#pharmacy wall mirror

[dukegenocide]

Bathroom - Powder Room

[glassrowboat]

Daydream in a Nightmare

Authors note: I read a soulmate au where with dream sharing. Everytime you fall asleep you and your SM would meet in a world that would reflect your consciousness and who you were. So down below are the boys and what I think the places their dreams would depict.

Mondstadt

Diluc: The cathedral. His mom, back when she was alive, used to play during service and afterwards Diluc ran over greeting her with the biggest smile, asking her to play him one more song. She never failed to. Maybe that's why there's always a gentle melody playing whenever you see him as he rests his fingers over the same white tiles, simply trying to remember how to play.

Kaeya: The Dawn Winery. Or at least parts of it. Behind closed doors there's the scent of grass, of dirt, and the faintest smell of ash. He says it's simply the vineyard that in the real world would be right outside, but he knows well as he pulls your hand from the doorknob that it's ruins of a fallen nation haunting him right on the other side.

Albedo: Glass walls. A maze of mirrors and reflections. If you ever have stopped to bother to count between Albedo’s musings as he shares with you the secrets of the world, you'd notice that for some reason he always has more reflections in the walls around you than of your own figure. Like there's more of him than there is of you.

Venti: Old Mondstadt. Back before the revolution, back when there were people in the streets wishing their God weren't so unjust, but in his dreams that wall of spiraling wind is never there. A warped perception of a life he wished to have lived as he sits in your lap not as Venti the bard, but a wind sprite trying to bury into your clothes for warmth. Just don't call him pipsqueek or he'll try and bite your fingers. Playfully. You think.

Liyue

Zhongli: A place that no longer exists, one torn away by this world during the archon war. It's unlike him not to comment on a place, a trinket, an item, as you pick something up and fiddle with it, but this place he never goes into full detail on. However, he will tell you all about the artisanship of the table you two are sharing tea over.

Baizhu: His home back in Chenyu Vale, back before the illness hit his village, back before his parents passed away. Just a modest home that shows signs of being truly well lived in and loved. Mindlessly while you two talk he'll be cleaning the place, just the way he always does at the pharmacy. Though it does help give him something to fill the silence. It turns out he's a lot more used to Changsheng chiming in with comments than he thought. He just hopes you two get along when the time to meet in person finally comes about.

Ga ming: A festival. There's water kicking up at everyone's feet, up to everyones ankles as people with their face covered in all manner of masks walk you both by. Ga ming would pull you along from booth to booth, trying his best to win prizes despite the fact you both know they'll be gone by the time you wake.

Xiao: A Chinese pavilion in the sky. You walk among the clouds as you follow the path of the street, looking over the accents that seem somehow both rich in color and dull, muddied all at the same time. Something you've noticed from his dreams compared to yours, his always have a lingering black fog creeping in at the corner of your eyes. It makes you feel like someone else is in this world with you, like there's eyes waiting to do more than just watch.

Inazuma

Kazooha: A meadow. The wind passes you both by, stirring up pages of books you two sit reading in silence. You can't help but wonder if these are all books he's read before, especially the ones that wax poetry or something else. His thoughts, perhaps? Maybe Kazuha's very own writings? But that matters little as his head is resting on your shoulder as you try to catch words between the fluttering sheets of paper.

Itto: A kabuki play. It always ends up in you two hiding away in the back room where the performers would get ready before getting back out on stage for the next act. You would see the brightest of colors, richest of fabrics, and practiced movements so fine tuned that you can't understand why Itto is so focused on taking the makeup on the vanity in the back simply so he can paint your face with red marks just like his. To each their own you suppose, and who are you to complain when it means drawing hearts on his arm when Itto isn't paying attention?

Gorou: A tea house. It's a small place, simple, but certainly not lacking charm as Gorou pours you a cup. At first the fact you could actually taste the rich herbs on your tongue in this dreamscape threw you off, but now it's just another part of this odd reality. But saying that, the first time you spat out the drink he offered as soon as the bitter taste hit you. Apparently he never expected you to not already be used to green tea. The poor fella was apologizing for the rest of the night, ears laid flat on his head and tail tucked between his legs. It's okay though, you made it even by trying to give him dog treats. It was you having to beg for forgiveness then.

Thoma: It was different this time. No glowing blue flowers and a forest that you two would stroll through mindlessly while chatting for hours. No, this time Thoma was sitting on a wooden platform below a giant stone statue. Intriguing, yes, but mattered little compared to the rope burns around his wrist. He tried to tell you not to worry about it. That it was an accident. But that mattered little as your lips pressed to the red, irritated skin and he gave you a strained smile. You knew better than to ask about it more from there.

Ayato: It's ever changing. It's like he is constantly thinking of something whenever He falls asleep and it reflects in his dreams. Once it was a Japanese styled room the next it was some room in Fontaine's architecture. But it's always a bedroom. A place of relaxation as Ayato buries his head in your lap like it was a pillow. He'll whine about being overworked until you're tempted to pull on his hair just to make the man shut up for once, but last time you did that it led to the bed being used for a lot more than just rest. For now just pat his head and let him vent, the man needs it.

Sumeru

Kaveh: A sketch brought to life from his mothers blueprints. One he saw his mother sketching back when Kaveh was a boy and she would let him sit on her lap, let him comment on the drawings. She would always find some way to incorporate his addictions into the sketch. Nowadays he knows the building that was actually constructed in the end to be simpler, duller than the one his mother wanted, but in his dreams with you it stands tall and proud.

Al Haitham: An attic. It's dusty and it clearly had a hole in the roof that was covered over by some wooden planks and nails. A patch work job that needs to be fixed but if you ever take the time to bother with it while Al Haitham sits in an old rocking chair covered by a quilt reading the night away it will only be there the next dream cycle. It pisses you off. He pisses you off. All nonchalance and an apathetic look even as you plop yourself in his lap and take that book away. And what pisses you off even more? How he dares to call you needy as he holds you close. It's best to ignore the fact he started reading over your shoulder.

Tighnari: Pardis Dhyai. He'll sit on the walkway watching you kick the water of the ponds around, paying no mind to when you splash at him. Not anymore at least. He's learned quickly if he makes a snarky comment you'll give one back and it'll go on and on until somehow it ends in him getting dragged into the pond with you. Both dripping algae filled water as he wondered what gods made this numbskull his mate.

Cyno: Lambad's Tavern. Everytime he would come back from treks in the desert he would go there, get a drink, and play a round of cards with whoever was willing. It was a pattern. Work, work, rest, and more work. But now he didn't have to constantly be on work mode as he sat with you in the old booth shuffling cards as he tried to explain to you how TCG works. So far everytime you lose you've thrown those elemental dice and him, and with a smile he lets them hit him in the head despite being fully able to dodge them. His soulmate is such a sore loser.

Wanderer: Shakkei Pavilion. He hates it. Hates that this is the place his unconscious has chosen to sink onto so stubbornly. His wooden fingers would slide over the paintings depicting Scaramouche’s past that has now been severed from him in everyone's eyes but Nahida and the Traveler. If you knew, would you still hold his hand? Would you still trace the details of his joints and comment that you find his pretty face such a stark contrast to his sharp words? He's afraid to find out, the idea that you might be his fourth betrayal always lingering in the back of his mind.

Fontaine

Neuvillette: Under the water where the currents would carry stray bits of seaweed and fish swimming past. The first time you shared a dream with him here he had to calm you down as instinctively you held your breath, taking your hands in his and assuring you if he can talk like this, you can suck in air just as well. It took some time getting used to, but now he watches as you grab starfish off the ocean floor and bring them over to him like a prize to be presented. This is what humans must be like Neuvillette tells himself as you braid them into his hair.

Worcestershire sauce: A home. A nice one at that. Big, had decent furnishings, pictures of kids hung up on the wall. If you listened closely enough you could even hear children playing outside from the cracked open windows that showed the brightest sky outside. Wriothesly would walk behind you as you would watch the grass blowing in the wind, not saying a word as he rested his chin on top of your head. He never thought he'd be back here again. The very place made him feel sick to his stomach, but with you? It was bearable. Even as you tried to grab his handcuffs from him.

Snezhnaya

Childe: His childhood home. Back before the renovations he bought for the place with his money as a harbinger, back before the redecorating of rooms to fit more children, and back to what the house was like when he was just a boy yet to fall into the abyss. Back when everything was simpler. He would pick up toys that have gone missing, never to be seen again and stare in wonder how it all is exactly how he remembers it. It makes it so much easier to be Ajax with you, rather than Tartaglia.

Dottore: The hospital he was working in when trying to help Eleazar patients. For the life of him does he hate it, being back in the desert always having to tip his shoes out of sand that never seems to fully clear off. It doesn't help you try and pour sand down his shirt, but in a way he supposes it's better you two stay out here under that blistering sun than you going inside to be met with the smell of death. No, you don't need to know about that side of him just yet.

Pantalone: His office. It always makes it hard to tell at first if he's awake, not when the same scene greets him either way. You always joke about him being married to his work and you're the mistress in this relationship. At this point he counts on the comment as soon as his eyes flutter open and he's greeted with the sight of you sitting on the desk he's been using as a pillow. Still, he can never help the genuine smile at seeing you once again.

Captain: A flower field. The snowdrops peek out from under the fluffy blanket of white powder, crunching under every step he takes. Even in his dreams the cold of Snezhnaya is ever present, ever biting. It only makes sense you are shivering behind him even as he lets you steal his cloak that is more of a blanket on you than anything. This field, he knows it well, knows that what waters these flowers is more blood than anything else, but that matters little as he wraps his arms around you. Maybe he can find a way to dream you a proper jacket.

Pierro: A grand hall. It reminds you of the way ballrooms are described in romance stories as the couple depicted would dance the night away. Columns so high you have to tilt your head back just to see where they meet the ceiling covered in paintings you've never seen before. That is until Pierro steps into your view. He always offered his hand to you before you could ask, and as your fingers interlocked he would tell you about them. Always ready to answer your questions. It meant someone was curious about a part of his long lost nation. So, of course, he was always happy to share.

Scaramouche: A never ending fire. It's a small shack, engulfed by flames that never seem to dwindle or burn out the wood it feeds on. Like this place was stuck in time in his mind. He doesn't talk to you, not any more than a sharp shut up. The only time that glare he showed you disappeared is when you pulled your hand back from the curious fire with a hiss, not expecting it to actually hurt in this fake reality. For a moment you could have sworn he took a step towards you, but he never came any closer than that as he hissed at you to be careful. Dumb mortals should at least know not to burn themselves.

[luveline]

what abouttttt

zombie!steve and reader (at any point tho i feel like this would make sense after the college got attacked) are like scavenging in a pharmacy and steve wanting to make his girl laugh puts on the stupidest prescription glasses that he found near the front desk but then? reader comes over and hes like have you always had that mole? and he refuses to take them off even tho theyre far sighted which makes the trek back to camp slightly unsafe but he cant stop staring at readers face because hes never seen it so clear

thank you for your request<3

“I really need some chocolate,” you lament, pulling at his hand as you drift together down the aisle toward the snack section. “If they don’t have any, I’m going to kill myself.” 

“You better kill me first.” Steve pulls you back. “Seriously. Have the decency.” 

“Find me some candy and I won’t have to.” 

“Find yourself some candy, loser. I need some painkillers. I’m sick of dealing with you.” 

You push at his arm. He resists the urge to yank you in for a kiss, letting your hand drop to part ways at the top of the aisle. He makes for the back of the store where the in-store pharmacy signs hangs half off of the wall, green glass shattered like coarse sugar grains underfoot. Steve cringes, clearing a path to the desk with the side of his shoe. 

“You okay?” you call from a few feet away, unseen but close enough to be heard clearly. 

“Fine! Signs of candy?” 

“No,” you say dejectedly. He nearly misses it. 

Steve’ll find you some chocolate if it’s the last thing he does, but first, he needs painkillers. His knee aches like he’s been beaten, a funny burning string of pain lining the underside of his leg every other step. Ideally he’d like some codeine, but more realistically he wants advil. He doesn’t know where to start, never does, but if you come over he’ll pretend he understands what things go where. 

He’s lucky. He bends down and finds a bottle of motrin on the floor, looking up to find a shelf teeming with it. “Yes,” he says, ecstatic. Things rarely ever go so obviously his way. “Fucking yes.” 

He shoves as many bottles of tylenol in his various pockets as he can. Then he looks around for anything interesting. He’s sure there’s a ton of things you could benefit from. He’s been wondering about epi-pens and emergency precautions, because god forbid something happen to you he couldn’t correct. Love makes him worry. You’re worrisome, you’re so sad lately, he knows you’re a few days from another burnout. He can’t handle it —he’ll take care of you, but seeing you down for the count hurts every single time. 

He leans heavily on the counter and lets himself think. Absent-minded, he reaches out to spin the intact rungs of a glasses stand, prescription lenses shining against the glare of the sun seeping in from the store’s caved metal roof. “Plus two,” he says to himself, “plus three, what?” He grabs an obscene pair and shoves it up his nose, blinking in surprise at the way his vision blurs. 

He turns the display to the mirrored back and grins. 

“Hey, loser? You okay?” he calls. 

You don’t answer. 

“Babe?” he says sharply. 

“Oh, you’re talking to me?” 

“That’s not funny.” 

You appear at the end of the aisle with an arm full of chips, less blurry the closer you get. “Sorry. Don’t call me loser then. Oh, gosh, what are you wearing?” 

“Gosh,” he mimics with a laugh. “I’ve no idea.” 

His poor attempt at a southern accent makes you laugh too. “Nice glasses, Harrington. I didn’t know you needed them.” Steve crossed his arms in front of him. You drop the chips beside his sleeve and station yourself as he had, a mirror, your smile charmed as you push the glasses up his nose. “You look ridiculous. Here,” —you take a nicer pair from the rack and open the legs— “swap them.” 

He would, but he’s looking at you, and he’s thinking, What?

You move your head away from him instinctively, but ultimately let him hold your face, his thumb on the hill of your chin, fingers curled over your cheek. He can see the little silver scars of a cruel hand around your mouth, and the cut on your cheek from a surprising wooden beam, but what he’s never noticed is the pigmentation under your mouth. The little wrinkles by your eyes. Hell, he’s never realised your eyelashes looked quite like that until now. 

“Hey–” he starts, though you’re already ducking your chin. “Wait–”

“Stop, you’re staring.” 

“Yeah, I’m staring. You always had that freckle?” 

“Long as I can remember.” 

“Wait,” he pleads, trying to grab your chin as you step away. 

“I need chocolate, Steve, I’m not kidding. You can do whatever you want to me if you help me find some.” 

“You will come to love that decision very soon.” 

You giggle like crazy. Steve swaps the less attractive glasses for the ones you’ve recommended and follows you down the aisle to help you look for your sugar fix. He nearly trips over a split can of condensed milk, and you might act like you don’t like him, but you catch him by the arm and allow him to hold on. 

He isn’t great at helping you look, but he finds a couple of bars of cooking chocolate in the baking essentials aisle and decides it’s good enough to head home with. You eat lines of it as you walk, your fingers pressed between Steve’s, a little dab of chocolate he wouldn’t have noticed otherwise in the corner of your lips. 

“You sure you don’t want some?” you ask between bites. 

He’s gonna watch you eat the whole thing. “No thanks. I’m saving room for Robin’s artichoke heart and refried bean combo.” 

“Would you take those off?” Your cheek twitches as you smile. Your eyes glow with affection. “You can barely walk.” 

“You don’t like them?” 

“They really, really suit you, actually. I love them,” you say, to his secret delight. 

“So what’s the problem?” 

He trips over his own feet and has to grab your arm to stop from falling. “That’s the problem,” you say, in love enough to smile even when the world has gone to shit for you a thousand times. Your eyes follow down his nose to his lips. 

