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billyrayjo · 3 months

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A Night Snowed Inn

Azriel x F!Reader (one bed trope!! EEEEK)

Warnings: fluff, implied smut, angst, hurt/comfort, makes you all tingly inside

Announcement: it’s been a while! I got sucked into some books and haven’t written in a few months, but I’m going to try to start being consistent again!

You wiped at your eyes for the dozenth time of the hour, snow clinging to your eyelashes and clouding your vision.

You and Azriel had been sent on a scouting mission, trudging through the snow for hours now. Your assigned target was a group of enchanted autumn court soldiers, but in the relentless weather you hadn’t even gotten a peak of the crazed men.

Stomping further forward, you tried to step into Azriel’s already sunken tracks, but it seemed that by the time you found your footing, the snow had already filled the once dug-out footprints.

“You good?” sounded from in front of you, the only sound to be heard over the roaring wind and snowfall. Azriel was stopped, turning to look at you over his shoulder. You almost recoiled at how unfazed he seemed, suddenly noticing the chattering of your teeth and numbness of your toes tenfold at his unbothered state.

“Just cold. Nothing serious” you waved off, stubbornly trudging forward another step. You suppressed the violent shivers your body had started half an hour ago, refusing to let the SpyMaster see just how miserable you were.

As you got closer to him, you stretched your foot out for a final step. When it made contact with the ground, instead of the fluffy crunch of snow, a shattering sound met your ears. Suddenly, your foot was no longer supported, sending your leg into a substance so cold it burned your skin at impact.

With nothing to grab onto, your body free fell instantly into the freezing water below the surface. Without so much of an “uh o-”, the world was disappearing from in front of you, your eyes being met with nothing but darkness.

At the shrill of the freezing temperature, the only thing your body could do was tense. You didn’t kick, didn’t scream, didn’t fight, it’s like every muscle went into immediate shutdown and numbness. You vaguely felt the feeling of something under your arms before you were surged back up to the land of the breathing.

Something was touching your face. At the whirlwind of motion you just went through, your muddled and frozen brain was struggling to keep up with everything going on. You felt the plushness of snow beneath your back, the wind biting at your cold and wet leathers. “Hey. (Y/n). Please, look at me.” echoed above you. After blinking the frost out of your eyes, you came into focus of a stressed Azriel staring down at you.

His hands were gently brushing up and down your arms as your body involuntarily convulsed from the cold. “Come on. We need to get you warmed up. Just focus on me, angel.” muttered from his lips, his amber gaze still taking in your figure from head to toe, assessing for injuries.

With Azriel’s help, you stiffly rose to your feet after another 30 seconds of examination. Once he deemed you okay to walk, he assisted you into a standing position before wrapping your arm around his neck and trekking forward. “There’s an inn close by we can stay in for the night. It’s just a few miles ahead.” He reassured into your ear, free hand still rubbing up and down your arm for warmth.

After what felt like hours of hobbling, twinkling lights and the smoke from a fireplace appeared in the distance. At the sight, you unwillingly let out a sigh, but with the current situation you realized it came out as more of a whimper. “I know. I know. We’re almost there I promise.” Azriel all but whispered, his free arm coming down to scoop up your legs, taking your body fully into his embrace.

“I’m okay, Az. I can walk” you whispered, teeth chattering so much it sounded like more of a stutter. “You just fell into a frozen lake in the dead of winter. I’m allowed to mother hen for a moment.” he rebuttled, sharp eyes catching yours in a no-nonsense gaze. You couldn’t help the small smile pulling on your lips, Azriel’s eyes taking it in until his lip was lifting slightly as well, pulling out that crease in his cheek you adored.

“Your lips are blue.” he stated, almost to himself as his eyes landed back on your mouth. At the admission, it seemed as if something clicked in him, his head turning and body surging forward once again. With nothing else to do, you lowered your head onto his shoulder and allowed your eyes to close for the remainder of the trip.

When shuffling and the muffled sound of a door closing filled your ears, you slowly raised your head to take in your surroundings. You were still in Azriel’s arms, stood in the middle of a small room. The room was dull, old wooden floors and ancient wallpaper adorning every surface. There was a small dresser, an armoire, a nightstand with a small lamp adorning it, and a very uncomfortable looking bed pushed into the corner.

While it wasn’t extremely inviting, you felt the weight of the world ease off of your shoulders when your eyes caught the hearth of a fireplace across from the bed. Gently rubbing your eyes, you felt Azriel release your legs and set you gently on the floor, his arms staying wrapped around you for assurance before releasing you entirely.

“Let me get the fire started so we can get you warmed up.” he muttered, already set in his task. Your cold fingers started working nimbly at the buttons of your leathers, fighting with each one much harder than you would have if your fingers were behaving properly. You cursed yourself as you failed at the second button, frustrated tears forming in your eyes as your fingers slipped off of the cool metal for the third time.

Right as you went to try again, a warm, textured hand gently laid over yours. “Let me” came from his lips in a whisper, his hand gently pulling yours away from the cursed contraption before he got to work. He slowly undid each button, looking up into your eyes as he worked.

“Would you like me to run you a bath before you change into dry clothes?” he asked, eyes bouncing from your own back down to the buttons repeatedly. You nodded your head eagerly, almost moaning at the thought of sitting in water warmer than -12°.

Once you were freed from the confines of your frozen tunic, Azriel helped you slip off your pants, leaving you in an undershirt and pants that were also frozen. After laying your leathers to dry on the dresser, he made his way to the bathroom.

Instead of feeling useless, you decided to tend to the fire while Azriel was preoccupied. Crouching in front of the hearth, you used the metal poker to stab and adjust the logs to your liking, ignoring the shooting pain in your legs at the squat you were maintaining.

After you were satisfied with the logs, you dropped the poker and wrapped your arms around your knees, resting your head atop them and soaking in the warmth from the flames. After a few seconds of silence, you heard Azriel’s footsteps approaching from behind.

His hand came down to rest on your back, his own legs bringing him into a squat beside you. “The bath is ready. I laid out some clothes for you on the sink.”. You slowly pried your eyes open, taking in his appearance slowly from underneath your lashes. His hand began absentmindedly rubbing up and down on your back soothingly, his soft gaze maintaining your stare.

“Aren’t you cold too?” you muttered, words muffled by your arm pressing into your lips. Azriel’s fingers came up to gently push a strand of hair behind your ear as a soft smile grazed his features once again. “I’ll be okay.” he whispered, grabbing your hands and pulling you to stand once more. “Yell for me if you need anything. I’ll be right here.” passing his lips as he walked you to the bathroom door.

Once in the safety of the bathroom, you felt a warm blush spread over your cheeks. While you undressed, you couldn’t help but let your mind wander to Azriel and his sudden protectiveness of you.

You had been friends with the shadowsinger for years, close enough to share sleepless nights together and find comfort in each other’s presence. While it was mainly a platonic relationship, you sometimes felt a twinge in your heart or an increase in your pulse when he would cuddle up to you. It wasn’t rare for him to seek you out after a long mission and rest in the comfort of your embrace. That’s what friends were for though, right?

As your final piece of wet clothing thudded onto the floor, you dipped your foot into the warm water with a sigh. Azriel had somehow found a bottle of bath oils and dumped them in with the running water, leaving a calming earthy scent wafting throughout the room. As you lowered yourself in, you couldn’t help but let out a groan at the warmth encasing you.

