#this shit wil litterally never be useful again

[petitepatateuwu]

Don't mind me I got a pink glittery pen so I'm having the fun :3

[helliontherapscallion]

Hello! For the event, can I please get a Philza x male reader who has old scars from self harming? Like, the reader was like "Yea, I had problems with my self esteem". And Phil just comforting him? Thank you!

Food Fights and Comfort

Warnings: swearing, self harm scars, and self harm mentions (nothing graphic)

“You have no idea how hard getting that enchantment was,” Tommy groaned out through a mouthful of half-chewed food. Wilbur reached over to slap him upside the head, “don’t talk with your mouth full. No one wants to see that.”

“Fuck off Wilbur I can do what I want!” Tommy shoved more food into his mouth, chewed it up, and opened his mouth wide facing Wilbur. Your older brother wrinkled his nose in disgust before he shoveled some mashed potatoes onto his spoon and flung it at Tommy where it collided with his shirt. Tommy looked at the brunet with rage before he swallowed his food and scooped up some mashed potatoes and drew his spoon back. Philza’s hand on his arm and his warning glare made him freeze.

“Tommy, if you throw that I swear to god I’m gonna ground you for a month.”

“But- but he started it! I-”

“Let me finish. And Wilbur’s grounded from his guitar for two weeks.”

“C’mon! He-” Wilbur was cut off by Philza’s angry glare, “don’t make me extend it to a month, Wilbur.”

Technoblade leaned over to Tommy when Philza wasn’t looking and whispered in his ear, “if you do it, I’ll do your chores for two weeks.”

“Make it three and you have yourself a deal,” he hissed back at the pink haired teenager.

“...Fine, just do it.”

You silently watched as Tommy genuinely considered it before picking up his mashed potato-armed spoon and flinging the potatoes at the tall brunet next to you. They splattered on his yellow sweater making Wilbur look at him in offense before scooping his food once more and returning fire, his elbow knocking over your mug. The steaming contents of the mug splashed onto you and scalded your arms, soaking through your thick sweater.

A startled yelp left your mouth as you leapt up from your seat frantically trying to brush off the offending liquid unsuccessfully with your hands. The table fell silent as they watched you.

“Shit, I’m so sorry (y/n), I didn’t mean to-”

“It’s fine, Wil, accidents happen. If you all would excuse me, I’m just gonna go clean myself up.”

“Here, let me help you-” Wilbur pushed himself up from his chair only to sit back down when Philza put a hand on his shoulder.

“No, you stay here and clean up this mess. This is exactly why I didn’t want you two to have a food fight, someone always gets hurt.” He walked over to you with a small, reassuring smile, “c’mon.”

You grew increasingly nervous as he led you to the bathroom, your hands pulling your sleeves down repeatedly. He didn’t know about your scars, they were something you struggled with accepting even though it’s been almost a year since you’ve stopped. You were lucky, he had adopted you just at the beginning of fall when you could wear long sleeves as much as you wanted without getting weird looks.

After sitting you on the counter, he turned to rummage in the closet for the first aid kit. From your short time here, you could already tell that the family would go through first aid kits fast. It was a very accident-but-not-really-accident prone family.

He let out a triumphant laugh as he found the box and turned around to look at you, wiggling it in the air, “found it! Now, let’s patch you up, yeah?” When you made no move to push your sleeves up, he furrowed his brows and looked at you a bit closer. He could see the shame and anxiety on your face as clear as day, confusing him to no end. From your short time living with him, you were always an open book, telling him anything whenever he would ask.

“Kid, why’re your sleeves over your hands? I’ve got to see if you have any burns, so if you could push them up I can put some ointment on them.”

You hesitated, the last time you had shown someone your scars was when you were still at the orphanage. You had shown your best friend at the time, and they exploded at you. They told you that you were a freak, that you were an emo for self harming. They ended up spilling everything to the other orphans, and word spread fast at the orphanage; every day was the same there, so they craved new information like it was an addict’s drug.

That began the assault of ‘show us your wrists’ and ‘barcode scanner’ jokes being thrown your way. You became the outcast of the orphanage as fast as you became the loved one. You weren’t sure if the adults knew about it, but if they did, they turned a blind eye to the torment you were going through. It was a miracle that you managed to stay clean during that entire time, you were so close to relapsing. If it hadn’t been for Philza adopting you when he did, you would’ve fallen back into your old ways.

You knew Philza would never do that, as he was one of the kindest people you’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting. However, you had thought about your ex best friend and reflected on what they did to you. Philza had something they hadn't, however, he had your complete trust.

You prepared yourself for the looks of horror and potentially getting thrown back into the orphanage and hesitantly pushed your sleeves up to your elbows. When Philza saw this, he gave you a reassuring smile and quickly got to work on your slightly burnt forearms.

The entire time, he said nothing about the blatantly obvious scars that littered your wrists. This confused you since there was no way that he didn’t see them. Before you knew it, he tied off the bandages and put his hand on yours gently.

“Those should heal soon, you just gotta keep putting ointment on it and let it breathe for a while each day. If you want to, we can go downstairs and finish our dinner.”

You snapped yourself out of the daze you were in and cleared your dry throat awkwardly, “sure, that… that sounds good.”

“Great,” he gave you another smile before he went to leave the bathroom, “I’ll meet you downstairs, just come down when you’re ready.”

“Wait!” You hadn’t meant to say it so loud that it scared the blond, but the anxiety and paranoia that almost blocked your throat forced the word to be louder than intended. He jumped slightly and looked back at you with a soft, yet questioning gaze.

You pushed your sleeves down and fiddled with the ends of them, “you’re not going to say anything?”

“I’d never force anybody to do anything they’re uncomfortable with, it’s just not the right thing to do. It’s always better to let people open up to you whenever they’re ready to,” he said, walking over to you again and standing in front of you. “The same goes to you, I’m always going to be here to listen whenever you’re ready to talk about it.”

You shrunk in on yourself slightly and nodded, contemplating on whether you should tell him about what pushed you to that point, how you were treated when you had opened up about it for the first time. Eventually, you swallowed past the lump that had formed in your throat, “I’ll take you up on that offer.”

And so you told him everything about your previously declining mental health and how the others treated you during your stay at the orphanage. Though he concealed it well, you could still see his anger when you told him about the jokes made at your expense. He never interrupted you to ask questions, he never gave you any sign of malice, he patiently waited for you to continue whenever you paused, and he always showed you that he was actively listening to you whenever you looked at him.

A part of you expected him to kick you out of his house and take you back to the orphanage, but he offered you nothing but his full support. Talking about it, though it was hard, was far easier to do compared to your previous experience. He was an easy person to talk to, radiating a welcoming and judgemental free aura.

“You’re not going to judge me?” You questioned him when you were done, anxiety gripping at your chest. He put a hand on your shoulder and shook his head, “no, you couldn’t help it; it’s heartless to judge someone based on their struggles… You’re a strong person, (y/n). It takes a lot to get yourself out of that cycle and I’m so proud of you for how much you’ve grown and persevered through what life’s thrown at you.”

“I- thanks Dad,” you wrapped your arms around him and squeezed him lightly. Without a second of hesitation, he quickly reciprocated the hug. He tucked your head underneath his chin and rubbed your back in small circles, “any time, I’m always going to be here for you. I love you so much, son.”

[amintyworld]

I'm Like You - Origins SMP Oneshot

A/N: So... Origins SMP may be over but that won't stop me from posting this-! :D

Origins SMP please come back

Anyway here's some hurt/comfort more on the fluffy side. - Minty

TW: Blood/gore, mention of death, kidnapping, mention of chopping one's wings off, mention of selling body parts, almost drowning, cursing. (Let me know if I need to add anything else!)

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

Phil remembered the day they found him - he was tangled in some seaweed and reeds, floating along in the water, leaving a trail of crimson red in his wake. The teenager's right wing was a shamble of blood and feathers, bruises and cuts littering his skin that ignited Phil's anger - he had half a mind to find that damn village and set it ablaze. But, his mind made sure the boy was the priority. Phil untangled him, thankful that the ocean hadn't let him float out to sea, and pulled him on land, quickly searching for a pulse and practically sighing in relief when he'd found one. Phil wondered how long the kid had been out here - he felt ice-cold to the touch, skin ghostly pale.

He remembered, holding the teenager close in his arms as he took off in the air, wondering why. Why would someone hurt a kid, a child, for something they couldn't control? Why would someone have so much hate in their hearts to land deadly hits on a defenseless person? Why then, after everything they did to him, did they leave him in the river to die? Phil never really got an answer that night as he returned toward Ghostbur's mansion on the mountain. He guessed that maybe the world just didn’t have an answer, or rather, they just didn’t have an answer he wanted to hear.

Phil’s roommate, a good-natured phantom called Ghostbur, practically rushed the kid upstairs to a bed, grabbing supplies before Phil even had a chance to explain what happened. “Ghostbur, you really shouldn’t-!” Phil huffed as he launched himself to the second level, grabbing his friend by the arm, feeling his friend’s body shake with adrenaline, emotion. “Wil, he’s got a broken wing - wings are very sensitive and extremely delicate, we need to be careful.” His hand reached up to steady his phantom friend. “Can you grab a couple of potions, bandages, as well as a needle and thread for me? I’ll work on cleaning him up.”

The phantom took a deep breath, silently phasing through the floor beneath his feet to grab the items Phil requested. He understood Ghostbur’s worry - damaged wings for winged creatures could quickly turn detrimental, it was a natural part of who they were, how they felt, and sensed danger around them. Without it, they’d feel incomplete, empty, but most importantly - they’d be in their most vulnerable state.

Phil’s fingers were soft and light as he cleaned out the wounded wing, picking out and straightening feathers that were stuck, misshapen, or out of place. Gently, using lukewarm water, he washed the dirt, rocks, and dried blood from the wound, careful to move slowly so as to not cause alarm to the kid. Ghostbur floated up next to him, placing the things he asked for on the bedside table, crossing his arms, and looking over to the teenager. “Is he gonna be okay, Phil?”

“I…” Phil sighed. “I dunno. The wound’s deep, half his flying feathers are gone… thank gods whoever left him had a shit aim, it looks like they were trying to take the wing off at the source.”

“Can you fix it?”

“...I can try.”

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

Tommy’s head pounded, his body wrapped in a comforting warmth that practically screamed at him to sink into. His muscles ached for rest, but Tommy knew he needed to get moving. His head ached so much it made his brain go fuzzy as he struggled to remember what happened yesterday. He and Tubbo were moving to go collect some honey… Did he fall asleep again?

