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patchworkcuddlebug · 14 hours ago

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Surface Tension

[A Tea Dolls Story.]

The witch's... no, bad doll.

Miss's study was very different from what Honey was expecting. It always imagined that when Sugar disappeared behind the door, it was in some arcane laboratory, conferring with Miss between beakers of strange magical liquid and scraps of rune-scribbled papyrus.

Instead, it was more like... a lounge. Of course, there was a crystal ball, but it was in a den surrounded by antique sofas. The tablecloth on the desk was adorned with ring-shaped stains, barely visible under the plant that had overtaken most of the desktop long ago. There were vintage softcore pin-ups hung on the walls wherever there was space between the trinket-filled bookshelves and the large window that oversaw the backyard.

Honey hesitated in the doorway, unsure of what to feel. All this time, Miss had been so... ephemeral. Sugar was always the one to confer with her directly, orders and schedules relayed secondhand, as she always seemed so busy. They had talked, of course, but mostly in the forms of reflexive praise for a job well done. This is the first time it's truly... conversed with her.

The cornerstone of its purpose, the centre of all its desires, the reason to be. The need to be a good doll.

The witch placed herself down on one of the couches in her expansive room, reclining in the corner as she beckoned Honey over. "Oh, would you be a darling and close the door before you sit?"

The doll acted without thinking, gently shutting the door. For some reason, 'you' didn't feel wrong. It didn't have the creeping sense of inappropriateness, that sense that things shouldn't have such a sense of individuality. It brushes it off as the witch's, no, as Miss's magic before moving on. Bad d-

"Thank you very much, Honey."

Its thoughts dissolved as Miss's words trickled down its skin, saturating its mind. Without further thought, it sat just next to Miss.

Honey has no idea how to behave. It understands curtsy, the politeness essential to its being, but... it's on a couch, with Miss's arm just a nudge away from resting on its shoulders. It stared forward, posture locked, not wanting to risk overstepping a boundary by leaning against her body and staring into her eyes. "Are you going to fix this one, Miss?"

"Oh, darling, do you mean changing you?" She takes on a sympathetic tone, clearly sensing the apprehension behind Honey's reserved disposition. "I love all my dolls just the way they are, I don't have the heart to make you something else..."

The doll tried to keep itself from reacting, but their was a clear drop in its posture as it tried its best not to sound like it was protesting. "Miss, this one is just an object, you have every right to treat it as you please, it can handle-"

"Shush." She said with a playful flirtation, Honey's lips instantly wrenching shut. "That means I can choose to make you change yourself, can't I?"

Her relaxation is tucked away, smoothly and elegantly, as she shifts her position. She's giving Honey her full attention. "I'd like to know how you've been feeling. Please tell me everything you're comfortable with."

Honey marvels for just a moment, at... her. Her totality. Her posture, the effortless way she holds herself to be so inviting and welcoming. Her words, like fine wine from a bottle, enveloping like a warm blanket, enough to make one melt. Even her clothes, a simplistic dress with a sheer cloak and the witch's hat framing her beautiful face...

The doll shakes from its momentary distraction.

"This one has been struggling, Miss." It relented with a banal seriousness. It wanted to resist, its instincts telling it to downplay and deny and tell Miss that everything was perfect thanks to her. But it couldn't lie. Not to her.

"This one wants to be a good doll. It really, really does. It's all this one wants." Honey finds its gaze naturally falling, pulling its limbs inward to try and console itself. "But it makes so many mistakes, and they all feel so serious. Every mistake fills it with so much guilt, and shame, and... it lingers on those mistakes until it can't take it anymore."

If Honey looked up, it would see Miss with nothing but positive regard. No pity, no hesitance, just.. a compassionate engagement, attentiveness, and just a little relief.

"That must be so awful..." Miss shook her head. "Nobody deserves to be haunted like that."

Seeing Miss upset, it spoke up, as it figured a good doll would. "It's okay! The thoughts can be intense, but they help this one-"

"No, they don't." Miss leans just a little forward, keeping her intensity low. "I'm sorry to interrupt, but... I promise they don't. Being without them wouldn't make you a bad doll, would it?"

Honey stammered for just a second. "Well... this one would do its best no matter what for you, Miss. But, it has to care about its mistakes, or else it'll be a much worse doll." The doll spoke matter-of-factly, but with an inquisitive undertone, ready for Miss to correct it.

"Can we cuddle, darling? That's a question, not a command."

The doll blinks in surprise. There's a longing in Miss's voice, and tenderness in her desires. It complies, as a good doll... no. It accepts her offer. She said it was just a question.

There's a hesitation as it leans into the witch, whose arms are outstretched and accepting. Gentle, with rapt caution, it places its head into the crook of her chest. Miss gladly accepts it, letting her arm lay on its shoulders and hold it tight.

The witch is sure to chose her words carefully. "The others are good dolls, aren't they? They don't need to be nearly so unkind to themselves."

Yes, but... there's a rebuttal, there has to be, or else all this anguish would be for nothing. What if it-

"There's nothing wrong with you, either." She places her head against the doll's, nuzzling closer. The doll feels its Miss sigh with relief at their proximity, and all urges to correct her fade. "You're not uniquely evil, or broken, or bad."

Honey... couldn't bring itself to respond. It didn't know what to say. Deep down, it knew all of this. That its thoughts were extreme. But when faced with its mistakes, the disappointment of others, they just flood in and demand attention. Why is she doing this? Why can't she just take out the part of its core that makes it this way?

Miss gives a wistful sigh, pulling away from the doll without releasing it. "Could you look at me, darling?"

The doll does as Miss says. Honey looks at the witch. Her eyes are so... big, and beautiful. Like a deep, sprawling cavern, filled with crystals and sparkling rivers. It feels itself being pulled in, like its very gaze is being enveloped.

Her name is Camellia. It didn't know that before.

"Could you try and think of somebody you don't like? Someone annoying or mean. It might help you to imagine your bad thoughts as coming from them."

Honey didn't dare. Good dolls "Have feelings. There's nothing wrong with reasonable distaste towards another. I trust you."

Honey blinks, taken aback. It... believes her. Honey starts to wonder how she knew what it was-

"Magic, darling."

The doll nods.

It starts to think of its past. Its time as a human. It never had much attention in school, positive or negative. The only time eyes seemed to be on it was when it made a mistake, the judgment lingering like a foul odour. It was not torture; their eyes would quickly move on.

There were some familial hardships, but no bad blood. It let its parents down as all offspring would, and they would be much too lenient. They would make their feelings known, never out loud, and they would never offer punishment. Every infraction would just be silently moved on from, as if it never happened.

It thought of its job, of its boss. He gave basic... if it could be so bold, insufficient direction. It would often have to rely on assistance from its coworkers when on assignment, making it feel ill-equipped and ashamed. They didn't say anything, but it was interrupting their cleaning duties, it simply had to be a bother.

"Oh, Honey..." Camellia couldn't help but pull her doll in for a hug. "You didn't deserve any of that. I'm so sorry, darling, I wish I had known sooner..."

Honey wanted to struggle against the embrace, but it couldn't bring itself to. A doll wouldn't dare fight against Miss... even if it wanted to. It simply had no choice but to melt into her, letting itself relax in her embrace.

"It's..." it struggled to summon the nerve to speak against Miss. "It's not a big deal, Miss, really. Please don't worry about it, it..." as it spoke, it found its arms fitting around Miss in turn, reciprocating the embrace. "It's not nearly as bad as it could've been."

"Yes darling, exactly. That's why it's so awful." The witch let her eyes close as she rested her head against the doll's. "You were never taught to have closure. Everyone let you fester in your own mistakes, so now all you can do is let them intensify. No wonder dollhood is so hard on you."

Honey was silent. It didn't know how to react to that. It had always just accepted that this is how its life was, never stopping to consider its effects. It was as if a new dimension opened up to it.

She was right. It didn't know emotional closure. Things left unsaid, fizzling out, ignored. Sugar's thoughts and Cinnamon's feelings and Ginger's past and Lemon's secrets. It would never know the true extent of its failures, their impact, the other's actions and reactions. No matter how much the pressure of failure after failure would build, there was never release. Of course it would start to break.

It's... welling up. It didn't know dolls could cry. It shouldn't be that awful, it never felt like in the moment that there was ever something to cry about. But now that it all lays in the past, built-up over the years as a person and the weeks as a doll, all it could do was desperately hold back from staining Miss's dress.

It buried its head into Camellia's chest, desperate to hide its face. It didn't know what to do to make it better. It couldn't apologize, or clean its mess. All it could do was hold off from crying, making itself useful. For just a moment, its emotions faltered, and it cursed Miss for being so cruel as to make it learn such an awful thing about itself.

Miss cradled it in her arms, and gently and compassionately as one could. She was silent, only at first. "It's okay, you're okay. I promise I'll never let such awful things happen again. You deserve to know."

It deserves to know.

It heaved as the tears started to fall. All it could do was bask in its feelings as everything finally released. It spent a very long time crying, just letting Miss hold it and caress its hair before it finally got it all out of its system. Finally, it could steady its sobs, its throat hoarse. Its face was wet, red, and relieved.

All the while, Camellia never let go. She never wanted to leave something unsaid again, making it perfectly clear how she felt with every second snuggled close. It wasn't long before the doll, now emptied, faded into stillness in her arms. The witch let it rest.

It was a long and loving embrace before the witch's thoughts drifted back to the matter at hand. With a single, soft "Excuse me, Honey?" the doll groggily lifted up its head. At some point, they seemed to have laid down together, with the doll using Miss as a bed.

"If you ever find yourself overwhelmed with your thoughts again, stressed out by the need to be a good doll... seek one of us out. Me or the dolls." Camellia let her hands rest on Honey's back, still holding the same embrace. "We'll tell you the honest truth about what you've done, and explain what reaction we would have. Would that help?"

Honey remembered moments where its thoughts were at their worst. When it ruined Miss's dinner, and wanted nothing more than to run away and apologize and accept some sort of punishment all at once. The pain, the guilt, the regret, all filtered through the lens of peer-review. It would be deeply vulnerable, but... it would know.

The doll let its head softly thump to the side, landing against Miss's chest. "Yes, Miss. Thank you, Miss."

. . . . .

The doll looked down into Miss's vintage water pitcher. One of the teabags left to seep overnight slipped from the rim, one of the many teabags partaking in the cold brew now floating without a lifeline.

Honey holds its newly-repaired thumb joint in its other hand, Miss's alternative to letting it near its teeth, as options rushed through its mind. It couldn't just reach in. It just washed its hands, and the others didn't deserve to taste soap in their tea. It could try to fish it out with something, uselessly dirtying a utensil due to its mistake. Bad doll.

Deep breath in, deep breath out. Closure.

Honey peaked its head out, to where the others were gathered. It hadn't been long since Honey stepped away to grab the tea. "Excuse this one," it walked towards them with the tea, careful not to spill it. "but how extreme of a mistake is losing a teabag's string in the pitcher?"

The others were flippant, but not dismissively so. It was a reassurance. "Completely negligible." "Like, zero out of ten?" "Aren't they left in iced tea anyway?" and a soft shake of the head.

"...Thank you all." The doll felt its shoulders relax. Something completely unworthy of scorn. It stood at the table, beginning by pouring for Sugar. "Lapsang souchong tea. It's known for its polarizing smokey flavour, so don't be afraid to sweeten it."

"Isn't that a black tea? Is that one ...going to be okay?" Lemon tilted its head, moving its glass closer to the edge of the table for convenience's sake.

"Honey's adjusted rather well to its dollhood." Sugar kept a collected disposition as it patiently waited for the others to be served. "This one trusts that it'll handle itself much better."

Cinnamon flinches away from its straw, quickly swallowing the sip it had in its mouth. "Mmf, sorry, that... wow." It looked over to Ginger, who had just finished adding its fourth spoonful of sugar. It leans in close to the other doll with a smirk of endearment. "Yeah, this one hears it." It playfully begrudges as it begins adding the sugar to Cinnamon's tea instead.

Its duty finished, Honey places the pitcher in the middle of the table as it takes its seat. With a tentative curiosity, it leans in, bringing the straw to its mouth. It winces.

"It... may need some additives, to be to this one's tastes." Without meaning to, Honey starts to smile. It's not perfectly polite, with a self-satisfied flash of teeth to the others, but the sincerity is unmistakable. "But... this one did a very good job anyway. It's very proud of itself."

#dollposting #empty spaces #this one's words #2.5k words #and thus concludes the saga of the tea dolls!#at least as far as the development of honey's character is concerned #this one may return and write vignettes of the dolls interacting later?#it rather likes everyones personalities and there is probably still potential for future narratives #but its unlikely to be a multi-post novella as this narrative was

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grandwretch · 1 day ago

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only must i wander, chapter 9

dustin's intermission

[on ao3] [ch 1][ch 2][ch 3][ch 4][ch 5][ch 6][ch 7][ch 8]

1985, september

The gravel of Hopper's drivethrough crunched under Dustin's bike wheels. It was late, night having long since settled over Hawkins, but the cabin windows glowed warmly, beckoning him inside. He could already hear the voices of his friends inside, yelling and laughing over some joke he couldn't make out-- Excitement lanced through him when he heard Eddie's wild cackle.

