest friend and in doing so is faced with the horrors of his childhood.

Things to note prior to proceeding: this is meant to be a very short series. It is an x reader, however it is a slower romance and is more an exploration into the mind of Ominis. That being said, there is no distinction of the reader’s name, they are purely referred too as ‘the girl’ and ‘she/her’ to create an open and interpretive character in the story. Read the tags!

Water dripped from above, the melodic thrum of each droplet collapsing against the stone floor a reminder of the labyrinthine school above. There were classrooms, cabinets, tile floors and spiral staircases, students who were all but ignorant of the damp, barren halls hidden beneath their feet. Hogwarts, he knew, held many secrets in his walls but this had been one he’d hoped to never discover. It might have been easier for him if he were to let it remain a whisper amongst his family, a mystery better left unsolved no matter how much grief grasped at it. From somewhere in between the cracks of the carved out walls a draft drifted into the space, cold and unyielding in its frost kissed touch.

The farther they descended down this spiral of riddles and shifting stone the colder it became, the slow drop in temperature something that Ominis took a keen notice too. Unlike the common room of his house, this was a cold that pinched at his skin, a needle being poked in his skin in sporadic and uncontrolled speeds. Sometimes it would attack him at once, prickling the exposed skin of his neck causing him to flinch away from it. Other times it crawled over him at an unnoticeable pace, the volume of an orchestra growing in strength and in power until it drowns out all other sound and feeling in the room.

‘Over here,’ Sebastian’s voice strung itself in the air, drowned with the same curious excitement that led him to places Ominis preferred to keep distant from. The freckled boy wasn’t far but he surely wasn’t any closer than he had been prior, ‘I think I’ve found something.’

The cacophony of footsteps that followed Sebastians voice carried itself in the cold air, bouncing off the narrow walls and the distributing the small puddles that had formed in dents in the floor. The familiar pull of his wand enveloped his arm, faint yet forceful enough to direct and bring him to place a few steps away from where Sebastian stood. The trail of footsteps moved past Ominis, continuing on till the sound of them stopped on the other side of the boy. Though there was little change in the physical world around him, there was a discomforting heaviness to the new area, a pressure resting itself on his chest and weighing like lead over his sternum. It felt suffocating, tighter even. Ominis brought his hand to his side, the pulse of the pine-wood wand growing softer as it lay idle against within his hold.

Unlike the walls enclosing them into the chamber, this one resembled an arched stained-glass window, like the ones in the Great Hall only carved into the physical stone. There was no figurehead in the center nor portrait of a dark witch or wizard to free them, only a coiled snake sitting in on itself, watching with a lifeless scrutiny.

‘What is it?’

‘A wall.’

‘Very helpful, Sebastian.’

‘No, he’s serious,’ Her voice came in a sudden wave. It shared the curiosity that consumed Sebastian’s but within the limits of reason which he quite liked. Yet it was far more volatile than his or Sebastian’s: wind that would swell in anger and destroy even the soundest of structures, yet capable of embracing and breathing life even into the lifeless. Her voice grew clearer as he assumed she turned her gaze to him, ‘there are markings all over it. Ancient runes I think but I can’t be sure, and there’s also-.’

‘A snake.’ Sebastian interjected, kneeling down to run his palm against the stone-scales.

‘Yes, there’s also a snake.’

The brunet gave little regard to her glare, ’Do you suppose it’s another door?’

‘It’s possible.’

‘Ominis do you hear anything?’

All attention was then turned to the blond, an expectant and anticipatory weight coming over him at the question. His lips thinned out, a distasteful dryness filling his mouth. Harmless though the question was, there was no denying nor avoiding the bitter pit it stirred in his stomach. He could feel them watching him, waiting for him to become the bridge that was so sorely necessary to continue on their path. He hated it, truly, he did.

‘No. I don’t hear anything, why would I?’

‘It’s a snake statue.’

‘So?’

The response seemed enough to abandon Sebastian’s attention, the freckled boy turning back to the stone carvings with a reverberating hum. Thoughtful, albeit challenged.

‘Could a charm unlock it?’

‘Depends on the charm.’

‘An unlocking one?’

‘You need a lock to use an unlocking charm Sebastian.’

‘A revealing one then.’

‘I doubt Salazar Slytherin would have made it that easy.’ Ominis pointed, a frown painted over his features.

A breath of silence fell over them. No ideas spared, and any attempt at proposing another solution being dissolved before it even had a chance to be uttered. Any idea was quickly thrown and deemed too easy or too juvenile. Blasting the wall with an impact spell? A brute display of force that very well might bring down the ceiling with the wall. Attempting an opening or unlocking charm? There was little guarantee the wall truly was a door, and if so there were no latches or locks to cast upon.

‘Perhaps we’ve missed something.’ The heel of her boot dug mistakenly into the puddle beneath her, the reflection of dripping stone disrupted and distorted by her unknowing assault. Her once confident steps found a quick, desperate succession of lost balance. The body betraying its equilibrium while gravity grasped desperately at it, beckoning its violent descent to the floor. Her palm skittered over the wall, flesh opening against broken stone.

The hiss that followed her was not her own; not to Ominis. What had been a hiss of pain fleeing from her lips had morphed into one of a crueler pitch. It shook in the air, vibrating until it no longer resembled her voice but something deafening, serpentine, consuming him from every corner of the room. He could feel it moving beneath his fingers, thrumming deep within his ears, syllables woven together in a whistled breath.

‘Dirty.’ The sound drummed from somewhere within his bones, burrowing into the cartilage as it were part of him. ‘Filthy.’ The word was serrated in the air, sharper than any curse that could be uttered. ‘Tainted.’ Each syllable biting into him, piercing and blanketing all at once, a vicious embrace.

���Bloody hell, are you all right?’

Everything grew quiet, Sebastian’s voice crushingly sharp in the absence of noise. Somewhere in front of Ominis another droplet of water fell from a crack between the ceiling, colliding against the toe of his shoe.

‘I’m fine, I just lost my balance.’

‘And cut open your hand.’

‘It’s not anything serious.’

A scoff left Sebastian, ‘Your definition of serious is far different than mine if that’s the case.’

‘Really it’s nothing—‘

‘It’s blood.’

Both eyed turned to him. Sebastian spoke first.

‘Yes Ominis, oddly enough that’s what’s underneath your skin when you get cut.’

‘No, you idiot; blood is the answer to the wall.’

‘What?’

‘How do you know?’

‘I heard it.’

‘So you did hear something! Honestly I’m hurt you’d lie to me Ominis.’

‘I was not. I only heard something when she cut her hand.’

The remark on Sebastian’s lip was quickly cut before he could even sound out the first syllable.

‘What did it say?’

The conviction in her voice stopped him.

The words, though cruel, were not his own, so why was it so difficult to repeat them? It was well known that Salazar was a blood purist, the answer very well should have been obvious the moment they came before the wall. Yet it felt discomforting, standing there, knowing the objective answer to their question but being unwilling and unable to translate it. How could he do it without feeling as if it were his thoughts and his words? He was, after all, a boy with centuries of cruelty and prejudice threaded into the marrow of his bones, opinions that had been passed from generation to generation that became the spoken truth the moment he learned to speak. Of the three of them standing in that cold, damp chamber it would be him who would come to these sort of answers and it stirred something rancid in his stomach.

‘Ominis?’

He failed to realize just how long he had been silent. In his hand his wand gave a small pulse, its faint pressure reminding him of the girl sitting in front of him.

‘If I’m right,’ He began, trepidation lining his words, ‘the wall is only accessed through blood.’

‘Should be simple enough, she’s already bleeding so we can just—‘

‘No. It doesn’t work like that.’

It came out harsher than he had intended, instinct and habit possessing his tongue as the remark spilled past any barrier of hesitancy. They were all incisive enough to know what he was saying, the truth lingering in the space between the words. He hadn’t any need to physically see them to know the slow fall of ignorance from their faces. How any form of Sebastians reckless curiosity or her own intrigue vanished beneath the stoicism of cold realization. Ominis sighed.

‘It has to be someone with pure blood.’

‘Someone like you.’

He attempted to shield the wince that overcame him at the sudden force of her voice, the way it wrapped around him and struck like a knife between his shoulder blades. Someone like him, who came from a line of “purified and noble” wizards, whose every breath came from an intricate tapestry of breeding.

‘Someone like me.’ He repeated back to her, something in his voice far more distant than it had been before.

Sebastian stood, his hand finding purchase on Ominis’ tense one, the touch startling yet not wholly unfamiliar. It was the one that Sebastian had often used when attempting to persuade the blond into some unruly excursion or to lighten the circumstance when he received a rather harrowing and cryptic letter from his parents. The hold firm, grounding, telling Ominis that there was someone there beyond the dark, yet light enough to be recoiled back at a moment’s notice. He could hear the glint of a dangerous smile in Sebastian’s voice.

‘Shouldn’t be too bad Ominis. At least now you can finally prove you’re one of a kind.’