Tommy would admit it wouldn’t be the first time he found a good sunlight patch to catch a nap and the shulker hybrid had to carry him back to their base on the mountain. How long had he slept? Why was he still tired?

His ears perked up as he heard shuffling around him. His instincts began to flare, sending signals up his spine. Wait… the hunters… the hunters took him… Tubbo’s in danger-

He felt someone touch his wing, gently moving it toward themselves. His wing… they tried to take his wings, they wanted to sell them for money-! Tommy’s eyes snapped open. He wasn’t home. He didn’t know where he was and a stranger was touching his wing.

dangerdangerdanger-

Ignoring his body’s protests to rest, he leaped up, surprising the attacker as he tackled him toward the wall quickly to restrain him, pinning his neck with his arm. A crash sounded behind him but Tommy didn’t care. He was getting out of here and saving Tubbo no matter what. His eyes bore into the ill-intended stranger, ready for a fight. “Where am I?!”

The stranger’s eyes flicked up toward Tommy’s, at first matching his intense gaze before quickly softening, silent as he became acutely aware of the razor-sharp talons digging into his leg. “You’re in my house.” He did his best to keep his voice calm. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“Where’s Tubbo?”

“Who-”

Tommy slammed the man back against the wall. “Don’t act dumb you fucker, where’s the shulk?!”

“I don’t know, okay?! Just-!”

Tommy’s eyes flicked over toward the window - an escape! He needed to get out of here, clearly Tubbo got taken somewhere else if the stranger didn’t know him. He needed to get free and… and come up with some kind of plan...yeah! Adrenaline pumping like mad from the close encounter, the stranger noticed his gaze as realization hit him.

“Wait… hold on, you really shouldn’t-!”

Tommy felt the wind flow underneath his wings, perched on the window ledge. They were achingly sore - who knows how long he’d been trapped here? Moving to crack a tense spot in his back, Tommy felt a sense of relief. He smiled, knowing that his wings wouldn’t be sore for much longer. They just needed to stretch.

Phil rushed forward, an inch too late as Tommy leaped from the building.

The teenager stretched his wings out to catch himself on the breeze, confident for the span of at least a minute. He closed his eyes like he usually did to better focus. Why couldn’t he feel his wings picking him up? Why wasn’t his body doing what he needed to - it was as simple as taking a step! Just stretch and glide on the breeze.

Stretch, and…

For the first time since the avian learned to fly, Tommy found himself crashing down onto the grass. Shame welled up in his stomach, paired with confusion. Hearing the door bang open behind him added to it all a twinge of fear. He stumbled, trying in vain to gather his bearings. Ignoring the sting of scratches from the crash, he ran into the forest.

“Wait! Mate, just wait for a second!”

The wind picked up through the trees, tangling through hair and setting practically every nerve on Tommy’s wings aflame. There was danger. He needed to fly. He needed to fly away, but… but he couldn’t. He was trapped and alone with hunters chasing him down to finish the job they started. He couldn’t stop running. He couldn’t, because if he did he could say goodbye to flying ever again. He’d never grow his wings back, and he’d look like a useless disgusting human.

He’d be normal.

Flying was the only hybrid skill, the only uniqueness about him. Tommy would rather die than ever have that stripped away from him. Chopping away bone, muscle, and feather - all in the interest of earning a few gold coins! Well, fuck them. His body barely running on energy as it was, his legs gave out on him as he fell to the ground again.

No. Please.

He heard footsteps, flipping around to see the blonde man. Pure fear gripped him for the first time in his life. He scooted backwards as the man tried to approach. Another pathetic attempt at escaping - why was he even trying anymore? His back hit a tree trunk, his wings shrinking back, as scared as he was. Yet, the blonde man moved closer.

“Stay back! Stay back, or…” Tommy struggled, quickly moving to grab a rock, holding it up in some sort of threat. As if a rock could take down a hybrid hunter. “...or I will mess you up, bro!”

The blonde man stopped walking forward. “Look, I know you’re confused and scared, I would be too. But I promise, I’m not gonna hurt you.”

“Liar! I won’t let you take them!”

The man’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “Take them…? I…” He looked down at the teenager in sympathy. “I don’t want your wings, I swear!”

“Bullshit!” Tommy yelled. “I know your game, stop acting so innocent! You can’t lure me in, you can’t make me trust a single word you say, hunter!”

“I’m not... I’m not a hunter, okay?” Phil said, stepping closer and making Tommy tense. He sat down four feet away from the teen, taking a deep breath before shouldering off his green robe, leaving the white tank. Immediately, a pair of translucent, metallic wings unfurled from his back, so large Tommy almost felt intimidated. Tommy wanted to say something, but words died on his throat. Phil shrugged his shoulders after stretching his wings out looking up toward the avian. He awkwardly smiled. “...well mate, I’m like you.”

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General Taglist (Tell me if you want to be added/removed!):

@bones-sprouts

@benzel

@foolishcaptains

[seijorhi]

hello, im always on the hunt for new funky fresh yandere!suga content! i really enjoyed the post you made for him, it's exactly up my alley! would it be possible to request a gender neutral reader finding out just how much suga's been stalking them after they left him? by stumbling on something they shouldnt see (could be a dark room, or a journal, whatever youd like) and have him walk in on them then?

Suga will always be my first Haikyuu love, so of course!

Sugawara Koushi x Reader

TW stalking

Red Handed

When you were a little kid, your mom told you a story.

It was about a handsome man with a blue beard, the woman who married him despite the warning signs, and a locked cellar that was never supposed to be opened. You were too young to hear it, but as horrifying as it was - it stuck with you. 

Curiosity can be a dangerous thing.

But sometimes… sometimes you just can’t help yourself.

In your defence it wasn’t so much a wilful breaking of trust so much as it was an honest mistake. Sort of.

It’s not the first time you’ve found yourself pouring over textbooks and hastily scrawled notes with Suga, but it is the first time it’s been just the two of you - and the first time it’s been at his place instead of yours. 

“I give up,” you moan, letting your head fall flat against your notebook. “I’m gonna fail this stupid exam, drop out of school and have to resort to finding some rich, attractive guy to marry and support me instead.”

You’ve been at it for hours, the two of you spread out on his couch, a mountain of snacks between the two of you. You have to give Suga credit for that - the man knows how to keep you motivated to stay but this, this was beyond your limit. It’s never a good sign when you reread the same sentence five times and still have no idea what it says.

A soft laugh sounds and there’s a hand rubbing soothingly at your back, “Aw c’mon, don’t be so dramatic. You got me, right?”

You lift your head slightly to find him smiling at you with that same fond exasperation, and almost without meaning to you find your frown softening. It’s true. Suga’s pretty much your lifeline at this point - not to mention the reason you’re actually doing pretty well in most of your classes this semester. 

God only knew where he found the patience.

“What, you gonna marry me when they kick me out in disgrace?” you ask with a wry half grin, pushing yourself away from your notes. “Take care of my freeloading ass?”

Suga doesn’t say anything for a moment. You brace yourself for the lecture and/or pep-talk he’s given you a thousand and one times before, but when you glance up at him again, the look on his face isn’t the one you’re expecting.

He’s still smiling, but there’s something… odd about it. 

It’s just a flash, a flicker of something fleeting in his eyes-

You blink, and whatever it is- was - it’s gone and Suga’s looking at you with the same expression he always wears whenever you start bemoaning your future and the possibility of failing. 

Huh… your eyebrows draw together, the faintest hint of unease teasing at your gut. Just for a moment - a split second - you could have sworn that… 

But no, you’re just tired. Your brain is absolutely fried after hours studying, whatever you thought you saw, you must have imagined. Because Suga’s your friend. A good friend, maybe the best one you’ve ever had. Still… you really shouldn’t tease him like that.

“Hey, you know I’m kidding, right?” you ask, nudging his shoulder playfully. “Anyway, I think I’m done. I can’t look at these stupid notes anymore - they’re making even less sense than when we started.”

Suga sighs, rolling his neck and flipping the cover of the textbook shut. “Well I suppose it is getting late. Are you hungry? I can order some take out if you want-”

You shake your head before he can finish, “Nah, can’t tonight. I have a date,” you say, shooting him a wink. “Next time though? When everyone’s free. I feel a little guilty stealing all of your time for a one on one session as it is.”

Suga stills for a moment, glancing up to find you smiling sheepishly back at him. “Oh, a date? With that guy from class?” he asks, busying himself in tidying up the notes spread out across the coffee table. 

That guy from class. Yeah, the one you haven’t been able to shut up about for weeks. That one.

“Yeah. Nothing crazy, just dinner and a movie - still, I think it’ll be fun, y’know?” You were trying for a blasé tone, but somehow you think the slight dusting of pink on your cheeks kind of ruins it a little bit.

So maybe you were a little excited about it - it wasn’t a crime was it?

Suga gives a non-committal hum, but doesn’t say any more on the topic. Together it doesn’t take the two of you long to clean up, gather your notes and stash the snacks back away for the next study session. 

You still have enough time to dart home, have a shower and get ready, but- “Hey, before I go, is it okay if I use your bathroom?” you ask a little shyly. You guys have been friends for months, and you definitely don’t want to come across as rude, but you can’t deny there’s still something slightly embarrassing at having to ask permission.

“Yeah, of course. Down the hallway, last door on the right.”

 You nod, thanking him quietly.  

It’s a simple mistake. At the end of the hallway, there are two identical doors, both closed over.

Last door on the… left? That’s what he said, right?

You twist the doorknob, easing the door open and within a split second you know that you’ve got the wrong door because this is definitely not a bathroom, but…

Curiosity pushes you forward. 

It’s Suga’s bedroom. Your feet move like they have a mind of their own, drawing you in further into his room. You’ve never been to his place before, and you’ve definitely never been in his bedroom before, but you can’t deny that you’re curious. Surprisingly it’s not the mess that you’re expecting - the double bed neatly made and aside from a sweater tossed haphazardly across the back of a chair and a pair of jeans that hadn’t quite made it into the laundry hamper, there’s no dirty clothes littering the floor. 

You know it’s rude to pry. You know that, but in that moment you can’t seem to help yourself. Suga won’t mind, really, and it was an honest mistake.

There’s an acoustic guitar in the corner (does he play it, you wonder) and a volleyball covered in signatures sitting on one of the shelves above his desk. Even now, you know that he loves the sport with his whole heart. You’ve never been to a game before, but part of you thinks you’d like to, Suga always makes it sound so exciting. You find a smile creeping across your face as you wander over to have a closer look - there’s photo’s everywhere, in frames, pinned to a cork board on the wall - him with his family, with his friends, even one of the two of you together… and is that a medal?

