#suffering in agony here alone in my corner

[cinderflower]

the concept of miq/malenia drives me insane bc it directly appeals to everything that drew me to princes but amps it up to 1000

a character (2 in their case) born into a title that dictates they take over the existing rule dominating the land after lifetimes of that rule devastating the people of the land

said character(s) suffering from an affliction as a direct result of that inheritance that inadvertently places them in a position to see the faults of it rather than the good in it

egregiously toxic codependent siblings who forsake everything in service of the other and in opposition to their inheritance

political drama and schemes!!

but for miq/malenia, especially miquella, the lengths to which they go?? the implications of the lore???

malenia, who was born cursed with decay, cursed by an outer god that rotted her body in a way that the golden order was helpless to stop, who by all means should have been considered a lost cause and an affront to the Greater Will and Golden Order, and yet still perseveres and learns to fight and becomes (one of) the most fearsome warrior(s) in the lands between for miquella

malenia, who is doomed to spread the scarlet rot to those around her except, (speculatively) miquella who helps her find not a cure but at least a way to halt the rot

malenia, who goes to war during the shattering in miquella's name, who is placed in an impossible battle far from the haligtree who chooses to unleash the horrors she's known her entire life and doom an entire region to suffer the same fate because she has never and will never know defeat so long as she still has options, so long as she fights as miquella's blade even if it brings her one step closer to blooming as the true goddess of rot and dooming herself in the process

miquella, who was born cursed to stagnate but by all means was given so many other gifts that would have allowed him to thrive within the system the Golden Order had established, who instead casts it aside when it's too limited, too lacking to be able to help malenia

miquella, who from a very young age (implied in the lore) not only masters what the Golden Order has to offer but then is forced to seek beyond it, and when there are no other answers to be found elsewhere, invents/discovers a solution which also places him at odds with the Golden Order

miquella, who in time rebels against the meddling of all the Outer Gods - and (presumably) also the Greater Will which acts in a similar capacity - because he has seen first hand the devastation they are capable of, the horrors they inflicted upon the person closest to him, who would never be able to take such action alone in his condition but can because he has malenia as his blade at his command

with princes the Romance in their actions is in the conscious decision to be passive, to simply allow the world to take its natural course, finding comfort with each other

with the twins the Romance is in the opposite, it is in the conscious decision of rebellion, in the wrathful rejection and deconstruction of the fate they were born into no matter the cost, in seizing control over their own lives to build something new together in the mentality of no cost too great where the other is concerned

[muddyorbsblr]

bigger than the whole sky [rtc what if…?]

'relinquish the crown' masterlist See my full list of works here!

BE WARNED SPOILERS FOR THE LOKI SEASON 2 FINALE AHEAD

Summary: What if…you'd broken Frigga's memory spell without Loki? | Your search for your husband leads you to a peculiar void beyond the Nine Realms, to a place that vaguely resembles the Tree of Life that you'd only read about in historical texts.

Pairing: Loki x Reader

Word Count: 3.3k

Warnings: angst with no happy ending in sight; this is in the RTC universe so…themes of incest if you squint; Loki S2 finale spoilers; slight violence in the beginning [let me know if i missed anything!]

Things to be aware of: gonna repeat it again…Loki S2 finale spoilers ahead; no prior reading of RTC is required to suffer enjoy reading this story

"I will ask you one final time, you sadistic hedonist," you panted, taking a moment to lean on Stormbreaker while the eccentric tyrannical leader of Sakaar laid bleeding on the ground. One hand clutched his abdomen where you'd struck him, the other gingerly held his broken nose.

This wasn't something that you enjoyed doing, putting others through pain. But knowing Loki's history with this Grandmaster long before you two had met was easing your worry somehow that you were doing something reprehensible. There were pains that your beloved, even after all the time you'd known each other prior to your betrothal and marriage, were not quite ready to share with you.

His time in Sakaar was among those pains.

That knowledge alone was enough to get you to stop catching your breath, marching over to the Grandmaster and pinning him to the ground with the end of your battle axe's handle.

"Where is Loki?"

"Lady, I already told you back in the viewing box, I haven't seen your u--Agh!" You pressed Stormbreaker's handle harder against a tender spot on his shoulder, his body visibly showing signs of surrender before he started tapping on the floor. "Alright I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he whined.

"Shall we try this again, then?" He did his best to nod his head, sighing heavily. "Where did you last see him?"

"I swear to you on my Champion's grave it's been millions of years for me here in Sakaar," he choked out, still audibly struggling to draw in his breath. "It was a time he didn't even know you yet. You probably hadn't even been born."

"So you truly bear no knowledge of my husband's whereabouts?"

"Your hus--I thought he was--"

"Mind your words, charlatan god." He let out another groan of pure agony as you pressed harder on his shoulder.

"I'm sorry I'm sorry! I--I really don't know where he is, Your Highness, I don't--"

"Then what use are you to me," you said darkly, another corner of your soul feeling ass if the lights had gone out. Another dead end.

You took a dagger out with your free hand, the Grandmaster's pleas of mercy sounding muffled as they fell on your dulled ears. Nothing he had to say could spare him now; to you, he was no longer a lead, a well lit path that could perhaps point you to where Loki had been all this time.

Now he was simply a shadow of your husband's past. Something so dark that he didn't even dare let you know about it.

Despair began to seep into your veins, a single question overtaking all other remotely coherent thought. Would you ever find him? Would you ever get to apologize? To tell him how you felt? How you'd always felt?

Before you could strike, a loud crack resounded throughout the Grandmaster's suite, coming from a glowing green portal that appeared in the center of the room.

"I would probably take that call, if I were you," the Grandmaster quipped, exhaling a large sigh of relief when you removed the weight of Stormbreaker off of him as you stepped toward the portal. Once the threshold had begun to close after you stepped through, he let out a final sentiment. "Please say hello to your husband for me when you find him."

That was more than enough for you to decide throwing your dagger into the small opening that remained, hitting the smug anachronistic bastard on his uninjured shoulder.

Then the portal finally closed, leaving you in a place you couldn't quite describe. All you knew was that it felt like a place you should never have been allowed access to. A place that should be beyond you. Beyond anyone.

Winding, glowing vines surrounded you, each of them looked and sounded as if they were teeming with a life of its own. If you listened carefully you could hear voices. Your voices. Infinite iterations of them. But one rang clearer than every other in the entire space.

"Did I do something that angered the Norns so fiercely that they condemned me to love a man I could never have?"

"I know what it feels like to kiss him. To touch him. To be desired by him. And it's ripping me apart to know that I will never know that again."

"The people will look at this union and see it for what it is. Sinful. Shameful!"

You tried to block the memories out of your mind, of you begging your grandmother Queen Frigga to lock your memories away. Of arguing with your grandfather Odin and with your father Thor because they were signing your life away to marry Loki. Of the harsh words you spat at them all behind closed doors.

Of the day the lock on your mind finally broke, after finding your journals prior to the spell being cast chronicling how you'd fallen for the god despite your better judgment. The head-splitting agony of your memories reconciling and finding their place back in your mind.

An agony suffered in your lonesome while Loki was away on assignment.

You scrambled desperately to think of anything else, to follow along the path of the vines and hear something other than your own mistakes being echoed back at you. These desperate attempts made you realize that the vines converged in a structure that eerily resembled an image that you'd only learned about in your youth.

"Yggdrasil?" you whispered in awe, your feet bringing you closer still until you found a parting just large enough for one to squeeze through.

Once you'd finally freed yourself from the winding vines, all air left your lungs at the sight that greeted you. A golden throne at the heart of the tree. All the vines anchored to the man -- or God, rather -- seated in it.

Loki.

"You've left quite a trail of bodies in your wake throughout this quest of yours, little Princess," he spoke, not moving even a fraction from where he sat.

He gave you a soft smile, tears beginning to form in his eyes as he stared at you. As if he couldn't believe you were here with him.

"It's been too long, my darling wife."

You'd rehearsed time and time again throughout your search for your husband what you would say to him once you'd been reunited. You would tell him how wrong you were for how you behaved throughout your betrothal, your marriage. And you would abandon every shred of your pride and beg for his forgiveness. You would tell him you loved him, that you'd always loved him.

And that you wanted to spend the rest of your life with him.

Yet somehow you could form none of those words. Instead you finally felt your body succumb to the tiredness brought about by the centuries you'd spent searching and laying waste to every imaginable corner of the Nine Realms and beyond for even the slightest shred of a clue as to where he could have been.

Instead you sunk to your knees, the tears streaming down your face as you stumbled over your words. "I remember everything. I had to find you. Tell you that I'm--"

"I know you are, my love. I watched you on the day the spell broke, the day you finally remembered. I wanted so desperately to come home to you. To not let you have to endure that pain alone."

"Why didn't you?" you blurted out, staring at all the vines he held in his hands. "What are all these?"

"Timelines," he answered you simply, giving you a minuscule shrug of his shoulders. "In every single one, there is an iteration of you and me. Some circumstances may differ, minor details. But at the heart of each of them, we live a life together. We find each other, fall in love. In some we even start a family."

"A family," you repeated breathlessly. The knowledge that each vine -- each timeline -- that was anchored to him held a variation of you and him, of your story, began to eat away at you, flooding you with guilt.

How wretched did you have to be that in your timeline you'd rejected him? Foolishly pushed him away with every mistake you made until finally it took you centuries to find him again?

"What happened?" you finally spoke after what felt like hours. "How did you get--"

"That is quite the long and harrowing tale, darling. In truth, it was a cavalcade of miscalculations and bad judgment calls, failed attempts of trying to save all these lives until I realized that the result would always stay the same if the equation contained the same variables."

"And what was that result?"

"Annihiliation," he answered you simply, giving you a misty eyed look. "Every single strand of time that I hold safe now would have been obliterated on sight. I know it. I've seen it. I've seen you disintegrate before me too many times than I wish to count. The device that once held them stable could no longer scale for an infinite number of possibilities, and letting countless timelines die in the name of the survival of a few was…unacceptable. The only thing that could carry a burden that great was--"

"A god," you finished, the words fighting you their entire way out, nearly choking you on the weight of them. The question that you wished to raise crippled you with its answer's implications. For you and your timeline specifically. "What happens if you let go?"

"It dies. Slowly. Drifts away until it eventually turns to ash." He began to make a motion, as if to approach you, until ultimately he decided against it. "This was the only way. It remains the only way. I must stay, and keep them safe. Watch our lives play out in derivatives of what ifs."

The selfish question that danced at the tip of your tongue plagued you with even more guilt. But what about my timeline? What about our life together? "There has to be another way," you grumbled, stubbornly shaking your head as if you were once again a toddler, refusing to accept the world for being what it was rather than what you wished it would be. "I could stay with you. I could stay and we can find a way together."

Your heart splintered watching him shake his head at you. "My beautiful headstrong wife," he breathed out, his tone filled with both fondness and heartbreak. "I can't in my good conscience let you abandon your life just so you could stay here with me. That would be too selfish, even for me. What would you have here?"

"You! I would have you. All these centuries I've spent in a desperate scramble to find you and tell you that I lo--" You found yourself completely choking on the words now, never having to articulate them before. "That I love you. That I've always loved you and I want us to start our lives together. I refuse to accept that after all this time I have to let you go. You can't make me."

"Asgard needs you, its future Queen."

"And I need you!" Your voice finally broke, sobs that you'd fought inside starting to bubble up. "It isn't fair that you hold all these different tellings of our story in your hands, but your story, yours and mine, ends in us apart. That you spend your days here, watching our life play out somewhere and somewhen else, and you're alone. Please don't send me away, husband," you began to beg. "Don't make me leave you. Let me stay."

He let out a sharp exhale, a tear escaping his eye, rolling down his cheek. "I've longed for the day I would hear you call me that," he sighed, a rueful smile gracing the handsome features that you were bereft of for centuries. "Truly I didn't think I would ever see you again, Y/N. My Y/N. I never thought that I would have you before me, and I hear those words you would only say in dreams with my own ears. Thank you, my dear heart. You have given me a gift in this quest of yours, in having a final moment with the woman I love…" More tears rolled down his cheeks when his smile widened before finishing his sentiment. "And the woman that loves me."