Steve grins and ducks forward for a kiss. “Oh, sorry,” he says when the glasses bump your nose. 

You laugh and touch under his chin to help him out. You taste like chocolate still as he kisses against the seam of your lips, a quick but blissfully deep kiss, a handful of seconds where Steve feels like you’re one in the same before he pulls away, just enough to see both of your eyes. 

“What’re you looking at?” you ask. 

“You have chocolate on your nose,” he lies. “Want me to get it?” 

“Yes,” you say bashfully. 

He kisses the tip of your nose, then the corner of your lip. 

[daichiduskdrop]

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚⋆·˚ ༘ *𝙎𝙣𝙤𝙬 𝙖𝙣𝙜𝙚𝙡 ⋆·˚ ༘ *ੈ✩‧₊˚

CHAPTER 00 - PROLOGUE

Pairing: BTS Ot7 X fem! reader

Genre: A/B/O AU, Fluff, Angst, Strangers to lovers, (might do smut in the future)

Warnings: loneliness, anxiety, indicated sa (hardly mentioned at all)

AN.: Hello everyone! This is pretty much my first time writing a FF, and English isn't my first language, so please be patient with me :)

If you enjoy this story, please let me know and I'll continue it. Don't hesitate if you have anything to say, I'm always looking for good advice. Please take care of yourself :))

⋆·˚ ༘ *ੈ✩‧₊˚˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ੈ✩‧₊˚✧˚ · .*ੈ✩‧₊˚

It was a bitterly cold and snowy day. The frigid temperatures had been persistent for days, and there was no sign of relief in sight. December had just begun, but it already felt like an endless winter. While the snowflakes were beautiful as they fell to the ground, they brought a feeling of sadness and loneliness.

You loved the hot chocolates you would make for yourself in the small kitchen, you loved bundling up in a soft blanket on the sofa and watching anothe movie. You loved the seasonal Christmas themed ads that were blaring at this time of the year from every corner.

Yes, you loved Christmas, you stopped to remind yourself. Of course you did. Yet still, there was this deep nagging. A feeling of desire, that carried sadness.

'It's snowing like the world is about to end' you thought as you looked from the window that tightly sealed. There wasn't much to look at, even thought the afternoon was only just ending, through the strong snowstorm there was hardly anything visible.

You didn't watch the final race of the snowflakes for much longer. Standing up from your wooden floor you made your way to your apartment door - or more so tried to. Your pillows, blankets, old books and canvases were scattered all around so it proved to be bit of a challenge.

Your room was a mess, it has been like that for far too long. Old newspaper cutouts glued on the walls, posters, painting without frames hung up or just pushed in the corner of the room, where shadows hid them well. There wasn't enough space for them all. Books stacked up in tall chimneys, your phone somewhere burried in-between. You didn't bother to look for it too much.

Lacing up your boots, you took a last look in the mirror. As an omega it was always expected of you to look proper and taken cared of, even if it wasn't always the case. Your heavy jacket felt too heavy on your shoulders, but you knew that you would quite literally freeze to death otherwise. A white woolen scarf was tied around your neck, covering your face up to your nose. It felt comfortable against your cheeks and the scent was also pleasant, so even as it grew older, you still kept it and worn it every winter.

You grabbed your wallet, and pocketed your keys. The small bunny keychain dangled with the movement. It used to be white with few brown spots, but that wore of with the time too. Still, even if most of the colour was missing, you liked it.

With the lock clicking behind you, you started walking down the open hallway to the apartment building entrance. The rooms were only on one side, so it didn't take much time until the cold air swept you from the right. The layer of snow on the wooden railing has grown to over 10 centimetres, and that was only from this day, since it got swept pretty much every morning. The landlord was quite sweet, as allowing an omega a home when they were alone with no alpha or beta in sight wasn't too usual.

Hiding more into your jacket you quickened your pace, and after getting down the steps, you started the walk towards the pharmacy.

Snowflakes fell into your hair, as you made your way down the few streets and roads. Luckily, not many people were outside and so your smell wasn't noticed. It really wasn't too typical to see omegas walking on their own, basically anywhere. The society had strict standards that were followed since,- well, forever.

While some protested, it was just always for the better, anyone to see an omega that's completely alone, unmarked or at least scented was basically free to do anything they wished to.

It made you tremble just the slightest bit thinking about it, but you blamed it on the cold that surrounded you and shook it off. While you were on the outskirts of Seoul, it wasn't like you were constantly alone.

Yes, you reminded yourself once more. There were people around, like that nice looking lady down the street holding a hand of a little girl. She jumped and squeeled in the heavy snow, only to get lightly scolded by the beta for almost slipping in the forming ice. Pups were always the biggest priority, at least in every good pack.

As you walked further and further from your home, more stores appeared, lighting up the streets just enough for you to be more comfortable. The neon sings of restaurants, grocery shops, clothing boutiques and more were bright for your eyes, colourful and soon you started hearing bit more noise too. There were more cars passing by, people smoking cigarettes outside on the streets chatting together.

With the snow crunching underneath your feet you made your way to the mall closest to your apartment. You dusted of as much of the snow from yourself as possible, and walked inside. It felt a lot warmer immediately, but you didn't unzip your jacket too much. You knew your scent would carry too much and people would eventually notice, so you just continued on your way down the escalator, keeping to yourself with the crowd of people going downstairs with you.

Infront of you was another grocery store, that got you thinking about buying some food. The snowstorms often lasted a few days, and you doubted that it would be pleasant to walk here again tomorrow. You didn't have a lot home right now, as you avoided going until it was impossible. Plus the store here was a lot cheaper than the small shops closer to your apartment, that made a big profit from all the-

Your thoughts were interrupted by the loud sniffing behind you, something just lightly touching the back of your neck. Startled, you quickly turned, and nearly jumped from your skin. The man must have been in his forties, his eyes closed for a tiny second, before they opened and focused on your face. You averted your gaze, not wanting to seem like you wanted to start anything.

„What are you doing here alone like this?” his tone sounded concerned, but carried a weird undertone, that unsettled you even more. You felt chills run down your spine. You opened your mouth to answer, but your eyes could only widen more, as the last step lowered and you arrived at the floor. Stumbling, you regained your balance and nearly ran off in the way of the pharmacy.

Opening the door, a light bell sound chimed throughout the store, making few of the people in the queue turn to check the newcomer. Looking at your shoes, you shuffled to stand behind the last girl, her natural smell covered in a strong but very sweet perfume scent blockers. Growing up, in high schools, those were always popular for beta or even alphas to wear, to make themselves appear more approachable if their scent wasn't intriguing enough for their liking.

Such perfumes didn't work on omega scents, those were always naturally alluring and hard to cover. Scent blockers were then often used, but since you didn't go out a lot back in highschool, you hardly ever had to use them. You would, now being in college you were constantly around unknown people, so it would come with a nice benefit - sometimes all of the attention that came with being an omega wasn't nice at all. But those were expensive, and the even cheapest ones were bit too pricey for you. Plus the ones you ever tried always made you uncomfortable, and unsettled with how chemically they smelled.

The wet shoeprints with slight mud covered the tiled floors, as you patiently waited for your turn to receive your prescription. And so as the girl before you took the small bottle of medicine, thanked and made her way out again, you took the small paper from your wallet.

„Hi, what can I do for you?” asked the older man behind the counter. His hair was gray and his eyes seemed tired. With the winter season, there must be many people coming with bad colds.

„Hello,” you mumbled looking behind him at the shelves filled with medicaments, „I have a prescription of a medication from my doctor;” he leaned in closer to hear you better. Your voice was naturally just a bit too quiet. Placing the paper onto the sleek counter, you looked away as he nodded and opened it. Taking just a few seconds to read over its contents he bristled to the shelves, pulling out a brown bottle with a white cap.

„...Right here miss. I will just need you to sign a document, that states that your pack alpha is aware of this and agreed to your doctor decision.” smiling, his cheeks lifted as he took a paper from underneath the desk.

You blinked in a surprise, and felt your fingers start to slightly tremble. 'Since when was this a thing? You got your medicine just fine month or two ago, what --?'

„My pack alpha- I-”

He looked back at me after retrieving a pen with calm eyes.

„Yes miss, here... You just fill in your pack alpha's name, and your pack serial number, or if you can't remember the whole thing, you can just write your pack alpha's phone number, we can get in touch later and I will complete the form process with them. You don't have to worry about it at all.” Once again, the worker smiled brightly, seemingly trying to calm you down.

„I know the number is hard to remember, my daughters always forget it too.” lightly chuckling, you could smell just the lightest hint of calming pheromones in the air. Scrunching up the nose at the smell, your anxiety only risen.

If you won't get the medicine you will get in a lot of trouble, and miss even more college lessons, no, you can't miss anymore, and-

„umm- can.. can I just call them first? I'm not so sure-” your voice trembled just the slightest bit as you squeezed your fingers around the prescription. The man once again laughed and nodded his head.

„Of course you can! It's no issue. Just come back again with the prescription and we can go over this again miss.” Nodding slightly, stunned still, just turned on your heel and walked off, the ground slippery with the melted snow, making you almost slip a few times. You eyes clouded with tears and you sniffled loudly as you opened the pharmacy door. Defeated, you clutched your other hand in a tight grip, unsettled and confused. You could bet that your anxious scent was wafting off all over the place.

Your vision blurry, you started heading back towards the escalators, walking next to a shoe boutique and a barber shop, you reminded yourself of the way outside. Your plans were definitely different from this, and getting lost in a mall was also not included on the list so you tried your best way to walk where you remembered the right side entrance to be. With most of the people left by now, the 21nth hour was quickly approaching, and a many of trail scents left behind confused you even more.

More tears sprung up to your eyes, and your vision got even blurrier. Not having any scents to stick to, as the ones that were around when you walked to the pharmacy were exchanged for different ones, you were left in a sensory overload, not even noticing when a man bristly walked towards you.

„Hey.., hey, what's going on? What's wrong?” He bended to your eye level so you stood face to face. A white facemask was covering his face, so only his eye peeked through under his dark, long hair. A plain black newsboy cap matched with the long, thick coat that went bellow his bended knees. You looked away, just when your overwhelmed nose smelled that he was an alpha. A mixture of rain and a hint of levander that seemed to become more prominent every passing second. He was trying to calm you with his scent.

A small whimper broke out from your throat unwillingly. Your brain was just taking in bit too much for you to be able to process everything. Your scarf dampen with more tears falling onto it. The man hand quickly held your right arm, his other hand prying your fingers open, so you couldn't clutch your hands and accidently scratched yourself. He cooed at you and rubbed your arm while still holding your hand, squeezing just the smallest bit.

„...Hm? What is it?”

Looking up, you accidentally made eye contact, only to get yourself more stressed out. You were always taught to beware of any unknown people, especially alphas, and making an eye contact could be interpreted as a 'sure, let's get it on'.

His concerned eyes shocked you enough to stay like that for a bit longer. They were a lot cat like, and his eyebrows were furrowed, but not in a threatening way, no, it was worry.

„I was- was at the phar-macy..” you mumbled only to sob loudly, and your shoulders to start to shake. You looked at his facemask, trying to focus anywhere but at the alpha's eyes. Noticing you doing so, in a quick motion he pulled the mask bellow his chin, only to reveal a soft looking nose and full lips, left open just the slightest bit in focus.

His tongue darted out to lick them fastly, and he shuffled a bit closer, so the levander scent was even more prominent. „At the pharmacy? Did someone tell you something bad there? Do you not have enough money for your medicine?” His voice felt calming, but held a feeling of urgency in it. He stood back up, only to look behind you towards the store you came from just about two minutes ago.

„N-No.. that's not - it... My prescrb- prescrt-” stumbling over the word you whined softly, angry with yourself. This was really not what you needed to happen right now.

„Prescription kitty. What's with it? Had it already expired?” once again he lowered himself back down, but didn't let go of your hand and arm even once. Softly rubbing his thumb over your hand, he once again cooed at you.

„Need pack al-pha...” you cried out softly and looked at the floors. Frowning even deeper, he let go of your arm and pulled out his phone from his pocket. His other hand just pulled you a little closer, so his scent was even clearer.

The man fumbled with it for a few seconds, pressed it to his ear and waited, as the faint sound of ringing could be heard. A soft beep sound and another strangers voice went through, not loud enough for you to decipher.

„hey, where are you?”

„No, listen, I need you to come to the lowest floor, um- there is a,” whipping his head around he looked at the stores around us, „hairdresser shop here and uhh.. a pharmacy too, look just can you hurry please?”

„Ill tell you here, it's an omega .... Jimin-ah are you a fucking idiot?! Who said anything about heat? Aish..! Just hurry up, could you?”

For a second his scent got covered with a burning grass, a smell of agitation. Just as quickly as it came it was gone thought. Pocketing his phone once again, he looked back at you.

„My packmate is going to come here in a bit okay?” his voice once again soft.

„P-Packmate?” your eyes blew wide, only for more tears to come. What did that mean? Was they about to do something? Your worried thoughts circled your mind.

„Yea, but don't worry, okay? He's very-”

„Yah, hyung, what is it? What's going on?” you heard another man, only to be hit with another alpha scent, reminding you of soft vanilla blooms. „Gosh her scent is sweet..” he said lowly, so you hardly understood what he was saying. Looking up, you were met with eyes of another man. This time, circled rimmed glasses and a black face mask pretty much covered his whole face, only a small bit of his black hair peeking through underneath his dark grey beanie. A long, dark green trenchcoat with a crossbody purse like bag adored his body, making his shoulders stand out.

„I don't know...”

„Whats your name 'mega?” the newcomer asked, bending slightly to match your height too.

„..Y/N” you said as you looked away again. All of the scents were confusing you, and you shuffled at your feet. You could sense your flight or fight instincts start to come in, with how long you have been unsettled.

„..okay. Okay.” he sighed out. „My name is Yoongi, and that's Jimin. Kitty, where is your pack? Why are you here alone like this?”

You took a longer pause, too overwhelmed to answer quickly. It must have been bit too long for them thought.

„Hyung-”

„I don't ha-ve a p-pack..” sniffling, you avoided their gaze, hiding more into the scarf.

„..Well shit.” Jimin muttered, exchanging anxious looks with Yoongi.

⋆·˚ ༘ *ੈ✩‧₊˚˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ੈ✩‧₊˚✧˚ · .*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Next:

[carlsdarling]

From Dusk Till Dawn

Carl and Y/N exploring an abandoned strip club... Bit of a plot, then sex. Everyone is 18 or over.

WARNINGS: smut, nsfw, oral (female receiving)

Tags: @lilyvaleska your request

You and Carl lingered boredly on the dusty road that led through the small town. There wasn't much happening on this scavenging trip - you had encountered a few walkers, but they hadn't posed a challenge, and now the main street lay completely deserted. There were a few stores - a pharmacy, a gun store, a small grocery store, and a kitchen supply store. The others were busy looting these places, and there wasn't much for you and Carl to do. Except to load the looted goods into the cars. "Look for antibiotics," you could hear Siddiq's voice from the pharmacy.

Carl yawned. "This could take a while," he scowled, fingers hooked in his belt, leaning casually against the car. His long hair fell into his forehead. It was hot, the sun was burning, and his shirt was already showing damp patches under his armpits.

"I'm so bloody hot," you grumbled. "Can't we go somewhere more shady?"

Carl looked around. "Over there, the bar, maybe?" he suggested. The front of the bar looked a little strange; it was painted in black and red, and the windows were taped with vinyl so you couldn't see inside. "From Dusk Till Dawn," was the name of the establishment. Hesitantly, you approached the entrance. Carl went in first, with his gun raised and securing in all directions. "Looks clear," he then announced. In the semi-darkness, you roamed the barroom. Here, too, the furnishings were odd - there were fluffy armchairs and discreetly separated alcoves; also a sort of stage with a pole. Carl headed for what used to be the bar, where quite a few dusty bottles littered around. "Jack Daniel's," he said delightedly, swinging one of the bottles. "Want some?" He had already spotted two glasses and poured them both full.