You’re startled out of your thoughts by your phone vibrating in your pocket.

It should have been a wake up call, a sign from the universe to snap out of whatever nosy spell you’d managed to find yourself under and get out of Sugawara’s bedroom before he comes in to find you blatantly invading his privacy. It should have been - except instead you reach for your phone and fumble. 

You’re incredibly thankful for the carpeted floor because you can only watch in horror as your phone clatters to the ground and bounces (bounces!) under his bed.

“Shit!” you curse under your breath, dropping to your knees and resting your cheek against the mattress as you reach blindly into the dark space.

It takes a second of fumbling before your hand lands on something. It’s not your phone, you can tell that much right off the bat - it’s bigger, a box of some kind. 

You should have left it. 

Really, Sugawara’s a young, healthy guy like any other - you have an inkling of what could be inside the box. And it’s not like you want to see whatever spank bank material your friend has stashed away, you don’t, but…

But there’s a voice in your head that ignores all of that. A voice that whispers so delightfully, so eagerly, for you to just open it.

Open it, it whispers as you slide it out and set it down on the bed, settling yourself down beside it.

Open it, it whispers as you run your fingers along the wooden lid, sanded smooth except for the intricate carving in the centre. It’s strangely beautiful you think - not exactly the kind of box you can imagine filling with something so lewd.

Maybe it’s not what you think… maybe Suga has something else stashed away in this pretty little box. What else could it be? What does a guy like Sugawara Koushi have hidden away under his bed?

Open it, it whispers as your fingers find the edge and you slowly slide it open.

You immediately wish you hadn’t.

It’s you.

The photo’s a little blurry, taken from a distance and zoomed in, but it’s definitely you, lying in your bed, head thrown back with your eyes closed, bottom lip caught between your teeth-

The sheets obscure the rest, but from the flush on your cheeks and the arm disappearing between your spread legs, it’s obvious what you’re doing. 

There’s more. You with your friends, laughing. You out with your ex, maybe a month or so before you’d broken up. You in your bedroom again, a white fluffy towel wrapped around you, your hair still wet from the shower.

You walking home from class, taken from behind.

You in your favourite cafe, sitting by the window with a steaming mug in hand, staring out with a soft smile.

You tucked up on the couch, eating dinner with the TV playing in the background.

You.

You.

You.

Every single photograph was of you, and every single one of them taken without your knowledge. Pictures of you from last year, long before you ever met Suga. How long has he been-

You can’t even bring yourself to finish the thought. You feel sick, violated, your hands trembling as you flick through the images. You don’t want to see any more, but you can’t seem to stop yourself. You at the park with your friends, walking their dogs and chatting aimlessly. You bending over to pick up something, the shot framing your ass in a way that seems almost… lewd.

When did he take these? H-how had you never noticed?

Oh god, some of these are from outside your home.

Your stomach churns, you might actually vomit… 

“Got lost, baby?”

You jump at the sudden interruption, quickly snapping the lid shut and shoving the little box of horrors away from you like it’s poison, hurried excuses already on the tip of your tongue - but it’s too late for that.

One look at Sugawara, standing framed in the doorway, watching you with an eerily calm expression upon his face and you know that it doesn’t matter what you say. There’s no denying what you’ve seen. 

No coming back from it. 

His eyes drift to the box, the incriminating pictures spilled across his sheets and he sighs. “You know, I wanted to make this special for you. I wanted to do this right.” His hazel eyes flicker back to you as he steps inside his bedroom and shuts the door behind him. The soft click has never sounded so deafening. So final. “But you just couldn’t help yourself, could you? You just couldn’t keep your nose out of where it doesn’t belong.”

Your heart thumps painfully against your ribs, the sound so loud that you’re sure he has to be able to hear it too. It’s not nausea that seeps through your veins, keeping you frozen in place, but fear. Suga’s always been such a gentle presence in your life but there’s no trace of that person left as he closes the distance between the two of you. 

It’s all been a lie, a carefully crafted facade designed to pull you in. Do you even know him at all?

“S-suga, what-”

“Shh,” he murmurs, placing a finger across your lips, a soft, delicate smile playing across his features. “Didn’t your parents ever tell you that curiosity killed the cat?” He pauses for a moment, watching with wicked delight as your face pales and you jerk away from his touch with a strangled gasp. “It’s okay, baby, there’s no need to look so worried. Don’t you know I’d forgive you anything?”

His lips crash against yours before you can even think to reply. 

[the-unknown-storyteller]

The Sight Of Such Pretty Things

Summary: Wilbur is dead and Ghostbur fills the place he has left behind, mending the broken relationships he has thrown aside.

Wilbur is dead, but Ghostbur is alive in the sense that he gets to experience all the little things his former self may have taken for granted.

Talking with Philza about the colour green, stargazing with Tommy until deep into the night and collecting wild potatoes with Techno remind him that he is not that person anymore. That these moments are his and his alone.

Nevermind the fact that he can't talk freely, breaching sensitive topics left and right and touching people with hands that can only seem to remind and hurt with memories he himself cannot remember.

__

It all starts with Philza. With him and his green-striped bucket hat that ignites an irrational interest in Ghostbur's mind. It's such a nice green, is all he can think, as he walks laps around Philza's living room, mindlessly chattering and rambling on about his day. 

His restless hands throw a small piece of lapis that he found the other day from side to side, palming it in his right hand whenever he raises his hands in exaggerated sweeps and gestures to accompany his excited words about his newest project.

"-saw it just the other day and I really wanted to build it and Tubbo said he didn't mind it, so I just went right ahead and, Phil, I just gotta say, it's coming along great! Fundy is helping me balance it properly, so that it won't topple over and accidentally crush the main walkways and-" 

Ghostbur can hear his father hum every now and then to let him know that he is listening, as he mends the latest rip in one of his green shirts. Green like the stripes on his bucket hat. Both his feet and his words come to a stop, strangely fixated. It's so green.

"Hey, Phil, have you ever noticed how green your bucket hat actually is?" Ghostbur drifts over to his father to get a closer look at his hat, his crane building story forgotten. "Like, it's really green. One might think that, with all the fighting and running it has probably endured, it must have definitely lost its colourfulness. But look!" He raises his hands to frame the hat, as though it were something exceptionally precious. "Still as green as the day you got it, I'm sure!", he exclaims with a grin, his face mere centimetres away from Phil's.

"Uh, thanks, I guess." Philza laughs awkwardly, shuffling on his seat. "Never knew you were this enthusiastic about green clothes, mate."

"Oh, I'm not," Ghostbur chirps, playing with his piece of lapis, "I just really like yours, especially your hat!" He rubs his thumb over the stone one last time before putting it away, missing the way Phil's smile becomes strained. 

"It's funny that you say that. Someone I knew had the exact same sentiment towards green," Phil says softly, pulling the bucket hat from his head, rubbing at the worn fabric. "Especially towards my hat."

"Oh, how fun! Who was it?" Ghostbur loses concentration in his excitement and can distantly feel his body slowly float upwards, rotating until he stands upside down on the ceiling. Unbothered, he keeps talking. "Maybe you could introduce us sometime and we could talk about the colour green, about your green! I don't know what-"

"I… I don't think that will be possible, mate. It's been some time since I last… saw them," Phil apologizes, his voice catching at the end of the sentence.

Ghostbur sinks back down to the floor with a frown. He's done it again. "Are you okay, Phil? Here, have some blue. Calm yourself," he says, folding his hand around the blue he's just placed in his father's hands. He knows he's upset him. He keeps upsetting everyone because he keeps forgetting what is taboo to talk about and what isn't. Apparently, Philza's bucket hat is one of those things. What a shame, he really likes how green it is.

__

Tommy lets his almost broken axe fall to the ground, before flopping down himself. Sitting next to the small fire he lets out an annoyed groan.

"You know, you could have helped me chop down those trees instead of just standing there, watching and shit", he scoffs, picking at the splinters in his hands. All afternoon he had been chopping down tree after tree. Probably for his tower, which was looming behind Tommy in the far distance.

Ghostbur gives him a smile, quietly picking at the strings of his guitar, as he ignores his complaint. The soothing melody accompanies the constant crackling of their campfire and the sizzling of the fish above the flames. He starts humming for a bit, letting his gaze wander, and then he starts talking. 

"You know, I think you're quite lucky, Tommy. To be out here-", he starts, rotating the fish to keep it from burning. He resumes his strumming.

"Wha-?! What the fuck are you saying, Wil-"

"Where there is barely any light to taint the night sky", Ghostbur continues, undeterred by Tommy's protest. He repositions his left hand and the song becomes a bit more somber, bringing down the mood of the conversation with the descending chord progression. "I mean, the sky is just so beautiful out here, look," he breathes, tilting his head upwards. He notices his little brother frowning in his peripheral, but he follows his instructions and looks up as well.

"And what am I supposed to be seeing?"

"The stars, Tommy!" A grin spreads across his grayed out cheeks. The soft strumming stops for a moment, as Ghostbur makes a sweeping motion across the horizon. "The stars." A breath of admiration leaves his empty lungs.

"What about them?", Tommy asks, an annoyed tint to his voice. He sounds exhausted. Maybe he should have helped with the wood chopping, actually. Next time, maybe. Because right now, all he can think about is the twinkling and shining of the stars above him. How has he never noticed how many there are? How bright they are?

"Are you not seeing the same thing I'm seeing? Look at the stars, the milky way, they're all so incredibly clear out here in the wilderness." A shooting star flies across the sky, making Ghostbur gasp in child-like glee. "Quick! Make a wish, Tommy!"

"That's stupid, Ghostbur. I'm not a stupid child, believing in something stupid such as-"

"Ah, come on, Tommy. What's the worst that could happen? Just make a wish with me." Ghostbur claps his hands together more forcefully than was really necessary and closes his eyes. He peeks at the boy in ragged and torn clothes next to him, looking more tired and broken than a boy his age should, and mouths his silent wish for his little brother to please, please, come out of this alright. 

"Your turn!" He smiles, quietly rubbing at a piece of blue from his messenger bag when he's done.

"Ugh, fine," Tommy groans. He claps his hands together and closes his eyes with much less enthusiasm than the former did. His lips don't move along with his silent wish, but Ghostbur trusts his sincerity. Knows that the other can't be anything but sincere in almost everything he does. Whether he wants to or not. After a few moments he opens them back up. "There, done," he grumbles, "happy?"

