#tw previous suicidal ideation and attempt

[edith-is-a-cat]

Fuck.

I wish I could help.

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Worship of a Sacrificial Lamb.

Pairing: ???!Gojo Satoru x Yandere!Reader (JJK).

Word Count: 8.0k.

Commissioned by the very lovely @elsecrytt.

TW: Fem!Reader, Non/Con, Dub/Con, Nonconsensual Drug Use, Kidnapping + Prolonged Captivity, Physical + Psychological Abuse, Wildly Unhealthy Relationship Dynamics, Codependency, Suicidal Ideation, Mentions of Previous Suicide Attempts, and Blood. Gojo's Not The Yandere But He Sure As Hell Isn't Normal Either. Dead Dove: Do Not Eat.

You were sure, beyond the point of reason, that Gojo Satoru was an angel.

A guardian angel, actually. Maybe even your guardian angel, if you were going to let yourself be so sickeningly romantic. Even if you were going to hold yourself to some kind of distorted rationality, you weren’t sure how anyone could ever so much as look at him and not see an act of irrefutable divine intervention. He had the body of a marble sculpture – as if some great, ancient master of their art had taken decades aside to carve the embodiment of all things good and beautiful  – and a face any model would’ve killed for. His hair was the most brilliant shade of white you’d ever seem, purer than cloud and softer than velvet, and there was a special place in your heart reserved entirely for his lips – pretty and pale and so lovely that if you ever got the chance to kiss him, you weren’t sure you’d be able to stop.

Of course, his eyes were your favorite. Not that it was easy to pick a favorite part of Satoru – no, you’d spent long hours deliberating over the perfectly straight arch of his jawline and the slightly crooked bridge of his nose, the gentle slope of his shoulders and harsh angles of his hands – but if you absolutely had to, you’d say his eyes were the part of him you spent the most time thinking about, that you adored above all else, that would’ve wanted to keep for yourself if you couldn’t have Satoru as whole. The color of the sky and twice as clear, you could still remember the way they’d seemed to glow in the dim light of the deserted street where you’d first met, the way your heart broke just a little every time he blinked or fluttered those perfect snow-white eyelashes. If you could’ve, you would’ve liked to keep a spare set in a small glass jar – something clear and sturdy that you could carry with you whenever you didn’t have access to the real thi—

“...ma’am?” And then, leaning forward, flashing a perfect smile and snapping his perfect fingers, “I think I might’ve lost you, there.”

You perked up, nodding frantically before thinking better of it and, with a sheepish smile, shaking your head. “I’m sorry, I—” You paused, clearing your throat and taking a sip of your coffee before going on. “I’m just having a little trouble concentrating. You can keep going.”

That was enough to earn a breath of a laugh from your perfect Satoru, and immediately, you fell in love with him all over again. He mirrored you, taking a sip of his own drink (some awful, adorable type of frozen hot chocolate served half-drowned in whip-cream) before responding, his melodic voice akin to birdsong and rainfall and every other delicate, beautiful thing in the world. “I know it can be a lot to take in. For someone in your situation, especially.” What that situation was, you weren’t entirely sure. Still, you nodded and smiled like he’d said the most comprehensible thing you’d ever heard. “Just try to stay with me. I promise – curses are a lot less scary when you know what they are.”

His head lulled to the side, his perfect eyes lulling into something softened and dream-like, and just like that, he’d lost you again. It was unfair, honestly. He’d been the one to invite you, scrawling down his name and phone number on a scrap of paper with the excuse that he owed you an explanation, but you’d picked out your meeting spot (a café on the edge of business district, somewhere he’d never go on his own but that suited his preference to a T), made sure you arrived half an hour early to claim a table in the most secluded corner and order a drink you knew he’d like just in time for his to be fifteen minutes late. You were lucky, really. Anyone else would’ve noticed your starry-eyed gaze and giddy smiles and figured out that there was something deeply, deeply wrong with you, but not your Satoru. He was probably used to hero-worship, even if the thought of anyone else sharing the same connection with him that you did was enough to make you grit your teeth.

Now wasn’t the time for that, though. You pulled yourself out of your thoughts as the corner of his lips quirked downward – the closest thing to a proper frown you’d ever seen him wear. Whatever he might’ve gone on to say about wizards and invisible monsters was lost entirely as he trailed off, his eyes darting to either side behind the dark lenses of his glasses. “Sorry, ma’am, I think I—” With an uncharacteristic clumsiness, he pushed himself to his feet, nearly tipping over his chair. In your peripheral, you watched for concerned samaritans and curious onlookers, but came up empty. That was good. That made sense. It was a busy coffee shop during the late-morning rush on a weekday – who’d ever think to pay attention to the couple in the far corner? Even half of that couple was a deity in the flesh. “I think I need a second.”

It was smart of him – to make such a hasty retreat. He barely waited for you to give one final, enthusiastic nod before cutting through the crowd and disappearing into a unisex bathroom.

It was smart, but it would’ve been smarter to run somewhere you couldn’t follow.

Saliva pooled under your tongue, your fingers drumming erratic and involuntary rhythms into the table, but while Satoru might’ve been an angel, you had the patience of a saint. You counted down the seconds, nursing your coffee and occasionally checking your phone, until three minutes had passed, only getting up when you were sure you would’ve been seen waiting. Rather than moving towards the exit, you positioned yourself at the edge of the counter, flagging down the youngest barista – a mousey girl in her late teens, with an expression that said she’d do anything to be helpful and a shrunken quality that told you she’d do even more not to get in trouble. “I’m so, so, so sorry to bother you, but—It’s my boyfriend,” you started, wringing your hands together and keeping your eyes on the floor. There was a sick thrill that came with calling Satoru your boyfriend, even if it wasn’t true, but you were careful to keep your tone strictly apologetic. “He’s, uh—He’s got a thing about crowds, and he’s kind of having an episode. Is there any way I could get him out of here without making a scene?”

There was – an employee exit just next to the door to the storage room, one that opened up directly into a back alley that would’ve kept a comfortable distance between you and the main road. Her eyes lit up, but she made a show of looking concerned, of glancing to her smothered coworkers, before looking back to you. “Well, we’re not supposed to let customers—”

“Please?” You tried, and then, with a type of cloying desperation, “It’s kind of an emergency. He just really needs to get outside.”

It took a second, then another, but finally, she cracked with a muted sigh. “There is a backdoor – past the bathrooms and to your left. I… I have to ask my manager, but I should be able to leave it unlocked.”

You didn’t have to fake your gratitude. You bowed your head, mumbling ecstatic little ‘thank you, thank you, thank you’s as you turned on your heel and moved towards the restroom. You’d been prepared to pick the lock, but Satoru must’ve been more affected than you realized – he was already so out of it, he’d left the door open. You could only be thankful no one else had seen come in. You couldn’t imagine there was anyone in the world who could resist taking advantage of someone as wonderful as Satoru in such a vulnerable state.

Grinning to yourself, you shouldered the door open and stepped inside, shutting and locking it behind you.

Satoru didn’t make himself heard to find. He’d collapsed onto the faux-marble vanity, his feet still on the ground but his back braced against the mirror, one hand clamped around the side of the sick while the other struggled to form one of the strange, distorted symbols he’d used the night you met him. His half-lidded eyes widened when he saw you, his mouth falling open, but he didn’t move, didn’t make a sound. You couldn’t blame him. The sedative you’d used was strong enough to put a grown man under with a single dose, and you’d given Satoru enough to put a horse into a coma.

“Hey, pretty boy.” You took a tentative step forward, and when he didn’t react, another. His fingers twitched, but whatever he was trying to do was forgotten as soon as you took him by the hand, intertwining your fingers with his. “It’s not that bad, is it? You should just be a little tired.”

Again, predictably, there was no response. His perfect lips opened wider before sealing into an acute, adorable pout, and you drank in the sight like a man starved.

Cooing, you leaned in closer – placing your body in the space between his open legs and squeezing his hand before letting go entirely. Rather, you cupped his face, admiring the pink flush spread across his pale cheeks, the glossy sheen over those beautiful eyes. Suddenly, it was too much to take, and you jolting forward; your mouth crashing into his and your tongue pushing past his lips, his teeth. His taste was euphoric – caramel and cream and everything good and sweet and divine – but you didn’t give yourself long to savor it before you pulled away, dropping to your knees. You hadn’t meant to move this quickly, but you loved Satoru. You worshiped Satoru.

And no real acolyte would ever refuse to kneel in front of their sacred alter, if given the chance.

Disappointingly but unsurprisingly, he wasn’t hard. You let his jeans and boxers (the latter patterned with pure-white bunnies – cute) pool at his ankles as you wrapped a fist around his cock, pressing a kiss into the curve of his shaft. Like every other part of him, his dick was perfect – long and lean, with a slight left-leaning tilt and a few thin, ridged veins that you dragged you tongue over before taking the head into your mouth properly. Admittedly, it’d been a while since your last hook-up (and even longer since you’d cared enough about another person to put any more than a passable amount of effort in), but everything about Satoru seemed to come naturally to you. His reactions were limited to a vacant stare and the occasional, breathy noise, but soon enough, you felt him stiffen against the flat of your tongue, filling out your fist where you pumped lazily over his shaft. If it’d been anyone else, you might’ve been disappointed at just how quickly he went from soft to stiff to leaking thick beads of arousal, but not with your Satoru. Of course he was sensitive. Angels were supposed to be delicate.

Using one hand to brace yourself against his thigh, you reached up with the other and found his hand, still hanging dully where you’d left it. It was a bit of an odd position – trying to hold his hand while bobbing your head and doing your best not to choke on his cock – but you made it work. It wasn’t long before those little, breathy noises built into cracked whimpers and airy whines, before you could feel him twitching against the roof of his mouth. It was hard to see, given the angle, but when you thought to look, you could make out tears forming in the corners of his eyes, something new knit into his expression. It wasn’t quite distress – or, at least, not the kind of distress you’d been expecting – but you didn’t recognize it. That didn’t really matter, though, not if you were being honest with yourself.

It was coming from your Satoru, and that was enough to make it beautiful.

You moaned around him, and a pitchy keen slipped past his numb lips, his grip going vice-like where he held your hand. You swallowed him down to the hilt as he came, determined not to waste a drop of what you’d fought so hard for, before pulling back, a string of saliva connecting your bottom lip to his cock for a lingering second, then another before that connection snapped and severed you from him completely. Suppressing the urge to mourn its loss, you pushed yourself to your feet and pulled him close – pressing a kiss into his neck, then his jaw, then the corner of his lips. “Such a good boy,” you purred, nuzzling into the crook of his neck. “My good boy. My perfect little angel.”

This time, Satoru did react – slumping against you even as his hand remained braced around yours. You took him by the shoulders, leaning back just far enough to see his eyes lull, blink, then shut entirely. He wasn’t unconscious - you could see a certain stiffness to his shoulder, a rigidity to his posture – but it was clear that you’d worn him out. You smiled, shaking your head as you raked your fingers through his hair and laughing as you found it just as soft as you’d imagined. “Think it’s time to go home, ‘toru?”

Rather than pull away from you, he seemed to melt even further. It was barely more than a whisper, but you made it out as clear as day. “…home?”

“Yes, angel,” you laughed, pressing your lips against his forehead.

“Home.”

~

He was asleep by the time you reached your car, and thoroughly knocked out by the time you got back to your townhouse – a modest machiya in a neighborhood that valued its privacy. Admittedly, carrying a man twice your height with triple your weight in muscle could’ve gone better, but you managed. There was a short list of things you couldn’t do for Satoru.

The sedatives had already proved less effective than you’d been promised, but still, you had plenty of time to get him into his bedroom, lock the titanium collar around his neck, and most importantly, change his clothes. You’d already picked out a new wardrobe for him – all whites and creams and soft pastels, nothing as harsh as the restrictive, black uniform he usually wore. Not that Satoru didn’t look good in black; you were sure he’d look breath-taking in anything! Even if he decided to wear, you didn’t know, an all-leather body suit, you were sure he’d—

…

You’d have to look into ordering a custom set. Preferably in white, but you’d settle for blue, if you had to.

You’d also made sure his room suited him, too. After making sure you had the bare necessities (deadbolts, bars over the windows, etc.), you might’ve gone a little overboard. You wanted Satoru to feel comfortable, so you made sure to work-in a few of the cute, soft things that reminded you of him – string lights and stuffed animals and plush blankets all the same color as his hair. You knew he was prone to migraines, but you couldn’t stand the idea of letting him put anything between you and those beautiful eyes, so you compromised with permanently low lighting and heavy curtains over his singular window. Entertainment might be an issue, since you obviously couldn’t give him anything with an internet connection, but—

You heard Satoru stir, and immediately, every logistic thought you might’ve had died and fell away. You’d planned to keep your distance while he woke up, but in an instant, you were perched on the side of his bed, your gaze fixed on his lax expression as he slowly woke up.

It was surprisingly peaceful – his slow trek back into consciousness. Long seconds passed between the first awkward stagger in the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest and the moment he actually opened his eyes, still glassy and unfocused with exhaustion. You didn’t rush him. It was all you could do to watch as he sucked in a harsh breath and pulled himself up, only to collapse against the headboard just as quickly. A hand drifted to his shirt, fisting at the alien material, then to the collar around his neck. He didn’t try to take it off, which was good. You didn’t want to have to resort to something so ugly so early on.

Finally, he seemed to perk up – glancing around his new bedroom, as if evaluating it. When he turned to you, you smiled, and Satoru remained blank.

You broke the silence. “Welcome home, ‘toru.” You swallowed back the temptation to tell him how happy you were to finally have him here, how long you’d been waiting for this moment, instead centering your attention on his needs. “Do you want something to drink? You shouldn’t eat so soon, but you were out for a while. It seemed like you could use a little rest.”

A beat passed, but eventually, Satoru shook his head – as polite as could be expected, given the circumstances. “…you’re the one who kidnapped me?”

“Mhm.”

“And you’re not a curse-user? Or working for the higher-ups?”

More made-up words. You decided to let him have his fun. “No, I’m not.”

“Why, then?”

Your smile widened. You’d been hoping he would ask. “You’re not dumb, Satoru. The day you found me—” Or, rather, the day you’d found yourself in his arms, barefoot and shaking, caught by a divinely beautiful stranger after taking a long fall off of a short building. The day you’d fallen in love with him. The most important day of your life. “I’m sure you know that no one actually pushed me.”