It had been months since he'd seen Eddie outside of school. Months since he'd been able to hang out with most of them, actually. He'd been grounded for weeks after the mall fire, and once his mom had found out about Steve being a Grimm, he'd basically been under house arrest. Dustin had missed so much, catching up on the phone with El or in sadly human hangouts with Max. They had Wesen game nights, now. D&D campaigns he didn't get invited to. Movie nights where they watched his favorites without him. Summer had been torture, and seeing them in between classes at school only made it worse.

Well, Dustin was sick of it. There would be no more inside jokes he didn't understand. No more apologetic faces when they discussed plans. He was going to game night. If his mom woke up and noticed him missing, she was just going to have to get over it. He refused to let his own life pass him by because she was afraid.

He ditched his bike next to Steve's car, the kickstand singing metallic at the force with which he snapped it in place. He hustled himself up the steps and onto the porch, shooting furtive glances over his shoulder. They were in the middle of the woods, no nosy neighbors to rat him out, but Dusin still felt hunted by someone's watchful gaze. Perhaps being hunted by the government for a few days had left more lasting damage than he'd previously expected.

Throwing open the door with more strength than he'd intended, Dustin blinked as the light enveloped him. From the yard it had seemed cozy and welcoming, but now it stung his eyes-- He hadn't risked a flashlight to light his way on the ride here, and now he was paying for it. He recoiled from the doorway, cursing under his breath, and heard more than saw the party draw to a halt at his presence.

"Dustin?" Steve asked, the Grimm suspicion that they'd all had to become accustomed to clinging to his voice.

"Dustin!" El echoed. At least she was happy to see him. As Dustin's vision cleared, El threw her arms around his neck, and he stumbled further back into the darkness. Behind her, Max hovered, staring off into the night to make it clear she wasn't waiting for a turn-- Of course, when El stepped back after a final squeeze, she didn't back away when Dustin pulled her in, either. She tucked herself under his chin, briefly letting herself rest against his shoulder before backing up.

Both the girls beamed up at him, one brighter than the other, and Dustin was left with the dizzying thought of what his younger self would think of how easy it was to touch and be touched by El and Max. And, also, how little any of them seemed to care about it outside of what little comfort they could bring each other after the summer. Romance had seemed incidental, if relevant at all-- Dustin and El's newfound intimacy had very little to do with her breakup from Mike, and Dustin found himself lounging in Lucas's lap as often as Max, when they weren't in public. Hell, basketball season starting was the only reason that Dustin wasn't throwing himself at Lucas right now. The further their other friends slipped away, the tighter they clung to each other. It was more than a little odd, but Dustin wasn't surprised that their sense of propriety was more than a little warped. Look who they had for role models.

Said role model was standing in the doorway, peering down at his charges. Dustin couldn't see Steve's face in the shadows, but he could imagine the frown that had taken his mouth. Stress lines had already begun to settle in around his mouth, years too early, the expression so common that even his smiles carried echoes of it. "What are you doing here, bud?"

"I came for game night!" Dustin said brightly, as if it wasn't the first time he'd ever shown up to the cabin on his own. Or after 9pm, for that matter.

"Uh," Steve grunted, that pissy little squint of his settling in. Always willing to throw Dustin under the bus in order to remain the favorites, Max and El ducked back into the cabin, giggling. "Does your mom know you came for game night?"

Steve was a pretty terrible liar, but he was distressingly good at figuring out when Dustin was. There was absolutely no tactic that worked on him every time; Dustin just had to pick a really good one and hope that Steve was having an off night. There was one that worked more often than not, but Dustin tried not to use it too often-- Not just because of Steve, but because of his new ever-present shadows, Eddie and Robin. Even now, they blinked at Dustin from Hopper's couch, not even pretending to be interested in something else. Even on his worst nights, Steve wouldn't miss a pattern with three brains working on it.

Blustering, Dustin decided the best way to not get caught in a lie was to not answer at all. Instead, he took a page out of Steve's own book, mirroring his pose-- Hands on the hip and all. With exggeration in every movement and word, Dustin leaned in, mocking, "What do you think, genius?"

"I--" Steve began, and halfway through the sentence seemed to realize he didn't care all that much. Maybe Steve had finally remembered he had done his fair share of sneaking out, or maybe he was just tired. Either way, in that moment of hesitation, Dustin knew he had him. "Yeah, alright," Steve sighed, then turned, gesturing for Dustin to follow him. "Come on in."

Max and El were on the floor in front of the couch. They had pushed the coffee table out of the way and replaced it with a box of Clue, the pieces scattered across the floor. The actual board was still folded, halfway out of the box, and El was hunched over the worn cards, examining them carefully. "You're just in time to help me teach El the rules," Max said, with a smile that said Dustin would be doing all of the teaching.

"I'm going to play the red lady," El said, not listening. Her fingers stroked Miss Scarlet's portraits, obvious envy in her voice. "She has such nice hair."

Robin leaned over, humming as she examined the card. "Steve could probably help you do yours like that."

Steve glanced down at the card, frowning even deeper when he saw Miss Scarlet's teased curls. "Maybe when she's sixteen," he said, every inch of Hopper's disapproval in his voice, which obviously really meant 'never in a million years'.

"Steve, come on!" Max whined as El pouted up at him, both of them suddenly very invested in Steve's dedication to El's haircare. He ignored them with all the practice of a professional older brother, throwing himself onto the couch between Robin and Eddie. Immediately, he and Robin started talking about whatever boring grown up argument they'd been having before, but Eddie's eyes lingered on Dustin for a moment longer.

His eyes said that they absolutely knew what Dustin was up to, and that he was choosing to ignore it. It was probably the only help he was going to get from anyone when it came to deceiving Steve, and Dustin chose not to push it. He mouthed a quiet 'thank you', then nearly tripped over himself trying to claim Professor Plum before Max could snatch it from him.

They got halfway through a game before the door opened again, spilling their warmth out into the chilly autumn air. Chief Hopper's voice boomed through the small cabin, the beloved owner's words echoing through the space, cutting through laughter and arguments. The magic was wasted on nothing much at all. "Oh great," the echoes said, "a bunch of kids in my house."

Dustin blinked up at Chief Hopper, looming over them all from the doorway. He was in uniform, the brown monstrosity that made him seem at once incredibly silly and largely intimidating, and holding a stack of pizzas that nearly went over his head. Dustin blinked a couple more times, and the pizzas didn't fade.

Weird.

While Dustin was... intellectually aware that Chief Hopper was now the adopted father of his two best friends, Dustin had yet to be adjust to that, uh, emotionally. For most of his life, the Chief had been a vague and mysterious form of authority, more of an icon than a human, and his mother and peers had warned him equally to stay out of the Chief's way. As Dustin grew older, the warnings grew with him, until Will's disappearance had turned the Chief from a distant warning to a very present adversary.

It had been difficult to let that resentment go, even if Dustin had left most of the anger to Mike. It hadn't helped, either, that none of them had any idea that the Chief had been keeping El safe for almost a year-- It had been a revelation on a night of revelations, turning into a knot of confusion and emotion. Will is in danger again, you have a new big brother, the Chief is a wonderful father and also a liar.

Excuse him if he wasn't exactly comfortable in the man's presence.

Especially not, Dustin thought while every muscle in his body locked with fear, when he wasn't supposed to be here.

Dustin was the only one disappointed to see an adult in the room, apparently. Greetings flooded the room as Dustin's mouth went dry, El and Steve's the loudest. Eddie even waved, remarkably chill for a man who had spent so much time in the back of the Chief's cruiser, although it might have something to do with the arm Steve currently had draped over his shoulders. Hard to be scared of a man whose son had latched onto you like a limpet, Dustin guessed.

"Yes, yes, hello to the children who are supposed to be here. What the rest of you doing here?" Belying his harsh words, Hopper put a gentle hand on Max's head, large palm praticially enveloping her skull. She beamed up at him, but the Chief had moved on, his eyes now locked on Dustin. As the target of swiftly narrowing eyes, Dustin got the vague impression he had just interrupted some fatherly ritual he didn't understand. "Especially you, Henderson."

"Um," Dustin croaked, squirming. He searched desperately for a lie that would hold up under Hopper's narrowed gaze, but to his shock, the man barely held his gaze for another second.

Rolling his eyes, Hopper visibily dropped whatever suspicion he'd had about coming home to Dustin on his couch. "Whatever," he said, echoing Steve with eerie similarity, looking to the other kids. "Time for dinner. Who wants vegetarian?"

"Awesome!" Max crowed, El brightening beside her, but Dustin swallowed around a lump in his throat that told him he hadn't made it out of the woods, yet.

Dustin ate his pizza-- surpreme, of course, with one slice of jalapeno and ham that Eddie had bullied him into trying --slowly, not liking the way Hopper and Steve kept looking at him. If this was what having a dad was like, Dustin was glad he'd missed out; Their gazes were knowing and unflinching, and while Dustin wasn't afraid, he felt bare and stupid. What was even worse was that afterward they'd look at each other, having a silent conversation through their eyebrows and shoulders. It was a language that Dustin hadn't even known Steve could speak, a language that seemed to be bestowed upon every parent the moment their child was born. Steve hadn't had any kids, and he didn't understand spoken language most days, but it didn't stop him from keeping up with Chief Hopper. Dustin watched his head bob in Dustin's direction time and again, and chewed crust that tasted more like cardboard.

The moment the last piece disappeared behind Dustin's lips, Steve and Robin already leaping up to help clear the paper plates scattered across the table, Hopper stood. His chair scraped across the floor with a loud sound that had the rest of the gathered party pausing in their own movements; Dustin wasn't sure how the chair knew it needed to announce the importance in the set of Hopper's shoulders, but it had certainly gotten the message across.

"Alright," the Chief said, adjusting the belt around his stomach. "It's getting late. Dustin, I told your mom I'd take you home when we got done eating."

Dustin swallowed. Had an olive gotten lodged in his esophagus at some point? Breathing felt suddenly out of his reach.

"What?" El asked, a sharp frown on her face. "He didn't even get to play any games with us!"

"Sorry, Janey. His mom's rules come first," Hopper said. He did look genuinely sorry about it, at least until his gaze found Dustin's again. He saw the iron return to the man's eyes and had to struggle not to reveal the way his heart raced in his chest. "Say goodbye, Dustin."

"Bye, everyone," he said mechanically, wincing when he heard the shake in his own voice.

"We'll see you at school next week," Max said, with a small, awkward smile. It didn't make Dustin feel any better, really, but it did remind him that whatever happened next, it wasn't like his mom could take school away from him.

"See ya, Dusty," Eddie said, waving behind Steve's back. "Sorry, man."

Not sorry enough to stand up for him, apparently.

Dustin sulked out of the cabin, followed by the Chief's large, looming shadow. He hesitated for just a moment beside his bicycle, only to scurry away when the man gave a low, displeased grunt. Waiting by the cruiser door in silence seemed like the much safer bet, actually, Dustin decided. His bicycle could rot here, for all he cared at the moment-- Living was much more important.

"I should make you sit in the back, the way I used to make Steve ride back there when he was a dickhead," Hopper said, mostly mumbling as he fished his keys out of his pocket. "Actually, I've had Eddie back there a time or two, too. Maybe you need some better role models, Henderson."

Answering seemed like a bigger mistake than sneaking out had been. Every word of that had felt like a trap, either throwing his friends under the bus or digging himself deeper into Hopper's ire. He'd never been great at keeping his mouth shut, and the habit of letting his mouth run away from him had only gotten worse now that he had Steve to back him up-- The fear of Claudia Henderson, though? That was more than enough to keep him quiet.

Dustin could feel the nerves causing subtle changes in his body as he waited for Hopper to unlock the passenger door. His teeth elongated and shifted texture, and he pressed the rough edges against his tongue until he could taste iron. Fur sprouted on fidgeting fingers.

Hopper seemed to take his silence as a cue, because once Dustin was safely in the car, the man didn't speak another word. That was worse, somehow. The silence pressed in on them as they rolled slowly through the forest, and Dustin couldn't help that his gaze kept returning back to Hopper's blank, stern face. Had they ever spent this much time alone before? Surely not, and surely not enough to be silent with each other. Dustin had only just barely reached that level with Steve, a guy Dustin had all but made his emergency contact, and that was only because the school had refused to accept the paperwork.

Somewhere in the back of Dustin's mind, he was vaguely aware of what Hopper was doing. He'd never been arrested before, unless you counted the brief run-ins with the federal government as resisting arrest, which according to the agents who had so passionately argued with Dr. Owens-- Well, whatever. Dustin had never been interrogated before, was the point, but he had seen movies. He knew that silence was just as persuasive as intimidation or a kind word and a cup of coffee. He knew the game Hopper was playing, and that was half the battle. He wasn't going to fall victim to such a stupid trick.