You stayed until the water got lukewarm, scrubbing and relaxing to your hearts content. Once you declared your spa night over, you lifted yourself up, albeit ungracefully, and wrapped yourself in a towel. Reaching for the clothes on the counter, you noticed your usual nightly attire replaced by a large t-shirt with cutouts in the back and some undies.

Back home, Azriel would often slip you one of his t-shirts whenever you complained about how uncomfortable your attire was to sleep in. It seemed like every week he would suddenly have a pile of clothes he no longer wore, coming to your room to drop off his “donations” with a soft smile and a teasing smirk. It didn’t pass on you that each one smelled more and more like him, rising confusion into just howww old each round of t-shirts was. You felt a giddy feeling ignite in your chest at the thoughtfulness of him laying one out for you.

Emerging from the bathroom, you suddenly felt the nerves of wearing so little in Azriel’s presence. Sure, he had seen you in this exact outfit hundreds of times over the years, but something about being in the small confines of the inn made it feel different. Almost like your teenage boyfriend seeing you in your swimsuit for the first time.

You padded lightly over to the fire, Azriel’s head snapping in your direction as you made your way towards him. While you felt a million times better, there was one small issue. You couldn’t clasp the buttons on the back of the shirt. Having a shirt made for Illyrian wings meant two gaping holes in the back, requiring multiple buttons to be clasped for each one to remain closed.

Turning around in front of Azriel, you pulled your damp hair over your shoulder to offer him your back, mewing out a weak “button me?” as you stilled. Gently, his large hands came to rest on the open fabric, pulling and buttoning each one slowly.

“Do you feel any better?” he asked, voice muffled by the concentration he held over the buttons. A wave of shivers went up your spine when his hand brushed the bare skin of your back, an uncontrollable goosebump breaking out in the open space. With a nervous giggle, you squirmed a little at the feeling, a small “so much better” leaving your lips in a sigh.

Once he was satisfied, Azriel gently gripped your wrist and turned you to him. Unbeknownst to you, he had taken the time you spent in the restroom to change, dry himself off, and even heat up some of the soup he had brought in his pack. He wore a simple black t-shirt, tattoos peaking out from the collar, with gray sweatpants. You felt your mouth water slightly at the sight of his shirt stretching over his taught shoulders, choosing to keep your gaze on his face instead.

Pushing down the blush forming on your cheeks, you prayed to the mother Azriel hadn’t caught your ogling, but the small smirk on his face crushed some of that hope. Without warning, he pulled you forward by your wrist, dragging you down into his lap. Your legs rested across his thighs, dangling on his other side, and your arms involuntarily wrapped around his neck. Almost like an instinct.

Azriel wrapped himself around you, one arm coming around your lower back while the other grabbed the back of your head gently, pulling you into him as he buried his face in your neck. You felt him take a deep inhale, his shoulders relaxing under your grip, before he muttered out an “I thought I lost you today.” against the skin of your shoulder. You let your eyes close and your body relax, pushing your face further into his collar like he did yours. An overwhelming scent of pinewood and man invaded your senses, immediately relaxing you and making you crave more.

“I’m sorry Azzie” you whispered, tightening your grip around his shoulders. “I should have paid more attention to where I was stepping.” following your confession as you slowly pulled back to meet his gaze. His eyes immediately found yours, amber glowing in the firelight as they took in your small, apologetic smile. His gaze searched your face for what felt like centuries, eyes catching on your mouth as you unknowingly bit down on your lip before his brows furrowed and a frustrated look took over his features.

“I-uh. I’m going to go get some water.” he rushed out, gently pushing you off of him and standing, leaving you with a pang in your chest. You watched his figure retreat to the door, brows furrowed and silent curiosity taking over when he didn’t even look back at you before he walked out, closing the door behind him.

After slurping down the rest of your soup, your eyes started to close tiredly as you sat patiently on the bed for Azriel’s return. He had only been gone for half an hour, but something in your chest was aching at his absence. Had you done something? Said something? You had been racking your brain endlessly for any hint as to what his distaste could be from, but were coming up empty.

Feeling the beginnings of a headache coming on, you grabbed a pillow and small blanket from the bed before setting up your spot on the floor. Mother forgive if Azriel couldn’t even look at you and you forced him into sharing a bed. He had to be just as exhausted as you, and rather than face the awkward encounter when he returned, you decided to make the decision for the both of you.

Tucking yourself into the thin blanket, you laid your head on the pillow and closed your eyes. The only sounds in the room were the occasional dripping of the bathroom sink, and the cracking of the fire in the hearth. If you hadn’t have been so in your head, it would have been oddly relaxing. Well, relaxing for having your hip stabbing into the hardwood…

Somehow, sleep took over you, the crackling and dripping dwindling into silence as your body fully relaxed into the darkness. It felt like you had only dozed off for a few moments when you heard the door shut quietly on the other side of the room. You had laid out your palette in front of the fireplace, so whoever entered got a good look at your back upon entering the room.

Deciding you didn’t want to face the impending awkwardness, you remained still with your back turned to the door as you tried to listen for Azriel’s movements. He stepped a few feet into the room before you heard his footsteps pause, a quiet “Oh, angel.” coming from him before his footsteps resumed. You heard his footsteps carry over to the nightstand, something sounding like glass being sat atop of it, before he was on the move again.

Realizing he was coming towards you, you quickly shut your eyes and relaxed your features into the likes of sleeping. You knew it was childish, but you had no idea what to say after Azriel’s obvious discomfort. Maybe he would assume you were asleep and leave you be, everything going back to normal once the sun was shining and everyone was fully rested.

Those prayers were squashed when you felt his footsteps come right behind you, a thud escaping from the sound of his knees meeting the hardwood. He gently rolled you onto your back, his hands being as gentle as always with grabbing your shoulder and waist to assist him. Now that he was moving you, there was no way you could fake sleep without it being obvious, so you slowly peeled your eyes open to look up at him.

His gaze was saddened as he took in your features, his hand coming to rest on your cheek as his brows furrowed, leaving a crease between his brows. You blinked a few times to clear the fog, eyebrows raising in question as he stared down at you. “Why are you on the floor, angel?” he whispered, finger grazing your cheek gently as he awaited your reply.

You took a few seconds to generate a response, teeth taking claim to your lower lip as you weighed out your response. His amber eyes watched your movement for a second before coming back up to meet your own.

“I. I thought you were upset or uncomfortable or- I just. I didn’t want to force you to share a bed with me.” coming out weakly, your voice scratchy and worn from the sudden awaking from your slumber. You felt embarrassed at the admission, slowly tearing your gaze from his to look beside you at the fire.

At the turn of your head, his fingers gently found your chin before making you look up at him. “Force me?” rushed past his lips in an astounded tone, his frown getting even deeper at the thought. “Angel, I don’t give a damn how upset I seem.. Never. Ever. make excuses for me if it affects your well-being.” he demanded, eyes not leaving yours as he continued. “I could never be upset with you, angel. Never” his voice started out strong, but by the end of his sentence his voice came out more strangled than you had ever heard him.

Scrunching your brows in even more confusion, you opened your mouth to reply but couldn’t muster up a reply. When your mouth gently closed again, Azriel began sliding his arms underneath you, quick to scoop you off of the floor.