And, even if he didn’t, it couldn’t be hard to believe. There were only so many reasons a salary-worker would be on the roof of their office building in the middle the night, only so many reasons you would’ve left your heels and your coat on the same ledge you’d eventually topple off of. He’d been kind enough to get them for you, as you sat sobbing into your hands on the curb. He only pursed his lips, though, his eyes remaining perfectly lifeless. You took that as a sign to go on.

“My job is—” Terrible. Pointless. Soul-sucking. It paid well, and nothing you did was particularly hard, but the constant overtime and mindless pencil-pushing meant you had very little time for yourself and even less to show for it – besides the paycheck, of course. You couldn’t even say you hated it. You’d just been so ready for something, anything else, and it’d worked, in a way. You’d gotten Satoru. “—pretty boring. I’ve never really liked spending time with other people, and I’m not particularly good at anything aside from busy-work, so I really didn’t have a reason to stick around. But, then you saved me, and you were so kind, and so heroic, and I—”

You shut your eyes, curling your hands into fists. Not unlike a schoolgirl, too embarrassed to confess properly. “I love you, Satoru.”

There was no response, not at first. Internally, you panicked – what if he didn’t feel the same way? What if he didn’t realize that this was for the best? What if he’d rather die than—

“You…” His tone was light, airy, only the slightest traces of shock shining through. As if he didn’t believe you. “You love me?”

“More than anything.” And, just like that, you were spilling open. “I—I thought it’d be enough to keep an eye on you from a distance, for a while, but after a few days – after seeing how much you worked and how little you slept and how terribly you took care of yourself – I knew I had to do something. I couldn’t live without you, and, well,” You cut yourself off with a sudden laugh, only a little forced. “You couldn’t have gone on much longer if I hadn’t stopped in. Not like that.”

For a second, he seemed to regard you. It was strange, how hollow he seemed compared to how vibrant he’d been every time he’d spoken to you previously, but you didn’t mind. Not all gods could be cheerful ones. Even divinity had to be morose, from time to time.

Still, your racing heart beat a little faster when the corner of his mouth twitched into a slight, cocked smile. He didn’t say anything, but he shifted, reached out, tentatively resting a hand on your knee before bringing it up to your thigh, then your hip. After waiting for you to nod (which you did, eagerly), he pulled you closer – into his lap. You managed to keep your guard up for all of three seconds before he collapsed onto you entirely, burying his face in the crook of your neck. You melted against him with just as much pathetic desperation, grateful beyond words to have the distance between you finally closed. “Do you really mean that?”

“And then some. When you reached out to me, my heart almost burst with happiness. It was hard to believe you even remembered that I existed.” You nestled against him. “I meant what I said about wanting to take care of you, too. You shouldn’t have to worry about yourself ever again, not after everything you did for me.”

There was more, of course. Rules to go over, punishments to warn against, specifics to lay out, but he wasn’t fighting back, or trying to escape, and he was tucked so sweetly against you – it would’ve been a shame to move, let alone start listing off threats. Thankfully, tragically, Satoru ripped the band-aid off first. Slowly, he lifted his head, drawing back just far enough to dart back in for a clumsy, lip-bruising kiss. You’d already, technically, stolen his first, but there was a difference between kissing his limp body and feeling his lips move sloppily against yours. It was a fragile, immature connection – all scraping teeth and kneading hands and Satoru’s little, throaty moans, but you didn’t dare break it off until your lungs ached. Even then, you held him as close as you could as his hands fell to your waist, a thumb slipping under the waistband of your skirt and—

“Down boy,” you laughed, and Satoru glanced up, pouting. “It’s not that I don’t want to, but not so soon. You’re still in shock, and I don’t want to take advantage of you.”

The impulse blowjob a few hours prior felt unnecessary to mention.

Satoru seemed conflicted. He was still in that sort of blank, softened state, but he let out a whine by way of protest. It was all you could do to sigh, kissing his forehead before going on. “Later on, ‘toru. After I’m sure that you can be trusted to behave.”

It wasn’t that you didn’t want to make love (‘fuck’ felt to crude, ‘sex’ too clinical; making love wasn’t perfect, but it was what you had) to Satoru. You would’ve done anything to take care of him, anything to keep him happy, but there’d always been a gap in your mind when it came to your own pleasure – an instinct that urged against expecting your love to be requited. As far as you could guess, it would come with time – after you’d started thinking of him as less of an angel and more of something able to love you back. The delay was for the best, really. Intimacy would make you vulnerable, exploitable. You needed to show Satoru how strong, how strict you could be, first.

“That sucks.” It was almost endearingly childish, just how shamelessly he sulked. It took a few more pecks and another minute or so of coddling before he sighed. “You can keep kissing me though, right?”

“Of course,” you said, automatically. It was a dangerous promise to make, with plenty of chances for unwanted escalation, but you never would’ve been able to say ‘no’ to Satoru – not so directly, at least. Not when he was looking at you with those beautiful, pitiful eyes.

“Anything for you.”

~

“So when are you going to use the collar?”

The question was posed casually, unprompted and unrushed. Still, you paused, humming as you glanced over to Satoru. He’d gotten more talkative in the two or three weeks since you brought him home, but he still seemed caught in that quiet, liquid haze of tranquility – all easy smiles and half-lidded eyes and slow, sloppy kisses from the moment you came home to the second you had to leave. He seemed to be enjoying himself, spending his time basking in your affection and letting you take care of him, and that made you happy. All you’d ever wanted was for him to be safe and looked after, and he was. You could make sure of that, now.

(Admittedly, there was a small, negligible part of that had expected there to be some resistance – a hissy fit, a muted protest, something aggressive and combative that wouldn’t be calmed with a few kind words and a gentle touch – and mourned the fact that Satoru was taking this all so well. It wasn’t that you wanted him to hate you, but you’d always struggled to trust what came to you easily. If you had to work for Satoru’s love, you could be sure that you’d earned it. If you had to smother him into submission, you wouldn’t have to wonder if he was only lulling you into a false sense of security before stealing away all the tools you used to keep him safe. You tried not to be so pessimistic – outwardly, at least.)

“I won’t have to, preferably.” Pulling a towel off of the nearest rack, you bent down to his height and started to ruffle his hair dry. He shut his eyes, but didn’t try to stop you. Currently, he was sitting on the wall of your bathtub, only partially dressed in a pair of tan sweatpants while you finished drying his hair. You could shower alone before work in the morning, but Satoru needed more care. He needed to be treated like something precious, and he’d already proved that you couldn’t trust him with such an important responsibility. “It’s kind of a last resort. It should only go off if you try to leave.” And then, as you burrowed your nails into the towel., “Is that… Is that something you’re going to do, ‘toru?”

“Never. You keep me too good n’ spoiled.” He flashed you a lazy grin, and just like that, you were looking away, biting down on your tongue, trying to coax your heart back into beating at a steady rhythm. You pretended to be busy rummaging through the nearest drawer for a brush, but Satoru only laughed. His next question was just as probing. “It came with a remote, though, right?”

“…like I said, it’s a last resort,” you repeated, too flustered to lie. “I don’t want to hurt you. Unless you tried to escape or attacked me, I really can’t see myself doing anything so—” Blasphemous. Unforgivable. Sinful. “—harsh.”

“I wouldn’t mind.” Like always, he was a little too quick, a little too willing. You bit back a scowl. “I just think it could be romantic, y’know?  I’d get to see how much you’re willing to do for me, or something like that.”

You forced a bark of a laugh. “There’s nothing romantic about me hurting you, baby. ‘specially not if I’m only doing it because you acted out.”

“I promise, I’m tougher than I look.” Another smile, even more dazzling than the first. Again, you felt your head start to speed up, only to stop beating entirely the second he went on. “I used to have this friend – Suguru – and he’d—”

Your hand was in your pocket before you had time to stop yourself, the plastic remote clenched in your fist before you had time to think. You’d never read the manual, never thought you’d have to use it, but that didn’t matter. There was only one button, and it only did one thing.

Satoru’s voice cut out as the current picked-up, pumping the maximum voltage into his throat. Satoru didn’t scream, didn’t thrash, but he reacted – going rigid as his beautiful eyes went painfully wide. The whole thing was silent save for a low, almost inaudible buzzing-type sound, and you kept your thumb pressed into the singular button for a second, then another, before forcing yourself to let go. Even that was more difficult than it should’ve been. You couldn’t stand the idea of hurting him, but…

Fuck. You would’ve done anything not to hear Satoru say his name ever again.

To his credit, Satoru didn’t collapse. When it was over, he only buckled forward – catching himself on his thighs as he dragged in a jolting, ragged breath. You were on your knees in front of him in a second, his face in your hands and your mouth on his cheek, his forehead, his neck, as if you could kiss away the pain. “I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry,” you chanted, each word less coherent than the last. “It’s just—I’ve read about him in your diaries, and I should’ve known you’d bring him up, and—”

“I love you.”

You went quiet.

You tried to pull away from him, but his arms lashed out; wrapping around your midriff and pulling you closer – burying his face in the dip of your shoulder, the crook of your neck. Again, he repeated, “I love you.”

For a second, you thought about pulling away, about sending him back to his room while you pulled yourself together. For a second, you considered reaching for your remote, again.

Then, you settled against him, shutting your eyes and resting your head against his chest.

“I love you too, Satoru.”

~

Admittedly, Satoru’s apartment was the closest thing you had to a guilty pleasure. The first time you’d broken in, you were still on the fence about just how much he needed your help, but by the third, or the fourth, or the fifth, you’d already made up your mind about bringing him home. You’d only visited a handful of times since, but it was nice to stop in every now-and-then, to remind yourself there were two distinct eras of Satoru’s life – prior to the day he’d met you, and post. Getting to spend a few minutes tucked into a space so essentially Satoru wasn’t something you were opposed to, either.

You made your way slowly through his former home – stepping over heaps of abandoned clothes and stopping to straighten forgotten piles of cluttered paperwork he would never be forced to re-visit. Satoru didn’t have any close friends or family who’d stop by uninvited, which meant every little detail was exactly how Satoru would’ve left it. The fridge was still empty, the freezer stocked with frozen, pre-packaged desserts; the walls were still empty and drab, utterly devoid of life; and best of all, his bed still smelled exactly like him. It was a silly thing to be so excited about, especially when you had the source waiting for you at home, but you collapsed onto the mattress without hesitation, shutting your eyes and basking in the evidence of just how hopeless he’d been, before you had a chance to—

Clipped footsteps, followed shortly by the sound of the bedroom door being pushed open. You bolted upward, your pocket knife (because self-defense was important when you treated breaking-and-entering like a hobby) in your hand in a fraction of a second, but the intruder didn’t seem quite so concerned.

It was a woman – deathly pale and worryingly gaunt, just a little too short to be considered average. She regarded you with a cold stare before nodding by way of greeting. “I’m guessing you’re Satoru’s girlfriend?”

The irritation that came with hearing someone else use his given name was immediately overshadowed by pure, euphoric delight. Smiling like an idiot, you asked, “He calls me his girlfriend?”

“Oh, I’m not going to repeat what he calls you.” Her gaze dropped to your knife, now little more than an afterthought. “You can drop the weapon,” she said, holding up a manila envelope stuffed to the point of bursting. “Just here to pick up his lesson plans. It’s been a pain in the ass – having to cover for him since you two started playing house.”

She sounded agitated, but only mildly so. A small, rational part of your mind urged you to linger on the mild irritation in her voice, the odd casualness in the way she spoke to you. She couldn’t have talked to Satoru recently, not the months he’d spent with you, but if she was concerned for his safety, she wasn’t concerned enough to bring up the issue now.

The vast, easily distracted majority could only chant girlfriend, girlfriend, girlfriend.

You opened your mouth, ready to ask if Satoru had talked about you often, if he’d ever mentioned your name, if she remembered word-for-word what he’d said about you, but she was already gone – muttering a curt goodbye and slamming the bedroom door behind her. By the time you could force yourself off of his bed, she’d disappeared entirely.

That day, you picked up roses as white as his hair and forget-me-nots as blue as his eyes on your way home. Just to remind Satoru how much you really loved him.

~

Satoru greeted you as soon as you got home, like he’d done every day since you gave him permission to roam freely. You didn’t call out, didn’t ring the bell, and yet, as soon as the door was closed and locked behind you, he was there; his arms wrapped around your waist and your body hauled against his. He held you in that bone-crushing embrace for a second, then another before lowering you back onto your feet. You clung to him for just a little longer before letting go.

He always seemed to be smiling, but tonight, he was beaming. He pulled you into an eager kiss, only to jerk back just as abruptly, too excited not to start talking while his lips were still pressed against yours. “Happy six-month anniversary,” he managed, quickly enough for the words to blend together. “I, uh—It’s not much, but I got you something. I thought it’d be cute to leave it in your office, but that might’ve been— I mean, I can bring it to you if—”

“Remember to breathe, ‘toru,” you cut in, laughing. He let his head lull to the side sheepishly, and you went on. “You got me something?”

“It’s not a lot,” he reiterated, still shy. “I’m sorry, I’m not really used to this. I wanted to have dinner ready when you came home, too, but I think it needs a few more minutes.”

It was hard to believe, sometimes – just how lucky you’d gotten. There were only so many human beings who could say they’d met an angel, and you got to come home to one every night.

“You’re perfect.” Satoru blushed, and you pulled him close, pecking the bridge of his nose just underneath the bar of his glasses. “Finish up. I’ll meet you back in the kitchen to tell you how much I love my gift.”

Reluctantly, you detached from Satoru, and made your way to the home office you’d all-but abandoned after bringing Satoru home. His present sat on the edge of your desk: a small mason jar, just the right size to sit in the palm of your hand, filled with water and finished off with a jet-black ribbon tied around the lid. Two spherical objects floated near the bottom. Even from a distance, you recognized them immediately.

Satoru’s eyes.