Except he absolutely was, Dustin thought with his stomach in knots. He wasn't a hardened criminal; he was a freshman. He hadn't even had his fourteenth birthday yet. Of course he was going to break. The only thing left for Dustin to do was try not to reveal too much when he did.

He barely made it to them same road before his control over his mouth snapped like a twig, the words tumbling over his tongue and out of his mouth. "Are you really going to tell my mom?" Fuck.

"Well, kid. I feel like I should," Hopper said, slowly. For the first time that night, Dustin could see that Hopper felt as awkward about this conversation as Dustin was. He was all but squirming in his seat, shifting awkwardly as he frowned out at the road before them. They both would much prefer Dustin was having this conversation with Steve, probably, but Dustin's mom didn't open the door when Steve knocked anymore. Which was the whole reason Dustin had to sneak out in the first place. "Seems like the kinda thing a mom should know."

"You can't!" Dustin said, fully aware he sounded like the whining child he had always tried to avoid becoming. He had kept his cool through being hunted by federal agents, through attacks by eldritch dogs, through his best friends being drug to Hell and back. So much had happened in the last few years, and while the rest of Dustin's friends only seemed to improve from year to year, he could feel himself swiftly reaching the edges of his abililty to take random bullshit.

"Oh, can't I?" Hopper asked, amused. The grin tugging on the edges of his mouth only twisted the knife in Dustin's chest further.

"No! It'll--" Dustin swallowed, heart pounding so fast he thought he might throw up. "Fuck, Hop, are you trying to ruin my life?"

Hopper sighed, shaking his head as he muttered, "Teenagers are so dramatic, Jesus."

"Oh, sure, all parents are good and perfect," Dustin spat, crossing his arms around his chest. He wasn't being dramatic. Steve flipping out when someone broke his favorite mug was dramatic. Eddie writing a dirge for his favorite wornout cassette was dramatic. Freaking out because your mom was trying to lock you up for the rest of your life wasn't dramatic. "Why don't you call Steve's folks and tell him who he's hanging out with these days?"

"Your mom is not Sophia Harrington, Dustin. Stop it."

Hopper wasn't wrong, and the look he shot Dustin said he knew it, but Dustin still avoided his gaze.

"Yeah, but she--" Dustin ground his jaw, wincing at the sound the beaver teeth made in his mouth. "She's awful."

"She loves you, and that's more than Steve ever had--" Hopper began, but Dustin cut him off with a shout. It was short and incoherent, barely more than a grunt of frustration, but he just couldn't take it anymore.

Guilt had already settled into Dustin's chest when he'd made the comparison; He didn't need Hopper to tell him he was out of line. Steve's mom was an even touchier subject than his dad. Whatever was going on there was much lonelier than fear or anger.

The fact of it was, though, Steve didn't matter right now. Not to Dustin. His only mistake had been bringing it up. Sure, Steve had a bad mom-- But everyone else had great ones. Even El, with no mom at all, got brought under the wing of Joyce Byers and Susan Mayfield. Where did that leave Dustin, quietly suffering alone, with no one to talk to about it? Why, because Steve had it worse? Steve wouldn't want that for him, Dustin knew that, and he wasn't about to accept it, either.

"I'm not allowed to have friends, I'm not allowed to have a life," Dustin gasped out. With a distant horror, Dustin realised that tears had begun to well up in his eyes, but his body was spiralling swiftly out of his control. There was very little he could do, only double over, clinging to the door, as he tried to regain some composure.

Hopper's stern, detached voice only made things worse. "You disappeared for almost a week this summer, she's allowed to--"

"She says terrible shit all the time about my friends, and everyone just passes it off as being strict! It's not just Steve and El, it's people she's never even met. You didn't even hear the stuff she said about Jeff and Gareth's families. I don't even--" Dustin choked, drawing to an end with a shuddering breath. Hopper was quiet as Dustin tried to catch his breath, chest heaving. He was still listening when Dustin continued, "I don't even recognize her anymore. The past two years have been... That's not my mom, Hopper. I don't know who she is."

Hopper's silence stayed firm even when Dustins' words finally drew to a more natural end. With a sinking heart, Dustin was sure that Hopper was just going to keep ignoring him all the way home-- That he was going to turn into ever other adult in the world and pretend that everything he didn't like wasn't happening. It would be so disappointing, Dustin thought, to know that Steve and El had been through so much and all they had to fall back on was someone who didn't listen.

Blinking back tears, Dustin turned away from Hop, leaning so far into the door that his face pressed into the cool glass. Two could play at that game. He didn't have to listen, either-- When the lectures came, he would just let it all fade into background noise, focusing his mind on the swiftly moving lights that danced across the window's reflections.

When Hopper eventually spoke, however, there was no lecture to be found.

"Did I ever tell you that I went to school with your mom, Dustin?" he said, instead. Dustin peeked over his shoulder at him, but Hopper wasn't looking at him-- His eyes were still firmly on the road, though Dustin could see that his hands were clenched so hard around the wheel that his knuckles were turning white.

"No," Dustin said, suspicion coloring every word. "We're from Chicago."

"Well, that's where she went to college-- where you were born --but she grew up right here with me and Joyce. She was... " Hopper paused, as if unsure of how to explain himself. "Different, then, I guess. A real bright girl. Too good for a couple of outcasts like us, probably, but she acted like she didn't notice. Her and Joyce were something to see, always getting into problems, asking questions. I don't think either of them were afraid of anything at all, back then."

Dustin tried to imagine his mother getting into trouble and couldn't quite manage it. Every attempt only ended with his mother being the one to do the scolding, to point out the danger. "Are you sure it was my mom?" he asked. "That doesn't sound anything like her."

Hopper snorted. "Yeah, kid, I'm sure."

"Then what... happened to her?" It wasn't just the way she acted; Dustin couldn't remember a single time his mother had talked fondly about the people of Hawkins. Chicago she loved, but Hawkins was nothing more than a prison to her, something she chose because the walls would keep them as safe as it kept them isolated. "The way she talks about Joyce-- The way she talks about everybody--"

Hopper shrugged. "I know she met your dad in college, and they settled down there permanently when they got married. She dropped out of college and joined a nursing program, instead. Spent a lot of time with your father's family, from what I heard. Joyce was worried about her, going through the same motions herself, but Claudia was happy. They lost touch after that, but she sent word when you were born. Joyce was thrilled; She was pregnant with Will and had been so afraid that Claudia would never have the family she wanted."

Nothing abou this made any sense. Everything Dustin had ever known about his mom, about his own life, was in direct contradiction with what Hopper was saying-- but then, how many times in the past few years had Dustin's entire world view been challenged by one conversation? How many times had his mother told him something he knew was untrue, simply because she thought it was for his own good?

"My mom told me my dad didn't have any family. It's just me and mom," he said numbly, because surely she wouldn't have lied about that. Surely she wouldn't have kept a family from him, one that she apparently had loved enough to turn her back on everything she'd ever known.

"... I reckon that's still true," Hopper said, awkwardly. His eyes flicked towards Dustin again, just once, as if gauging how he was taking gaining and losing a family within the span of a few sentences. "When your-- When your dad passed, Claudia showed back up in Hawkins. She moved into her parents' old house, and when we asked, she said she didn't have anywhere else to go. We tried to get her settled, but it never really took. I don't know how much you remember, but we couldn't even convince her to let you leave the house until you were five or six. Took even longer for Joyce to convince her you were healthy enough to go to school."

"I didn't know Joyce was why I stopped homeschooling," Dustin said, head spinning. He'd always assumed the doctors had convinced her; That it was always a part of the plan, and the homeschooling had been them waiting for his body to catch up. "I never even met her until Will invited me over."

"Claudia only let her in the house if you were upstairs. Never saw anyone else come in or out, either. Joyce was thrilled the first time you came over. Lonnie was afraid she'd never let you go home."

Had his childhood really been so restrictive? Dustin remembered feeling lonely, sure, but he had always just attributed that to being a sick kid with no friends. The idea it was something that his mother had forced on him left him feeling slightly sick to his stomach. He could have known Will for years. He could have had even more time with someone he might never talk to again. The games they could have played together-- The conversations they could have had-- Dustin could imagine a world where he and Will were just as close as Mike and Will, as close as Lucas and Dustin were now.

The more he thought about it, the more the idea ached. If he and Mike had met then, would Mike have been less willing to cut them all out after last summer? Would he have stayed the way they needed him to? Would Dustin have been able to save his friends the way he couldn't now? And if all that was true, what else had his mother kept from him?

He didn't want to accept it. As much as Dustin resented his mother's attitude towards the people he loved, he had never thought that she would turn that anger towards him. She had never done anything to hurt him, not knowingly, anyway. Until now, he had always thought she was just... misguided. He was suffering under her love, that was all. It happened to people all the time. But if what Hopper was saying was true, was Dustin wrong? Was she keeping him safe by taking away everything that could ever make him happy? Did she even care?

"And she never told you why?" Dustin said, the lump in his throat shredding his voice to reedy, pathetic pieces. "She never... She never told you how my dad died?"

"No," Hopper said, his voice softer than Dustin had ever heard it. "You?"

"No."

It was, apparently, another thing she'd thought he didn't need.

Silence took over the cruiser again, both of them unsure of what to say. Dustin was sure if he asked any more questions he would burst into tears halfway through, and Hopper-- Hopper kept looking at Dustin like he knew it, like he was afraid anything he said would break Dustin into tiny pieces. Dustin was so tired of being thought of as something fragile, but he had to admit that he felt like it, for the first time in his life.

He felt like thin, warped glass, the edges of him already turning back into sand.

"I do have a theory, if you're willing to hear it," Chief Hopper said eventually. Dustin hugged his arms around his stomach, holding tight. He wasn't sure that he did want to hear it, actually-- He wasn't sure he could live with knowing more truths about his mother. But Dustin had never been good at ignoring his own impulse for answers, even when it might be the death of him.

"What kind of theory?" he asked, stomach sinking before he even heard the answer.

"You know, Steve has been sharing a lot of that Wesen stuff with me, "Hopper said. "Stuff he thinks would be useful in my line of work when he can't be around. I'll admit most of it doesn't make sense to me, but I remember one thing about you beaver folk."

"Eisbibers," Dustin corrected, on instinct more than any offense.

"Yeah, whatever," the Chief said, waving his hand in a way so reminiscent of Steve that Dustin almost smiled. :Anyway, Steve's grandpa says that the beavers are big on family. They live in big groups, and when two families mix they often become one big family. According to him, there's one family that makes up half of a small country in Europe. The way I see it, it's... a problem there's only two in Hawkins. You understand me?"

Not really, Dustin thought, but the unease in his stomach only settled in further.

Hopper sighed. "Maybe just give your mom a little grace, alright? I'm not exactly thrilled with how she's been talking about my kids, either, but sometimes people have a reason to be a little paranoid."

Dustin wanted to protest, wanted to point out that he'd seen worse than his mom ever had, but something held his tongue. He wasn't sure what it was, exactly, but a voice in the back of his head kept hissing at him. Was he sure? Was he really sure that his mother hadn't seen anything worse? Dustin tried not to follow that voice any deeper, tried not to consider what would make an Eisbiber leave her family behind.

If there was even any family left to have.

"Yeah," Dustin choked out, squeezing his eyes closed.

Silently, Hopper pulled to a stop. Dustin could feel the sway of the car, the small bump as Hopper pulled up onto the sidewalk-- A small crime done with the confidence of a cop. It took a few more seconds for Dustin to get the courage to open his eyes, but Hopper waited, not speaking.

When Dustin finally peeked out the window, he didn't like what he saw. Mrs. Morgan's prized dahlia's stared back at him, dulled by the moonlight, an ominous sign that they had finally reached Dustin's block. In a few short yards, they would be at his house-- And if his mom caught him, or if Hopper forced him to explain, there would be hell to pay. She wouldn't hurt him, of course, probably wouldn't even yell-- But somehow that made it all worse. If she freaked out a little more, maybe Dustin could properly hate her. Instead, she would just stand there, saying horrible things in a calm voice that made his stomach turn.

"Alright, kid, here's what we're gonna do: I'm gonna park right here, and you're gonna walk the rest of the way home," Hopper said, his voice soft. "Tell her or not, it's up to you."

It was more than Dustin had expected from him. "I thought I was in trouble."

"I trust you to make the right call," Hopper said.

And wasn't that a guilt trip and a half?

Dustin knew he was right. He should tell his mom the truth, if only because she seemed to struggle with the concept herself. He couldn't be mad at her, couldn't demand answers, if he was sneaking around, too. He would have to be brave.

Pulling himself out of the cruiser with shaky limbs, Dustin nodded at Hopper one last time. It had been a weird night, but the man had at least tried. He wondered if this was what Steve had felt like, when Hopper first started reaching out to him-- But no, that was different. Steve needed a dad, had craved one. Dustin had more parental presence than he knew what to do with.

He walked the last block home, the pressure in his head growing with every step. Dread rose higher in his throat until it pooled on his tongue, tasting of bile, but his determination grew stronger with it. He unlocked the front door, gritting his teeth until he felt a snarl settle over his face. He needed to not be himself when he faced her, needed to be someone stronger. Someone braver.