“Az- wait. It’s fine. I was comfortable.” you rushed out, fighting his grip to go back to your spot on the thin blanket. A scoff left his lips as he rounded the bed, gently sitting you down before turning your chin to him once again. “Gods this is all my fault” he muttered to himself before backing away from you again, going to grab the pillow and blanket off of the floor before returning to your bedside.

He gently ushered you to the other side of the bed, between him and the wall, before tucking you in and making sure you were fully covered. Once he was satisfied, he lowered himself into the bed, covering himself before propping his head on his hand to look at you.

Feeling nervous, you slowly began to roll the opposite way, hating the way his eye contact affected you. His hand shot out to grab your wrist at your movements, gently pulling you back around to face him as he scooted closer to you.

“I’m sorry, angel. I didn’t mean to make you think I was upset with you.” he whispered, a serious concern taking over his features. Both of his hands came out to cup your face, his face so close to yours you could see the flecks of amber in his irises.

You pondered your response for a millisecond, deciding to just be honest. Wrapping your hands around his wrists, you admitted, “It just seemed like you were angry with me by the way you left the room. Its okay. We can just go to bed and talk about it tomorrow.” you offered, a slight smile taking over your lips in reassurance.

Azriel groaned, dropping his forehead to connect with your collarbone before letting out a pained “Fuck, angel. You’re killing me.”. He slowly lifted his gaze back up to you before a saddened look took over his features as he took you in. “You have no idea what you do to me, do you?” brushed past his lips as his thumbs rubbed soothing lines under your eyes.

Feeling a sudden wave of boldness, you let out a weak “show me, then.”, eyes staring deeply into his. You felt your heart rate pick up in anticipation, a flutter raising into your chest at the close proximity. At your words, Azriel let out a deep growl, hands sliding to the back of your head to lace into your hair. He cursed under his breath before exhaling, and the next thing you know his lips were on yours.

Azriel kissed you like a man starved. He craned your neck back for better access, kissing you deeper than before. His tongue invaded your mouth, your hands instinctively coming up to grip his t-shirt, eliciting another growl from him. As his kiss grew more desperate, you clung to him. A small throbbing began in your lower abdomen, a whine being pulled from your lips as Azriel ravished you.

He pulled back from you slightly, growling a quick “you have no idea how long I’ve needed this, baby.” before he pulled you back into him, one of his hands leaving your hair to graze down to your hip. Suddenly, he gripped your thigh, pulling it to rest over his hip before angling you to where he was slightly above you.

You moaned at the feeling of his length pressed against your core, his member already hardened from the short exchange. With a few thrusts of his hips, you were a whining mess, thoughts clouded and lips swollen from the intensity.

Just as he came down to kiss you again, a soft whine sound escaping from his throat as his dick grazed your center again, there was an overwhelming tug in your chest. A tug so tight and so intense it had you gasping at the feeling. Just when you thought your heart was about to explode, an invisible golden string appeared, tying you to the man above you.

“You- you’re. You’re my. My mate?” came from you in a rushed intensity, eyes flying open to meet Azriel’s piercing gaze.

“It’s about time you figured it out, baby.”

THE END. EEEEK I HOPE YOU LIKE

#azriel #azriel x reader #comfort #fluff #acotar

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caspsfang · 3 months

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“ STRESS RELIEVER ¿ ”

౨ৎ ,, AARON HOTCHNER ▬▬▬▬ .

౨ৎ ,, wc; 794 (not proofread,)

cws,, ftm!hotch , amab reader , sub!hotch , vaginal fingering , cunnilingus , stressed hotch , implied over-worked hotch . multiple orgasms , nipple sucking .

You hardly saw Aaron, ever. He would always be working such long work hours, returning home after you're already asleep. Saying you were frustrated would be a understatement. I mean, how would he feel if he was in your position?

So, one night you decide to stay up longer than usual, determined to wait till Aaron arrived home. The clock had long passed midnight, 1:28 am to be exact. Then you can hear the sound of fumbling at the door, knowing that he was home and walking over to the door to save him the trouble from fumbling with his keys.

Aaron's face lit up with confusion but mainly delight quickly as expected, giving you a quick hug as he walked inside. "Didn't think you'd be up," He said softly, placing his coat on the rack along with his car keys. "But i'm glad you are." He said lowly, and you knew all to well what he meant.

That's only the beginning of how you and Aaron got into this current situation. Aaron's body beautifully displayed on the bed, only in his boxers with all his buttons undone on his shirt, loosely hanging off his shoulder. Shivers gradually ran down his spine as he felt your lips against his neck, turning his neck the opposite way to give you more access, a low shaky moan leaving his lips as the feeling of your teeth nipping at his soft flesh.

Your hand slowly trailed down Aaron's body, reaching his boxers you felt how wet he was already, how desperate he already was. You allowed your hand to slid inside of Aaron's boxers, your fingers sliding between his slick folds, easily sliding inside of his entrance.

A loud moan let Aaron's mouth as soon as he felt your finger slide inside of him, his back arching off the bed. Aaron eagerly rocked his hips into your fingers, soft moans leaving his mouth from doing so. "You like that, hm?" you asked lowly against his skin, your voice husky as you spoke. He quickly nodded his head to your question, a choked whimper leaving him as he held onto your back for support.

Aaron's nails softly dug into your back as he felt you trailed kisses down his body, stopping just above his nipple, playfully nipping on the skin above it. "Pleasee..." he begged, attempting to arch his chest into your mouth. He always begged so beautifully, how could you deny him any longer?

You swirled your tongue around the sensitive bud, a loud moan leaving his mouth from the actions, the speed of your fingers moving in and out of him increasingly got faster and faster. Aaron's warm walls clenched around your fingers as he rocked his hips in sync with your movements, his orgasm quickly approaching.

The feeling of your thumb rubbing circle on his clit is what sent Aaron over the edge, his body convulsing as the intensity of his orgasm washed over him, his moans turning into high pitched whimpers.

As his orgasm subsided you gently trail soft kisses down to his pelvis, stopping right above his pussy. "Please don't tease me.." Aaron whined, a soft whimper leaving him as he felt your tongue slide along his walls, his fingers tangling in your hair as his thighs locked around your head.

The feeling of your tongue moving in and out of Aaron and swirling your tongue around his clit made every bit of stress bubble away from his body, stress from his work and past cases melting away as you continued to pleasure him, his head thrown back against the pillows as he moaned shamelessly.

"Oh!- Oh fuck, 'm so close-" He moaned out, his words encouraging you to work your tongue faster inside of him, his hips rocking into your mouth as he desperately chased his release.

Aaron's orgasm quickly approached, his back arching off the bed once more as his legs trembled, his breath getting caught in his throat as he came. Eventually, he came down from his high, his thighs unlocking from your head as he panted heavily, adjusting him so he could look down at you.

He watched with half lidded eyes as you hovered over him, the feeling of your hard cock press between his slit through your boxers making him twitch in anticipation, a soft whimper leaving his throat as he trailed his hands up to hold onto your shoulders.

Aaron automatically predicted he would probably have to call off of work in the morning, his voice nearly gone while his body ached all around, the ability to walk not being in him. But on the bright side, he felt extremely relieved, stress free and satisfied. You two definitely need another night like that, and soon.

@caspsfang , do not repost nor copy .