Your sobs filled the endless space, your body collapsing onto the ground as your grief overtook you. The notion of grieving for the living never seemed sensical to you until now. Now that the man, the god, you loved was calling this the last time you would ever see each other.

And you knew in your heart that with the power he wielded now, he could make that your reality without even lifting a finger. He could push you out of this void and back into any timeline of his choosing just as easily as he pulled you out of Sakaar.

The feel of familiar large hands pulling you up to your feet startled you, only having the briefest moment to look at your husband before he pulled you into a crushing embrace. You didn't think twice before wrapping your arms around him, holding him as close as you could and sobbing into his shoulder before realizing…

If his hands were on you, then why were the vines still in place?

"Loki," you sobbed. "Husband, please. No illusions."

"I can't hold you," he said, choking back his own sobs now. "I couldn't watch you break like this and do nothing." The duplicate he cast to hold you disappeared from your hold in a flash of green. "I've done it before against all my better judgment, I refuse to do it again."

"Then don't." Against your own better judgment, you stomped your foot, like a bratty child being told you had to go home. Which was almost precisely what this was. "If this is where you are and where you will remain, then this is where I wish to stay. With the god that owns my heart. With my husband." You blinked rapidly to expel the tears that blurred your vision before uttering the words that splintered at your heart even more. "I was made to be yours. You said that."

"And I yours," he finished, averting his gaze, letting his own tears drop to the fabric of  his trousers. "In every timeline. We must take solace in knowing that among these infinite tales, one is ours. What could have been ours."

"What should be ours," you insisted. You made your way over to him, placing your hand on the side of his face. He closed his eyes, leaning into your touch, the sight breaking your heart further. "Our story deserves its bliss-laden epilogue, too."

"Not at the cost of everyone else's. Deep down you know this to be true."

"That does not mean I accept it," you grumbled. "Let me stay."

"You know that I can't. I will not subject you to live out the rest of your days here. Without friends nor family, and only a husband that cannot even hold you as company."

"But at least you would have someone to hold you," you argued, throwing your arms around him and letting your tears flow once more. "I can't just leave you here all on your own. You can't make me." You knew that he damn right could.

"My love," he sighed, turning his head to press a kiss to your temple. "I wish for you to live a long, and fulfilled life. You've lost so much time in your search for me only for it to end like this. I can give you those centuries back, as a final gift. Reverse the clock, undo the toll it took on you. Let this be the final token of my affection. My fealty. My undying vow."

"Let me keep my memories," you pleaded, already feeling that this would truly be your final moments with him. You did not need to turn your gaze to know that the portal leading back to Asgard was there, waiting for you. Perhaps he would simply nudge you through with his mind, knowing that you would refuse to leave. "Let me keep my remnants of you if that is all that I can leave this place with."

He nodded once. "Very well, little Princess. When you walk through the portal only the physical years will be stripped away. Live well, and remember always that I love you. My heart will only ever belong to you. Until the end of time."

"I love you," you choked out through your tears. "Husband." Your heart ached at the sight of his tears, not bothering to fight back the urge to kiss them away. "I will miss you desperately and always. In every step that I must take in this life without you."

"You will always have me by your side," he swore. "When you feel a presence you cannot see, in gentle breezes within a still room. I will always be there."

You continued to wipe his tears away, the god constantly kissing at your palms. Seemingly refusing to let you go, too.

"May I kiss you?" you asked, barely audibly, your voice unable to even completely form the words. "One last time?"

He gave you a small nod, and you leaned in to press your lips to his, trying to pour out your years of lost time and the future that you were doomed to lose in just a few short moments into that single kiss. You could feel that when he kissed you back, he did so with both all the love he'd never been able to give you before, and the love that he would never be able to bestow in the future.

It was a kiss of finality. A kiss of goodbye. A bittersweet final page in the story of you and Loki.

I love you more than words can ever say, his voice echoed in your mind. Goodbye, my love. My fated. My darling wife.

When you pulled away he was gone. And you'd been returned to your shared chambers back in Asgard. As he promised, the physical toll the centuries-long search had taken on your body were gone. No more scars from miscalculated skirmishes. No more bruises from Sakaar.

No more physical reminders of what you'd endured trying to reunite with the love your life.

All that remained were the memories of those years, and your time in his domain beyond the Realms.

"Goodbye, my darling husband. My love. My Loki," you whispered into the quiet of your marital chambers, sinking to your knees once more and letting out a shriek of pure agony, the sobs swiftly returning and wracking your entire body as you lay pathetically on the floor.

"Y/N??"

The sound of your mother Lady Sif's voice provided little comfort, but it felt like a familiar balm. "Mother," you said weakly, unmoving from your spot on the ground even as she rushed to you, cradling you in her lap.

"What's wrong, sweetheart?" She stroked your hair while your tears soaked her sleep dress. You felt her wave someone over, and moments later you felt your grandmother Queen Frigga's presence in the room with you.

"I lost. I lost and I know not what to do now," you managed to say through your tears.

"What did you lose, Daughter?"

You'd briefly considered explaining your journey, from breaking the spell, to your journey through the centuries, to Loki's domain beyond the reach of space and time. To relay what had become of your husband.

Ultimately the words were beyond you due to your grief.

"Everything," you answered her, holding on to her tight as if you were a child again. This would be the only semblance of comfort you would have. "I lost everything."

A/N: I had to after that finale had me processing and feeling the big sad all day, I promise I'm working on 2 other stories based on the finale that have kinda better endings.

Also I sobbed throughout writing this entire thing, just for the record.

Now here's the song to add to the vibe:

'everything' taglist: @simplyholl @loopsisloops @imalovernotahater @coldnique @loz-3 @huntress-artemiss @salempoe @vickie5446 @athalialaufeyson @lokiprompts @kats72 @kikster606 @asgards-princess-of-mischief @lokixryss @thomase1 @mischief2sarawr @peaches1958 @lovingchoices14 @lunarnights95 @goblingirlsarah @iamlokisgloriouspurpose @creationsbyme @maple-seed @mjsthrillernp @ladyofthestayingpower @mygfloki @sititran @glitterylokislut @ozymdias @fictive-sl0th  @lokidbadguy @mochie85 @silverfire475 @joyful-enchantress @elizabethmidnight2017 @holdmytesseract @smolvenger @gigglingtiggerv2 @lokidokieokie @superficialdomina @anukulee @kmc1989 @november-rayne @goddessofwonderland @buttercupcookies-blog

[a-dauntless-daffodil]

@val-the-bun you are Evil. You are evil putting this in my inbox.

More were-harpy Vaggie but it's sad now and everything HURTS (copy pasted here bc the format in the ask got effed but i refuse to suffer this alone)

val-the-bun asked:

And then, of course, *the trial happens*.

And *the absolute shit timing of the fallout*.

Charlie is too stuck in her own spiral while vaggie just... Tries to hole up on her own (her usual 'nest' was in their suite. But she didnt want charlie to have to deal with her).

Charlie is curled up on vaggie's side of the bed, buried in blankets while she questions if anything they had was real.

While vaggie is in agony for the first time in three years since she'd started changing. Every fiber of her being wants to call for charlie. Yearns for that safety... but instead she bites her tongue and just curls in on herself, alone in the room she hastily barred shut. ~~She deserves this. To be alone.~~

Not sure which hazbin is the one to hear vaggie's pain and tries to check on her (let's go with angel and husk).

The hasty barricade she put on the door isnt enough. Not when the others are trying to force it open.

Vaggie tries to scream for them to go away. The last scrap of clarity she has before that warning turns into a predatory *shriek*. Vaggie's monster form tears apart the already falling barricade, and bursts into the hall.

'WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT?!'

'Fuck if I know, just run! Angel, hurry up!'

Vaggie is *tearing through the halls*, jaws snapping after Husk and Angel. They manage to hit the lobby, Husky grabbing Angel and flying like his life depends on it.

Meanwhile monster vaggie leaps after them... *right into the chandelier*.

Charlie hears the sound of that distant, shattering crash down below, and she *realizes*. Suddenly those painful worries have to get shoved down as charlie bolts out of their room.

'Please dont hurt anyone. Please, please, *please...!'*

Charlie's heart sinks as the shadows around the hotel start to writhe, and radio static fills the air.

'My my, what a surprising turn!'

Vaggie is *shrieking*, thrashing against shadowy tendrils as she tries to claw at Alastor.

'Now now. *Stay down*'

A rap of his cane, and vaggie's practically being crushed into the floor.

'What the fuck is wrong with you?!'

Husk is holding Angel back, looking away as Alastor starts to raise his hand. He cant watch this...

'Let her go.'

Alastor freezes when he feels the tip of an angelic spear under his chin.

There, standing at his side, in her full demon form, *is Charlie*.

'Ah, miss Charlotte. Lovely to see--'

'Let. Her. *Go!'*

For a moment, everything is quiet except for the sounds of vagging struggling, her talons digging into the floor. She's bleeding, golden blood pooling on the lobby floor... *And dripping from the claws on Alastor's hand.*

'Oh, very well. Good luck!'

Vaggie is snarling when Alastor lets her go. She starts getting ready to pounce when Charlie steps in front of her, spear in hand. Vaggie starts backing away, looking less like a predator and more... *like a cornered animal*. Her whole body seems coiled to run away as she keeps backing up, snarling and shrieking more in warning than anything else.

'Was it a lie?'

Vaggie shrieks at her, swiping at the air in the hopes Charlie would stay away.

'When you told me you didnt know what this was, was it a lie?'

Angel starts to step forward, but husk grabs his arm.

'Just let them do this...'

'Did. You. Lie?!'

Vaggie backs right into the wall, feathers flaring with a hiss.

'Was any of it real?'

Charlie can feel the tears on her cheeks. But what she wasnt expecting was to see tears in Vaggie's eye... Even as she snarled, and shrieked, and snapped her fangs, she was crying.

Charlie presses forward, Vaggie raising up over Charlie with a hawk-like screech, talons lashing out... But they dont connect, her talons *trembling* as they stilled inches from Charlie's face, her own spear aimed at her chest. Vaggie's eye is wild and afraid, but Charlie can see the *pain* there, too. She let out another shriek, closing her eye like she was bracing for the inevitable...

[leighsartworks216]

To Ease Your Burden

Astarion x gn!Tav/Reader

For you @tripleyeeet my beloved <333

Little disclaimer that I do not suffer from chronic pain so some of these pain descriptions may not be accurate to what it's really like

Warnings: chronic pain

Word Count: 730

Masterlist

AO3

Tag List Form

You’d felt it when you awoke that morning - pain swelling in your joints, like someone had taken a red-hot fire poker and decided to have some fun. You couldn’t hope to continue your journey, not when standing made you dizzy and standing for even a second too long collapsed your knees. No, it was better to stay here and wait it out.

You warned your companions that “waiting it out” could mean days, even weeks, of waiting for your pain to fade enough. They brushed off your concerns for the most part. As you rested, some of them would head out and gather supplies and clear the area of monsters or unsavory types. If the pain worsened come tomorrow, you’d continue to wait here. If it was manageable enough, Halsin or Karlach could carry you to the next campsite. Delays like this meant higher tensions and concerns regarding the tadpoles, but they couldn’t remove them without you.

Astarion “elected” to keep you company while you rested. He stayed by your side, fetching anything you needed with a long sigh or a groan and a dramatic complaint, but he never meant it.

He laid beside you, one hand keeping his book open and the other rested, palm up, in between you. Your hand sat softly on top. The pressure of his hand on top had been too much; this was the best way he could find to keep touching you without hurting you. He read aloud, his voice a soothing balm to your agony. Each character had their own voice - usually an impression of one of your camp-mates. You think he must enjoy mimicking them, or maybe he just likes the way you smile when he goes off-script to make fun of them. (Gale got it the worst.)

You press your hand further into his, trying to be careful so your joints don’t scream at you. He quietens immediately, turning to see if you needed anything. When he got like this, all soft and gentle, his eyes became round and wide, attentive and affectionate. You smiled weakly at him. “Thank you.”

His eyes sharpen again as he smiles. “I’m all too happy to help, my dear.”

“You don’t have to stay…” His brow pinches. “You’re free to go out with the others, explore.”

“If you want time alone, I can leave,” he starts, but you cut him off before that light in his eyes can dim, shadowed by rejection.