You chuckled. "What is this place, anyway?" you asked, glancing around and sipping your whiskey.

"Uuuum," Carl said awkwardly. "I think it was a strip club." Your mouth opened in shock. Carl emptied his glass. "Should we take a look over there?" He pointed to a few doors at the very rear of the establishment.

As it turned out, there were the restrooms, a storage room (with even more alcohol), and two strange-looking rooms. In the first room were several shelves of various sex toys - latex costumes, whips, masks, dildos and similar stuff were piled up. Carl grinned as he picked up some of the items. "Oh my God," he laughed. "Just take a look."

"Ah, I'd rather not," you rebuffed. "What's in there?" You pointed to the second door. Behind it was a room with a huge bed in the middle. The walls and ceiling of the room were completely mirrored. There was also a chair, and in one corner was an tipped-over box that contained condoms and towelettes. You spun around and looked at your reflection in the mirror as Carl caught you, hugged you, and pressed you against him, kissing you eagerly, his hands touching you under your top. "Carl," you squeaked, "what are you doing?" You had been together for a couple of weeks and had also had sex a few times, but always in your room or Carl's.

He peered over at the bed and then smirked as he took off his hat. "It would be something special to do it here," he whispered lustfully, licking your neck so that you shivered. " Are you up for it?"

A forbidden tingling sensation spread through your body as you nodded bashfully. Carl grabbed some condoms from the box and tossed them on the bed, then started undressing you. "What if someone walks in?" you asked uneasily.

"Wait," he pulled away from you and shoved the chair under the doorknob. Then he approached you again, his flanell and shirt dropped carelessly on the floor. You undid his belt and jeans, exposing him. Carl was already so aroused that his cock looked quite irritated; precum was dripping out and he was proudly standing erect. Carl's balls were slightly swollen. "Look how horny you drive me," he sighed, pressing himself against you, his hands roaming over your naked body. In the mirrors around you, you could see each other from all angles - Carl's hands sliding between your legs, and how you stroked his neck, and also how he pressed his pelvis against you in demand, rubbing his hard one against you.

Soaking wetness flooded your pussy, and you grabbed Carl by the hand and directed him over to the bed. It was covered with a sheet of rubber, and the material felt unusually cold against your skin. You were both so excited by now, though, that it didn't bother you - moaning, you rolled around on the bed, Carl burying his head between your legs to eat you out. "So wet," he moaned between kitten licks as you tugged on his hair and arched your back.

"Carl," you then pleaded. "I'm ready for you, please fuck me. Now." With glazed eyes you looked at him, trembling with desire.

Carl fumbled hastily with the condom, and the sight of it was just making you hornier. Finally he mounted you, and you willingly spread your legs for him as he now gently penetrated you and groaned. "It's so good," he murmured and began gentle thrusts, his breath hot against your ear. In the mirror above you, you could watch Carl moving on top of you, his sexy slender body, his back muscles tensing as he pounded into you, his firm ass. And your own hands stroking him incessantly, moving to his buttocks, animating him to rail you harder. Your fucked out face, cheeks flushed, lips parted.

Carl turned his head to look in the mirror next to the bed, moaning loudly at the sight of you with your legs wrapped around his slim hips, writhing ecstatically beneath him. He intensified his thrusts. "Oh, baby," he gasped. "I cannot hold it much longer. Are you cumming?"

"Yes," you whimpered, "Oh God, Carl, yes." Your pussy tightened even closer around Carl's cock as he brought you over the edge, and that led to Carl now cumming as well, thrusting into you moaning excessively as he rode out his orgasm and shot his load into the condom.

Dripping with sweat and breathless, you stayed lying together afterwards, kissing, until Carl got up to get some of the wet towelettes so you could clean yourselves. "I think we should go back out," he said then. "Not that they're searching for us." You picked up your clothes and tried to adjust your hair halfway. Your faces were still passionately flushed.

As you stepped out into the street, Daryl was leaning against one of the cars. "Where the fuck have you guys been?" he wondered. "Rick was already getting worried, he's been looking for you guys."

"Uum," Carl held up a half-full bottle of whiskey. "We found this."

Rick came over. "Carl, what are you doing?" he scolded angrily, snatching the bottle from Carl and tossing it into the back seat of the car. He sniffed. "You've been drinking," he then accused Carl. "You know how dangerous it is not to stay sober on a scavenging trip."

"Yeaaah," Carl groused defiantly. "It's okay."

"Get in the car," Rick snorted angrily as Daryl grinned.

[hellfireswhore]

Insomniac

Carl Grimes x GN! Reader

Summary: Carl grows concerned about you since you guys arrived in Alexandria.

Warnings: language

Pronouns: they/them

«────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────»

Getting adjusted to new environments wasn’t easy, especially for you. Ever since the prison fell apart, your group has been placed to place every night. You’re exhausted. Then, you were invited to a community called Alexandria

After Rick told the group we’re settling here, you were relieved but uneasy. You didn’t completely trust anyone that wasn’t your family. You held all of your trust in your loving boyfriend, Carl Grimes.

“Hey,” a hand waved in front of your face, pulling you out of your thoughts. “Are you alright?” Carl questioned.

“Oh yeah sorry, I’m good.” Reassuring him. He nods and he turns his direction back to his dad, Rick Grimes, who was holding a meeting for a scavenge.

“Glenn, I’m gonna have you be a getaway driver, you’re good with a wheel.” Rick began looking at Glenn who responded with a nod. “Daryl, I want you to keep watch for anyone or anything who is a threat.” Daryl hummed toward Rick. “And Carl, you’re with me. I’m gonna need help gathering supplies and taking out walkers.” Rick finished and started to wrap up the meeting, leaving you confused.

“Wait, what about me?” You sat up from the table gaining his attention. “I don’t know, Y/N. You’ve been-“ “C'mon, Dad. y/n is one of the best at runs. They barely leave with a mark. Plus, they say you have bad luck without them there.” Carl cut him off. You looked at Rick hoping he’d have you tag along. Carl was right, you were the best at getting in and out at scavenged fast. He signed in defeat. “Alright, fine, you’re with me and Carl.” After that, everyone got ready and headed out of the Alexandrian walls.

———————————

After driving out for what felt like forever, you arrived at an abandoned Pharmacy that didn’t look like it had been touched. Me, Carl, and Rick stepped out of the car while Glenn stayed. Daryl helped us clear out the walkers outside the building while Carl and Rick took care of the ones inside. While they did that, I scanned the area to make sure no one else was there.

“We’re clear,” I spoke towards the Grimes. With that, we went around the store looking for supplies we needed. Deanna gave you the list earlier. You were walking around the isles and suddenly stepped on glass, it was a mirror. “Shit.” You whispered to yourself then you saw yourself in the mirror. Your eyes were red.

The state you were desperate to hide is now noticeable: Exhaustion.

“Hey, are you okay?” Carl questioned. You looked up at him, not thinking about him seeing your eyes. “Yeah I just stepped on glass and it startled me, that’s all.” You walked past him continuing your hunting for the supplies, leaving Carl concerned. “Carl, did you find- what’s going on?” Rick asked putting a hand on Carl’s shoulder making the boy turn to the man. “Nothing, Y/N is just acting a little strange today.”

“How so?” Rick asked. “Well, I caught them spacing out during the meeting and just now, they brushed off my question and I noticed their eyes.” After Carl stated that, Rick started to walk towards you, “Y/N,” you turned towards the grown man. “I want you to sit in the car with Glenn.”

“What?! Why?!” You said with an angered tone. “Because I said so, now go.” Rick pointed towards the car. You scoffed and left the store.

“What was that for? They didn’t do anything!” Carl shouted making Rick turn and walk towards him. “Don’t yell. We don’t want to draw attention to ourselves. Let’s just finish up in here and get home.” Carl sighed, continuing to help out his dad.

———————————

“Carl, let’s go, the sun is going down and we still have a long drive ahead of us,” Rick said grabbing the bag of all of the supplies they found. Daryl came out of hiding once Rick announced they were done. “Ya got what we need?” Daryl spoke. “Let’s hope. Deanna wasn’t too specific. Let’s head out.” Daryl hummed in response and hopped onto his motorcycle and started the engine waiting for Carl and Rick to get into the car behind him.

Carl hopped into the back seat and saw you. Your head was leaning against the window. He slightly shook your shoulder and noticed you were asleep. Rick got into the passenger seat and turned his head looking at you and back at Carl. “Thank god. Alright, Glenn, let’s get the hell out of here.” With that, Glenn started the car and drove off with Daryl leading.

After a few minutes on the road, Carl broke the silence. “Dad, why did you look at Y/N and said, “thank god?” He spoke. “Don’t worry, it’s nothing,” Rick responded, looking ahead. With that, Carl started to get angry.

“Worry?! I’m concerned! Y/N has been acting weird all day and you’ve been a complete dick to them for no reason!” Yelling at his dad, making Rick turn toward him. “If you’re concerned, maybe you shouldn’t raise your voice while they're sleeping right next to you!” Rick whispered yelling at his son. “Just cut the shit! Tell me! What is wrong with MY partner?!” silence filled the air, so quiet Carl could hear your breathing. “Rick,” Glenn interrupted. “Carl needs to know. He is Y/N’s boyfriend.”

Here’s the thing, Rick sees you as family, especially since you are dating his son and are still a kid to him. He’s secretive for the right reasons, and that’s to protect his loved ones. But, he knew Carl would be able to help you in this situation.

“Y/N…hasn’t been sleeping, at all,” Rick admitted. Carl sat there, waiting for context. “I don’t know why, but I’ve noticed them taking night watch hours on end and even taking others' places. Anything to avoid sleep, they’d do it.” Rick took a breath. “And, when you mentioned their eyes, I knew it had gone on for too long.” He finished.

Carl signed. How could he not have noticed his own lover was struggling?

“Thank you for telling me,” Carl responded after a minute of silence. Carl looked over at you, who was still sleeping. He moved your head to lay it on his shoulder, hoping it would make you relax more than the car window. Relief fell over him when he felt your breathing against his neck, you were finally getting some rest. Then, you started to snore.

“Woah! Didn’t know they snored!” Glenn giggled. Making Rick cackle as well. Carl smiled, “Hey! It’s never this bad!” He jokingly defended. “Just be happy they haven’t heard you. Their usually a light sleeper.” With that response, the grown men quickly shut up. Before this, if anyone would wake you up, hell broke loose.

———————————

You guys arrived back in Alexandria, it was around 11 p.m. Daryl parked his motorcycle and waited for you, Rick, and Carl. Glenn said his good nights to everyone and headed towards his shared house with his wife, Maggie. Everyone was out of the car, except you.

“I’ll wake them up-“ “hell no, man. Are you asking for an ass beatin’?” Daryl intruded on Rick stopping his hand from touching you. “Well, what do you want me to do? Let them sleep in a car that’ll grow humid?” Rick spoke with sarcasm. “I got it,” Carl spoke up.

He then started to lift you up from the back seat and started to carry you, supporting your back and knees. Your body began to adjust to the position and you rested your head on his shoulder. Carl then started to walk towards the front door. “Strong kid,” Daryl spoke to Rick once Carl took you into the house. “like father like son.”

After carrying you up the stairs, he walked into your room and settled you in bed. He removed your socks and shoes and pulled the blanket over you. Once you were settled, he kissed your forehead goodnight and started to leave.

“Carl..?” He turned around and saw you half awake. He thought you looked so cute in that state but he knew you needed sleep. “Hey, it’s okay, just go back to sleep.” He whispered softly putting a hand on your cheek. “Sleepover? Please?” You muffled, holding his hand on your cheek, looking at him with sleepy eyes. He grinned, “How could I ever say no to that face?”

Carl got comfortable and stepped into bed with you. He put his arm over you, spooning you. “I’m sorry…” you whispered. “Don’t apologize, hun. We’ll talk in the morning, okay? Just go to sleep.” You hummed in response and you fell asleep. He kissed your cheek, “Goodnight, my Y/N”

————————————

“Here you go. Got what you needed.” Rick handed the bag of supplies in front of Deanna. She went through the bag and looked at Rick with confusion. “How did you manage to get nothing on the list?” Rick also got confused. “Wait, what list?” “The list I gave to Y/N. They said you shouldn’t have the list because you have bad luck.” Deena chuckled at the end. “I guess you could say that.”

«────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────»

[storiesabouteli]

Hi! Loved your most recent story! I was thinking maybe you could write one where the reader struggles with acne and Eli makes her feel not insecure? 💕

Hope you are well!

Heey, thank you for requesting! I hope you like that one too!!

Words: 1,6K

You followed a certain logic in your mind, choosing comfortable clothes. You'd wrapped socks around your hair to make sure it looked nice, hoping it would draw attention away from your face—or maybe even from your own reflection in the bathroom mirror. Everything felt exhausting, almost pointless. Your face was freshly washed, the marks and small stinging spots seemed more noticeable. You spent a long time staring at yourself, wondering what to do—they were worse than the day before. You took care of your skin, wanting the blemishes to disappear, not to worsen suddenly, leaving scars behind.

You covered them with foundation and concealer, did your eyeliner to make your eyes more noticeable, but then leaned against the wall, disliking the texture of your skin, wanting to just stay there. You and Eli were supposed to meet Ryan and his girlfriend, trying out a new restaurant, something casual and fun, but you knew your mind wouldn’t let you feel at ease.

“You okay? Something happened?” Eli's voice was sweet, as if he hadn’t been waiting for you to get ready for almost an hour.

“I’ll be out soon, sorry.” You could hear him breathing behind the closed door, his feet shuffling against the floor.

“Need anything? I can run to the pharmacy for you, just tell me what you need.” His thick accent, full of concern, made you smile, an honest contrast to how you felt. You held the doorknob, hesitating for a few seconds, and then remembered Eli was your boyfriend—he would understand.

“No, I’m okay, El.” You whispered, opening the door to face him. He was wearing a tight band tee, showing off his arms, jeans with a belt, and his hair slicked back. He looked adorable, which made you feel even worse about the fact that he'd dressed up, only for you to now not want to go. It also seemed unfair that he'd be going out with you. You closed your eyes quickly, pushing those thoughts down as hard as you could. You hated being like this.

“You look beautiful, pumpkin. I can get dressed up more if you give me a few seconds.” That was the thing—Eli was just being himself, effortless, while you had tried so hard. He didn’t move, and the silence between you wasn’t uncomfortable, though you felt uneasy in your own skin. Tears welled up in your eyes, and he stepped into the bathroom with you. He looked around before his gaze settled on you. His eyes scanned you from head to toe, then he smiled softly, trying to show he was there for you.

“I can tell something’s bothering you, but I’m not sure what.”

All the beauty products—makeup, skincare solutions—were scattered across the sink. You often wondered how Eli saw this side of you. Some people could be insensitive about it, and although Eli wasn’t like that, you couldn’t help but think about it. You looked down at your feet, swallowing your words, not liking the idea of verbalizing this to him.

“Can I stay? I thought maybe you could go without me. I’m just not feeling up for it.” He frowned, thinking, still looking cute. It felt like you were a kid asking to skip school without a good reason.

“We don’t have to go.” He stepped closer, gently holding your face, trying to read you. His concern and calmness were so kind.

“But you should go—you look so handsome.” He chuckled softly.

“So do you, but what’s the point of going without my girl?” You crinkled your nose, embarrassed at how goofy he could be. He hesitated, about to brush his fingers across your cheek, but you flinched. Instead, he placed his hands on your shoulders, still wanting to keep you close, like that might ease your feelings. Your eyes drifted away from his, and that’s when he realized you weren’t avoiding him—you were hiding your face. He pulled you into a hug, and you pressed your face against his chest as he held you tight.