#༒ — ★ 𝐂𝐀𝐒 writes #༒ — ☆ 𝐂𝐀𝐒 works #top male reader #dom male reader #bottom male character #sub male character #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x male reader #aaron hotchner x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds x male reader

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bonefall · 4 months

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(dif anon) So is Ashfur grooming Shadowsight a plotline you would keep/rework in BB? I'm not so keen on the way canon used it to retcon his epilepsy, but I do think a plotline examining how clerics can be vulnerable to abuse from StarClan spirits is kinda compelling

Shadowsight's epilepsy is staying in BB, the Erins can try and take it away again over my dead body

Yes, that's staying and BB!StarClan was reworked with unfairness in mind.

This time around, I'm considering the idea that Ashfur didn't work completely alone. After the events of Squirrelflight’s Horror, Silverpelt's divisons are starting to crackle the stars.

Skystar and the other more traditional spirits are losing patience with the peace that Fire Alone brings, and the ways that the code has been bent.

They feel that honor is being lost in their descendants.

Even angels disrespect the collective; see how Skypelt has its own heaven? With a demon in its midst? There is blasphemy even in the skies.

Firestar and the more modern pantheon are ferociously defensive of the choices of the living. StarClan exists for them; not the other way around.

Meanwhile, Mousefur has gone missing. Others start to blink out, too. This is causing panic... and Ashfur keeps it quiet that he's the only one who knows where they've gone.

The angels that plan action probably were a small group to begin with, radical spirits. Skystar and Ashfur are two of them, and Ash is the "youngest." So when he comes down to the mortal plane and betrays them, very few other angels knew what had happened.

(I might even have a few angels be doing the various supernatural things in that first book, but slowly, Ashfur is wittling down their numbers until it's just him.)

I'm still working out specifics, but the other angels that Ashfur has consumed are giving him a massive power boost. He can use this to jump between planes freely, and he's able to do some whacky things like weave dreams and pull nightmares out of the Dark Forest.

The most important unique power he has, which he can do ALL on his own once he's absorbed enough starpower, is blast Shadowpaw with a bolt of lightning. The electric current runs through Shadowpaw's brand new scar, giving him a connection to StarClan like he's a little radio tower.

Thing is... when StarClan is blocked off, the only signal he receives is Ashfur's.

So, Shadowpaw.

From the time he was very young, Shadowkit has had an unhealthy relationship to life and death

He watched a lot of cats die before he was old enough to really understand it, and the only one who came back was Heartstar.

His epilepsy was so severe it would have been terminal. He was prepared to die as a kit.

Tawnypelt took him to the Tribe to learn more about treatments, bringing back a method of refining chamomile to manage the convulsions.

When people come back from death, it was to serve "a purpose."

He feels like he needs to be special, like he needs to find the great meaning in his life. The reason why he's still here.

In BB, there can be guardian angels. Cats you knew in life who decide to watch out for you in the afterlife. Moleflight is Jayfeather's, Shrewface is Squirrelflight’s. Ashfur poses as Shadowpaw's.

THAT is how I plan to address my criticism. Ashfur DOES build a very personal, trusting relationship with Shadowpaw, pretending to be the one who's here to give him the destiny he craves. Pretending like he's someone looking out for him.

I actually LIKE how desperate the situation was in-canon and I want to stress how none of this was Shadow's fault, so I also plan to keep that they had very little choice. Shadowpaw trusts his angel completely, and Ashfur coaches him on saying all the right things.

The older Clerics are suspicious, but... what else can they do?

Also, instead of framing this all as something Shadowpaw needs to "atone" for, I'm going to make certain cats unfairly scapegoat him for bringing the Impostor into the forest. Shadowpaw himself agrees with them, blaming himself, but he has to learn it wasn't his fault.

He DIDN'T let anyone down by failing to live up to great expectations, and there's no way he could have known that Ashfur was using him. This never happened before, he always made the choice he thought was right and tried to make up for harm done, and he's not responsible for what his abuser made him do.

I actually want to have him figure out some of this by talking to DF demons, towards the end. Cats faaaar more responsible for what they did in life than him.

Ravenwing in particular, who was also mislead by a rogue StarClan spirit, but... ultimately decided that if StarClan was right in their judgement.

He was told (by Birchface, but he still doesn't know who it was in particular) to make three kittens unsafe by revealing their parentage. His choice killed three innocent children, and lead to the Queen’s Rights.

And StarClan was furious that he'd ever believe they'd want something so CRUEL.

And even if they DID want something so cruel... "Then they wouldn't have been ancestors worth following. And that's why I believe it's right that I'm here."

As a Cleric, he had authority on their behalf. And if they would misuse it through him, he wishes he could have just given it right back.

And Shadowsight's lightbulb goes Ding!

The very last thing Ashfur does in TBC, when the jig is up and he's about to be killed by the Lights in the Mist and a bunch of Demons who have come to defend their home, is swallow a Founder-- Skystar.

He takes the level of a true god, and reaches a nearly undefeatable level of power. Instead of black water, he's so large, malicious, and has a gravitational pull so massive it starts destroying the afterlife. It shatters the purgatory (Meadow of Young Stars) into floating cosmic fragments, and Heaven and Hell are set to collide.

Shadowsight confronts Ashfur, politely explaining that he's, well... done a lot of thinking, and, he doesn't really want what he gave him. "You can, uh, have this back!"

And blasts the lightning from his scar right back at him, like a chain, holding the screeching eldrich horror in place. Every ally he's made, here in the DF, come down from StarClan, and as Lights in the Mist, jump to his side. They can't hold down Ashfur, but they can hold SHADOWSIGHT

While they're all supporting him, Bristlefrost sees the one chance to get rid of him, once and for all. A clear shot. She bolts, pounces, and SHOOTS right into Ashfur like a falling star, knocking them both off the edge of the heaven he destroyed, burning up in orbit with a monster a hundred times her size.

And after that, Shadowsight has to go home and live with this.

He gave up the very connection that made him so special, and now he has to go back to being a Cleric without StarClan.

but the other Clerics accept this. They have to. They were all complicit in the choices that allowed the Impostor to rise.

What Shadowsight learns is... everyone was part of this. From those who made the follies with him, to the supporters and rebels against the impostor, to those who helped him realize his worth, to Bristlefrost who ultimately killed Ashfur.

He is valuable because living is valuable.

Everyone, and everything, matters. All cats have a role to play, and he was never alone.

I want to close him out in BB!TBC on a tea scene that parallels the various points in his life. Others used to prepare his chamomile treatments FOR him, in careful doses, because it is a very serious medicine. Now, at the end, he's the one brewing it.

A fully fledged Cleric, who realizes he's never been alone. Cats who love him were around him the whole time, making his medicine, and they'll love him even after he's given up his powerful gift. So now he's at the stage in his life where HE can make that medicine, share his wisdom with others, and find fulfillment in the skills he's acquired over a hard life brightening.

#Ashfur was a scary and terrifying villain worthy of the WC hall of fame #I will make him WORSE #I should change one of the titles to the later books to The Black Hole as a reference to BB!Ashfur swallowing other stars #Maybe the last one since that's where his bossfight happens lmao #I love the vibe of all the morally gray and post-redemption cats of BB seeing Shadow like #''Youve done nothing wrong. Youre literally just baby.''#Lmao Breeze like 'oh honey nooooo'#Lineup of guys like What Are You In For?#'Tyranny of an ancient civilization'#'Political assassination'#'Attempted murder of a child'#'Did what a bad person told me :('#And they all drop their shit to be like 'its ok youre ok youve done nothing wrong'#I kinda want to give him an honor title that means 'Whole Shadow'#In reference to the way that when you stand with a dozen people behind you #You only cast a single shadow #better bones au #BB!TBC #BB!Shadowsight

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mauselet · 6 months

Text

The Influencer - And All Is Not Fine

This story is for @ask-the-rag-dolly's blog, specifically The Influencer AU. Honestly, loving the blog so much. Huge thanks to Mod Bee for creating it and if you haven't already, go check out her blog.