A grin in approval and a nod, making Tommy roll his eyes. A shiver runs down his arms with the dropping temperatures of the night. Ghostbur stands up without a word, dumping three thick blankets on top of the younger when he returns. Satisfied when Tommy is adequately bundled up for the night, he sits back down at his place in front of the fire, picking up his guitar from the ground, and begins to strum yet another melody, more soothing than somber this time. He leans back against the tree log behind him, continuing to play long after the other has finally fallen asleep, only occasionally stopping to throw a log in the flames to keep the fire going. His eyes stay fixed at the stars that are so much brighter than they ever were in any of his faded memories.

__

The third time he gets fixated on something arguably insignificant, he is with Techno. They're out on a hunt for wild potatoes, since most of his old crops lay abandoned in their old ravine and the few that he managed to take with him long ago were not enough to start a proper farm. 

So here they were, quite a few thousand blocks away from Techno's base, where the ground isn't permanently frozen and manages to support the occasional berry bushes and even some wild carrots. When they come across some tall yellow-white flowers, Techno immediately puts down his bag next to them and gets out his shovel. He plows through the dirt, bringing up large chunks with every scoop he takes. They're littered with the beautiful golden glow of potatoes. 

Ghostbur floats up to the piglin, watching him check every potato he finds and throw the good ones in his bag. The dirt, damp with recently fallen rain, sticks to Techno's clothes, getting stuck in the fur of his red cape and leaving dirty smudges on his crown whenever he adjusts it. Ghostbur tilts his head, feeling a strangely familiar itch in his hands, urging him to go, go, touch it, touch it now, take it. He ignores it.

It's dirty.

"You know, I've always been curious, Techno." He picks up one of the bigger potatoes on the ground to keep his hand busy and turns it over in his hand, looking for any faults on its skin. He throws it up in the air a few times, judging its weight. "Why are you so… fascinated with them?" He throws the large potato, which the other catches easily. His eyes drift down to the red of his cape and the white of his fur collar, clumps of dirt and mud spread throughout. He tears his gaze away. "I remember you having a large farm in the ravine and I think I've never seen you eat anything other than a baked potato." 

"I do not only eat baked potatoes," Techno protests, picking up his bag and walking towards the next yellow-white flower cluster he sees in the close distance. The ghost follows with impossibly light steps.

"I only eat them most of the time," he admits, driving his shovel into the ground. He throws his falling cape back over his shoulder, ignoring the way it accidentally gets dragged through a muddy puddle next to him.

"Which is most of the time if we're being honest," Ghostbur remarks with a grin, his hands still itch with the thought of Techno's red cape getting dirty, he's always so careless with it, the white fur is getting ruined. He starts plucking the yellow-white flowers, delighted when he finds a slightly purple variant of it.

"Because they are clearly the superior food source," Techno shoots back, throwing the last potato in his bag. He notices that Ghostbur's is still completely empty except for a piece of lapis and the sack full of blue that he is so fond of carrying and handing out. With a sigh, he keeps moving. They change location a few more times, whenever the ground has no more potatoes to give, until both bags are finally filled to the brim.

Satisfied with the amount, Techno puts his shovel away and they start the trek back to his base. The sun is only two hours away from setting and they're quite a long way away from home, so Techno picks up his pace, pulling the ghost with him, away from the bees and their nest in the tree.

With nothing to preoccupy his hands Ghostbur takes out his piece of lapis, running his fingers over its rough ridges. His crown is smudged with mud.

"There is dirt on your crown," Ghostbur points out, looking up at Techno's head with a frown. "And your cape." He picks at some clumps of mud and pulls out a few small twigs.

"It's fine, I can just wash it, when we get back." And that's that. Except Ghostbur knows that Techno will just hang it up at the entrance, brushing off the worst of the by then dried mud the next time he has to go out and wear it. How does he know that. Now that he's pointed it out and begun cleaning it, the itch in his hands has grown to be unbearable. This feels familiar. He won't be able to clean the cape right away without any soap or water, he's always so careless with it, never properly taking care, and his crown is dirty with mud.

"Give it to me," Ghostbur suddenly demands, extending his hand towards Techno's crown. Why is this so important to me? "Give me your crown." The piglin raises an eyebrow at the demand, but hands over the golden crown with a shrug, curious as to what has the ghost riled up so suddenly.

Ghostbur snatches the crown from the other's hand and starts to clean it with the fabric of his sweater. The mud that has since dried slowly flakes off and reveals the shiny surface underneath. He almost obsessively rubs at the inlaid jewels, scratching away the dirt. He turns it over a few times when he is done and returns it to his owner with a slight huff. "Please take better care of it next time."

Techno chuckles at the ghost antics, but his brows are pulled together and he looks anything but amused. He doesn't hide his small frown fast enough.

Ghostbur mentally adds Techno's crown to the taboo list, as they continue walking home. At least the itching in his hands has stopped.

[aziraamane]

Holidays with the Husbands! (an extract from “All the Better Part of Me”)

Christmas in Crowley's flat had been nonexistent the whole time he'd lived there. Before Adam came to live with him, he didn't exactly live there. He came back to sleep, and occasionally eat; otherwise he was wherever his mother told him to be, and prior to that, whiling away the hours in his office, marking exam papers, glugging coffee, and chucking tennis balls at walls - proper professor stuff, naturally.

But now there were decorations up, and the scent of cinnamon in the air, and a fucking tree. Crowley glared at it, arms folded, but couldn't quite bring himself to hate it. 

God, Ezra, you're a pain in my ass.

It was all Ezra's idea, of course. Adam had been over the moon, almost falling over himself in his excitement about decorating its sweet-smelling branches. He and Warlock "prettied up" one third of the tree, which Ezra later discreetly turned to face the wall, winking at Crowley as he did so. Together they decorated the rest. And that wasn't even the end of it, nope; there were fairy lights strung up around doorways, and glittery snowflakes on the windows, and Adam and Warlock stuck cotton wool on a long strip of paper and put it atop the fireplace like a snow scene, then made snowmen out of salt dough and baked them in Ezra's oven before painting them in atrocious splotches of colour.

Oh, he tried so hard to sneer at it all, but...

The flat had never looked brighter, more lived-in.

More like a home.

And when the first evening of Hanukkah came around, the air was filled with childrens' laughter, the sizzle of frying potato and the scent of oil as Ezra showed Crowley how to make traditional latkes. Warlock introduced Adam to the dreidel game, and in its aftermath the lounge was littered with crumpled bits of gold foil from their gorging on gelt, and then, if that wasn’t enough sugar-fuelled giddiness to be dealing with, of course they had advent calendars too, and it was only by some divine miracle that neither of them were sick.

Crowley let everything wash over him, resplendent, floating on a cloud of familial bliss. Had Mother had her way, he’d be skulking in a corner at the office, glowering at his siblings while drinking as much expensive wine as he could get away with without finding himself a mess in tomorrow’s headlines. Still, he might have scoffed at the idea of a domestic shut-in, all cosy Christmas jumpers and tranquility. 

Till now. Till he knew how fucking happy such a scene could make him. 

He and Ezra were in the kitchen, plating up latkes and sufganiyot, when...

"Sundown," Ezra murmured, looking at his watch. "It's time, my dear. Ready to hear my atrocious attempts at Hebrew?" 

Crowley grinned as he wiped his hands. "I promise not to make too much fun of you for it afterwards."

Ezra swatted his arm. "You're a menace."

"A menace who bought you an obscenely expensive hanukkiah!” Crowley breezed past Ezra with a wink and a shit-eating grin. "Like it or lump it, angel." 

The four of them - Crowley had given Ana time off over the holidays to spend with her family - gathered in the lounge, forming a loose semi-circle around the windowsill, where a silver menorah sat, ready to be lit. Crowley had found it in an antiques dealership that specialised in religious trinkets and iconography, and of course Ezra had always been welcome to bring his own menorah ("the proper term is "hanukkiah," but at this point it's semantics, my dear, so call it what you wish so long as it's respectful!") over to the flat, but the magnificent, slightly tarnished lamp at the dealership had been so perfect that Crowley simply had to buy it. 

Ezra had, of course, shed a tear or two upon first seeing it.

And now, he was lighting one of the candles - the shamash, Ezra said - and using that to light another candle, singing a blessing in gentle, lilting, fucking beautiful Hebrew as he did so. That was it, Crowley was captivated, well and truly; let it be known that his headstone shall be inscribed with “Death by Glorious Tenor.” 

He understood none of the words, but as he held Adam's hand and listened, he figured he didn’t need to, not really. This was a special moment for Ezra, and by extension, everybody around him. To simply share in that moment spoke of more than a translation ever could. Crowley’s heart swelled for the sweetness of Ezra's voice, for the joy of spending this time with a whole new family of his own building, for the wilful breaking down of the barriers that had protected him for so long, and he relished it, revelled in it as he had never done before. 

Above all, for the first time in what might have been forever, he felt safe. 

Ezra’s song died away as he returned the shamash to its holder, a sudden ripple running up his back and shoulders. He turned to face his crowd, eyes averted and cheeks glowing pink in obvious and adorable embarrassment.

"Did I...did I do okay?" 

Crowley smiled wide - how could he not? - and gathered Ezra in his arms with a blissful sigh as Warlock hugged Ezra's leg. "You did great, angel. Very nice. Hebrew sounded top-notch."

"Oh, I am glad. I worry, you know - Yiddish comes to me much easier, and, well, Hebrew is quite sacred and I’d hate to mess it up-”

“Ezra.” Crowley stroked his hand absently through Ezra's curls. “You did fine. Trust me.” Barely registering his own actions, Crowley quickly became very much aware that Ezra was leaning closer into him, arms moving to loosely drape around his waist - shit, what was a normal heartbeat again?

"I believe I need some wine and latkes.” Ezra’s voice quavered with a tremble of laughter. “For the nerves, of course.”

"Latkes!" Warlock shouted. He ran off to the kitchen, Adam close behind. 

Ezra and Crowley separated, with much reluctance on Crowley’s part, loathe to be torn from the warm, sweet softness of his angel. Their eyes met as their bodies moved away, and such blissful joy shone out of Ezra’s eyes, that gorgeous, twinkling blue, that Crowley would willingly have drowned in them, lost himself for just a moment more in the man’s embrace. 

Oh, he was in deep. Too deep to climb out of, and too far gone to ever want to.