If you’d been holding the jar, you would’ve dropped it. They had to be fake, but they couldn’t be – replicas wouldn’t have been so bright, so organic, so perfect. He’d been wearing glasses, but you’d been able to see his eyes, and— and even if you couldn’t, it wasn’t like he’d be able to carve his own eyes out in the nine hours you spent away from him. Had there been blood on his clothes? You couldn’t remember, now. Was he hurt? Had you ever seen him hurt himself? He couldn’t have left, but—

You felt a pair of strong arms wrap around your midriff, drawing you against a broad chest. The metal of his collar pressed into the back of your head as he slotted himself against you. “You mentioned how much you like my eyes, once,” Satoru explained, the eagerness in his melodic voice now painful to listen to. “I… I thought you might want a couple spares. For when we can’t be together. And, after dinner, I thought we could finally…”

He trailed off, embarrassed. Still, what he wanted was clear.

For a long moment, you didn’t say anything.

Then, with a heavy exhale, you forced yourself to glance over your shoulder, facing Satoru with a smile. “Not tonight, ‘toru.” You’d never been thankful not to be able to see the clear blue of his eyes, before.

“But soon. I promise.”

~

You couldn’t find Satoru.

It was hard to believe, even as you hunched against the wall of his bedroom, your knees pulled into your chest and tears streaming uncontrollably from your eyes. You’d looked everywhere – torn apart every room in your house, overturned furniture, called his name until your throat ached – but he just—he wasn’t there. You’d checked the locks (still in-tact) and all the windows (decisively unbroken), but the only sign of him you’d managed to find was his collar – cold and abandoned, undone and left carefully on the foot of his bed. It would’ve been impossible for him to take off without the remote still sitting safely in your purse, the mechanism was strong enough to endure getting hit with a car, and yet, it was here, and he wasn’t.

God. You were so fucked.

The open collar sat on the floor next to you, your pocket knife immediately next to it. Satoru was gone. He’d left you, or been taken – it didn’t matter. Your life was over. He’d go to the police, and you’d be arrested, and you’d never get to see Satoru again. Even if he didn’t go to the police, he was never coming back. Either way, it was a death sentence.

You were never going to see Satoru again.

Half-consciously, your hand found your knife, fingers curling around the handle. For the first time in months, you remembered what your life was like prior to meeting Satoru. You remembered what you’d tried to do - what you would’ve done, if he hadn’t been there to save you.

You drew in a shaky breath, tightening your hold on your knife and raising it – first to your chest, and then thinking better of it, your throat. You weren’t very strong, but you weren’t very durable, either. If you were lucky, it’d only take a minute or so before—

“Baby?”

You stiffened, blotting out. For a moment, your mind went perfectly, euphorically blank.

When you came to, you weren’t pressed against the wall, but on your knees – straddling Satoru’s waist. The knife was still in your hand, but you couldn’t see the blade. It was buried in Satoru’s stomach to the hilt.

To his credit, he didn’t scream. His reaction was uncannily alike his response to the shock collar – wide eyes and parted lips, pain and shock only visible in the absence of his smile. Warm blood soaked through the fabric of his uniform jacket, washing over your hand, but you didn’t care. Only half-voluntary, you pulled the knife back and brought it down. You did it again, and again, and again, each motion repetitive and mechanical. You’d never killed anyone, before. It was unfair that the first had to be Satoru.

It was only when the blade of your knife met loose pulp rather than solid flesh that you paused, dropping your weapon entirely. Rather, your hands found his shoulders, your nails digging into his skin through tattered fabric and tearing. You let out a miserable sob as you clawed at his chest, trying aimlessly to dig to his heart. “You left,” you whined, like that would explain anything. “You were gone, and I couldn’t find you, and I thought I’d never see you again, and—” You cut yourself, gasping. “And you’re dying. Oh my god, Satoru, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

It never occurred to you to call an ambulance. Your body seemed to move on its own, clambering down just far enough to tear at the waistband of his pants, to free his cock. “’m just fine, princess,” he muttered, but you weren’t in a state to listen. With a frantic sort of desperation, you pumped your fist over his length, his blood serving as good-enough lubrication. Satoru let out a low groan – the noise impossible to read as pain or relief. “Even better, with such a pretty view.”

“Shut up, shut up, shut up.” Your fist wasn’t working. Too frantic to be graceful, you forced his cock past your lip and fucked the tip into the hollow of your cheek, doing your best to ignore how his natural bitter mixed with the near-overwhelming iron-tinge. That, at least, got you a reaction – another rough groan, his hand in your hair as his tip started to leak arousal and you felt his shaft stiffen against your hand. You almost choked on your own relief, but Satoru soothed you, his blunt nails scrapping over your scalp as he cooed. “Been waiting so long to see you like this…” He trailed off, laughed. You felt another jolt of fresh blood leak from the tattered flesh of his stomach. There was enough to pool on the floor below him, now. “’m sorry – did I say that already? Thought I could step out for a second before you got home, deal with a last-minute mission, but—” His voice hitched as you let out another sob around him. “—clearly, my pretty girl can’t be left alone for so long.”

You couldn’t understand why he was still talking. Every word hurt more than the last – like he was trying to make it that much harder for you to do the only thing you could. When you pulled away from him, it was only to let out a fractured cry, to bury your face in his thigh, muffling your voice until it was only a whisper above nothing. “You can’t leave me. If I don’t have—If you’re not here, then I can’t—”

“Hey, hey, don’t talk like that. I’m not going anywhere.” You felt the hand in your hair dip lower, cupping your cheek. Another caught you by the chin, tilting your head back, until you were staring at Satoru – blood-drenched and glorious, sitting up and smiling down at you. He shouldn’t have been moving, you shouldn’t have let him move, and yet, it was all you could to do jolt upward and throw yourself against his chest, your mouth latching instinctually onto his neck. You’d always been so careful not to bite, not to bruise, not to do anything that’d leave a mark and mar his perfection, but suddenly, your love felt less like an act of pure-hearted preservation and more like the desperate throes of a forsaken acolyte clinging to the blessings of a dying god. It was hard to worship divinity as something everlasting when your hands were stained in its blood.

 So you didn’t try to. You dug your teeth into the side of his throat without reservation, cautious only not to visit the same patch of skin twice. Satoru felt any pain, if he could feel anything after losing so much blood, his only reaction was an airy laugh and a shallow kiss to your temple as his hand found your hips, then your sides. You felt yourself leaving the ground long seconds before your processed that Satoru was lifting you up, and even then, your awareness was burdened by a numbing sort of confusion. You wanted to tell him not to move, not to breathe, to let you help. You wanted to find your knife.

In the end, though, you only strung your arms around his neck and let him lay you on his bed, the mattress dipping where he kneeled in the space between your open legs.

In a daze, you felt your skirt being slid up to your waist, your panties shoved aside and replaced by the soft warmth of Satoru’s mouth. Like always, he was adorably clumsy – the bridge of his nose grinding against your clit as his tongue lapped and traced over your pussy. His fingertips dug too harshly into your thighs, his tongue thrusting into you too erratically, his little whines and occasional whimper too pitchy to allow for any real reverberation, but your poor nerves were so fried and your heart was still beating so fast and it would’ve taken a miracle for you not to cum – moaning pathetically as you bucked into his mouth. You’d imagined this scenario before, pictured yourself showering him with praise as you taught him exactly how to make you cum on his pretty tongue, but this was too quick, too abrupt, too out of your control. You weren’t in a state to teach. If he learned something from this, you doubted it would be the right lesson.

You reached for him as he straightened his back, but Satoru caught your wrist, guiding your hand to his stomach. Rather than mangled flesh and exposed viscera, your palm pressed against perfect in-tact, perfectly seamless skin. Like he’d never been injured. Like he hadn’t been on the verge of death only a few minutes ago.

Like you’d never even touched him.

“See, baby? I already told you – I’m not going anywhere.” His smile was soft, his voice soothing, but he was distracted. With a fist curled around his shaft, he aligned the head of his cock with your entrance, heavy beads of his arousal drooling onto your cunt and down your slit. “You had me worried for a while, there.” This time, his eyes flickered up to meet yours. “I know what I’m good for. Thought you might get sick of me before I ever got a chance to prove it.”

It would’ve been impossible to tell if Satoru was still in pain, or if he was capable of feeling something so human at all. The hurt that sliced through your chest, though, was agonizing. “I would never do that, ‘toru.”

“I know. And I’m sorry, too – it’s unfair to keep comparing you to him.” He bowed his head, dipping low enough for the heat of his breath to ghost over the shell of your ear, when he went on. “You’re not getting away from me that easily.”

There was a shuddering inhale, a sudden pressure against your slit. He pushed into you slowly, less concerned with your comfort than he was savoring the feeling of your walls clenching around him, of your body inviting him deeper, closer. You held your breath, doing your best to memorize every curve and vein, to accommodate him even as his length threatened to split you open. It wasn’t painful, but even if had been, you wouldn’t have complained. This was what you were supposed to want. This was what you were supposed to do for Satoru.

You could only wonder, then, why it felt so cold.

It was only when hips pressed into yours and he was fully hilted inside of you that he picked himself up – a hand planted on either side of your head, a broad, careless smile plastered across his lips. You registered that his lips were moving a full moment before you recognized the sound of his voice, as angelic as it was unbearable.

“I love you.”

For the first time, you didn’t bother trying to say anything at all.

[autism-autobot]

LMK Angst Fic Part 5

Author's note: I think there need to be more platonic and friendship cuddling in media and in the world, so here we are. (Definitely not touch starved nope not me!)

Part 4:

It was around three in the morning in the celestial realm. Nezha had become accustomed to sleeping beside Sun Wukong every night and had even begun to enjoy it despite the reason why they started doing it. He had always thought of Wukong as a good friend and companion, which he didn't have very many of thanks to his workaholic attitude. Him and Wukong had even become quite comfortable with each other.

Nezha was aroace and Wukong still considered himself spoken for since his previous marriage had ended in death and not divorce. So it was as platonic as could be. However, they were both touch-starved and emotionally neglected as children, so there's that.

Wukong and Nezha had grown used to falling asleep snuggled up next to each other, with limbs tangled in weird form around each other. But neither of them were exactly still while they slept, so Nezha wasn't immediately concerned when he couldn't feel Wukong next to him when he flopped his arm around beside him to try and find the monkey he'd grown so close to.

Until he heard the whimpering.

That can't be good.

Nezha bolted upright in the bed. He searched the dark room for his friend's ginger-colored fur. He found it at the edge of the bed.

After clambering over to Wukong's side he gently and quietly asked:

Nezha: Wukong, are you awake? What's the matter?

SWK: *sobbing* I-it's my head! It's hurting! It hurts so bad! Please-

Nezha: Shhhhh, Wukong. It's alright. I'm here, it's okay. You'll be okay.

Nezha had become accustomed to Wukong's post-circlet migraines and various other symptoms of Wukong's traumas. It seemed as though even after Wukong had learned to cope with the physical damage done to him, his body had not, and was therefore having it's own posttraumatic episodes.

Nezha had found ways to sooth him luckily.

Nezha laid Wukong in his original position on his side of their shared bed and put an ice pack on his forehead. He then lit some incense and lightly wafted the fumes in Wukong's direction so he could smell it. That was more to soothe the monkey's panic than anything.

After laying back down beside Wukong, Nezha wrapped an arm around his chest.

Nezha: Are you comfortable enough?

SWK: I think so.....*gasps*

Nezha: Wukong what-

SWK: Hot flash. Don't worry, it's already over. Gosh, that felt bad.

Nezha: It will be alright my friend. I am here.

SWK: Thank you. For everything.

Nezha: No problem, I quite enjoy your company. I just wish you weren't in pain as often as you are.