Despite it all, he rolled his eyes, secretly grateful for the normalcy of the joke.

‘I’m already one of a kind.’

‘I’d save that attitude for the wall, let it speak for you.’

There was no faltering the slight etch of a curve on his lip at the conversation, a fleeting blanket of escape falling over him before being ripped away. Sebastian’s hand slipped off his shoulder, the faint clicks of feet ebbing their way back giving him enough of an incentive to know it was entirely left to him. Like the flicker of heat licking at the bare skin of an arm or leg from a flame, Ominis had the short instinct to refuse, to step back and turn on his heel, demanding they leave and never turn back. He’d shut the scriptorium door and return to his dormitory as if nothing had happened and the floors and walls of Hogwarts were just as they were before: familiar and well-known.

But then he thought of his Aunt. The warm memory of who she had been in his idolized and child-like mind. The soft melody of her voice as she described to him the color of the tree in the manor garden, the twisted branches of a nearby shrub, the way his own hair resembled the cold-light of the moon as it hung itself in the dark sky, shining despite all its darkness. How she had been the first person to find him, curled on the tile floor of the manor corridor, his skin still prickling with an invisible agony he couldn’t scratch away. The brush of her fingertips over his wrist as she pried his hands away from his body, palms and fingertips shaded a violent crimson from where he’d held his hands before him as the curse crackled and hurtled itself to him.

What it had felt like when she no longer appeared in the garden, how silent and colorless the world had become as the elm tree lost its leaves and the shrubs withered. Loneliness, he discovered in the cold halls of his home, was the one color she had failed to teach him.

Ominis brought the tip of his wand to his left palm, holding it just barely below his knuckle.

‘Diffindo.’ He whispered, the pine-wood of his wand cracking as the pressure morphed into something sharper. The pain grew more refined as he slid it against his hand, the feel of skin tearing from skin, peeling away layer after layer until the warmth of his blood began to seep from the cut and into the creases of his palm. His fingers curled inward, an inherent motion to staunch the bleeding even though it had been his own hand that had caused it. When the line had been drawn from one end of his hand to the other his wand withdrew its force, the sting morphing into something weightless and familiar.

His features settled into a dark resignation, the wall offering nothing but a frigid greeting to his approach. From somewhere deep within the stone a guttural sound pulled itself towards his hand, the press of his touch sparking a wave of noise that drummed in his ear. There came a hiss, coiling and spreading through air around him until he could feel it thrumming beneath his hand and feet. Then, as blood dripped and stained the stone of the wall, the chiseled scales under his fingers began to move. A sickening groan moved through the room as the once lifeless and graven snake crackled to life, stone scratching against stone with each coil of its body.

His hand long since retreated to his side by the time he stepped back, the room opening as the snake stretched its carved body. The floor trembled beneath them all, the arch of the wall splintering, concaving onto itself as it drew back, revealing the short, lightless corridor that lay behind it. The stone settled, a haunting quiet falling over the trio, the only sound remaining being the sporadic fall of blood dripping from Ominis’ hand.

‘I suppose the flair for dramatics is hereditary.’ Sebastian mused, warranting only a disgruntled groan from the blond and an even poorer effort of shielding her laugh behind a sound of disapproval from the girl.

‘Christ, Sebastian, don’t you have any semblance of etiquette in that thick head of yours?’

‘What? It’s not like I’m wrong.’

‘I make no comment.’ Ominis mumbled in turn, although his words always came off more enunciated even in a mumble.

He could hear Sebastian take a step forward, but before he could bring himself to follow suit he felt a tug at his sleeve. Something gentle but firm, his brows scrunching together as instinct brought him to turn towards what had grabbed at him. In a moment of muffled panic he had imagined it to be the snake statue, reaching out from its carved out frame and lurching towards him. But then he felt the warmth of skin pressing against his wrist, pulling his hand up from his side and out to the empty space in front of him.

There was a faint shifting of fabric, then the cold touch of wood against the damp center of his bloodied palm. He heard her voice, brought to a whisper with the movement of her wand. Where the cut had torn through his flesh, opening up the hot blood beneath it, there was now nothing but a numbing warmth, like when heat dances towards the skin of those sat before a fireplace. She let go of his hand.

‘There,’ Again he could hear the smile in her voice, the slight curve of the syllables, ‘Now we’ll have matching scars.’

‘It wasn’t deep enough to scar.’

Not that he would care if it had, it wouldn’t make much difference to him other than the feeling of it.

‘That’s not the point.’ The sound of fabric rustling came again as she tucked her wand into her pocket.

And before he had the chance to ask what her point truly was, she was gone, walking in a steady beat down the corridor where Sebastian’s voice grew starker with each step he took. Ominis ran a thumb over the healed skin, perfectly an incandescently smooth just as it had been. He took a breath, dropping both hands.

He dug into his pocket, pulling out the familiar shape of his wand, allowing its pull to wrap around his wrist and bring him forward, towards the shadowed hall. Ahead of him Sebastian and the girl moved in quick succession, their steps all at war with each other: Sebastian’s confident ones, the girls firm ones, and Ominis’ own.

I have given no permission for my writing to be uploaded anywhere beyond where I upload it, please do not copy or plagiarize this work. <3

[esmexavila]

Esmeralda was tempted to ask for further information. How long had he been with this new person for? Did he love them like she thought he had loved her, once? Was he better for this person? And why couldn't it have been her? But as much as she wanted answers -- and some form of closure -- Esme kept her mouth shut on the subject. The last this she needed was to go down the emotionally damaging rabbit hole again that was Hans.

"I'm sure you do more than that." She said as she glanced towards the child. He appeared healthy. No bruises or scratches on him. Not that Hans would cause those things. But it was something that Esme thought of, nonetheless, due to her own childhood trauma. The trauma that not many people knew about. Hans did, though. He had known everything about her.

His laugh brings her back to the present -- her stomach fluttering with butterflies as if they are on friendlier terms. She had fallen in love with that laugh, once. She'd always been so desperate to hear it. "If I wanted it, it would happen, regardless of whether they can handle it or not." But she didn't want it. She couldn't. Hans had done enough damage in her life. "Maybe I'll just adopt." Save me the trouble of trying to find someone that's willing to be with me.

"I didn't want you to be bad at this, Hans." Her heart ached as she glanced up at him. "I knew you could be good at this. I'm almost positive I told you as much before, when we were..." She cut herself off and shook her head. Esmeralda turned away from him, facing the bouncy house. She had, once, believed such a thing. But then... then things between them just got worse. And when it did, she hadn't been sure what to think anymore.

She cleared her throat. "It doesn't matter anymore." She said. "I'm glad you're doing good. I'm glad you're happy."

Partner.

The wording had been purposefully vague. Status-less, gender-less, name-less. A glimpse into his life is a privilege — gifted, not granted.

"Yeah, yeah. Not on purpose," Hans says. Would Esme ever believe him if Hans said a lot of his harm hadn't been on purpose, either? Likely no — since so much of it had been. Not only planned, but painfully strategized. Calculated from gasps, to wails, to tears. "...I'm his father. Protecting him is the fucking least I can do."

Then, Hans laughs. Genuinely so — he laughs. "And I'd say yes, except your baby daddy's ego could never handle it." Cue a blue-eyed wink.

"...I know you wanted me to be bad at this. I thought I'd be bad at this, too."

But I'm not.

I'm not.

[sillygoose1777]

Chapter 1: Disobedience sparks pity

word count: 4114

Tags: Servant whumpee, caretaker, humiliation whump, royal whump, royal caretaker, whump, tw whipping, tw slavery, whipped whumpee, non con stripping, whumpee taken in by royalty, crossdressing whumpee, og ocs, og world, og story, whumpee, whumper, noble whumper, whumpee perceived as female, possessive whumper, mentions of past trauma, mentions of past torture, tw stoning, past injuries mentioned, non con nudity, stern caretaker, multple care takers, multiple whumpers, forceful caretaking, fear of eye contact, defiant whumpee, whumpee that doesn’t talk a lot, curious caretaker, stranger whumpee and caretaker, mentions of non con activity, mentions of forced non con, manhandling, healing arc

Sonnet flinched as his master’s whip flew past his head, barely missing his ear. The next time his master didn’t miss, connecting with his shoulder and splitting his skin open. He cried out, having already lost count at what number lashing that was. Two more followed after before his master finally started wrapping the whip around his arm. 

Sweat dripped into Sonnets eyes despite the wind being cool this morning. The sun had only begun to rise a couple of minutes ago, shining light onto the small crowd that had gathered. Humiliation burned in Sonnet’s cheeks, and he leaned against the wooden pole he was tied too. He was sitting on his knees with his wrists tied behind him, making his shoulders strain. His torn up servant dress was in taters before him, though his skirt safely covered everything below the waist. Despite everything, he somehow had enough dignity, or stupidity depending on who you asked, to glare at his master. Mr.Winslow caught his eye and fumed. He advanced on Sonnet, grabbing his jaw and forcing him upwards. His shoulders screamed, if not for his voice. 