“I’ll let them know, it’s okay.” His lips brushed the top of your head as a wave of relief washed over you.

Eli held your waist as you sat on the counter in front of him. Your mind was somewhat blank, relieved to be staying in, but it still felt wrong. You were distant while Eli's voice echoed in the bathroom, talking to Ryan on the phone. He said he wasn’t feeling well, throwing in a sarcastic remark about you being his caregiver, which made you chuckle despite your sour mood.

“We could cook something nice, watch a movie, or just do nothing for the rest of the night. What do you think, huh?” You nodded, your eyes lifting to meet his, only to quickly look away. He kept his gaze on you.

"Sounds good, El."

Your shoulders were slumped, and Eli felt uneasy, unsure how to help. "I need to take off my makeup. You can get changed; I’ll do the same, and then we can cook something." You said this, imagining how you'd end up with your face pressed to his chest, transferring all the makeup onto his shirt. Either that, or you'd insist on hiding yourself with concealer the whole time.

"Can I?" Eli asked, his waist brushing against your knees as he reached for the makeup wipes you had grabbed earlier. You let out a long sigh and nodded. "My skin's irritated. It’s really flared up."

Your voice was barely audible, as if preparing him for the reality. “You know, I’ve seen your face plenty of times before,” he said softly, his warm, caramel eyes as tender as always as he carefully wiped your makeup away. “What do you think about them?” you asked quietly, handing him a small amber bottle. Speaking about it in code, adding a certain distance, helped make it easier to handle.

He paused, his shoulders heavy as if unsure how to put his thoughts into words. “I don’t really think about them like that,” he said thoughtfully, “They’re a part of you, so I like them.”

He applied the product to your cheeks with his fingers, lightly squeezing them, making you close your eyes and giggle at the way his thick fingers and rings felt against your skin. “How do you see yourself?” he asked hesitantly, not wanting you to speak poorly about yourself.

“I don’t know,” you swallowed, swinging your legs around him. “Now that they’re worse, I feel…”

He noticed your eyes divert once again, a sadness creeping into them. “It’s okay,” he gently lifted your chin, making you look at him. He kissed each cheek, the bridge of your nose, and then your forehead, lingering for a moment as his kisses echoed with soft pops.

You often feared Eli might find you unattractive at times, but his tenderness shattered that doubt. “I met you like this, remember? I thought you were beautiful then, and nothing’s changed. I won’t let you believe otherwise.” You wrapped your arms around his waist, pulling him closer. You didn’t know what to say, but Eli had already brightened your day. You wanted to be enveloped by him, as if he were a cocoon.

You nodded silently, letting him apply a few more drops of product to your face. He massaged it in the way he had seen you do many times before, and it was endearing how he had memorized your routine just from watching. “What’s this for?”

“It’s an aloe vera gel; it helps calm my skin.”

His brow arched as he read the label. “Okay. And those stickers? What are they for? And the other tubes?”

You laughed, feeling a bit lighter now. Eli’s muscles relaxed, pleased to see you holding eye contact with him again. Things were looking up; everything would be fine. “I use vitamin C sometimes to fade spots,” you explained. The wrinkle in his forehead smoothed out as if it all made sense now. “And I just try to keep my skin hydrated.”

You handed him a pack of star-shaped pimple patches, and he glanced at the pile, you got slightly embarrassed by how many you had. “These dry out pimples—like the pus and stuff. But mostly, they stop me from picking at them.”

He seemed satisfied with the explanation. The patch you handed him was shaped like golden stars. “Do you still have the pink heart ones? I think you look adorable when you wear those.”

Your cheeks warmed. It was a bit jarring to realize that Eli was fully aware of your blemishes, yet he viewed them as just another part of you, while you treated them like monsters. "You like them?" You gave him the chosen patches, though the question was more a confirmation for yourself than for him.

“I do have a favorite, but yeah, I like the others too. It’s cute when you walk around the house with them on your face.” You laughed, guiding his hand as he placed the patches in random spots rather than directly on the pimples.

You peeled one off and stuck it on his cheek. He smiled, leaning in to kiss you on your lips, lingering a little longer. The tip of his nose gently brushes against yours into softness.“I’ll go change into something more comfortable and head downstairs.” You tied your hair up, abandoning any formality that might’ve lingered.

Eli nodded, removing his shirt and unbuckling his belt. You glanced over, eyes lingering on his shoulders and tattoo. He chuckled through his nose, “Okay, go get changed, little one. I’m starving.”

[wannab-urs]

Dirt

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x f!reader

Summary: A twist on a scene from saltburn with our dear boy Dieter

Warnings: alcohol and drug use, semi-public sex, dieter being a fucking freak, no use of y/n, reader is undescribed except for being AFAB and able to pull Dieter by his hair.

A/N: Thank you to @sp00kymulderr for the idea of Dieter in this scene… I hope I did it justice, love. Thanks to @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin @pr0ximamidnight and @atinylittlepain for the beta reads 💚

Dieter Bravo Masterlist | AO3 | Kofi | Main Masterlist

He’s fucking hammered. He doesn’t remember ever being this drunk before in his entire life. Everything is spinning and tilted on its axis a little, as if the world itself had shifted 20 degrees clockwise.

You’re waiting for him outside and he’s so fucked up, he doesn’t even think he can get it up. Even for you, his perfect girl. Nothing a little coke can’t fix for him, though.

Dieter grabs the gilded mirror off the wall, cresting waves and seabirds in molten gold, a bit pretentious to him. He doesn’t think they’ll even notice it’s been moved. He lays it on the bed and digs the little baggie out of his robe. He’d gotten lucky when he chose to steal this robe from Farleigh – two 8 balls and a veritable pharmacy of pills stuffed into the pockets.

Dieter dumps the whole baggie on the glass and haphazardly scrapes it into a line. He dips his nose to the cool glass and pulls the powder into his nose. Staying bent over the mirror, he watches his pupils blow wide before a line of snot falls over the image of his face. He wipes his nose on his sleeve as he stands.

Not thirty seconds later, he’s tripping over himself to get outside. To get to you, his golden idol on a pedestal. His goddess. He worships you. You’re waiting for him. Have been waiting. He’s kept you waiting. Fuck. He hopes you’re still there. Hopes you haven’t floated away in the breeze.

It’s cloudy out, but the sun pierces the haze. Everything feels like it has an aura and it all hurts his eyes so bad he can hardly see. It’s okay though. He could find you anywhere.

He stumbles across the yard, over the little stone bridge, and into the meadow beyond. And there you are. The aura around everything else dims in the face of your beauty. Your aura shines golden and glittering in the weak sunlight, bare back pressed to the stone behind you. You make everything less beautiful.

Dieter falls to his knees before you, perched on your throne of dirt and stone. He prostrates himself before you, nose digging into the freshly upturned dirt. He feels the ghost of your fingertips over his curls and tilts his head up to face you.

You smile down at him knowingly and tug him by his hair into your lap. He relishes the sting, the way you pull him to you always. He nuzzles his face into your thighs, kisses your mound, your belly, dips his tongue into your navel.

You release him and he quickly strips his robe and the boxers he’s wearing underneath, baring himself to you. You drag him back down to you, letting him bury his face in your chest. He loves the feel of your skin against his cheek, under his lips, between his teeth. He sucks a nipple into his mouth, laving it with his tongue. You shift beneath him, pushing him down where you really want him.

Dieter presses his belly into the dirt and drags your legs over his shoulders. He buries his tongue in the wet heat of you. Laps up your earthy flavor. You’re better than anything his imagination could ever conjure. Perfect in every way.

He sucks your clit into his mouth, rolls it gently between his teeth. Your fingers wrench his hair and he groans into you. He plunges his tongue back inside you, lapping up your slick, letting it coat the scruff on his jaw. He pushes a thick finger into you, his tongue drifting back up to your clit. He rolls your bundle of nerves in circles with his tongue as he strokes your inner walls. When he feels you fall apart, he draws back, sucking your juices off his knuckles as he shuffles to his knees.

Dieter grabs the meat of your thighs and wrenches your legs further apart before he drags you even further onto the dirt. Your head now pillowed in the softness of fresh soil, he drags his fingers through your wet cunt. When his hand is dripping in you again he wraps a fist around his cock and jerks himself until he’s fully hard. The coke is wearing off and he doesn’t have much time left.

He sheathes himself inside you, all the way to the end of you. To the end of him. He’s so connected to you it’s like you’re truly a part of him, an extension of him. You squeeze him so tightly he nearly comes on the spot.

His thrusts are harsh, sharp and stuttered and hurried. As if he’s afraid someone will catch him with you or as if this reality could crumble at a moment’s notice. He holds you tight to him, rutting into you like a pig ruts into the dirt. He claws at you, trying to hold you tighter. Trying to pull you completely into him.

He comes with a strangled, half feral cry. Something primal and broken and a little wrong.

He pulls out and rolls onto the grass beside your grave. There’s dirt in places he didn’t know it could even be in. Tears form in the corners of his eyes and roll in slow, hot tracks down his cheeks. He takes a shuddering breath and begins to sob, rough and so raw it hurts his throat.

The drugs have long since worn off. His head hurts from the come down, from the crying, from everything. It’s all a bit too much.

He crawls on hands and knees back up to your headstone. He wraps his arms around the cold, unforgiving slab of marble. Presses his face into it the way he used to imagine pressing it into your chest. His tongue darts out to trace the engraved letters and they are rough and cold. Not anything like he’d always imagined you’d be. Soft and warm and wet.

He sits atop your body, six feet below and encased in mahogany. Loving Sister and Friend your headstone says. He doesn’t know about all that. You were quite nasty.

Only the rich could afford to be as filthy as you were.

You’re in the dirt where you belong, he thinks.

[distinctlywhumpthing]

Unintentional 29

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We're finally on the way home kids...

CW: BBU-adjacent, institutionalized slavery. Beta-read by @alittlewhump <3

The clock on the dashboard of Delia’s Honda glows bright blue, digital colon blinking between the six and five every second like a heartbeat. Only seven more minutes until the CVS opens. Leo scans the parking lot for the dozenth time. It’s still nearly empty, unchanged since they pulled in ten minutes ago after a drive twice as long as it needed to be. The pharmacy is the only store with any lights on, the rest of the strip mall’s windows and signs are dark. Errant snowflakes flurry through the light cast by the street lamps, inconsistent and sparse, borrowed from a passing storm. It would be peaceful if it weren’t for the adrenaline still coursing through his veins. 

Leo drags a hand over his face and takes a deep breath. He can’t even remember the last time he pulled an all-nighter. It must have been back when he was young enough for it not to feel like he’d been hit by a bus. Beside him, Aiden is still and quiet, save for the just-audible exhales he forces between pursed lips. Measured and even like he’s trying to stave off tears or panic or pain or some combination of all three. They hadn’t spoken on the ride over, both tensely checking the mirrors to make sure they weren’t being followed. 

Not that there was anything to say. 

…

He couldn’t even look at him.

If Aiden were a normal teenager—whatever that means—he’d be giving him hell. How could you be so impulsive? I already thought I lost you once today and now you’re jumping at the next chance? Do you have any idea what that would be like for me? Trying to get on with my life after they’d taken you back? Can’t you see how much I care about you? 

But he couldn’t say any of that. Didn’t know what to say, so he couldn’t look at him right now. Aiden quietly resumed his charade. Sure, the raid wasn't over yet but Leo couldn’t help wondering if he was putting on an extra show of cooperation as a demonstration of goodwill. 

Did he regret what he almost did? Or just the fact that he got caught? 

When he was sure Aiden’s eyes were closed, Leo looked into his face. The ruse wasn’t at all convincing, Leo knew him too well. For starters, the overwrought way Aiden managed his breath was a dead giveaway. A far cry from the gentle, inherent rhythm of sleep even he managed. Leo had clocked more minutes than he was willing to admit frozen in the hallway, letting himself feel an undeserved modicum of relief when that smooth sound reached his ears.

Just as telling was the determination in the tension of his jaw, only a little diluted by the way he was holding the inside of his bottom lip between his teeth to keep it from trembling. He was braver than Leo could ever give him credit for. He barely understood the first thing about this kid, yet here he was, reading every twitch of his brows and hitch of his breath like he had the whole frame of reference. 

Thankfully, this charade didn’t solely hinge on his or Aiden’s poor acting skills. The devil was in the details on this one. It was the set that truly sold it and revealed just how much practice Delia has had at this. 

Greeting cards crowded the windowsill, all sure to have handwritten messages on the inside. Either abandoned and repurposed or manufactured for this explicitly. A handmade quilt was tucked over the foot of the bed, balloons filled one corner up to the ceiling, and fresh flowers sat on all three tables. A hand-painted ‘Keep Fighting’ sign stretched across the wall with messages and names written over handprints. He recognized Delia’s handwriting in one corner. There’s no way she had recruited so many sympathizers so at least half of those notes and wildly different signatures had to have been done by her hand. Again, he was unsure whether to be unnerved or impressed by the level of dedication. Which was about as terrifying as it was comforting because maybe it meant the agents really weren’t coming back.   

And that was about all the time he could spend distracting himself from what the fuck was going on and where the hell was that damn sister of his. 

It was all he could do not to compulsively check his phone every second. Was it on? Was it even still in his pocket? What if he didn’t get service in this corner of the hospital? 

By the time there was a knock on the door, he had wound himself up so much that he jumped to his feet. In his flat-out panic, he forgot any recognition of the cadence of knocks and was certain they were caught but he was just pinned to the spot like an idiot. When the curtains parted, of course it was only Noah and he knew that, but he had passed the useful kind of adrenaline-fueled exhaustion about five hours ago. 

“They’ve given the all clear. Everything good here?” Leo’s obvious lack of composure earned raised eyebrows from Noah. 

He cleared his throat and straightened, his lower back tight after trying to conform to the chair. “As far as I know…they came in but a nurse made them leave before—” He resisted the impulse to look at Aiden who hadn’t moved, save opening his eyes to watch them. A deer frozen on the edge of the yard, afraid bolting would mean certain death. Ironic. “Where’s Delia?”

Now Noah looked caught out. “She’s, uh, she’s got her hands full with a…patient…” 

Leo struggled to keep his voice even. “What? Did they find something?” 

“No, no, nothing like that. It’s…look it’s better if you don’t know the details. I’m sure you want to get out of here anyway.” He cast a meaningful glance at Aiden. “Here are some notes for the prescriptions. They’re ready to fill at the pharmacy, antibiotics and—”

“Wait a second.” He stepped closer, lowering his voice. “How deep into this shit are you two? I’m grateful for what you did for us but this doesn’t seem like something you should be making a habit of.” 

Noah had the gall to chuckle—little shit—but when he saw Leo’s expression he quickly swallowed it. “Hey, man, I get it. There’s a reason I don’t tell my family. But I’m sure you know Delia well enough to know she’s not a ‘follower’.” He even used air quotes around the word. “We’re not even in the same unit. We didn’t realize we were both doing this independently until one of our shelter contacts introduced us.” Leo didn’t even try to mask his doubt so Noah continued, “For what it’s worth, it’s a lot safer for both of us having each other’s backs. But as you well know, the risks are never zero when you’re on this side of the law.” 

On this side of the law. 

The phrase twisted and turned in his head as Noah led them out through the labyrinth of back stairwells, quiet wards, and service elevators. It pressed against his thoughts as they huddled in a supply closet from a rush of doctors responding to a code blue. It loomed over him as he rested his hands on Aiden’s shoulders when he nearly jumped out of the wheelchair at the slam of a door. It echoed loudest when he was behind the wheel and it was on him to get them home safe. And figure everything else out. 