He envied Steve's ability to mask himself in words and gestures, but it wasn't something Dustin could learn-- And definitely not in the next five seconds.

Dustin's mother was exactly where he left her. Claudia Henderson was at the kitchen table, reading one of the many books that Dustin wasn't allowed to look at, much less touch. She sat, as she always did, in the only chair that gave her an unimpeded view of the front door. Which, of course, meant the moment Dustin walked through, she saw him.

He watched shock then fear settle on her face and squared his shoulders, waiting for her to strike first.

"Dusty, you--" Her voice wavered, pitching up into a frightened warble that made Dustin wince. "Have you been out all night?"

It was hardly what he would have considered all night, barely 11 pm, but he knew what she meant. "Yeah, mom."

Claudia rose, her clothes swirling around her as frantic as she had suddenly become. She cleared the space between them in a moment, her hands gripping his shoulders. "Where? What were you thinking? Do you have any idea how dangerous this place could be for you--"

"I do, actually," he said. Very few in Hawkins knew it better. "Do you?"

"Excuse me?"

Dustin sighed, feeling not for the first time like the only adult in the room. "Look, mom. We need to talk."

As if sensing the shift in the dynamic, Claudia pulled herself up to her full height, staring down at her son with a clenched jaw. Her approximation of sterness meant nothing to Dustin, all too aware of the way her eyes still darted from place to place. As if, somehow, Dustin might have brought the danger home with him. As if him sneaking out to spend a night with his friends wasn't a danger because he might get hit by a car or might be drinking, but because the sin itself would mean monsters lurked in the darkness.

"There's nothing to talk about except the fact that you're grounded," Claudia said, and Dustin looked up at her with pity.

"Alright," he said, willing to go along with it if it made her stop shaking. "But I still need to talk to you."

The fear seemed to turn to frustration in half a moment, and Dustin watched color flood his mother's face. "What could you possibly have to say to me right now?" she demanded. "What could make this better? Better yet, what couldn't possibly wait until morning?"

"... I want to be able to go to Hopper's and hang out with El and Steve," he said, because he deserved it. Because she deserved to hear the truth of what he wanted, even if she wasn't willing to give it to him. "They have game nights every Thursday, and I miss--"

"No," she said, disgusted and betrayed-- As if Dustin had hurt her by even asking.

"Mom, they're my friends," Dustin said, trying to stay calm. His throat still ached from holding back tears in Hopper's car, but he didn't feel like crying now. He couldn't afford it, not with Claudia shaking in front of him, so near tears herself. He couldn't remember the last time he had cried in front of his mother, couldn't remember the last night he'd trusted her enough to take care of him if he couldn't take care of himself.

"You have no idea what Wesen like them are capable of, Dusty!" she said. Her fingers dug into his shoulders so deeply now that Dustin bit his lip to keep from jerking away. "I know they seem like your friends now, but when you're older, you'll understand."

"I do, though!" Dustin said, because his had already friends done wonderful, terrible things, and it had only made him love them more. "I've seen what they're capable of, and they've never once used it against me."

"For now!" Claudia finally let go, sending Dustin rocking backwards as she stomped back into the kitchen. She filled a glass of water with shaking hands, and Dustin wondered if she was trying to hide her anger or her fear from him.

"I don't--" Dustin sighed. "What do you think is going to change?"

"Mind my words, Dustin," Claudia said, voice grave."If you keep running around with predators like that, they'll kill you."

Scoffing, Dustin trailed behind his mother, asking, "You think El is going to kill me? That Steve is? Come on, Mom, you've met them."

"Yes. And I've met hexenbiests before. They always seem pleasant until they're cursing your bloodline," Claudia said. The calmness she wore from day to day was nowhere to be found, every inch of her consumed by the nervous dramatics that she had passed on to Dustin. She almost reminded him of Robin when she got like this, tongue sharp and hands flying. He watched her slosh water all over the kitchen counter as she gestured angrily. "Oh, I've also met Mr. and Mrs. Harrington. They're a delight, I assure you. I still wouldn't spend a moment alone with them! I definitely wouldn't trust them alone with you, Dustin. Imagine what could happen!"

"Steve isn't his parents," Dustin said. The louder his mother got, the quieter he found himself becoming-- He had to force himself not to mumble, now. Every word threatened to die in his throat.

"You can't change genetics, Dustin. There's thousands of years of murder in his DNA, and I'm not going to trust his control over his instincts with your safety," Claudia said.

"Fine," Dustin agreed. "Then I want to join Hellfire next year."

Claudia paused, sitting the half-full glass down on the counter. "What?"

"It's a DnD group run by Eddie Munson, and--"

"A Munson?" Claudia's voice was sharp with shock, bordering on a shriek. "You may as well play with a rabid animal, Dustin. Sweetheart, listen to yourself--"

That stung more than anything she had ever said about Steve or El. They were dangerous, had the potential to take out all of Hawkins if they put their minds together, Dustin just knew them well enough to know that they wouldn't. To talk about Eddie and Wayne like that was another thing entirely. They were good people. Sweet in a way that Dustin had rarely seen in his short life. A family like the kind you saw on TV, always there for each other, family dinners and talking through their problems on the front porch. They weren't the kind of family that adults approved of, but they were the kind that ever kid wanted to be a part of.

It seemed like profaning something holy to call them animals. Eddie, especially, seemed unfair. He was just a kid. A kid who was technically older than Steve, sure, but a kid all the same. Not only would he not hurt Dustin, he probably couldn't if he even tried. Eddie was good, and brave, and had saved Steve in ways that Dustin hadn't even known that Steve needed saving but he... He had fought and killed less than Dustin had. It was like calling a baby a monster, at the end of the day, and Dustin could barely hide his disdain for the thought.

"He's friends with Steve and Robin, and he's really nice," Dustin said, the words falling short of explaining everything Eddie meant to him and their group. "There's also other prey species in the group, and I think it would be good for me--"

"I don't even know why the Harringtons allow Wayne and that whelp to stay in Hawkins after what his father did," Claudia continued, ignoring Dustin's clumsy pleading. "Honestly, if anything good comes from Steve and him running around together, it'll be that the Harringtons finally run them out."

Dustin's blood ran cold at the very thought. Since finding out what Steve's bloodline really meant, the Harringtons had been little more than a vague horror story, a monster people told their kids about in whispers before bed. He'd hoped they'd never come home in the same thought as wondering if they were even real, and half the time Steve seemed to think of them the same way. They were a distant threat, looming over the town but never touching it. Hopper and Steve had a plan, after all. What did Dustin need to worry?

The idea of the Harringtons actually hunting someone-- Someone that Dustin loved-- Someone that Steve loved-- sent Dustin's stomach into spirals so tight he thought he'd be sick. He couldn't fathom it. He'd been hunted before, watched his friends evade capture and fight against monsters and the government alike, but the Harringtons were... Grimms they might be, but the Harringtons were just people. Eddie was just a boy their son was friends with.

He couldn't imagine the ways it would break Steve's heart. He couldn't imagine the ways it would shift the dynamics of their group, of the entire town. He couldn't imagine the way it would destroy him, shifting the foundation of his entire life to watch two of his closest friends to collapse in one fell swoop like that-- And if Eddie left, if Steve fell chasing him, then what would happen to Robin? To El? To Max? To Lucas? With all his friends falling like dominoes, what would Dustin have left?

And his mother wanted it to happen. All but prayed for it, here in the holy quiet of their kitchen.

"You know, you have a lot of guts calling my friends murderers when you're the one wishing death on people." The words fell from Dustin's mouth, cold and sharp as the ice she'd lodged in his heart.

Claudia looked at her son, fear and anger fallen away to reveal blank, dark eyes that stared at him for a long moment. "I've had enough of you tonight, I think," she said, and her voice sounded tired. "Go to your room."

Dustin went, stomping all the way. She was tired? Her? She had no idea. No idea at all. The shit he went through everyday, the shit she was just piling on him further--

Halfway up the stairs, he heard her voice call out. "I hope one day you understand that I'm doing this for your own good."

His only answer was the slamming of his bedroom door.

There, alone in the dark, Dustin promised himself that he wouldn't give up. This wasn't over, not by a long shot. One day he'll be able to hang out with El and Steve again. Eddie would be a harder sell, probably, but he should be able to hang out with Steve in the next two or three years if he keeps his head down and plays his cards right. Maybe he should start hanging out with Eddie's prey friends, Dougie and Gareth, she would chill out more? What could be so scary about an otter and a turtle?

Dustin sighed, and sat on his bed.

The real problem was his mother's fear. That had to be fixed before they could start rebuilding Dustin's life into something approaching normal. Maybe he would never find out what happened to his dad and their family, but he had to start somewhere, and that was the only lead he had.

He threw himself back, arms spread across his covers, staring up at the dingy glow in the dark stars. His mother had helped him put those up, carefully placing each one according to Dustin's careful instructions, until they had a perfect representation of his favorite constellation. She had loved him, once. Probably still did, in her own way. And somewhere beneath all the resentment and hurt, Dustin knew that if he was lonely, his mother had to be drowning.

Maybe his only way out of this was saving her.

Dustin closed his eyes. He would do everything he could, these next four years. Anything to make her less afraid to be alive, to walk the streets of Hawkins and smile and have friends again. And at the end of it, when he finally had a diploma in his hand and more freedom than he knew what to do with, he would either have his mom back or...

Well. He would be able to do whatever he wanted, then, wouldn't he? He would have more than enough family to not notice the hollow in his heart the shape of Claudia Henderson.

#oimw #dustin henderson #wheeeeeeeeee claudia henderson lore

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cascadianights · 5 months ago

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I'm watching Jesus Christ: superstar and let me just say, as someone w loads of early religious trauma, you missed out on so many opportunities here

#extremely lackluster?????#temper tantrum at dad #instead of deep analysis or #I DID what you asked i spread messages and healing i walked hundreds of miles i did everything you ever wanted in your name #and not only was it not good enough #now you ask me to sacrifice what little of my self i have left or were ever able to carve out?#now you taunt me and use my friends to doom me?#the fears and weaknesses in us al #you brought in a homeless camp jesus and made it 0% about anarchy or the importance of community or jesus flipping tables in front of a bank #you brought in slight dad angst and you didnt go with the i know im not perfectly in your image #i know none of us are #and why does that make us unlovable to you #and if i take this sacrifice let it be one #that makes them as lovable to you as i should have been #as every child of yours should have been #welcomed to rest and comfort and understanding #instead of threatened with a stick and teeth #anyways #you cant make it meaningful just bc you finally had a sort of diverse cast #why wasnt this play More why is it theatrical passion of the christ

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pixie-skull · 6 months ago

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I am so tired of trying and trying. I am not going to do anything, yet if want to talk to me, not going to stop you.

#depression #anxiety #i honestly feel so tempted to hurt myself #I mean I looked up my type of antidepressant can be overdosed #luckily no #however I am just done with this cycle of a friend and I having such arguments #he saying ‘welcome to my world’ and yet chooses to not open up such a puzzle that I am done trying to ‘solve’#I get his life circumstances are terrible #however acting like I am in the wrong to cry and admit drunk him scared me is harder to sympathize #I mean he once slapped me drunk because I said I wanted to kill myself #yes that is a trigger for him but I was intoxicated and it takes a lot to open up #only a few weeks later when practice sword fighting he hit my left hand and bruised the bone #so even sober him I do not feel as comfortable + safe around #I just want to see my other friends but they are so busy and I am so stressed #this guy keeps me up and acts offended when I want to sleep #sorry not sorry I can not function well without a full rest #however sure take it personally #I am angry too he can say as a friend he loves my ex girlfriend and she says back #yes we are all friends but I feel frustrated he seems to not understand how o #I mean dang he is technically an ex but I am friends with him #now I hear him arguing with his father #muffled but clearly angry energy

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meara-eldestofthemall · 7 months ago

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As most of you know, my beloved husband Mike passed away a few months ago. To be honest, I'm still grieving him and probably will for the rest of my life. Being a Bat-Gran, I decided to feed into the stereotype and get a fuzzy friend to live with. My intention was to get a kitten, but like most things in my life, it didn't quite work out that way.

This is Freya. She's about three years old and was rescued from a hoarding situation. She spent the first week in the house hiding under the buffet in my dining room, occasionally howling like a Klingon announcing the imminent arrival of her beloved to Sto'vo'kor. Freya has settled in nicely and spends her time chasing the elusive yellow spring...

And a great deal of the time napping.

Being the furry friend of Bat-Gran means she's a little ...odd. For reasons I have yet to figure out, Freya loves to watch an old 1950s TV show called Perry Mason. No matter where in the house she is, once the theme song starts, she comes mewing into the living room.

Freya only watches for a few minutes before wandering off. That's understandable since in every single episode, Perry will prove that his client is innocent by causing the true villain to break down and admit their guilt. She"ll usually return in time for the climax. Freya is surprised by Perry's legal skills each and every time.