“You stupid boy, show some shame for your crime!” His master screamed in his face.

“Make me,” Sonnet spat.

That comment made Mr.Winslow livid, and he kicked Sonnet in the ribs. Sonnet struggled to heave in a breath through the pressure in his chest, and he leaned forward like a wilted flower. Clearly not done with his anger, Mr.Winslow took a swing at Sonnet. His fist connected with Sonnet’s cheekbone, cutting skin open. Sonnet saw stars as an insistent ringing began in his ears. He could hear Mr.Winslow speaking but couldn’t make sense of it. 

Once Sonnet was able to blink away the stars, he saw that his master was speaking to the slightly larger crowd. Sonnet could just make out Mr Winslow barking out an order for ‘no one to touch his stupid slave’. Then Mr.Winslow walked away to drag his pitiful wife home. Mrs.Winslow looked over her shoulder at Sonnet and mouthed ‘I’m sorry’. She had always liked Sonnet, and was usually very kind to him. But no matter how much she tried, she could never get Sonnet out of Mr.Winslow’s punishments. 

The ringing in his ears slowly dimmed to nothing but the voices of the crowd. Some were still watching, others had grown bored and walked away. Sonnet avoided eye contact with all of them. The last thing he needed was to realize just how much he had humiliated himself. He was likely going to sit there till sunset where Mr.Winslow would hand him right over to a merchant to resell him. 

Sonnect closed his eyes and started collecting his thoughts. If Mr.Winslow really was going to sell him, there was no way he would be seeing any of his stuff again. Even if they did let him keep his stuff, it would likely be taken from him by the next family he was bought by. And on the off chance Mrs.Winslow could convince her husband not to get rid of him, he would be dumped in the furnace room to work till exhaustion. He didn’t know which one he wanted less. 

…

Sonnet looked up at the sky and deduced it was a little past noon. The sun burned into his skin, making it turn bright red and soaked with sweat. He was still shirtless from this morning's whipping, and would likely be for a while unless a townsperson decided to cover him with something. That's how it worked in the kingdom of Montrose. If servants were disobedient to their masters, their master had the choice of how they would like to deal with it. Public humiliation was a popular pick, beating lessons into most servants the first time. If the public felt bad enough, they could give the punished water and feed them, could even give them clothes in Sonnet’s case. But most would not, either convinced the victim deserved it or too scared of the public eye would shame them for helping the weak. 

So Sonnet let the sun roast his skin and parch his tongue. The blood that once poured from his wounds dried on his skin. The market had long been set up and became a bustling place for passersbys. Everyone would give him a wide berth, not daring to get their polished shoes near what they considered filth. Sonnet liked it that way, it meant no one would further harm him. 

That was until a group of boys started making a beeline for him. Sonnet noticed the stones in their hands and felt a sense of dread. Before they had even made it within the circle everyone else avoided, they were throwing the stones and shouting obscenities at him. Bruises would definitely bloom later, joining the list of injuries Sonnet would have to tend to. In the distance, Sonnet thought he could hear a trumpet being played over the boys shouting. 

Sonnet continued to shrink away from the boys until he heard the sound of horse hooves clattering on the sidewalk. The king was back from his trip from a nearby country, and he was coming down this very street. The boys who were once throwing stones realized this as well and froze. The horses were thundering down the street fast with the crowd already parted away. One of the boys tried to dart away, either from fear of being caught or the fear of being trampled. It clearly couldn't be the second as the boy ran straight in front of the horse's path. 

Everyone including Sonnet gasped in horror as the knights reared the horses, towering over the boy. A few members of the crowd screamed as the horses came down, knocking the boy to the ground. As soon as the hooves touched the ground, the knights were climbing off their horses and dragging the boy up. Yelling and threatening him, the crowd divided into chaos. In the corner of his eye, Sonnet saw the door of the carriage fling open. He held his breath as he watched the king himself leave the safety of the carriage. 

“SILENCE!” The king's voice boomed over the crowd. 

Sonnet watched in awe as everyone within the next few miles stilled. The king glared around, clearly already in an awful mood only to be dealing with unruly people. The king walked over to the boy, his friends having abandoned him. One of the knights neared the king with hesitancy. 

“Your highness, it's not safe out here–” The king raised his hand to silence the knight. 

“What happened here?” he asked calmly. 

“I-I didn’t hear the trumpets and tried getting out of the way,” the boy said, cowering under the gaze of the king. The king huffed, then noticed something. 

“What are you holding?”

The knight holding the boy let go assuming the king was talking to him. The boy also raised his hands for the king to see. There were two small stones in his hands, waiting to be thrown at Sonnet. 

“Why do you have stones?”

“I uh um, I like collecting s-stones?” The kid stammered. The king eyed him as the boy's friends sniggered in the crowd. 

Feeling someone staring at him, the king turned around. Sonnet immediately averted his gaze and looked at the king's shoes. He instantly became aware of his shame and his cheeks started to go red like his sunburns. He looked down at his bloodied, sun burned, and sweat stained skin and wished he could have been swallowed up by the earth at that moment. Having been deep in his thoughts of humiliation, Sonnet hadn’t noticed that the king was standing in front of him. Sonnet looked up at the king before realizing his mistake and averting his gaze again. 

The king took in the sight before him. A bloodied and beaten servant was stripped nearly bare and tied down on display. He noticed the rocks surrounding the servant and connected the dots together. The king turned to his knights to address them. 

“Bring me some water for this servant to drink. And arrest that boy for stoning a citizen of Montrose.” 

Two knights grabbed the boy and dragged him off in anger as his friends watched in shock. A third knight presented a water bottle to the king which he took. The king then knelt down and cupped Sonnet’s cheek.

“Untie him,” the king ordered his knight. He then turned to Sonnet and began helping him drink water. The cold water rushed down his parched throat, cooling his flaming insides. The king paused the water stream when Sonnet sagged forward once he was released from the ropes tying him down. The king offered the water bottle to Sonnet and he took it, finishing it in a few messy gulps. He wiped away the few drops that escaped his mouth and flinched when the king draped him in something. He realized it was the king's cloak and he stared in astonishment. 

The king was too busy speaking to his knights. Sonnet closed the king's cloak further in to cover up as much of his bloodied chest as possible. In the next moment, arms pulled him up from his armpits and he yelped. He held the skirts at his waist, making sure they wouldn’t fall down as he wobbled on unsteady legs. He was dragged by the knight up and into the king's carriage, before being sat across from the king. The door shut behind the knight, leaving only the king and Sonnet staring at each other. 

He avoided making eye contact with the king, it was what he was taught since he was a kid. They sat in awkward silence as the carriage lurched forward and began to move. Sonnet grabbed onto the railing, startled by the movement. The king chuckled quietly and Sonnet blushed. This was getting increasingly uncomfortable for him, and he almost wished he was left at the whipping post. 

“Why were you tied there?” the king asked. Sonnet pulled the cloak further in on himself to hide the marks. Sonnet tried formulating the words, to try and sum up all the variables that played into today’s punishment. 

“Because I wasn’t a woman,” Sonnet finally said. He could tell that the king was confused but didn’t know if continuing to explain would be over stepping. So he stayed silent, like he always did. 

In actuality it was more than him not being a woman. Mr.Winslow always resented Sonnet, and often looked for any reason to punish him. But it came to a head this morning when Sonnet wore his servants dress like he always did. He helped Mrs. Winslow with her morning bath like he always did. Mrs. Winslow and a few other staff were the only ones who knew Sonnet was really a man. Though they didn’t seem to mind, if anything they seemed to find it attractive which only increased Sonnet’s discomfort as their servant. Apparently, Mr.Winslow was never informed of Sonnet’s identity and had always assumed that Sonnet was a woman. He was also known for having romantic flings with women other than his wife. So when Mr.Winslow made his advancement and Sonnet turned him down, he tried to force himself onto Sonnet, thus learning that he was in fact not a woman. He never actually told the king that, because he never asked. But it was sad for him to think about. 

The king never filled that silence. He stared at Sonnet for the majority of the ride to the castle, no longer amused whenever Sonnet would startle from a bump in the road. Sonnet gripped the railing of the carriage tight, to stop him from falling onto the king's feet. There was no need to further prove his humiliation. 

Sonnet could tell when they had reached the castle gates when the carriage became enveloped in voices. Soon they were rolling through the gates and stopped before one of the side entries into the castle. The doors of the carriage opened and the knight waiting there helped the king down. Sonnet hesitated and before he could make the decision to leave or stay, the same knight that helped the king before now yanked him out of the carriage. He stumbled and was barely able to catch his balance before he hit the floor. An iron glove gripped Sonnet’s arm and held him close, making sure he wouldn’t escape. The king was too busy talking to some of his royal staff to notice the mistreatment of his new possession. But the man who was currently talking to the king did. 

“--I'm sorry to hear about the failed- who is that?” the man across from the king asked. The king turned around and seemed to remember that Sonnet existed. 

