#tw minor self harm

[skumhuu]

I wonder if this somehow applies to leviathantale and more likely it'd appear in megalodontale, but a fun fact about goldfish. They start out as a black color and start turning golden and even white later in life. If an adult fish is black that means they're either sick, stressed, or injured in some way. Possibly even having dietary needs not being met.

👀👀👀

Keeping this in mind for Moon because he’s a black goldfish and the implications are tasty. Maybe eventually after he and Sun reconcile, he also gains a couple gold scales like stars to show his growth and health ✨ Sun likes to count them :’)

And then on the flip side, Dream getting sick from lack of sunlight in the depths when they first move down there. Slowly gaining more and more black scales but desperately trying to hide them from Nightmare. Even going so far as to rip them out.

Eventually Nightmare finds out, maybe with Horror who is still new and different and special but he doesn’t know why, and he’s Livid (and guilty, hurt that Dream wouldn’t come to him, scared that even if Dream needs sunlight what if he gets hurt and Night can’t-)

Anyways it doesn’t end well :)

[revelationschapter6]

it feels like life weighs ten thousand tons

Events: Sicktember, Whumptember

Prompts:

Hopelessly Bad at Self-Care

Lashing out

Curled Up With a Pet

Warnings:

Minor self harm (Fallen angel picking up a blessed object)

Mentions of non-consensual touching (mentions of a character 'copping a feel')

This fill is written as a one-shot of my original story, Saudade. You can find my info page for Saudade here.

What context you need to read this is:

In Saudade, the Archangel Raphael Fell during the Rebellion. It was a misunderstanding that spiraled out of control, and he was thrown out by four angels while his partner, the Power Camael, tried to help him.

The angels who didn't Fall were made to forget those who did. They don't remember they ever knew them. As far as they know, all the Fallen were on the fringes of Heaven's society. If they asked around, they might go, "Wait, no one knew a Fallen?" But they Don't Ask Questions.

Raphael worked to gain Camael's trust again, and eventually won it. He regained his memories, then got the Archangels Michael and Gabriel, Raphael's siblings, to regain theirs. Now they're working on smoothing things over and reuniting Heaven and Hell.

Sicktember: Hopelessly Bad at Self-Care, Curled Up With a Pet Whumptember: Lashing out Raphael just wanted five minutes to himself. That wasn't too much to ask, was it? After all, he was only one person (by a certain definition of person), and he could only do so much to reunite Heaven and Hell. But, of course, the first time he has a moment to breathe is when it all comes crashing down on his shoulders. Thank, well, not God, for Lilith.

can be read on AO3 or below the cut

Characters mentioned: (not necessary, but for context)

Raphael - Fallen Archangel, male. Not well-liked in Hell because he worked to thwart the Rebellion, and didn't Rebel. Legally blind.

Camael - Power, male. Raphael's partner from before his Fall, now his partner again after regaining his memory.

Michael - Raphael and Gabriel's sister, the first angel ever made. Leader of Heaven's army. Secondary leader of Heaven. Female.

Gabriel - Raphael and Michael's little brother, the third angel ever made. Leader of Heaven's army, messenger of Heaven. Male.

Berith - Fallen Virtue, now a Duke of Hell. One of the eight Fallen that guard the entrance and exit to Hell. Raphael's boss. Male.

Asmodeus - Fallen Cherub, now a King of Hell. One of the eight Fallen that guard the entrance and exit to Hell. Infamously lecherous. Male.

Lilith - Adam's first wife, Fell for refusing to obey him. Became close friends after Raphael took her under his wing. Female.

Lethe - Fallen Seraph. A relative nobody in Heaven, but a great Inventor. Turned into a humanoid water-monster in her Fall, guardian of the River Lethe. Close friend of Raphael. Female.

Agares - Fallen Power, now a Duke of Hell, with a massive grudge against Raphael. Male.

Rasiel - Angel. Therapist of Heaven. Was one of the angels who threw Raphael out of Heaven after being manipulated. Deeply regrets it. Male.

Kundaniel - Throne. Archivist. Female.

Andras - Fallen Principality, now a Marquis. One of the eight Fallen that guard the entrance and exit to Hell. Female.

Jehoel - Dominion, female. Uncertain on reuniting Heaven and Hell.

Terms, etc.:

Sphere - There are nine ranks of angel, each with a different title and duty. The higher the rank, the more powerful.

Hell's Hierarchy - A ranking system implemented by Lucifer in an attempt at creating order in Hell. Having a higher title doesn't mean the Fallen is more powerful, but they have more clout and, often, more Fallen and demons under their command.

Raphael, if he could, did all he could to stay out of Hell.

By and large, he did well. Having a phone now, Berith could text or call if he needed him. Lilith and Lethe handled wrangling the Fallen well, in convincing them to put out, and accept, olive branches to Heaven. In fact, it was best he stayed out of their way; time didn’t flow the same in Hell as it did on Creation, but it had still been aeons since the Fall, and he was still hated. If he was the one trying to unite Hell’s half of Heaven and Hell, it would go very poorly, very quickly.

That didn’t mean he was sitting on his ass, though.

Lilith knew nothing of Heaven, having been human before her Fall. And it was so easy to forget that, with how quickly she’d taken to Hell, nothing more than a duck to water. But he had to teach her about Heaven, and he found there was so much to teach. So much that he took for granted, social graces that came to him naturally, for all he’d never been particularly extroverted, left her floundering. That she had no ranking - that she was no Virtue, no Dominion nor Power nor Principality nor Virtue nor even Angel, caught him up too. Because Heaven, for all it tried to be equal, still relied on its ranks. The Dominions mentored even young Seraphim, Angels did tasks for everyone else. Romances and friendships spanned all Spheres, but everyone was well aware of what they were, and what everyone else was capable of.

A Virtue, even if only a single rank higher than a Power, was undeniably more powerful than a Power. Perhaps not stronger, but their divinity carried more of a punch, and they could do more with it. And a Power was more, well, powerful than a Principality.

So finding where Lilith fit into that threw him. Ranks were causing far more trouble than any of them had expected.

Because it wasn’t just Lilith who lacked a rank. The demons - those who’d never known Heaven, who’d been borne of Hell, not of Eden or Creation - didn’t either. None of them did, not even in Hell. Lucifer had never ranked even the most powerful of them, the most accomplished.

And that, too, was a problem. Not just in where the Fallen stood - was a Fallen Virtue to be treated the same as a Virtue in the Host? Or should they be treated as a Power, a Principality? As punishment for Rebelling so long ago? But then that would cause strife because no Fallen would accept being treated as lesser.

But Hell had its system now, too. It didn’t affect how powerful they were, as Heaven’s did. But they were treated in Hell as if they did, given control over legions of Hellish beings. Agares had been a Power before his Fall, stronger only than Principalities, Archangels, and Angels, weaker than the five other ranks. But in Hell, he’d been made a Duke, the second most powerful of the eight titles. Nine, if you counted those who had no title. Ten, if you counted the Grigori, who stood apart. Should he be treated as a middling Power? Or as something more powerful?

Raphael, Michael, and Gabriel were pulling their hair out over it.

And building relationships back with Heaven… well, that wasn’t exactly a cakewalk, either. Angels who got their memories back, realizing the Fallen they’d fought with, even killed, were angels they’d known once. Sometimes they’d been parental figures, older sibling figures, friends, or romantic partners. Other times they’d been child figures, in the case of Dominions who’d killed their charges, or little-sibling figures. Rasiel, as great as he was (as much as Raphael hated to admit it), could only help so many angels at once. And Raphael, apparently, was becoming the go-to for couples, or friends, or similar, who’d reunited and needed advice. After all, he and Camael had managed, so couldn’t he help them?

Every time he stepped foot in Heaven, it felt like he was being swarmed. And considering how isolated he’d been for the last… how many years? It had been over four and a half billion years on Earth, but time didn’t flow the same in Hell, and they didn’t perceive it the same besides, but that was still a damn long time. It was making him want to shove the next angel, Fallen, demon, human, or otherwise, who walked up to him and asked if he ‘had a moment’.

He’d have a fit, is what he’d have.

He loved spending time with his siblings, of course, and Camael, and catching up with them. It had been a very long time, after all. And Rasiel was doing all he could to make it up to him. Raphael couldn’t be prouder of his students; they’d all really come into their own. He was enjoying getting to know all the new angels who’d been made to heal - a good thing, seeing as Heaven had only grown larger and larger.

Going into Hell, though. Well, Creation wasn’t safe. Humans could be dangerous in their own way, and Creation had its own dangers; animals, of course, and nature itself. He still had nightmares of Pompeii. And Heaven wasn’t, either. There were more than a few angels who weren’t happy about Heaven and Hell reuniting. Though they’d tried, neither he, Raphael, Michael, Gabriel, or Camael had been able to work out why some of them Fell but others didn’t.