SWK: You and me both.

~~~

They slept for a few more hours before getting up. Sun Wukong tended to be very weak during and after a migraine, as was the design of the circlet he once wore. Nezha helped him to the downstairs living room and set him up on the couch.

SWK: Ow.

Nezha: Sorry.

SWK: Nah, it's fine. I should be the one saying sorry to you.

Nezha: Whatever do you mean by that?

SWK: You're always having to help me out with stuff and getting me out of trouble.

Nezha: That is only half true. Besides, I do not mind taking care of you.

SWK: But don't you think of me as weak for needing help like this?

Nezha: No, not really. If I did, however, I'd be the world's biggest hypocrite.

SWK: What? How so?

Nezha went into the adjacent closet and pulled out a wheelchair, it was the active kind too, unlike the bulky ones you'd find in the hospital.

Nezha: I haven't told you this before, I probably should've by now but, I guess I share similar insecurities.

Nezha: I am disabled. I'm an ambulatory wheelchair user, meaning I can walk about easily at times, while others I cannot.

Nezha: That is also why I have my fire wheels, sash, and staff. They are mobility devices. Albeit they are a bit atypical.

SWK: Cool!

Nezha: Really? You think they're cool?

SWK: Well, yeah! I think that type of stuff is pretty interesting. I get why you wouldn't exactly want to show it off though.

Nezha: Thank you. Perhaps if you are ever needing some help after a migraine or other health complication, you can use one of my many wheelchairs! I hardly use most of them anymore, it's nice to have backups. Just in case.

SWK: Thanks for the offer. Maybe I'll give one a spin after I feel a little bit better. I still feel like my head will explode if I sit up.

Nezha: Alright then. I'll park this one next to you so you can have an easy transition when you are ready.

SWK: Thanks again.

Nezha: You are quite welcome.

Part 6:

Masterpost

[demise-seems-dead]

@askingkyborg's main here to being you another emo chip mini fic! Spoilers for 33-36 and SHHH i know it doesnt make sense timeline wise because they go straight to the vampspire from town but shut up no they dont

this will be posted on ao3 when i fix my account btws!!

also also heavilyly implied OCD chip because yes <3

TW: Suicidal actions, ideation, etc. also minor disordered eating talk.

‘Care to spar with me, mon ami?” Chip looks up from the campfire at that point, maybe for the first time all day. His eyes focused up on Mathilde, the bird's eyes glinting softly. Of course, if Chip was honest with himself, that was a flat out no. Chip wasn't in the mood for being tactical, which is normally his thing. The only thing he wanted was for everyone to leave him alone. His brain has been on autopilot for the past two days and all he's done is sleep, eat and walk.

Chip isn't dumb. He knows mathilde is just trying to get him to do something, but what's even the point any more?

“Sure. I’ll spar, but we both know I'll lose.” The forced smile on his face wavers a bit.

Chip stands up, popping his back with a deep crackle. He sighs gingerly, and unlatches his arm blade. He knows I'd be smarter to use his crossbow if mathilde is going to fly, but it's not like he was intending to win. Chip is not a bad fighter, of course. No, he's actually quite good. It's just hard to think about when your mind is static and ocean foam.

Absently he loosens his neck, one of his habits that never ceased to leave him from years of assassin work. He always seems to have a crick in his neck, but it’s not really surprising. Chip had found himself in and out of jails, hostage situations, and attempted murder more times than he could shake a stick at. His body was a wheat maze of scars and old wounds, of torture and strain. But it was all part of the job, or at least that's the half assed excuse he gave himself.

The other part of Chip's fight ritual was coming into his surroundings. He followed mathildes movements in the clearing with lidded eyes, focusing in on the world for the first time since-...

Mathilde was moving cockily, as they almost always do. Slowly and elegant, feathers smoothed and freshly preened, it looks like. Chip raises his heels up off the ground, eyes narrowing in, trying to get lighter on his feet. His own body is different, and he feels less familiar with it. He's lost weight recently- not having eaten in a few days- too sick to his stomach from the previous weeks to even think about it. It wasn't a lot, but his shouldie hung off him in a different way. It made him wish he still had his D.A.G.A.R suit for training. His hand smelt like wild onions, and the rest of him like ash. He's been lighting the campfires with his tiefling abilities lately, instead of using his boy scout training from his childhood. Using that fire always drained him, but he can't help but be glad it helps him pass out at night rather than lie awake. He needed to sleep, to sleep, to dream and fight it off for a while. It's been his only time of peace for quite some time.

A few more seconds till the battle begins, mathilde is counting down, but he doesn't dare let the sound get into his ears. You focus on your target and your target alone when you fight. He’ll read their beaks movements for days instead of breaking his focus if he needs to.

Chip repositions, moving his left side forward. Not only is it the hand he's got his armblade on, but it helps hide his weak spot- the crossbow wounds still healing from the previous night. Barney had given him some healing in between, but in the night he'd gently picked at it. The red stains have always calmed him down, and on himself no different. Red meant alive still, red was the enemy, but red meant weakened and ready to die. To embrace the people they miss… so…so…bad.

Mathilde moves, battle begins. He knows they're saying something snarky but he's too tuned out to regard it. He's watching and commanding from third person, and that's just how he wants it. Bob down, weave right. Mathilde lands a firm noncorporeal blow to his face, and he gasps out a little, breaking part of his concentration. A smooth trickle of blood drips from a now busted lip, and chip can't help but smile.

The chipper killer. That's what people used to call him, back in the day. Always had a smile when he killed, made jokes and jabs. This was basically the same, just less lethal. A laugh busts through chips teeth, and he smiles. Mathilde obviously looks a little shocked by his reaction. 

Chip plants his left foot, pressing all of his weight on his toes and not his heels to keep him flighty. He takes a slash with his arm blade. His eyes shut, but fly back open in seconds. Mathilde has a sting of blood dripping from the cut over his chest, red plumage soaking even redder. Chip laughs, and he sounds wild. A snarky insult comes to his lips but he presses it down.He can't cause hesitation, you hesitate you die. He needs to get his target. 

Chips' eyes are blurry, and he can hardly make out the figure in front of him. He's used to shots in the dark though. The blurriness backs up, and a sneer falls into his face. Kill. His ears flicker down a bit, and he moves forward. The kill drive of his nature was seizing him, hands steady and brain calculated. A stab at the shadows, voice howling in his own skull. “DIE!” 

Blood was splattered onto his hands, and it didn't matter whos it was. There's shouting all around him. He wants his target dead. He wants everything to die. He wants to die-

“CHIIIPPP!” a high pitched squeak breaks his brain, and the haze fades. The dark shadows reform, and suddenly he sees mathilde, blood dripping down their front and hands in front of their face, not in cowardice but in preparation for attack. An attack from him. 

Chips eyes shoot down at ellga, who was the one who snapped him out of it. His arm blade glistened in the draining sun, wet blood still on it. He looks up at mathilde, and the bird gives a sympathetic look at the absolute horror streaked across Chip's face.

“Mathilde i am so-’ “Don't be sorry, we were sparing, you just got a little into it is all. im fine, barney can heal me right up-”

“Already on it” the old man blurts, but looks at Chip with a spike of fear that makes the tiefling want to dry heave. 

“I-I-”

Chip runs a hand through his hair, unable to talk. He knew his killing nature was catching back up to him with carol dying, but now he's going back to how he was. 

Chip stumbles a little, back into ellga. He jumps forward and turns, pulling his hands all the way away. Sweat beads down in a streak off his chin.

‘IM- i- I'm gonna go forage-!” Chip announces with his most normal smile, his fakest smile, and turns on his heel. Mathilde makes a noise like they're going to talk, but just sighs, and it wills Chip into walking even faster in the opposite direction. He stumbles his way down the hill, moving away from the patch of grass they'd been at and into the main town of vania. He bumps into every person there, and several ask him if hes alright from the blood on his hands and his face. They don't know him, they don't know he's a monster. They don't know he's a friend hurter, or that he's the reason his wife is dead. They don't know anything, so Chip doesn't say anything. He just walks.

By the time the sun starts setting, Chip doesn't even know where he is. Vania isn't huge by any stretch of the imagination, but chip is already lost enough in his own mind to know where exactly he is in this unfamiliar place. After a while, he settles, tucked behind a building and hidden, breathing heavily.

He stares at the blood on his hands, and he twitches. Chip has never been a messy killer. Blood makes his hands itch, too wet then too dry. Dirty and disgusting. As much as he hates the smell of bleach, he always uses it for crime scenes. Blood was too dirty. Filthy, nasty, and wrong. He's been nervously rubbing his hands for hours, the blood mainly off, but still feeling like it's on there. He rubs some more at it, and curses under his breath.

He hurt his friend. 

He's a bad omen. An omen of death.

He's killed hundreds.

He's a bad person. An omen of death.

He's the reason his wife is dead.

He's a bad husband. An omen of death.

He's the real problem.

A monster. An omen of death. 

Why does he even bother being ALIVE? 

Chip sighs, running a hand through his hair and then wincing. Now that's contaminated too. Everything about him is dirty and wrong. Tears threaten his eyes, pushing into the corners and making a soft noise as they roll over his cheeks.Days of lapsing suicidal urges and injuries have snapped him into a terrible, terrible place.  Softly he presses his forehead onto his knees, feeling the cool scared up skin over his hot face.

He's not sure how long he rests but his dreams are uncomfortable. Swirling memories of killings past. Bad bad memories. They never bothered him before, but now he knows what it's like to lose somebody. Now he knows how much of a monster he really is. 

He's only ever startled awake by voices. Mushing noises of high and low pitches. He opened his eyes, and they flooded over with brightness. He stifled a groan, headache and ready airdropping into his skull and ears ringing like a kenku scream. His eyes focus, and he sees several balls of gleaming light, and his party in front of them. 

“What is tarnation…?” he grumbles, and the light speckles vanish, the sun's last entrails covered by mathilde spreading their wings. His eyes go up to his team mates who are staring at him with worry in their eyes. He winces distantly, feeling a spike of guilt as he sees mathildes feathers pushed out of place and puffed up. 

‘Oh.. uh… hey guys..” He rubs the back of his now sore neck.

“Chip crétin! Je devrais avoir ton visage pour ça, pourquoi diable m'enfuirais-tu comme ça, Ellga était inquiète, Barney était inquiet, j'étais inquiet d'avoir crié à haute voix ! Ce n'est pas si mal, je vais bien, c'est bien!” mathilde scolds in panicked sounding French, grabbing Chip by the collar of his hoodie and yanking him up.

 Ellga huffs. “Why’d you run off? It's fine! You two were having fun! It was a play fight. It's not real! Mathildes is not dead- well, they are, but it's unrelated!”

“I-” chip sighs heavily, shutting his eyes a bit. “You're right. Sorry. I guess…” chip searches for the words in his head, scrambling to think of what to say. Tiredness flushes over him in a wave, and he lets out a sigh, throwing his hands up. He lets his head embrace the wall behind him, and his horns click on it. 

‘I'm just.. I'm just so..so..tired.” he gives. “I didn't mean to hurtcha’ mathilde, I just got lost in my own head. Guess my…killer ways are catching up with me…” “Well you’d never intentionally hurt any of us. You told me coming into town that you're a good assassin.” Barney tries to encourage, but chips heart falls. “Yeah, well…is there really such a thing?I'm still a murderer” he chokes, and his body tingles with the feeling of blood splats from past kills all surging up and bubbling under his purple skin.

“Nonsense. Words are all made up, mon ami. One isn't worse than another. An assassin is a profession, and a murderer is apparently a death sentence to ‘za living. It dos’ant matt’ar! Those titles don't dictate who you a’hre, the people who love you do. And I say you're perfectly fine. We all do bad t’ings sometimes.” Chip sighs at mathildes word, ever wise in their later later years. “I suppose.” he says, not at all convinced. Ellga frowns, and it makes Chip want to bury his head in the vanian dirt. She turns to the alchemist, who Chip had almost forgotten about.

“Mr alchemist, do you have any cures for sadness?” “Not…quite, ellga, but i have somethings that may help, if chip here is willing.” The room pauses, and all eyes form onto Chip. “Awh, what da heck..?”

“Give me your arm blade.”

“What?” Chip stares at Robert like he's crazy. “Just hand it to me.” Chip sighs, and unties the arm band to it and tosses it over to the alchemist, who catches deftly. He looks at it for a moment, and then tucks it into his bag.

“How's that supposed to help? That's my best stealth weapon.'' Chip finds himself grumbling.

“Exactly. That way if you try to hurt yourself, you don't have anything silent to do it with.”

“Oh.” He momentarily wants to fight off the claim, but the arrow wounds in his foot and his lower neck burn with a shot of pain to remind him. 

“Okay.”

“Besides that-” Robert continues momentarily, digging around in his bag, tophat sliding down his head, “I've got a potion I want you to try. It should help.”

He extends out a vial filled with a shimmering blue liquid. Chip extends a gloved hand, and takes it. He removes the cap with a pop, and tips it back. He drains the liquid in a quick motion, and wipes the corner of his mouth.

“I don't feel any different. I just feel really tired and useless, mainly.” He says, and his head flinches back at his own words. Robert smiles, and taps the vile.

“Truth telling serum. Now you can't hide anything from us.” he pats his shoulder as he chuckles.

Chip goes to scold, but realises everything would get turned on its head when he says it. 

Mathilde snickers. "There isn't any way to heal depression with a potion, but now our too clever rogue cant hide anything from us.”

“You guys are my favourite people.” chip sighs, exasperatedly. Ellga squeezes his hand.

“Come on, let's go to the vampspire. Maybe seeing my home will cheer you up.”

“Yeah… maybe it will.”

[ikamigami]

Okay, so I need to clarify something.

Sun sounded slightly intoxicated. That's how people described it.

If VA made it more obvious then Moon would be even more concerned and he wouldn't let Sun get away with it. And let's be honest here, knowing the show it would be too easy if they made Sun to be heavily drunk cause it would get resolved way faster.

We saw that Sun throw away the bottle he was currently drinking from but like I said I think that Sun bought that subscription but changed the address so no one would get suspicious.

From previous episodes when Sun played CotL we can assume that alcohol was on his mind for quite some time. So I doubt that if Sun after tasting wine decided to drink a bottle a day that he'll stop doing it.

And if drinking is affecting Sun even in the slightest, it's not a good sign because it will definitely worsen his mood swings in the long run which would cause another psychotic episode.

TW: suicide (under the cut)

In addition I'm posting a link to sites (read them and tell me that there isn't a high possibilty that Sun has depressive psychosis, especially pay attention to when it's stated that patients with depressive psychosis most of the time don't report on their symptoms and suicidal ideations or plans or attempts):

https://tidsskriftet.no/en/2020/05/kronikk/can-we-save-more-lives

https://ebooks.uis.no/index.php/USPS/catalog/book/218

In my opinion the possibilty of Sun having depressive psychosis is really high.

[vanoincidence]

Do You Believe in Magic? || Van & Milo

TIMING: current LOCATION: sly slice. PARTIES: @escudofracturado & @vanoincidence SUMMARY: milo visits van at work and they have a conversation about magic. CONTENT: sibling death tw, parental death tw, suicidal ideation tw.

Since learning that Van worked there, Milo had been avoiding going to Sly Slice. After their disastrous initial meeting and the awkwardness at the party he had been invited to at her house, he hadn't been keen on the idea of running into the girl. However, after a bit of messaging back and forth, it seemed that things were kinda okay now? Maybe? At least, as okay as they could be when she knew that he knew that she had been involved in a murder. It was definitely kind of a weird vibe, but it was better than her being scared and pissed at him, and melting everything around her.

Also better? She seemed to be coming to terms with the fact that she had magic. Hopefully that meant she'd be up to learning and training soon, because it was clear that her magic had the potential to be incredibly dangerous. With power like hers, she needed to learn how to control it before… well, before she landed herself into a situation like the one that had destroyed Milo's life.