…

“L-Leo?” Aiden ducks his chin when Leo looks over, like he didn’t intend to say his name out loud and isn’t sure what to do with his attention now that he has it. He picks at the cuticle of his right thumb, lips moving like he’s trying to shape his words just right before speaking. After a minute of that, he presses them together, flattens his hands on his thighs and meets Leo’s eyes. “Mmm’sorry…before…mmm…” His chin starts to tremble and it’s obvious he wants to look away but he forces himself to maintain eye contact. “I-I-I…mmm…mmm…” 

“Alright, it’s okay.” Leo can’t bear the kid’s self-imposed confession. “I’m not mad. I can’t say I understand what might have possessed you but, anyway, we’re good. Water under the bridge.” It feels a little blunt and more than a little awkward but he adds, “You’re not in any trouble,” like Delia said dozens of times throughout the night. 

“Mmm…but…I’mmm…I-I-I…” Aiden furrows his brow like he’s still trying to find a word, lips moving, but tears well in his eyes, threatening to spill the longer he searches. 

“Don’t worry about it,” Leo repeats gently. “It’s all good.” 

Aiden doesn’t look placated at all. He balks at Leo, visibly distressed, lips quivering as he pauses mid-silent-syllable. 

Shit. That’ll encourage the kid to communicate more, just cut him off like an impatient ass. But if this is just some other backwards Companion obedience thing… Leo’s out of energy for trying to wade through how exactly to handle this. He has so much research to do. Is it even safe to do research?

“I’m sorry, hon. Look” Aiden flinches when Leo's hand meets his shoulder. 

He grimaces at Leo apologetically, shaking his head at himself. He swipes at a tear with the back of his hand and shakes his head again, a ragged exhale escaping his lips.  

“I know it’s not easy, we’ll figure it out together.”   

Aiden looks up, biting his lips together as he tries to blink back the rest of his tears. It’s heartbreaking to watch. Leo hopes he doesn’t think there’s any problem with him crying when he needs to. At the same time, Leo can also understand why he wouldn’t want to always be breaking down. 

“For now, let’s just focus on getting home, okay?” 

Aiden nods, pulling his hands into his sleeves and wiping away the last of the tears. He puts on a brave face.  

“Good boy.” 

Aiden looks away shyly. Leo opens his mouth to take it back, to apologize for saying something so patronizing, so offensive. He meant it more as a ‘good sport’, ‘atta boy’. He— 

There, behind the fist Aiden rests his cheek against as he pretends to look out the window, is a hint of a smile. 

Only this kid can shatter his heart and melt it in the span of five minutes. 

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@octopus-reactivated @maracujatangerine @nicolepascaline @mazeisreal @whumpy-writings

@cracked-porcelain-princess @meetmeinhellcroutons @briars7 @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @jo-doe-seeking-inspo

@neuro-whump @wolfeyedwitch @skyhawkwolf @haro-whumps @onlybadendings

@peachy-panic @fillthedarkvoid @rabasz @crystalquartzwhump @dont-touch-my-soup

@mylifeisonthebookshelf @hold-him-down @guachipongo @creetchure @leyswhumpdump

@aseasonwithclarasblog @catawhumpus @magziemakeswhatever @espresso-depresso-system @pigeonwhumps

@batfacedliar-yetagain @whumpinthepot @dustypinetree @whump-in-progress @lavbug

@pirefyrelight

[euphoricdreamsidreamabout]

Tom Holland X Dancer!Reader Headcannons

Ok let's just say you were practicing in a secluded corner of the park with your headphones in and couldn't hear anything else other than the music.

You struck a really great pose and hit someone.

That someone was an innocent Tom holding his nose who was just trying to walk his dog.

You gasped and held his face as you tried to look at the damage

Tom looked at you with watery eyes and he instantly knew he was going to forget you in an instant.

Your soft hands cradled his face as you watched the blood stain his chin.

You put some tissues against his nose and tried to stop the bleeding.

He wrapped his arm around your shoulder as you walked to the nearest pharmacy while holding Tessa's leash.

( Ok maybe the pharmacy wasn't a great help but it was better than nothing.)

You stayed with Tom the whole time he was in the hospital and apologised every second you got.

Gosh you couldn't believe you hit one of your favourite actors.

Tom couldn't believe he got hit by one of his most favourite people in the world

He already knew your name by the bazillion videos he watched of you.

And that was how you and Tom met.

You exchanged numbers saying that you at least owed him a drink or something for breaking his nose

You guys went out after a week and the unofficial date was a disaster.

The dress you were gonna wear tore which made you late and Tom waited for you for almost 45 minutes.

And then when you finally reached the place Tom spilled his drink on your other dress.

You went to the bathroom and tried to get the stain out but you ended up with your whole dress wet... so you had to wait for some more time to let it dry off cause you couldn't go out there with a wet dress.

Tom waited for you the whole time while sipping his drink quietly.

Finally you went outside the bathroom and went back to your seat.

You guys both talked about your careers and what you guys loved doing and ended up being really great friends.

Tom started visiting you in your studios while you were practicing and you would help Tom learn his scripts whenever you went to his place.

Soon your admiration for each other turned into a crush and bloomed into a relationship.

You started hanging out with his brothers more and also met his parents who loved you so much.

Now

After almost a year of being with Tom you thought about announcing it in the world.

You were well known and he was also pretty popular because of which Tom didn't like the idea. He felt making their relationship public could ruin things. So you agreed and still haven't told the world.

(Though your fans kinda figured it out after seeing Tom leave the studio you practice in.)

Tom helps you practice everyday and even dances with you when you need a partner.

He tries to add kisses in the choreography and you always giggle at it.

He goes to every one of your performances and is always amazed by how you are so in sync with the beat.

Later on in your relationship you eventually move in with Tom and he converts an entire room into your own personal space. (He added a huge mirror on one of the walls and also added a whole speaker system.)

You show all of your choreographies to the boys and their reactions are always the best.

- "Wait! What ? How did your arms do that?"

- "Why are you so on beat?"

-_ "I helped her with that step." *smirks*

On valentine's day you made a very sexy number for Tom which obviously resulted in some stuff happening.

He would also give you a massage after you practiced too hard.

You were also friends with a lot of singers and other dancers.

This would result in you giving him his VIP tickets to his favourite artists concert.

He would also introduce you to many of your favourite actors.

Tom would also take pictures and videos of you for your work to put on all your socials.. (and the paparazzi has definitely caught you guys many times)

At last you guys would become fans' favourites and will probably have an awesome wedding with all those dance moves (especially Tom's ;)) ).

[ar3s-r4t-qu33n]

The Insomniac - Chapter 1

So… Played the tutorial of Trials and explored the Sleep Room a bit and somehow, in my sleep deprived brain, that was enough to make something so here it is! Not sure if I’ll continue it, I kinda want to ngl but we’ll see. Not really proofread, again, half written when I was passing out and then finished when I was a bit more lucid so I apologise if it’s shit. Also I’m still figuring out a lot of shit about Trials so if I’ve messed up anything about the layout/terminology/lore, please let me know! Hope y’all enjoy!!

Word Count: 3,338

CW: Attempted murder, drugging.

"Please step out of the shuttel."

Reawakening

I cling to the shuttle, knees knocking as one of my hands slips off, almost taking me down with it. It's bloody, still gushing the stuff from the gaping hole in my palm. My head throws my vision through a loop, and I have to swallow hard to stop the bile rushing up my throat to come spilling out of me. It hurts. It's too bright in here. Wherever here is. There's a window to my left, where more of those awful doctors are probably torturing their patients, drilling into their temples and spewing nonsense about the past and the future and 'the programme'. My head spins again. In front of me looks like a counter at a pharmacy, a woman reading behind the desk. She doesn’t appear to have noticed me, but I’m breathing so loudly, I swear she must be able to hear it.

I jolt, stumbling out and crashing against the wall. The shuttle snaps shut behind me, faster and somehow angrier than the last one.

“Please explore the Sleep Room. This is your neighbourhood…”

I squeeze my eyes shut, blood rushing my ears as my head spins yet again, that stupid intercom going on and on and on, barely audible between each ragged breath I force in and out of my lungs. I need to calm down. I need to figure out what the hell is going on and get out of here. My fingers stick to the cool glass and I force myself to steady, wobbly on my feet as I approach the counter.

"You have to learn to crawl before you can run, Honey.” She says, disinterested, again not even glancing up from her magazine.

"I-" My words die in my mouth, vocal chords giving out a pained squeak instead of English, throat constricting in on itself in protest, larynx sending me a strict warning;

Don't speak unless necessary. You need to heal.

I need to get my hands on some fresh tea, lemons and honey.

Rounding the corner, I find myself in what looks like a recreational room, only it's entirely too clinical. Pure white, too much space, and far too few people having far too few conversations. Most just sit, staring off. A man sits near the door, something in his eyes a little more lucid than some of the others, so I approach.

"Where-"

He juts his head towards a metal staircase. "First empty room you see’s probably yours.”

"Thank you." More throaty squeaks, both the inside and outside of my throat burning at the effort.

The slabs have been cold on my now bare feet, but the metal stairs are even worse. Make me wish I had my fluffy slippers. I didn't have time to put them on, I only had my socks. Why would they take my socks? And my nightgown, I realise, reaching the platform halfway up. I'm dressed in something akin to a uniform, gray and drab and not made for me. It clings far too much, meant for a gal a lot smaller than me.

A glint in my peripheral catches my eye and I glance to the right, finding a huge window looking down on the rec room. I can't see much. The glass is strange, not quite a mirror, but not clear, either. As though it resists showing what's within but can't quite commit to the task.

Doctors. Machines. And then a man in a wheelchair. He's focused on the people below me, pondering something, before he pulls away from the window, disappearing down a hallway. Not once did he look at me. It's like he didn't even know I was there.

My room is at the very end of the hallway marked ‘A-2’, beside another metal grid sectioning us off from the rest of wherever we are. The only plain room left, a number written above the unit.

3001

The door swings open almost too efficiently, quickly and quiet, and I quickly shut it again behind me. That voice comes in again, seemingly coming from a television screen in the corner, talking about the space, but I don’t care to hear it. I don’t care for any of this.

The door stands a fraction of an inch above the floor, a tiny but noticeable drop between the hallway and my room. The window in here is the same as the one looking down to watch us; not quite one way, not quite two. My stomach drops as I watch someone pass by, not seeing their every pore, sure, but they're not exactly blurred. They sort of lean in, as though hoping I wouldn't see them, and quickly disappear, footsteps, shoes, hurrying back down the hallway as hushed voices talk. Not soundproof, either.

The room holds little; a basin, wall mirror, desk and chair, bed, a little dresser for clothes, a few shelves and what appear to be the 'essentials' for this place- shampoo, soaps, a wash cloth, kettle, some eating utensils, fan, books, weights, a lamp, toilet paper, some canisters, and a pile of napkins. A toothbrush and tube of toothpaste have been laid out by the basin too.

Taking stock makes me feel better. I don’t know why.

The soap and shampoo are basic, unscented, purely for getting clean, and the canisters hold sugar, in one, and coffee pods in another. My nose twitches at the scent and I move on, sitting on my plain bed, feeling the cheap, sort of scratchy sheets beneath my hand. The other remains in my lap, numb, but throbbing. I've never treated a wound before. And it's not even the only one I have; that... Creature, whatever it was, it felt like it sucked the life out of me, and whoever jumped on me luckily didn't cause too much damage, but my arms hurt from the punching, and there will probably be bruises tomorrow. And then I ran into that woman with the puppet again at right before I escaped, and that drill caught me in the shoulder.

I think I almost died. If that shuttle hadn't closed, she would have killed me.

I approach the basin, seeing myself in the mirror for the first time since that night. I'm a mess. Hair all over the place, lipstick smudged, a dark ring around my eyes where my makeup was. Bloodshot eyes. Temples caked in blood from where they drilled...

I wince at the memory, a headache threatening to hit me, and I force my attention on my hand.

Once the blood is washed away and I've wiped as much as I can from my shoulder and temples, I'm left with a cut along my left shoulder and a hole in my right hand. At least it's not my dominant one. But I'm going to need something to cover it up. My throat is burning now, in desperate need of a drink, but I'd rather die than drink coffee and I don’t know if the water is safe. My legs are shaky as I head back downstairs to the rec room, hunger pains gnawing at the bottom of my stomach. I can smell food somewhere, but it's almost overwhelming how strong it is, the air completely filled with the stench of something I can't quite place, a cacophony of smells that do nothing but confuse me. I need to focus. I need gauze and a plaster.

I try to speak to the nearest person but words just won't form. My throat is practically wringing itself, and my eyes dart around the room in search of something to drink; nothing. None.

It's like my body moves of it's own accord, slinking back to the stairs, leaning against the banister in... Shame.

I want to fucking scream.

I want to yell ‘don't any of you know who I am!? Don't you care!?’ God, in New York, in New Orleans, I was something. I meant something, people knew my name and if they saw me like this, bleeding and parched, they would help me. Someone would help me.

... Am I even still in New York?

"Hey-"

A hand lands on my shoulder and I jump back, hitting the back of my head against the metal, a strangled sort of half gasp, half scream clawing its way out of my throat.

"Hey, hey, woah!" A man several heads taller than me steps back, hands up in defence. "Easy. It's okay. I just wanted to check in on you, I don't think I've seen you around before and... To be honest, you ain't exactly in the best shape."

He's weathered. I can't tell if it's by age or experience, but there is something timeless to him, wrinkles on his forehead, crow's feet, and yet clear laughter lines outlining his full lips. His hair is shaved down to his scalp, a coiley layer of frizz just about starting to grow, and a lightning bolt of a scar runs from his scalp down the side of his temple and onto his right cheek, forking over his forehead and even dipping into his ear.

"Do you need some gauze?"

I nod.

"Do you need someone to wrap your hand for you?"

I nod again.

"Do you talk?"

I nod a third time.

"Alright, okay," he chuckles, "My cell's this way, and luckily for you, I've got some supplies saved up. We haven't had anyone new come in in a while now." He begins walking and I follow, turning down a hallway to that first row of rooms. His is in the middle, and the second he opens the door, I am in awe.

I have no idea how he's managed to do it in a place like this, but there's paper on the walls and a carpet on the floor, the whole floor, filling that slight gap between the two rooms. His shelves are lined with things, including a medkit that he grabs and behind digging through. His dresser is full of clothes, some bloodied, others pristine, and some of his trinkets do catch my eye. They're... Oddly macabre. Toys that are just off or oddly perverse, statues of things I have never seen in my life, and, oddly enough, a bag of pistachios, half eaten.

"Sit down. I'll be as gentle as possible." He pulls out the desk chair for me. "Feel free to grab some water, too. Safer to get it from the stations in the hallway than the sink, but the way.”

As he begins to wrap my hand, I take the cup and drink the whole thing down in one, finally dousing the flames within.

"That better?" He asks, amused.

I nod. "Thank you."

His smile fades "Look, I hate to be rude, I do, but," he secures the gauze. "You look really bad, ma'am. Worse than most new folks."

I motion to my shoulder and he takes a look.

"Blood loss. Checks out." He begins to rifle through the first aid box again.

There’s a thousand questions running through my head, some I know he could probably answer, others I’m certain he can’t, but somehow the least important one comes out first. "How did you know about my hand?"

He holds his right hand out to me, a scar almost perfectly in the centre of his palm. "I'll give Gooseberry one thing; she has impeccable aim." He crosses over to my front again. "We all have one. There's a certain order to things here, you know, them academics and doctor types love routine." He rolls his eyes with a smirk. "But every single person here has a scar." He presses his hand against mine gently. It dwarfs mine, almost, larger, stronger, calloused. "And now you do too. Means you're one of us," His eyes flick to the still-open door, quickly enough that just I barely catch it. "And not one of them."

He returns his attention to my shoulder.

"I'm sorry, that's a lot of information at once, huh?"

I nod, losing my words once more.

"Don't you worry, they usually give you a few days before they start hounding you to go back in-"

"Go back in!?" I try to turn around, but his sturdy hands hold me in place.