“No! No, I like having you here.” You run your thumb alongside his. You can feel his hand twitch, unused to being so close to yours without being able to truly hold it. “I just don’t want you to think you have to stay for my sake.”

His eyes flicker over your face for a moment. Truthfully, he couldn’t bear to see you in so much pain. When you tried standing this morning, you fell to the ground, crying in agony. He’d never felt so awful watching someone else suffer. The worst part was how helpless he felt to stop it. You were writhing in pain, and he couldn’t even touch you for fear of making it worse.

“I want this,” he whispers. “I want to help however I can. Anything to ease your burden.”

He shifts his hand carefully out from under yours so he can prop himself up on his elbow and hover over you. With a barely-there brush of lips, he kisses your forehead. He’s scared to hurt you, especially with something as caring as a kiss. He pulled away to meet your eyes. His were warm with fondness.

“You don’t have to suffer this alone.”

Tears well in the corner of your eyes, heart aching from unbridled joy and love - it wants to burst from you and wrap him up in a hug. You would have, too, if you were certain moving your arms wouldn’t burn like all the fire of the Hells in your body. You thank him again, but it comes out choked up and shaky. He smiles, wrinkles accentuating his mouth as he does.

He pressed another faint kiss to your head. “You’re very welcome, my love.” He lays back down and offers his hand once more as he holds the book up. “Now, come on, it’s just started getting good. I simply must know if Madame Triouse discovers her husband’s affair with the butcher.”

---

Tag List:

@satelliteapotheosis @hypopxia @flsalazar @beverlybeav @angelofthorr @emiemiemiii @marina-and-the-memes @lynnlovesloki @aurasyn @furblrwurblr @cappsikle @mjmygd @thegirlsadventuresinwonderland @kindadolly @httyd-chocolate @bloopthebat @chesb0red

[itacats]

Under the Shadow of Ghost

FT: Simon "Ghost" Riley x gn!reader

Warnings: trauma, war themes, prisoner of war, injury/allusions to torture, please let me know if anything else should be here!🙏

A/N: Part 3 has arrived! Enjoy!

Read Part 1 here! Read Part 2 here! Read Part 4 here! Read Part 5 here! Read Part 6 here! Read Part 7 here! Read Part 8 here! Read Part 9 here!

Part 3: The Abyss

Time ceased to exist within the suffocating walls of my cell. It felt like an eternity since they had thrown me into this damp, decaying prison—a tomb of metal and stone, devoid of light and life. The air was thick with the scent of rot, the cold seeping into my bones like a slow poison. Every breath was a battle against the crushing weight of despair that pressed down on me, and the silence in between was only broken by the occasional creak of metal or the distant footsteps of my captors.

They wanted information—relentlessly and without mercy. The interrogations were a daily ritual, a twisted dance of agony where they probed deeper into my mind, hoping to break me, to rip the secrets of Task Force 141 from my lips. But they found nothing. I had learned to hold my silence, even as their methods grew more brutal. Each strike, each surge of pain, felt like a firebrand across my soul, but I never gave in. Every scream that escaped my throat was swallowed by the darkness, a soundless plea that never reached beyond the cell walls.

Days, perhaps weeks, passed in a blur of torture and isolation. Time stretched, distorted, blending into one endless cycle of pain. My body ached from the unyielding shackles that bound me, my wrists raw and bleeding. The cold steel cut into my skin, a constant reminder that there was no escape. I was alone, trapped in a void of suffering, and yet, somehow, I clung to life. Not out of hope, but out of sheer defiance.

But in the quiet moments between torment, when the guards had left me to fester in the dark, my mind wandered to memories that kept me tethered to something beyond the nightmare. I thought of my team—those who had been my comrades, my brothers. I thought of Soap’s irreverent banter, Gaz’s sharp wit, and most of all, I thought of Ghost. Simon "Ghost" Riley. The man who was an enigma to everyone except those who had glimpsed the shadows behind his mask.

In those bleak hours, when the darkness seemed to have swallowed everything, I found a strange comfort in the thought of him. His stoic demeanor, his unflinching resolve in the face of danger, the way he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders yet managed to remain steady—those were the memories I clung to. I could still see him in my mind’s eye, standing silently in the corner of a briefing room, his skull-patterned balaclava concealing most of his face but never hiding the fire that burned in his eyes.

There was something in Ghost - in Simon - that resonated with me—a shared understanding of pain, of loss. His scars, both visible and hidden, spoke of a past marred by torment, yet he wore them with a quiet pride. They defined him but did not control him. He had faced the abyss before and returned. That knowledge, that image of him standing tall even after all he had endured, gave me strength when my own will faltered. It reminded me that I could survive this too.

I found myself replaying moments we had shared. His gruff chuckle—so rare, but when it came, it was a sound that could lighten even the darkest of days. I remembered the way it echoed through the confines of our transport, breaking the tension before a mission. It was a laugh that held a depth of understanding, a grim acknowledgment of the brutality of our world, but also a refusal to be consumed by it. Simon wasn’t just a soldier. He was a survivor, and in those fleeting moments, his humanity shone through the cold exterior he maintained.

In the suffocating silence of my cell, I allowed those memories to take root. I needed to believe that there was something waiting for me beyond these walls—something more than the endless cycle of torment. I needed to believe that I would return, that I would see my team again, and that I would stand beside Simon, as I had before. The thought of seeing him once more, of hearing his voice cutting through the haze of battle, became a lifeline I couldn’t let go of.

But every time that flicker of hope appeared, the reality of my situation would crash down on me like a wave. The guards would return, their cold eyes void of empathy, and the cycle of pain would begin anew. Each time, they pushed me closer to the edge, trying to strip away the last remnants of my resolve. And each time, I fought back—if not with my body, then with my mind.

Through it all, I never forgot Simon. His presence lingered in the recesses of my thoughts, a specter of resilience that kept me anchored. In a way, he was with me, even though we were worlds apart. I could still hear his voice, feel the weight of his words, and in those moments, I wasn’t truly alone.

The abyss had swallowed me whole, but I wasn’t gone. Not yet. The thought of my team, the thought of Simon, kept me clinging to the fragile thread of my will to survive. There would come a day when I would emerge from the darkness, and when I did, I would return to them. I would return to Simon. And maybe, just maybe, I would find the strength to face whatever came next.

But for now, I was still here, shackled and broken, a prisoner of war.

Read Part 4 here!

As always, thank you for reading! I hope you all like how it's going so far. Also tips for improvement are always welcome. I'll see you in the next part tomorrow!

[thesandsofelsweyr]

For the guessing game: blood, pet, and/or collar

(from Fanfiction WIP Guessing Game)

These three are excerpts from early drafts of fics in My Arkhamverse series 🙃

Pet:

The room is filled with sunlight. He’s still lying on a cold, hard floor. But it isn’t the filthy floorboards of his cell. There’s a pillow under his head and a blanket draped across him. As the fog of unconsciousness lifts, his mind starts to clear as he takes in his surroundings. He’s lying in front of a toilet. Remembers trying to eat some food, real food—how much it had hurt to chew with broken and missing teeth—and immediately puking then passing out. That’s when the fever took him. He doesn’t know how long he was out of it. Tries to sit up too fast. Head is spinning, throbbing, and he winces as a piercing ringing noise fills his ears, drowning out all other sounds. His hand immediately slides into his hair, over the scar where the bullet grazed his skull. He applies pressure, breathing shallow until the ringing and pain both subside. Terrible memories flood over him. He fights the instinct to crawl in a corner and hide, breathing deep, reminding himself that his tormentor is thousands of miles away, that he has finally escaped. But as always, thinking of escape brings back Joker’s terrifying warning of the consequences he’d face, the mutilation he’d suffer. Panic starts to creep in again, illogical panic fueled by the months he spent as a prisoner. Joker had beaten it into his head—physically and mentally, literally and metaphorically—that he was an object, not a human being. That Jason was his pet: his puppy, his “little bird”...

⚠️ cw: smut, mild dubcon (⚤)

Collar:

Aww, that’s adorable, little bird. You think she actually cares about you.  It’s not the Clown speaking. It’s his voice. It’s him.  A part of him. The part that crawled out of the pit, not the one who fell in. He sounds so much like the psycho who tortured him for over a year of his life. Who taught him everything there is to know about pain. Who taught him how to hate.  She’s using you. Oh God but it feels so fucking good.  Taking what she wants from you. She’ll leave you all alone. Broken. And you’ll just let her do it because you’re too weak to say no.  It was always easier to submit, to obey.  Look at her. She’s beautiful. And what are you? Just a miserable failure covered in scars. She knows it too. She knows you’ll follow her around like the pitiful little puppy you are.  The dog he trained me to be. He even gave me my own leather collar!  The memory makes him burn with rage. He digs his short, ragged fingernails into her flesh. Look at how little she is. How easy it would be to overpower her.  You could make her do whatever you want. She’ll be helpless to stop you. You remember what that feels like.  No one’s going to want me… Hurt her like she’ll hurt you—you know this will never last. Take what you want before she abandons you. Just like everyone else. 

Blood:

“Are you okay?” That voice again. Softer. Concerned.  The Clown is there, doubled over in a fit of raucous laughter. “Leave me alone!” He shouts, voice dripping with anger, hatred, pain. At the Clown. At her.  “Please, let me help you…” “GO AWAY!” He roars He still can’t breathe. Can’t catch his breath. Vise is still firmly locked around his skull. The invisible hand is still cranking it, tighter and tighter.  He runs a trembling hand through his wet hair, feeling for the scar, the bullet hole, feeling for but not finding fresh blood. He’s desperate to escape this misery.  The agony is weighing his body down so much he can’t even crawl. He’s dragging his body across the floor, pulling himself with his hand. Where? Somewhere, anywhere, to escape the pain.  “Oh, little bird, this is too much! Even I couldn’t couldn’t come up with comedy as good as this!” “Someone actually wanted you and you’re screaming at her to leave!” “A beautiful broad pops your cherry, and here you are, curled up on the floor, boo-hoo-ing like she hit you with my crowbar.”  “Comedy GOLD I tell ya!”

[thewingedbaron]

Together, Always- BG3 Fic Feb Day Eight

Skipping ahead to the end of act 2 on this one. Today's prompt got a little out of hand and ended up being much longer than origianlly planned. I hope you enjoy :)

Minor warning for menitons of torture. I used a bit of Shadowheart's dialogue after the Gauntlet of Shar, since it seemed fitting.

Pairing: Shadowheart x Tav (Alyss)

Ao3 Link Here

Day Eight: “It will be okay, as long as we’re together.” 

“This is all some sort of terrible dream.” 

Alyss’ head buzzed with residual magic as the planeshift spell dumped them on Shar’s doorstep. The world came rushing back, slowly focusing like a kaleidoscope of shadow and rock. Shadowheart’s words rung in her ears as her feet touched solid ground. Her vision returned just in time to watch the former cleric of Shar collapse. 

“But… it’s real isn’t it?” Shadowheart’s eyes lifted, tears appearing at their corners as she took her in her friends. “I stood before the Nightsong. I heard Lady Shar’s words… and I failed her.” 

Tears streamed down Shadowheart’s face. “Worse than failed, I defiled her! All because of what that aasimar said!” 

Alyss took a shaky step toward her companion, her heart tearing. Her legs, however, were not quite ready to bear her, and the ranger collapsed to the ground. Gods damn it all, she thought. With tremendous effort, she forced her knees to bend, and her arms to work. She would crawl to Shadowheart if she had to. 

The former cleric’s stare was a thousand miles away as she murmured to herself. Alyss wasn’t sure that she was even aware that there was anyone there to listen. 

“I tried to leave…” She said. “But Shar blocked me. Punished me for failing her. I thought I knew the limit of pain that the incurable wound could inflict, but I had no idea.” 

Alyss’ heart strained, tearing itself to tiny pieces. She threw herself across the gap between them, forcing her tired body to obey as she reached out and placed a gentle hand on Shadowheart’s arm. The half-elf didn’t acknowledge the touch. 

“It felt like I was suffering the agony of a thousand people, all at once.” She murmured. “My blood was boiling, my hair on fire. I thought I’d claw my own face off with the pain…” Shadowheart’s voice broke. A half sob escaped her before she continued. 