He slowed as her rolled up to the pizza spot, grabbing his board as he went. Upon entering, he quickly noticed a familiar face, and gave her an awkward little wave. “Hey.”

—

Van wasn’t sure why she had invited Milo to visit her at Sly Slice. She’d been so busy and stressed out with the expo that working at the actual shop was a means for relaxation, all things considered. She didn’t want to be afraid of everything, much less Milo. Nobody else seemed concerned with him, even if she still felt like she couldn’t trust him completely. 

Maybe there was something else the others knew that she didn’t. Honestly, she couldn’t be sure, and what was the point in recoiling from it? She’d already melted things in front of Nora, Cass, and Ariadne, among others. If she didn’t figure out what was going on, something like what happened with Diana might happen again, and Van didn’t want that to happen. 

So when the door opened, Van braced herself for the tension that came with the majority of their meetings (even those online), but there was something different now. Maybe it was acceptance on Van’s part. She raised a hand in greeting, a small smile pulling at the corners of her lips in an attempt to be friendly. 

The anxiety that usually bubbled up, creating an effect where she needed to clear her throat one too many times was absent, so at least that was good. “Hey. You just missed the lunch rush so uh, good… on you.” She clasped her hands together, not sure what else to say. Van looked over her shoulder towards the back window wondering if Jett would make a mistake that she’d need to fix. Rocky really needed to hire more people. 

“Do you um– want a slice? It’s on the house.” 

—

She smiled at him, which was definitely a new development. Maybe things were really starting to become okay? He wasn't sure, but this was a nice change of pace from their previous interactions, at least. He chuckled, his smile turning somewhat crooked, ”Right, thanks, I totally did that on purpose.”

The offer took him a little by surprise, but it seemed that they were both making an effort here, and that was something. ”Oh, I mean, if that's cool.“ Milo had been planning on getting a slice anyway, and he wasn’t one to say no to free food. And certainly not when it seemed like kind of a peace offering. Maybe?

”Are you still on the clock?“ He didn't want to get her in trouble or anything if her manager happened to be a hard ass or something. ”I can, like, fuck off for a bit if you are.“ Or just in general, honestly. He really didn't want her to feel nervous around him. He was just an idiot who spoke without thinking, his desperation making him do something as stupid as confront someone you had definitely just seen cover up a murder. Honestly, he was lucky she hadn't melted him, especially knowing now that she had no information or control over her abilities.

—

“Did you?” She didn’t realize he was kidding, so she quickly amended, “right, you totally did.” Van didn’t know where to look. At him, at the register, at her hands… she wanted to be polite, needed to be, considering he was one of the only people who knew what the fuck she was going through. He had mentioned something about himself being scared, too, but she wasn’t sure why. He’d known about his magic for quite some time now, whereas she was just being introduced to its world. 

“Yeah, no, totally cool. I get free slices, so like, it’s my lunch for you, but it’s not stale or anything.” She bit the inside of her cheek, and with a deep breath she turned around to the warming rack before grabbing a paper plate from the shelf. “Which kind did you want? I can grab you two. Um, we only have four kinds, but I think you knew that already…” 

At his question, she shrugged, “yeah, but it’s no big deal. Rocky doesn’t actually care if people come and hang out as long as I’m making sales.” This wasn’t a sale, but not that that mattered. 

—

He smiled at her, trying to push through the awkward energy surrounding the interaction. Milo wasn’t quite sure how to prove to her that he didn’t mean any harm to her or her friends– if there even was anything that he could do aside from just wading through it. Or rather, talking through it. He was good at that, at least. 

“Yeah, I came with Ariadne once,” he nodded. And then he’d avoided the shop because of their disastrous encounter. “Not to be the obnoxious New Yorker, but, like, I was surprised how good it was? There are a lotta places that don’t really hold up. And, like, pizza is pizza, and I will eat any of it, but never know what to expect in other places.” Mmmm… that was maybe too much talking. “But, uh, pepperoni, please?”

It was good to hear that her boss was chill, though. “Oh, that’s really cool. As long as I’m not gonna get you into any trouble– I know some managers have absolutely zero chill,” he grinned. “But you wanted to talk about stuff, right?” Milo looked around the shop, checking to see if there was anyone within earshot, but it seemed he had, indeed, missed the lunch rush, as there weren’t many people there. 

—

Obviously Milo knew Ariadne. That made sense. They’d all been at the same party, even if Ariadne had been more concerned with being close to Wynne. That was fine, though. Van could understand it, it was a new relationship, and if she ever let herself love again, then maybe she would have been the same way. She didn’t for-see that happening, though. 

Her mind wandered, as it always did, and she snapped back into the reality that was Milo standing across from her telling her what kind of pizza he preferred. “I’ve been to New York! The pizza is really good there.” She didn’t like to think about her summers in the city, all they brought were bad memories. “But Sly Slice is good, too. I think Rocky is from New York, that might be why.” She didn’t actually know if that were the truth or not.

She nodded at his requested and plated up two slices of pepperoni pizza before turning back to him. This was so weird. If this were a few months ago, Van would have gone running for the hills, desperate to evade the one who knew they killed Debbie. The one who knew she had magic. 

“Nah, no you’re not.” Maybe. Sometimes Rocky was cool, sometimes he was weird. She pushed the paper plate towards him across the counter before bundling up a few napkins and sliding those across, too. At his question, she tensed. That was why she had asked him here, he was right. 

She nodded slowly, wringing her hands together. She looked past him towards the door. “I know we.. um, we talked a little bit online about it, but…” Van took a deep breath before motioning towards a table nearest the register. If somebody came in, she could get up and easily go and assist them. 

Van took a seat, crossing her ankles together against one of the chair legs. She waited for Milo to sit down before she started speaking, trying to keep her composure, or what was left of it. 

“I… you remember what I did at the Common? That keeps happening, but like, a lot. I keep getting scared or upset or angry and it keeps happening and I don’t know how to make it stop. I want it to stop.” She paused, uncertain of how to proceed, “is… is there a way to get rid of it? Magic, I mean.” 

—

“Oh, cool! Were you, like, on a trip or something?” He assumed Rocky was the chef. Or maybe the owner. Both? Either way, he was grateful that there was a fellow New Yorker doing the lord’s work here. It would’ve been a bummer if the pizza here wasn’t good. “That makes sense,” Milo nodded. “Props to Rocky, then.”

Okay, that was good. The last thing he needed was to get Van in trouble just as they were trying to come to a truce. 

“Thanks.” He flashed her a smile, hoping his sincerity came through. 

Following her over to the nearby table, he sank into the seat across from her, taking a quick bite of his pizza while she gathered her thoughts. He most definitely remembered what she did at the Common– he hadn’t exactly been expecting her to make her lunchbox evaporate or turn a bird feeder into a pile of molten plastic. He hadn’t known what to expect, hadn’t even thought it through before opening his mouth. 

But this, he had expected. It was the same conversation that they’d been having online, after all. 

“I’m sorry,” he frowned. While he couldn’t entirely understand what Van was going through, he certainly empathized with feeling out of control and worried about what he was capable of– now more than ever. 

“It’s… scary, not being in control. Especially with that kind of power.” Everything he’d read and learned about elemental magic was that it was difficult, temperamental, and, especially for those with an affinity for fire, it could be incredibly destructive. The most Milo could manage was a small flame. It was a party trick more than anything, helpful in the moments he couldn’t find a lighter. But even that was difficult to maintain, to tame. And if he tried now… Well, he wouldn’t try now. That was beside the point, though. 

“I–” he inhaled, trying to think of how to phrase this all delicately. “I’ve never heard of any way to get rid of it. I… don’t know if it’s even possible. To be fair,” he added, “I don’t know that it’s not. But, I would imagine that it would be difficult to do. And probably really dangerous.” His mind flashed to Alistair, to healing and necromancy– even mind magic– in general. Manipulating, messing, with living beings like that was risky, and it always had a price. “Your abilities, they’re a part of you. And trying to get rid of them– it seems like there’s a lot that could go wrong there.” He bit his lip, not wanting to say the wrong thing and, god forbid, upset her. 

He had always seen his magic as a gift, something that made him special and powerful, something that he could do good with. However, he had grown up knowing the truth of magic, he had been learning and practicing for basically his whole life. It was a wildly different experience from what Van had been going through all by herself, not fully understanding or believing what was going on. And her magic– her emotions– being so destructive had to be a massive struggle. It was something every caster he knew struggled with, keeping their emotions under control, the knowledge that something could go incredibly wrong if you didn’t. 

It felt wrong offering to help her find a way to rid herself of her magic, but that wasn’t his choice to make. 

“But we could try to look into it more,” he said, finally. “In the meantime, though, I think you need to try to learn how to control it more.”

—

“I um, I had family there that I’d visit.” Van clasped her hands together, pushing both thumbs against each other. Did her grandma even still live there? Had she moved? Did she leave her apartment in Flushing to avoid Van if she ever visited? There were an endless amount of questions that Van had about her grandmother, but none of which Milo would be able to answer, so she pulled herself from the thought by straightening up in her chair. Something about physically changing your position to help ease anxiety– it was something she learned in her few weeks of therapy and she genuinely hoped it would work in this case. 

Milo apologized, and Van tried to absorb it, as if it might make a difference. Instead, she only felt a little empty. 

Unfortunately, Milo didn’t seem to have an answer for her question– at least, not the kind of answer she was hoping for. Van wasn’t sure what would have happened if he knew. Would he tell her there was some kind of reset factory? Some kind of orb that she’d need to touch? She’d do all of it just to be an ounce of normal– to not put anybody in harm’s way. 

“Right…” Van’s throat constricted and she felt a sting in her eyes. She didn’t want to cry, not in front of Milo, and not over this. Couldn’t she just be an adult for once in her life? 

“I just don’t want to hurt anyone else.” Her mind flashed to Diana, to the way that she melted the blanket around herself, Cass, and Ariadne. What if she had opened another black hole? What if… 

And then Milo told her that they could look into it. Her gaze shifted back up to meet his and she opened her mouth to speak, but his next suggestion made her feel ill. “I don’t know how. I don’t even know what any of this is.” She could learn, and she knew it, but she was being stubborn when it came to her magic– she didn’t even want it, which was the whole point of this conversation. “I just want it to go away. My grandma doesn’t even have it, my parents didn’t have it– so why do I have it? It’s not fair.” She was giving Milo maybe a little too much of herself, but she couldn’t stop, “I just want to be normal, like them– so that my grandma will love me again, and so that I won’t keep hurting or killing people.” She snapped her mouth closed after a moment and she shook her head. 

“I’m afraid of killing people, I haven’t–” But Milo already knew about Debbie, and even though her powers hadn’t actually killed that girl, he already knew she was privy to hurting others. “Please ignore that last part.” 

—

She had family in New York. It wasn't something he should relate to- he did have family in New York. They were still there, still alive– his friends, his parents, his tía. But, well, his parents hadn't really counted in years, had they? And his friends had pretty much given up on him after he had all but ghosted everyone. He couldn't exactly blame them– it was his own fault, after all– but it still stung. Even more so, considering how long he'd known some of them, and the circumstances that had led to him leaving in the first place. Maybe Anthony hadn't been the only one getting sick of him. 

His aunt was the only one left, really, now that Luz was here. Another person he had disappointed, another face he couldn't quite face. But he pushed those thoughts aside, refocusing on Van.

It obviously wasn’t what she had been hoping to hear. Milo watched her face drop, saw how she tried to fight it, keep her face neutral. It made her look even younger, and it just made him think of his sister, reminded him that Van was dealing with all of this by herself. And she had hurt people.

There was a pit forming in his stomach, a feeling of nausea settling in. His chest hurt. 

Of course, she didn't want her magic when it was something that she had no control over, when it had led to her hurting others. It's why he was in this damn town, too, why he rarely used his own magic these days. If not for the good memories, the knowledge of what it was like to cast and be in control, if all Milo had known his entire life was this chaotic, dangerous magic he'd been dealing with for over a year now, he would want to be rid of it, too. So, maybe it felt wrong to offer, but not offering seemed even worse somehow.

It wasn't an immediate solution, though. Learning to control it was the only thing that could actually help in the present moment. But that definitely hadn't been what she wanted to hear. She looked panicked at just the idea of it, her response coming off almost childish, a fear and desperation leaking through that made his heart hurt. She was only twenty, and she had lost her parents. That was hard enough already without having magical abilities that she knew absolutely nothing about. She hadn’t even known magic was real. It wasn't fair. 

He opened his mouth, wanting to say something comforting, but she continued, words spilling out in a rush. I just want to be normal, like them– so that my grandma will love me again, and so that I won’t keep hurting or killing people.

Jesus fucking Christ.

There was a lot to unpack there, but Van was sitting across from him, looking terrified and hopeless in a way that felt far too familiar for his liking. He took a moment, ignoring the prickling sensation in his eyes as he tried to figure out how the fuck to respond to that. 

His voice was subdued when he began speaking again. "I'm sorry that you've had to deal with this by yourself this whole time. And I'm sorry about... what happened. I don't– I'm not– I don't–" know what to say. 

He pressed his fist to his mouth, physically blocking himself from speaking as he propped his head up, thinking. And after a moment, he let his arm drop back down to the table. "I used to love my magic more than anything," he admitted. "But I've been– I can't control it anymore. It's not the same thing, obviously, but I kinda–" 

Milo looked down, voice wavering as the pit in his stomach grew, the ache in his chest worsening. "I've hurt– My–my sister– my older sister– she was trying to help me and–" A boulder had wedged its way into his throat, making it impossible to finish the sentence. Just behind it, he could almost taste the bile. 

His eyes were glued to a scratch on the table as he took a few breaths, trying to focus on the center of his chest, on the feeling of distance between himself and the barrier keeping the brunt of his emotions at bay. 

"I've hurt people, too…"

A few more breaths, and he was able to look up at her once again, his gaze sad and sympathetic. "It's–it's not fair, and I'm really fuckin' sorry. I get it, you don't want this, you don't want to ever use your power, but... it's there. And, like it or not, it's part of you. I’ll help you look for a way to get rid of it– I will– but I don't know how long that could take, or if something like that even exists." 

She didn't want to hear it, but it had to be said. 

"You have to learn to control it, Van, or it's just gonna keep happening."

—

The thing about Van was that she was always going to drop a nuclear disaster in any conversation. The words were always going to roll out, looking for any way to make the situation worse. She didn’t mean to make Milo look so mortified, it was just sort of her… thing. She was capable of making any situation awkward by simply speaking, and it wasn’t ever going to get any better. Like her magic, maybe she needed to figure out how to control that. 