But Hell was still Hell. Hellhounds that reached his hip on the hunt, imps swarming to feast, Damned souls suffering. And, of course, Fallen taking out their hurts on others.

Hell (pun unintended), some Fallen weren’t even taking their hurts out on others. They’d had a very long time to get used to it. But that was just ‘how it’s done’, so they’d kept doing it. And the demons had followed in their stead. So, though not with the same fervor as they once had, many Fallen and demons made Hell treacherous.

Still, Raphael did have to go down to Hell sometimes. To meet with Lethe when she didn’t come up to see him. She’d tried to get a phone but kept breaking them when she forgot to put them somewhere safe before diving into her river. And imps were as far from reliable letter carriers as you could get. To meet with Lilith, when Hell’s notoriously faulty phone service failed them.

Or, like now, when he couldn’t find something he knew he had. He’d searched everywhere it could be in Heaven, which wasn’t many because he usually only brought himself Up. Had scoured his apartment, which hadn’t taken long, as spartan as he kept it. Had searched every one of his pocket dimensions, and hadn’t found the scrolls he needed. He’d even had Camael check his apartment, though there was no reason he’d have ever brought them over there.

He didn’t even know the contents of the scrolls, which he’d found and kept on a whim back in the days of the Achaemenid Empire. But Kundaniel was near-desperate for them, whatever they were.

There was only one other place he kept things, so he’d made his way through Hell. Well, that he kept things and knew where they were. He was pretty bad about losing things, but even he wasn’t bad enough to lose an armful of scrolls. Asmodeus had clung to him like a bad smell, as he always did, so it had been hours before he’d even gotten past the Guards. Andras, as always, was no help, only encouraging him.

Every time, he forgot how draining it was. Having to sneak on edge more than ever, looking over his shoulder to make sure he wasn’t followed. He hadn’t guarded the location of his home so jealously for so long just to have it found out by being inattentive.

The cave, he’d sworn when he’d settled in it, would never become home. But it had, in a way. In its familiarity, in the softness of his star-woven rug. In its illusion of safety, until he’d found those sigils that made it truly safe. Still, it didn’t hold a candle to his apartment now, with Camael not far away, fairy lights strung across the walls, and made perfect for his faulty eyesight.

The sigils, he noted as he sidled into the cave, needed to be touched up. If they wore away much more, they’d start letting in imps and lesser dangers.

Raphael took a deep breath as he stepped into his cave, looking around. It had been a while since he’d come to it, and he’d forgotten that he’d left it in a rush. His rug lay in a heap, constellations twinkling awkwardly. A pair of boots, in the fashion popular in the 60s, slumped against the far wall—he’d been intending on storing them, as he’d found them comfortable, but forgotten to. Next to them was a dirtied muslin gown he’d been attempting (rather poorly) to darn, dropped to the dirt in his hurry. He grimaced, looking around.

That damn ushabti laid in the center of the room, though he’d swear he’d stashed it away.

The cave wasn’t big enough for him to see particularly well - he could only really make out the edges of it - but the scrolls would have stuck out like a sore thumb. Even he could make out smears of tan against brown dirt.

He sighed again, pressing the heels of his palms against his eyes.

Where were the fucking scrolls?

Who lost scrolls? Who lost two-thousand-year-old scrolls?

Him, apparently.

“Fuck.”

Could one thing go right? He’d fumbled talking to Jehoel, Asmodeus had managed to cop a feel, he was fairly certain Michael was beginning to realize he couldn’t, in fact, see her seeing as he’d tripped over a polearm that had fallen but was, apparently, very visible. ‘Are you fucking blind?’ Had been Gabriel’s laughing words, but Michael, who was positioned just right for Raphael to be able to see her with absolute clarity, had had a look on her face he didn’t like. Camael, he was certain, was starting to realize something wasn’t right. Raphael had been stupid enough to stop paying so much attention in his apartment. Camael, for all he liked new things, loved familiarity; he’d had stainless steel, white everything, and glass tables since when neon was all the rage for house colors, and Raphael had never known him to get a new piece of furniture. Like Raphael, he moved every decade or so before anyone could start noticing his lack of aging. Even still, almost every apartment was laid out the same way.

So he’d been shocked when, looking at Camael as he talked, he’d stepped where he knew clear floor to be and felt the corner of the coffee table strike his shin. He’d fallen spectacularly, only able to be thankful that he’d landed off the table instead of on it because that would surely have been far more painful.

This was why he hated glass furniture.

Then again, if this was what came of using all his luck to get his family back, he wouldn’t complain. He’d take bad luck for the rest of his life if he had to.

The sigils flared an alert against his consciousness as he heard dirt shifting behind him. There wasn’t a sound of pain or a feeling of alarm, so he closed his eyes and took another deep breath.

“Hey Raphi,” Lilith said. He opened his eyes and stared at the far wall, then turned to greet her. He’d almost hoped it was someone with intent on harming him.

“Hey,” he said, perhaps a bit too harshly.

“You have a minute?” She asked, wiping dirt off her jeans.

Did he have a moment?

“Do I-?” His Adam’s apple bobbed. “Do I have a moment?” Lilith stared at him in obvious confusion. “Do I have a moment?” His voice rose in volume.

“I only have to figure out how to get Asmodeus not to act like a Goddamned nymphomaniac because angels are complaining, Berith to act like a person because he’s freaking people out, work out the ranks, figure out who the Hell keeps setting shit on fire in Heaven, figure out who keeps sending me holy water, get Agares off my back, play counselor to half of Heaven and Hell, and find these damn scrolls I couldn’t care less about! Yeah, I have all the time in the fucking world!”

Lilith blinked at him, wide-eyed. The chihuahua-shaped hellhounds at her feet shivered, but they always did that. “Well,” she finally said, “tell me how you really feel.”

His face flushed an ugly, blotchy silver. To keep from saying something he would certainly regret, or doing something he would certainly regret (he was getting better at thinking before he acted, Camael would be very proud of him), he spun on his heel and stalked to the center of the room.

Or maybe not, because he snapped “How I really feel?” He stooped, picking up the ushabti with his bare hands. The holy object met his skin with a sound like meat thrown on a hot, greased pan, and Lilith lurched towards him with an alarmed sound. “I feel like everyone should leave me the Hell alone for five damn minutes!”

Lilith smacked the ushabti out of his hand, sending it skittering across the dirt. “Are you insane?” She unpeeled his clenched fingers, hissing when steam rose from his blistering hand.

Canines elongating, he snarled.

“Just because you’re pissy doesn’t mean you can go off at me, damn!” Lilith scowled at him. “Or pick up something blessed with bare hands. You think you’re going to be useful to anyone without a hand?”

He tried to pull his hand away, but she had a very tight grip. She flicked her talons out, digging them into his flesh in warning. “You’re not going to be useful to anyone if you snap, you know. You need to take a break.”

Her brown eyes met his, and he had to look away. “A break? When do I have time for that?”

“You have to make time.” With that, he yelped as she shoved him away. His balance already precarious, he tripped. Bracing for a painful landing, he was startled to find himself landing on a pile of - were those furs? Animal pelts? Who still used animal pelt piles? Even in Hell, they’d largely made the switchover to sleeping bags, cots, and futons.

He blinked up at her owlishly. Before he could do more than push up onto his elbows, beginning to say “What’s wrong with you?”, she stooped down, picking up Momo.

Oh no.

Raphael hated many things. What humans had done to isicia omentata. Rome. Loud noises and bright lights. Dinosaur-shaped chicken nuggets. Things that felt goopy. Fake tans. The word ‘supple’ in English, ‘dedo do pé’ in Portuguese, and ‘brustwarze’ in German. Horses. Clowns (they were just rip-offs of jesters. Jesters were better and looked less terrifying). Palm trees.

But he hated Momo and Nina, worst of all.

They were hellhounds, which meant he didn’t like them on principle. Hellhounds were nasty creatures, with a tendency to bite first and ask questions never. And they confused him. They confused all of Hell, actually. While she considered Momo male and Nina female, Hellhounds were sexless. No one knew how they reproduced, they just did. One day you had one, the next you had the one and a pack of hellfire-eyed, stone-toothed puppies with less self-control than regular dog puppies.

When you compressed that into a form small enough that a child could punt it and spoiled it out of Hell, you ended up with a hellhound that felt the need to prove itself. Or, in their case, two.

Nasty things, but she loved them to death. He’d been the one to help her pick them out of a litter they’d found in a cave, and he’d regretted it ever since.