“She released me. Banished me. She said I was an outcast, that all of her children would know me and revile me… I… I’m alone.” 

“No, love. You are never alone.” Alyss whispered. 

Shadowheart’s eyes widened, darting to her face as if seeing her for the first time. “Love?” She asked. 

Alyss froze. It had been some time since the two of them had spoken properly. Shadowheart had been so deep in the woes of the Shadow-Cursed Lands that she had time for nothing else. Alyss feared she had overstepped for a moment before a slight smile broke across the half-elf’s face. 

“I… I suppose that is true. I am not alone. Not anymore.” she lifted a shaky hand, her fingers ghosting over Alyss’ cheek. “You’ve done more for me than my faith in recent days. In a long while. Thank you.” 

Alyss smiled, tears pricking her own eyes. “I’m glad you finally see it.” 

Despite herself, a small crack of a smile touched Shadowheart’s lips. Then, she folded, collapsing across Alyss before sobs racked her body. The ranger folded her into an embrace while her own tears fell silently. They stayed there for a long time, embracing on the steps of a tomb as the shadow lands twisted and curved around them. As they sat in each other’s embrace, holding on for dear life, the shadows did something strange. They began to curl back, parting in places as silvery moonlight descended into the gaps. There, in the patchwork sky above, Dame Alyin flew for Moonrise, a brilliant speck of silver against a darkened sky. 

As Shadowheart’s sobs slowed, Alyss gently released her hold. Both women sat back on their heels, their eyes stained red as they found each other’s faces once more. A thousand words swirled in Alyss’ head like a maelstrom, but something bit back. Shadowheart had lost everything, her goddess, her family, her world had been upheaved. Now was not the time for grandiose love confessions. 

“Wait.” Shadowheart said. Gentle hands seized Alyss’ shoulders as she leaned away. “Wait. Please.” the half-elf held them both in their kneeling position on the ground. 

“There’s been something between us for some time. A connection more than friends…” 

“Shadowheart, you don’t have to do this now.” 

“No. I do. Alyss, please let me speak.” She said, placing a finger on the ranger’s lips. “I recognized it, but I didn’t act on it after that first night above the waterfall.” Shadowheart shifted, her eyes locked on Alyss’ 

“I thought my faith was the most important thing in my life. I couldn’t have been more wrong.” She paused for a breath. Alyss’ heart hammered in her ribs hard enough to crack a bone. “I’ve squandered too much time already. I want to be with you. Now and always. Do you want the same?” 

Alyss could feel the silence that stretched between them, like a muffling cloak in her mind. She fumbled for the words to say, but could not find them. Shadowheart’s eyes searched hers, desperation gnawing at her irises. Alyss stopped, sucked in a breath to steady herself, and let it out slowly. 

“I want nothing more, love. Now and always.” She whispered. Warmth flooded Shadowheart’s smile as new tears washed down her face. 

“It wasn’t too long ago that I could never imagine smiling again,” she murmured. “Shows what I know.” 

Alyss grinned, warmth flooding her body. Her mind buzzed, the trials and pains of the last twenty four hours forgotten. “I have been trying to tell you-” 

Her words jumbled and stopped as the former cleric of shar seized her by the chin and kissed her. Something in Alyss’ heart burst, flooding her body with warmth. Whatever she had been thinking, it was gone now. The kiss shocked her mind blank. Her skin was on fire. Her blood boiled. Her heart melted as it beat. She could taste the tears in their kiss, but it somehow made it all the sweeter. 

When Shadowheart broke away, it was too soon. Her face felt strangely cool without the cleric’s lips on hers. Alyss immediately began to scheme how to get her to do it again. Every nerve ending in her body felt as if it had been shocked, leaving her buzzing and dizzy. 

“Keep your sarcasm for later.” Shadowheart smiled. 

“I couldn’t possibly-” Shadowheart’s lips landed on hers, and Alyss’ mind was wiped blank a second time. 

“Not to interrupt,” Wyll called for a long way away. “But we do still have a battle to fight.” 

Alyss relaxed as their lips parted again. The world had righted itself in her mind. Now there was only one thing left to do. Slowly, she pushed herself to her feet, hauling Shadowheart up beside her.

The former cleric of Shar seized her hand, interlacing their fingers. “Are you sure about this?” She asked, her former confidence eluding her. “I’ll have a target on my back for the rest of my days. Shar does not forgive or forget.”

Alyss smiled.  

“I know we have a lot to talk about, especially after all that.” she nodded toward the lonely gate leading back into the tomb. “But we will deal with it, right after we kick Ketheric’s ass. Sharrian assassins, old necromancers, even the gods damned Absolute isn’t going to stop us, alright?”

Shadowheart nodded, a small smile on her lips. “Together?” 

Alyss grinned. “Always.”

[dyrewrites]

Before Deluca -- non vido i'ora

This one is spoilers, but as I refuse to share what leads to it here, I am sharing what comes after. Because it is sweet and sad and made me cry like a wee baby.

I hope you cry too.

->snip below<-

Dawn threatened with a soft purple horizon as we boarded, and Lucient guided me to the helm. To a pale blue sigil.

“Océan ouvert,” he whispered to it, tapping it too weakly.

And I watched it pulse, its color consume the helm, the deck, igniting further sigils along every bit of its wood. It crawled up the masts and Lucient grinned at me as I gaped for how they unfurled on their own—how they billowed and snapped taut.

We set sail without crew, without shouts, without men stomping about at our behest.

“Open ocean?” I asked him as I carried him to our cabin.

Smiling, holding me tight with one arm, he guided me away from our bed to the room beside it, “Intent matters, treasure. It will take us to empty water, keep us in empty water...where we can float safe and alone.”

A shower waited in our new washroom, tucked in a rounded corner beside our tub, different than what we used in the townhouse. Glass surrounded it, metal and glass.

“You can put me down,” he said through kisses on my neck, soft and sweet and safe those kisses, “I won’t sleep with her on us.”

I would have studied the shower, would have such to describe for you, but I didn’t care. My love was beside me, hurting for the silver I’d run him through with. Unable even to undress himself for the pain he refused to show.

So I did. Slow, steady, gentle.

Savoring the smiles, the kisses—kisses I didn’t return—until I had him standing in the shower. He smiled more as I undressed myself, but as I stepped in to join him, and he reached to touch…

I flinched.

From my love I flinched.

It wasn’t right. Wasn’t fair. Wasn’t me.

Still I flinched. For the touch I didn’t expect, couldn’t...couldn’t convince my nerves was safe, wanted.

He saw, of course. Understood, even, how could he not for all he’d endured himself.

“I’ll do nothing you don’t want,” he promised, with tentative fingers on my arms, careful for my skin’s twitching, until he could hold me against him, “not ever, Ludovico. Tell me to stop, and I will. Always, I will.”

I said nothing, only cried. Taking him in shaking arms, slouching to hold him closer, I wept into his perfect skin.

Unable even to hear the words he used to start the water over my sobbing breaths, to appreciate how cold it was on me, hot on him. Too lost to skin I missed, ached for, dreamed of every brief and panic-stricken moment I had to do so. Every filthy hand, every tongue, every tooth and claw that carved me open and supped my innards. I went elsewhere, into my dream, his moonlight eyes, his perfect smile...his touch.

Finally I had it all, had him, there in my arms at last.

And I flinched.

I know not how long I wept on him, tears devoured by the shower, but I remember him drying me. Remember him walking me to bed, tucking me into familiar sheets and coiling around me in them.

Still I shook, still I wept, with him mirroring every hitched breath against my back, my mind too raw not to flood his for what I suffered. What raked and screamed and begged me broken.

Succeeded, again and again.

Breaking me to pieces I feared would never mend, over a period I still do not know for certain. Years, I know it was years...but not how many.

He took it all, held me so close, so tight, shared every ounce of my agony as we wept ourselves dry and fell into far gentler sleep than either had experienced in the absence of the other.

--

→Before Deluca Taglist<-

// feel free to ask to be added or removed ^.- //

@watermeezer @starbuds-and-rosedust @thespacelizard

@your-absent-father @mr-orion @cowboybrunch @olliexwrites

@rowanmgrey-author @the-golden-comet @wyked-ao3 @leahnardo-da-veggie

[saladtweezers]

GRIEF

Part 5 - static au

TW: GRAPHIC DESCRIPTION

Adam and Cesar walked through the city anyway , Cesar having to deal with the grief of killing his own mother alone . He looked everywhere around him , hoping he can atleast get Evelyn safe for Adam and Sarah .

Cesar took her packet of cigarettes out , lighting one . She had to get stress out of his system .

" So , anything . . else you found in that house ? " Adam asked . " Rubbish at best . That house is bound to rot . Jonah came there before we did . "

" What about the cause of the sickness ? "

" Cause ? " " Yeah . "

. . .

" We were watching TV . Me , Mark and Sarah . I don't remember anything before that . Since that living room hang out , he has been complaining about some static noise in his ears . I better get to Sarah fast . I don't want her to stay waiting . "

Adam nodded and moved on , to a grocery store . Cesar opened his satchel bag and started buying some food to survive a few days atleast . Water was important . Every single drop of water could be contaminated .

The town hasn't gone on the biggest of lock downs just yet . They needed to get Evelyn .

" I saw Jonah last in the forest . " Muttered Adam . " They still might be there . "

Cesar scratched his chin , the subtle beard itching her face before answering to her companion .

" Then they might be at the park . And if at they're park we should not be fucking around here . "

They walked out fast and stayed alert while walking towards Evelyn's belonging house .

Evelyn was looking out the window , seemingly afraid . Her face lit in joy when she saw Adam and Cesar . She quickly ran down to unite with them .

" Nothing bit you did it , Eve ? "

" I stayed in my house for days like a mole ! Nothing walked in or out . "

Cesar waited for their small talk to end while staying on guard . He backed up behind some corner to finish that damn cigarette while looking towards the park .

. . . A silhouette . A figure . Running towards them . Running FAST towards them . He panicked and let out a cry , pushing Adam and Evelyn away while shooting at the thing . Eve had nothing at hand , Adam had a wrench at best , but bullets did nothing . Hits did nothing . Jonah grabbed Cesar before anyone could reach for him and directly ripped a leg off of him . Adam tried to quickly pick the shotgun up and push the thing off of Cesar , but nothing worked. The only sounds were Cesar's sobs and praying while trying to push Jonah away by the mouth.

It felt as if Jonah had more than only one set of teeth and it hurt bad , his eye being bitten off , his face ripped , being disboweled alive . He was alive and he was left by Adam and Evelyn after no hopes were given for him .

Jonah ate through him , even constructing some sort of buildings with her ripped organ matter . Cesar was alive .

She painfully alive and could barely breathe . Jonah stopped once he was satisfied , limping her way off , purposely leaving Cesar to suffer his last hours in pain and agony.

Cesar was alive.

[wxndswept]

You think you can drown the sorrow away, Yuuki? You cannot. The ocean of your grief will not be stilled by tears or silenced by the numbness of denial. The raw truth is that you must now live with the crushing reality that you failed to save Lyza. Her absence is a void that swallows you whole, a void that no amount of self-deception can fill. Every moment you were delayed, every second you hesitated, has become a dagger twisted into your heart, a relentless reminder of what you could have done, what you should have done. Her voice, her laughter, her very essence is now a haunting echo in the corridors of your mind.

Had you been just a bit earlier, had the cruel hands of fate spared you a sliver of time, could you have changed the outcome? Could you have intercepted the shadows that encroached upon her, seen through the veil of her despair, and saved her from the depths of her suffering? These questions gnaw at you, ceaselessly tormenting your every thought. You are left to wrestle with the agony of infinite 'what-ifs,' each one a fresh cut to an already bleeding soul. The silence of the answers you will never know is a torment all its own, an endless night with no dawn in sight.

And so, you are left to grapple with the ghost of your failures, the unbearable weight of the could-have-beens. The pain you feel is not just in the loss, but in the cruel certainty that you will never have the answers you so desperately seek. The guilt will cling to you, a constant, suffocating presence that you cannot escape. It’s a punishment that you must endure alone, for it is not just Lyza who is lost, but a piece of yourself that will never be whole again. The burden of what you could not change will be your cross to bear, a legacy of sorrow that echoes through every corner of your existence.