Van looked down at her hands as she began to pick at some of the dry skin on her thumb. It probably wasn’t very sanitary for her to do so considering she worked at a food joint, but she’d just put gloves on for the rest of the day, it was no big deal. 

Milo offered his apologies as they all did– it was all anyone could ever do. 

But he offered something else, too. A look into his own life; into the way he had turned it upside down. 

With all of their discussions surrounding magic– or rather, lack thereof, Van had been so sure that Milo was some kind of elite magic user. But there was a distinct fear in his features, and it echoed in his voice. He spoke of the one he had hurt; his sister– and Van felt her chest tighten. Iron flattened over her tongue, anxiety swirling through her. She hadn’t meant to get this kind of story from him– she liked it better when she didn’t know anything, when he was a little bit scary because he knew things. Opening up like this meant something and she knew it, and she didn’t really like it. 

It meant that there was a weight to this now, the kind that she wasn’t really all too sure she could shoulder, even on her best days. But Milo continued, and Van kept her mouth closed. She listened to him as he spoke, as he admitted he’d hurt somebody too. She wasn’t very tactful at times, but something in her told her not to ask if the person in question had died. She already knew the answer to that. 

Van continued picking at the dry skin before she could feel Milo looking at her. She looked up, finally, and looked into those sad puppy dog eyes. He looked like he’d been kicked down a flight of stairs. It was sort of the way she felt inside. 

“I’m sorry.” The words felt lifeless, so she tried again, “that you– that you know what it’s like, I mean.” Because nobody should, she realized. Nobody this young should know what it’s like to hurt somebody else, not when they’re the kind of person to do so. Van had originally been worried that Milo would find a way to hurt her with his words; a confession to the precinct, but instead, his physicality– the magic he had, it had hurt someone, too. She wasn’t sure she liked this level of honesty anymore, but everything was already laid out on the table. 

“We’ll… I’ll try.” Because it was the least she could offer, even if hurt to say. Try either finding a way to get rid of it, or to control it, Van didn’t articulate. She felt like she should, but she couldn’t get herself to say it. “I’m– do you… more pizza.” She got up from her chair and turned, stumbling back to the cash register. She grabbed a warmed slice and dished it out, but not before washing her hands aggressively. Van returned to Milo with the lopsided slice, half of it smeared across the plate. “Pizza is better than–” honesty, she wanted to say, but instead, she cleared her throat, “than being sad, here’s more pizza.” She plopped it down in front of Milo, still not sure what to say. “You’re… different than I thought you would be. Than when I first met you.” He was a lot more sad, she thought, a lot less threatening. Then again, he had hurt somebody too, so maybe that wasn’t the case. 

—

The girl looked anxious and miserable, and he hated it. Milo wished he could do more, say more. He wished he could fix things for her, but even with his powers, that wasn’t something he would have been able to pull off. Van wasn’t having a literal meltdown, though, so that was good, he supposed. 

He hadn’t been expecting a sorry from her– he hadn’t known what to expect from her at all, honestly, given their past interactions– but that just made it harder to take in. There was a weight to the words, a quiet understanding that made him feel a little hollow. 

It reminded him a little of that first meeting with Finn, that grim feeling of camaraderie once he realized the empath felt the same brand of distant misery that he did. There had been a sense of comfort there, knowing he wasn’t so alone, as fucked up as it might’ve been. That comfort was absent here, though. They had unintentionally hurt people, killed people, and they had to live with that. There was no comfort to be offered to either of them.

Milo could only nod, jaw tense as he tried to keep himself steady. The last thing they needed was for him to have a meltdown now. 

He also hadn’t known how she would react. They’d spoken about this before, after all, and he was still there at the shop trying to convince her. He’d readied himself for more of an argument, but it seemed she didn’t have any fight left in her. Not about this. He was glad that she was willing to try, but he couldn’t actually feel glad about anything in this situation. Still, he managed a small smile. A small smile that quickly turned to confusion as she scrambled back behind the counter with a faint more pizza.

The first slice was still on his plate, having been abandoned for the rather serious conversation, and he turned his attention to it as Van took a few moments. He certainly couldn’t blame her for wanting to get away from the heaviness that had settled over them, even if just for a few minutes. It was mostly gone by the time she got back, a rather fucked up looking slice of pizza in hand. Pizza is better than… being sad.

He snorted, lips quirking up into a wry smile. It sounded like something Luci would say while trying to cheer him up. “Thanks.” It came out sounding probably too sincere, so Milo turned his attention to the pizza. 

He tried his best to fix the disaster on his plate and salvage as much of the cheese as he could before it became one with the paper plate. Glancing up at the admission, he gave her a slightly sheepish look. “Yeah, sorry again about that. It was stupid of me.” 

—

Van wished that this conversation could be pushed into something else, that it could relate back to something normal like exams or friendships, and not the fact that they had both hurt somebody, either with or without their magic. Van hated that this was how she had to relate to Milo, and in the same breath, it was somewhat comforting. It felt a little easier knowing she wasn’t the only mess, especially because it seemed like Milo knew a thing or two about magic. Even with that knowledge, he had still hurt someone. Deep down, Van wasn’t sure if that was actually a good thing or not, but she chose for it to be. It was easier if it was. If she blocked out what it meant; that Milo wasn’t in control either, that maybe he didn’t know everything– that the answers she was seeking would go left untouched. 

But she had to choose to trust him– the help he offered, and everything else. 

She went to take her seat, but the door opened and the flow of cold air pooled around her ankles. Van gave Milo an apologetic smile before turning her attention to the customers. 

Even if it felt like a different world during their discussion, she was still a girl at a stupid pizza shop, and Milo was still the boy who had proof that she was capable of terrible things. Van wasn’t sure if hopeful was the right word to associate with this interaction, but she did so anyway. Maybe they would find a way to get rid of her magic, and maybe Milo would be more sure of himself through that victory– Van couldn’t be certain, but she wanted to be. 

[bonescribes]

okay , so , this writeup was inevitable . TW for ( discussion of ) suicidal ideation & depression ahead .

on fai && mental health .

the first time fai's mental state is overtly shown to be not so good is during the outo arc , but i think it's worth backtracking first , because clamp does a really good job of giving us some hints before they throw it in our face .

to begin , let's look at the fight between kuro , fai , & kishim . i could scream about it all day , but the really important bit is the way fai fights . it's commented on before this that he's a combat veteran & a very good fighter , which is objectively true , but what we see in this fight are two important and meaningful things :

1) he doesn't make direct attacks . he spends most of his time either deflecting or dodging . ( yes this is a metaphor ) 2) this fighting style inevitably catches up with him when one of kishim's attacks doesn't follow the previous pattern . he attempts to bat it away with his makeshift bo staff , but it wraps around the weapon and nearly obliterates him . he's only saved by kurogane pushing him away . ( yes , this is a metaphor )

metaphors aside ( for now ) , however , this moment is particularly interesting because it's a direct reflection of The Scene . the first time we get a real glimpse of fai's terrible , awful mental state .

im too lazy to add manga caps for you , so let me very briefly introduce you to this moment :

kurogane & fai are fighting together . fai uses darts , which prove extremely ineffective , so he resorts exclusively to dodging . inevitably , however , he's caught out by an attack and sent crashing into a brick wall with enough force to reduce the wall to rubble .

fai , however , doesn't come even close to death . he survives this with nothing more than a sprained ankle .

" this won't kill me , " fai says .

" not won't , " kurogane retorts . " can't , right ? "

this in and of itself should tell you everything you need to know , but in case it doesn't , clamp spells it out for you :

" the people i hate most are those who have lives to live , but don't make any effort to live them ! "

" then , my type is the type you hate most . " please now refer to the icon i started this meta with , because that's the face fai makes as he says this .

fai does not want to live . fai so very much does not want to live that he makes no effort to stay alive , even in scenarios where he could be killed before " fulfilling his mission " . . . and even in scenarios where he knows he won't .

now , i personally believe that fai figured out outo was virtual reality ( or at least that it wasn't real ) , but even if you disagree , it's worth noting that just a few chapters later , he lets seishiro kill him . even facing this , he doesn't use his magic -- he lets it happen . he ' dies ' ( in the game ) . because fai does not want to live . he accepts death , even a fake one , as catharsis . as relief . as retribution .

fai has genuinely , truly internalized the idea that he literally brings misfortune just by existing . he also completely believes that he is the one who killed his brother . to him , dying both serves as a way to prevent him from hurting anyone else , and as justice for his wrongdoings . he desperately wants this for himself , but is prevented by his contract with FWR -- and by his own immense power , which is the eternal source of his misery .

the shiny capstone to this is that he eventually learns the errors of his mentality , learns the truth about his brother , and is able to overcome his hatred of his own magic -- but talking about that would make this meta twice as long , so i'll leave it here for now . lmao .

[vaticancameos221]

tant pis ou tant mieux? : Chapter 2

Here is chapter two of my first Johnlock fic! Thank you to @liliedailes for beta-reading this fic and also listening to me talking about my constant fic ideas!

Summary:

“Less trouble for ‘im.” There’s a sniffle at the other end of the line, ragged breaths like Sherlock is trying to keep sobs at bay, trying to stop them. As if John has no idea how upset he is already. “Goodbye, John.”

(or, Sherlock is drowning after having lost John and doesn't realise how many people care about him.)

Tw for chapter 2 only: suicide ideation, references to previous suicide attempt

Click here to read the chapter~~~

[theglamorousferal]

Just took psychic damage remembering my first attempt at a fanfiction. Story time below the cut:

TW: suicidal ideation, traumadump (I like to call it lore, but my first therapist said otherwise)

The year was 2006, I am 13 years old. Kingdom Hearts 2 had come out during the previous Christmas and I got it from a family friend as a gift while he was watching us while my parents went on a trip to the Virgin Islands as a 20 year delayed honeymoon. I had recently decided that I enjoyed reading and writing. I recently became obsessed with anime and video games and Goth and Emo culture because a boy I had a crush on was obsessed with was into all those things. It started as getting into it because of him and then evolved into a lifelong obsession. I also got a dvd of the first season of Criss Angel Mindfreak and a pendent of his logo for Christmas that year, and spent any money I got from relatives at Hot Topic to get myself a pair of Tripp pants and a red heart necklace with a keyhole in it.

Anyway.

I became obsessed with Roxas and Axel from Kingdom Hearts 2 and lived on forums that I scrolled through on my dialup internet, Quizilla seven-minutes-in-heaven quizzes where you could pick which member of Organization 13 you wanted to smooch, and fanfiction.net that was filled with people making self-insert oc’s and the first chapter was dedicated to a profile of the oc’s included(like appearance, age, occupation, skills, etc) and a synopsis of any changes to characters or plot.

Another new development was my plummeted self-confidence and newfound desire for the sweet release of death. I’m not joking, from the years 2005-2024 I woke up every day wishing I hadn’t. I don’t know what triggered it. I do know that I had recently dropped a sport I had been doing and tried to subvert the stereotype of the tall blonde with large breasts. I am 13 years old and frequently mistaken for much older than that. I feel like I’m in the wrong body but don’t have the words for any of that yet and will not get therapy for another 6 years. It takes another 10 before it actually does anything. My father’s sudden death before I stop actively wanting to die.

Anyway, I am 13. I’m recently obsessed with Kingdom Hearts, this one boy that I imprinted onto Roxas and Emo stuff. I recently found I enjoy writing and have just been introduced to the concept of an OC.

BROKEN HEARTS EVERYWHERE.

The pupils of her eyes, her weapons, her jewelry, tattoo markings on her face. I’m pretty sure the damned embroidery on her coat. And she had no memory, and she was the secret 14th member of Organization 13 and she was gone be best friends with Axel and Demyx was gonna be like her big brother and she was gonna end up dating Roxas and then she was gonna realize that she didn’t need her old life, she could handle the life she had with them and then the cracks in all of her broken heart motifs would heal. Had I shown this to any adult they would have signed me up for therapy or at least suggested it to my parents. Four people have seen it.

It was… a lot…

Anyway, somewhere I still have the file for it and it will only see the light of day if I somehow manage to publish a piece of writing and get paid for it. Or if I somehow reach a stupid number of reblogs.

[milewalkedamile]

tw// suicidal ideation

i honestly don't think i'll make it to 30, guys. i switched majors in uni to "try again in life", but i know this is just to appease my parents & make them think i'm all better now. i don't want them to worry about me & i will try my best to get that degree, but i'm honestly so hopeless when it comes to thinking about my future. i don't want to live or feel like i have any purpose in life. every day is the same, if not worse than the previous one. days go by, one by one & i only get worse & worse while putting on a oscar worthy performance in front of family & friends.

my first attempt was when i was 12. i'm 23 now. i was supposed to die a long fucking time ago & that's why i don't know what i'm doing with my life. i made no plans for the future because i wasn't expecting to live this fucking long. but i'll continue trying to get better & hopefully i will before i turn 30, because if not.. you can conclude the rest...

[lixiestix]

Poison

tw: mentions of drugs and addiction, suicide ideation, survivor's guilt, disassociation.

It was days like this when he found himself thinking back on his past. Days like this when it was quiet and raining, and he found himself entirely alone. Sitting in silence, fingers fidget with the phone they cradled. Felix sat in front of a window and sharp eyes watched the rain crash and slip down the glass, drop by drop. Dark eyes glaze over as their focus disintegrates when he falls into his own memory.

***

This time, it was how he managed his new life, his new abilities. For a time, it took everything in him to not kill anyone – assuming he went after those who were still so full of life. He remembers being captured one night, thrown into a cage made of silver. Felix was still such a new vampire, he had no idea how to fight back and he was weak from having not fed in some time.

It didn't matter how much he struggled, the bars were stronger and he could hear the sounds of maniacal giggles, voices cooing softly over how pretty he was - how feisty. His nose crinkled listening to them – and he could only make assumptions. Was this some trafficking thing? It certainly felt like one.

The next thing he remembers is his confinement being pulled from the back of a carriage and taken inside a large building. His senses were assaulted by everything happening inside, the scents, sights, sounds. It was all dizzying. The place reeked of sex and drugs and stale blood. Moans and screams echoed into his ears as if they were right next to him. And the fucking decor – gods, it was the tackiest shit he’d ever seen.

Another soft coo, from someone else this time. Felix twitched when his entrapment was sat down in front of a woman.

“Oh, you’re a gorgeous one, aren’t you darling?”

Eyes flutter and he attempts to steel himself, but the way his eyes dilated fully gave him away. Whatever game she was running, she could tell the young vampire was already enticed. The woman knelt down, fingers gesturing someone over.

“Open it up. I want a good look at this lovely thing you’ve found.”

The sound of the cage’s door open sent chills bolting through him and he damn near panicked when a thin hand reached in to curl around his wrist, guiding him out. 