“Oh, him.” The king snapped and a servant scurried over. “Go tell Sister Florence to run a bath for this servant. I want him properly dressed and seen by a physician afterwards.” As the servant walked away, the king motioned to the knight holding Sonnet to follow. 

The grip on Sonnet’s arm tightened where he swore it would leave bruises, and he was dragged off into the castle. The servant they were following split off in a different direction than the knight was taking him, presumably to grab whoever Sister Florence was. There were several times where Sonnet nearly fell from the pace at which they were walking. And everytime the guard would scoff and yank him onward. By the time they had reached a spacious and lavishly designed bathroom, the knight was more than happy to let go of them. 

Sonnet stood alone in the entrance of the bathroom, too scared to step further in or to leave. So instead he looked upwards as he pulled the cloak closer together. There was an intricate chandelier above him, twinkling glass charms dangling from lit candles. It was a luxury Sonnet never personally experienced, never allowed to be in fancy bathrooms unless he was with Mrs Winslow. 

There was a knock on the door and Sonnet startled. He stared as a woman dressed in all black entered, followed by a handmaiden. The woman in black gave him a sweet smile and extended her hand to him. 

“My name’s Sister Florence, I was sent to make sure you were properly taken care of.” 

Sonnet neither spoke nor took her hand to shake it, leaving the room to rest in awkward silence. Sister Florence let her hand fall to her side after a few moments of no movement. 

“Well, I’ll go draw that bath for you,” she said, walking past Sonnet and further into the bathroom. The handmaiden scurried after her, barely giving him a second glance. He started to wonder if it was too late to leave now. 

Sonnet could hear water running from where he was left standing. In a few minutes he watched the mirrors in the distance start to fog up from steam. The air became filled with scented oils, rich with lavender and lemongrass. Scents he only knew the names of because of the amount of times he had run them for Ms. Winslow. 

“Come on dear,” Sister Florence called. 

Reluctantly, Sonnet stepped further into the bathroom. Sister Florence had her hand in the water to test the temperature while the handmaiden was bringing soap bottles to the edge of the bathtub. Noticing him, Sister Florence flicked the water droplets from her hand and came closer. 

“Put your hands on my shoulder.”

Sonnet didn’t listen and watched as she knelt onto the floor. She pulled his foot out from under him and he stumbled, inevitably grabbing her shoulders. She carefully took off his shoes and chucked them to the side. Sonnet took his hands off of her as she stood up. She grabbed the cloak and pulled it off of him. The handmaiden behind him gasped and covered her mouth. Sonnet flushed, feeling exposed, both literally and metaphorically. 

“Ameila! Watch yourself,” Sister Florence scolded.

“Sorry sister,” Amelia replied. 

Sister Florence turned back to Sonnet and took his hand in hers. “You have nothing to be ashamed of, my dear. Now, let's get the rest of these clothes off of you.” 

He was thankful when Sister Florence let go of his hand. He was not so thankful when they began to take off the rest of his clothes till he had nothing left to wear. All of his clothes were tossed haphazardly onto a pile. Sonnet unclipped his dagger sheath he had attached to his thigh for Sister Florence and handed it to him carefully. She took it and looked at it curiously before setting it carefully on the bathroom counter. He was then guided into the bath, more or less against his will. Despite his reluctance, the water was quite warm and soothing. The soapy water stung against his open wounds, making them alight with fire. 

He audibly winced when Sister Florence dumped water over his back. She and the handmaiden Ameila took great care in washing him. He hated the hands that were on him, invading his skin. They lathered soap into his skin then rinsed it off before repeating it over again. By the fourth time he was rinsed, his skin felt as if it was rubbed raw. 

Sister Florence then had Sonnet sit as close to the edge of the tub as possible and tilted his head back. As he looked up at the ceiling she scrubbed shampoo into his hair. He almost relaxed into her touch, the feeling somewhat soothing. She titled his head up again and blocked his eyes while dumping water over his head. She repeated this process again before doing it one more time with conditioner. With his head thoroughly washed and the bath water having turned murky gray, they finally let him out of the bath. 

He was wrapped in one of the softest bath towels he’d ever known. Sister Florence sent the handmaiden Amila to grab his clothes while she gently rubbed him dry. Amila came back with clothes in hand. Sister Florence went to take off his towel when he stepped back.

“I can dress myself,” the first words he said to her. Sister Florence seems surprised that he spoke but respected his wish. She and the handmaiden Amila turned around while he carefully dressed. Sonnet quietly grabbed his dagger off the counter and strapped it back to his thigh. He adorned undergarments, a silk button up shirt, and wide length shorts. He was slightly disappointed he wasn’t allowed to wear a dress, but he made no fuss about it. Sister Florence and Amila turned around while he was pulling up the socks they had given him. Sister Florence had him sit down while she began to work on his hair and Amila helped him put on shoes. 

After about twenty minutes, his hair was brushed out and trimmed slightly to shoulder length. Sonnet protested against any length shorter than that. Sister Florence helped Sonnet stand up and they led him out of the bathroom. Stepping into fresh air that wasn’t filled with scented oils felt intoxicating. He followed quietly as they brought him to a bedroom. It looked like a noble’s personal suite, much too big for a servant to stay. 

“A physician will be with you shortly,” Sister Florence told him before leaving him alone in the room. 

Sonnet didn’t know what to do with his new found aloneness. He looked around the room without moving, letting himself admire the room. He could tell this was a guest bedroom with how unlived in it looked. He wondered when the last time someone had touched this room besides servants cleaning it. Would he be the first to grace this room with a living breath? A very exhausted, yet living breath. 

The door opened and Sonnet snapped his head to look at the person who entered. It was a man in a doctor's coat, holding a briefcase in one hand and the doors handle in the other. He smiled at Sonnet and stepped inside, shutting the door behind him. 

“I’m Dr. Clarke, and you are?” the physician asked. 

“Sonnet.” 

“That’s a lovely name.” Sonnet didn’t respond. “If I could have you sit on the bed, we can get started,” Dr. Clarke said as he gestured to the bed. 

Sonnet followed his gaze and sat on the very edge of the bed. Dr. Clarke followed, setting his briefcase near Sonnet. He opened it up and pulled out a few tools. He started by checking Sonnets eyes, ears, and mouth. Once the normal routines were done, Dr. Clarke put away his tools and put on a set of gloves. 

“If I could have you take off your shirt for me.”

Sonnet did as he was told, and held the folded shirt in his lap. Dr. Clarke began his work with each wound. Pouring antiseptics into the open ones, burning out any possible infection. Gently covering them in ointment before wrapping them in cloth. He would gently press against any bruises Sonnet had to test whether they needed attention or not. He had Sonnet turn around so that he could do the same thing over again for all the wounds on his back. Those ones hurt the most and Sonnet had to bite his tongue multiple times to stop himself from crying. Sonnet was allowed to turn back around when the physician was done. He buttoned his shirt back up while Dr. Clarke changed his gloves.

“Now I’ll have you take off your pants,” Dr. Clarke stated. 

Sonnet hesitated under the physician's gaze, but eventually took them off. There were fewer wounds for Dr. Clarke to focus his attention on, making it a lot quicker then when he worked on his torso. As soon as Dr. Clarke was done, Sonnet pulled his shorts back on, wanting to be left alone. Dr. Clarke packed up his briefcase, then handed a bottle to Sonnet. 

“Drink a cap-full of this tonic with every meal till your bruises are gone.” 

Sonnet held the bottle in his hands as the physician left. He leaned against the bed and exhaustion finally settled onto his shoulders. He looked out the window of the guest room and saw that the sun had well past setting. Stars were already creeping up the skyline. Just when Sonnet thought he had actually been left alone for the night, there was a knock on his door. A servant walked in with a tray of food. They set it down on a side table next to some bookshelves before addressing Sonnet. 

“I was told to inform you that you will be spending the night here. Silas will be coming to get you in the morning for your audience with the king.” 

They then gave a small head bow before leaving the room. Sonnet looked at the bottle in his hand before sighing and walking over to the tray of food. A small voice in his head warned him of the food being poisoned, but at this point he really didn’t care. So what if the king had him treated this nicely just to poison him in the end, it was better than the Winslows ever had. Sonnet sat at the small table and ate slowly, watching the castle's life dwindle by the night. By the end of the meal, he felt even more exhausted and in pain. He poured out a cap-full of the tonic before shooting it like whiskey. 

It tasted bitter in his mouth and he washed it down with a glass of water. With a full stomach and a tired mind, Sonnet blew out the candles in the room and crawled into bed. The mattress was softer than any cot he had been allowed to sleep on. Despite his history with insomnia, the soft blankets and the comfort of safety in sitting in his stomach lulled him down enough to actually fall into soundless sleep. 

[rose-riot-johnson]

Hey Rose! Long time no talk. (Also got a new look)

Was wondering if you'd be down for a angst to comfort fanfic for Hank McCoy?