Oh. She's crying.

".... I know. I failed her, twice. Lyza being here is both my fault, and not because of me. It's my fault because I didn't take her seriously. I toyed around with her wanting a fun fight, and got her stuck over here. I got so wrapped up with chasing girls that I couldn't see her pain. As much as I want to say it was because I was too focused on myself, or Trailblazing... that's a lie. I pushed her to the side and she ended up being consumed by that power she tried to suppress."

"Even when I had a chance to help her, to save her from what she became, I... I hesitated. I was so afraid of hurting her at first that I almost died. Lyza's so special to me that even when she was like that, I couldn't bring myself to actually hurt her from inside that mud. Maybe a part of me still wanted that fight, but even when I did get together... even when I did find that blue unstable Origin Wing, I still... I still hesitated. I had the ability to save her, and... she died in front of my eyes. At least I thought so at the time. I thought I killed her. In reality, I had sent her to something similar to hell, but..."

"Every time she leaves me, I wonder if she's coming back. When I see her, I wonder if she's real. I don't know how to live with this, I don't know how to deal with this! I already feel like I'm coming apart at the seams... and this...? I just don't know. I don't know how to bear it."

[peytons-depression-land]

Aimless in a Karaoke Bar on Friday the 13th

I felt that if I didn’t get out of my room I was going to writhe, bedridden, in depressed agony all night long until I would ultimately reach some sort of breaking point. It was the type of lonely, depressed feeling I get all too frequently where my chest ends up physically hurting from how empty I feel.

The irony inherent to my whole evening was that the night’s torment started because I decided to flake on attended a birthday celebration I’d been invited to; the old neurotics conundrum of being damned if you force yourself to “get out there” but also damned if you don’t. The reason I’d decided to stay home was: 1.) the event was at a bar 30+ minutes away through Friday night LA traffic, when I’d already spent part of the day driving to and from places and felt averse to getting back into the car. 2.) The party was for someone I’d only met once and barely knew, meaning a near assurance of it being an event where I’d know basically no one, with the onus thrust on me for its duration to mingle and meet people; to simplify, the indication of it being an outing where I made some small talk but ultimately stood awkwardly alone for most of the time was too high. And 3.) I just generally felt too self-loathing and shitty (all downstream effects of my current bout of unemployment and artistic stagnation, combined with the usual depression and low self-esteem) to attempt a bunch of forced gregariousness, feeling that my heart just wouldn’t be in it and that it'd better for everyone if I just abstained.

But, like I said, my neurosis-driven caution proved to prevent shit-all in the way of suffering, and so I decided to “get out for a bit.” The problem here was that, outside of meals, I’ve never been particularly comfortable going out to bars. Alone and usually in a sullen mood, I always felt awkward and invasive, as if I was making a fool of myself by trying to act like everyone else. At sports bars, even though I enjoy watching sports, I feel like a little weenie nerd who doesn’t belong. In LA, many bars are just flat out too expensive for me to justify the patronage, a single cocktail nearly $20. Which bring me to an aside: how the hell were all the underemployed 20-somethings of the past constantly affording to go out and get drinks and hang out? It seems like in every account from artists and writers and even real life acquaintances of mine, that it’s always been bog-standard for people my age, even when struggling to make a name for themselves or unemployed, to go out to bars and drink to excess and have a good time. Has inflation really hit that hard? Were drinks in comparison to wages back in the days of the 60s/70s/80s/90s that much more balanced and reasonable? Because I don’t know how the hell they all did it without going flat out broke.

Back to the topic on hand (what little of it there is), I pretty much always feel like an awkward loser when I go to bars. This despite the fact that I like cocktails, don’t cause trouble, and keep to myself. I reckon that it all might just be “in my head” self-consciousness, but I just find myself worrying over waltzing into a bar and immediately being pegged as an unwanted outsider. So, in an attempt to mitigate this insecurity, I decided to go to a bar with what seems the lowest barrier of social entry: a so-called “geek bar.”

The bar I ended up at can best be described as a millennial-nerd coded nook for adults to drink and play board games, while classic rock hits deemed status quo, and maybe the occasional quirky novelty song, play on the jukebox (ie: a phone connected via Bluetooth). It’s about as toothless and approachable of a bar as one can get outside of EPCOT. Not to deride it too much though, as it’s a nice, cozy interior of inviting dark wood and plush red cushion, classically styled, but with bits of hyper-commercialized nerd ephemera scattered about, like the model of Thor’s hammer that sat in the corner of the bar. I’d gone with the hopes of having a cocktail or two, a small basket of fries, and maybe read some of the book I’m currently working through. Unfortunately, when I arrived, I quickly learned it was karaoke night.

As soon as I entered, I was hit with a wall of sound: a young guy belting out “Street Rat” from Disney’s Aladdin. The place was packed – understandable enough from a Friday night at 8:45 – but the one two punch of the air-filling karaoke and the crowded room was enough to immediately rattle me upon entrance. An older guy looking somewhere between a warlock and an old timer prog rocker approached and asked for my ID; he was an unexpected bouncer (partially due to the fact that I hadn’t expected this kind of place to even have one at all) but friendly enough, though part of me wondered if, at his age, he was able to handle if customers got unruly and required removal. Then again, he was fairly tall, even with his stoop, and I don’t want to assume feebleness just due balding and a grey beard. The room being packed, I made my way to one of the few empty seats down at the end of the bar. To give the place its dues once again, the physical bar itself is quite nice – the type with the plush liner to rest your forearms on and brass-looking metal fixtures and railings.

To say the place was loud would be an understatement, as the Karaoke – both singers and backing tracks – were loud enough to cover all other noise in a thick cloud of distortion, to the point that even yelling to the person or sever directly in front of you required a healthy dose of lip reading and gesticulation to communicate. I think it was a combination of the place’s small size, the volume of the belting singers, and the compact audience that made for such an ear ringing experience. I like karaoke well enough, but the vibe of the place was, to me, like being locked in a car with the radio cranked all the way up, next to someone singing along at full volume - someone who you don’t particularly find to be a good singer. The music selection for Karaoke while I was in the place stayed in the pretty narrow lane of 70s/80s classic rock and 90s alternative. A middle-aged bald guy with a goatee rang out a rendition of Styx’s “Come Sail Away” and another middle-aged guy, this one with hair, screeched “Welcome to the Jungle" by Guns ‘n Roses (one of the worst bands in existence, by the way).

With some difficulty, owing to the volume, I ordered a Mai Tai and a side of fries. The Mai Tai was sweet, with the right amount of citric/alcoholic tang, and the fries – despite my initial apprehension over their seeming thickness (I hate steak-cut fries) – turned out to be quite crispy and well-seasoned. I left my tab open, thinking I might decide to splurge on another drink. The entire time I sat drinking and eating, the bar was bustling on both sides, a constant stream of walk-up costumers on one, and frenetically busy bartenders on the other.

Due to the loudness of the karaoke and boisterousness of the place, even attempting to read the book I’d brought was unthinkable. The only thing I thought to do was start jotting down the stream of conscious thoughts that would serve to be this piece’s opening lines in the little notebook I carry with me in my bag. However, I found myself constantly apprehensive of the possibility of the non-stop comers-and-goers of the bar seeing what I was writing, causing me to frequently stop and casually cover the page with my forearm while taking a sip or a bite, in effort to obscure my work. I recognize the petty insecurity of this, but I couldn’t fathom another bar patron happening to see the depressed, self-absorbed ramblings I was writing while alone in a bar on a Friday night. The thought of that embarrassment, even if the person said nothing or didn’t react, felt enough to operate with extreme caution. Not to mention that I was also self-conscious the whole time of the very act of appearing as a lone person at the bar, writing in a small notebook while others conversed with partners and friends and sang karaoke. Did anyone notice me doing this? Did they perceive me as some sort of freak or loser, scrawling a manifesto or bitter ramblings? The whole situation did not prove to be a conducive environment to relaxation or unencumbered writing.

I thought it pertinent to note that, while wallowing in cocktail enhanced self-pity, a girl came up to the bar to order. She’d been up to the bar before with her friend, not long after I’d arrived. Back again now, waiting to be noticed by one of the busy bartenders, she leaned over and yelled to me, attempting to cut through the karaoke symphonics, “is the food here any good?” in reference to the fries I was eating. “The fries aren’t bad,” I shrugged, with a halfhearted polite smile back. I only make a note of this because it’s the first time I’ve had a non-customer service person speak to me in several days. It was nice to be asked of my opinion, however inconsequential and fleeting it was to the girl, who was kind enough. If the bar wasn’t intolerably loud, I might have attempted to make some amount of friendly conversation with her, but that simply wasn’t in the cards for the night.

As the karaoke wailing continued and the fever pitch of activity and noise in the bar seemed to rise, I decided that, having finished my drink, I was ready to leave. So, I scarfed down the remaining fries with my normally rapid eating speed (which others, in the past have commented on and made me self-conscious about, but I none the less seem beholden to). I’d planned on getting another drink, but decided I just couldn’t take the overwhelming atmosphere of the bar any longer. I closed out my tab, which was $23 dollars and some change – again, intolerably high prices for one drink and fries to someone currently unemployed – and decided to leave, giving the bartender a $5 tip, which I hoped was enough.

I walked next door to the all-night grocery store where, giving in to depressed impulses, I bought a slice of chocolate cake, a mid-sized bottle of Captain Morgan (because I was out of liquor at home and hoped buying some would, in the future, prevent me from bar experiences like tonight’s), and a pack of Diet Dr. Pepper. I’ve found that if I don’t keep soda stocked in my fridge, I’m liable to frequent the 7/11 adjacent to my apartment building and buy Big Gulps, which, in the long run, cause me to spend more money than the price I pay for bulk soda at the store.

A surfer-ish dude of indiscriminate older age with a mop of greasy hair was kind enough to let me go in front of him at the checkout, owing to the fact that he had a full cart and I only three items. I was, and still am, none the less appreciative of his small gesture of kindness. I paid, tucked the rum into my bag, grabbed the soda box in one hand and the cake in the other and was on my way.

The Mai Tai on a partly empty stomach was starting to hit as I arrived home, still feeling in a sour mood. There’s something to be said, though, about pulling yourself out of the rapids of an encroaching depression spiral by way of getting annoyed, as sometimes it’s preferable to feel something, even frustration and irritability, rather than hollow, depressed pain. I immediately went to work transcribing my bar notes, beginning the writing you’re now taking in; just stream of consciousness letting all the thoughts I had about my night flow out. I ate the cake, and it was good, as late-night chocolate cake always is. I was in a sorry enough state that I didn’t feel like cleaning a glass to mix a drink, so I instead opened a diet Dr. Pepper I’d let chill in the fridge, drank a little of it to make more space, and then poured a bit of rum directly into the can. A bit spilled onto my desk and I sopped it up with my finger. As I drank, I started feeling better and better. I threw on a movie: Abel Ferrara’s romantic crime drama China Girl and laid back. By now I was feeling pretty OK.

Now, on the next day, trying to write a conclusion and reviewing what I wrote, what am I to take from my night? While not all that remarkable of an experience, it typifies a reoccurring core aspect of my depression: that I’m at my worst when left to rot in loneliness and inaction, and that I’m often able to put the fog of existential dread at bay when I force myself into activity. Being out, around people, even if alone, gets me out of the mental prison cell of sitting alone in my room, and frees my mind up to think and, hopefully, be distracted enough not to feel so bad. Giving myself something engaging to do, even a little bit of writing as aimless, ephemeral, and frivolous as a mundane piece about my thoughts and feelings on a boring Friday night is better than succumbing to anxious, fretting inaction where I do and create nothing out of impotent fear. I think I’m beginning to understand the appeal of the drug and alcohol use famous to so many artists and writers, as the removal of inhibition is such a key quality in the creative process; and, when that trait has not yet been achieved or cannot be achieved on one’s own volition, being drunk or high or whatever can really help. I mean, for good or ill, it helped me write this screed.

[thischubbyfangirl]

Strawhat crew (+ bonus) take care of you while you're sick

SFW - Platonic GN!reader insert

Notes : I've been sick during holidays, and maybe you've been too! So here's some comfort with the Strawhat crew (+ Shanks, Buggy and Law because I needed it).