"Easy." He warns. "I'll explain more to you once you've settled, but unless you wanna pass away in your sleep tonight, I'd suggest you let me take care of this."

I still, but my heart is thudding along in my ears, I can feel it in my neck, the soles of my feet. What else could possibly be in that house that would make me wanna go back? I already destroyed everything, my documents, whatever was in that other box. It was too dark for me to rifle through it, I had more important things on my mind.

“I barely got here.” I mutter, quite by accident.

He sighs. “Like I said, you’ll have a few days to recover, maybe someone will take pity on you and do a few runs in your stead. But you will have to go back in. Everyone has to go back in.” He secures the bandage. “Maybe you’ll find a full group to go with, that’ll give you better chances.”

“Can’t I go with you?”

He’s suddenly bashful, gaze falling to the floor. “Not, um… not really. It’s really nothing personal, but it’s better for me if everyone survives, and I’ve been doing this with folks who know what they’re doing for quite some time now. You ain’t ready for that sort of thing, clearly. Better if you find someone with a bit more experience who’s willing to go at your speed.”

None of what he’s saying is making any sense to me. How much better can you get at shredding documents and avoiding crazy people? I’m sure if I went back in, with a proper layout and knowledge of what the hell I was doing, I could do it perfectly, without getting hurt this time.

“You’re all set.” He says, stepping back from me. “You’d best get yourself some food. I’d suggest avoiding Dory for the time being, she ain’t too fond of new people bothering her. I recommend you be nice to the Cook, since he’s the one feeding you, and I have heard he’s happy to spit in the soup if someone pisses him off enough. Don’t use that hand too much if you can help it as well. Oh, the showers are through the cafeteria, same as the toilets.”

A knock has us both turning to the door, where a woman, an older lady with greying hair and spindly hands is waiting.

“Sparky, the boys wanna play chess, you coming?”

“I’ll be right there, thanks for letting me know.”

She spares me a quick once-over before leaving.

The man, Sparky, I assume, leads me back out to the rec room before patting me on the back and heading upstairs, leaving me alone once more.

It’s even quieter in here now, maybe it’s tea time or perhaps people are turning in or have somewhere to be, but it’s completely quiet save for the echoes from above. I am hungry. Thirsty again now, too. Maybe I should go up to the cafeteria, so if I can get something. See about getting my hands on some tea. I’d even take Earl Grey at this point as opposed to my usual spiced chamomile. Anything, so long as it soothes my throat.

“Hey,”

I turn to my right; a man is behind a thick pane of that strange glass, completely on his own. He’s dressed as though he’s been prepared for a struggle; helmet, mask, even gloves. He’s surrounded by what look to be little cages, a small hallway behind his cramped office. I can’t help peering down it as I get closer, searching for anyone out there.

“Sorry, just… Fuck. You just got here, didn’t you?” He says, leaning forwards in his chair. “You got that look about you, like… I don’t know, like you’re still human.”

My throat tightens. “What does that mean?”

He shakes his head. “Nothing. Just enjoy it while it lasts, I guess.” He points to the shuttle beside me. “This here’s the egress. Once the whitecoats are done twisting you into shape, this is how you get back out into the world.”

It looks like it, too. Lush plant life is escaping the gridded floor, thin smoke reminding me of a rain forest or jungle, but the second I step just slightly closer to it, bars slam into place, blocking my way out.

“I’m… sorry to say it,” I can’t look away from it. The exit, the way out, it’s right in front of me, right before my eyes. All it would take is this guy pressing a button and letting me through, and I’d be free. “But you got a lot of rough roads ahead of you.”

My lip quivers pathetically, that burning, constricting feeling in my throat finally giving way to tears, hot, escaping my eyes as I turn back to him. “I can’t do this. I- I’m not supposed to be in a place like this, I mean it. I didn’t… I have a family back home. People who are looking for me, they know that I can’t do this, you just have to call them up, if you call my dad, he’ll tell you I’m not built for this.”

“I’ve heard this before, miss-”

“I’m Roxie Morgan.” I say, gripping the edge of his counter. “I’m a singer, I live in New York, people know who I am, they know my face, they will miss me if I don’t come home, you have to let me out of here- I’m going to die!”

For a moment- I swear, I swear- his pale blue eyes soften, hands clenching in his lap as he looks at me, as I cry in front of him, letting him see the whole of it, the whole of me and my fucking terror, I see his chest seize up, as though caught red-handed, as though he could actually do something.

And then he looks away.

“I… I’m sorry, Ma’am, but I’ll need release tokens to let you out. There’s protocols, there’s rules, and you’re just gonna have to follow them.”

No…

No. No, no, no, he can’t, he can’t make me do this, no one can make me do this.

“I can’t go back in there. I could have died, do you hear me? I almost died in there! That woman almost killed me, she almost killed me! Someone almost killed me-”

He presses a button. “I need a sedative please, as soon as possible.”

“You can make it stop! You can let me out, you can get me out of here please, please just let me go, I shouldn’t be here! I’m not supposed to be here, I-”

A strong arm wraps around my wrist and a stabbing pain shoots through my upper arm. Immediately my body fails me, legs giving out and someone hooks their hands under my arms, dragging me backwards.

As my eyes fall shut, I see that man behind the glass just staring at me, wide-eyed, haunted, almost, as though he’s never had to do that before. As though he’s in trouble, a brand new trouble he’s never experienced before.

            I wake the following morning with a mouth dryer than sand and a splitting head ache, a dried dribble of blood stuck to my arm. I’m starving at this point, stomach screaming at me to get up and feed it.

On my way through to the cafeteria, I can’t help but look at that window again. He’s not there, it’s a different guy this time, but I can’t imagine that he’s just gone. No, he’s likely gone home, his shift ended, and he’ll be back at some time in the future. He has to come back.

Because he’s my ticket out. No matter what it takes, that man is going to get me out of here.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

An attempt was made...

Idk, it's a sort of flash sudden thing, I usually edit and draft a lot more before I feel like I want people to read it but first time for everything ig. I'm so fucking scared rn man-

[maggyme13]

Moving above the Underworld (1/?)

Ellie just moved into a new flat. Introducing herself to her downstairs neighbor with a cake she did not realize what the future held for her and him. And what had an asshole coworker to do with it?

AN: I never saw Sand Castle and only know about Captain Syverson because of the Henry Cavill Character Rabbithole of Fanfiction. But I thought he would fit the best (visually), so I chose him.

Don´t like-> Don´t Read Minors DNI

Warning: asshole Coworkers, This Series WILL contain dubcon! Wordcount: Around 2k

Masterlist Series-Masterlist

„Finally, the last box is empty. Only took me- what- a month?“, the young woman groaned. Her back was hurting from lifting too much heavy lumber at work. “Now, I gotta get food in the oven and take my hard owned shower. And why am I talking to myself again? If he hears me, he won´t look at me all grumpy but as I am crazy as well. Gotta tone it down, Ellie.” Stripping her dusty work clothes, she made her way into the small bathroom of her apartment. It had dark gray tiles on the floor, with Creme-colored walls, a toilet, a bathtub with a shower, and a sink with a mirrored cabinet above it. Her washing machine and dryer were in a small adjoined room next door. “Still got to introduce myself to my neighbor properly. Now that he is back from his holidays. Guess I could bake something. What do I have in the pantry? What do I have… Flour, sugar, eggs, milk, chocolate, baking powder. Mhm...”, she continued thinking out loud while washing her longish dark-blonde hair and face, “I could make some Straciatella cake with chocolate topping and split one dough into two servings. I could do with something sweet for my breaks.” Ellie fought getting some dried varnish off her arms. “Tomorrow is Friday. That means he should be home when I get off work, right? I still can leave it at his door with a note either way.” Dressed in some of her most comfortable clothes and with her hair up in a towel Ellie ate her Pizza while also preparing the cake dough. If she sat down to eat, she knew she would never be able to get back up and get her shit done. “Note to myself: Get more painkillers at the pharmacy tomorrow.”, she groaned again when a sting of pain spread through her spine, “Would only be half this bad if the idiot would have helped me instead of taking like ten smoke breaks.” She had just placed the pan in the oven when the sound of a door closing and being locked reached her ears; her neighbor was leaving it seemed. He was always gone at strange and unscheduled times, and the woodworker wondered what his job was that he had no schedule. But she was too shy to ask. Not that it was any of her business. “Forty minutes to wait. Hope this works out.” ___

Before she left her flat, she quickly the molten chocolate over the cakes so it would be ready once she returned late that afternoon. “Let´s see if I can even move tonight. Would be nice though.”, she wondered aloud after one last stretch. Just when she wanted to open the front door it was opened from the outside. Her neighbor had returned. He was a giant of a man. Nearly two meters in height with shaved hair, a short full beard, and muscles. His arms were close to the width of her lower legs, his torso as wide as an old beer keg, and his legs fit the rest of that body. When Ellie had seen him the first time she had believed a god stood before her. Cheesy, she knew, but that was the first thought that had crossed her mind. As usual, he was wearing all black: Black shirt, trousers, and shoes. That showed off his tattoo-covered arms and the crook of his neck. He was no one she wanted to cross paths with when he was angry or in a dark alleyway. “G-Good morning.”, she greeted as usual with a small smile on her lips. “´Morning.”, he rumbled back, not cold but tired sounding. Listening to her music, Ellie made her way to the nearby subway station that would bring her to her workplace. Each day she traveled one hour to and from work. And whenever she had to make overtime, she hated it even more.

___

“G-Good evening, Sir. I am sure- cut that- I know you know I moved into the flat a-above you a few weeks back. I- I had no time to introduce myself properly so here I am. Name´s Ellie Miller. I am a skilled Woodworker. Please let me know if I am too loud or do something wrong. And I can leave my number in case something happens.”, she stumbled over her words. Far too shy and nervous standing in front of her neighbor. “Mhrmm.”, he answered quirking one of his eyebrows. His gray eyes staring right into her soul it seems. “Oh- I. I made a cake as an introductory gift. I hope you are not allergic to anything.”, Ellie handed him the box with the cake, “I will leave you to it then. Ha- Have a nice evening.” Fighting the urge to bow (whichever), the woman turned and walked back up to her apartment, feeling his eyes on her back until she closed the door behind her. “That was scary.”, she breathed out, her back pressed against the closed door. The box was returned to her the next Monday morning, clean and with a note that stated: ´Thank you. Welcome to the house.´ The grateful smile that danced around her lips after reading those words only left when she stepped into the workshop and was met by her favorite coworker. He was in his early forties, friends with the boss, and believed women belonged behind a counter and not a band- or circular saw. But he could not get rid of her. Both her work ethic and the results of her work were perfect and not once a customer complained about her. “Boss wants to have a word with you.”, he sneered and Ellie sighed. What had she done now? “You wanted to see me, Sir?”, she asked once stepped into the office. “Your new tasks. Make sure not to mess them up this time. And no more leaving early. Now back to work!”, her Boss told her without looking at her at all. “Yes, Sir.”, she mumbled, taking the binders with her. She had three weeks to build a whole (though small) kitchen, one bedroom interior, one sideboard beneath a sink, and an office table. “Oh joy, over time. Again.”, she groaned, her head hitting the top of her workstation, “At least the table and bedroom are made of oak. We have enough of that lying around. Let´s get that done, I guess. No moving tonight again. Yayy.”

____

It was the Saturday after she had finished the given tasks (with high praises from the customers) and was finally able to relax a bit. And that usually meant doing nothing (productive) all day long, wearing her most comfortable clothes (or sleepwear), maybe some baking, and reading. This time her choice fell on a simple but delicious apple cake with cinnamon-sugar crumbles, and so she got to work. “This one will taste incredible with some fresh whipped cream.”, Ellie hummed. She had last made it a few months back and she yearned for it now that she smelled it again. Her kitchen was clean, she grabbed a cup of tea and launched herself into her couch with the book she was reading at that moment in time. “DAMN. It smells like a bakery in here! I am getting hungry just standing here.”, a man exclaimed in the hallway. He seemed to have a Latin-American accent,” Didn´t know you could use a kitchen without blowing it up.” “My neighbor. She tends to do it often.”, her neighbor answered in a neutral tone. “Think I could ask for some?”, the first man asked and Ellie perked up. “We have shit to do.”, now her neighbor sounded slightly annoyed. “Spoilsport.”, that last mumble of the foreigner made her chuckle, and decided to put some cake and whipped cream in a container and hang it on her neighbor's doorknob. A whole sheet was far too much for one person to eat. Even though when that person was a bit chubby. Two hours later, she did just that, with a small note attached that read: ´I overheard you earlier. Sorry for listening in. I made far too much for one person, so please enjoy it. I hope it was okay that I placed it on your doorknob. I did not want to interrupt whatever you were doing ~ Ellie.´ From that day on, whenever she made something, she would put it in a container on a little stool she placed next to the stairs leading up to her apartment. And every time the container would be empty and clean the coming day. She did not do that because she wanted something in return, but because she loved to bake and share (it). Around that time Ellie started to feel like she was being followed whenever she left the house. No matter where she went. If it was to work, on the way to customers, shopping for groceries, or simply for a walk through the neighborhood. At first, the feeling was only sporadic and every other day, but once she had realized the feeling. She got more and more aware of it, but whenever she was to look around, no one was there that looked suspicious. Up to a point where she had anxiety attacks only thinking about leaving through her door. Two months into that situation Ellie almost knocked out one of the Coworkers she liked with a piece of wood when he had startled her at work. She apologized profusely and promised baked goods as an apology. He declined. But asked if she was alright. She told him yes, that she was simply overworked and ready for her days off the upcoming week. But of course, it should not be that easy for her. The last Customer was screaming to her, that she was a failure and knew nothing about what she was doing. That she should quit and be a housewife like a real woman would. It took everything for within her to not start to cry, and because she had managed to do just that, she treated herself to a ´feel-good´ hot chocolate. Again, the dreaded feeling of being under surveillance crept up her spine and she hurried home to order some food from a local Italian restaurant. With how her day had been, she needed her favorite comfort food. Exited for a calm(er) evening with incredible food, she opened the door for the delivery guy. Who was in his mid-thirties, with oily skin, unruly hair, and some dirt on his uniform. He smelled of booze, but that could be caused by the large stain on his shirt. It seemed like someone had dumped his beer on him. Not being one to judge someone who was looking the way he was, anyone had a bad day once in a while. Heck, she just had one THAT day. Her friendly demeanor left though when the man whistled lewdly and

started to make inappropriate comments. “Thank you, for your delivery, Sir.”, she smiled, trying to close the door on him. He put his hand between the door and frame to stop her from doing so and pushed the door open again. “What are you doing tomorrow? Say at 6 pm.”, he grinned. “Nothing of your concern. Now have a nice evening.”, she tried again but he did not budge. “Go on a date with me and I´ll leave.” Ellie just wanted to tell him off again when the main door opened again. “Your Car is blocking my spot.”, her neighbor stated after a second he needed to take in the scene before him,” Get it moving or I´ll call your boss.” “Sorry, Sir. Think about it Sweetheart.”, the man winked before finally leaving. “No thank you.”, the woman whispered more to herself than anything else, before addressing her savior, “Thank you for that. H-he did not take No for an answer.” “You good?”, he asked, his eyes roaming over her like he was looking for any injuries. “Yes, Thank you again.”, and with that, she returned to her kitchen to hopefully be able to relax. Part 2

AN: Thank you for reading! Reblogs and Comments are always appreciated!:)

[alwaysjustmina]

Kiss prompt: You’re going to get lipstick all over me. Can’t wait to see how you interpret this one.

It may take me a few days, but damn it, I can do this!! Rainy baby!

Kaleidoscope

The dream kept repeating in his head, Swiss with his dark lipstick on for ritual bobbing up and down on his hard shaft, black lipstick all over his body. He told him he was going to get lipstick all over him, but he didn't stop. His body was covered in dark kisses.