Hey DJ😃Yes, definitely long time no talk😃👍 Anyways, due to busy schedule, having trouble focusing on completing fanfics in general, and stuff happening in my personal life, it's taking me longer than usual to start on the requested fanfic, such as the fanfic you requested about Hank McCoy😅 However since I have worked on Angst to Fluff and Angst to Comfort for the genres, while also having angst and comfort for the genres for the fanfics I have worked on, an Angst to Comfort genre for Hank McCoy would definitely be something I would be very good about and am confident about completing I will write "y/n" for the reader as I usually have been in the fanfics you've requested and since you haven't mentioned about what gender you wanted for this request the reader will be gender neutral as well😃👍 As for the new look that's cool and I'm happy for you, DJ😁👍

*This fanfic contains pronouns in 1 or more paragraphs and contains 1 or more long paragraphs😅 {Hopefully the pronouns are alright DJ😅}

🧪I'm Sorry For What I Said... I Hope You Will Forgive Me?🧪(Hank McCoy (aka Beast) x Gender Neutral Reader)

Genres: Angst to Comfort (Warning⚠️: Mentions of discrimination, including mentions of remarks and derogatory names (and past discrimination), Mentions of Emotional State, mentions of past trauma, and mentions of break-up (it's angst to comfort, so I felt this time it was needed)

You and Hank have been in a relationship together for a few years ago. About five years and 6 months ago when you first met him, he saved your life from (up to reader's imagination which villain from any X-Men series who tried to attack the reader), then you praised him on how amazing he was, as you were so amazed that he saved your life from the villain. The both of you would both introduce yourselves to eachother, proceeding to exchange cellphone numbers with eachother, then months later the both of you became officially in a relationship together.

As the years went by, while the both of you had your ups and downs, there was nothing heated enough to get either of you to not talk to eachother, until that one night, when you came in the home you shared with Hank, as you seem to be "not yourself". He then noticed as he asked, "(y/n)? Is there something troubling you? Is there anything I can do to help? Will you please talk to me?", giving you a concerned, caring, look on his face. You then answered, "I don't know how else to tell you this, Hank... My friend has had a talk with me earlier and from what (friend name) told me was that I shouldn't bring you in public anymore, because of (his/her/their) friend (name up to the reader's imagination) has been making remarks about mutants and anyone else with super powers, especially using derogatory names while (his/her/their) friend also made remarks that I should break up with you, and (friend name) has also mentioned that despite of the changes in the world that has embraced those with super powers and mutants more, having you in public with me would only cause problems... I'm very sorry to inform you about this... It's really been bothering me all night Hank...".

Hank was very shocked and upset to hear everything that you've told him so far, as he jumped into the conclusion of what he feared, as he replied, "You mean to tell me that your friend is siding with that jerk?! And to make things worse, are you trying to tell me that you're breaking up with me?! I thought I knew you better than that, (y/n)!", in anger, while beginning to have tears in his eyes. "That's not what I'm doing! Please, Hank?! It's not exactly what you think! You gotta believe me!", you replied back, as you began to feel stressed about Hank's unexpected reaction to what you told him. Hank then turns himself around where he's not looking at you out of anger and not wanting to show his sobs, as he replied again, "Well, (y/n)... If it's not like that as much, as you sounded, then you need to get your priorities straight, because I'm starting to feel I can't trust you, because of what you told me what your friends' buddy said about taking (name up to reader's imagination)'s side and you not fighting for me, then I rather not talk, until I can get my emotional state in check and you can figure out what you really want to do with your life! So for now you can sleep on the couch!", proceeding to March into the bedroom he shared with you until that moment. He then locked the bedroom door, before began to sob in privacy and quietly, as he can.

A few days went by, as this became the first time since your relationship with Hank, that neither of you were talking to eachother which is due to a heated argument(?) that you had with him. While laying on the couch, you have been thinking about what happened between you and Hank, as you then completely blame yourself, worrying that you have to make things right, before shouting, "Hey Hank! I need to have another talk with you! I have been thinking about our conversation a few days ago and I sincerely owe you an apology! Please come out and talk to me! I'm really sorry, Hank!". To your surprise, Hank unlocked the door and left the room, as he replied, "I'm listening... What else you need to talk to me about, aside from an apology?", as if he's open ears for what you decide to tell him next.

"Well, Hank... I have been to thinkin maybe this conversation we had a few nights ago, was my fault... If I wouldn't have said anything and waited to decide, if I should end my friendship with, (friend's name) to say anything, you wouldn't have been upset about what I told you... I really made you angry...", you explained as tears started to fall from your face. Hank noticed that you felt hurt from the conversation you had with him, as much as he felt hurt, as he realized that he jumped to conclusions due to his past trauma and horrible discrimination due to being a mutant, and misunderstood what you said. He then proceeded to hug you, as you finally began to sob on his right shoulder, before he calmly assured, "It's okay to let your feelings out... I'm the one who should be sorry... It's not your fault... I just shouldn't have overreacted nor jumped to conclusions the way I did... I shouldn't have let my past abandonment and trust issues blind me the I did... There's no need to feel obligated to lose your friend, because of my anger... I hope you're willing to forgive me, (y/n)... I will let my actions show that I will do better...".

You stopped sobbing, as you noticed that your boyfriend, Hank had tears rolling down his face as he was hurting inside from the heated conversation you had with him a few nights ago, just as much as you were hurting from that night. You wrapped your arms around him, petting his head, as the both of you looked into eachother's eyes, as you replied, "I always forgive you, Hank... No matter how heated our conversations get, how could I not forgive you and how could I not love you? You're not just my boyfriend, not just my future husband, not just my best friend, you're also my soulmate, as our hearts are entwined, meaning we're meant for eachother no matter what life throws at us." Both you and Hank have forgiven eachother, as the both of you continued to comfort eachother, until both you and Hank felt secured with eachother again. (Up to reader's imagination, if the reader actually ends up ending the reader's friend with the reader's friend or not)

Since the day both you and Hank have forgiven and comforted eachother, your relationship has been getting better and stronger, than it ever was before. You even decided to discuss your boundaries with everyone else, including friends and family, especially pertaining your relationship with him. Hank did let you know that it's okay for you to have your boundaries with him, because Hank will definitely respect your boundaries.

One day, you and decided to have a wedding, so the both of you got married that day. Everyone who has been respectful of your boundaries (especially pertaining your love life with Hank), has came to your wedding, invited. After your wedding with Hank, as he became your husband and you became his spouse, the both of you went on a honeymoon together, which that day became the best day of your life and his life, as well.

🧪The💚End🧪

I do hope you enjoyed this requested fanfic, Tumblr Peeps😃👍As for you DJ, I hope I did this fanfic you requested with Hank McCoy in it some justice, as well, as I have finally got motivated to write the fanfic and came up with ideas for it😅🧪😃👍From the bottom of my heart and soul, I hope the ideas that are in this fanfic fits the "angst to comfort" genre🦋😁👍

@writers-requiem

[mysticstarlightduck]

Ten random sibling questions!

Thank you so much for the tag, @thelovelymachinery (here)!

I'll go with Arden and Fabian from Crash Stardom! for this one (ps. context: Those two are biologically cousins BUT they grew up together and Arden raised Fabian like a brother).

Arden's pronouns are He/They Fabian's pronouns are He/Him

TW. Mentions of past SA in Arden's "Biggest Fears" section and very questionable stuff happening to Arden in the past

1. Biggest fears

Arden is absolutely terrified of Lenny, the son of a capo from the local mob who once stalked and took advantage of Arden in his own apartment (after Arden had broken up their and Lenny's toxic 'situationship' from hell and told Lenny to never come back). That incident left both Arden and Fabian severely traumatized - because Lenny essentially broke into their apartment and did whatever he wanted to Arden - then 18-19 - while Fabian (WHO WAS 12 AT THE TIME) was locked safely in another room, so he luckily didn't see anything but he still heard the scuffle.

Arden is also terrified of something bad happening to Fabian. They fear they have failed Fabes as a guardian, because they were unprepared at the time they took him in, and also because Arden blames themself for being (in their words) "too broke" to give Fabian the life they wanted him to have. Arden also spiralled pretty badly after everything that happened. They are also afraid that, if they wipe out the mob with their serial killing, something terrible may happen to Fabian too.

Fabian's worst fear is being helpless or unable to protect the people he loves the most. That incident in their past left Fabian with a deep fear of being trapped or helpless while someone needs his help, and he tends to also be afraid of being unable to prevent Arden from losing themself in that need for revenge.

2. Pet peeves

Arden can't stand the smell of whiskey, and also hates repetitive, annoying sounds like constant clicking, people chewing (they will smack a bitch if they hear that) or old clocks ticking. They also dislike the feeling of not having taking a shower in a day, and hate being constantly interrupted.

Fabian hates too-greasy food, or eating soggy things that aren't supposed to be soggy, like cereal or cookies. He hates that feeling of being too tired but unable to sleep, and also dislikes songs that get annoyingly stuck in his head for too long.