I'm afraid to introduce her to Law & Order since only God knows how she'll react to Jack McCoy and his eyebrows of doom. Anyway, welcome home, Freya. May you nap in comfort (while slowly edging me off my recliner) for many years to come.

#beware the bat-gran #cats of tumblr

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kruegerspillow · 2 months ago

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simon riley who just needs to be understood. that's all. one whole jar of pity wouldn't do it, he needs you to acknowledge him. and, when you do, he'll surrender himself faster than he should.

The rain pours down heavily against the roof, the sound of pitter-patters humming throughout your house.

It had been weeks ever since Simon's leave and the sudden change hits you harder than a damn truck. It's just going to be a few weeks, he wrote down in the letter. But, you never really believed him, no. Fuck, you know he'd do anything (that includes lying) just for you to be at ease.

Though, the bed felt colder than before. Your place felt even more... tense, with the feeling of unease running through your body and the unusual, eerie silence. His job wasn't an easy one, and with the fact that his life is on the line, it made it worse.

Your heartbeat quickened as you looked down at your phone, scrolling through the messages and pictures Simon had sent the other day. You don't understand how soldiers could be so composed in the middle of the battlefield, including Simon himself. You'd be damned if you heard a single gunshot ringing across you.

Suddenly, the familiar sound of a car engine knocked you out of your trance. Your head perked up, a feeling of hope sparking up in your weary heart. Could it be him? You thought to yourself. He's earlier than usual.

You placed your phone on the table, gaze locking onto the front door as you leaned back against the armrest of the couch, a pillow pressed against your back. The sound of the engine eventually came to a stop, then—

Click.

There he was. Simon motherfuckin' Riley.

He took off his boots and placed them aside as soon as he met your gaze. The smell of rain and dirt lingered around him, but he didn't care anymore. Not when the love of his life is right in front of him, waiting patiently to be placed into his embrace. But, he's fuckin' exhausted, and he can't help but let the feeling of fatigue take over his body.

He closed the door behind him, walking towards you with a look of deep longing and care. His bags were left right beside the front door. Your eyes travelled over his figure, searching for any new scars or wounds.

"Bloody 'ell, I missed ya s'much." He murmured, his voice raspy and carried a handful of emotions.

Before you knew it, he plopped down onto you, head resting against your plump thighs, earning an amused gasp from you. His arms softly wrapped around your waist, slipping underneath your shirt before caressing your bare skin. You sighed in content, relaxing beneath him before your hands made their way to his hair, running your fingers through his hair.

"Welcome home, Simon." You greeted him, your voice filled with warmth and relief.

He grunted in response, burying his face between your thigh, causing you to nearly whimper in response. But you knew he ran out of the energy, having finished a tiring deployment. Your gaze softened at the sight before you. Sometimes, even the strongest souls get exhausted.

"Want me to make tea for you, love?" You softly whispered into his ear.

He shook his head, wanting to hold you just for a while (that's a lie. He'd go through the whole month burying his face into you) and you understood, staying silent as you embraced him. You let him do his thing and fuck he was turned on by that mere fact. But, for now, lust was long forgotten, buried away by the need of your comfort and warmth.

Your hands gently massaged his tense shoulder, feeling the way his muscles relaxed under your touch. Slowly, his vision fades into nothingness, for your touch has provided comfort even to the soul of the corrupt. Surrendering himself into sleep had never felt so... easy.

And, soon, he'll show you just how lucky he is to have you.

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drdemonprince · 24 days ago

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Is there a polar opposite of transphobia?

Like I’m a newly transitioned trans man and suddenly everyone wants a piece of me. In a weird way. Like people have started asking me to join committees and talk to youth groups and shit so they have their “representation”. I’m now the token trans person. I live in a small lefty town. People either want to ask me allllll the questions or they are too scared to even talk to me in case they offend me. Suddenly everyone wants to be my friend. I feel like I’ve joined a club I did not agree to sign up to. Like is this normal? Is there a term for it? I have a lot of gay male friends who are awesome, no other trans people local. I’ve started connecting with people online.

I mean some people have been cunts for sure. But mostly it’s nauseating fawning. I know this is a stupid thing to be complaining about but I guess I’m curious.

I’m not that special, I’m actually just an angry little man.

My brother dear, what you are experiencing is a very common combination of the growing visibility & tokenization of being a newly out marginalized person, and the massive increased authority, social trust, social value that comes with being a man.

Welcome to male privilege baby, to put a spin on a far more undermining phrase that typically gets hurled at trans femmes. You will be considered a trustworthy authority on trans issues, a valuable contributor to panels and workshops, a needed (but also highly convenient to access) form of "diversity" for a workplace, a welcome attendee at all manner of events, and you'll be deferred to over women, especially trans women, for pretty much the entire rest of your life, if you continue to remain out about the trans side of things.

Guys like us are invited, centered, included, listened to, treated with respect, treated with WARMTH, viewed as intelligent, perceptive, sensitive, safe, trustworthy, reliable, and desirable to include. In the eyes of the cis public, we are a "safe" kind of trans person who does not make people uncomfortable to look at and who doesn't challenge their pre-existing understanding of gender hierarchy; when they listen to us, they get to trust in the certainty of a MAN giving them information, but they can also feel comfortable and safe around us as a kind of enlightened, sensitive nonthreatening figure.

We're men who can can explain sexism right back to women. We're trans people who went from being subjugated as women to being rewarded with privilege as dudes. In this way, trans men being positioned as an authority figure reinforces the existing gender hierarchy, which feels soothing and right to people's brains.

You will have to be conscious of this power differential for the rest of your life, around cis and trans women alike, because otherwise it plays out in a pretty traditionally sexist fashion: people (especially women) will go quiet when you start speaking, you will be given credit for ideas that were a collective effort, your emotions will be more likely to be taken seriously and seen as a sign of principle rather than weakness, and you will be regarded as special and memorable while dozens of other people and their concerns are passed over.

Another factor that is at play here is a phenomenon that is less specifically gendered, because it does happen to trans women too, and that's the phenomenon of cis groups making the newly-out trans person their token and educator, because typically it is the newly out person whom they have the most access to and power over.

The moment that a trans person transitions they immediately start getting singled out as an expert and resource on the trans experience, asked to lead workshops at their jobs and explain concepts to people and attend events and sit on panels. I think on some intuitive level cis people kinda *know* that the newly out are in a vulnerable, uncertain state and have fewer communities ties and less experience than more seasoned trans people do, and so they make the ideal "translator" of trans experiences to them as an audience.

In cis people's minds, you're not gonna push back, you're not going to complicate their narratives, you're not gonna be tired of answering offensive questions, and you will be freely available to them as a resource, because you've just come out. You'll put a friendly face on transition, one marked by newness and hope, rather than be jaded, complicated, or assertive at them. That's their expectation.

It makes no logical sense to make a newly out member of the community the arbiter of transness or the educator on the trans experience, but it DOES make sense that a powerful group would view such a disempowered and disconnected (relatively speaking) member of the trans community to be the most attractive to include.

Of course, this might not be true to who you actually are. But on a gut level, this is how the newly out trans person is typically seen: nonthreatening, moldable, convenient, so thankful to be included that they won't be angry. And you will be doubly rewarded for fulfilling that role if you are a man.

The only way to upend this narrative being forced onto you is for you to speak up, every single time you are invited to an event, and demand that just as many trans women be included in that event as trans men. Make sure to have a nice list of experienced, wise trans femme friends whom you can recommend as speakers and co-panelists in your pocket.

More often than not, you will be thanked by cis people and rewarded for having the brilliant idea of including women in a conversation about gender minority status. How the trans women in the equation get treated, well, you'll need to pay close attention to, and be ready to stand up and speak out the moment any passive aggressive exclusionary bio-essentialist fuckshit gets going. You can do it! And lots of times you ARE the person with the power to set things right. You're trans and you're being singled out, but you also are a man.

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cosmicporos · 1 month ago

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Arcane character x GN! Reader on Period.

synopsis: Just some period comfort hcs with Viktor, Jayce, Vi, Ekko, Mel and Jinx!

Warning: Cursing. 18+ FOR JINX, no smut but somewhat spicy. Rest of the characters are fluff.

Please enjoy! So sorry it took me so long!

Viktor

He’s very educated on menstrual cycles to begin with! (Biology nerd)

Definitely has a calendar and keeps track of all your cycles.

The day before you’re supposed to get your period he comes home from shopping and restocks on food and pads, tampons, ibuprofen etc.

Would definitely give you a massage to help with cramps.

“Beloved?” Viktor knocked from behind the door before proceeding to enter your shared room. "I got what you needed," he said, setting down the grocery bag containing both the tampons and pads. “And these," he added, revealing a variety of your favorite chocolates, salty chips, and even a bottle of your preferred tea.

You blinked at him, your expression shifting from surprise to gratitude. "You didn't have to-"

“Tsk, tsk, tsk” He quickly shushed you. His free hand reaching to brush a strand of hair from your face. "I wanted to. Now, do me a favor and relax." Before you could protest or question any further, he knelt down by your side, his clever hands carefully lifting the edge of the blanket. "Turn over, Darling” he coaxed, and when you complied, he placed his hands on your lower back, his touch warm and deliberate.

"I read this helps," Viktor murmured as his fingers began to work small, soothing circles into your tense muscles. You feel your muscles loosen and quickly melt into Viktor’s touch.

His hands run a little on the colder side, yet they still work their magic and alleviate the pain in your abdomen.

"You're too good to me," you murmured, your voice muffled as you rested your head against your arm.

"Nonsense," Viktor replied, his voice low and unwavering. "You endure so much… this is the least I can do." He says leaving a small gentle kiss on your cheek.

Jayce

He’s the biggest softy for you on your period oh boy oh boy oh boy. He is completely at your beck and call.

He’s also super carful about your emotional during this time. He tries his hardest to leave work on time and come home!

He understands mood swings can happen and he’s very patient! He accidentally messed up and ticked you off? He’ll nod along as you lecture him and act like a kicked puppy. Then afterwards will ask if you’re okay and if you need space. Will 100% make up and apologize by getting you a sweet treat :3

Jayce finally made his way back home, shoulders heavy and tense. his tie askew and his hair slightly mussed, looking like he'd run the entire way home. You stand up from your place on the couch and place a soft kiss on his lips. “Welcome home” you smile at home before your eyes lower to see an empty handed Jayce. "You forgot?" you said quietly, your voice heavy with disappointment.

Jayce froze, guilt washing over his face. "Forgot what?"

"The heating pad," you replied, your arms crossed tightly over your chest. "You said you'd grab it on your way home. I've been in pain all day, Jayce."

His heart sank. "Oh no," he whispered moving to run a hand down his hair. "I'm so sorry, sweetheart. I don't know how I missed it…”. He thinks for a moment before he says, “That’s on me, and I'll fix it right now!" He turned to leave, planning to head straight back to the lab.

"No... that's alright Jayce, just please remember next time." You grab hold of his sleeve. He let out a soft sigh and turned around to face you.

"I'm so sorry about that sweetheart... Honestly I was just excited to get back home to you is all." He mumbled into your hair as he pulled you into a hug.

"No no it's fine really, it's not too big of a deal" The warmth of his body slowly encapsulating itself protectively over you.

“No you should be upset it’s okay! I’ll be more responsible next time.” His puppy eyes glowing as if he almost wanted you to be mad at him. It was incredibly difficult to deny Jayce whenever he would behave like this…

“I uh…. O-okay?…. Please do better next time.” Your eyes are looking at anything else but at him.

"... you need to be mad at me until I figure out how to make it up to you." His strong arm coming up from behind to softly pat your side. "How does that sound?"

You laugh off the pervious nerves “I think that sounds perfect" You tilt your head up to face him and press a warm soft kiss to his cheek.

Okay I feel like for Vi for some reason you two would always be synced

She’s all tough and prepared on day one until day two hits and… that’s a different story

You always end up completely staying home together on the second day of your periods

You groaned as another cramp hit, curling further into yourself under the layers of warmth. Next to you, Vi let out a sharp exhale through her nose, gripping the heat pack on her stomach.

"This is some sick joke," Vi muttered, her voice heavy with irritation. She shifts on the bed, but the movement only made her wince. "I could take a punch to the gut, no problem, but this? This is worse than any fight I've been in."

You scoot closer towards Vi drapes an arm over you, pulling you snug against her chest. Her hand found your hair, fingers threading through it lazily.

"We're a mess," you mumbled into her tank top.

"Yeah," she admitted, pressing her cheek against the top of your head. "But at least we're a mess together."

Vi is totally one to do a complete 180 on the next day.

While you’re still dying of pain she manages to get out of bed early and heads to the store to pick up some stuff

Vi's heavy boots thudded softly against the floor, the sound bringing a flicker of relief. "Alright, babe," her familiar rasp broke the silence, “I got a couple of things for you”

“Don’t you mean us?” You sit up straight and tilt your head a little confused.

“Oh no, I’m doing fine sweetheart don’t you worry. But… I know you probably still feel like a sack of shit so I picked up some goodies for you.” she pulled out an assortment of snacks like chips, gummy candy, soda, juice..(if it had sugar she’s go it!…)

“If these cramps won’t kill me… the amount of sugar here will…” Your eyebrows furrowed at the mess of snacks in front of you.