All he could think now was, what would that lipstick actually feel like on his skin. It had been days and that question still plagued his every thought. At the last stop on tour he ran into a pharmacy and couldn't stop himself from buying one for himself. They had so many colors and immediately he saw this perfect shade of purple that looked like Phantom's eyes. Said lipstick was in his bag, packed for their next hotel stay. Along with some other items he had found.

That hotel stay came a few nights later, where they all had their own room for the night.

He got a shower before he left the venue so all he had to do was change out of his street clothes into some comfy lounge pants and soft t-shirt. He took the other items out of his bag and laid them by the counter in the bathroom. But the lipstick he took it out of the packaging and opened it on the spot. He looked at the pristine tube of purple, bringing it to his nose to smell it. It smelled exactly as his dream had portrayed it, waxy and slightly floral. He brought it to his lips and did a quick pass over the inner bow of his mouth. The color was electric against his pale skin, he laughed as he looked at himself. Might as well go in for the whole thing if he was doing this.

He lined up and traced his lips to perfection, the perfect pout in purple stared back at him. He made faces at the mirror as he appreciated how it looked on him. He was beautiful, too beautiful, he wanted someone to mess up that perfect smile. He would just have to do it himself. He raised his finger to swipe through the purple drawing it down across his chin where he smeared it. He could feel his cock start to fill out as he pushed his finger in between his lips to taste the waxy substance. When it hit his tongue it pulled an involuntary moan from his throat. His eyes looked back at him from the mirror, half lidded with desire.

He reached to pull his shirt up, trying to avoid the sensation of his cock against the soft pants for a little longer. He could feel the pre start to drip as he touched his body.

His other hand went and dragged through the lipstick again, drawing a line across his cheek. He groaned as he looked at himself. He slowly dropped his hand down to his chest to run his limbs over his body. Leaving pale trails of purple behind. He loved the way the purple looked across his toned stomach, emphasizing his taunt skin, his fingers playing lightly on his nipple, the purple sticking to the bud. He wished he could pull it into his mouth and taste it on himself.

The pants were becoming increasingly tighter as he played with his nipples, he couldn't deny himself any longer. He pulled the drawstring and they slid down over his hips. He laughed at the wet mark on the front as they fell. His cock springing free the instant they went past his hips erect and dripping. He pulled his shirt off over his head and leaned back against the opposite wall of the bathroom mirror, only seeing himself from chest up. He swept his palm across the lipstick again, sliding the purple mess across his other cheek, and then took that hand and gripped his shaft.

The waxy feel from the lipstick on his cock had him doubling over, before he could grip himself fully. It was unlike anything he had ever felt before, as his hand glided across his cock staining it purple. He gripped the base before slowly bringing his hand forward and rotating it creating that perfect slide. Gathering the pre from the tip and mixing it with the purple mess, it only made it better. Like oil gliding skimming across the top of a puddle. The color created a duochrome kaleidoscope.

His eyes rose to take in again the purple on his face, he let out a deep moan as he took in the reflection. He took his other hand and put it on his lips, licking the pre off that had gathered before sliding them in between his lips, groaning around his fingers as he slid them in and out at the same pace of his other hand on his cock.

He could feel his stomach muscles tightening as his orgasm approached, he didn't want this to end.

He thought about Swiss on his knees in front of him in the dream, but then it switched to Phantom and Dew worshiping at his feet, as they laved at his cock, their tongues entwined around him. The sounds they'd make as they brought him close to his end. Dew's quiet moans, almost shy, Phantom's soft and needy. So needy.

He'd whisper to them, "Fucking take it, make me come."

And they'd tell him how beautiful he was and ask him to fuck them, begging.

He moaned at the thought, his fingers fucking his mouth and his hand on his cock going at a furious pace.

"So fucking close, so close." He moaned.

"Fucking take it," he shouted as his body released and he shot his hot come all across the sink and counter.

His legs shaking as he slowly stopped his hand from gripping himself. He removed his hand from his mouth and scooped up a glob of his come from the counter, staining it purple, too. He brought his fluid up to his mouth and darted his tongue out to taste, so good. He gathered more and fingered it into his mouth. His body spasming again around the pleasure he was tasting. If he could come again he would have.

He looked back up at the mirror, purple staining half of his face, come dripping down his lips, his eyes heady and wanton. His dark curls falling over his eyes, his lips puffy. He wandered to himself as he took in the reflection if he could put the other items to use, the cream blush, the red lipstick and the black mascara, he wondered if he'd come as hard. He wondered if he could get Phantom and Dew on their knees in front of him prettied up and he could be the one to make their faces as pretty as he was right now.

He cleaned himself up and smiled as the sound from the door brought him back to the present.

"Rain, you here?" He heard Dew call with Phantom following up with, "He said he was coming up earlier."

He was coming up early, and now he'd get them to come too. He smiled and opened the door.

"Hey, I have something I want to try."

[daystar-by-jacqui-natla]

12. BOREDOM

I DIDN'T THINK THAT BEING A VAMPIRE would come with long days and nights and a completely new concept of time. Before, when I was human, time was something I could grasp—a linear thing, marked by sunrise and sunset, appointments and obligations. But now, the days bled into nights, and the nights into days, an endless cycle that meant nothing and everything at once.

The minutes stretched out, and sometimes, the hours vanished in an instant. It was strange, really, how time no longer held the same weight. I could sit in silence for hours, lost in thought, or run through the woods for days, feeling the wind whip against my face, without ever growing tired. The world around me continued its relentless pace, but for me, everything had slowed down—or maybe I had simply outrun it.

But as the days passed, that endlessness turned into something else. Something more oppressive. Boredom.

The four vampires were out of the mansion for their daily jobs. Gabriel was a lawyer at the Thomson Snell & Passmore law firm while Helena worked as a doctor at the NHS. Simon worked at the Regent High School as an English teacher and Alana worked as a pharmacist at Harrods Pharmacy.

The problem wasn't the lack of things to do; it was the sheer vastness of it all. Everything felt stretched, like a canvas pulled too tight. Time became this strange, slippery thing that evaded meaning. I tried to distract myself—reading, sparring with Ingram, even hunting in the nearby woods—but nothing seemed to fill the emptiness that gnawed at me.

I never imagined that immortality would come with such a sense of stagnation.

I stood by the window now, watching the rain fall in a steady, unbroken sheet. The clouds above churned in a slow, heavy roll, as if mirroring the monotony that had settled in my chest. The field was an endless void of nothingness and the raindrops were a long trail of stillness.

How different it all seemed. When I was human, I was part of that chaos— school, deadlines, small distractions. I used to think I was busy, too busy for anything more. Now, I had nothing but time, and it dragged on, heavier than I ever thought possible.

I heard Ingram's familiar footsteps. His presence didn't pull me from my reverie like it used to. Lately, even his company felt muted, like everything else.

"You're standing there again," he remarked softly, his voice carrying a warmth that didn't quite reach me.

I didn't turn around. "I like the rain."

"You never used to," he said, walking up beside me. I caught the flicker of a smile on his lips from the reflection in the window. "You used to complain about it constantly."

I sighed. "Things change."

Ingram studied me for a moment, then leaned against the wall, folding his arms across his chest. "You're restless."

"No kidding."

"It's the transition," he said, as if this explained everything. "It takes time to adjust. To... recalibrate. You're not used to the stillness."

"The stillness?" I echoed, turning to face him fully. "This isn't stillness, Ingram. This is numbness. It's like everything is fading out, losing color. I thought becoming a vampire meant intensity—sharpness, heightened senses, more life. But instead, it's like I'm slipping further away from everything that used to matter."

His gaze softened. "It's not always like this. I promise you that."

I sighed as my gaze drifted to Leah, who was lying on the couch.

Leah Clearwater, once so full of fire and fight, lay sprawled on the couch, her limbs draped carelessly, eyes fixed on some invisible point above her. If anyone embodied restlessness, it was her, and yet now, she seemed to have succumbed to the same quiet desolation that I felt creeping through me. Her transformation had been even more jarring than mine, I knew. For someone who had always lived on the edge of control, her sudden stillness was unnerving.

I moved from the window, leaving the rain behind, and sat down in the armchair across from Leah. The silence between us stretched, but it wasn't the easy kind. It was thick, weighted with unspoken thoughts.

She blinked slowly, as if pulling herself from some deep reverie, and her sharp gaze found mine. "You feel it too, don't you?" she asked, her voice low and almost dangerous. It was the first thing she'd said to me in days that wasn't laced with irritation or veiled anger.

"Feel what?" I asked, even though I already knew.

"The nothingness. The endless... drag of it all." Her words were clipped, biting, as if just admitting it was a betrayal of who she had been. Leah had never been one to wallow in anything. She faced things head-on, with brutal honesty and a resilience that bordered on ferocity.

I nodded, leaning back in my chair. "I thought it was just me."

A bitter laugh escaped her. "No. It's not just you. This... eternity," she spat the word like it was a curse, "it's not what I expected. Not that I had much choice in the matter."

We shared a look, a brief, raw understanding passing between us. Leah had always been defined by her choices—by the things taken from her, the sacrifices she'd been forced to make. And now, immortality was just another chain.

"All I did was eat, sleep and stare into space," Leah commented grouchily. "What an awful existence."

"Oi," Ingram replied, clearly offended. "I don't bashed on your lifestyle."

Leah scoffed, shifting her weight on the couch as if trying to shake off the suffocating stillness. "This isn't a lifestyle, Ingram. This is a holding pattern. An endless, pointless existence where nothing changes."

Ingram rolled his eyes but said nothing, his arms tightening over his chest. He wasn't one for emotional outbursts, but I could sense his frustration, even if he tried to mask it with indifference.

Leah turned her gaze to me. "You know why Ethan's taking so long in the kitchen?"

"What's he doing this time?" I asked.

"He's making pizza for me," she replied.

"That sounds... pleasant, I think," Ingram said, sounding unsure about this.

"Pleasant?" Leah echoed, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Pleasant is for humans. For people who still find joy in the little things. Pizza for me... it's just something to do."

I felt a familiar pang of sympathy tug at me, though I said nothing. I knew why Ethan was making the pizza. It wasn't just about keeping busy—it was about Leah. Even now, after everything, he couldn't quite shake that pull, that connection. Her imprint on him ran deep, in ways that both of them struggled to understand. And so, he tried. Little things like pizza, jokes that didn't land, moments that felt half-formed.

Ingram, oblivious to the weight behind her words, just shrugged. "Well, if pizza's all you've got, you might as well enjoy it."

Leah's lips curled into a faint, humorless smile. "If only it were that simple."

She leaned back, her gaze drifting up toward the ceiling. For a moment, the room fell into the familiar silence—an unspoken agreement between the three of us that we were all feeling the same, even if none of us were ready to admit it fully.

Then, footsteps echoed from the kitchen. Ethan stepped through the doorway, balancing a tray with a single, perfectly crafted pizza. He paused for a moment, his eyes scanning the room, catching the tension that hung between us.

"Pizza's ready," he said, his voice light but his eyes too careful, too aware of the undercurrent in the room.

Leah glanced at the pizza, then back at Ethan, her expression unreadable. "Thanks," she muttered, pulling herself upright on the couch. Her movements were slow, deliberate, as if she was forcing herself to engage with something—anything.

Ethan crossed the room and set the tray down on the coffee table in front of her. He hesitated, then sat on the edge of the couch next to her, his knee brushing against hers. She didn't flinch, but she didn't lean into him either. The bond between them was complicated, strained by the unnatural dynamics of what they'd become.

He looked over at me, offering a small smile, as if to reassure me that everything was fine. But I could see the cracks, the way his gaze lingered on Leah just a second too long, as though he was searching for something that had been lost between them.

"So," Ethan said, trying to fill the space with words, "I figured since it's a rainy day, and you're always complaining about the food here, I'd make something familiar. Something human."

Leah stared at the pizza as though it were some foreign object, and for a moment, I wondered if she'd even take a bite. Finally, she reached out, grabbing a slice and taking a mechanical bite, chewing slowly. She didn't say anything, just stared blankly ahead, but I could see the effort it took. The weight of trying to pretend, to find meaning in something as small as a slice of pizza.

"Well?" Ethan asked, his voice almost hopeful.

Leah shrugged, swallowing. "It tastes fine."

That was all she said, but the tension between them told a deeper story. Ethan leaned back, disappointment flickering across his features, though he quickly masked it.

I sighed quietly, my own thoughts tangling in the silence. I wanted to help, to offer something that would lift the weight from Leah's shoulders, or at least remind her of what we still had. But the truth was, I didn't know what that was anymore. We were all lost in this endless stretch of time, searching for some piece of ourselves that we hadn't even realized was missing.

Ethan stood abruptly, his hands running through his hair in frustration. "You know, Leah, I'm trying here. I get that things are hard, but you could at least—"

"At least what?" Leah interrupted, her voice sharp as she set the pizza down. "Be grateful? Act like this—like any of this—means something to me? I didn't ask for you to imprint on me, Ethan. I didn't ask for any of this."

Her words hit like a punch, and Ethan recoiled, his eyes flashing with a mix of hurt and anger. "I didn't ask for it either," he snapped, his voice rising. "But I'm trying to make it work. For us."

"There is no 'us,'" Leah shot back, standing now, her voice like a blade cutting through the air. "You keep trying to force this bond, but it doesn't change what we are. What I am. I'm not your perfect mate, Ethan. I'm not some prize to be won."

The room fell into a suffocating silence, the tension almost unbearable. Ingram, who had been watching with a kind of detached curiosity, shifted uncomfortably but said nothing.

Ethan stood frozen, his fists clenched at his sides. "I'm not asking you to be perfect, Leah. I'm just asking you to try. To let me in."

Leah's expression softened for a brief moment, but then her walls slammed back into place. "I can't give you what you want," she said quietly. "I can't even figure out what I want anymore."

Ethan stared at her, his expression raw and vulnerable. For a moment, I thought he might say something—something that would break the cycle of hurt between them—but he just turned and stormed out of the room, the door slamming shut behind him.

Leah collapsed back onto the couch, her face in her hands, her shoulders trembling with frustration. I wanted to reach out, to say something, but I knew nothing I could offer would soothe the storm inside her.

Ingram, always the observer, let out a low whistle. "Well, that was... intense."

"Shut up, Ingram," Leah muttered, not lifting her head.

I stayed quiet, feeling the weight of everything pressing down on all of us. The rain outside continued its steady rhythm, indifferent to the turmoil within. And as the minutes stretched into hours, the silence became all-consuming again.

My golden eyes began to stare at the pizza, smelling the bread, cheese, tomato sauce and pepperonis. Looking at it, it looked like a masterpiece in its simplicity—crispy crust, melted cheese bubbling with pockets of golden perfection, the vibrant red of the sauce peeking through.

I swallowed hard, feeling a strange pull in my chest. I hadn't eaten since my transformation; the thought of food had always seemed foreign, unnecessary. But now, something stirred. Curiosity? Nostalgia? Maybe it was just the relentless boredom clawing at me, whispering that I had to do something different, anything to break the monotony.

Without thinking, I reached forward, grabbing a slice. It was still warm, the scent overwhelming my senses as I brought it closer. Leah glanced at me, raising an eyebrow but saying nothing. Ingram, perched against the wall, watched with mild amusement.

"You're really going to eat that?" he asked, his tone laced with doubt.

I hesitated for a moment, then nodded. "I just... want to see what it's like."

Ethan snorted softly. "Good luck."

Ignoring him, I took a tentative bite. I could make out the bits of the pizza in my mouth—the cheese, the sauce, the pepperoni. For a second, it was everything I remembered food being—comforting, satisfying, real.