Raphael scrambled to stand, but she was faster. Momo landed on his stomach, knocking the breath from his lungs. He froze - that little face was innocent, muzzle short and blunt, eyes wide and round, ears comically large, and Lilith kept his long, brown and white fur immaculate. But those teeth were far too long and far too sharp, and there was too much red in those brown eyes. Lilith let them nap in her lap for hours, but he’d seen how suddenly they could move, and how quickly they could cover ground. Of the many things he’d seen in his long life, Nina going from a dead sleep to ripping open an imp twenty feet down the tunnel was one of the scariest. He wouldn’t have time to twitch before Momo’s teeth were buried in his throat.

Momo plopped his butt down, plume-like tail wagging.

“Phone,” Lilith demanded, holding out her hand.

He refused to look away from Momo’s unblinking eyes. “What?”

“Give me your phone. You need a break. I’m getting you one.”

“I’m not-”

She stooped down, still holding out her hand. Raphael whimpered when she straightened, holding Nina threateningly in her other hand.

“Phone,” she said, grinning. His fear of them was a never-ending source of amusement for her. Nina yipped, wriggling, paddling her hind legs where they dangled. The light that came off the single torch in his cave shone oddly against her blueish, brown-orange and white, disturbingly short fur.

Raphael whimpered in horror as Momo leaned forward to lick his chin.

“I know your phone has voice… whatever it’s called. I’m not afraid to use it. You want me to call them through your pants?”

She stretched out her arm, dangling Nina over him.

Raphael gave her his phone.

Nina landed in his lap. He yelped, going rigid, as she circled to get comfortable. Her pin-prick nails dug into his legs.

He yelped, startled, as Lilith flopped down onto the furs beside him. “Your phone makes me sad,” she said, flicking between Michael, Gabriel, and Camael’s contacts. “You need to add stickers, or a nice case, or a keychain. Just, make it look less like an old man phone?”

“’s not an old man phone,” Raphael grumbled. Even if it was, wasn’t he technically an old man? But he liked his phone. It was black and white and plain and sturdy. It didn’t have any of those ridiculous extra things people added. Who needed pop-out things on the back? Or sparkly cases? Just seemed a waste of time and money to him. “I like it.”

He went cross-eyed as, Nina having curled up in his lap, Momo leaned forward to lick his nose.

“You make me sad,” Lilith said.

Lilith told him that a lot.

“Now lie down,” she pushed down on his chest. He went down with a grunt. Momo flopped forward, curling up on his chest, and immediately began to snore. Smoke puffed from his nostrils with every breath in time with the smoke pluming from Nina’s, like she were some tiny dragon.

“You are going to sleep,” Lilith said, twisting to rest her head on his shoulder, pinning him down, “for at least a few hours. Then you are going to relax for a few days.”

“But-”

“Raph, you’re a dick when you’re stressed. You want to blow all this up because someone asked you for a moment when you were trying to take a break? Angels are already trying to prove we’re not safe to be around.”

She did have a point. He sighed. Momo grunted, squirming to get comfortable. His nails dug into Raphael’s chest to hold him still.

“I don’t like you.”

Lilith grinned, knowing she’d won. “Love you too.” She flicked to Michael’s contact (that they had become fast friends worried him. They could take over Heaven, Hell, and Creation if they put their heads together) and pressed call.

He had a pocket-sized apex predator on his chest and another on his lap.

How she expected him to sleep, he had no idea.

[sweetchildcloud]

||Cherish me part 2 || written by me

🔞 Gojo x reader| Minors DNI| TRIGGER WARNING 🔞

Plot: Gojo taking care and pampering a depressed raeder [self insert only about he depression and shower,not about the abusive mother ,i just wanted to add more angst lol]

Tags: sh,depression,Gojo x reader,cute,fluff,comfort,implied naked shower together,Gojo pampering you,past abuse mention,scalding,abusive mother(reader) [ viewers be aware,if this is touchy or unconfortable for you then don't go haed]

Warning: it starts immediately with sh talking

i'm no english native so sorry for some mistakes

please reblog 🔁 and like❤️

P.S: yesterday i did a shower thinking of Gojo doing it for me and since i feel depressed lately i wanted to write this and share my comfort.

i'm so delusional. lol

@muzansslxt @candy69gurl @kiwicopia

Satoru doesn’t let you finish. “Your cuts” he continues, almost as if he can’t bring himself to look away. “From last week and today” his voice is so soft, barely audibly.

He reaches out and takes your wrists between his hands, turning them over as he examines the cuts. “I know you weren’t just ‘scraping’ yourself” he says in a sharp tone. “You’re hurting yourself.”

“I-“ you try and pull your wrists away, but he firmly holds onto them. You flinch and quickly try and brush it off. You’re not ready to talk about it. But you know he won’t let it go.

“You’ve been doing this for a while now, haven’t you?” He doesn’t let you answer, and he’s holding onto your wrists too tightly. It hurts. “Tell the truth.”

“It doesn’t matter!” you finally cry out, your voice cracking. “I’m fine. I don’t need anyone. I just…I…”

Satoru doesn’t allow you to finish. He pulls your hands up to his chest and hugs you. Not just a friendly hug, he pulls you in tightly, almost as if he’s worried about losing you.

“It’s not okay” he says softly, stroking your hair. “You’re not okay.”

“I’m fine, I swear…” your voice cracks, and you know you’re close to crying. You’re not okay but it’d be better if he didn’t worry about you. You shouldn’t be so emotional anyway.

“I just…” you trail off. He’s holding you so tightly as he strokes your hair gently. It’s so soothing, and you can’t help but wish he would hold you like this always.

You just… you just want to be held.

He squeezes you tighter, and the two of you stay like this for a few moments. It’s too quiet, and you can almost hear his heartbeat.

Satoru presses a light kiss to your head then finally lets go. “I’ll run you a shower, okay? Go get cleaned up” he says softly. He holds your hand and walks you into the bathroom, helping you strip and giving you privacy. But it’s okay. You’ll be okay.

"But I don't want to shower" You whimpered annoyed

He gives you a firm look. “It wasn’t a question” he says simply, and begins undressing.

He’s already running the shower, and the bathroom fills with a warm haze. He strips out of his jacket and then his shirt, leaving only his boxers on. You can see the scars from countless battles marking his pale skin. Every muscle of his body is well-defined. And all you can do is stare in awe.

"You're gonna shower with me?" You spoke as he tugs you in towards the shower

“Of course.” He says it so simply and his bright blue eyes look into yours. “I’m gonna make sure there aren’t any razors in here, and then I’m gonna wash you myself. We need to clean out those cuts before they get infected.”

He stands under the water for a moment then grabs your soap, lathering your body with it slowly. He takes his time, moving gently and examining you closely. You almost feel like he’s worshipping you.

He takes a breath as he glances at your back and continues to lather you in soap. He’ll bring the burn up later. But for now he focuses solely on cleaning you.

Once he’s done, he reaches out and grabs the shampoo. “Head back, close your eyes.” You do, and he pours the shampoo onto your hair and then slowly washing it and massaging your scalp.

You trembled as your big burn scar on your back was exposed,memories flooded your mind,your mother pouring hot water on you calling you 'useless child'

You flinch and start to tremble as the memories return to you. The words from your mother play endlessly inside your head.

The sound of soap slipping through his hands brings you back to reality, and he continues to massage your scalp without skipping a beat.

He finishes massaging your hair gently, and then he takes the conditioner and rubs it through your hair carefully. He doesn't say anything for a moment until he's done, and then he pulls you against his chest tightly.

He rests his chin on the top of your head as he pulls you even closer. He nuzzles your hair and wraps his arms around you tightly. He holds you so close and protects you so gently. He doesn’t care about your scars or the pain that lingers over your heart. He doesn't know about your abusive past. He just holds you and comforts you, wanting nothing in return but your happiness. "It's okay" he says quietly, kissing the top of your head.

"it's not…ugly?" You asked trembling "i don't remember much..just my mum calling from the kitchen and then..she tooked the pot with boiling water in it that was supposed to be used for ramen and just…poured on me"

"Shh" he says, pressing his mouth onto your forehead to soothe you and distract you from those haunting memories.

"It doesn't matter" he whispers, as the water from the shower splashes.

"I don't care about your scars" he continues softly. "They're part of you. And who you are is beautiful."

The water cascades down your body, making your hair slick. He continues to trace his fingers along your scars, not judging or making any comments. Just… embracing them.

"Scars are proof that you survived what broke you" he says in a comforting tone. He kisses your forehead again and continues to stroke your hair as the water rinses the conditioner out.

"And that alone makes you strong" he says firmly.

"Plus, I think they look pretty. And who doesn't love scars?"

His tone is playful, although you can tell he's serious about not caring about the scars.