“Oh pip down will you? Haven’t even gotten to the best part.” What she pulled out next made your breath hitch. It was a small, ridiculously cute plushie. A chubby fox with big shiny eyes and a fluffy tail. Vi plopped it onto your lap as she smirked from your reaction. “Cute huh?” She sits down next to you. “I picked it out cuz it reminded me of you”

Your face flushed instantly, a mix of embarrassment and warmth flooding through you. You picked up the fox, turning it over in your hands. Its fluffy tail was so soft it almost felt unreal, and the wide, shiny eyes seemed to sparkle in the dim light of the room. "Reminded you of me?" you asked, glancing at Vi with a raised brow.

“Yeah well… it’s cute and small.. so it reminds me of you.” She leaned back against the headboard, “And it’s a little spunky. Just like you.”

You roll your eyes and softly punch her shoulder. "It does cheer me up," you admitted softly, clutching the plush fox closer. "Thank you, Vi."

She wraps an arm around you shoulder and pulls you in “No problem Cupcake, anything for you.”

Ekko

HES PANICKING

but in the outside he’s cool as a cucumber

The inside? oh god. He’s stressing out about making sure all your needs are met.

You are not allowed to go on missions during this time at all. He doesn’t exactly forbid it per say but he does shoot a glare whenever you flinch due to the pain of your cramps. He’s always behind you making sure you’re okay

He’s like a little momma bird

You were currently getting ready for a mission, bag laying across the table as you carefully prepare stuffing it full of food, medical supplies, bombs and your trusty lock pick. Ekko leaned against the wall, arms crossed, watching you with that ever so perceptive gaze of his.

"You good?" he asked, cocking an eyebrow.

"Yeah, fine," you replied, wincing as another cramp twisted in your stomach. You shake your head cursing at your own reaction.

He was by your side in seconds, gently taking the pack from your hands. "You're lying."

“Ekko please…” you straightened your back. "I'm fine," you insisted, reaching for the pack again, but Ekko held it out of reach.

reach.

"You think I don't notice you wincing every five seconds?" His voice softened, though his eyes stayed firm. "You can't go out like this.”

“I’m not some baby. Believe me I’ll be just fine.”you protested, though even you could hear how unconvincing you

“Look… you sound way too unconvincing and because you’re way too stubborn…” He paused looking at you and finally smiling. “How about I skip out on this mission too? And you know.. take care of my girl?.” A proud and playful smile adorns his lips while he waits for your response.

You’re a little surprised, not because he doesn’t put you first but because he’s allowing himself to relax in a way as well. “Are you sure about that?" you ask, your voice softer than you intended. "I mean... this mission sounds important. I don't want you to–“

"Stop." He cuts you off gently, stepping closer. The distance between you shrinks, and you feel his hand come to rest on your shoulder, steady and warm. "I've been out there long enough to know the world ain't gonna fall apart if I sit one out." He takes a deep breath and continues, "I know I push myself too hard sometimes. And yeah, protecting our people is important and all, but so is being here. With you. What's the point of fighting if I can't take a moment to enjoy what I'm fighting for?"

“Ekko…” His words hit you harder than you expected, the vulnerability in them catching you off guard.

"Yeah firefly?…” He tilts his head, watching you carefully. His hands fidgeting together like a nervous child.

You let out a small sigh, your resolve crumbling. "Just... don't make a habit of this, okay? The Firelights need you."

"They'll manage," he says with a wink. "I'll make it up to 'em. Promise." He finally makes his way over to you placing a small kiss on your neck before continuing. “But let me make it up to you first okay?”

Jinx

18+

Okay jinx is an absolute horndog when you’re on your period

You got cramps? Uhhhh…. Solution????… her mouth and fingers.

“Love bug come onnnnnn! You know making you cum will help with cramps! What’s the big deal?” She sighed dramatically flopping over the table in front of her.

“Love bug?…” You questioned. “And the deal is I’m on my period!…. I don’t want to make a big mess for you to deal with okay.” You huffed out embarrassed at her playful yet lewd antics.

“Yeah! Love bug cuz you love me and you’re always buzzing around me! Like a bug!” Jinx proudly exclaimed her bright idea of a nickname, perhaps a bit too proudly… “And besides! Me?… care about a mess? You’re kidding right?” she looks almost offended but the fact you assumed she wouldn't do this for you.

“Jinx… I just feel gross okay… I don’t really feel super desirable right now.” You sighed placing your face into your hands.

She bangs her fists on the table and jumps up from her seat. “You’re fucking joking right? You’re smoking babe. SMOKING. Like SMOKING HOT! Her arms waved around as she talked to draw out more emphasis to her claim. She lets out a playful scoff “It’s taking every fiber of my being to not pounce on you right now!”

“Jinx… knock it off…” you bit your lip embarrassed and turned away. “I know that isn’t true at all… quit being too nice.”

“Doll…. You’re way too into your own head! I’m saying I wanna bang and you think I’m lyin?” She puts her hands on her hips and shakes her head. “No no no we can’t be having that! Doll come here.”

Your expression as you looked at her told Jinx you in fact did not know who to believe. You’re corrupt emotions or your loving girlfriend? Either way you walked to her and stopped till you were in front of her. She quickly cupped your face and pulled you into a deep inviting kiss. Her hands roam softly along your body, gently holding and squeezing every part she loved.

She breaks away from the kiss and looks at you, her voice more serious than you’d like it to be. “Y/N you’re always going to be perfect to me, there’s no way in hell l’d ever be grossed out by you.” She leans in closer and softly leaves kisses along your collar “Besides I wanna love you. I wanna make you feel so crazy good you won’t even remember all your dumb troubles.”

Mel

MEL MEL MEL MEL MEL 😻 fancy rich lady who spoils you

While I do think she’ll still be super busy with work, she’ll most definitely make sure your body is been taken care of.

She lets the chef know your nutritional needs, taking notes you need more iron in your diet.

And when she does come home it’s all kisses, cuddles and praise getting sent your way!

Since she could remember, Mel could take care of just about anything. It didn’t matter if it was a delicate political negotiation or ensuring you felt cared for on your worst days, she had an effortless way of making you feel like the center of her world

The moment she left for the council meeting that morning, you heard her speaking quietly with the private chef, listing off ingredients and dietary adjustments with her usual precision. "She needs more iron," you overheard her say, her voice warm yet firm. "Spinach, lentils, maybe some lean meat. And add something sweet but not too high in sugar content. She deserves to enjoy herself, but make sure it stay healthy for my sake.

Hours later, as you lay curled up on the couch, a warm blanket draped over you, the scent of something savory wafted through the air. The chef had outdone himself, delivering a meal tailored exactly to what your body needed, paired with a small plate of indulgent chocolate covered fruits. It brought a soft smile to your lips. Mel always thought of everything, she always thought of you.

the front door finally opened, the sound of her heels clicking on the marble floor announced her arrival. You craned your neck to look at her, and the moment her golden eyes landed on you, her expression softened.

"There's my love," she murmured, setting her things aside and making a beeline for you.

"Hello darling, long day?" you asked, your voice soft.

"Not anymore," she replied, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead before settling beside you on the couch. Her hand came up to cup your cheek, her thumb brushing against your skin. "How are you feeling? Did you eat?"

You nodded. "The food was perfect. Thank you for taking care of it."

“Oh? So you heard me did you?”She hummed in satisfaction, pulling you gently into her. Her arms wrapped around you snugly, her fingers trailing softly along your back in soothing patterns. "You've been so strong," she whispered. "But you don't have to be right now. Let me take care of you”

You melted into her embrace, feeling the tension in your body ease as she held you. "You deserve the world," she murmured, her voice full of affection. "And I intend to give it to you, one kiss or gentle word at a time. You will be shown my love”

ERM SO A LINE FROM JAYCE’S PART IS FROM XAVIER’S NEW CARD FROM LOVE AND DEEPSPACE! I recently pulled it and oh my god…. It’s been stuck in my mind…. ANYWAYS HOPE YOU ENJOYED

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flowersforjude · 2 months ago

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𝐓𝐨 𝐊𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐅𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐁𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 | Azriel x Fem Archeron!Reader

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | In your struggle to adapt to your new existence, the Night Court's shadowsinger takes it upon himself to offer his quiet comfort.

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 2,537

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | Mentions of reader in the Cauldron, Anxiety, Depersonalization, Sweet Az, Fluff, Emotional hurt/comfort, Hints at reader and Az being mates.

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞 | I’m only half way through the 2nd book so I apologize for any mistakes or inaccuracies. I have a pretty good idea of what happens in the rest of the series, I just haven’t read it yet. Azriel is quickly becoming a favorite, though, so I just had to write something for him. He might be a bit ooc.

masterlist

It was the twilight hour at the House of Wind. The atmosphere was dense and strangling, a tension sitting in the air so turbulent one wrong breath could shatter the carefully constructed peace. Azriel and Cassian certainly had their hands full. Neither of the males able to dispel the strain. Rhysand was sequestered away you knew not where, leaving his brothers with the responsibility of navigating the fractured states of you and your sisters.

You sat near the window of your room, your hands curled tightly in your lap, trying to ignore the suffocating weight of everything you couldn’t fix. Couldn’t feel. Couldn’t understand.

Nesta’s sharp voice echoed faintly down the corridor, cutting through the heavy silence that pressed on your ears. Elain’s quiet sorrow was just as palpable, an ache that you didn’t have the strength to soothe, even if you wanted to.

And you? You were drowning. Over and over again, feeling your humanity being ripped from you. Clawed away and shredded into the withering pain that tore across your skin. Never able to take in an easy breath because each intake of air felt like the Cauldron’s scorching water was invading your lungs. It turned to lead inside you, dragging you down down down into the blackened depths.

You had come out transformed into someone, something, you didn’t recognize. You were fragmented, frayed, and whatever pieces were left of you no longer seemed to fit.

The knock at your door startled you, a soft sound, almost hesitant, like whoever stood on the other side wasn’t sure they were welcome. You didn’t respond aloud—what would you say?—but something about the silence must have been answer enough because the door creaked open.

It was Azriel.

Of course, it was him. He always seemed to know when to appear, not with the smooth certainty of someone who could fix everything, but with the quiet persistence of someone who couldn’t walk away. His presence made your chest tighten in a way you didn’t understand, a weight and a warmth all at once.

He carried a tray of food, though his hands, so steady normally, looked almost awkward now. His shadows trailed at his feet, curling along the floor like restless whispers, and for a moment, you wondered if they’d been listening to you earlier. To the broken sounds you hadn’t meant for anyone to hear. Was that why he was here now?

“How are you feeling?” He asked, his voice low, rough, like the question cost him something to ask.

You blinked at him, unsure how to respond. How were you feeling? Empty? Heavy? Nothing and everything all at once? You wanted to laugh at the absurdity of such a simple question when the answer was anything but. Instead, you shrugged, the motion barely more than a flicker of movement.

Azriel shifted, the tray now resting on the table beside you. He flexed his hands at his sides as if he didn't know what to do with them now. His large wings were folded low at his back like he was attempting to make them less noticeable.

Is he doing that for me? To not…frighten me, perhaps?

He didn’t sit, didn’t move closer, but his presence filled the room, steady and quiet and infuriatingly unshakable. His gaze lingered on you for just a moment too long before he looked away, his jaw tightening.

You shifted in place on the window seat, folding your hands in your lap to keep from picking at the skin around your nails. It was a nervous habit you'd had all your human life, and it seemed to have followed you into your new fae existence. To be frank, the habit had gotten worse since your ordeal in the Cauldron. You were antsy, jumpy, and nervous all the time now.

"I'm fine." You finally said in a small whisper. You felt the embarrassment creep in as you spoke. It was only two words, but it felt like it was more than you'd spoken at all since you were shoved into that dreadful, life-altering vessel. Your voice wasn't as strong as it used to be; you weren’t as strong as you used to be. Not even with your newfound abilities. Sure, you were more graceful than before, your now pointed ears could hear a bit better than before, and your skin seemed to shine like starlight, but you couldn't shake the feeling that you were a great deal more fragile now.

Especially when Azriel stood before you. The Illyrian male was the very definition of strength. You couldn't fathom why he was here right now, checking on you. But some deep, deep part of you, a part that felt as if it hadn't been there before the Cauldron, was practically beaming at his presence. It warmed inside you and sang into your mind, telling you to reach out for him. That even brushing briefly against his tanned skin would bring you lifetimes of comfort. It was absurd.

You really are losing your mind.

Azriel shifted, the gentle scrape of his boots against the floor pulling you from the spiraling thoughts threatening to consume you. His wings twitched, an almost imperceptible movement, but you caught it. You’d noticed that before, how you were always so aware of his every movement. You caught everything he did, each subtle sound and flicker of motion. It was overwhelming sometimes, this heightened awareness of him. Yet another thing you didn’t understand.