At first, it was a lot of fawning over him – he had been in a pitiful state, how he seemed so frail, how beautiful he was and how dangerous he could be. There was a lot of talk about how dangerous he could be.

It proved true. Once he had regained his strength, he was given his first taste of fae blood – then his first job. He didn’t care about the work, it was the blood. Felix found himself quickly addicted and he’d do whatever he needed to get his fix. Nights without it, he swore he was on fire, like he was being torn apart. Everything about his previous life, his life as a human, came crashing down in heavy, suffocating waves.

His mother, his father, his sisters – gods, they’d have been so disappointed. Without the high, all he could think about was his family. So, he chased it. He was obedient, a good boy for the person he now saw as his savior. Any normal functioning person would have disagreed, but Felix was naive and alone and had no guidance for this world. He was, however, smart enough to not give her his real name.

Caspian. That was the name he had given her. His days spent with her and whatever jobs she chose to send him out for, Caspian.

Caspian was the addict, the entertainer, the ever obedient man who would do anything for a fix. Caspian was the one that other vampires found themselves enamored with, sending him love letters after one night, the confident and flirtatious little vampire. Caspian was the one keeping Felix alive, protected.

Felix was the one wanting it all to stop. Felix wanted to simply rest.

It wasn’t until he was unknowingly abandoned in an unfamiliar city, surrounded by unfamiliar strangers who had evidently bought him that something in him broke. Felix – no, Caspian held out for just a little while but it seemed even he had his limits. Felix managed to tear himself away, refusing even a drop of fae blood. Felix managed to get away, to fly under the radar. It surprised even himself but he wouldn’t complain.

He doesn’t know how long he spent hiding in the shadows, suffering the most painful withdrawal he could ever imagine. On better days, he could just barely hear the voices of his family, the voices of his employer, all scolding him for screwing up so royally. On the worst days, he was trembling with books and stakes in hand, praying to a god he no longer believed in to just take him or he’d do it himself – to simply make the screams of his family stop, the memories of their death painted faces fade. 

Felix never could bring himself to go through with it, no matter how much he was already sick of this immortal nonsense. 

***

A knock at the door pulled Felix from his memories, eyes flitting toward his hands to see knuckles turning white from their grip on his phone. Setting the device down, he quickly rubs at his face in an attempt to gather his bearings.

Clearly, he made it through all those decades ago. He was in a better place now. Happier. Surrounded by people that meant everything to him. There was no longer a need for Caspian.

[monochromatictoad]

Putting this under a read more, this is mostly just negative thoughts and venting. Tw: suicidal ideation, suicide, suicide attempts, depression, intrusive thoughts, addiction, maybe ED?

I always hear jokes or vents from people who are the oldest or middle child of the house, but as someone who was the youngest child, I wasn't given many options to succeed socially. I had pressure to be better than my older siblings and I was discouraged from doing things I loved to do. I know now just how much pressure my sisters were under, things only got worse when my brother couldn't handle everything anymore and killed himself. Two of my sisters also tried to kill themselves, only for their attempts to fail. I never actively tried when I was younger, but as an adult, I had to stop taking my migraine medication, because it's also an antidepressant and I found myself wanting to take more of it. I can't drink often, because I can drink an entire big bottle of wine and not be drunk. I only crave more. If you can't tell, addiction runs strong in my family. But I feel like shit because my sisters were stuck with my mother, because they were from her previous relationships, and weren't my father's. They got cheated out of childhood, while I still got some childhood with my dad, but never with my mom.

I thought school would be a safe space, or maybe my best friend at the time would understand..... But it didn't work like that. I had tried to write in elementary school, but my dad discouraged it. When I was in middle school, I tried to learn drawing, only for my friend to pick it up and be immediately better than me. So I tried to get back to writing, only for her to be better at that too. I tried different types of needle work, again, only for her to be better at it. I tried to get into jewelry making and coincidentally, she did too. Her was better than mine, so I stopped. Everything I tried to do, she did better. So I dropped my hobbies in high school, and stuck to reading. It didn't help that she was an only child and her parents had good paying jobs to get her some of the best materials for these hobbies. It didn't help that she would use me to edit her work, because she knew she could brag about it. I get discouraged easily because of it and that's why most of my old wips are permanently gone. It still affects me now. Our friendship started to falter in high school, mostly because she started to make plans with our other friends and never included me, so I started ignoring them altogether. She didn't like that, but I didn't care at that point. We made amends out of high school, and she even helped me get the job I work at! I was excited, and I got even more excited when she told me she was engaged and asked me to be her maid of honor! Then lockdown happened. I tried to keep up with them, but she apparently decided to change her mind on who would be her maid of honor, and blocked me.

What makes all of this hurt the most, is that I would be upset when my sisters made plans without me, or my cousins who were like siblings to me. I thought that once I was in high school, my friends would invite me to places. That only happened once, and it was with the friend I mentioned earlier. We got into an argument about weight and who could be considered a fat person. I was not considered a fat person because of how I hold my weight, even if I was almost 200lbs because of stress binging. My weight fluctuates between 160-190lbs, but I'm very curvy. Large clothes are too tight, and some Extra Large clothes are too loose. It made me feel like shit. That maybe I was too skinny to be considered a bigger person. She was a bigger girl and her parents were bigger people as well. So I apologized to her about it. This has only gotten worse because of my sister and her wife. They are both bigger women, and when I try to explain my body issues, they shut me down that my body is perfect and that I shouldn't be complaining about it. Anyways, I got completely sidetracked. Nowadays, my coworkers will make plans without me, and it shouldn't affect me so much. But.... It's the sheer amount of times that this has happened. One of my coworkers even planned a vacation with two others and left us short staffed. And they always do it on days where I work the next day, then get upset when I tell them, that if they would plan nights out on the day before my days off, then I would go with them. Anyways, my Rejection Sensitive Dysphoria is at an all time high, and I feel like shit if I vent it. I feel like garbage currently and the sudden temperature drops aren't helping.

[onlyherefortheshowmances]

TW/CW: Suicidal ideation (without intent currently).

TL/DR:  I am trying to find a doctor anywhere in the state of Pennsylvania that accepts UPMC for You (medicaid) and is willing to at least try solve to my medical mystery. Preferably a family doctor with connections to a rheumatologist and possibly neurology and/or pain management. One that will actually listen and not give up and actually care that I'm in acute pain. I feel like my own body is trying to kill me. I have for a month or more. 

I want every single blood test you can do on a person. Every possible imaging study you can do. A sleep study. Another Holter monitor. LITERRALLY EVERYTHING because I am so tired of 'try this, try this' I want to know for sure exactly what is causing this.

At this point I just need a single doctor to either tell me I'm dying (which is what it feels like is happening) or one to tell me what's actually wrong and causing all this and how we can actually treat it while dealing with the immediate pain.

I'm tired of going to ERs every week. I'm tired of doctor's who are more afraid of the DEA than they are of their patient's dying. Because I don't want to wake up with this pain tomorrow morning. I cannot live life like this. 

This pain and the fact that no one in the medical field (other than my PT) seems to care about it at all. This pain that my current PCP respond to "I want someone to actually figure out what's wrong with me." by saying "We don't know." as if it is not literally her job to figure that out. I went through the entire appointment saying "What about the pain I'm in right now?" And all that happened was she took me off Lyrica which had side effects I couldn't deal with and prescribed Savella instead and told me to come back in a week once I titrate up to the correct dosage. What about that week? I don't have enough meds from the ER to last until next Tuesday ma'am. I was there on Saturday and they are legally only allowed to prescribe 3 days work of narcotics. He did give me 10 days worth of flexeril for which I'm grateful, but that on its own isn't enough, and my PCP won't give me anything at all. I literally told her my previous family doc only checked my TSH level not T3 or T4 (thyroid hormones). Did she order the additional tests? Has she ordered any tests at all in fact? NO. And she keeps saying insomnia when I tell her I have to take the oxy and flexeril to be able to sleep through the night. THAT'S NOT INSOMNIA. THAT IS ME BEING IN SO MUCH PAIN THAT I CAN'T SLEEP. At my appointment today I told her that almost every morning when I wake up in excruciating pain, I wish I wouldn’t’ve woken up at all; that death feels like a better option and that that thought scared me as someone with a history of suicidal ideation and attempts, and she literally did not care an ounce.

My Rheumatologist keeps trying to give me prednisone which DOES NOT WORK! And says take 2 Aleve twice a day. If Aleve worked for my pain do you think I would have been to the emergency room FOUR times since March 16th? I wouldn't have requested to see you sooner if Aleve did anything.

Not one person has cared about my sudden onset fatigue spells that keep getting more frequent to the point I'm hesitant to drive very far unless absolutely necessary because one of these times I'm gonna actually pass out. That's probably what it'll take for the medical professionals to care. Me falling asleep while driving. I think this may be POTS, because I also get random bouts of 'benign' tachycardia at the most random times.

They just keep slapping labels on things instead of just actually checking or even asking me half the time. I'm about 80% sure I have EDS, but apparently the closest person that will even test let alone diagnose someone over the age of 18 is in Philadelphia and I'd need a referral from my Rheumatologist to see that person.

[coolbeansbuddyofmine]

Once again got off a phone call with my parents and I have some thoughts.

Nb: this is not an universal desi experience, yes I know. And my parents are very open minded and helpful with my mental health struggles and as young parents, they did their best and did pretty well for the first part. I love them I miss them I’m grateful for them and I appreciate them.

Now that is said.

Moving on.

Parents called me after 3 days of ignoring my calls. I get it. My sister’s in school, they have jobs and work and they’re busy. I get it.

But when I pull the same excuse, im the one supposed to apologize for ignoring one call meanwhile they ignored 12 in a row. They’re the only ones entitled to worry, okay.

And even when they do call me after 3 days, where’s the hey hi how are you? Everything good? How’s school? How’s life? How’re your friends?

No.

It’s immediately hey how’s school? How are you doing in classes? Did you finish the work? Are you studying for finals? You better not be going out. Stay in and study. How was work? Did you get paid? How was your internship? Will you be able to put your new project on your resume?

And stuff about how I’m eating “good” food and exercising right.

I get why they ask this. It’s their concern for my future manifesting itself and I’m glad they care.

But where’s that concern for me and my present.

And then, they bring up, oh Cousin A got into B and X from Y family did this.

Thank you but how is that relevant?

I’m already very aware of your disappointment and dissatisfaction with me as a child as your daughter as a student and with my university and my life choices. I know you what you guys and the family think about my choices. I hate it and it makes me want to die, but I know and it’s okay.

All I have ever asked you is that please don’t compare me to others. I’m making my own decisions and I’m happy with where I am in life, truly.

But.

But you know that a lot of my previous mental health issues with self harm, suicide ideation, depression, anxiety stemmed from this comparison and this pressure you and I put on myself for finally making you proud of me. I craved your validation then, and it’s only now years later, I’ve learnt to stop expecting that. But it’s not gone, and like many people, sometimes I reverse back into those habits, and I need you to avoid these triggers for me so I can be a healthier person and we can have a healthy parent child relationship.

I need you to understand that all I want now is for you to just understand me and tell me you love me and accept my choices. I don’t want to hear about A or B, because I don’t care and I don’t want to be them.

Growing up in the desi household as the oldest daughter is truly one of the most debilitating childhood experiences over a span of time, because I was the emotional sponge for everyone to vent, I was expected to shut up and be a good girl, I couldn’t do societally unsavory shit for women like drink or act promiscuous, I had to be a mother, a daughter, a sister, a niece and constantly juggle myself through these roles without ever being allowed to explore myself. I’m not allowed to have opinions or speak up or be mentally ill or have god forbid interests aside from doing well academically and doing shit to get me into college and then be expected to give of all that education up for marriage and motherhood.

When I did gain my voice and opinions, I spoke up and I wanted better, and I was chastised shouted at and scolded and going down a dark path.

It was only at the literal worst possible moment that parents sought help and helped me improve and tried to improve.

And I’m grateful for that.

But these toxic behaviors take me back to that time where I cried in all our fights, where I went to “sleep” crying and you didn’t talk to me until apologized even though I asked you for a break. We’re past this and I don’t want to regress to that. I don’t want to have to make the first move and bear the brunt of the burden for changing you so that my sister could have a better relationship with you. I hid so much from you about you that upset me because it was important to me to maintain our relationship. I ignore my sister’s comments about how I treat you ungratefully even though I’m the reason she doesn’t hate you, because I tried. Just because you got me therapy doesn’t absolve the fact that you were the reason I had to go there.

I’m sick and tired of being you punching bag and garbage can for all your shit. Respect me and want me as your daughter.

I have enough self respect for myself to demand that now.

Man, being the oldest daughter in a desi household is tough

[writingrose29]

Two Birds Masterlist

Pairings: Steven Grant x Fem!Reader; Marc Spector x Fem!Reader; Jake Lockley x Fem!Reader (Slowburn, Post-Moon Knight)

Prequel-Strangers

Summary: Sometimes the best person to talk to is the one that you will never meet again

Two Birds:

Summary: Her life was a continuous cycle of good and bad things. Anytime things were good she knew for a fact some shitstorm was going to hit her. However, she never could've predicted the mess her adoptive father's death would bring.

TW/CW: Childhood Trauma, Past Child Abuse, Implied/Reference to Suicide, Implied/Reference to Self-Harm, Suicidal Ideation, Drug and Alcohol Abuse, Previous Suicide Attempts, Child Soldiers/Mercenaries, Will add more when they come up and on the chapters (Full list of tags and tw can be found here on ao3)

Other Content Involved: X-Men Crossover, Mutant Reader, Reader has a placeholder name

Read on: Ao3

Chapter 1:  A Death in the Family

Chapter 2:  Hell House

Chapter 3:  Déjà Vu (Steven’s POV: Déjà Vu)

Chapter 4 (in progress...)

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Future Chapters to be listed....

[bio-nerds-corner]

Rehabilitation

tws for: same kind of suicidal ideation as in the previous one but this time it's actually discussed more overtly, self-harm, actual vore holy fuck i did it, asphyxiation (its all good dont worry), mentions of fatal vore (doesnt happen), the general heartbreak of realizing you have found a reason to live

Your name is K-J004P Purple Collar Karl. You are… an adult, yes, your favorite colors are green and purple, you’ve grown to have a liking for bitter foods for how they chase away blander flavors you had grown up on, and you have never been outside of a human farm until approximately 1 month ago. You were born and raised and intended to die in one, with the knowledge that sure, there was a world outside of it, but it’s going-ons were not of your concern. You were raised prepared to die one day, eaten alive and willingly. 