You feel like you're stuck in time. His voice is like a lullaby that soothes you. He strokes your hair, and the water makes your skin feel warm. You lean into him, and he holds you tighter.

All of your past trauma… all of your fears. It all feels like it's fading away in his arms. No matter how broken you may be, he'll always be there to pick up the pieces.

After a while, he turns off the water and dries you off with a towel before helping you put on a robe.

His hand runs up and down your back, massaging you and helping you relax. You're so grateful for his touch. After a while, he speaks up, his voice so gentle and soothing.

"Do you have a skincare routine?" He asks, sounding more curious than anything. "I'm guessing…you don't."

"do i look bad? does my skin feel bad?" You asked sounding hurt

"That's not what I meant" he says quickly. "Sorry, I guess I phrased that badly."

He pauses for a moment, thinking, and then gives you a small smile. "Your skin looks healthy. Maybe a little dull, but that's easy to fix. I was just wondering if you had a skincare routine or not."

When you don't reply, he continues "We should work on one for you" he says excitedly. "We can go out shopping together. I can show you the products I use. That would be fun, right? Plus, you wouldn't have to go out alone."

When he asks about shopping with you, he says it so excitedly, sounding like a kid asking his crush on a date.

"If you're the one putting products on me then.." you snuggled into his chest,you hand cupped and covered by the robe sleeve "I guess it will be okay" you mumbled

He chuckles and pulls you in closer. "Does that mean yes?" he asks softly, his hand stroking your cheek.

"And not just for shopping, I can help with applying products. And maybe you can try that face mask I bought. It says it'll give you 'radiant' dewy skin'."

He pauses for a beat and giggles softly. "I think it might look cute on your cheeks" he says, making you laugh too. The sound is so contagious.

Satoru smiles wider and ruffles your hair affectionately, his hands moving to your shoulders. "We could make a night of it. Order some food, and I can do a face mask too. I'm sure it'll look great on me." He winks playfully, clearly making up excuses to spend time with you.

Your eyes flicker to the floor when you realize that's all he wants. Time. As much time as he can make with you. He wants to fill each second of life with you.

“And I’ll tell you a secret.” He pauses for a beat again, and you listen intently, trying to understand what “secret” he would feel the need to tell you. “You’ll be the first person to see me with makeup on” he says in a whisper. “And I’m nervous.”

He chuckles lightly and rubs your shoulder again. The robe slips off your shoulder, and he pulls it back up, fixing it onto your body before speaking again.

“We should get matching face masks” he says. “Y’know, make it cute.” This time his tone is playful, and he grins down at you. “We could watch a movie or something. I’ll even set up a blanket fort for us to cuddle inside” he says, sounding like a child once again.

He’ll do anything for you. And you know that by now. His voice is so soft, and his eyes are warm as he studies your expression.

“And we’ll get snacks” he continues excitedly. “Popcorn, Doritos, chocolate. Do you like Cheetos? I can buy some cheesy Cheetos.”

He pauses, waiting for a response. It’s always cute to see him so giddy. “We’ll make a mountain of snacks out of the blanket fort and lie in it all night” he says, his voice full of wonder.

“I…I wanna make a memory with you, y’know? We can do anything you want.”

He rubs your shoulder again and then your hair. “So, what do you think? Wanna have a skincare night with me? We’ll make it a date night or something.”

He leans in and kisses your forehead. “And then we do the blanket fort the next time. You can decorate it however you want, and I’ll follow along.”

“And then you can tell me all about your scars” he chuckles, rubbing the back of your neck. “We can talk about anything you want.”

A few moments pass, and you don’t say anything, feeling lost in thought. Eventually, you speak with soft voice. “Yeah…” you say, feeling oddly giddy inside as if you’re a kid on Christmas morning. “That would be really nice, actually.”

He smiles and tilts your head up so that he can look you in the eye. “Then we have a date” he says, making his voice sound very enthusiastic. “It’ll be a big skin care night with movie and snacks and…”

“And more snacks, right?” you ask, and he nods enthusiastically.

“I’m gonna do a whole night dedicated to you” he continues. “We’ll focus on your skin, get some good food, and cuddle in a blanket fort.”

Your heart feels like it’s pounding through your chest as you think of all the things he suggested. “It sounds amazing…” you hesitate before continuing. “Do you promise it’s gonna be…c-cute?”

“It’ll be the cutest” he says with such conviction that you don’t know how it could be possible.

“Trust me, everything we do together is bound to turn out cute.” He grins goofily and strokes your cheek gently.

“It’ll be a date night of just us. I can’t think of anything I’d rather be doing.” He pauses for a moment and looks you in the eyes again. “Nothing would be cuter to me than just spending the night with you.”

You grin sheepishly as you stare back at him. Your stomach twists in knots and your skin flushes.

His words are simple but you melt at their sincerity.

His bright smile, his eyes filled with a soft kind of love. Just the way he stares at you and speaks to you fills you with butterflies.

You know that he means every single word; there's no deceit in them.

In the silence between you, you realize just how important he is to you. You can't imagine a life without him in it.

[mother-ofthe-universedraws]

More Simon! And fun facts about the little guy.

CW! For the fork stabbing thing

[inhurtandincomfort]

CW: Minor whump (again, it's backstory) Child trafficking, sold into slavery, forced nonsexual nudity, mentions of alcoholism, drug use and self harm at the end along with mild references to disassociation and possible suicidal ideation if you read into how depressed he is.

Eldwin’s body does not belong to him.

That may not make sense to some people. “Ridiculous,” they say, “Whose else could it be?” But it was something made all too clear to Eldwin, as young as fourteen years old, from the moment the pact mark first appeared on his skin. 

The moment his hand met the strangers, a sharp pain ran across the back of it and when he looked the mark was there, burned red already fading to black. This was the price he must pay, he knew. That didn’t mean he couldn’t feel the beginnings of regret nagging at the back of his mind as he stared at the intricate sigil, a permanent marker of what he was. Whose he was. When he looked up at the stranger, a handsome man flashing teeth that seemed a little too white, slightly too sharp, looking very pleased with an unnerving glint in his eyes, Eldwin wondered not for the last time whether he’d made the right choice. 

It didn’t matter. What’s done is done; a contract was made, his fate is sealed. The demon walked away with a soul and a promise. Eldwin walked away with a fear and a life that would never be the same. 

Then he was kidnapped, starving, cold, and desperate in the middle of December lured in by a wealthy-looking couple with a promise of work and instead taken captive, thrown in a basement somewhere in the city with a handful of other boys most his age or older, a couple of them younger. 

“They’re gonna sell us,” One of them said, glumly resigned to his fate. He’d been there the longest and claimed to have heard them discussing their plans. “We’ll be sold off for labour and there’s nothin’ we can do about it.”  Eldwin scowled, crossing his arms. Maybe there was nothing they could do, but that didn’t mean they shouldn’t try. He voiced as much,when the auction day drew closer.

“You’re being stupid.” The first boy told him bluntly. “You think none of us ‘ave tried before?” But some of the newer faces still had some spirit and agreed to attempt an escape. They waited until late in the night. Eldwin quietly approached the basement door, lifting a gloved hand to the lock. It opened easily with a soft click letting the boys sneak out one by one, Eldwin in the lead. They managed to boost one of the boys over the fence before they were caught, a gun in their faces and several men roughly dragging them back where they were thrown forcefully into the basement where the ones who stayed jumped back in fear as the slaver appeared holding his walking cane.  

“Who’s idea was this?” He barked, “Own up before I break everyone’s limbs!” The youngest squeaked and stuffed his filthy sleeve into his mouth. Most were crying or quivering with fear and Eldwin couldn’t help but wonder who would speak first? Well, he wouldn’t wait to find out. He wouldn't put that burden on them.

“It was me,” He said more confidently than he felt. “It was my idea. They didn’t want to, but I convinced them.” He held his head high, meeting the man's eyes even as he clenched his fist to stop it from trembling. He only hoped the boy who’d escaped would make it, that he’d tell the guards and put a stop to this before auction day.

“You little brat,” The man snarled, raising his hand. Eldwin was sent stumbling back, a stinging pain where the man backhanded him across the face. “Hold him,” The man ordered two of the stronger boys and they wordlessly stood either side of Eldwin, shoving him to his knees. Eldwin closed his eyes, bracing himself for what was to come. The wooden cane slammed into his back with such force he would have fallen over had the boys not been holding him in place. He couldn’t hold back a cry slipping past his lips as his vision blurred from tears as the cane hit its mark, over and over again. The youngest boy amongst them was shielding his face in the shirt of another trying to stifle his own cries. “How did you do it? How did you get out!?” The man dropped his cane to the floor and grabbed Eldwin by the collar, hauling him up nearly off the ground. Eldwin looked to the floor, biting the inside of his cheek. He wouldn't answer. No matter how much it hurt, what they did to him, he could not answer.