"C'mon, angel." Their arms linked, sides pressed together, and Ezra gave a happy wiggle at the contact. "Reckon my waistline'll never be the same again, but fuck, it'll be worth it."

[incorrect-ego-quotes]

I wonder how Anti would react to Kinkiplier? Would he be just as annoyed as Dark?

okay, so the mission seemed easy enough. sneak into the other egos offices, steal a laptop, and rush back to their own meeting room so they can go through it. kink nodded as wilford and dark brought him up the speed. "you do realize we're only asked you because you're quite literally the only ego free right now, right?" dark asked.kink nodded and made a noise of approval. his gag still in place. "and you do realize if you mess this all up they'll either kill you or hold you captive, right?" wilford added, "you don't wanna end up like mark bop, poor guy was capture for a week and now all he speaks in is gibberish and babbling."kink tilted his head in a sign of confusion, furrowing his eyebrows. dark rolling his eyes before shooing him out the getaway van, "wait!"kink turned back around, dark cringing as he unbuckled the gag from kink's mouth and removed his blindfold. "please, for the love of evil, throw this shit away." he pulls up the wet gag."no can do, darkidoo--""hey! that's my nickname for dark!" wilford yells. turning around towards the commotion."i mean, as long as i'm screaming for dark under some covers i'll take any name he likes," kink purred. dark giving a...less than amused face and flipping him off before closing the van door. "he...is gross." dark shuddered, climbing into the front seat of the van. "are you sure he's not just misunderstood? perhaps he has different tastes but he does hold consent and respect above all things. perhaps he has weird kinks but he makes sure everyone and everybody is safe, sane, and comfortable. perhaps its us who just don't understand the taboo behind different lusts just because its different to our own, we're the ignorant ones here.""...jesus, wil, where did that come from?""hmm? oh, sorry, blacked out there for a second," wilford sits up, "anyways yeah kink's fuckin' weird." ***kink successfully snuck past their so called security guard -- which was really just some undead looking boy with a baseball bat. poor guy was muttering about a 'stupid job' and 'why can't chase be security man today?'he barrel rolled out the hallway and into the nearest open office. thankful a guy like him is so flexible (in more ways than one). nearly missing a pair walking by. "dude, the avengers can beat any type of dorky magic bullshit any fuckin' day." one dressed in a red superhero suit spoke up. walking beside another copy of himself wearing a tuxedo and cat mask. the two arguing, making kink laugh. what nerds. finally he stood up, closing the office door and getting to work at finding a laptop. not taking in his surroundings until, well, it was too late. looking up from his search at the desk. the walls were a shade of black, dark -- almost sickly green carpeting under him. the walls adorned with targets, all littered with /knives/ instead of darts. the bookshelf filled with books of rituals of...well, who know what fucking demonic powers. the desk itself was littered with instructions on different methods to kill. and a large, stainless, steel knife on the edge of the desk. "what the hell kind of office is this?" kink asked. his blood running cold as he heard the doorknob jiggle. ducking under the desk and hiding out as he heard the owner of the office enter. he bet it was some emo kid, some dark and edgy guy who probably still listened to Panic! At The Disco or Green Day. he wasn't expecting such a cute and mysterious boy sitting down in the office chair. scrolling through his phone, his dark eyes and glitching static. smiling as he felt the need to woo him off his feet arise. kink bet this cutie was into some weird shit and he was all for it. "hello, baby boy." kink said as he moved himself from under the desk. anti jumping back and screeching, almost hissing. "who the hell -- wait," anti stopped, "wilford? did you shave the mustache?""what? no i'm not--""bim?""no, i'm not--"host? did you get some shady plastic surgery to give ya eyes?""i'm not!! i'm a new egos!!"anti sat up, intrigued. his need to kill and stuff this new ego's dead body down a trash can subsiding, "new ego? what the hell is that mark doing making new egos," he sighed. "what's your name?""kinkiplier.""...kinkiplier...?"the sudden outburst of laughing made kink frown, it...it was a good name!! it /fit/ him like a glove!! oh, but he knew how to deal with people like this. dark and mean, but once you got under their skin..."laugh now, but soon i'l have you squirming and screaming, baby boy." kink smiled as he inched closer to anti. anti's laugh dying on his lips."erm, what the hell are you on about?""can't you see? i know how bad boys like you like to play." kink laughed low in his throat. inching anti back into his chair. kink taking a seat right on anti's lap. the position awkward, but suitable for his plans."bad boy? i'm...i'm just -- i mean!" kink laughed again, catching anti's chin in his fingers gently. making him look into his eyes, half lidded and full of lust. "tell me, baby boy, what's your fantasy? anything you dream of when alone, and don't be shy," he leans in to peck anti's cold lips, "i'm no prude like the others. i can make all those fantasies come true."anti flustered as he experimentally kissed kink back. heart thumping and breathing slow and deep. he's never had this attention before. most run away and cower in fear of him, this guy was...different. in a good way. "i...like this one thing...""hmm?" kink smiled as he kisses anti's cheek, "what is it, baby boy? give me 30 minutes and i can make those little dreams come true..."***"WHERE IS HE?!" dark finally cracked. throwing the soda he had been drinking out the window in rage. the poor woman who was drenched in it looked around confused at whoever dirtied her. "probably dead. or alive but captured. or playing dead." wilford said through bites of his burger. the kinky ego gone for so long they had time to drive off and get a late lunch. getting nothing for kinkiplier though, he didn't pitch in at all. "or...he...wouldn't use other methods of getting a laptop from them would he...?"the two stared at each other. wilford with a few fries hanging out his closed mouth and dark's realization. "oh no." the two stared back at the building as kink rushed out. climbing into the van with the promised laptop. "DRIVE DRIVE DRIVE." he yelled as wilford sped away, robbie the zombie trying to chase after the two before throwing a tantrum and rushing back inside the building. "don't ever say i--wait you guys got lunch?" kink stopped as he noticed the burger wrapper, "without me?!""hey, you didn't pitch in jack shit for this Burger King, so suffer." wilford munched away, "how did you get it?""i used some good old fashioned methods to get it. nothing too bad though," he laughed as the two others groaned. grabbing his gag again, "hey. question -- who was the cute demon dude with the wound in his neck?"the van screeched to a halt. the two head egos looking back at kink, who had his gag back in, smiling away. "you went after anti?!"***"DOCTOR!" robbie the zombie rushed back in, "they got away!! and i don't want to be security anymore, its hard!!""damnit!" schneeplestein cursed, throwing his pen and clipboard down in anger. "what did they take?! who did they take?! is everyone here?!""doc," chase rushed in, "found everyone but..." he shook his head, "i need help with anti."schneeplestein grabbed his first aid kit from his own office and ran over to anti's office. expecting the worse scenario -- anti decapitated, anti shot, anti (ironically) stabbed. he wasn't expecting to see anti disheveled and clothed. tied up some weird kinky bdsm way, thick rope over his chest and legs, blindfold in place and a makeshift gag in his mouth. "what the?" the doctor muttered as he ripped the gag and blindfold away from anti. anti thrashing about. "FINALLY," he gasped, "what took ya so long, kink? i thought you said you're gonna get the--""kink?""...schneep? oh--" he tried to get out of his binds, blushing madly as he trashed about, "g-get me out of here!! i...i was tied up by some mad man!! i had no idea!!""anti, is that a hickey on your neck?" "shut UP chase!! it was...a mad man who marks his victims with...uh," schneeplestein laughed as he cut through the rope. anti sitting up, crossing his arms. grumpy and used. he knew kink was bullshitting him -- they always did. and now kinkiplier was just added to the list of 'People I'm Going To Kill Without Mercy' -- right under dark and right before the cast of Riverdale (hey, he hated the show a lot. give him a break.) "...hey," anti spoke up from the teasing and mocking laughter, "did that fucker take my laptop?"the laughter quickly died as they all looked at anti. "...you /idiot!/"***kink sat down with the host in the shared break room, tired from his so called mission that day. removing his gag to sip at the hot chocolate he'd made himself. "the host inquires about the last mission kink had with the other egos today.""hmm? oh yeah, /that/." he laughs as he takes another sip, "i walked right in and put the moves on the dark emo one.""anti? the ego with the wound in his neck?""yeah yeah!! him," he laughs more, "i just wooed him, as i do, and he told me some private shit he likes. tied him up, promised i'd come back with something to gag him with. i took his laptop and booked it out of there, i was like james bond." he hums the theme song as host laughs quietly. "the host must ask what anti is into. he's a peculiar ego who nobody knows much about.""aw, just normal stuff. he really likes being told he's loved and appreciated. poor guy's starving for positive attention.""the host feels displeased with this realization. did kinkiplier really play with anti's emotions?""host, babe, its a dog eat dog world. gotta take advantage of what you can to move forward," kink chuckles darkly, "you should know that. right, author? stealing people out of their lives to move forward in what was your career. killing, maiming, and silencing anyone who got in your way. don't think just because i act the way i do doesnt mean i don't know shit about you and everyone else here, author.""...the host is uncomfortable and wishes to leave. a panic attack rising in his chest, ready to burst out the longer he stays.""aw, i'm just messing with ya, hostie!!" kink laughs and presses a kiss to the host's cheek, the smell of hot chocolate rich in the host's nose, "im gonna go see google, see ya around!"the host sits and starts to cry bloodied tears. holding his cup of coffee close. shaking with fright. no...no, he...he was promised those secrets were buried. he was promised they would never be brought up again. the host cries harder as the gravity of what just happened hits him. perhaps kinkiplier isn't what he seems.

[tinypaintedthings]

Boy Scout Incident

(If anyone’s interested in reading the ACTUAL Boy Scout Incident Wil’s referring to, here it is written out in chapter 1 of his book that is still in progress. Note: this is an unedited rough draft version I wrote several years ago. This is back when Wil was 12 before he ever came into RP.)

The Artist of Otherly Things

Chapter 1

 They weren’t far behind him. William could hear their laughter and taunting calls echoing through the chilly fall air of Coldike National Park’s woods. It felt like he was going to die. Every muscle in his legs spasmed and his lungs screamed.

He couldn’t breathe.

Forcing a stop, Wil nearly choked on his saliva, collapsing his palms down upon his knees. He tried to inhale and exhale in an attempt to create some kind of more natural rhythm in his chest. With a turn of his head, he spat the dry, dirty grit from his mouth.

Assholes.

“Leave me alone!”

A cool trickle of perspiration freckled his brow. It was the damn boy scout uniform. It constricted his movements, everything too stiff, and tight. He sniffed, realizing he’d already lost the yellow neckerchief from his neck that went with the outfit.