Sorry for the eventual grammar or spelling errors, English is not my first language

. . . . . . . . . .

During your trip to the last island, you enjoyed your free time alone to taste local dishes. Much like your captain, eating was a great deal for you and you made it your personal mission to experiment every street food you could find. Unfortunately, this time, something went wrong... Was it the sea monster mariné or the colorful ice cream on the beach? You couldn't tell. What you could tell, however, was how sick you felt in the hours after the Thousand Sunny sailed away from the island...

Chopper is of course the first one to notice your complexion turning from your usual healthy tone to a grim, greyish paleness. The sweet reindeer takes you to his infirmary, lays you on the bed and does a complete check up :

"It's not good at all! You suffer from a severe form of gastroenteritis" he states, roaming around you, poking your feverish head here, probing your aching belly there. His general agitation makes you dizzy and you close your eyes. When you open them again, Chopper is grinding medicinal herbs to cook you up some remedy.

Luffy is probably the most worried. He's almost never sick, so seeing you in that state makes him really uncomfortable. He tries to talk you out of sickness by making an extensive list of all the things he's been eating and you've been missing since you're in bed, which only worsen your nausea. He's upset to be so helpless and ends up bringing you some candies to apologize. You accept it just to see him return to his warm, beaming usual self, but when he looks away you discreetly pass the sweets to Chopper.

Sanji cooks you a healthy broth. He's taken a list of things you can or cannot eat from your little Dr. Reindeer, and even if the list is scarce and clearly not the kind to make your mouth water, he manages to make it taste good, really good. When you thank him for his effort in keeping you alive and hydrated, he pats your head and advises you to be more careful with what you eat next time.

Zoro acts absolutely unconcerned by your illness, but strangely, as long as you're bedridden, he's often seen taking a nap in a corner of the sickbay. When, between two fever-induced slumbers, you ask him if he's doing this to keep you company, he denies and pretends it's only because he wants to avoid "some stupid cook".

Nami comes to chat with you every day. Once, she shares a precious childhood memory about being sick and taken care of by Bellmer, hoping that you feel as loved now in your crew as she had been back then.

Brook also comes to check on your health regularly. He generally has his guitar or violin with him and will play music and sing very softly. He's convinced that music can cure pretty much everything so he applies his treatment to you, hoping it'll amplify Chopper's medicine's positive effects.

"You know, nakama-san, to see you suffer like this, it breaks my heart. Even though I don't have one, because I'm a skeleton. Yo-ho ho ho ho ho!"

Robin comes everyday with the latest newspaper, so she keeps you informed about what happens on Grand Line. And also, to gossip.

"Who would have thought a yonko like Red-haired Shanks would have a daughter, and a famous singer one? Unusual, isn't it? I wonder who Uta's mother could be..."

You were chatting about Water 7's new assistant to mayor Iceburg when she casually asks you if you're aware that gastroenteritis sometimes causes death, after an utterly painful agony.

Franky tells you that, in his opinion, you just need to drink more cola (you're startled when he shouts it COOOH-LAH because he can't help being super) Sanji tells him to shut up, but Chopper actually corrects the cook :

"If it's stirred well to take away the bubbles, Cola can actually be very helpful with this condition! It keeps the body hydrated and the sugar intake compensates for the almost complete incapacity to eat. Good idea, Franky!"

Franky is beaming with pride to be taken seriously ( Oh, yeah!) while Sanji's absolutely dumbfounded. Robin later swears that in this instant, she's heard Zoro snort through his sleep.

Usopp is the crew mate you see the least. He'd never admit it, but he's afraid your sickness could be infectious. On his way to his first visit, he overheard Robin's comment about its lethality and he's a little afraid to die now... You'll only see him when Chopper affirms that your sickness is displeasing but really common and that there's absolutely nothing to fear. Once he finally sees you, he'll brag about his (imaginary) past grandeur:

"Have I ever told you how I survived the Grand Eastian purple plague? I've been sick for seventy-four days and a half! Horrible, insufferable pain ran through my lungs as every breath made me feel like twenty-thousands millions of tiny daggers were piercing holes in my chest! And my fever was so high my men used my forehead as a heating plate to cook healthy, warm meals! Be sure that I know what you feel, even if you only have some nausea, an aching tummy and a little fever. You have to hang on, you'll live through this like I survived the mighty plague!

. . . . . . . . . . . . .

Bonus points

When Shanks sees you puking overboard, his first thought is that you probably overestimated your ability to drink. He brings you a bucket of clean water, thinking you'll rise up, wash yourself and start again, but when he reaches you, you remain half-dead over the railing. It's only then he worries that maybe you could have something less common than a hangover... He helps you to stand and walk to your bunk, and as soon as you're in bed, he calls Hongo to check on you.

He checks on you daily and when you feel better he jokes about reconsidering your presence in his crew if you can be defeated by a tiny virus... (he would never, as the rest of his crew, you're part of his family now).

. . . . . . . . . . . . .

You're training for tonight's show with Buggy's crew when pain rises in your guts. Something's wrong, really wrong !

You quickly stand and run out of the circus ring, to your captain's surprise. You vaguely hear him shout something, but your nausea is nasty, you can't stop and you certainly can't focus on his words! A few meters from you now, you notice an old, empty bucket and run faster to it, not caring for the footsteps and the incessant shrieking behind you.

You grab the bucket as Buggy's hands grab your shoulders and his words, barked just next to your ears, finally come to make some sense:

"Where the fuck do you think you're..."

You can't hold back anymore and vomit into the bucket. In the corner of your eyes, you catch a glimpse of your captain's floating head. You hope for him that he'll retreat in time.

It takes a long minute or two for your guts to finally let you catch your breathe. Only then do you notice that the hold on your shoulder is still very much there, but something feels different. Buggy's not clutching as harshly as before... Instead, his fingers very slightly rub into your flesh. The feeling is comforting, but the idea of puking almost straight to his face is rather embarrassing...

You don't dare to look up when you stammer:

"So...sorry captain, I ... I think 'm sick."

He pats your back and his hands finally leave you. From behind, you hear him answer.

" Yeah, I kinda noticed that. As soon as you can walk, go visit the doctor. We need you in the show as soon as possible..."

Relieved that he's not angry, you hear him walk away from you, probably back to the ring.

. . . . . . . . . . . . .

You've been feeling funny for a few hours... When you can't work properly anymore, you decide to talk about it to your captain and doctor Trafalgar Law.

He takes a brief moment to examine you.

"A common stomach influenza. It's unpleasant, but nothing serious. Stay in bed for the next 36 hours, I'll regularly visit you to check on how you feel and medicate you."

You fall asleep really quickly after going to your bunk, driven into weird, fever-induced dreams.

The feeling of a fresh hand on your forehead brings you back to the real world and without thinking, you hum with contentment. You don't even have the time to open your eyes before the furtive contact has ended. Somewhere inside your mind, you know who it is, but you're too sick to care now and you return to your slumber.

When it happens again then, you notice the cold palm remains for a longer time, bringing a much needed relief against your hot skin.

"Thank you captain" you mutter, still half asleep.

He answers that's nothing but his job.

When the fever drops and you're finally able to stay awake, he still checks on you every couple of hours, repeating the same gesture over and over. Now that you're feeling better, it seems a bit odd to you that he'd check your fever with his hand instead of a thermometer, but you wouldn't dare to complain. He's a skilled professional, and to be fair, you like the way it feels on your forehead.

[kelpan]

Credit for the commissioned Chrysanthemum headshot goes to wwispie on Etsy! Check out their instagram page to see some of their other amazing works!

I'm having so much fun writing this, but I'd be lying if I said this chapter didn't give me a run for my money! Trying to describe shit in the dark is hard lol

As always, enjoy!

Ao3: Petals on a Stream of Stars

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

Act 1, Chapter 6: An Unintended Encounter

Tuesday

12:30 PM

Chrysanthemum

“Ahh!” Chrys gasped as the world around her plunged to black, her fingers pressing reflexively into the box she’d been digging through, creating crescent-shaped indents in the cardboard.

“SCcccrrrreeeeaaAAAAAGGGHHHH!!!” 

A shrill scream ripped through the abyss, startling her to her core. That was Sun’s voice, she was sure, but it sounded as if he was in agony, struggling. His voice mingled and warped between octaves, rippling with a metallic grinding, though muffled with distance. A cold sweat broke out along her hairline, and her mind raced to come up with any sort of reasonable explanation as to what was happening.

“Sun? Sun, what’s going on?? Are you alright? Sun!!!”

His wailing continued, anguished and garbled, devoid of any discernible words, and too far away for her to offer any real help. She’d sure try though, even if there was ultimately nothing she could do. She was not going to leave someone to suffer alone in the dark, that was for damn sure. Ignoring the pleadings of the tiny voice in the back of her mind urging her to be cautious, she pushed off from the shelf she’d been clinging to as an anchor and reached her arms out blind, seeking anything to guide herself with. 

“D-Don’t worry, I’m coming!”

 The screaming faded then, to more of a distorted grumble, trailing off until she could no longer hear it at all. The air grew heavier with each passing second, the silence full of foreboding. She needed to hurry.

Steeling her nerves, she picked up the pace. Using touch alone, she maneuvered her way through rows of shelves, step by careful step, whacking a hip or a knee every so often against a shelf corner or wayward object on the floor. Her skin prickled at the minor abuse, but she paid it no mind. 

“Sun?” she called out again, projecting her voice out as far as she could into the ether. “Sun, come on, say something! You’re really worrying me here!”

Nothing. She paused, and held her breath, trying to better hear even the most minuscule of sounds. Anything that might tell her he was alright. Or at least where he was. She was all thumbs here in the dark here and she knew it. 

Wait—there! Her breathing hitched. She heard it; The soft clicking of gears. The tiny jingle of a bell. All sounds she’d come to associate as distinctly Sunny. 

He wasn’t far, just ahead of her by the sounds of it. Without further hesitation, she took off, following in the direction they’d come from, until it was that the clicks sounded from behind her instead. 

Wait, hold on. Where is he? 

Turning around, she slowed down, and searched the area more thoroughly. Hard to discern much of anything when she felt nothing, but she couldn’t give up. With eyes closed, she attempted to let her ears lead her again. 

Yet still, she couldn’t find him.

Brows knitting together, she double-checked herself a third time, certain that exactly where she stood were where the sounds were loudest. He had to be right here. So why couldn’t she find him? Another bell jingle sounded, this time almost purposeful… and directly above her. 

Adrenaline spiking, freezing her in place, she tipped her head back, eyes inching to the ceiling. Dread filled her belly, churning with uncertainty. Still, she forced herself to look, if only just to know. And there, staring right back at her, were a pair of sharp, glowing red eyes, ominous in the blackness as they hung from above.

“Oh gods!”

She shrieked, a shrill and high-pitched sound, fear skyrocketing through her. There was no time to think, but her mind knew one thing absolute; Sun’s eyes were blue. Not red. 

That wasn’t Sun. 

Chrys bolted, any direction better than staying still, completely forgetting the dangers of her environment. Even with hands held in front, there was little she could do to stop herself from careening over a wayward tub, taking her out at the knees and sending her sprawling to the floor. 

Her chin hit the concrete first with a painful “thud”, the rest of her body continuing on overtop, sending her backside into something hard and metal. Dazed on the cold concrete floor, Chrys could only register a slight creaking sound from behind, before a cacophony of sliding metal tins grew into a crescendo, an eruption of discord disorienting her further.

“Hey, watch it!”

A dark, synthetic voice shouted out amidst the din, followed by rapid, jingling footsteps, stopping only once they reached her. A hard force met a moving object, and the chorus of metal ended, with just the occasional small clangs of tins falling off to the side, away from her.  

Her eyes creaked open, prepared to be met with blindness. But thanks to a red glow, Chrys could finally see—see the paint cans hovering precariously along the edge of a metal storage shelf, tipped and ready to fall right on top of her, if not for someone holding it back. 

The very same someone whose eyes emitted the red glow.

He stood above and pushed the shelf back safely into place; the glow casting an almost negligible amount of light, but just enough. He straightened, and Chrys could hear multiple cans tumble off to the side, falling from his back. Being careful to step around her, he pulled away, and knelt above her head, the two orbs sweeping over her with precision. 