3. Favourite after school snack

Neither of them really went to school. Arden ran away from home at 11 years old, with a 5 year old Fabian in tow, to escape a dangerous environment. They got by as homeless runaways/street kids on their own for years, until Arden started working as an errand boy for the mob when they were 14, and Fabian was 8, and was able to afford a small, slightly questionable, apartment. When Arden was 16-17, he started working for the mob's clubs to pay off their debts.

Besides that, Arden's favorite snack is pizza rolls, and Fabian's favorite snack is chocolate chip cookies.

4. Favourite after school activity

Same context as before, so I'll answer this simply as 'favorite pastime/hobby'.

Fabian loves watching old cartoons and has a collection of pirated CDs with his favorite childhood sitcoms, animated movies and romcom films. His favorite pastime is to watch those movies in his free time.

Arden likes shoplifting beauty items, like nail polish, makeup and hair creams, which they store at home, and take great pride in how it helps them feel they've improved their appearance. Arden also loves sleeping whenever they can, and often can be found scrolling aimlessly through his phone.

5. What is their relationship like with each other?

Growing up, their bond was incredibly strong. They were all each other ever really had, and even if Arden wasn't the most well-equipped or overly responsible guardian, they cared more about Fabian than they ever cared about themself. Fabian always idolized Arden and looked up to them, seeing them as a hero.

However, after the incident with Lenny, Arden spiraled badly, resorting to drinking and becoming addicted to Elixir as a way to drown out the trauma of what had happened. Arden started spending more and more time at the clubs and less time at home. Soon after, they (Arden) turned to hunting down mobsters and killing them in both an act of revenge to let out their pent-up rage but also a desperate vigilantism to keep Fabian from ever becoming a target of those people. At first, Fabian kept trying to be there for Arden, and Arden didn't mean to push him away, however, by the time Fabian was 17, Arden's assassination missions started becoming bolder and more dangerous, putting their own life on the line again and again. Fabian couldn't stand the constant worry, and when he tried to convince Arden to let go of that revenge quest, they both argued badly, which resulted on them becoming estranged for a year.

6. Were they raised together?

Yes, they were. Fabian ended up under the guardianship of his uncle and aunt (Arden's parents) when he was 3, after his own biological parents died in a freak accident. However, Arden's parents were very abusive/toxic, and Arden ended up running away from home at 11, taking 5-year-old Fabian to safety too. Arden raised Fabian under their wing like an older brother/sibling would.

7. What did they enjoy doing together?

Fabian and Arden used to love watching old comedy movies and shows together and even staying up late to watch cartoons. Whenever Arden would come home late from the clubs where they (Arden) worked for the mob, they would pick up Fabian and take him to either get some ice cream or order cheap take out. Arden also was the person who taught Fabian how to shoot, and how to pick locks.

8. What is their favourite thing about eachother?

Fabian's favorite thing about Arden is how they always know how to deal with any situation that comes their way, no matter how jarring. He also admires how Arden had always been so resilient and confident - how they never let anyone talk shit to them and how they always snap back at insults with a smirk, no matter what storm they're dealing with behind the scenes. He also is deeply thankful for everything that Arden has given up and gone through in the past just to give him (Fabian) the childhood they (Arden) never had.

Despite Arden having a more jaded, 'shoot first ask questions later' kind of worldview, they admire how Fabian - despite everything that has happened to them both - is able to still dream about a brighter future and trust people, an ability Arden was never quite able to recover after everything that has happened. Arden also appreciates how Fabian always seems to find ways genuinely cheer them up - as well as anyone around them - no matter how bleak a situation is.

9. What do they hate about the other?

Fabian hates how self-destructive Arden can get, because while he understands that Arden didn't deal well with the crap that happened to them, he hates how they have such a low self-esteem where destroying themself for the sake of feeling numb or even getting even seems like a reasonable option. He also can't stand how sometimes Arden gets so reckless and blinded by rage, that their revenge seems to matter more than anything ever would to them.

Arden sometimes thinks that Fabian is overly naive and that he sees the world through rose-tinted glasses, and that he doesn't understands - what Arden understands - that sometimes bad things need to be done for good reasons or to keep them both safe. They also hate how Fabian wants them to 'think things through' when it comes to making the people who hurt them pay, something that Arden sees as stifling.

10. How do other people see them?

Everyone knows not to mess with either of them - estranged or not, they are the definition of 'never one without the other'. Even the most hardened criminals know that if you mess with Arden, you'll have to handle Fabian's revenge (even if he doesn't kill, he can be QUITE the thorn in the side to have) and if anyone hurts Fabian....well that person won't wake up in one piece, and will probably have a very, very painful demise by Arden's hands.

My taglist:

@sleepy-night-child,

@tabswrites

@kaylinalexanderbooks,

@smol-feralgremlin,

@oh-no-another-idea,

@littleladymab,

@little-peril-stories

@thelovelymachinery

@winterandwords,

@eccaiia,

@sarahlizziewrites,

@illarian-rambling

@agirlandherquill,

@anoelleart,

@ray-writes-n-shit

@writernopal,

@anyablackwood,

@forthesanityofstorytellers,

@finickyfelix

@i-can-even-burn-salad,

@cakeinthevoid,

@thepeculiarbird,

@clairelsonao3,

@memento-morri-writes,

@starlit-hopes-and-dreams

@wyked-ao3 and OPEN TAG

[liamxxslater]

The human screamed in pain and Liam watched as his hands went to his nose; blood seeping from his nostrils. His eyebrows rose slightly, his head tilting to the side as the cogs in his own mind turned. He'd have done the same thing if someone had touched him.

Actually, he'd have done worse.

But Liam was surprisingly sober and knew that this wouldn't end well if he let Anika continue. He took several steps towards the man, grabbed him by his shirt and yanked him forward. "The next time you touch someone without their consent, you will be dead. I'll be watching your every fucking move." He growled at him, flashing his teeth before shoving him backwards.

Liam wasn't, in fact, going to stalk the man. But he hoped that he scared him enough to at least thing twice, next time. He then turned towards Anika. His gaze softened when he looked at her. He could tell that there was something there. Something that wasn't just shock and anger from a single touch. He knew that feeling. The fear. The rage. "He's not going to hurt you." He said, his voice calm. "Neither am I. But... I think we should leave the area." People were already looking at the commotion they'd been involved in.

It was an instinct — muscle memory, like when you've trained for years and your body would just know what to do with little mental guidance. A memory flashed before her eyes — different face, yet the same kind of tightness around her. A familiar kind of rage rushed through her and her fist had crashed into a nose — now bleeding and covered with large hands.

This wasn't a hunt — he wasn't a supernatural being, and Anika wasn't supposed to act out on a drunk human, marely trying to get her attention. He stumbled back on impact, yelling in pain and frustration. She was about to break more than his nose, if Liam hadn't showed up.

Her flying fist almost smacked into his head, when he interfered. Clearly there to keep her from getting human blood on her hands. Any other reason would be ridiculous. "There'll be none when he's dead."

[waywardsou2]

Drunk!Logan x Drunk!MaleReader: Part 7

Summary: Logan and you are making slow progress in this new found connection. It's good and all you want is to be near him.

Word Count: 800+

Tags: Fluff, comfort, emotional hurt/comfort, Logan is a softie, reader is even softer, talks of suicide but no suicide actually occurs

After your first date you and Logan kept things simple. And on the down low. Neither of you were exactly ready to take what was going on between you any further.

Don't get it twisted thought, both of you definitely had very strong feelings for each other, but it was too soon to make anything official. And the two of the shared that notion.

So, you kept things quiet, and you kept them private. Trying to stay unassuming. Although you couldn't deny that even your platonic relationship had changed and become noticeable to others.

You would still see him in class, but rather than dropping his coffee and leaving like you used to, you stayed for a while. Sitting on one of the cabinets by his desk or even on his desk in front of him during his breaks. Leaving before the children filed in but staying long enough for the two of you to chat. Sometimes you left, giving him a chaste kiss as you went.

Other times he would find you out in the gardens like he had the first night, joining you as you studied the orchids. Committing the view to memory even in the dim light. Moments like those were important to you after spending too many years locked up in a white and grey cell.

Logan would join you, his elbows touching yours as you rested on the fence dividing the properties. But after a while, he began slipping an arm over your shoulder, or even your waist and holding you beside him. It was gentle, his intentions clearly comforting.

And you enjoyed his attempt at getting close to you, it was nice. You only wished you had the guts to make a real move yourself.

And one night you did. You had attempted to actually sleep for once, but as usual sleep never came. But instead of sneaking out into the gardens to walk around in the crisp night air, you made your way to Logan's room.

At first you faltered, thinking this was a bad idea. You wanted to turn away, but you also wanted to knock and just be with him.

Before you could make either decision the door swung open, Logan standing in a white tank top that hung off his frame and blue boxer shorts.

You felt blush creep up your cheeks, had you been that noisy walking down the hall?

He also looked slightly embarrassed himself, there was a trace of eagerness in the way he was looking at you as you stood in his doorway.