Great. Now his foster dad was going to kill him, too. That was fine. He could die twice in one day. Why not? Twelve seemed like a good age to go. At least he’d get to skip Mrs. Shrouber’s history test on Monday.

Crap … he’d just realized he had forgotten about that.

Okay, make that three deaths.

He didn’t want to go camping anyway. He didn’t even like Boy Scouts. It’d been his foster dad’s idea. ‘It’ll be good to get you out and socializing with other kids your age.’

“Where are you dickwad?” Laughter from the asshole crew followed the bulbous voice of Jacob Fischer. Lights from their flashlights flickered and danced somewhere just off in the cluster of trees.

Yeah, this was a great idea. Boyscouts for the win.

He was supposed to be collecting marshmallow sticks for the fire.

“We’re going to find you, Freak. You might as well just come out now.”

More laughter erupted and he cringed.

“Yeah, we might be easy on you if you do,” Cole chimed in with a nauseating little taunt to his words.

He felt sick; not because of what they were saying or doing, but because it made him feel pathetic and weak. What was he doing? Hiding? Running away from the guys? It made a low cluster of anger boil inside.

He was a freak.

NO!

A bite of rage licked up inside in defiance of himself, pinching his pale, lightly freckled skin into a fiery impish line. He would not believe that. He couldn’t. It hurt too much to, because part of him deep down knew it was true, and he didn’t want to face that.

No, they were jerks.

They were going to pay for this. Give it to the king bullies of Westband Middle School to ruin the woods and everything for him. He liked the woods. He liked getting away from everyone; his foster home, and his label of being a freak and one of the ‘special’ kids in middle school. That was his place – the woods, a place where he could breathe and not have to think about anything.

There wasn’t anything wrong with him.

Shadows skittered out of the corner of Wil’s peripheral vision, and his chest seized, unable to see much of where anything was coming from. Pin prinks of goosebumps littered up the back of his arms.

“Leave me alone!” he called out, again. “Why can’t you pick on something with your own brain capacity, you know, like … a slug?!”

It was stupid to provoke them; they were all at least a foot, if not more, bigger than him, but he didn’t care. They were idiots, and he may have been small, with a scrawny thin frame of a twelve-year-old that still hadn’t reached the onset of puberty, but who cared? They were ticking him off.

Why couldn’t they just leave him alone and go away?

The wind began to move through the trees, making things creek and groan; casting odd shapes to dance upon the leaves and ground. The air began to feel charged, almost too alive, and more nervous energy crawled up his spine-tingling with the anger already rising in there.

‘William~’ something in the air whispered in a high singsong female tone that sounded more like a flute made of honey than something actually human.

William froze. That wasn’t the guys.

The molten airy voice broke into a disarray of giggles and then was gone.

Before Wil could even blink, two hands slammed into his back, shoving him face-first into the ground.

“God, you’re so stupid, you twerp,” Jacob Fisher said from somewhere above him. “Did you really think you could get away from us?”

Wil could hear Cole Parker and Davin French chuckling somewhere above him.

Shit.

“Dude, he’s ‘special’ remember? Of course, he’s stupid.” Cole laughed.

“Yeah, he’s like autistic or skitzo or something.”

“Whatever,” Jacob shrugged. “He’s a freak. You’re a freak, aren’t you dimwad.” Jacob kicked the toe of his shoe into Wil’s side and Wil bit his lip to keep from making a sound. “Come on. Get up. Why don’t you tell them?”

“I said to leave me alone!” Wil’s fingers curled into the cool dirt embedded with broken pine needles. His lips turned down; all thoughts on the wind or whatever that voice had been, had gone. His stomach felt nauseous, but no. He wasn’t going to let them get to him.

“Ooh, harsh replies,” Cole said with a laugh. “You’re right. He is ‘special’.”

The three high fived and jostled about; chuckling.

Wil shifted his body weight back and managed to push himself up to his knees. He could see a hole had ripped into the thread of his uniform there and knew his foster father was going to kill him. Dirt and pine needles fell from his chin and cheek. He winced with an inward growl.

It was embarrassing. Why’d he have to be so weak?

He hated them. He hated them so much.

The wind brushed past, making the leaves cartwheel and spin a dance along the dirt beside him. The darkness of the mostly empty forest sounded hollow, and he shivered.

“Tell us what?” Davin asked.

“You didn’t hear?” Jacob went on, nodding to Wil. “There’s a reason you aren’t at your last foster home, isn’t there, Freak? Tell them.”

“I didn’t do anything.”

“You’ve seen him with that stupid sketchbook, right? He draws things. Don’t you, twerp? You draw crazy weird creepy things that come true.”

“That’s not….,” Wil started to protest when the thick arms of Jacob shoved him back on his butt; hands now sore, splayed to the side of him on the ground. Coils of anger flushed up inside.

“Apparently, his ex-neighbor’s dog died after - freakboy - went and drew it like road kill … and that’s not all he drew.”

“Shut up, you asshole. You don’t know anything!”

An assault of dirt from Jacob’s shoe, landed in Wil’s face, stinging his eyes, and catching his open mouth. He coughed, wiping his eyes, and spat the grit from his teeth. Rage twisted his freckled impish looking face into an explosive glare.

“Quiet, Twerp, I’m telling a story here.” He chuckled, and more fury fumed under Wil’s skin, and his muscles clenched. “Rumor has it the freak also drew his foster mother’s grandmother singing in the very same room that she died in ten years ago, down to the exact details, and he’d never even seen the woman or that room before.”

“Shut up, it’s not true!”

“Aw, look at him. He’s upset,” Cole teased. “Are you going to go cry to your mommy?”

“What mom?” Jacob jested with a chuckle.

“Oh, right. Foster kid. My bad.”

“Yeah, no wonder his parents didn’t want him,” Davin snorted. “Creepy, and mentally challenged.”

That was it. Wil pushed himself up off the dusty matted ground, and swung his fist right at Jacob Fisher’s big fat mouth.

It hit, but then a rising crushing sting engulfed his own abdomen, as Jacob’s knee came up knocking the air right back out of him. With a coughed wheeze, Wil buckled over, holding his stomach, only to look up from under his tangled auburn hair in time to catch sight of Jacob’s fist, coming for his right cheek bone.

He heard the crack before he felt it, the force knocking his scrawny frame backward to the ground, just as the rising throb bit up from his cheek to his temple. His teeth ground and locked, wincing with a whimpered groan; fighting to keep it in and not cry out in pain.

Laughter.

He could hear them laughing all around him, mocking, while the light of their flashlights jumped and skittered all over the forest growth.

Slowly, Wil curled his index finger into the ground.

‘Die’, he scratched into that cool, dark earth.

He wanted them to die … to go away and to never be seen, again.

Just die.

Stillness covered the air.

The wind stopped its haunting movements, and the trees didn’t groan. Darkness enveloped where he lay. The skittering movements of the flashlights had gone.

Nothing.

The world had gone into a silent void.

“Guys?” he called out, not looking up yet from the ground he lied on. He couldn’t hear them. Where’d they go? Had they run off?

Anger floored him. Why should he care?

“Serves you right, you assholes!”

But his voice sounded hollow, like a shallow echo in a very empty dark woods and a creepy feeling fell over him.

Wil swallowed.

Something wasn’t right. He could feel it, and his fingers began to twitch against the earth, staring at what he wrote.

Breathe.

He had to breathe. They were just trying to scare him. That’s what they did.

He pushed himself up to his feet, staggering just slightly, as he reached up to touch the rising bruise on his upper jaw. A little blood came back on his palm, and it hurt, but his attention was more on what was around him.

Nothing.

Only the dark vast expanse of the forest surrounded him.

No boys.

“Okay, guys, this isn’t funny! You can knock it off now!”

No sound.

Wil’s fingers began to shake at his sides, muscles tensing, and his muddy swollen lip trembled. Eyes wide, he couldn’t move. He wanted to go home. He didn’t want to be in this woods anymore. It felt like the trees were closing in like living tendrils that wanted to swallow him.

A solo leaf danced by him, settling on the dirtied shoulder of his Boy Scout uniform and then twirled up into his rusty brown hair. An indiscernible bell sounding giggle was heard, just as the cool autumn breeze tickled up the back of his neck.

 “William~,” a short whisked female whisper sounded in his ear, making him jump as he turned around.

Nothing was there.

William bolted through the brambling mash of forest branches and overgrowth, not wanting to see, or think of anything. He was getting back to camp.

[survivormuxloe]

Episode #6: “because Sweyn’s Baddies are COMING” - Jones

My bitch ass glasses broke so I’m more than happy to be doing a challenge that requires my ears. Maybe wil my eyesight so poor my hearing will get better to compensate who knows. Even if we lose I’m in a Gucci spot to survive.

Tribal was a success. With the first tribal done I’m happy trust is built and I can stop being paranoid.

With that said I think I’m in a good position going forward as I have an alliance and we’re probably reaching a merge or a swap soon.

my plan of action for my tribe since we legit havent got Anything on the doc yet (me n michael have an excuse..) is to make it seem like im doing more than i am. oh im gonna work on it soon! i’ll do this soon! like its all about seeming like im contributing.. when i aint LAMDKNDG

me n michael made a f2 altho it breaks my heart to say its just for the sake of my survival on this dumbass tribe.. theres no way malik flips on me and with michael as my f2 i can essentially force him to flip on danielle if he wants to stay which is like perf rn since i dont really trust her..

i miss my close allies tho lol. like ryan is my #1 n its unfortunate he isnt getting a chance to make more bonds considerig we need those bonds for his idol to make a big move.. hopefully mercia loses again and wes goes tho? it evens it up to 6 sweyn vs 6 mercia and i think itll swap again before merge and hopefully ill be with ryan/rhys/jones :)) my social game is good rn i think.. i just gotta lay low with physical and downplay strategy so im never the target. hard w/ these personalities tho. X

SOOO THIS CHALLENGE IS FUCKING HELL!!! U KNOW WHAT WOULD BE BETTER? IF OUR WHOLE TRIBE FUCKING DID SMTH!!

like im actually gunna go fucking mad.. its songs. yah its hard to identify bc theyre distorted and overlapped but theres no excuse not to get at least artists.. or even one song. malik n michael can barely do that.. LIKE YEAH I HAVENT DONE THE BEST BUT IVE GOT 2 SONGS THERE RN AND IDENTIFIED NICKI + XTINA SO! BLOOP! im gunna kill myself.. poor dani. its especially painful knowing ill try to get her out if we lose LMAOAOAOA but i mean.. (: oh well!