Big thanks to WanderingDragon and Foolscap Hamato for helping with the fic.

Yes, the story is named after Entropy by Awkward Marina lyrics. Also, the anon/s that speak in orange and red, you got a reference in there cause it felt fitting.

Well, I really hope you enjoy this story!

Story includes: Ragatha X Pomni (but can be taken as platonically), angst, hurt/comfort

TW body horror, possessive behavior, possession, anxiety/panic attack, haphephobia/fear of being touched, questioning sanity, self-neglect

It's been a few weeks since Pomni found out that there were currently hundreds of voices inside Ragatha's head. Wow, and after all this time it didn't sound any less insane. From what Pomni understood, those voices were a virus that had infected the circus and latched onto Ragatha. They couldn't tell Caine about this because he'd likely kill them and Ragatha refused that. For some reason, she wanted to protect them which seemed even crazier than the whole situation. Some of them were friendly, sure, but others…

They attacked Jax, causing him to glitch out. They taunted Ragatha by plaguing her mind with the worst cases imaginable or calling her names or taking her too literally. They spawned that stupid paper shredder!

Oh, how Pomni hated that thing! The next time she sees one, she’ll personally smash it into pieces.

In short, the voices–all of them–stressed Ragatha out. And who could blame her? Sometimes even your own voice in your head can drive you mad. Pomni was actually impressed that the doll hadn’t reached her breaking point yet with these “anons”, as they called themselves, constantly following her.

Of course, it wasn’t all that bad. Sure, they led to Ragatha temporarily losing her arm, but it was also thanks to them that she worked up the courage to speak to Pomni again. The thought of that always brought a smile to the jester’s face.

She was glad she could talk to her. Not only because Ragatha was nice and overall pleasant to be around, but it was also good for the ragdoll; especially now that she avoided the other circus performers to prevent another Jax fiasco or a possible infection.

The redhead’s absence was noticed by the others and to Pomni’s surprise, they were concerned about her. When Pomni first arrived, she was too busy spiraling down her anxiety to see it, but these trapped souls were friends. They cared about one another, even if it’d be in their own strange ways. So Pomni decided to reassure them all with daily reports on how Ragatha was doing.

And that was usually the extent of her interactions with them. Until Caine’s adventures forced her to stick around the whole day. Sometimes she was able to avoid them, however, there were times when she just couldn’t no matter how hard she tried. Unfortunately for her, adventures like these stacked over the course of the last few days, making it basically impossible for Pomni to check on Ragatha.

By the third or fourth day, Pomni was getting anxious. Throughout the adventure, her fingers were constantly convulsing while stuck in an unnatural position, her eyes turned into scribbles and her thoughts were as far away from the game as possible.

Ragatha must’ve been lonely. It’s been days since she’s interacted with anyone. Well…since she’s interacted with someone who meant no harm to her. Hopefully, she was alright…

Pomni suddenly jerked and snapped out of her thoughts as a gloved hand waved in front of her eyes. Her head shot up and she saw Kinger, Zooble and Gangle who announced to her that they found a way to replace her in today’s adventure and that she could go see Ragatha. If she had to be honest, she didn’t even know what the adventure was, but if she really wasn’t needed there…

She gave the three of them a quick smile and dashed to Ragatha’s room as fast as her short legs could carry her. As soon as she arrived and caught her breath, she rang the bell, waiting and…

Waiting.

Pomni felt a pit in her stomach. No, no, no. She shook her head. Everything’s fine, it’s just taking a bit. She rang again.

“R-Ragatha? It’s me, Pomni. A-are you in there?”

But she was still left waiting.

“Ragatha!” she raised her voice, yet still no response.

Oh God, three days… Three whole days with nothing but those voices. That must’ve been a nightmare for the doll and Pomni left her dealing with that alone. She left her again…

“I’m coming in!” she announced and reached for the doorknob. Her body froze as she held it, overwhelmed by worried thoughts, but also by a sense of déjà vu. She chuckled darkly at the memory of desperately wanting to know what was behind a door she shouldn’t go through and then opened.

A wave of relief washed over Pomni as she wasn’t instantly met with a glitching blob with a thousand glowing eyeballs. She walked in and closed the door behind her.

She looked around the room and her heart skipped a beat. Ragatha was there, sitting on her bed, sewing what appeared to be a suit. She was so focused on her work; maybe that's why she didn't register the bell. Pomni can't actually remember if she'd ever seen her this focused, but she looked surprisingly calm and, the jester had to admit, quite pretty.

“Um…Ragatha?” the short woman started, walking over, “I'm sorry for barging in, I was just worried when you didn't answer.” But the ragdoll didn't respond; it was as if she didn’t even notice that Pomni was in the room talking to her.

Was she ignoring her? Was she mad? Did she…hate her? All of those thoughts sounded really ridiculous considering that this was Ragatha we were talking about. She doesn’t even allow herself to hate Jax, someone who’s caused more than enough harm to her, so there is no way she’d ever hate Pomni. Right…? Yet all those thoughts, as unrealistic as they might’ve seemed, felt like real possibilities to Pomni.

Somehow despite Jax putting her worst fear in her room, voices constantly screaming at her and hurting her and Caine forcing her into some of the most dangerous scenarios, not being there for her seemed like the biggest crime of them all.

Well, there was only one way to fix it.

“I’m so sorry I took so long,” Pomni let out, her steps slowing down, “I tried to check on you, but Caine’s adventures-”

“Oh, it’s alright, dear,” hearing that gentle voice, Pomni stopped. It was nice hearing her again, but something felt off. Sure, Ragatha occasionally used pet names like hun or sweetheart or even dear–oh geez, Pomni felt her cheeks heating up just thinking about it—that wasn’t the issue. She sounded more nonchalant than reassuring.

That didn’t matter right now. She wasn’t mad and that brought a smile to Pomni’s face. However, that didn’t last long as the doll finally raised her head.

Pomni’s face turned paler than usual if it was even possible, the pinwheel eyes shrunk, making them nearly invisible and her smile vanished as if it was never there.

Oh %$!#... Oh %$!#! No, no, no, no, no, no, no, NO! This wasn’t… This couldn’t have been real!

She wasn’t just staring at a black void with two colorful eyes where Ragatha’s button was supposed to be. She wasn’t just witnessing her friend slowly abstracting in front of her! She wasn’t… She wasn’t…

This wasn’t real!

It… It was just one of the digital hallucinations that Caine mentioned. Yeah! That’s it! That’s…That’s what it…was…

But those eyes, that void, they were still there, no matter how much Pomni convinced herself about the opposite.

Caine. She had to go get Caine! As Ragatha said once, maybe there was still time to fix this.

“Stay here!” Pomni blurted out, “I’ll be right back!” She quickly turned around and ran to the door. She’s going to come back this time. This time she won’t let Ragatha suffer.