"Sorry, did I wake you?" You ask

"Nah-" he replied "-I wasn't asleep...but I smelt ya outside. Was worried something was wrong"

You swallowed at the idea that Logan was so attuned to your scent, but you tried to not let that get to your head.

"Everything alright?" he asked

"Yeah...just, needed some company"

Logan stepped out of the doorway and gestured for you to come inside.

You walked in but now that you were here you felt awkward, you hadn't ever been in another person's dorm room and certainly not Logan's. You stood there, unsure of what to do next

Logan stood there as well, but he was the bigger man out of the two of you and as usual was the one to make the first move. He stepped closer to you and cupped your face in his hand, sighing.

"You sure everything is alright?" he asks again

This time you don't respond. He gets the idea.

He takes his other hand and holds yours with it, and slowly begins to walk backwards and pulls you with him until he sits down on the bed, and you fall down beside him. Your hands still connected.

"I just...-" you try to say something, anything but words fail you. Like usual

You hated to sleep, even when you tried it was hard and when you did all you could hear were the memories of nightmares, the ones you had actually lived. That moment in your school, your time in the MRDA holding facility. The echoing screams of you and your fellow prisoners as the MRDA conducted experiments testing the limits of your mutations. You wanted it all to go away. You wanted to blow your own head off in hopes that the nightmares would stop. But you wouldn't die, and you didn't think that death would grant you such a mercy.

"-I just need you to hold me" you say instead. Like a coward, because you can't face up to the fact that Logan might care about you and genuinely want to know about what haunted you. So, you bury those feelings for a little while longer, shoving them away to be replaced with the warmth of Logan.

He shuffles over to lie down in the bed and pulls you with him. You sink down into the sheets, resting your head on his chest as he tucks his arm under you and pulls you close to him. Holding you tight.

The fuzz on his arms tickles the back of your neck as he rests it just above the neckline of your shirt.

All of him is so comforting and nice. And... exactly what you've been missing. The cold darkness of your past seemed to ebb away with the warmth that emanated from Logan, and not just the physical warmth but his presence was so soothing. The care he showed you, the compassion, the empathy despite your own coldness in the beginning.

You snuggled into Logan further trying to soak up his warmth. To absorb as much of it as you can, for the fear that as soon as he left you would never be able to feel this warmth again. To feel his warmth.

Your eyes began to grow heavy as you listen to his deep breathing. The sound lulled you into a tranquil calm that you hadn't felt in a long time.

As you drifted off you felt Logan move a hand to brush some stray hairs away from your cheek. He lent down and kissed you softly on the top of the head.

He whispered something you only just caught before the darkness overtook you, and you were sure he only said it because he thought you were asleep. But it made your inside warm up in a way that made you feel like you were glowing.

"Goodnight, my little fighter"

Sorry this chapter is a bit shorter than the others but its a filler chapter. The next chapter will be a lot more fun tho

Also keep in mind this is a fic on my Ao3, so if you wouldn't mind checking me out and giving me some support there as well that would be greatly appreciated

[angelxd-3303]

I don't know if you like Angst but if you do I was thinking of Mario hurting his leg and just laying in bed upset, that he can't do much then he starts getting anxiety attacks out of nowhere as shadow figures surround him. A lot of people tried to hurt him and Luigi. Saying terrible things to him but it all goes away after Peach, Luigi, or Dk comfort him after finding him covered in flames from the anxiety.

Can someone tell me why DK is so satisfying to draw??

Tw: blood and injury, as well as anxiety

[skeleton-mischief]

Dream Sans

How could he have known? How could a child understand the sins of selfishness? Well, he's now older, and Dream is tired of it all

Headcanons below, please note some things aren't canon to the actual story because I straight up just changed it for my own idea of the AU.

Some CW is light self harm and mentions of past abuse and distressing panic attacks.

- Official height 5'7

- He/They

- Positive nihilist

- The embodiment and King of Positivity. A God if you will

- They're strict when it comes to the safety of others

- Naturally warm to the touch, he doesn't get cold easily if at all

- He dreams of other versions of himself, but can never find them. He wonders if they're even real

- Has a staff that turns into a bow & arrow or even a harp

- The harp is something he plays as a hobby, but the music that comes out can put normal souls to sleep and dream happy thoughts

- Cries loudly, sniffles and whimpers. He can't stop crying once it starts and he tries to hide his face

- open-minded, carefully optimistic, intelligent, serious, kind, well mannered, loyal, cleaner, creative, assertive, pacifist, honest, patient, charismatic, trustworthy, cheerful, and reflective

- They're self reflective, he reflects on things about the world and about others frequently

- He holds an air of maturity different than others, due to his time in the multiverse

- He does not get close to others, not often anyways

- He used to follow fate, but grew to revolt against it and even "make his own reality"

- Has a yellow powder that can put others to sleep if they're exhausted already or deprived of it. But, if they're well rested, it just soothes said soul

- He can read people very easily, often picking up on body language and details that not even the monster or human is aware of

- He loves any nicknames given to him and he treasures them since that initiates a deeper level of intimacy and gentleness that he lacks in relationships. However, no one is allowed to call him Sunny since that's what Nightmare used to call him. In turn, he used to call Nightmare Nighty

- He feels every emotion others have but can only influence happiness by giving it to others or taking it away

- He has synesthesia, able to see emotions and even smell them

- He loves the color yellow and so he aims for yellow outfits, but his favorite color is actually blue and purple since it reminds him of Nightmare

- The back of his cloak looks like a cloak that was ripped into a scarf, but it can magically form into wings

- His favorite flowers are sunflowers, poppy flowers, marigolds and lilies of the valley. These flowers actually are very symbolic to his past. I suggest looking at flower language :-)

- He is always reminded of his brother when the color purple or blue appears, so he sometimes collects jewelry with gems of those colors

- He encourages rest for others but he himself struggles to sleep and even resents it to some extent due to his bad dreams. He always has nightmares, never dreams. It's always the same scene, but it changes from time to time. It always ends with seeing his brother change due to the corruption

- He is capable of going into other people's dreams and altering them to something more positive. However, he cannot do this for himself and he is almost always forgotten inside the dreams he visits

- He doesn't lie unless necessary, since he hates lying in general

- His hobbies are playing the harp, writing poetry, and making flower crowns

- His favorite snack is bananas or apple pie

- He can't stand being near statues and gets uncomfortable since he has to constantly remind himself that they're not actually sentient in any way. He used to be one after all

- He doesn't understand slang very well since his form of speaking is very formal

- They have a love for architecture, often fangirling over large and elegant architectural buildings

- He has a pet owl, but he has to summon it first. It happens to be that of a golden color, as it appears to be that of a magic species. The creator says he has a fear of owls but y'know what I say screw that!(/hj)

- He is a bit of a germaphobe, but not to an extreme extent

- Very touch oriented, he learns best through touch and sensations. You won't see him without his gloves, however, unless he's healing

- He doesn't tolerate hatred towards others, as it reminds him of how he failed his brother while he was bullied and terrorized by the village of his past

- He is wonderful with children and loves to be around them when possible, he tends to gravitate towards lonely children in order to comfort them though, since it reminds him of himself and his brother

- He is the best at giving advice, as he has to learn the hard way of living by being alone for so long

- His relationship with Ink is complex as both were childish when they first met, but that doesn't mean that they grew apart. They don't hate each other or even dislike each other, but when they talk it's usually heavy conversations and rarely a friendly visit

- Surprisingly, he sometimes drinks, it's when he's beyond stressed and he has to drink a lot or use magical beverages to get intoxicated due to his high ass metabolism

- He's a workaholic, often pushing himself to his limits since it's all he knows

- He hates small talk since why bother when there's more to talk about? He can manage it but he sometimes can't tolerate it

- He loves making gifts for others and has an excellent memory, meaning that he knows what to give others based on their interests or wants

- He is practically a Disney Princess when it comes to animals, they just gravitate towards him and hes excellent with them

- Can be up stupid early and trains frequently

- Is the best at acrobatics and flexibility

- Deeply emphatic, but it was originally due to his magic

- Multilingual, he can speak every language due to his time in this multiverse. (Also, I think it's a cool power that benefits them.)