This challenge can litterally chomp on a dick. No. I hate it. I dont want to do it. Like BEGONE.

Honestly its so hard, and like i dont listen to pop so im struggling with it. Hopefully we win, but I feel safe if we go to tribal.

At this point I am so upset because I feel useless because all the ones I know have been picked and idek if anyone took my suggestion seriously. If this round ends my game, I’m going to be so upset!

We’re pretty much fucked unless a miracle happens

I've been a bit nervous about my position and stuff in the game and I'm trying to catch up socially with a lot of people and stuff. I'm doing what I can on a five person tribe and hope I can work on hard on getting as far as I can in this game. I have a feeling we merge next round so that could be cool. I wanna make it far as I can this game, I'm trying to be active but UTR so hopefully it works.

WE WON FIRST PLACE AGAIN AND THIS TIME I WASNT A FUCKUP WOOOOOOOOOOOOP WOOP I’ve been talking to David more and I helped out a lot with this challenge so I’m hoping he won’t want me out next time we go to tribal.

THREE IN A ROW, BABY. Feels good to not have gone to tribal since Jose's elimination. Also an added bonus that I basically carried our tribe to win today, not a big deal, LOL.

Also, with the reward, I've now got a vote steal advantage. This is HUGE for me. I have a group of people I wanna work with in this game and if this group is down in numbers at any point, this vote steal can come in handy.

that challenge was a damn mess but i'm just glad we made it out alive. sad Canute lost though ugh i'm sending all of my positive energy to Scott so he can make it through.... hope we merge next round that would be cute; i'm ready for more action in this game

im gunna kill my self . :) WE LOST. AGAIN. :) NOT MY FAULT. AGAIN.

n now i gotta deal with fucken awkward 2-2 tribal lines when i have a f2 with michael and a love for malik.. but bc dani is good at challenges her ass wont go and thats so annoyin but u can bet ur ass ima try somethin if i have to bc i dont trust malik to keep me safe vs her whereas michael will.. if i have to flip on malik i will

why me tho like im a good person. i dont deserve this. why couldnt i be on a competent tribe. LMAOAOAOA.

THANK GOD WE WON IMMUNITY if we lost I probably would’ve spontaneously combust Bc I love??? My current tribe??? I love Madison too and It sucked we voted her out Bc I actually adore her but she wasn’t doing a lot. I just love this tribe and if we had to vote for each other again I’ll lose my marbles. Maybe we can work more together going into merge if we get there? I hope so, because Sweyn’s Baddies are COMING

Well, we lost once again and I’m upset about it. The challenge was super hard for us and we struggled. It seemed like everyone wasn’t really putting in all they could as they just said “I forgot” I was like oh!! cool!! This tribal, I’m not crazy worried right now. I trust Scott a lot at this point because he doesnt have a reason to lie to me by telling me that I’ve been holding up the tribe because... I have been. I think the move this week is to vote out Malik. We’ll see whats going on but I really think we might be doing that this week. Hopefully there’s a merge soon because I need to fucking be by myself!!!

My ass is for sure on the line tonight. I know that  Malik is targetting me for being weak and all that so rn I’m just trying to get Scott 100% on board with voting me and Malik 100% certain that he is safe with me just in case there’s an idol and maybe if I’m too in my nerves and scared I have no qualms with throwing a vote on dani incade of a tie

You know what they say, another week safe, 

That one didn't seem so easy,  partially cause I sucked at it and mainly because I sucked major balls at it. But hey Mo and David saved our asses so yeeeeeeeeeeee boi. And not only that we also got reward but not really cause the only thing I got was a jpg image, and so did Felix David and Mo according to them which means either one of them is lying or Wes has it. Either way I guess it's not the end of the world.

So now Canute is going to tribal I wonder how that is gonna play out, a part of me wants Dani and Michael to be safe but another one wants rocks but at the same time another one would be jealous cause I wouldn't be a part of it and I could use some rocks in my life. Either way that's it for now folks now if you excuse me Felix wants to kidnap me and introduce me to the spooky facebook wikia comunity, spooky shit indeed.

So WOOOOOOOO this is the first tribal of the season that i'm not attending which is amazingggg and feels so good to finally have a break!! Plus like I honestly LOVE my tribe rn bc everyone is so iconic and fun and we even made a charlie's angels thing bc its so iconic... ugh love them BUT if it came down to tribal I think I would be okay still since i've really worked on rhys and we have a 3 dude gay guardians alliance of me, rhys, and ryan even tho im not even gay but they dont need to know that... my boy scott is in tribal rn but i hope he comes out okay!!! if he doesn't well oops idc bye bitch but if he does then yay!!

Tonight I am absolutely terrified I think the votes are gonna be on Malik but you just never know so my best plan is just to hope for the best and campaign to stay I’m not just gonna sit back and get eliminated especially this close to a merge situation where I know I’ll be in a good position to make it far.

im legit gunna die im so nerv and i shouldnt be. LIKE. I TRUST THAT MICHAEL HAS MY BACK. AND MALIK ISNT VOTING ME. SO IT SHOULD BE IMPOSSIBLE FOR ME TO GO. BUT I DONT THINK THAT FOR SOME REASON. all i can think of in the back of my mind is what if michael and dani flip on me and its 2-1-1.. but theres nothing i can literally do bc if i vote michael and stay our relationship is gone lol

ughhhh i should just be positive but its so hard bc even if malik goes.. i feel awful LMAAOAOOA but like. uhm. yes ): i feel awful

Scott as much as I like the guy I can for sure see he lets his emotions dictate how he plays and while that’s not necessarily bad it’s difficu when you’re trying to blindside someone and he could just run and tell Malik so the nerves are here and out to play hunny

My thing is I think it’s is going to go to rocks. Which is why we were worried about that when linus left but it’s real. Dani we don’t wanna vote each other, hell everyone says they don’t want to vote me which is always weird for me to hear but if that’s true good if they’re all voted me then nasty.. but I don’t want to vote Dani and I definitely don’t want to vote Scott..so that kinda leads to Michael which I don’t want to vote either but I have reasons: the main reason is the past couple of challenges he’s done the worst in, and if we need to survive incase there’s no swap or merge then we need all the strong members here.

I feel a bigger bond with Dani and Scott vs Michael who I feel is cool but I don’t feel we’re clicking on a better level. And it’s not even a tribe thing it’s literallt what I feel could save us from tribal, and how don’t i know if Dani and Michael won’t vote me out right after Scott leaves? So basically what’s happening is it’s likely going to be a 2-2 on Michael and Scott, and I’m not changing my vote. So I’ll likely go to rocks and lose but that’s ok. I did my best and it could be a stupid move but I don’t wanna risk Dani and Michael voting me out if we lost again, because I’d hope Dani wouldn’t but you never know. So rocks here we come!

Malik is voted out 3-1.

[helliontherapscallion]

Warmth (Adrenaline Junkie Part 6)

Part 1     Part 2     Part 3     Part 4     Part 5     Part 7     Part 8     Part 9     Part 10     Part 11     Part 12     Part 13     Part 14     Part 15     Part 16     Part 17

Spotify Playlist (collaborative)

Warnings: Self harm scars, mentions of panic attacks and hallucinations

Word count: 2,842

(A/N): This takes place about 6 months after the last chapter. Also, I was heavily inspired by Toothless’ prosthetic, I’m really excited to write more about it : )

You hummed to yourself as you walked down the cobblestone street of the village. The village was probably one of your favorite places to visit; it had quaint little shops and stalls decorating the main plaza that you adored, it was always interesting to see what’s being sold today. Though you always wore your cloak to cover your wings (well, wing and a now-feathered nub) whenever you visited to avoid the stares, you still regularly visited the main plaza for the shops. 

The first time you visited after the incident was about a month ago with Wilbur, you two were looking for something to cook for dinner. You were trying to get used to having your wings out again, so you were wearing the jacket with the slits in the back that you always used to wear. 

The feeling of people staring holes into you was a feeling you forgot about. You always got stares whenever you went into the village because of your wings, but now it felt like more and more people were staring at you as you passed them, probably because of your nub. Though some looked at you in pity, most looked at you with disgust.

You could hear children asking their mothers what happened to you. Their mothers would take one look at you and shield their children away from you staring at you with disgust. You even made one kid cry when he saw your wing; you didn’t blame him, you still couldn’t look at your nub without tearing up. An hour hasn’t even passed before you were asked by a police officer to leave because you were causing a disruption and being indecent in public.

Wilbur was pissed. “They’re fully clothed and they didn’t even talk to anybody, so how exactly were they being disruptive or indecent?”

The officer firmly held her ground, looking up to Wilbur’s tall form. “Sir, the people are complaining and it’s my job to make the public feel safe and comfortable. Look,” she sighed, “I really don’t want to have to ask them to leave, they’re not doing anything to directly threaten people. However, they are causing a disturbance with their,” she wrinkled her nose, “their thing, so I’m going to have to ask them to leave.”

“You have absolutely no right to tell them to leave. They-”

“Wilbur, it’s fine. I’ll leave,” turning back to the officer, you calmly stated “I’m sorry for causing a disturbance ma’am. It won’t happen again.”

She curtly nodded and stood watching you, probably making sure that you left the main plaza. Before you could turn to leave, Wilbur stopped you.

“(Y/n)-”

“No, Wilbur. It’s alright, I can wait outside the village for you.”

He sighed, looking through his leather satchel. “No, you won’t have to wait for me. We’ve got enough food for dinner anyways,” shooting one last heated glare at the police officer, he reached down to grab your hand. “Let’s go.”

He drug you quickly through the village with you having a little trouble keeping up with his long strides. Once you were out of the village, he slowed his pace and walked with his hands shoved in his pockets.

“(Y/n), I’m sor-”

“Don’t be Wil. It isn’t your fault. I honestly was expecting to get kicked out earlier.”

“Still, it’s not fair to you. You didn’t ask for this.” 

“I know Wil, I’ll just wear my cloak next time I visit.”

He didn’t say anything to you after that. The rest of the walk home was shrouded in an awkward silence. 

Another part of the village you loved was the library. It had tall shelves filled to the brim with all sorts of books and various cushioned furniture littered randomly amongst the maze of shelves. Whoever would walk into the library would immediately be hit by the strong scent of parchment and wood as soon as they would walk through the twin doors. You would usually browse books about redstone, but you had a different agenda today.