“He magicked it sir!” The boy who’d been here longest piped up, conviction in his tone. “We all saw ‘im. He didn't even touch it, the door unlocked just like that!"

A new fear flooded Eldwin's chest as the man slowly turned to look from the boy to Eldwin, a strange look coming across his face. “Is that right?” He dropped him to the floor, beckoning for a boy to pass him his cane. “You been holding out on us lad?”

Eldwin glared up at the man, not saying a word. He already had his answer. No one was going to lie for him; If they were asked if he did magic, each and every one of them would say yes. 

“Show us,” The man commanded. When he didn’t comply the man slammed his cane hard to the floor with a loud bang that made them all flinch. “Show us!” 

There was no point putting it off further. Shakily Eldwin cupped his hands in front of him and after a second a little ball of light appeared. It wasn’t the brightest and it flickered like a dying flame, dimming and brightening every few seconds. But it was all the proof the man needed. 

“Well well well.” He looked up from the orb and a smile crept onto his face making Eldwin’s stomach churn, “Things are about to get much more interesting.” 

The next few days blurred into one. Eldwin’s anxiety rose to new heights with their discovery hanging over his head like a weight ready to drop. None of the captors had said anything about it and he almost wished they would, he couldn’t take this constant trepidation. None of his fellow captives said anything either. They all stayed huddled at the wall with their heads hung low. No one would meet his eyes. They couldn’t even bear to look at him anymore. It was almost a relief when the big day came. That morning they were all brought upstairs, divided amongst the several bathrooms, stripped and forced in a bathtub where they were doused with cold water by one of the underlings. When they took his gloves from him this man -who looked to be only eighteen, nineteen- saw the sigil and disappeared from the room, coming back with The Mistress in tow. Her nails dug into his wrist as she yanked it harshly, staring at the pact mark with disdain. “Do you have any more secrets you’d like to share with us?” She asked flatly.

Eldwin kept his gaze firmly on the bathroom tiles, his face radiating heat despite his shivering as he tried to cover himself as best he could. She sighed, dropping his arm. “Proceed. I’ll talk to the client before the deal goes through.”

They were given clean clothes. Eldwin noticed his were different from the others - whereas they were given plain cloths barely more than rags, he had on a proper button-up white shirt and dark grey trousers, and black shoes which the others weren’t afforded the luxury of. Some of them had their hair cut unevenly where mats were cut off, others had their heads shorn entirely. Usually he’d appreciate being treated better, but now it made him all the more nervous. Maybe they just wanted to cover the bruises? His back still hurt whenever it stretched. That didn't explain the quality, though.

Then they were brought to another room with a chair by a fire and a couple of metal instruments nearby. Stood by the chair was a feminine figure, her face hidden by a mask. Another woman stood by a table in the corner with what seemed to be medical supplies. They all watched in horror as the first boy was held down in the chair, his head tilted as an iron rod was placed on the side of his neck. The boy yelled and squirmed, strong hands holding him still. It was over within a second, and he was shuffled along to a treatment table, quietly sobbing. 

“I feel sick,” One boy said as they all stood lined up in the hallway waiting to be brought on stage, bandage wrapped around his neck, their hands tied in front of them with rope that was left long so they could be led around by it. They could hear the host welcoming the guests. Some boys muttered prayers to themselves, others seemed to be trying to forget they were there at all. 

The Mistress entered the room, beckoning Eldwin to follow. “You, boy. With me.” She clicked her fingers, and one of her henchmen grabbed the rope attached to him and tugged him along, bringing him away from the auction to another room. She stopped them outside the door, smoothing his hair back and fixing him with a hard look. “This is a good opportunity for you. Don’t blow it.” Then she opened the door, and he was led inside.

A wealthy-looking man stood in front of the fireplace, turning to face them when the door opened. He was tall, towering over Eldwin when he came to greet them, brown hair neatly combed back and an expensive looking suit. The man grabbed his chin and tilted his head to the side, looking at him from various angles. “He doesn’t look like much. You’re sure he’s the one?” “Yes, sir. The boys all claim to have seen it and my husband can testify.” She gave Eldwin a nudge. “Go on boy, prove it.” “Prove what?” He meant it but must have sounded snarkier than intended because a palm connected with his cheek making his eyes water, her long nails leaving scratch marks. 

“Don’t play dumb with me!” She snapped, rings glittering on her still raised fingers. Eldwin scowled, blinking to clear the tears.

“I don’t know what you want from me! No one told me anything! Why was I separated from the others? Why are we here in the first place, I don’t even know how long it’s been!” 

Her face twisted with rage. “Why you little-” She looked like she was going to hit him again but the man raised his hand. “You’re a sorcerer, are you not? That’s what we want from you dear. Your magic.” He smiled, the sort of smile one would give to reassure a lost child. He reached up to cup Eldwin’s face, his thumb wiping away the blood left by the Mistress. “Can you do a little for me? Just to prove you can.”

Do these people understand how hard magic is when you’re overstressed, underfed and under-slept? Fine. He’d do a little magic. 

He held out one hand palm up, feeling a gentle warmth run through him as all his aether concentrated. Sparks flew from his palm and the man watched in fascination before the sparks turned into flames, springing to life as if someone had thrown oil on to it, albeit on a very small scale. But it was enough to catch the man's sleeve aflame, making him leap back with a yelp, frantically patting himself down. The royal blue fabric was left charred black with a sizable hole. The Mistress offered profuse apologies, offering to cover the damages as Eldwin watched in veiled amusement, careful not to let it show on his face. He would pay for that no doubt, both in their punishment and with the exhaustion that came with using too much energy. 

The momentary satisfaction was worth it. 

The man dusted himself off, no longer smiling. He didn’t seem to be upset, though; deep blue eyes bore through him as he studied him intently. If anything, he looked pleased. “I’ll take him.”

Thus went his body, stolen by a crime lord who broke it down piece by piece, tore it apart only to build it back up, beat it, burned it, ripped it limb from limb just so he could put it back together leaving not even a scar, getting to live his life like it never happened. Eldwin didn’t have that luxury. Not everything left a visible mark, he couldn’t prove it, no one would ever believe him - but he knew. The Mind remembers what the Body forgets. 

But his mind was a traitor. 

It was hard to cope, trapped in a life he never asked for, made to do things he never wanted. He was violated, he was used and he was alone with only his own Mind to talk to. Oh, he hated the things his Mind says. 

His hand shakes as he brings the bottle to his lips, whisky burning his throat in a way he’d grown to crave. It’s not enough. It’s never enough. The drink, the pills, the searing of cigarettes on skin - they’re only temporary, blocking out the pain, making him human for but a moment. Then come the whispers, the mocking laughter - Failure. Monster. Not even human. Other times it goes blank, leaving him numb and empty until he does something dangerous or cruel for that rush, a chance to feel.. His mind is an enemy that exists within him, controlling his every thought, every move. It was a foe he could not defeat, so it was all he could do to let something else take the reins, just for a little while.

He'd never be himself again. He was already corrupted, tainted, every aspect of him owned by another. Mind, body, and soul.

I hope you enjoyed! If you did please consider reblogging, it really helps the reach of the post for others to find and enjoy it :)

[whump-tr0pes]

Honor Bound 6 - 32

This is a series. Start here, continued from here.

This is a sequel to Honor Bound, Honor Bound 2, Honor Bound 3, Honor Bound 4, Honor Bound 5, and the prequel Vera.

AO3

Masterlist

Contents: past hallucinations, PTSD, past abuse of a minor, attempted confrontation with abuser, abuser co-opting language of activism, gendered slurs, fucky headspace about abuse, thoughts about self harm, flashbacks, harm reduction

~

Isaac only realized he had been tensing every muscle in his body when Gavin started to fall asleep. It happened slowly at first, Gavin’s head relaxing into the pillow, then the pained lines in his forehead disappearing bit by bit. Gavin’s breath slowed, and his hand released its death grip on Isaac’s shirt. Gavin’s leg twitched, as it sometimes did as he was drifting off, but Gavin didn’t wake. Then, and only then, did Isaac take a full breath and release the tension that had been surging through him since Gavin had looked at him with suspicious, terrified eyes and refused to take the medication that would bring him relief.

It was only through sheer will that Isaac had not collapsed to his knees right then. Isaac had withstood so much within these past weeks, and could have withstood more; the ever-present fear of Gavin’s death had hung over him like a sword both waking and asleep. Isaac had nearly watched Gavin die. He had thought he had watched that very thing.

And yet, nothing could have prepared him for the moment Gavin looked at him in distrust, in fear, and thought Schiester was the man standing before him.