(You are still pretty prepared for that eventuality. You just need to wait a little longer.) 

But god, was it hard to survive to that point. The world was enormous and cold and dark and you have never had to worry about things like where your next meal or drink of fresh water would be. You never had to worry about the fact that there was a weird funk about your clothes and the cubbies were far more cozy a sleeping spot than whatever you could find out here, that the universe wasn’t specifically designed to hold a large amount of humans in relative comfort and with all needs provided.

Wow. Being free sucks. 

The first giant you ever encountered that wasn’t a human-farm worker or anthropo-agricultural scientist was named Technoblade (and yes. You weren’t a child anymore you knew giants had to have names just like humans did. It still weirded you the hell out at the time). You… didn’t quite get off on the right foot. You had taken one long look up at the giant, what with his snarling tusks and shaggy bristly fur and golden crown, and something small and warm in you perked up in excitement. 

The conversation, roughly, went along like this. 

You: Hi! You are huge and look amazing. Can I be eaten by you? 

Techno: What the fuck. What the hell is wrong with you. 

And then you were brought into his house. Good first try, you supposed. Techno was apparently vegan. Which you should have known given the fact that he looks nothing like a human, and everything like a giant pig monster instead. You sure are learning a lot today. 

You weren’t the only human to have passed through there, apparently. Through a stroke of marvelous luck, there was somehow another purple-collar (or, well, ex-purple-collar) already living with Techno. Despite your shared past experiences, you were still far more comfortable around giants than your new companion was. 

(He had already picked the name Purpled by the time you got there. That seemed unfair to you, but then again, he did have seniority in this whole ‘free will outside of a farm’ thing so you guessed you had to deal with it. The two of you spent way too long finding your own name.)

Despite apparently being happy enough to bring any lost human in from the forests that bordered along that farm, Techno apparently didn’t have the space, nor the time to help make sure you were habituated to life on the outside. Neither you nor Purpled were, well, safe to set loose onto the world as is. 

(A part of you rankled at that classification. What did it matter if it was safe? That kind of was the point after all? Weren’t you just passing from one way of keeping you back from your goal to another now? 

You couldn’t bring yourself to leave, though.) 

So Techno separated you from Purpled and introduced you to another friend who was adverse enough towards eating humans live and whole to be trusted. Quackity seemed… friendly enough. If extremely weirded out by your initial attempt to test his supposed ‘aversion to eating humans.’ The first couple of days in the giant’s house was full of poking and prodding and testing every lock and window and figuring out how to navigate a world so big. When it wasn’t consisting of extremely dangerous climbing attempts, it was with Quackity, bordering on pleading with him to just let you go, you’ll find your way, he doesn’t need to worry about you. 

... 

As you got used to being shuffled between Quackity’s and Techno’s places, you also got used to the company that both of them kept. Dream, for instance, was… intense. You always were nervous hanging around him because he made it very obvious just how little you know about humans outside of the farms. Just how different you were from him. When you let slip how often you were handled when you were younger, just as an aside to explain why you had absolutely no trouble catching footing in the fabric of Quackity’s clothing while using him as a step-stool up to a higher counter, there was a few seconds of silence before you looked back at him. 

He was staring at you with unrepressed disgust. You don’t like hanging out with Dream anymore. 

Sapnap, on the other hand, intrigued you. And, as a mystery giant who has enough humanoid appearance to indicate a human-heavy diet, you probably had a bit more luck with him than you would have had with anyone else present. 

You may have been a bit too desperate when you asked. The interest that Sapnap eyed you with died the moment you showed no inkling of fear towards your own demise. The giant had lifted you up, batting you between hands like a cat would with prey, but you really didn’t care all that much. You’d been handled more roughly, this was perfectly fine. You could smell his ashy breath as he grilled (ha) you for more information on why you had been perfectly content about throwing yourself to your own death. 

He looked vaguely sick as you tried to lay your thoughts down in front of him. You could feel your heart sink as he dropped you down onto the table and stared into the middle distance after you finished talking about it. You guessed that he, too, was a dud. God, how was this so hard? 

You saw a flicker of movement out of the corner of your eye as you came to terms with the fact that, once again, what should have been an incredibly easy plan to complete your life mission was foiled. You turned, and locked eyes with a white mask peeking out from the shadows at the base of a dresser. 

Dream never seeked you out after that point. At least you both were avoiding one another now. 

... 

Things came to a head about a week into your stay. You were bored. That’s a normal feeling for humans to have, it happened all of the time. Unfortunately you didn’t have your purple collar to mess with, and no other objects that were purely yours except for the blanket you had brought with you, bright multicolor splotches that were slowly bleaching themselves grey with use. You spent a quiet afternoon picking at it and gently unraveling it, chewing on the freed fibers just for something to do. Eventually, even this became boring and you started chewing on your own hand, whichever one wasn’t currently yanking at the fiber cloth to untangle it further. 

Four hours into this exercise of destructive boredom Quackity had entered the room, gaze drifting between the pile of chewed-off fibers and your knuckles, red-raw and bleeding in the soft parts between fingers. 

“What the hell are you doing?” He asked, obviously dumbfounded. You shared that sentiment. Wasn’t it obvious? 

“I was bored,” you said, by way of explanation. 

Quackity was just more confused looking now, before something apparently dawned on him and, with a long-suffering sigh that you couldn’t tell where it was directed, swiped a hand through his yellow feathers. “Look man, do you have hobbies? I had no idea you were bored, I would’ve gotten you a book or something if you were.” 

Ok, this just kept getting more confusing. You frowned up at the giant. “I can’t read.” 

Quackity threw his hands up. “That was just an example! What did you do when you were bored before?” 

“I… do this?" It was a central tenant to life in the farms. If you're bored, break your own stuff before you mess with others, and so on. Everyone gets stressed out and wants to fidget, so at least this way everyone wasn't attacking one another out of frustration every time the food ran dry or too many adults were taken during a harvest. "I don’t know what else you mean?” In hindsight when considering this central tenant in your life with other humans back on the farm, that boredom and frustration should be taken out in a specific order, it made sense that giants wouldn't know, since the final rule was always to never take it out on Big Ones. That always got you hurt and more frustrated afterward. 

Quackity still looked confused, and now a little worried. 

(You never would know, Quackity or Sapnap or any of the other giants you know would never tell you, but during that first week, Quackity had started reading into caring and keeping of humans. He didn’t think of you as a pet, no, definitely not... he just thought it might be a good idea to read up on what the experts thought was good manners and correct foods for being a good host. Many articles were closed in frustration after realizing just how degrading a lot of the treatment was most of the time, but all of the articles had agreed: self-destructive behavior was a sign of understimulation, and ultimately was not a good sign at all.) 

Quackity bought you a phone the next day, and began the arduous effort of teaching you how to read giant’s writing. Your blanket, the only thing left from your time in your childhood farm, remained half-unravelled and tattered. 

… 

You decided, after having learned enough about the writing and how to decipher meaning from the giant text, that reading was nice. Technoblade was kind enough to help you set up the phone, and figure out a way to get it so that you could access the internet through it much like a desktop computer. It was just a quick hop from there to engaging in video games. 

As you filled your days with soaking up knowledge, with creating and destroying and creating once again and most of all, of being able to decide to do what you want for yourself, you felt… What’s the right word for it? Content. You felt your brain hurt and your eyes burn when you went to bed, but it was a good hurt. Or so you’ve been told. Somehow, Quackity and Technoblade and everyone else could tell ‘good’ hurt from ‘bad’ hurt. 

You don’t chew on your knuckles so much these days. 

You think you like studying history. (It sure is weird to have ‘likes’ now that could be quantified in such a way.) 

... 

The fateful day, what could poetically be called the first day of the rest of your life, began at 2 am. You were drifting in dreamland, having stayed over at Sapnap’s out of convenience for the night. 

(Sapnap was drifting in a very different sense. Padding softly from room to room, thoughts a turmoil of guilt and anger and things indescribable. He was thinking of Dream again. Or rather, what he did to one of his (former) best friends. His had welled up, as it had many times before, in the dark hours of night. Usually it was a sleepless night of anger and guilt and self loathing and restlessness. 

But usually, the house didn’t contain a human. ) 

Without even hesitating, Sapnap had grabbed you from your comfy nest of blankets, and you started straight from a dead sleep. Startled, you flinched and thrashed as pointed claws dug into your ribs slightly more painfully than usual. No matter how much you were habituated to giants, no amount of good genetics and training could rid you of your surprise upon waking up in one’s grasp. 

Some primal part of Sapnap appeared to finally be pleased with this change in behavior, as before you could even orient yourself you were being thrown into a mouth. Teeth clicked just barely behind your feet, and a tongue crushed you against the roof of the mouth. You wriggled, trying to get a full breath in, and with an almost feverish pace the mouth started vigorously covering your clothes and hair up in spit. 

There was no enjoyment out of the task, no stops to savor the human in that giant’s mouth. As if it were being done out of some sense of obligation, or was expected of them. You were unceremoniously pushed to the back of the giant’s throat and, sodden as you were, swallowed in one gulp. 

By this point you had caught a whiff of that ashen scent Sapnap always had on his breath, and as such could identify the giant who just ate you. Adrenaline-pounding your body was as of now, however, there was exactly nothing you could do with this information. 

The air in his lungs breathed out long and hard as you slid down his esophagus, and you felt a buzz through your body as Sapnap spoke, rattling you many times stronger than you ever felt even when lying directly on his neck. 

“‘Least I can settle Karl’s goddamn death wish. ‘Least I’m good for something,” he was growling, and as your face exposed to open air, and a moment later your shoulders popped through and you fell into a dark fleshy pouch. 

Sapnap started pacing, the movements jarring and tense as you reoriented yourself again and got yourself upright, bracing against the beating of an enormous heart just above you. The air smelled of smoke, and somehow managed to be both slimy and dry enough to suck moisture from your skin. You began to shake uncontrollably, as if you were freezing cold and not uncomfortably body-temperature-warm. 

(Just a tiny lump of moving matter in an anxious and angry and guilty giant who wasn’t thinking straight. Barely felt below the pounding in Sapnap’s ears, the shouting in his head to stop being such an idiot, this was only worse for all his guilt about Dream’s arm, just go spit out Karl, and maybe go lie in a ditch in the rain for a little while and listen to his own self-hatred. The comfort he had hoped for when swallowing Karl apparently wasn’t enough to drown that out.) 

A part of you, practically a choir, chanted in delight. This is it. This is the end. You succeeded. You are finished. The efforts you made ever since you were born are able to come to fruition. Nothing more is expected of you. 

Another part of you, the part that was reading a rather fascinating study on how the shape shifting in giants affected how warfare was conducted in their society, the part that built new and elaborate stories for your friends to fascinate over, the part that delighted in finding ways to make meals that always made your friends’ faces pucker up at the sour-bitterness of them, dissented. 

This is wrong, far too much of you said. This is wrong. This is bad. 

You abruptly realize, with a sick feeling, that you do not want this. This thought will eventually be one you turn over a lot, mull over it thoughtfully like it is a new and shiny object, picking apart at your leisure. For now, though, it brings with it dread. 

You do not want this. You do not want to stop here. You had a paper to finish reading and a lore plot to finish and three recipes you were keeping for a rainy day and friends to meet and things to experience and. 

(You don’t want to die.) 

You curled up, tucked as tight as you could against the wall of the esophageal pouch. As tense as it was from Sapnap’s agitation, it felt like laying against steel covered with a single layer of thin slimy foam. Then you start to shake even more fiercely, panting slightly at the force. Finally, finally, you are feeling your species’ fear towards giants. And of course it’s too late. 

Sapnap is still talking, but despite how all encompassing his voice was, you were having a hard time processing it. Spots of black, darker than even the darkness of the internal organ you were trapped in, danced behind your eyes. Oxygen deprivation, you eventually realized. You were hyperventilating. The sphincter was air-tight. You were quickly suffocating, probably barely a foot away from oxygen-rich lungs. 

Your head swam, and you tried to take in a deep breath. “Sapnap,” you croaked, before trying again. “Sapnap… I’m scared.” 

The giant went silent. 

(Even his lungs stopped, half way through an unsteady inhale. All you could hear was the loud loud loud thud of his heart) 

You tried another shakey too-deep and ultimately unsatisfying breath. “Sapnap,” you said again. “I don’t want to die.” 

The black blotches crowded your vision, and the inside of your head felt distinctively cold, for some reason. Sapnap had started talking again, maybe calling your name, but it was all garbled in your ears. 

(It sure is funny how you are asphyxiating, and yet you can't feel any of that choking panic you would expect. Funny. Yeah.) 

You curled up as tight as you could go and leaned back against the muscular wall. Your brain finally rearranged its priorities, and quietly turned your consciousness off like a light switch. 

… 

You came to again on a table, a bright light buzzing above you. You sucked in deep breaths, coughing as slime around your mouth got caught in your throat, blinking at the blazing glow. Your vision was off-kilter, and bobbed slightly as you tried to raise your head. Oh wait - it's bobbing because you swung your head too hard. Whoops. 

Wow you feel weird. You almost forgot to take another breath but your body takes care of it. You try to get up because you need to get up and wobble, half-way leaning up, then fall back onto your back. Ok, Karl, take it slowly now.

Something blocked the light. It was big and moving and - 

You blinked a few times, and your eyes got with the program. They focused on the shape, which turned out to be Sapnap. 

Oh… Yea. That’s what had happened. You really should have remembered that quicker than you did. 

Sapnap stared at you. You stared back. Then, slowly, Sapnap lowered his head to thump loudly on the table you were laying on. The vibration jolted the rest of your senses back online, and abruptly you could hear your heart beating like a jackrabbit in your ears. 

Oh god. 

Oh god. 

You almost… You had… 

But now you don’t… 

Sapnap seemed to be going through a rather similar breakdown, and you could (if you bothered to look) see tears streaming down his face, the minute shivering, his fist clutching the edge of the table hard enough to force his fingers a ghostly white. 

You got to your feet unsteadily, the sticky slime on you drying fast and sticking uncomfortably to your skin. Then you made your way to your room. You had a lot to think about… and for the first time, you felt nervous about being out in the open while you had those thoughts. 

(A single bad experience isn't enough to undo a lifetime of getting used to the idea of your own mortality at the hands of beings far more powerful than yourself, but it certainly gave you a crash course on the fear that came with that kind of thinking.)