“Injury detected. Superficial—acute swelling, possible minor contusion. Does it hurt anywhere else?” 

The eyes blinked down at her as he spoke, his concerned voice blanketing over her, low and gravelly, and all-together new to her. She remained silent, too stunned to speak. As her eyes adjusted in the minimal light, she made out a vague but recognizable shape around one of his eyes, like that of a crescent…

“Staff unresponsive.” He spoke again, snapping her from her trance. “Wait here. I’ll get someone who can actually help. You’ll be alright.”

The eyes swung upwards and walked away, leaving her where she was. Whether the idea of being by herself once more in the dark rattled her, or curiosity towards her unknown savior took hold, she rolled over and raised her head, ignoring the throb of pain that shot through her jaw at the shift in gravity.

“Wait! I—”

The eyes stopped and swiveled to face her, and if she wasn’t seeing things, crinkled, giving a compassionate look to them. 

“Just stay there, Starlight. Don’t want to risk you running off again. Who knows how you might try to get yourself killed next time.”

And then they were gone, the jingles and clicks fading into empty air. 

Chrys remained on the floor, thoughts reeling. The cold concrete underneath her kept the flush from her skin while she caught her breath and calmed down. She checked her chin, feeling the growing puffiness and tenderness there. Didn’t think it was bad enough to cause any lasting damage, but she’d likely have a bruise come tomorrow morning. 

Her mind replayed this new animatronic’s voice over in her head. At least, she imagined that’s who it was. Hard to believe anything other than a robot taking that kind of hit and walking away from it like it was nothing. 

But something about him stood out to her. Something… familiar, yet different. She’d have to think about it more later, as the pain in her jaw grew into a pounding drumbeat which radiated through her jaw and bore into her skull. She let her head rest on the floor, grateful for the iciness of the concrete. After a few moments of peaceful quiet, the lights above blared to life, and she recoiled from the sudden brightness. 

“Sunshine? Sunshine!?” Sun’s voice called out to her from the opposite end of the room, mirroring her own calls to him earlier. “Sunshi—Oh my stars, Chrys!” She spotted him bounding out from around a corner, rushing right for her the moment their eyes made contact. 

 “Oh, Sunshine, are you alright? Oh, look at you, you’re hurt! What happened? What is this mess? I—nevermind, it doesn’t matter, this never should have happened in the first place. I’m so, so sorry, this is all my fault, I should have been more careful, I should have—”

“Sun, it’s alright! I’m alright, I’m ok.”

She couldn’t listen to any more of his self-deprecating reassurances, his panicked face causing her chest to constrict almost painfully. His hands were frantic as they looked her over, stopping only once she attempted to pull herself into a sitting position, insistent on helping to support her. 

“Careful, careful! Go slow, Sunshine.”

She let him gently hold up her back as her equilibrium adjusted. Her first instinct was to jump right into interrogating him, find out just what in the heck had happened to him when the lights turned off, her anxiety over his wellbeing coming back in a rush. But given that he was here, alive, well, and in one piece as far as she could tell, she decided against it. Something told her she wouldn’t be getting a direct answer out of him anytime soon. 

“Just, uh, just me being a clutz and not looking where I was going. I should have been more careful.”

He raised a single, filigreed brow at her, disbelief written clear across his face.

“Really, that’s all. ” His gaze grew pointed. “I promise! Now, mind helping me up, please?”

“Oh! Yes, yes, of course.”

She gave him her hand, but he ignored it, reaching instead to slide his arms under her knees and around her shoulders, hoisting her up as if she weighed nothing at all. A rosy redness bloomed across her cheeks, unrelated to her injury, and she suppressed a squeak, too flustered to come up with something more eloquent to say.

“W-Woah, what are you doing?” 

“Helping you up. This is my fault, and I’m going to take responsibility for it. Now come on, let’s get you to the Daycare’s first aid station.”

Without waiting for her to respond, he turned and marched towards the entrance, his hold on her allowing no room for protest. After a moment, she gave in, and relaxed into his arms, resting her head against his chest. His smooth frame emitted a slight warmth, different from the coolness she had expected, given what she knew he was made of. With her adrenaline waning, a new thought appeared, almost making her laugh aloud at the absurdity of it. 

“Hey, Sun?” Chrys asked, with soft mirth. 

“Hmm?” He replied, eyes trained ahead. 

“Did you ever find the snacks?”

He dead stopped, staring at her as if she’d said the most ridiculous thing, before finally, his eyes relaxed some, and he chuckled awkwardly.

“Hope all this was worth it for some goldfish and PBJs.”

Their shared croak of laughter broke them free of any lingering tension in the air, leaving space for a growing ease to settle between them. An ease Chrys found both comforting and… surprisingly safe.

She smiled.

[therealblondebucky]

Chapter 1 of Not The Only One - A Winter Soldier Story

Rating: Teen to Mature

Word Count: 2.1 K

Warnings: Canon-typical violence (with more specifics in the tags)

December 16, 1991 20:05 [8:05pm]

With the small heaters now turned off, a bitter chill crept into my uncle's workshop, and the cold urged me on. Shivering, I returned the broom to its corner and mentally counted the minutes until I could go home and get—  

Baam! The storage room's outside door flew open and a man with a shiny metal arm rushed in. His sweat-drenched hair clung to the dark stubble dusted across his sharp cheekbones. Every piece of his clothing was black and bore a weapon of some type. A living omen of death stood before me. 

"Can I help you?" I asked, making my voice gruff, hoping to mask how much this stranger scared me. 

The man said nothing as he began walking towards me. His countenance was cold and merciless. His piercing blue eyes were feral and devoid of any humanity. It was almost like he had been hollowed out and a machine was placed inside him. 

As panic set in, only one thought was clear in my mind: I am here alone and my knife is on a table across the shop.

Terrified, I bolted out of the storage room and into the workshop.

"All that matters is getting my hands on that knife." 

I had a decent head start, but the dark man was closing the distance between us incredibly fast. My knees slammed into the cold concrete floor. I cried out in pain before I even realized what had happened. My heavy work boots had caught on an electric cord. The owner of the cord, a massive band saw, tipped over and fell on top of me. My right arm was pinned between the saw blade and the frame of an adjacent saw. 

My left hand grabbed pitifully at the sharp blade, trying to free my trapped right arm. The effort was only rewarded with several bloody cuts. I attempted to hoist the heavy machine off of myself but only managed to raise it a little.

The saw came crashing back down onto me, and the power switch toggled on. Roaring to life, the saw's sharp teeth tore through my flesh as I screamed for help and watched as the strange man pulled me out before I lost consciousness...

~~~

The stranger

The chase. 

The accident. 

I could see it all as if it were a bad dream. If I woke up, I would escape this nightmare. 

Forcing my eyes open revealed that reality had dealt me a stinging blow. My arm was nearly mutilated beyond recognition. It bent into sickeningly unnatural angles, and the raw, butchered flesh bled profusely. 

Seeing the space between my shoulder and the limb made me realize that my arm was not connected to me; rather, what was left of it was lying next to me. A cry of terror involuntarily escaped my lips before the dark man stabbed me with a hypodermic, and unconsciousness claimed me again.

~~~

"Я хотел ее целиком. Это затруднит мою работу." ["I wanted her in one piece. This will make my work more difficult."]

"Я думаю, с ней все будет хорошо. Жизненно важные признаки сильны, и она всего лишь эксперимент," someone else replied. ["I think she will be fine. Vital signs are strong, and she is just an experiment."]

I could hear the voices clearly, but their words did not make sense. Briefly opening my eyes showed a man in a military uniform with a crimson beret and another man dressed in medical scrubs standing over me.

A gloved hand touched my left arm, and the man in scrubs stuck an IV needle into me below the crease of my elbow. My eyes followed the tubing up to an IV bag holding a bright blue mixture, which was now dripping into my veins.

At first, my arm felt prickly, and then my torso was stinging. The sensation found my legs and worked its way down. The uncomfortable, burning feeling grew into an unbearable, searing pain. Every second that passed compounded the agony. My whole body writhed in pain, and I cried out. The suffering only increased, and my screams no longer sounded human. Convulsing violently, I begged for anyone or anything to end my torment.

~~~

A soft, steady beeping pulled me from my drugged haze. I kept my eyes closed, remembering the horrible image of my arm. Even though I was afraid to know the truth, I attempted to move my arm. It took significant effort, but my fingers moved stiffly, and my muscles could tense and relax. My arm seemed to be alright other than hurting like hell. Opening my eyes revealed I could not have been more wrong. 

My arm was gone. What was attached to me now was cold, hard metal, not soft, warm flesh. 

I lost my arm. My right arm. 

A tear slid down my cheek. I tried to wipe it away with my left hand but could not. I was strapped to the bed like some wild animal or a violent criminal.

Sadness, confusion, and anger became a toxic mixture and flooded every part of my mind. The metal arm tore free from its restraint and quickly ripped off the other straps. 

My whole body felt...different. Taller, maybe? Upon examining my physique, I noticed I was wearing an unfamiliar black sports bra and cloth drawstring shorts of the same color. My jeans and long-sleeved shirt were nowhere to be seen. 

"она не спит!" someone called out. ["She’s awake!"]

A man in green scrubs came over to me. I leaped off the bed and grabbed him by the throat with my metal arm. 

"What did you do to me?" I screamed, shoving him against the wall. 

His only response was something between a choke and a gasp.

"Что ты со мной сделал?" I repeated, but this time in Russian. ["What did you do to me?"]

My grip was now nearing lethal strength. A voice called out for me to release him, or I would be shot. Closing the metal hand fully produced a sickening crunch from his neck, and I watched his lifeless body drop to the ground before a painful and paralyzing shock knocked me out.

~~~

The man in the beret stood in front of me. "Поздравляю, солдат. Вы первая женщина, получившая сыворотку."  ["Congratulations, soldier. You are the first female to successfully receive the serum."]

My voice was breathy and hoarse. "Кто вы, черт возьми, люди?" ["Who the hell are you people?"]

"Я полковник Василий Карпов, ваш создатель и командир," he informed me proudly. ["I am Colonel Vasily Karpov, your creator and commander."]

A million questions screamed in my mind. "Где я?" ["Where am I?"]

"Твой новый дом, солдат, Сибирь." ["Your new home, soldier. Siberia."]

Before I could fully process this information, he called out, "Вытри ее!" ["Wipe her!"]

Machinery whirred, and two metal pieces made contact with my head.  A painful electrical zapping forced horrible screams from my throat.

~~~

I was held in some strange type of metal chair. My head throbbed painfully. Men with guns surrounded the railed area around me. 

A man in a military uniform with a crimson beret stood in front of me. A dark red book held the words he read aloud to me. "Создание. Убегая. Принуждение. Мать. Огонь. Вечер. Второй. Разрушен. Рейс. Лезвие." ["Creation. Fleeing. Duress. Mother. Fire. Evening. Second. Shattered. Flight. Blade."]

"Что вы от меня хотите?" I screamed angrily. ["What do you want from me?"]

The man in the beret called out "Еще раз!" ["Again!"]

Machinery whirred, and two metal pieces made contact with my head. A painful electrical zapping forced horrible screams from my throat.

~~~

I was held in some strange type of metal chair. My head throbbed painfully, and I nearly vomited. Men with guns surrounded the railed area around me. A man in a military uniform with a crimson beret stood in front of me. 

A dark red book held the words he read aloud to me. "Создание. Убегая. Принуждение. Мать. Огонь. Вечер. Второй. Разрушен. Рейс. Лезвие."  ["Creation. Fleeing. Duress. Mother. Fire. Evening. Second. Shattered. Flight. Blade."]

"Кто ты?" I demanded with all the strength I could summon.  ["Who are you?"]

The man in the beret called out "Еще раз!"  ["Again!"]