She reached for the doorknob, but before she could grab it, arms wrapped around her and she was pulled back. One of the arms held her abdomen while the other was around her neck, not too tight yet still uncomfortable.

Feeling the fabric arms against her skin made her dizzy and itchy. She could sense every single pixel touching her, causing goosebumps to spread over her body.

“Where are you going, dear~?” she heard a whisper in her ear. It was Ragatha’s gentle, calming voice- No. It sounded different and…wrong. The voice was demanding and rough.

Pomni’s breath hitched. Was really something wrong with Ragatha? Or was her mind just messing with her? Well, the physical contact didn’t exactly help her think clearly as her body was plagued with this disgusting sensation.

“Don’t leave me~” For whatever reason, those words made the black-haired woman sick.

The doll’s embrace tightened. The touch of the fabric felt so venomous and paralyzing. It felt sickening. It felt wrong.

The jester wanted to escape that trap. She needed to escape it, yet no matter how much the voice in her head screamed at her body to move, it wouldn’t budge an inch. She was frozen in such a predicament with nothing but her racing heart, uneven breath, and voice stuck in her throat.

She attempted to take a deep breath, only to leave herself coughing.

“Are you alright, dear?” That voice again. It made shivers run down Pomni’s spine.

She sucked in another breath and let out a very weak and broken “Ragatha”. She repeated this a few times until she made a sensible sentence: “Ragatha… Please, let go…”

“Let go?” the doll wondered innocently, “why would I do that?”

“Please…” the jester mouthed.

“It’s not like I want to hurt you.” The grip tightened even more. “I would never hurt you. I would never-” The taller woman went silent. She felt the pale jester in her arms trembling and her heart dropped.

“Pomni…” Ragatha let out softly and her embrace loosened, “y-you’re shaking…” Rather than talking to Pomni, however, she seemed to have told it to herself. Reminding it to herself as if just physically feeling it wasn't enough to make it sink in.

Even some of the voices were yelling at her to let go while the others objected. Was it the good or bad ones? What even made them good or bad? Were there even any bad voices? Were there even any good voices?

The voices that objected weren’t yelling, but whispering yet they were somehow much louder than the yells.

“Don’t listen to them–” “You can’t let go–” “You can–!” “She’ll find Caine and tell him about us–” “She wouldn’t–” “It’s too great of a risk–!” “If Caine finds out about us, we’ll be–” “What would happen to Rags–?”

“Ragatha, don’t you care about us? Don’t you care about what happens to you?!”

She flinched, instinctively tensing her hold on Pomni. In no way did she help the situation, with the jester’s body convulsing out of control.

“What is it, dolly? Are we too much for you to handle? Are we too loud? Can you even tell the difference between us and your own thoughts? Is there even a difference at this point?”

Oh God, her knees felt weak, her head was spinning, and tears filled her eye. She felt like she was about to collapse at any moment, but there was something forcing her to stand. Something kept her body like this against her will despite her exhaustion.

“Oh, dollface, do you feel the abstraction crawling under your skin? Or well, fabric? Did we do it? Did we f̴i̷n̴a̵l̸l̴y̸ ̶b̷r̸e̶a̵k̷ ̶y̷o̴u̵?̸”

All the voices then started shouting over one another again. Ragatha couldn’t even make out what they were saying as it all blended into an incoherent mess. With so much noise in her head, she wanted to join them. She wanted to scream at the top of her lungs; let out all her frustration not just with the voices, but with her whole body. It would be a beautiful relief, but even that was a luxury. Her body wouldn’t let her. They wouldn’t let her.

She’d swear that in the middle of all the noise she heard things that made her want to throw up. She hoped that it was just her imagination and her brain tried to give those noises some meaning, however… That would mean it was her own thoughts and that creeped her out even more. Strangely, some of those words weren’t anything bad, they were just…words. Yet they all sounded so disgusting. So wrong. Every last one of them.

Every last one…

Every last–

“Please…” One voice silenced all of them despite how weak and broken it was. No… No, it was loud and clear. It was…real.

It hit her like a truck. Everything that just happened in the span of a few minutes. How Pomni walked into the room, apologizing. How terrified the jester was when she saw her. How she stopped her when she tried to leave. How she was holding her this whole time despite the pain she was clearly causing Pomni.

Ragatha jumped back, letting go of the jester, allowing her to collapse to her knees. The small woman was sitting there, swinging back and forth, hyperventilating. She reached her hands to her arms as if to brace herself, but she didn’t touch. Instead, she grabbed her hat and pulled, her eyes shut. The bells one would associate with joy and fun now sounded distorted to both of the performers. The bells were… unnerving.

“Oh my gosh…” Ragatha let out as it all sank in. She covered her mouth and a tear ran down her face as she stared down at the black-haired woman. Her heart was breaking at the sight. “Oh my gosh…”

She did this… No, no, no. The voices did. Right…? She…She wasn’t in control, was she?

“I’m sorry… I’m so sorry,” she mumbled, although, she wasn’t sure if Pomni could even hear her, “I-I lost control of them.” She cried more. “I messed up. Ragatha, you idiot… You %$!# idiot! You scared her. You hurt her! Why would I…? I would never-”

She felt tears rolling down her right cheek too, but that wasn’t possible. She wiped the tears with her hand and when she looked at it, her fingertips were covered by dark liquid.

Her heart stopped, realizing what that was. The dark void was leaking. The voices were right…

The bells on Pomni’s head rang again, causing Ragatha to snap out of those thoughts. There was something more important she had to do than pity herself. Her emotions could wait. Her abstraction could wait! She didn’t matter right now. She didn’t matter at all! Pomni did.

Despite her own breakdown, she rushed over to the jester, kneeling in front of her. She was in tears, barely thinking straight, potentially on the verge of abstracting, but Pomni mattered more.

Ragatha reached her hand towards the pale woman but flinched when she realized it wasn’t the brightest idea considering what caused this in the first place. She instead laid her hands on her own knees so Pomni could see them.

“Hey, Pomni?” she spoke up, her voice trembling. That sure was reassuring…

C’mon, Ragatha! Get a hold of yourself! Pomni needs you! Don’t freak her out.

She took a deep breath and ran her hand through her yarn, brushing it over her right eye to hide it. She curled her hands into fists and calmed her breath before speaking.

“Pomni, hun?” She was doing her best to keep her voice stable this time. “Look at me, please. Hun, look at me.” Pomni cringed, her body still going back and forth. “It’s okay, it’s just me. The real me, I promise,” Ragatha continued, “I just need you to look at me.” The big eyes slowly opened, showing scribbles, and looked up. “That’s it.” Ragatha smiled at her brightly. “Good job, sweetheart. Good job.”

The smaller woman was still trembling, still pulling at her hat, still swinging back and forth, still not controlling her breath.

“Alright, dear-”

Pomni flinched at that, tears streaming down her face as she looked away.

“O-okay! Okay,” Ragatha said in an unintentional panic. She cleared her throat. “I’m sorry, I didn't mean to freak you out. I won't call you that again, I promise. I promise. You’re safe now.”

Still in tears, the jester stopped pulling at her hat, yet the bells kept ringing. Each sob was accompanied by a happy metallic chime as her body jerked. Ragatha had to admit that it made her wails quite adorable and each little jingle seemingly made a voice in her head disappear each time. But she wished more than anything that they'd stop.

“Pomni?” Ragatha knew she had to keep trying. “Hey, Pompom, hun… Can you look at me again?”