Isaac crushed the thought before it could fully bloom. I have him back, he thought fiercely. It’s enough. It’s more than enough. It’s more than I thought I would ever have again. If this is… If this is the price…

He shuddered and wiped his eyes. Even having Gavin look at him with that much distrust, it was worth it. Of course it was. He leaned forward, brushing his lips to Gavin’s forehead as gently as he could manage. Gavin drew in a shuddering breath, but stayed asleep. Isaac’s chest ached as he gazed at him, his eyes lingering on the darkened, puckered scars that stretched over Gavin’s nose, cheek, and eye. If Gavin was awake, Isaac would kiss them. For now, Isaac just wanted Gavin to sleep.

An icy finger of dread brushed down Isaac’s back. He turned his head towards the front door, listening for a sound his body had known to listen for before his mind even registered there had been a noise. Even through the closed bedroom door, he could hear the front door open. He was up and out of the bed before he had time to draw breath.

“Don’t fucking shoot, Isaac, it’s me,” came Vera’s voice.

Isaac’s fingers ached. His hand was already in a fist at his waistband, closed over a gun that wasn’t there. He panted heavily and rushed out of the bedroom, terror and rage ebbing away, replaced with sharp annoyance.

“Shh.” He closed the bedroom door behind him and glanced at Vera – and Gray, who stood behind her, face like a stormcloud. “Gavin’s sleeping. He has a bad—” The rest of his thought evaporated when his eyes returned to Vera – her eyes were wild, a muscle standing out in her jaw like she was trying to crack a molar. “Wh-what?” he breathed.

Vera snorted. “We should probably talk,” she bit out, voice thin with sarcasm.

Isaac’s stomach dropped. “Oh… fuck, what—”

“Vera met Rosa,” Gray said darkly.

Fear punched through Isaac’s chest. In the same breath, hope threatened. “Is… Oh. Is she… alive?”

Vera barked out a mirthless laugh, then covered her mouth with a hand and threw an apologetic look at the closed bedroom door. “Sorry,” she mumbled. “Ah… yeah. She’s… she’s alive. Because someone—” She roughly elbowed Gray in the ribs. “—wouldn’t let me murder her in front of this town’s mayor.”

“Kali isn’t the mayor,” Gray said, their tone only a little imperious. “But forgive me for not allowing you to burn one of the few bridges we have up here.”

“Oh, fuck off,” Vera said. A slight smile undercut the harsh words. “But yeah, uh… we should probably… talk about that.”

“Talk about what?” Isaac said. His hands were starting to shake. “What is there to talk about? She did what she did, and I… did what I did, and—”

Gray stepped forward. “Isaac, that’s not—”

“—now we just have to… deal with her. That’s just how it is.” He pulled a shaking hand through his hair, forced himself to breathe – then breathe again, and slower. “If we’re going to… coexist—”

“They’re dead because of you. You know that? We went out to fight and you were supposed to be there, to protect us, and you weren’t. You preferred to not take the shot. You preferred to run like the useless piece of shit you are.”

He shuddered. “We h-have to—”

“But we don’t, Isaac,” Gray said carefully.

“Vera said we’re not allowed to kill her,” Isaac said, doing his best to loosen his hands from the fists they were in.

Vera rolled her eyes. “You know where I stand on this issue,” she sighed. “But yeah, like Gray said, we don’t actually have to deal with her. At least not all that much. Because she doesn’t actually live here.”

Isaac stared at her for a long moment. Then, slowly, he said, “What do you mean, she doesn’t actually live here?”

Vera massaged her temple and gestured for Gray to speak. Gray wet their lips and said, “We just finished speaking to Kali. And… meeting Rosa, unfortunately. Kali said she doesn’t live here, she just gets mail here and passes through every now and then. And that… well, Kali said she would like to mediate a conversation between you and Rosa.”

“When?” Isaac choked out.

Gray spread their hands. “I… don’t know. She didn’t say. Rosa left in a huff before we could work anything out.” They gave a half-hearted shrug. “I don’t think it’s a bad idea, Isaac. At least you would have a chance to air your grievances. But either way, Kali wanted to do it because she thinks it would help. And because… well, because essentially we aren’t allowed to keep trying to kill her every time we see her.”

Isaac surged forward and staggered out the front door. Vera and Gray stumbled to follow.

“Wait… where are you going?” Vera said.

“I can’t keep doing this,” Isaac whimpered. “I can’t… keep wondering when she’s going to turn up again, expecting her around every corner. If Kali wants to do this fucking talk, and this is what it’ll take in order for us to live here, then fine, but…” He muffled a sob into his hand and dashed tears from his eyes. “I’m not fucking waiting. I’m doing this now. I…” He stumbled, then stopped. His heart pounded against his lungs as he sucked in breath after too-small breath. “Wh-where is she?” he rasped.

“Rosa?” Gray said cautiously. “I don’t—”

“No, Kali,” Isaac said. “If she wants to have a talk, I’m going to talk to her now.”

“I don’t know, Isaac,” Gray said. “When we saw her she was in the post office, but—”

Isaac whirled and began to jog down the lane into town.

Gray and Vera hurried to follow. “She might not still be there, Isaac!” Gray said, already breathing hard. “She, I told you she was there, I have no idea if she—”

“Call her,” Isaac said over his shoulder. “Call her and tell her to meet me.”

“Isaac, stop,” Gray said. They skidded to a halt and braced their hands on their knees to catch their breath. “Let’s talk about this.”

“No,” Isaac begged. Gray raised their gaze to his. “Don’t make me fucking wait, Gray,” he croaked. “Don’t make me keep going through this. Please.”

Gray straightened and took a deep, wheezing breath. “Fine,” they said roughly. “But I’ll go with you.”

Isaac turned on his heel and kept walking in the direction of the post office. His heart felt bruised; every beat felt like a blow to the inside of his ribs. Vera fell in beside him. Gray lagged behind, tapping away on their cell phone. After they sent off a text, they jogged to catch up.

Goosebumps rippled across Isaac’s arms and back. He didn’t speak as they walked into town, didn’t glance at Vera as they all passed by the shops on either side of the street. When he finally laid his eyes on the post office, his stomach twisted like he might be sick.

“Is she there?” he said thickly.

Gray checked their phone. “She responded,” they murmured. Then, “Yes. She’s there.”

Fear and revulsion thundered through Isaac’s veins as his feet carried him closer. He couldn’t feel the tips of his fingers when he reached out to grasp the worn wooden handle on the door. He didn’t wait to take a breath before he yanked the door open and walked in.

Only Kali stood inside. Isaac’s throat tightened and he turned to look at Gray, eyes wide with terror and confusion.

“I… meant Kali was here, not Rosa,” Gray said, shaking their head. “I’m sorry. I didn’t—”

“Where is she?” Isaac rasped. He looked helplessly at Kali. “You said you wanted to talk, so…” He held his arms out wide. He hated himself for how hard he was shaking. He blinked back the tears that threatened in his eyes. “I’m here to talk. I’m not… not armed, so…” His hands fell to his sides again. “Let’s just get this done, if this is how you think we should handle this.”

Kali’s brow was deeply creased as she looked at Isaac. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Alright,” she said carefully. “I see you want to… make things better.”

“No, I just want this to be fucking over,” Isaac whispered, so he wouldn’t choke. The tears in his eyes spilled down his cheeks. “If you want me to talk to her, I’ll talk to her. If that’s what I have to do, then…” He shrugged and held his arms down at his sides, hands balled into fists. “Let’s just get this done.”

Kali held Isaac’s eyes with a steady gaze. “Isaac…”

“Now!” he cried. Kali flinched back minutely from the booming command. Isaac buried his face in his hands and muffled a sob. “What the fuck?” he breathed. “You wanted to talk, can I please just—”

“I’m sorry,” Kali said in a rush. “Isaac, I’m sorry for causing you grief. I didn’t mean to, please believe that. But I… well, maybe you should just read it.” She pulled a phone from her pocket, tapped the screen a few times, and handed it to Isaac.

On the screen was the end of a text conversation between Kali and Rosa.

September 22, 2030 2:45pm

Kali: we got mail for you today

September 22, 2030 9:50pm

Rosa: thnk u

September 28, 2030 10:22am

Kali: I’d like to resolve this between you and Isaac Moore’s family. What do you say to having a conversation with him that I mediate? This would be planned and in a neutral location, with no threats allowed on either side, with safety and repair being the goal.

September 28, 2030 10:24am

Rosa: r u serious? fuck that actually

September 28, 2030 10:24am

Rosa: I can’t believe ur taking his side

September 28, 2030 10:25am

Rosa: after everythng I’ve gone fr the resistance I can’t believe this

September 28, 2030 10:26am

Rosa: if ur willing to allow those people to stay nd continue to spread their lies about wht happened to Jordan, fine. ur in charge here. but I will no longer affiliate w Laporte. this isn’t just smthng u can just ‘mediate’. consider me gone.