- He's secretly insecure about his aura, worried that people only like him because of it

- He is nostalgic for apples as it reminds him of his mother, but he doesn't really comment on it since it's not quite a trigger, but it's a sensitive topic since he can freeze up if he thinks too long about his past

- He has claustrophobia and a fear of being helpless, the idea that he can't move or do anything is triggering from when he was going through the incident and was a statue

- Sexless, they mainly just like masc or gender neutral pronouns

- Hates smoking, the smell brings them back to that incident

- He barely learned how to read and write as a child, so now that he's the God/Guardian of Positivity, he still struggles. He didn't get the chance to grow those skills, so his handwriting is shaky

- Fire in general is a trigger, he never saw so much in his life when Nightmare was Corrupted. He gets nervous near flames, and the scent makes him lightheaded or fall into a panic attack

- He is a healer, something he learned after he awoke from the stone. However, he has to wear gloves or else it can overflow into things such as plant life. He couldn't heal the mother tree though, he already tried

- His mentality didn't change when a statue, but his body did. He had to stay in his destroyed world and his mind was altered. He has since then grown, but his mental state is in constant distress because he feels like a child in some ways. He didn't know what he was doing when thrown into the world, but since then he's becoming more and more jaded

- On the aroace spectrum, he doesn't have any sexual attraction but it's possible for a romantic sensation to form

- His magic smells like something akin to green scents such as dew grass or fresh flowers, while his magic tastes like sweet citrus or the flavor of sweet lemons

- He noticed that Ink only cares about the AU rather than the souls inside, more attentive to the issues there rather than the overall improvement of AU conditions

- He often has a freeze response due to being in the statue for so long, frozen and unable to stop himself as he feels helpless to react to stress at times. It would only worsen with his own self deprecating nature. It took awhile to improve, however, and now he's better

- He can heal himself pretty well along with others as long as the injury is on a scale of 1-3. 4-5 on the injury level is more challenging. It takes more time and magic, this means that he can actually pass out due to excessive healing and exhaustion

- He follows more of a duty as a guardian rather for himself and finds it his job to fix these AU's. For awhile he just tried to make everyone happy, even forcefully, but as time grew he was able to see how this isn't good. He's better at understanding the flaws of constant positivity

- He's not used to receiving physical affection since he usually is the giver. If he was hugged he'd actually just feel like the sound of Lego bricks falling apart

- (CW: some self harm, skip if you need to) He has hallucinations sometimes, especially after waking up, of his bones turning back to stone sometimes. He ends up trying to chip away at his bone in order to remove that stone, panicking and ending up becoming distressed until it actually ends up chipping his bones. As a result, he covers up a lot and it's one of the reasons why he wears so many layers. He heals himself, but he avoids trying to see his bones so that the hallucination doesn't affect him when waking up.

- Before the Corruption, he lived with a world lacking technology. So, he only had drawings (if they weren't destroyed) or other natural crafts to remember Nightmare's face. He has kept one drawing that Nighty drew of the two happy safe in his inventory, often pulling it out and reflecting on those memories. He's desperate to return to when he and Nighty were happy, but he knows that's impossible and he feels selfish for it

- (CW: Past abuse) He wasn't actually aware of the extent of abuse his brother went through and in fact he was abused as well. He was constantly pleasing others, pressured, and manipulated by the village because he was seen as something "other." He was scared for his brother, often seeing him in distress, and as a result he would sometimes convince others to leave him alone in return to doing favors for them. He always offered physical comfort, and in fact he doesn't even resent his brother for what he did. Nighty was just hurt, and he understands that. Still, he feels like he failed him and feels awful for it. He doesn't know that Nighty doesn't actually truly blame him

- He knows ASL and actually had to relearn how to speak properly, he has a bit of an accent and a rasp in his voice as a result

- Finds Ink weird, especially since he doesn't know that they're soulless

- Never learned how to cook, but hes great for natural gatherings and identifying poisonous plants, berries, etc

- the arrows of positivity can kill due to the excessive amounts, its something he only uses with Nightmare as a result

- Excessive negativity can hurt him because of his soul literally turning into a positive apple

- Because his soul is something else in some sense, he actually can't get his soul grabbed by anyone, including Error. Error is one of the only select few that knows this, since he can always tell if someone doesn't quite have a "soul"

- One of the only things that can hurt him is Nightmare's negativity, and he in turn is one of the only things that can hurt Nightmare

- He can make someone "too" happy if he wished, causing them to smile so hard they're sore and laugh to the point of becoming lightheaded and out of breath. He doesn't do it often, but he's capable of it and it's one reason he doesn't feel even close to being intimidated by others. He's actually rather dangerous when he chooses to be, he just decides to enact mercy

- After eons of having his own happiness taken away by him and dealing with negativity more intensely than he did as a child, he slowly didn't realize that he was becoming something else for awhile and the only reason he hasn't fallen down is because he ate the last golden apple and thus is physically unable to

- He thought Nightmare died when he lost himself to the corrupt apples, and when he came to, he was stuck in his world mourning the death of everyone. The villagers, the only family he had. He tried to talk to the mother tree even when she was chopped, only to cry when no response was given.

- He was only able to leave his world when Ink found him, but there actually would be a single incident before that where he was found by Nightmare who thought he was the stone that was on the ground and crumbled. It didn't end well

- He hates silence. He hates it because when he crumbled and broke free from being a statue, he has never heard such silence ever in his life

Closing Notes: heourgh. Don't look at me, these two have made me genuinely cry before. Don't acknowledge me, don't even know I exist. I love them, always have

[nishaxeleazar]

"No. No. That's not what happened." Nisha insisted, but her mind was suddenly swirling with too many emotions. Emotions that she'd closed off for centuries. His lips underneath her ear caused her to want to press into him further -- to get as close to him as he'd allow it. But it was clear from his tone of voice that he was no longer playing a game.

Suddenly, she felt like she was back with her Maker. Him describing exactly what he'd done to Markus. How he'd left him. How he'd killed him because she was stupid enough to turn him without his permission.

Nisha pushed away from Markus, taking several steps back as she shook her head back and forth, trying to rid herself of the memories. She lifted her hands to the sides of her head. "No, no, no." Nisha whispered. "I did lose you. I did. I didn't leave you on purpose. How could you think that of me? That I'd do that to you?" And while she wanted answers to these questions, she wasn't sure if she could focus enough while being pulled inside her own mind.

"I didn't tell him to kill you!" Nisha shouted. "He did that on his own. He forced me away from you, kept me isolated, and tortured me with the details of your murder for years." Her voice was desperate now. Desperate for Markus to understand that none of this was her doing. She'd never want him dead. Never. He had been hers but she had also been his. "I thought you were dead. He said you were. He said..." No. She needed to get out of this mental cycle. She wasn't weak anymore, nor would she let someone else make her feel that way again.

And then, something wet slid along her cheeks and she moved her hands to her face. She was... crying? Shut it off. Shut it off. The elder vampire couldn't even remember the last time she'd cried. For years after Markus' supposed death, she'd cried every day. Until she had no more tears to shed. And now...

"Fuck you for not asking questions. Fuck you for just... assuming! And fuck you for messing with my fucking head!" Nisha had turned on him, her glazed over eyes were hardened. "Non, ma chérie, nous ne dansons pas." She had wanted it to come out as a hiss but instead, her voice had cracked. Nisha knew that if he got closer -- if he touched her, she'd break down even more.

Fuck. Pull yourself together. With tears still trickling down her cheeks, she said: "Go have fun with whoever you want."

Many take Markus for a prancing fool too caught up in his own ass to see the world around him ⸻ a mistake that is beneficial to him in the long room. He knows when he pushes too far, knows Nisha is up for playing tonight anymore. He decides not to test the waters any further ⸻ he doesn't particularly wishes to be on her bad side tonight. It is a night for peace, was it not? He ensured so, after all.

He allows her the anger it comes with being played, remains quiet while she warns him ⸻ She has changed in the years they've spent apart. He doesn't like being told what to do, who to be, who he can play with. He is not a quiet boy hanging the stars in the sky for her. He chuckles, darkly. "Or what, mon cher?" His words are dry, mocking ⸻ bitter. "You will leave me again?" Her words irk him, crawling inside his skin like fire worms consuming him. He presses closer, kissing the side of her head, under her ear.

"You did not lose me, Nisha. You left me. You had your darling little maker almost kill me. Am I not allowed my toys? My fun? ⸻ You are back in my life, but don't think I've forgotten what you have done." His voice are freezing, like his heart became in her absence. He clicks his tongue, smiling.

"Let's not fight tonight, mon cher. We are together now, finally. Nsilo is merely a business associate, nothing else. You are the only wife I would have." He doesn't tell her of the countless times he has been married. She doesn't need to know. ''Shall we dance?"

[whoblewboobear]

The way this Cody Ko situation is hitting me.. I’m gonna have so much to talk about in therapy tonight like. I’m fucking haunted by that “we good?” Text he sent to Tana cause like- the longer you live with SA trauma the more patterns your start to notice that are routine for abusers. I remember getting my own little “we good” text from the asshole that SA’d and then SH’d me for months after. Like it is textbook. They do the same shit time and time again. It’s just- it’s hard and I should tune out from it but my mind comes back to Noel too. And I hope this isn’t hitting him as hard as other victims of SA that were/are TMG fans. Like this blows but it blows differently when you’ve gone through it. I hope Tana is okay.

[smallturtlebomb]

LUZ’S (new) LORE DROP IN ONE GOOGLE DOC, AS PROMISED !!!

[pinkinsect]

do you think that ness could get a Little bit self conscious when reading fantasy novels in front of people. do you think that some people who know ness incorrectly clock him as Bearer Of Religious Trauma from that