The smaller woman didn't seem to listen. She then choked on her sobs as they didn't mix well with her rapid breathing. Seeing this, some of the voices panicked, but Ragatha had to stay calm. She instinctively lifted her hand from her knee, however, thankfully stopped herself from touching Pomni.

“Please?” the ragdoll’s soothing voice asked and Pomni couldn't deny it. The black-haired woman turned to her, scribbles in her bloodshot eyes.

“Good job.” A smile of relief and reassurance formed on Ragatha's face. “Now, honey, you're having another episode, but that's okay. It's okay, I'll help you through it. I’m not going anywhere. We'll get through it together, okay?”

Pomni nodded slowly, choking on her sobs again.

“I need you to breathe with me,” Ragatha told her, “four seconds in, hold and six out. Four, hold, six.” She waited for Pomni to nod again before she took a deep breath that the jester immediately followed, yet struggling. They held their breath, but sniffles broke them. Then they exhaled together.

“Now, let's try again.”

And as Ragatha said, they did. Breathing was much easier for Pomni this time around.

“You're doing great,” the redhead praised her, “are you able to go on your own?” She watched as Pomni nodded and took another deep breath with her eyes shut. “Good, keep going. You’re safe, hun. Focus on me, okay?”

When Pomni opened her eyes again, they were back to their pinwheel look. Ragatha also noticed that she stopped shaking and the swinging slowed down. Her smile widened in relief.

She kept talking to Pomni while the jester calmed her breath. They were like this for a few more minutes until…

“R-Ragatha…?” Pomni finally spoke up and the ragdoll gasped quietly.

“Welcome back, sweetheart,” Ragatha greeted her, “you feeling any better?”

“A little…” Pomni’s voice was still pretty weak, but she had much more to say. She held her hands together, rubbing her thumb with the other. “But I should be the one asking you.”

“What are you talking about?” Ragatha shook her head. “I just helped you through a panic attack-”

“And I’m forever grateful for that,” the jester blurted out, “but, Ragatha… You’re on the verge of abstracting!” They both flinched at the yell and Ragatha covered the black void on her face despite being hidden behind the hair. “And it’s all because of me.” Pomni shifted her eyes away. “Because I left you when you needed me. Again!”

“Pomni, you can’t blame yourself for that. It wasn’t your fault.”

“‘Can’t blame yourself?’ You’re the one to talk,” the pale woman scuffed. She then took a deep breath. “Sorry.”

“No, you have all the right to call me out.”

“Did it happen because of… them?” Pomni glanced at the taller woman, her eyes narrowing at the last word.

“I think so,” Ragatha replied and noticed Pomni inhaling to speak, but she quickly interrupted her, “that’s why you can’t tell Caine.”

“But, Rag-”

“You promised.”

“And you said you wanted this to stop,” Pomni reminded her, raising her voice, “I understand you don’t want them to die, but think about what they’re doing to you. Stress? Mental breakdowns? Abstraction?!” The doll lowered her head in shame. “Rags, you’re suffering and I can’t bear to watch. You care about the people around you and I appreciate that, but for once in this digital life think about yourself first.”

“No need to worry, darling,” Ragatha said calmly, looking up with a bright smile as if the topic was just a casual small talk, “the anons are actually what keeps me from abstracting, otherwise I’d be in the cellar by now.” Pomni cringed at every word due to how cheerfully the doll said them. “We’re also really, really sorry for touching you. We were so afraid of you telling Caine that we had to stop you somehow. Sorry we hurt you.”

Pomni was just staring at her, an unsure expression painted on her face. This all felt wrong and Ragatha’s next words didn’t ease that feeling.

“I’m fine, really. I’m sure that I can join in on the adventures again soon.”

No, that wasn’t right. She just said she’s afraid of Caine finding out, why does she suddenly want to take part in his adventures? And that wasn’t the only thing off.

“What happened to staying in your room to prevent infecting people with the virus?” Pomni wondered, “don’t get me wrong, the others would be happy to see you and they’re definitely worried about you. Heck, Zooble, Gangle and Kinger helped me get out of an adventure to check up on you; it’s just…”

“You’ve been spending so much time with me and you’re not influenced,” Ragatha pointed out.

Well, Pomni couldn’t argue with that. There were still many other issues with this seemingly spontaneous idea, but the more she thought about them the less sense her reasoning as to why they were even issues made. It was as if her mind was getting blurrier the more she tried to use her brain. She must’ve been tired from her previous meltdown.

“I guess you have a point.” She let out a sigh and smiled at the woman softly, but then… Did Ragatha have that wide grin on her face before? That didn’t matter right now; she needed some rest.

“Look, I know I haven’t been here in a while, but I should really go into my room and take a nap,” she explained.

“Oh, no worries, d̶e̶a̸r̴,” Ragatha replied, “have a nice sleep.”

“I’ll try. Thanks.” Pomni stood up and headed to the door. She grabbed the doorknob and turned back. “And I mean it, try thinking about yourself. It isn’t hard to care about you; me and at least three other people can agree on that.” Her smile widened as she opened the door. “And Ragatha? …I… Thank you for helping me through the attack, I really appreciate it. You’re a great friend.”

She then closed the door and stayed in the room.

She originally planned on finding Caine the moment she was outside. She was well aware that Ragatha didn't want that, however, Pomni was willing to do anything to help her stop hurting. She didn't care if Ragatha hated her for it–she was sure she would–she just wanted her friend to be safe.

But as much as she wanted that, she couldn't bring her body to go through with it. It was as if it didn't obey her.

“Don't leave me,” she remembered the doll's words. No, it wasn't a memory; it felt like someone just whispered in her ear.

That's crazy. It was just her imagination. Nothing else.

“Pomni, please. Don't leave,” Ragatha's voice begged her. It sounded so real. But there was no way Ragatha's whispers could reach her, right?

The more she thought about it, the more her mind was filled with white noise, static. And the longer that went on, the more that noise made sense to her as if it spoke to her.

“I'm scared,” one noise was much louder. Ragatha's voice.

Pomni's not leaving her again.

She let go of the doorknob and turned around to see the ragdoll still sitting on her knees, showing Pomni her back.

“Actually, can I stay here?” the jester asked, “I don't want you to be alone and…I'd also feel more comfortable with some company.”

“Why of course,” the doll replied, the huge grin remaining on her face. She got up and headed over to her bed. Reaching into her hair, she pulled out her bow and used it to tie her hair up in a ponytail.

“You can take a nap in my bed,” she said.

“Oh.” Pomni blushed a little, not only at the offer but also due to the redhead’s sudden hairdo change. Whatever it was, it had some strong influence on Pomni. "Thanks."

Once at her bed, Ragatha picked up the suit she was working on when Pomni first walked in. It was nearly done. It truly was clothing worthy of someone as powerful as her; someone with influence stronger than the ringmaster himself.

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ozzgin · 6 months

Note

So I was wondering how Lisa Lisa, Caesar, and Joseph react to accidentally awakening Pillar woman reader( who is EXTRA Buff) . And while the three of them think Reader’s a threat, the reality she’s just a gentle giantess. And just pats Joseph head, and doesn’t seem to understand that they’re humans per say, but thinks their younger Pillar men?