But then my stomach churned violently, a wave of nausea crashing over me. I gagged, the taste turning sour, bitter, wrong. My body rejected it immediately. I doubled over, coughing as I spit the half-chewed pizza onto the floor.

Ethan burst out laughing, unable to contain himself. "Told you," he said between gasps for breath.

Leah shook her head, a grim smile tugging at her lips. "Yeah, being a vampire doesn't come with perks like enjoying pizza."

I wiped my mouth, my throat burning as I straightened up. "What the hell?! It tastes like dirt!"

Leah let out a low chuckle, one that lacked humor but held understanding. "Yeah, that's the fun part. You think you can still enjoy the things you used to, but your body has other plans."

"More like a punishment," I muttered, still trying to rid my mouth of the bitter aftertaste. I wiped my hands on my pants, disgusted. "I don't get it. Everything looks and smells the same, but when I eat it... it's like poison."

Ingram grinned from his corner. "Your human cravings die hard. The instincts remain, even when your body has no use for them anymore." He gestured towards the uneaten pizza. "We don't need food, not like that. But sometimes... we want it. It's part of the torture."

"Torture is one word for it," I groaned, sitting back down, my body still recovering from the violent rejection.

Ethan, who had been quiet, leaned forward, elbows resting on hid knees. He studied the pizza like it held the answer to some cosmic question. "I remember the first time I tried to eat after I was turned," he said softly. "I was craving a burger, thought it would ground me, give me something familiar to hold onto." He shook his head. "It was like chewing ash. It's strange. You think being turned means you get more—more strength, more clarity, more life. But in a lot of ways, it's less. Less joy, less connection."

The room fell into a contemplative silence as Ethan's words hung in the air. It was something we were all feeling but hadn't quite voiced. The numbness, the loss of sensation. The world kept moving, but we were adrift, floating through it like ghosts tethered to nothing.

I leaned back in my chair, staring at the remnants of the pizza with a mixture of frustration and resignation. Ethan's attempt at normalcy had backfired, and Leah's discontent seemed to have only deepened. I felt a restless energy bubbling beneath my calm facade, an urgency to find some kind of purpose amidst the monotony.

"I need to do something," I said abruptly, breaking the silence. "I can't just keep drifting like this."

Leah looked up from the couch, her gaze wary but curious. "Like what?"

"I don't know yet," I admitted. "But I've been thinking... there's more to being a vampire than just existing. I mean, there's something that doesn't make sense."

Ingram's eyes narrowed, his curiosity piqued. "And what exactly are you thinking?"

"I was thinking about Renesmee," I began slowly. "About Nahuel and his siblings. Joham and his mission to creating his hybrid army."

"Violet, you want to get closure on what happened between your mother and Melissa, I get that," Leah softly accused.

"No, it's not just that," I interrupted. "I was thinking more about the Volturi's reaction to Renesmee. There has stories about babies born from two different species and of course a person born of both mortality and divinity—“

"What are you trying to say?" Ethan asked.

"Let her finish," Ingram growled briefly at him.

"I meant why was the Volturi surprised when Renesmee was born? They were very knowledgeable about our kind, yet her existence seemed to shake them."

Leah frowned. "And you're wondering why they were surprised?"

"Yes," I said.

The sound of the door opening immediately silenced us and I saw Gabriel entering. His presence brought an immediate shift in the room's energy. He was still dressed in his lawyer's suit, the crisp lines of his attire contrasting sharply with the disarray that had unfolded in the room. He looked around, taking in the scene with a quick, assessing gaze.

"Everything alright?" he asked, his voice carrying an authoritative calm that belied the tension.

Ethan straightened, quickly masking his earlier frustration with a forced smile. "Just having a... discussion."

Gabriel's eyes flicked to the pizza, the uneaten slices strewn about, then to the scattered expressions of those present. "I see." His tone was more observant than concerned. "What's on your mind, Violet?"

I hesitated for a moment, considering how to frame my thoughts. "I was just thinking about Renesmee and the Volturi's reaction to her. The way they seemed surprised by her existence, despite their extensive knowledge about vampires and hybrids."

Gabriel's eyes narrowed slightly, a hint of intrigue in his expression. "Ah, yes. The Volturi have always been very particular about what threatens their dominion. But even they are not omniscient. They react to threats based on their understanding and their fears."

"Exactly," I said, feeling a spark of excitement. "So, why would Renesmee's existence be such a shock to them? What did they miss or misunderstand about hybrids?"

Gabriel's gaze grew thoughtful. "Perhaps they merely thought that hybrids are myths created by the humans, such as sleeping in coffins, being burnt by the sun and all things."

Gabriel paused, his eyes drifting towards the window as if searching for the right words. "The Volturi, despite their age and experience, have always been driven by one thing—control. Their power hinges on maintaining order, on knowing everything about our kind. But Renesmee... she was an anomaly. She represented something they couldn't predict or control."

I leaned forward, my interest piqued. "But there had to be stories, whispers, something. They had Nahuel as proof of hybrid existence. How could they not have been prepared?"

Gabriel's lips pressed into a thin line as he considered this. "Well, vampire-human hybrids are extremely rare occurrence after all," he continued, his voice low but deliberate. "Even if there were whispers, stories of hybrids, the Volturi might not have taken them seriously. They've ruled for so long by relying on established knowledge. Anything outside their understanding was considered an outlier or a threat to be eliminated. Renesmee challenged that paradigm—she was living proof that their rigid world could be more flexible than they wanted to admit."

Leah shifted uncomfortably on the couch. "So, what you're saying is they were caught off guard because they thought they knew everything."

"Exactly," Gabriel said with a slight nod. "And when something new—something unpredictable—arises, it forces them to react in ways they hadn't planned for. It's not just about control. It's about fear. Fear that there might be more out there they don't understand."

The room fell silent again, each of us digesting Gabriel's words. The idea that even the ancient and powerful Volturi could be afraid of the unknown was both unsettling and oddly comforting. It meant that, in some way, they were vulnerable too.

"So, what does that mean for us?" I asked, breaking the quiet. "If the Volturi don't know everything, if there are still things out there they haven't accounted for... where does that leave us?"

Gabriel's gaze met mine, and for a moment, his expression softened. "It means we have more freedom than we think. More choices. But it also means we need to be careful. The Volturi will always try to maintain their grip on power, and anything that challenges their control—whether it's Renesmee or hybrids like Nahuel—will be met with force."

Ingram finally spoke, his voice measured. "But it also means there's potential for change, doesn't it? If they're not as omnipotent as they want us to believe, maybe their control isn't as unshakable as it seems."

Gabriel gave a small, thoughtful smile. "Perhaps. But revolutions, even quiet ones, come at a cost."

I leaned back in my chair, my mind racing with possibilities. The world suddenly felt a little less suffocating, a little less stagnant. The Volturi might be powerful, but they weren't infallible. And that knowledge sparked something in me, something I hadn't felt in a long time—hope.

Leah, too, seemed to sense the shift in the room, though her expression remained guarded. "So, what now?" she asked, her voice laced with skepticism. "Are we supposed to take on the Volturi? Because let me tell you, I've had enough battles for one lifetime."

Gabriel chuckled softly. "No, Leah. I'm not suggesting we wage war on the Volturi. But knowledge is power. Understanding what they don't know, what they fear—that gives us an advantage. It allows us to carve out our own space in this world without their interference. For now, that's enough."

Leah snorted but didn't argue further. She, like the rest of us, seemed to grasp the weight of what Gabriel was saying.

Ethan, who had been unusually quiet since his spat with Leah, finally spoke up. "So, we keep living. But we do it on our terms. Not theirs."

Gabriel nodded. "Exactly."

I looked around at my companions, feeling a newfound sense of resolve. The endlessness, the monotony, the boredom—it all felt a little more manageable now. We might not have all the answers, but we had something even more important: the knowledge that we weren't powerless.

And that was enough to keep us moving forward, one step at a time, into the unknown.

[t4ct1c4l-fluk3]

Litany in Which Certain Things Are Crossed Out

Every morning the maple leaves.

Every morning another chapter where the hero shifts

from one foot to the other. Every morning the same big

and little words all spelling out desire, all spelling out

You will be alone always and then you will die.

So maybe I wanted to give you something more than a catalog

of non-definitive acts,

something other than the desperation.

Dear So-and-So, I'm sorry I couldn't come to your party.

Dear So-and-So, I'm sorry I came to your party

and seduced you

and left you bruised and ruined, you poor sad thing.

Your want a better story. Who wouldn't?

A forest, then. Beautiful trees. And a lady singing.

Love on the water, love underwater, love, love and so on.

What a sweet lady. Sing lady, sing! Of course, she wakes the dragon.

Love always wakes the dragon and suddenly

flames everywhere.

I can tell already you think I'm the dragon,

that would be so like me, but I'm not. I'm not the dragon.

I'm not the princess either.

Who am I? I'm just a writer. I write things down.

I walk through your dreams and invent the future. Sure,

I sink the boat of love, but that comes later. And yes, I swallow

glass, but that comes later.

And the part where I push you

flush against the wall and every part of your body rubs against the bricks,

shut up

I'm getting to it.

For a while I thought I was the dragon.

I guess I can tell you that now. And, for a while, I thought I was

the princess,

cotton candy pink, sitting there in my room, in the tower of the castle,

young and beautiful and in love and waiting for you with

confidence

but the princess looks into her mirror and only sees the princess,

while I'm out here, slogging through the mud, breathing fire,

and getting stabbed to death.

Okay, so I'm the dragon. Bid deal.

You still get to be the hero.

You get the magic gloves! A fish that talks! You get eyes like flashlights!

What more do you want?

I make you pancakes, I take you hunting, I talk to you as if you're

really there.

Are you there, sweetheart? Do you know me? Is this microphone live?

Let me do it right for once,

for the record, let me make a thing of cream and stars that becomes,

you know the story, simply heaven.

Inside your head you hear a phone ringing

and when you open your eyes

only a clearing with deer in it. Hello deer.

Inside your head the sound of glass,

a car crash sound as the trucks roll over and explode in slow motion.

Hello darling, sorry about that.

Sorry about the bony elbows, sorry we

lived here, sorry about the scene at the bottom of the stairwell

and how I ruined everything by saying it out loud.

Especially that, but I should have known.

You see, I take the parts that I remember and stitch them back together

to make a creature that will do what I say

or love me back.

I'm not really sure why I do it, but in this version you are not

feeding yourself to a bad man

against a black sky prickled with small lights.

I take it back.

The wooden halls likes caskets. These terms from the lower depths.

I take them back.

Here is the repeated image of the lover destroyed.

Crossed out.

Clumsy hands in a dark room. Crossed out. There is something

underneath the floorboards.

Crossed out. And here is the tabernacle

reconstructed.

Here is the part where everyone was happy all the time and we were all

forgiven,

even though we didn't deserve it.

Inside your head you hear

a phone ringing, and when you open your eyes you're washing up

in a stranger's bathroom,

standing by the window in a yellow towel, only twenty minutes away

from the dirtiest thing you know.

All the rooms of the castle except this one, says someone, and suddenly

darkness,

suddenly only darkness.

In the living room, in the broken yard,

in the back of the car as the lights go by. In the airport

bathroom's gurgle and flush, bathed in a pharmacy of

unnatural light,

my hands looking weird, my face weird, my feet too far away.

And the the airplane, the window seat over the wing with a view

of the wing and a little foil bag of peanuts.

I arrived in the city and you met me at the station,

smiling in a way

that made me frightened. Down the alley, around the arcade,

up the stairs of the building

to the little room with the broken faucets, your drawings, all your things,

I looked out the window and said

This doesn't look that much different from home,

because it didn't,

but then I noticed the black sky and all those lights.

We walked through the house to the elevated train.

All these buildings, all that glass and the shiny beautiful

mechanical wind.

We were inside the train car when I started to cry. You were crying too,

smiling and crying in a way that made me

even more hysterical. You said I could have anything I wanted, but I

just couldn't say it out loud.

Actually, you said Love, for you,

is larger than the usual romantic love. It's like a religion. It's

terrifying. No one

will ever want to sleep with you.

Okay, if you're so great, you do it—

here's the pencil, make it work . . .

If the window is on your right, you are in your own bed. If the window

is over your heart, and it is painted shut, then we are breathing

river water.

Build me a city and call it Jerusalem. Build me another and call it

Jerusalem.

We have come back from Jerusalem where we found not

what we sought, so do it over, give me another version,

a different room, another hallway, the kitchen painted over

and over,

another bowl of soup.

The entire history of human desire takes about seventy minutes to tell.

Unfortunately, we don't have that kind of time.

Forget the dragon,

leave the gun on the table, this has nothing to do with happiness

Let's jump ahead to the moment of epiphany,

in gold light, as the camera pans to where

the action is,

lakeside and backlit, and it all falls into frame, close enough to see

the blue rings of my eyes as I say

something ugly.

I never liked that ending either. More love streaming out the wrong way,

and I don't want to be the kind that says the wrong way.

But it doesn't work, these erasures, this constant refolding of the pleats.

There were some nice parts, sure,

all lemondrop and mellonball, laughing in silk pajamas

and the grains of sugar

on the toast, love love or whatever, take a number. I'm sorry

it's such a lousy story.

Dear Forgiveness, you know that recently

we have had our difficulties and there are many things

I want to ask you.

I tried that one time, high school, second lunch, and then again,

years later, in the chlorinated pool.

I am still talking to you about help. I still do not have

these luxuries.

I have told you where I'm coming from, so put it together.

We clutch our bellies and roll on the floor . . .

When I say this, it should mean laughter,

not poison.

I want more applesauce. I want more seats reserved for heroes.

Dear Forgiveness, I saved a plate for you.

Quit milling around the yard and come inside

[autogynocrat]

What kind of thoughts did u have when u first started questioning gender? I am wondering if I’m a chaser because I’m a repressor.

well it was kinda a very gradual thing where i had this dysphoria that only got worse every year, tho i didn't realize it was dysphoria until i talked to trans friends about it at around 26. this is very long so brace yourself and it doesn't cover my earliest trans thoughts from childhood, just my dysphoria era

i always had these depressive episodes about my facial hair growing in where i was so depressed i couldn't get out of bed, and I'd end up with a bloody face from how hard i would try to shave bc no matter how close the shave it never felt like enough, i could still feel it. and the male body odor. the haunting smell of my own body. thee size of my shoulders and jaw in the mirror. it was this general malaise about myself

but! it was also this promise. to myself. that if anything ever happened to my testicles that would require their removal i would just pull the trigger on getting hrt. i always figured "im not trans but if i had no balls I'd need to take some hormones to stay healthy, and I'd rather have estrogen. i won't have to worry about my infertility if i have no balls so i won't have any reason not to transition". people had told me to consider going on hormones before but at first i said i didn't want to because i wanted kids one day. later on other people kept telling me i was an egg and i am an obstinate person so i repressed harder to spite the people calling me an egg. my biggest mistake imo.

fast forward to my worst episode. so every year people would tell me that i can't be a femboy forever that eventually its not gonna be cute anymore, I'll look like the 50 year old sissy fetishists who gross everyone out.

every year i had a right winger redpill "friend" who told me i was a year closer to hitting the wall and i needed to give up the femboy shit and take testosterone and become a gymrat, that I'll get a girlfriend if i did that, that I'll be happy.

i did not want to become like that. but i also felt like it was true that "twinkdeath" was approaching. what could i do? my body was masculinized more every year. i tried for maybe 6 months to convince myself "well maybe i can age gracefully become a handsome man" but i would break down when i imagined living the rest of my life as a man.

i just couldn't do it. the thought drove me into the worst episode of my life. and around the same time i saw links on twitter for how to buy estrogen from overseas pharmacies. so i talk to my trans friend about my gender problem. she went through something similar and was happier after trans. so i bite the bullet. i would rather grow old as a trans woman than a cis man. i dont think i cold handle being a cis man long enough to grow old.