Machinery whirred, and two metal pieces made contact with my head. A painful electrical zapping forced horrible screams from my throat.

~~~

I was held in some strange type of metal chair and drenched in sweat. My head throbbed painfully, and I nearly vomited. Men with guns surrounded the railed area around me. A man in a military uniform with a crimson beret stood in front of me. 

A dark red book held the words he read aloud to me. "Создание. Убегая. Принуждение. Мать. Огонь. Вечер. Второй. Разрушен. Рейс. Лезвие."  ["Creation. Fleeing. Duress. Mother. Fire. Evening. Second. Shattered. Flight. Blade."]

"Где я?" I asked haltingly.  ["Where am I?"]

The man in the beret called out "Еще раз!" ["Again!"]

A man in a white lab coat came over to him saying, "Мы не можем продолжать лечение. Это убьет ее."  ["We cannot continue treatment. It will kill her."]

The man in the beret replied, "В отличие от Зимнего солдата, у нас нет лет, чтобы сломать ее. Время против нас. Ее надо быстро сломать." Then he called out, "Еще раз!" ["Unlike with the Winter Soldier, we do not have years to break her. Time is against us. She must be broken quickly."] ["Again!"]

Machinery whirred, and two metal pieces made contact with my head. A painful electrical zapping forced horrible screams from my throat.

~~~

I was held in some strange type of metal chair. I felt like I was dying. Everything ached. Men with guns surrounded the railed area around me.  A man in a military uniform with a crimson beret stood in front of me. 

A dark red book held the words he read aloud to me. "Создание. Убегая. Принуждение. Мать. Огонь. Вечер. Второй. Разрушен. Рейс. Лезвие." He closed the book and set it down.  ["Creation. Fleeing. Duress. Mother. Fire. Evening. Second. Shattered. Flight. Blade."]

"Доброе утро, солдат."  ["Good morning, soldier."]

A man in a white lab coat helped me out of the strange chair and handed me a pair of dark military-issue pants, a snug long-sleeve shirt which zipped up in the front and had no right sleeve, two thick socks, a set of black military-issue boots, and a belt. 

The man in the beret told me, "Одеться."  ["Get dressed."]

I promptly stripped off my sweaty cloth shorts, quickly slid on the pants, and zipped up the shirt. I put the socks on my feet, jammed my feet in the boots, and threaded the belt through my pant loops.

Two men in lab coats approached me and started taking my pulse, measuring my temperature, checking my breathing, and drawing my blood. While this was happening, one of the armed men addressed the man with the beret as "Polkovnik" and spoke with him briefly. 

Once the lab coats finished, a soldier shoved a food tray into my hands. It held a bowl of porridge, a small cup full of sausage, a spoon, and a glass of water.

"Ешь," Polkovnik instructed impatiently. ["Eat."]

The food was lukewarm and bland, yet I hurriedly ate it and gulped down the water. The scant meal did not fill me, but it dulled the hunger pangs a little. 

When I finished, Polkovnik motioned for me to follow him. He led me to a large room with a huge barred-off area, like a cage, in the center of it. There was a man inside, but I could not see him well.

"Он будет вашим тренером и научит вас всему, что вам нужно знать," Polkovnik told me and ushered me into the barred room. ["He will be your trainer and teach you everything you need to know."]

Four men in full SWAT gear and two men with clipboards and lab coats entered the cage along with Polkovnik. 

As if alerted to start by some silent queue, a man with a metal arm pulled out a knife and came towards me. I locked my arms against his wrist and kept the blade far from my body. Unable to force him to release the knife, I settled for managing to pull him closer to the ground. A half-second later, he was on top of me with the knife at my throat. 

He then dismounted, allowing me to scramble to my feet before he came at me with the knife again, only this time from above, not below. I performed the same lock as before but twisted his arm over my body and thrust the knife towards his torso. He deflected it harmlessly with his metal hand. 

Without taking a breath, he pulled a gun, aimed it straight at my face, and pulled the trigger.

Nothing happened. 

The gun was not loaded.

I finally understood. He was not trying to hurt me. He was teaching me. This was my training. Experience is the greatest teacher. 

We continued this for hours. Attacking one another, but never hurting the other. Learning without a single word ever being said. 

One of the lab coats would occasionally stop us to check various vitals and give us both water.

Eventually, Polkovnik crossed his arms and exchanged a few words with the other men in the cage. One of the men in SWAT gear came and took me by my left arm. He led me out of the cage and down a long hallway until we came to a room with a thick metal door.

Inside, there were various pieces of medical equipment, cabinets, counters, and such, but what caught my attention was the bed with a tray on it. A small piece of bread and a bowl of now cold potato-based soup with a stingy amount of millet and canned meat in it were waiting for me. I inhaled the food, which silenced some of my stomach's growling. When I finished, the man told me to lie on the bed and then fastened me to it. He flicked off the light and closed the large door behind him as he left.

Before sleep claimed me, I thought about the man with the metal arm. Zimniy Soldat they called him. Who is he? What is his story? When did he get here? Where are we? Why does he have a metal arm? How long will we be here?

[simpingcowboy]

Circles

Pairing: Frankie Morales x GN!Reader, established relationship, no use of Y/N

Word Count: 900+

Warnings: description of mental health episode, disassociation, allusion to selective mutism, allusions to death (?)

Summary: Your boyfriend Frankie helps you manage a mental health crisis (happy ending I pinky promise)

A/N: Hi! This is alot more experimental and poetic than most of my work here, but I hope you enjoy! Inspiration taken from John Donne's poem A Valediction: Forbidden Mourning of which I've written a short explanation of the borrowed imagery here :) Can be read without reading the poem! All you need to know is that this is referring to a drawing compass not a directional compass. As always I tried to be mindful of warnings but please let me know if I missed anything!!! Thank you <3

Twin Compass

"Where are you Baby?" Frankie called to you.

"Everywhere." Burdened with all the terrors of the past. Under the crushing pressure of the future. Pinned to the present like a pinned butterfly, slowly letting life leave its body. You couldn't lie if you tried. Everywhere. You were everywhere.

"Can I be everywhere with you?" He asked, slowly breaching your space. Careful not to make any quick movements.

You manage to lift your head from the pillow. Barely peeking up at Frankie, through your tear stained eyes. Everything ached. It felt as if your heart itself weighed too much. Leaving you helpless and alone on your bed, head tucked into a pillow, knees curled into you.

"Baby…" you cried for him, beckoning him near you.

He continues to move slowly, not wanting to startle you. "I'm here. I'm right here." Frankie sits at the head of the bed.

Instinctively, you move to put your head in his lap. The rough fabric of his jeans rubs abrasively against your cheek. Frankie lets his hand travel to your back, rubbing up and down your spine with each rigid intake of air you take.

"In and out. Just keep breathing." He reminds you.

"Frankie-" you choke out.

"Shh it's okay Baby. I know." And he does. For he's been here many times before.

'A compass' you once said. 'We're like a compass.'

The Fixed Foot

Frankie would stay as long as you needed. He'd feed you. Wash you. Tend to you. Care for you in whatever way you need. He would be here. Or there. Or wherever it was you needed him the most.

It was ritualistic, the ways in which he watched over you. Your breathing. How much you ate. How much you drank. Everything was dutifully monitored by Frankie. He could not always ease the suffering of your mind, but the body you inhabited he could care for until you returned.

You knew how he felt. Lowly. Helpless to stop your aimless wander. An undercurrent of anxiety cautioned his every move. During the worst of it, he'd wonder if you'd ever come back. In the quiet moments, you'd hear him plead to the empty air that you'd return. And you would. As you had so fatefully before. As you knew you always would.

"Frankie?" You called to him, still in that far off spot in your mind.

He tilts his attention back to your face, your eyes still heavy with tears, "Yeah, Honey?"

"You…don't have to-" You whimper meekly.

Frankie cut you off with a smile with a solemn nod. "I know." He responds, "I know."

No matter where you were, Frankie would follow. Though right now he knew you were far far away, he still hearkened after you. Leaning into the darkness with you. He believed it his duty to remain firm for you. Frankie would wait. A million days he'd wait. You would return and when you did, you'd need a safe place to land. Need a home to return to after your treacherous journey.

'You make no show to move'

The Traveling Leg

Even in the vase emptiness, Frankie remained. A lingering figure out of the corner of your agony. The one you circled and circled. Orbiting his existence. Entrusting him to bring you back to where you'd begun. Your agony. Your love. Your joys. Your sorrows. You offered it all to him. Each time, against all odds, he stayed. With no ulterior motives than loving you, he stayed firm.

Still- you both were powerless to stop your aimless wander. So, you'd cycle. Sometimes minutes, often hours, occasionally days. Your mind being dragged through a million days already lived, weighed with the concern for the next million you'd be expected to have. Trudging from one state of existence to the next. Everything felt a blur, emotions only half-felt. Your body suspended in an alternative reality all together.

Frankie's would hum, a fact you usually found endearing now merely reduced to a meaningless buzz void of any discernable pattern. In the far recesses of your mind, you did know the song. A part of you can recall. Subconsciously, you hum along with him. Between sobs and desperate murmurs, you hum. And Frankie knows, your love's not endured a breach- but an expansion.

And then you'd hear it. That call. Time to come home.

'When I obliquely run'

The Circle

Slowly you'd feel it. The circle, nearly complete. A hunger. A pain. An ache. The need to stretch. A desire to go outside. And tea. You always wanted tea first.

"F-Frankie?" You mumbled, readjusting to using your voice again. "Tea?" You ask in a hushed voice, eyes much clearer than they'd been before.

Frankie perks up at your request, relief settling into his old bones. "We can get tea. Come on, Baby. Let's get you some tea." He'd say, moving you both steadily into the kitchen.

Together you sat. Drinking tea. Stretching. Frankie takes a tissue to clear your face of the remaining tears. His big brown eyes meet yours. And he's so grateful. To have you. To see you for who you were, and not all the things you believed yourself to be. But his praise would have to wait another day.

"Where are you, Baby?"

"Here. I'm right here, Frankie." You nuzzle your head into his neck. The scruff of his beard tickles your cheek.

"And I'm right here with you." He said, a subtle smile steadily growing across his face.

'Your firmness makes my circle just

And makes me end where I've begun'

[acteur-dramatique]

In the Fire's Grip

In the silence of my room,

where shadows hang heavy and thick,

I take up the lighter, trembling,

flicking it on, watching the flame waver

as if it knows my intent,

its heat dancing in shade of blue and orange,

inviting, promising a pain

that feels more real than any touch I've known.

I find a small piece of metal,

cold and unfeeling in my hand,

and I hold it to the flame,

watching as it heats, it glows,

as it takes on the fire's wrath,

a shimmer that speaks of hurt

and hunger,

a feeling I know too well.

When it's hot enough,

I press it to my wrist,

flesh hissing under the touch,

skin sizzling like some wicked spell,

the pain blinding, pure,

yet I feel more alive

than I have in days, weeks,

more alive than any laughter or smile

I've forced onto my face.

The burn sears deep,

charred skin peeling,

dead flesh flaking away,

and in that hot, bitter sting,

I find a truth

more solid than any word

than these men have given me --

the words they left unsaid,

the promised they dangled like bait

before leaving me

in the cold again.

Samuel, Liam, Kyle,

Troy, Jacob, Mark --

names that twist in my mind,

that haunt the corners of my soul,

each one a weight pressing down,

a ghost that tugs on threads of hope

only to unravel them,

leaving me tangled, frayed,

lost in the vastness of their absence.

I feel this is my punishment,

this heat, this sting,

for loving too fiercely,

for wanting what was never mine to hold.

The pain pulls me back,

reminds me I am here,

a human of flesh and bone,

capable of hurt, of sorrow,

of a burning that matches the ache

these men have left inside.

I press the metal again, harder,

feeling the skin break,

the scent of scorched flesh filling the air,

and I wonder if I was always meant for this,

a life bound to suffering,

to longing that gnaws at my insides,

to a despair so dark it fills the room,

a shallow swallowing every hint of light.

and yet, in this pain,

I find a strange comfort,

a dark clarity in the flames,

a reminder that I am alive,

even if it's in agony,

even if it's in self-destruction.

For a moment, I am free

of the hollow ache,

of the endless search for answers

in their face, their laugher, their lies.

But as the burn fades,

as the skin cools,

I know the emptiness will return,

that I will crave their presence again,

even knowing it will tear me apart.

This is my cycle, my ritual,

a dance with fire and ruin,

bound to the ashes of my own making,

destines to seek punishment

for a love that was never returned.

And in the quiet after,

in the calm of the hurt,

I sit alone,

the names of these men

like embers in my hand,

smoldering, waiting to ignite again,

a pain that fills me, defines me,

the fire that won't let me go.