He cleared his throat softly, drawing your gaze back to him. “You don’t have to say you’re fine,” he murmured, his voice a blend of rough honesty and something more delicate, something that felt like understanding. “You don’t have to say anything at all.”

The warmth in your chest flared again, unbidden and unrelenting. You swallowed against it, against the strange pull that seemed to tether you to him, as if some invisible thread had bound itself around your heart and was now tugging mercilessly. It was maddening. You didn’t want to feel this way—this need, this want for something you couldn’t even name.

Azriel’s words settled in the room like a fragile thread, the kind that could snap with just the breath of the wrong response. He didn’t move, didn’t look at you fully, but you felt his focus anyway, sharp and unwavering. His presence was a steady hum in the background of your awareness, grounding and yet deeply unsettling at the same time.

“I…” you started, the sound so faint it barely carried between you. Your throat felt tight as if you were drowning all over again, your words caught somewhere between your chest and lips. You wanted to speak, to tell him something, anything, to fill the suffocating silence. But you didn’t know what to say. The pieces of yourself that once knew how to converse, how to be normal, felt like they had dissolved into the Cauldron’s depths, leaving you raw and exposed.

He didn’t push. He simply waited, patient as ever, his shadows coiling and shifting in the corners of the room like uneasy sentinels. They didn’t feel intrusive, strangely enough. If anything, they were like him—watchful, protective, and respectful of boundaries you couldn’t yet define.

Finally, you managed to meet his gaze, though it felt like an act of courage to do so. “I don’t know how to feel…or how to be anymore,” you admitted, the words tumbling out in a quiet, cracked rush. You hadn’t meant to say it, hadn’t planned on baring even this sliver of yourself to him, but it was the truth. And something about him, about the calm compassion in his eyes, made it impossible not to say.

His expression didn’t change, not noticeably, but something about the set of his shoulders eased. “You’re hurting,” he said gently, as if he’d been expecting your answer all along. “And that is alright.”

The simplicity of his statement made your chest ache, an ache that felt strangely like relief. You turned your gaze back to your lap, your fingers twitching against one another as you fought the urge to fidget further. “It’s just…everything feels wrong,” you confessed. “Like I’m still in there, like I’m still falling, and I’ll never hit the ground.”

You felt him stiffen at your disparaging words. Saw his shadows twist the least bit closer to you, as if even they wanted to offer you some sort of solace. His voice came soft and steady, like the first breeze after a storm. “I’ve felt that way before,” he admitted, the vulnerability in his tone striking like a sudden chord in the quiet. “Like I’d been untethered, and there was no ground left to find.”

His raw honesty caught you off guard, forcing you to search for his gaze again. Nothing could have prepared you for the earnestness you not only saw in his eyes, but it also dripped from him like water. You couldn’t picture Azriel being anything but sure and unyielding. But in the same moment, you felt beholden to him for sharing such a piece of himself just to comfort you.

The continuous tightness in your lungs lessened just a fraction, enough to allow you to take your first easy breath in weeks. “Does it ever go away?”

“Not entirely,” he said almost regretfully. Your heart sank a bit, but before you could fall completely into despair, he added, “But it does get easier.

Your words left you once more, your mind reeling with the idea of fighting this for the rest of your life. A life that would now be centuries long.

It was no surprise that he caught the shudder of dejection that crossed your face. His shadows curled closer to you like a soothing veil of darkness. Their movement was almost hypnotic, easing in the strange way you’d begun to associate with them. Azriel’s expression was unreadable, but his eyes lingered on you in a watchful manner. He glanced at the open cushion beside you. “May I?” he asked softly, his voice low and warm, though it carried an edge of uncertainty like he wasn’t sure if he was overstepping some invisible line.

You didn’t even have to think about it before you were nodding. “Of course,” you murmured, trying not to sound too eager.

Azriel moved carefully, lowering himself onto the seat next to you. The space was narrow, and you became acutely aware of how close he was—his knee brushing lightly against yours, the faint scent of cedar and night air surrounding him. You tried to focus on your hands folded tightly in your lap, but the warmth radiating from him was impossible to ignore.

“It won’t always feel like this,” he said gently, his voice hushed and certain. “The weight you’re carrying—it changes. It becomes something you can hold, something you can live with. You’ll find your footing again.”

The conviction in his words floated to you like a lifeline. The way he looked at you, soothing and steadfast, made you feel like you had no choice but to believe him. You nodded more to yourself than to him. Silence settled in the room again, but with him beside you, it felt easier to endure than before. For the first time you didn’t feel the need to fill the quiet with something. It was simply enough to sit there with him and let his company anchor you.

The wisp of something against your arm pulled your attention. The faint brush on your arm was barely noticeable at first, like the lightest touch of silk on your skin. When you glance down, one of Azriel’s shadows glides towards you, curious and tentative. It swirls near your wrist, its edges soft and flickering like the flame of a candle, before retreating as if it was testing the waters.

You laughed slightly. “Do they always do that?” You asked softly, unable to keep the awe from your voice. The shadow seemed almost alive, sentient in a way that both mesmerized and unsettled you.

Azriel followed your gaze to the shadow, his expression lightened in a way you hadn’t expected. “Not always.” He divulged, his tone carrying something akin to fondness. “They’re curious about you.”

You tilted your head at him, your brows furrowing. “Me?”

“They’re drawn to certain people,” he explained, his voice low and even, as though sharing a closely guarded secret. “They can sense things others can’t.”

The shadow flickered closer again, this time brushing along your hand in a more eager manner. You couldn’t help but smile faintly, the sensation strangely soothing. “They’re not what I expected,” you said, your voice still so as to not scare the shadow.

Azriel tilted his head slightly, his eyes seeming to search you for something. “What did you expect?”

“I’m not sure.” You confessed, glancing at him. “Something harsher maybe.”

“They can be,” he said, his tone calm but firm. “When they need to be.”

You looked at him fully then, the true meaning behind his words sparking comprehension in your mind. There was a deeper depth to his shadows, a duality that mirrored their master. You wondered if he’d been born with them. If he had grown with them. Or if they had been birthed from pain, from the darkness he carried with him that hadn’t always been there. “They feel safe.” The words slipped out before you could think them through.

Azriel’s eyes glimmered with something you couldn’t quite name, some sort of longing. “They’re meant to be,” he said simply, as though it were the most natural thing in the world. You could hear the unspoken words he didn’t say, though. He was holding something back.

The space between you seemed to get smaller and smaller, his warmth wrapping around you like a second skin. You became dangerously aware of how close you were—of the brush of his knee against yours, the way his wings shifted slightly behind him, almost grazing your shoulder. Your cheeks flushed, and you looked down, suddenly self-conscious.

Azriel took note; of course he did. His eyes lingered on you, his expression bordering on hunger. But it was gone and replaced by neutrality as soon as it came. Though, you could still feel the weight of his attention. His shadows danced along your wrist again, and you wondered if they could sense the fluttering beat of your pulse.

“I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” he said, his voice rougher now, tinged with something that almost sounded like desperation.

“You didn’t,” you replied quickly, your voice shaky but earnest.

The moment lingered between you, fragile yet thrumming with something so strong. The potency of it forces you to grapple with everything you felt for him. His shadows swirled around you softly, their movements calmer now, almost languid. You thought he might say something, that the weight in his expression would finally take shape in words, but he didn’t. Instead, he shifted ever so slightly, his arm brushing yours. You leaned into him and felt that warmth in your chest thrill at the closeness.

Something unknown, something that could wait to be explored, hummed between you. And you didn’t realize it right away, but the Cauldron’s waters felt farther away than they had in weeks.

Kind of playing with an idea for a part two with some moments leading up to them finding out they're mates.

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xan-izme · 3 months ago

Text

𝐌𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐖𝐚𝐲𝐧𝐞𝐬

Prologue

Part 1

Your mother was a beautiful kind and dangerous woman. In short. She was a Falcone. And for young Bruce, being with her was a thrill. Being Batman gave him a thrill, but your mother was a different kind of thrill.

Till she got pregnant. And the thrill was gone.

Your mother kept you of course. Counting the days till she gets to hold you in her arms. And when she finally got to hold you, to feel you close and hear your sweet little voice. The rest of the Falcone men decided that your mother wasn't ready to take care of you. So, they forced you out of her arms and sent you to Bruce.

Bruce held you once. And immediately passed you to Alfred. He was too young to become a father. (Never mind the fact he was already acting as a father to two boys)

He didn't have time to play daddy. Deep down Bruce did come to care for you over the years and attempted to try and hold you. But then Jason died, Dick distanced himself. Holding you, an innocent little thing, felt wrong.

When you were eight. You had tantrums. Night terrors. terribly scared of the dark. Thunderstorms especially. Gotham famous for its long dark nights and loud thunderstorms. Bruce, too busy with his new sidekick, Tim. Didn't have time to comfort you. No matter how heartbreaking your scrams for him were. Crying for him, so he can save you from whatever nightmare you have woken from.

But only Alfred occasionally Dick, would come and save you.

Bruce would give you toys, new dresses as a form of apology. He wouldn't give it to you directly. But have Alfred give it to you or leave it in your room when asleep. But no matter how many new toys he gives you. Those nightmares just never stopped.

Due to the neglect. Your mother was able to meet with you secretly. As years passed, she was able to steal you away when Alfred wasn't hovering around you. Take you to shop and give you whatever you wanted. Holding you in her arms and not wanting to let go.

Slowly, your mother was gaining the favor of some of the Falcones. To let her have you back. To welcome you back into the Falcone family. Once she gets the whole family to agree. She can make a case of child neglect against Bruce Wayne and take her sweet Babygirl back.

But when you were ten. Your powers began to kick in. You told Bruce, hoping your father would help you. Help you understand. Bruce, told you to keep it a secret. And to tell no one else.

Having a kid who was a meta was the last thing he needed at the moment. Trying to re-connect with Jason who still had deep hate for him instead focusing on his first-born child who was struggling to understand.

You felt like a freak.

And it wasn't long till you lost control of your powers. To keep it short. You accidently killed a few other kids with your powers. It was an accident. You swore. You see you would have just been left off. Your a kid. It was an accident. But most of all your a Wayne. But one of the kids you killed was a Falcone.

And Bruce couldn't risk you getting killed. He cared about you. Just not as much as he should. So, to avoid the wrath of the Falcone's. Bruce had to claim you were mentally ill. Sending you to Arkham. Only for a few months. That's what he said to you. That's what he promised.

You did your six months in Arkham. Six months turned to eight. Eight months turned to ten. Ten months turned to two years. Then finally, you were taken out from your cell. Lead by two prison guards. They said you had a visitor. You assumed it was another reporter. But was proven wrong when you see Bruce on the other side of the thick glass. You were shocked but happy to see your father.

"Daddy." You spoke softly as you slowly smile, putting your hand on the glass. Bruce hesitates to put his hand on the glass, once he does, he focused back to you. Your eyes stared at him with so much love and hope.

". . . Your case. . . the court decided you're, too unstable to attend court, so. . ." Bruce didn't look at you as he spoke. So, he couldn't see the smile on your face fade. Confusion taking over.

"But. . . I did my six months. . . I-I've been here for a year! Daddy, please I didn't do it on purpose!" You were on the edge of crying.

"I promise. I'll get you out of here as soon as I can." Bruce wanted to try and console you. But that was harder due to the glass between you two. He reaches out his hand to the glass once more. But the loud buzz that queued it was time for you to get back to your cell.

"Please Daddy don't let them take me!" You cried, putting both hands on the glass. You were in full despair. Bruce didn't know what to do. He can take the risk from the Falcones and get you out with a snap of his fingers. Or he can make it easy for everyone but you and wait till you serve your time.

". . . I'm sorry" Bruce can see you falling deeper and deeper into dispare.

Guards burst from the doors and had to forcefully take you away.

"No- No! Daddy please! DADDY!" Your screamed louder as the guards took you away, reaching out to Bruce who just stood there. And did nothing. As always.

Seven years later.

No one ever visited you again. Well, no one from the Waynes. But your mother visited you every week. Her visits where the only reason you kept saine.

Arkham isn't all fun and games. Obviously. You were immitted into Arkham's fucked version of rehabilitation. You started hearing things after your first month in Arkham.

. . .

You sent letters almost every day to the Wayne manor. But never got any back. None from Bruce. None from Dick. You and Tim weren't close. So, you didn't expect anything from him. Alfred prefers to call you. Wanting to hear your voice to make sure you were not lying to him when he asks of your wellbeing.

You stopped sending letters to Bruce a few months ago. Not like he'll respond anyway. You don't need Bruce. You have your mother. And she's all you'll need. She's your world now, your reason to keep living this pointless life. And once you're out, Mama promised to give you a big hug. Which you so desperately needed.

🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸

"𝙸 𝚖𝚒𝚜𝚜 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚍𝚊𝚍𝚍𝚢. . . 𝚍𝚘 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚖𝚒𝚜𝚜 𝚖𝚎?"

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degenerateworm · 3 months ago

Note

Could i request some Yandere Captain curly headcanons? Pre and post crash if you'd be willing :3.

I would love to, anon! Let's see here...