Today, you were looking for a book about leather working. You wanted to make a leather prosthetic wing so you could at least glide through the air. You weren’t sure if it would work though. From what you’ve read, nobody’s attempted to make a prosthetic wing. It made sense, being a hybrid was rare in and of itself, let alone a winged hybrid. 

You missed flying more than anything. You would give anything to be able to be in the air again. You felt jittery and restless without flight. Sure, Philza took you on some flights with him every now and then, but it wasn’t the same. You yearned for the independence and liberation it gave you to fly alone.

After you found a book and checked it out with the librarian, you hastily set out for home. You were walking with a giddy smile on your face and a bounce in your step. Several people gave you strange looks as you passed them, but you were in too good of a mood to care. You finally figured out a way you could possibly fly again. 

When you got home, you headed straight to your workshop to get to work on your prosthetic. Several blueprints were hung up around your desk, some for your TNT launcher (which you finished a few weeks ago) and others contained ideas for an automatic farm. Your pride and joy was hung up in the center of your bulletin board. It made you extremely happy just by looking at the prosthetic sketch.

Your redstone lamp illuminated the space in front of you as you focused on cutting a large strip of leather in front of you with great concentration. You needed to get the measurements exactly right, equal sized wings are integral for stability midair. The prosthetic was going to be about the same size as your left wing with thin iron rods giving the wing structure. You planned on making it identical to a bat’s wing with a few minor changes in shape to match your other wing. Once it actually was structurally sound and working, you would add proper joints so you could wear it around and decorate it. Until then, you’re making adjustments.

When you were done, you moved on to crafting and melding together the iron rods. Putting on your goggles and thick leather gloves, you used a bit of lava your family kept stored in another room in the basement to fuse the thin iron rods together. You carefully dipped one end of two rods into the bucket before pulling it out at a certain time to hold the molten ends together until they cooled. You repeated this process until you were melding the last piece on.

“HEY BITCH, DINNER’S READY. GET IT WHILE IT’S HOT!”

Yelping, you dropped the mold onto your desk. You picked it up in a panic without paying attention to where your arms went. Unknowingly, your sleeved arm was pressing up against the scorching iron of the bucket of lava.

“FUCK YOU YA FILTHY GREMLIN, A LITTLE WARNING WOULD’VE BEEN NICE!”

He started cackling. “FUCK YOU TOO! NOW GET UP HERE BEFORE I EAT YOUR DINNER.”

“YOU BETTER FUCKING NOT. I SWEAR TO- FUCK!”

You felt the nerves on the side of your forearm screaming as you yanked it away, leaving the crisp remains of a part of your sleeve stuck to the iron bucket. Two pairs of footsteps boomed down the steps and got louder as they rapidly approached you. 

Wilbur’s deep voice worriedly called out to you. “Shit, (y/n) are you alright? Let me see.”

Before you could protest, he gently grabbed your wrist and pulled the sleeve of your jacket down. Adjoining the light burn, small horizontal scars and some fresh cuts lined your forearms. Shit, they were never supposed to find out.

Wilbur’s hand froze, gripping your wrist with an iron grip. You hissed at the feeling of some of your cuts reopening, causing him to quickly retract his hand. He now had his hands hovering over your arm unsure of what to do with them.

“(Y/n), wha-” Tommy cut himself off once he saw the panicked look on his older brother’s face. Following his gaze, his wide eyes met with your cuts.

You sighed, prying the goggles off from your face and pulling the gloves off from your hands. You put on a calm exterior, contrary to what you felt on the inside. They were never supposed to know. “Listen, you guys weren’t supposed to find out about this. None of you were. Please don’t tell Dad or Technoblade, I don’t need more people knowing.”

Tommy spoke up with an incredulous look. “(Y/n), what do you mean? We can’t just not tell them.”

“I know. Please, do it for me? Everything’s finally going back to normal and this will just make everything worse again. I promise I’ll stop, I swear.”

The two brothers looked at each other silently contemplating what they should do. On one hand, you were their sibling and you were hurting yourself. They needed to tell their dad that you were cutting. You only had two lives left and you could kill yourself doing that. Philza and Techno could help. On the other hand, they wanted you to feel normal in your own home. You were right in the fact that everything was starting to feel like it did before the incident. Plus, they would gladly help you through it.

They looked back at you with apprehensive expressions, speaking at the same time. 

“(Y/n), we’re not gonna tell Dad or Techno.”

“We’re telling them.”

Tommy whipped his head up to look at his brother angrily. “Wilbur, we need to tell them.”

“Tommy, no-”

“Are you fucking stupid? Of course we have to-”

“Tommy. We don’t because I’ll be taking every sharp object away from them tonight. We’ll watch them and check their wrists to make sure that there’s no new cuts and they stay clean. We’ll help them.”

“But- they,” Tommy gave a frustrated sigh. “Fine. But we at least have to tell Techno about this. He can help us.”

Wilbur glanced at you with apologetic eyes. Before he could speak up, you interrupted him. “...Alright, as long as Dad doesn’t find out. He has enough to stress out about and he doesn’t need to worry about me again. Now, can we go upstairs for dinner? We’ve been down here for long enough already and Dad’s probably wondering why. Tell him that I’m gonna go clean up.”

Without giving them any room to argue, you speeded up the stairs and into your room. Closing the door and leaning your back on it, you let your calm facade drop into a panicked one. Shit, what if Tommy tells Dad? What were you supposed to do then? He’ll take away what little freedom you had left and you’ll be sinking into the depths of your depression again. 

Your thoughts were interrupted by a soft knock and Philza’s voice. You held your breath as you prepared yourself for him to tell you that he knows your secret. “Hey hun, Wilbur and Tommy told me that you burned yourself,” you let out a relieved sigh. “Do you need me to look at it?”

Panic once again flared in your bloodstream. “N-no Dad, it’s just a little burn. I’ll be down in just a second I’m changing.”

“You sure? I can get you a potion.”

“Yes, I’m fine.”

“...Alright,” he sounded skeptical. “Just hurry up, dinner’s getting cold.”

The sound of his retreating footsteps sounded like music to your ears. You closed your eyes and took a few deep breaths before you moved to put on a long sleeved shirt. 

Dinner was uncharacteristically quiet without Tommy, you, or Wilbur talking. Philza tried to carry the conversation with you four, but only Technoblade gave full responses. You, Tommy, and Wilbur only supplied a few words to a conversation when prompted. 

Technoblade was suspicious. Sure, you and Wilbur were quiet sometimes, but Tommy? Tommy’s always loud and rambunctious. Something’s wrong, but what? What could’ve happened when Tommy and Wilbur went to go get you for dinner? They weren’t gone for long. He did hear you screaming profanities at Tommy for scaring you and overheard Tommy telling Philza about how you burned yourself, but how is that something that would shut you three up? He was going to confront his siblings after he finished tonight’s dishes. 

Meanwhile, you, Tommy, and Wilbur were in your room. You were giving them your iron dagger.

“Is this all?”

“Yeah, Tommy. That’s all, search my room if you don’t believe me. I wouldn’t mind, I don’t have anything to hide from you anymore.”

They did just that. Looking under your bed, in your drawers, in your closet, and in the chest you kept for your supplies. You watched them propped up on your bed. While you were angry with yourself that you were so careless, you felt warm that they cared about you. They were great brothers.

After they were done turning your room upside down, Wilbur plopped down next to you and Tommy threw himself over your legs. You three laid there for a while just enjoying each other’s presence. It was nice to spend some time with your brothers, you didn’t get much free time to spend with them because you spent most of your time in your workshop.

The silence was broken by Tommy. “...So, how do you wanna go about telling Technoblade?”

“I’m… not exactly sure. Do we even have to tell him?”

Wilbur pursed his lips. “Even if you didn’t want to, I’m pretty sure he knows something’s up. He’s good at picking up on social cues.”

“Well if that’s the case, I might just wait until he comes to me. It’ll be easier.”

Your door swung open to reveal your piglin hybrid brother. He looked at you with a single eyebrow raised as his ear flicked. “What were you planning on telling me?”

Tommy and Wilbur looked at you expectantly. You shifted your body closer to the wall making room on your bed for him. He walked over and stiffly sat on the edge of your mattress. He gestured for you to talk to him. You slowly slid your sleeve down and showed him your arm. Besides his eyebrows slightly crinkling, he was as stoic as ever when he reached out to grab your wrist for a better look.

On the inside, the voices were almost as loud as when you died. They were nearly incoherent as several angry voices mixed together yelling at him for not noticing anything was wrong with you, the kid he vowed to protect when you first stole his crown and replaced it with a homemade paper one. Outside of the voices, he was furious at himself, he was supposed to protect you. He ran his fingers along the raised lines, gently tracing over every scar and scabbed over cut as if memorizing where every single one lays.

His monotone voice was gruff. “How long? Why?”

“About eight months now. I-I didn’t feel anything for a while after I respawned and I realized that pain helped me feel. It helped ground me when I hallucinated or had panic attacks.”

“...Do you feel anything now?”

“Yeah, I’m getting better Tech. I’m hallucinating less and I’m getting better at managing anxiety attacks. At this point, it's just a habit that I can’t drop.” 

“Do you want to drop it?”

You fell silent. You never really considered stopping before. Before, you would do it to give yourself something to focus on when you were overwhelmed, but now you would do it out of habit. It somehow felt wrong when you skipped a session and it usually threw your entire day off. You would feel drained for the entire day if you didn’t do it. It was one of the only consistent things in your life.

“(Y/n), c’mon you don’t want to keep doing this, right?” Tommy asked before Wilbur reached over and slapped him upside his head. 

“I think,” you breathed out, unsure of yourself, “I want to get better.”

Techno looked at his brothers. “Did you two take their blades?”

Tommy held up the iron dagger and wove it around haphazardly in the air. Techno reached over and pocketed the dagger before discarding his golden crown and placing it on your nightstand. He took off his weighted fluffy cloak and neatly draped it over a nearby chest. He maneuvered his body so that he was laying on your other side and wrapped a lazy arm over your chest. 

With Wilbur on your right side with your wing draped over him, Tommy laying on your stomach with Wilbur reaching down to hold him, and Techno pulling you close to his body, you were pleasantly warm. You were slowly drifting off, being lulled to sleep by Techno’s slow heartbeat. You blissfully fell asleep surrounded by your brothers’ love.

Inspo for the cuddle pile (credit goes to og artist, zillychu): https://zillychu.home.blog/tag/heart-squad-cuddle-pile/

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