September 28, 2030 10:30am

Kali: I understand you being upset. I’ll give you some time to yourself and reach out again in a few days.

September 28, 2030, 10:30am

Your message cannot be delivered.

Isaac realized he was breathing hard when the words on the screen began to blur. He held the phone out with a shaking hand and looked up at Kali.

“What…” His mouth was dry. He swallowed hard. “What does that mean? What…”

Kali threw a glance at Gray, who was looking at her inquisitively. “It looks to me,” she said with that same sense of unending patience, “That she isn’t interested in having this conversation or… being in Laporte anymore.”

“Give me that,” Vera snapped, and grabbed the phone from Isaac’s hand to read the last exchange. She snorted and looked up at Gray. “‘I will no longer affiliate with Laporte’? Is she serious? Was she somehow contributing in a huge way to the resistance that we just… haven’t heard of over the past several years?”

Kali opened her mouth to speak. “I—”

“What, is her presence here so fucking special that her refusing to come here anymore is some sort of punishment?” This time, Vera fixed her eyes on Kali. “Well? Have we just misread this?” her lip pulled back in a snarl.

Kali met Vera’s vicious gaze with her own steady one. Finally, she said, “Sometimes people lash out when they feel hurt. Her identity as a resistance fighter is clearly very important to her.”

“Perhaps, then, she should work on being an effective one,” Gray hissed from the corner.

Isaac still stood in the center of the room, shaking like a leaf. He kept waiting for fear to hit, or rage, or relief. Nothing rose up to fill the emptiness that had opened up inside him. He felt like he might buckle under his own weight.

“Wh-what does this mean?” he repeated.

“It means the trash just took itself out,” Vera spat. “I wouldn’t spend any more time worrying about her, Isaac. Apparently being confronted with the truth is enough to send that bitch packing.”

Isaac’s eyes and mouth were dry. He swallowed hard, swallowed again. “She’s… just gone?” he said softly into the room. The words seemed to fade into the buzz of Vera’s rage and the pounding of blood in his ears. “She just… left?”

His eyes snapped to Kali’s when she took a step closer to him. She had to crane her head back a bit to look up at him, but she met his eyes without blinking. She reached out and took both his hands in hers. They were rough, calloused, but warm and dry. She squeezed his hands in hers, and he found himself squeezing back.

“I am so, so sorry,” she said, her voice so kind that it brought more tears to Isaac’s eyes. “She clearly hurt you so much, and I’m sorry. I was hoping for some kind of healing. But… I hope this is a solution that works almost as well.”

Vera snorted. Isaac couldn’t see her where she stood behind him, but he could see Kali’s mouth tighten in response. “I understand if you see this as better,” Kali said.

“The woman was okay with using a child soldier as her own personalized bodyguard and hitman,” Vera sneered.

“I wasn’t a child when she first brought me into the field,” Isaac said, releasing Kali’s hands and turning to face Vera. “I was… t-twenty-one when she—”

Vera held up a hand, silencing Isaac. “I don’t want to hear it,” she snapped. Isaac’s mouth fell shut.

Kali cleared her throat softly. “If I might suggest something, Isaac,” she said. He looked down at her and waited for her to speak. He was tired in his bones, tired in his soul. He was tired of fighting, tired of being afraid. He was tired of being tired. She wet her lips and said, “It seems like the people who hurt you… well, it seems like they’ve all decided to stay in your past. So maybe something that would be helpful for you… would be to start by learning that the things that were done to you… were indeed mistreatment? Were indeed unjust?”

This time, it was Gray who snorted. “I’ve been trying to tell him that for… oh, over a year at this point,” they said with a gentle, good-natured laugh.

Isaac couldn’t find it in him to laugh, or cry, or even reach for the flame of anger that always burned inside him. He shrugged, a hollow, jerky movement. “Probably, yeah,” he said flatly.

Kali’s mouth pursed, and she gently patted Isaac’s shoulder. “Alright,” she said. She glanced at Vera and held out a hand for her phone. “If I could have that back…?” Vera placed the phone in Kali’s hand, and at least had the dignity of looking a little embarrassed for having snatched it away in the first place. Kali tucked the phone in her pocket and rubbed her hands on her worn jeans. “Well,” she said. “I’ll… I’ll keep y’all posted on the goings-on of the town. And I’ll make sure you get notified next time mail gets dropped off. I know that… once you’ve settled in, it’ll feel like home. I’m… sorry things have started so rough.”

For a long time, no one said anything. Isaac’s jaw ached as he clenched his teeth, swallowing over and over against the lump in his throat. It was the only sensation in his body, and he clung to it, all too familiar with the numbness that was creeping through his veins.

His knife could chase the numbness away, he knew that. It had done it so many times already. If he just took his knife, and—

“Who gave you this, huh?”

“M-my—”

A blow lashes across his face, spilling the tears that had been brimming in his eyes. He presses a hand to his stinging cheek and returns his frightened gaze to the woman kneeling in front of him. He didn’t mean to fall asleep, he didn’t, but he’s been awake for two days already, maybe three, he lost count, and he’s so tired…

Rosa is fiddling with his pocket knife, the one with the sharp steel blade and the red plastic handle, the one he has using to try and keep himself awake, the one given to him by his—

“My… dad gave it to me,” he hiccoughs, fighting back a sob.

Rosa chuckles, folding and unfolding the blade from the pocketknife. “Your dad, huh?” she says, her voice cold and sarcastic.

“Yes, please give it back…” He reaches for it.

She snatches it back, out of his reach. “No,” she says with a vicious grin. “You fell asleep on watch. Second time this month. Clearly giving you triple duty didn’t teach you better. Maybe this will.” Isaac’s stomach drops as she folds the knife a final time and tucks it into her pocket.

“No!” Isaac sobs, and lunges for it. He’s so tired, he’s so tired, and Rosa easily trips him. He goes sprawling into the dirt.

Rosa snickers and walks away. “Don’t fall asleep on watch again, Isaac,” she says, not bothering to look back. “You won’t like what happens if I catch you doing it again.”

Isaac blinked and shook his head against the sudden memory. His right hand was curled into a fist – no, curled around his father’s pocketknife, lost forever because of the mistakes he had made.

Enough sensation returned for him to register a weight in his stomach as he released his fingers, one by one. He felt the loss of his father’s knife as if it had just happened – as if Rosa had just walked out the door with it a few minutes ago. He swallowed against more tears and pressed against the unhealed cuts at his wrist.

“Gray,” he said weakly, unable to feel embarrassed when his voice cracked as if he was sixteen years old. “Can we head home? I… I’d like to… I need some ice.”

He felt Vera’s confused gaze, but didn’t look at her. He turned and looked only at Gray.

They took a deep breath, let it out. “Of course,” they said gently. They stepped forward and tucked him under their arm. “Thank you, Kali, for meeting us again so soon.”

“Anything y’all need,” she said with a shrug. She gave them a kind smile as Isaac let Gray lead him out of the post office and back out into the morning sunlight. Isaac wound his arm around Gray’s waist as they walked. Vera followed silently behind. Isaac could feel her confusion and curiosity, but couldn’t bring himself to explain the ice right now. She would find out when they got home anyway. For now, Isaac let the tears fall freely as he walked down the main street of Laporte, not caring if anyone else noticed.

Continued here

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[eclaire-went-bam]

tips on how to deal with cluster b rage is useful and all what like what do i do when i'm bored

like

genuine question

i'm not aspd (i say that cus i know chronic boredom's usually big for that one) but i do get painfully bored extremely often. i'll be under no emotional distress and then i'll decide to self-mutilate simply because i'm bored and it's funny & i don't think that's a good thing

[devilcatdarling]

Dawn shall break ~

I've been really sick this past week so I didn't draw much. Here's a messy sketch to make up for it <3

[enemywasp]

I am usually against call out posts as I do not want to ever encourage harrasement to someone intentionally or not. But god is it tempting when people are telling me to "cut deeper" cause I don't think you should be able to get away with that

[theywhoshantbenamed]

shant I’m giving you one of my crackheaded ideas

What if when states, multiple or just a couple, wanted to create a child, they do some wack ass ritual where they put a piece of them into a pile. Doesn’t matter if that’s a piece of hair or if somebody decided to cut off a piece skin

and then they do something and with all these pieces and it suddenly pops a child into existence

this is such a wack idea but what if this is how Gov was created by the OGs and somebody cut off a huge piece of their skin and there’s still a scar

what are your thoughts on this

Seems very ritualistic! You know it kinda reminds me of pirates of the Caribbean when they put their pieces of eight together to put calypso back in Tia Dalma

This is a very interesting take, and I love hearing other people’s thoughts on how Gov or ConCon gets brought into existence

PA would prolly be the one who puts the most of himself into the pile then. Maybe the more meaningful or serious the part put in, the more like that state the child would look??