---

Captain Curly is a kind man. Constantly thinking of others, how to help them and how to make them happy. A real people pleaser.

So it makes sense when you join the crew of the Tulpar that he would be friendly and welcoming to someone as new to ship life as you!

Curly gives you that kind smile that crinkles his eyes, and you almost instantly trust him. How could you not, when he's your new captain? And while he's being so understanding of your knowledge, or lack thereof, of crew life?

He'll try to worm his way into your mind, doing whatever he can to help you feel comfortable.

You need an extra pillow because the Pony Express beds are too uncomfortable? Here, take his! He doesn't use it much anyway.

Having a hard time adapting to the sub par food that the Tulpar can provide? You'll find a bag of sweeteners tucked under your covers next time you go to bed. Shhh, nobody else needs to know!

Curly does all of this to get into your heart, to make you comfortable around him. Don't get him wrong, he wants to do these things regardless! But there is a rather big ulterior motive; getting to you.

---

Curly asks to take your wellness check tests, and Anya teases a little that he might have a crush on you. She doesn't know the half of it!

You make his heart pound when you're near, his face quickly flushing and an easy smile reaching the corners of his lips.

He finds that he doesn't mind the tedious labour while you're around, doesn't mind that he's rather stuck on the top rung of this ladder he's found himself on.

As long as Curly can have you by his side, he feels he could go through anything and he could get out the other end.

---

Of course, this leads him to commit rather unsavoury activities.

Curly likes to wake up at awful times in the morning, half of them deliberate and half of them accidental from the nightmares he suffers from.

He makes his way to your dorm, slipping through the door easily due to the lack of locks.

Curly doesn't do anything bad in his mind. He just sits by your bed, sometimes on it, his hand resting on your cheek, shoulder, or whatever skin he can feel.

You're so warm, and soft. You're here, beside him. It's grounding.

Curly likes to watch you sleep, feel the life in your body. It comforts him a lot, and soon he has to retreat back to his dorm due to his eyelids closing from sleepiness.

He doesn't mind when you interact with the others, but he becomes quite prickly and stern when you talk with Swansea or Jimmy, or even Daisuke.

Quickly steering you away or interrupting your conversation to give you a task to focus on.

It's not that he doesn't want you to talk to him, their his friends too! He just... Gets this awful feeling in his gut, whenever you smile or laugh with them instead of him.

---

Curly despises the feelings of jealousy and anger that rise inside of him when you interact with others positively.

He's a slightly lucid yandere, and realises that these feelings are unhealthy if he forces them upon you.

So that's why he covers it up with sweetness and kindness, to practically love bomb you into preferring his company over others.

If you choose him, he won't have to be awful to the others, right? Curly would hate for them to feel bad.

But he'd hate to lose you worse.

---

Thanks anon! I only did pre crash Curly for this one, because I feel like both would be a bit too much writing for me right now. You can ask for post crash Curly though, if this hasn't satisfied you! And thanks again!

#mouthwashing #mouthwashing curly #yandere curly #captain curly #curly mouthwashing #mouthwashing x reader #curly x reader #captain curly x reader #yandere mouthwashing #yandere x reader #worm mail

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pathologicalreid · 4 months ago

Text

wavelength | s.r.

in which your son ends up in the hospital on one of the BAUs busiest nights of the year

margotober masterlist

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: angst (hurt/comfort) content warnings: child in hospital with unnamed illness, seizures, pregnant!reader, boy dad!spencer, MRIs, head injury word count: 1.96k a/n: this is my little reid family from three's a family, but as usual, you don't have to read that one to understand this one. (it's one of the cryptic pregnancy ones so maybe keep that in mind lmao) - welcome back to the spencer reid dilf agenda, i missed it

You take a deep breath, trying to steady your thumbs enough to press the call button, tapping the green icon, you press your phone to your ear, listening to the rings as you keep your other hand on the bed in front of you.

Sniffling, Leo holds your hand in his much smaller one, “Mama?” His voice is little more than a whine, and you find yourself wishing he’d fall asleep while you wait for his turn in radiology.

“Yeah, lovey?” You whisper, squeezing his fingers gently as he looks at you with sad eyes.

His eyes were sad in a way that only a three-year-old’s could be, not quite understanding why he had to stay in the hospital, and continuously asking for his parents. “I don’t feel good,” he mumbles, his voice soft as he shifts on his side in the hospital bed.

Your shoulders slouch ever so slightly, trying not to show him how much of his displeasure you shared, “I know. I’m so sorry.” They were holding off on giving him more medication, but it just made him miserable.

Starting to wonder if they could just give him something to help him rest, you distantly hear your name being called, taking a moment to be confused before you remember that you called Spencer.

“Hey,” you greet a little breathlessly, “Are you working?” You move your hand, smoothing back Leo’s hair in an attempt to coax him to sleep.

You hear a shuffling of papers on the other end of the call, answering your question well enough before he responds verbally, “We’re just trying to finish a few things up before calling it a night.”

Bowing your head, you sigh, “Right, you have that senate review next week.”

Spencer groans at the reminder of the meeting, “And finding some of these files is proving to be difficult. I think Garcia’s just about had it, but we’re all starting to get to that point. Why the call? Not that I’m unhappy to hear your voice,” he clarifies. “Did Leo get to sleep alright?”

You falter slightly knowing that Spencer is already stressing about work, “Honey,” you start softly, “Leo’s alright, but I had to call an ambulance for him about an hour ago.”

“What happened? You said he’s alright?” He asks, fear changing the pitch of his voice.

Swallowing thickly, you watch Leo continue to fight sleep, his brown eyes watching you while you’re on the phone. “They think he had a seizure,” you whisper, keeping your voice down so that your son doesn’t catch onto your anxiety.

There’s a shuffle of papers on the other end, “Is he sick? Was it a febrile seizure?”

“Uh, no, hold on,” you flip through the pamphlet, “They called it a drop seizure when we were in the emergency room, and they did an EEG.” You explain, reading over the papers in front of you for the nth time.

Spencer talks to someone else in the room, hopefully letting them know that he has to leave, “What happened?”

Tears prick your eyes, and you look up into the fluorescent light to will them away, “I was just getting him ready for bed, and he went to go potty, and he just fell. He hit his head on the tub and I just… I panicked,” you admit the last part. “I was not very collected, and the 911 operator knew that,” you tell him, watching Leo’s eyes finally fall shut.

“I wouldn’t have been either,” Spencer assures you, “What hospital did they bring you to?”

Rattling off the name of the hospital, you risk assuming that Leo’s asleep enough for you to step back, enabling you to speak at a higher volume, “Can you leave work?” You weren’t even thinking about how busy the BAU was when you called, you were just thinking about getting Leo his dad. “They want to do an MRI, and he’s allowed to have someone in there with him, so he doesn’t get scared,” you explain.

“But you can’t,” Spencer needlessly reminds you.

A huff of frustration escapes your lips as you look down, eyes focusing on where your shirt catches on the soft swell of your lower belly. “No, I can’t,” you say miserably.

A nurse walks through the door, sparing a pitying glance at you, the pregnant mom whose toddler was in the PICU, before checking on Leo’s vitals. Spencer clears his throat, “I’m already on my way.”

You lose track of time, sitting in the reclining chair that lives in the corner of the PICU room, and memories of Leo’s first month of life start to flash in front of your eyes. He was a thirty-two-weeker, and he spent twenty-nine days in the NICU before coming home for the first time.

You felt like a failure then, and you feel like a failure now.

Tapping your fingers on your belly, you watch Leo sleep, his body curled up on the hospital bed and collodion stuck to his forehead. You remember finding out you were pregnant again, the overwhelming joy that mixed with the stunned fear like oil and water—Spencer had to remind you to breathe.

Something caught your attention, a small, high-pitched beep from one of Leo’s monitors sent a group of people flying into the room, standing around your son and listing off things that your fear-addled brain couldn’t comprehend.

He’s there when you stand up, Spencer stays at your side for all twenty-one seconds of Leo’s second seizure, watching as strength returns to his tiny body and his eyes open, “Mama?” His small voice calls out for you, afraid of being surrounded by doctors and nurses that he doesn’t know.

Slipping away from Spencer, you make your way back to the hospital bed, hovering over your son as you cup his cheeks affectionately, “I’m here, baby.” Hiding your face to wipe tears away, your fear that he still feels ill is only exacerbated by the fact that he doesn’t insist that he’s not a baby—he’ll always be yours, though.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, you let him see past you, the way his eyes light up at the sight of his father, “Daddy!” He chirps, trying to reach out for Spencer.

“Hey, buddy,” Spencer says, his voice tight while he crouches in front of Leo, “Mama says you don’t feel good.”

Leo shakes his head, “I hit my head,” he recounts mournfully, “then we had to go in the loud car.”

Your husband frowns for a moment before he realizes Leo’s talking about the ambulance, “Did they tell you I get to go with you to get your tests done?” He warps the narrative to make the MRI seem like a fun activity—something they get to do.

“Can mama go?” Leo asks, tilting his head to the side slightly, leaning into you as he does so.

Gently, you wrap an arm around him, dressed in a pediatric hospital gown with all kinds of wires and electrodes attached to him. “Mama has to stay up here,” Spencer breaks the news to him, sparing you a sympathetic glance, “but she’ll be here when we get back. Then, we can tell her and the baby all about it.”

The baby won’t be able to hear outside voices until you’re much further along, but when Spencer tried to explain that to your toddler, the only response he’d gotten was Why?

As it turns out, even Spencer Reid has a limit to the number of questions he can answer, so you let Leo talk to the baby. “I’ll be right here when you get back,” you reassure Leo, taking a shaky breath when he wraps his arms around you.

He’s in tears by the time they come to get him, only willing to go to radiology if they let his daddy carry him there.

You’ve let go of the hope that this was all just a freak incident, but the looks that the nurses have started exchanging squashed that optimism immediately. Taking the opportunity to lie on the hospital bed, you try to reassure yourself—if Spencer didn’t seem worried, you shouldn’t be worried.

Though Spencer wouldn’t show his concern to you, he certainly wouldn’t do it with Leo in the room.

You don’t know when you fell asleep, but you’re woken up by something being set on your side, your eyes cracking open just enough to watch Spencer lay Leo down on the bed next to you. “Hey,” Spencer whispers, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, “I was trying not to wake you up.”

Cringing at the brightness of the room, you watch Leo as he curls into your side, “How did he do?”

“He was great,” Spencer says, gently ruffling the sleeping boy’s hair. “He fell asleep about halfway through,” he informs you, carefully pulling a chair up to the bedside.

You hum, making sure Leo is snug in his blanket before turning back to Spencer, “I’m sorry I didn’t call you sooner.”

Spencer shakes his head dismissively, “It’s okay,” he whispers, mindful of the hour—it’s nearing midnight now.

Reaching a hand up to cover your mouth, you hiccup a sob, “I’m a bad mom.”

“You are not a bad mom,” Spencer responds quickly, peeling your hand from your mouth and taking it in his hand.

Your lower lip quivers, “This wouldn’t have happened if he hadn’t been born so early.”

Spencer’s face softens, squeezing your hand comfortingly, “That wasn’t your fault. That was a situation that you didn’t have any control over.”

Deep down, you know he’s right, but your mom guilt that was on the surface level made the truth hard to see. “I couldn’t even hold his hand while he got an MRI,” you cry, small tears falling from your eyes.

“Honey,” Spencer murmurs, carefully wiping the tears from your cheeks, “You’re pregnant. Even more, you’re high risk,” Spencer reminds you as if it’s something you’re soon to forget. “There’s no way I would’ve let you in that room. You can blame that on me if you’d like.”

Leo shifts next to you, garnering your attention for just a moment before you turn back to Spencer, “I thought an MRI was better for pregnant women.”

Sighing, Spencer looks at you fondly, “Compared to a CT, an MRI is the better option if it’s medically necessary. Logically, I’m well aware of this, but I do find myself more protective over you these days,” he admits, eyes flickering down to your bump.

You bite the inside of your cheek, “I should’ve been watching him before he hit his head.”

Your husband dismisses your concern immediately, “We’ve been teaching him privacy, he’s proud that he gets to go potty on his own.”

“Why won’t you let me feel guilty?” You ask, frowning at him.

He hums in response, “Because you aren’t guilty. Your baby is in the hospital, and you might have some unresolved issues from when he was in the NICU.” He takes a deep breath, “and as much as you hate to admit it, you’re tired, and you have a lot of conflicting emotions and hormones that you’re struggling with.”

Leaning your head back on the pillow, you sigh loudly, “You know me too well.”

“I also know that our son loves you, and what happened tonight was not your fault,” he reiterates. “Whatever is going on with him, we’ll figure it out, okay? The four of us are going to be just fine.”

Pressing your lips into a thin line, you nod in understanding and listen to the soft whistle of Leo’s nose as he exhales. “We’ll be just fine,” you echo, intertwining your fingers with Spencer’s and preparing yourself for what’s bound to be a long night.

#criminal minds #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid angst #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid hurt/comfort #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fic #criminal minds fic #criminal minds angst #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid dilf agenda #written by margot

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