All in all it’s a very interesting concept

[madcatdaderpydrawer-blog]

Remembered nights habit of hitting himself on the head and scratching when stressed and now I’m wondering how infero would handle that. It’s not purposefully self harmful, it’s just a shit habit

[another-whump-sideblog]

I’d kill someone to see any form of Jane whump

YES YES YES

I made a new friend today.

I've been avoiding getting close to people for a while. It hurts too much when they die. But being alone hurts too, so really it's just a matter of choosing what's slightly less painful, and today it was making a friend.

He's a scientist. He asks me lots of questions about my powers, and some of them are things I haven't even thought about! I think he wants to figure out how to become immortal himself. It would be nice to not be alone, but I don't think it would be a good idea. I think he's really ungrateful for the fact that he can die, that he has an emergency exit if things get too bad, but I don't try to convince him. If he decides he doesn't want to be immortal, he might decide he doesn't want to talk to me anymore, and he's interesting. I don't want to stop talking to him.

We run lots of tests. I've done most of them before, but he seems to like figuring stuff out on his own instead of trusting my word, which is fair. I show him how if I cut off a limb, some force always pulls it back to where it should go, increasing until my body is whole again. We cut off one of my fingers and lock it in a safe. It takes twenty minutes for the force to increase enough to break through the safe walls.

"Fascinating." He says. I like it when he says that. I like to pretend he thinks I'm interesting and not just my powers.

Eventually, I tell him I think my blood is important to the immortality somehow. Usually the way my healing works is reversing wounds, but I seem to just make more and more blood the moment I need it, no matter how starved or dehydrated my body is. I can't produce new tears if my body doesn't have enough water, but I can always, always produce more blood.

He immediately wants to have a transfusion of my blood. I tell him no, of course. Eventually, he convinces me we could try watering a plant with my blood to see what happens. Plants can't suffer from being immortal, they don't have feelings or thoughts, so I agree.

At first, it doesn't seem to be working. I don't think it will work, but we do have access to infinite amounts of my blood, so we just keep doing more and more. I make sure it only ever goes into the plant, and he has no opportunity to transfuse any into his own body. When I think the plant is more likely to die from being in a pot so filled with liquid than it is to become immortal, we do the daily test, and... it works. He cuts a tiny piece off of one of the leaves, but it never falls. He cuts off a bigger piece, and we can see with even more clarity how it reattaches.

Oh, I don't like that at all. I don't like the look on his face when it finally works, I don't like that my blood has the potential to hurt people so badly.

I have to convince him not to try eating the plant by reminding him that it's too big to eat all at once and that something inside you trying to reattach to something outside you can only have negative consequences.

He lights the plant on fire, and it burns endlessly. That's pretty cool, but I'm worried the fumes will hurt someone, so while he's asleep I put it out and bring it into my void. I've never been able to do that with something living before, but I guess since I can go in my void it makes sense that something so made of me can go in there too.

He's furious, but there's not much he can do. He can't even land a blow on me, with my ability to teleport.

He's not a very nice person. I like that, I think. It won't hurt so bad when he dies, and I still get some company for the next few decades.

A few weeks later, he drinks a vial of some kind of poison in front of me and says that it'll be my fault if he dies because I don't give him a transfusion of my blood.

"You fucking idiot." I tell him. "Did you not notice that the pieces we cut off the plant before it became immortal never grew back?? Even if I was willing to make you immortal, chances are you'd be immortal and constantly experiencing the effects of being poisoned."

He's already looking sick, so I don't think he faked drinking it.

"I can help you if you want. I'll give you some charcoal, or a more specific antidote if you tell me what that was." I'm trying to sound unbothered, but I really thought I'd get a few more decades out of this guy...

"I'll fight you the whole way." He says. "And if you manage to save me, I'll just do it again until you make me immortal."

And then he collapses and vomits all over himself.

"I was just a tool to you this whole time..." I knew that, and he was just a tool to me too, so why does seeing him curled up on the floor in pain hurt? Why do I want to fix it even though I know he'll just keep trying anyway?

I should just leave. He's a nasty person trying to manipulate me using a suicide attempt and he deserves to die alone. But I don't leave.

I sit beside him and stroke his hair and tell him that I will miss him, that he was my only friend for a while, that I wish he could've been smart enough not to do this, not to seek out immortality.

I tell him all about how much immortality sucks as he dies. I tell him how lucky he is, how he'd be in this much pain forever if he was immortal. I tell him about all the people I've loved and watched die, I tell him about the loneliness and the boredom of being immortal, I tell him about how I've used poisons like that on myself before just to feel something for a few minutes. Forty-five minutes after he drinks the poison, his heart stops beating.

I go into my void and cry.

[thecouncilofidiots]

I fucking hate having sensitive skin

We ran out of our usual body wash and had to use a different one until we can buy our usual type

And of fucking course

Our overreactive flesh started breaking out in itchy, red, bumpy rash(?)es

It fucking hurts

Slathered up in lotion (mild, non-scented, milk based, of course) because otherwise we'd scratch until we break skin, and the surface area (our entire fucking body) is too large for the medicated ointments/creams

Winter time is rough on us anyways (the cold+dryness fucks our skin up- questioned having eczema tbh), we do/did not need this :(

[mommysbluntlittleinstrument]

Watching the Supernatural season 13 finale rn and Jack’s meltdown is so accurate to my autistic experience. The guilt he feels for hurting others manifesting in explosive emotions and self harm is exactly how I behaved as a child/teen. it’s so crazy for me to see that depicted on this god forsaken show but I love it and I love him so much <3

[defective-automaton]

Minors DNI. Please

nsfw vent ig. Idk

Feeling su!cidal but no distractions working so i resort to both my ig "main" coping mechanisms and m@sterbat3 to try to feel good and not think then immediately after finishing, just grabbing my blade to cvt. Now I just feel broken that, that's how I deal with emotions. I think it's reaching a point where me being su!cidal and me being h0rny happen almost simultaneously and now I'm just throwing cvutting in there too bc why not i guess. Maybe next time I'll cvt during and hate myself after. Who knows. Already had a knife k!ink before that didn't involve blood. Maybe it'll evolve to not minding blood. Just absolutely fucking love feeling like a mentally fucked up slvt. Yippee

[carmenlire]

this morning i read a little and tuned into jin's listening party for a bit. I got ready with care and then went to therapy, got my nails done, went for a walk (it's 75 and sunny today!) and then got takeout (vegan tacos) and ate it in the town square.

and all i could think about was that 9 years ago, I wanted This Morning so bad. I've been feeling low for days but today I felt good, at least better. But no matter how low i've been, i have never fallen to the depths i was in autumn 2015.

I always reread my journal from then on Halloween and it was difficult to get through this evening. I still don't recognize her; i wanted to shy away from some of the things she (I) wrote. 21 year old me couldn't imagine living to 30. she didn't want to live. Most of her didn't think she'd make it to her college graduation (which would take place december 2015).

This morning, it was warm and the sun was shining. I enjoyed a walk and good food and I got to just exist. I was happy and more than that, I was at peace. I've dealt with depression for one-third of my life at this point and I know the low periods will always cycle around. It doesn't make it easier when I'm in the thick of it-- when I have those intrusive thoughts, when I have no energy, when just the thought of putting on a convincing visage of personhood is the most exhausting ordeal in the world.

But I also know I can feel better. That I will. That I will find those small spots of joy, that I will be happy again and that, at the end of every day, I am so glad that I am alive.

Because that's what I felt today. I am glad 21 year old me kept living so that 30 year old me could buy overpriced tacos and a $10 juice and sit in the sun before work. So that me now could listen to the same songs 21 year old me listened to when I was achingly close to suicide, and hear the hope and nostalgia in the songs now. So that when the new txt album comes out monday, I can listen to it and be happy and joyful and lose myself in a new love that i never would have had a chance to learn if i had ended it all in 2015.

Happy 9 years to Me.

I don't think about it as often these days, but I am proud of me. Even though I am in therapy now and have been for a few years, I am better than I was in 2021. I am so much better than I was in 2015. I continue to learn and grow and while life can be cyclical, I've made peace with that. and with the knowledge that every day can be another chance.

I'm just rambling at this point but I can't believe next year will be 10 years. I had the thought that I should get a tattoo in that spot next year. I have no idea what i'd get but I suppose I have a year to think about it.