Love the idea! After writing the Baki x JoJo crossover my mind has wandered to a Pillar Woman, too. A proper one. I also played around with Midjourney to see if I could get a glimpse at a potential Pillar Woman, and it’s not as muscular as I would’ve wished but it looks interesting nonetheless.

JJBA Headcanons: Pillar Woman! Reader

Featuring Lisa Lisa, Caesar, Joseph, and an awakened Pillar Woman that’s not as threatening as her male counterpart.

Joseph and Caesar are not only irritated by each other’s company, but by the sheer pointlessness of this task that has interrupted their training. Three Pillar Men have emerged from this site and fiddling around unturned stones only serves in delaying their fight. Their whines are quickly silenced by Lisa Lisa’s orders to continue their search. If they have time to moan, they have time to look for clues. The UV lights have long been discarded after the gory incident, so the narrow rays of flashlights only add to their frustration.

A faint sound catches their attention and they simultaneously turn towards a pillar at the end of the chamber. “Is that an unfinished sculpture or something?” Caesar ponders as he gazes as the bizarre block of stone with a vaguely chiseled arm protruding out of it. “I can’t believe this. I should be perfecting my deadly moves and here I am listening to your art commentary instead. Should we have a little séance session so you can ask them directly?” Joseph responds in a mocking tone. Their bickering continues under the scolding glares of the woman supervising them.

Her sigh of annoyance is abruptly drowned by the loud cracks of collapsing rubble. The bulky pillar seems to be disintegrating and they quickly cover their faces, scrambling to avoid the thick clouds of dust rapidly flooding the room. Once the smoke clears out, their faces twist in shock at the sight of yet another Pillar person that has somehow evaded the previous investigations. Although this one seems to be a woman.

The group is taken aback by the colossal size of this specimen. She’s significantly larger than all the Pillar Men they have encountered, with impressive muscular mass. Joseph and Caesar have already positioned themselves in strategic fighting stances and Lisa Lisa bites her lower lip, stressed by the unexpected encounter. They haven’t managed to lay a finger on the original Pillar Men. Would they stand a chance against this behemoth of a creature?

You stretch your limbs and lazily scan the area. How long has it been since you’ve gone to sleep? You don’t recognize a single thing. The humans before you are small are slender. Children? You’re not quite sure. You hear them mumble among themselves and you realize it’s a language foreign to you, although you quickly pick up the vocabulary. You approach Joseph and place your large hand on his head, trying to reassure the young boy of his safety. “Are your parents nearby? Perhaps they could explain my situation better.” You state in a soft voice. Caesar cannot help the laugh that erupts out of him, having to rest on his knees to manage the convulsions. Joseph barks at him, annoyed and embarrassed, and politely removes your hand, explaining he’s a grown man. You can only stare in shock.

Once it is confirmed that you are indeed no threat, Lisa Lisa describes the recent events to you. You listen intently, arms crossed. You don’t particularly care for humans, but you don’t like the cockiness displayed by the awakened Pillar Men, nor their supposed intentions. In your current state, you could use some entertainment. You might as well lend a hand to the amusing individuals that found you.

#jojo's bizarre adventure #jjba #jjba headcanons #battle tendency #pillar men #pillar woman #joseph joestar #lisa lisa #caesar zeppeli

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heartfullofleeches · 1 year

Note

Oh boy i hope this sends, but I've been getting such brainrot from the museum asks and I had an idea for another type of au. We've had security guard reader, owner reader, and painting reader, but i thought of an art restorer/art historian reader. Basically someone who really cares about the artwork itself and the finer details and history of the art and the process of it being created. I think it'd be really interesting having a reader who's job it is to go fix the broken works, think about the attachment that the peices that they fix would have. The art would think reader is so gentle and caring, so careful with them and mending them back to their original state before they where ruined. I still think the rest of the museum would come to love them too, they would hear about how much reader cared and would grow attached too, some may even rip themselfs apart in hopes of having readers loving hands mend them back together creating marks that the reader made embedded into them forever. But I feel like the original peices inside the restoration closet that we saw in the owner reader ask would have a stronger and more protective attachment to the reader. The ones who were thrown into a closet and left to rot inside a dark crowed closet only to be saved by their savior and painstakingly put back into their former glory would never allow anything to tarnish the one who saved them.

"Alright, let's try you again."

You insert the crescent shaped key into its designated hole. Twisting the handle, you wind the clock until no longer able; inner mechanisms taut round the key's bronze teeth. Pulling it free, you wait the results of your experiment with fingers crossed. The clock slowly whirls to life; wooden hands gravitating towards the center of its spilt chest as its head sinks forward. You celebrate your success with a pat on the back; congratulating yourself too soon as everything unfolds before your eyes.

The clock stops halfway through its greeting; body twitching and jerking as it fights to complete its given function. The convulsions and angle it hangs at damages the adhesive keeping its faceplate in tack; the panel falling to the ground with a loud clack. The gears of its left arm snap under the stress and join its other part on the floor. Nearing the end of the cycle, the clock stops moving completely and stands still.

"No. No. No!" You scramble across the floor to pick up the pieces, checking for any damages as you carry them over to the table. You sigh in relief and frustration as you look at the tools scattered across your workspace. "I really thought I had it this time..."

You set the parts down and accept your defeat. Your job was both the occupation of your dreams, and your nightmares. Head of the restoration team for the town's art gala, as well as its sole member. All your coworkers left within the span of the first year, but it's not like you mind. Their departure only left you alone with the art works. Fragments of history and creative minds that you alone had the honor to restore. There were some hurdles with mediums you'd yet to figure out, but you'd tackle them on your own or the begrudging assistant of others. The current object of your fixations was a piece of said status, and you worked until closing to try things your way before the repair team came the following morning. You look at the clock with guilt embedded into your soul.

It was human in shape; crafted of polished wood, glass, and metal. A perfect union between machine and nature. Housed in its torso was a clock hidden behind a leather corset which could be opened by inserting the key into the carved heart on its chest. Its face was made up of the image of a sun with closed eyes and rays over lapped in the center; producing a sun dial when opened. The rays were made of twisted metal and colored glass between each knot.

When the clock was wound, its tended function was to bow before the keyhole as it opened its chest cavity. The action would be followed up by it opening its face so that the sunlight may hit the hidden dial. Its creator supposedly worked by an open window and that was his preferred way to tell the time.

You step back over to it, examining its remaining hand. Only two fingers were in tact, and there was some chipping paint caked beneath its nails. You scratch away the crimson and meet its face with an apologetic smile.

"Well, I know it wasn't ideal, but at least we got to spend more time together today. The guys who can do what I can't will be in tomorrow."

You kiss its steal cheek and grab your things as you head out; wishing the other pieces in the room a goodnight on your way. Poor things. Before you came they were just locked in the storage room to rot or eventually be displayed in betrayal of their former glory. As you walk through the empty gallery, you read over the clock's documents that you had captured on your phone. Its origin was apparently France; belonging to a lonely clockmaker who had dealt with the passing of his family the year prior. Its rumored to have been made in memory of his spouse who had to reminded him that life didn't evolve around his craft. He may have forgotten to kiss them goodmorning each day, but he always made sure it tend to his clocks.

Your phone clatters to the floor as you bump into the door. You try its handle. Locked. Made since due to it being after closing, but that was just rude. Your boss did tell you not to stay after work.... No matter, it's not like you were there for the overtime. You reach into your bag for your keys.

What?

You shake the bag around, but you can't hear their jingling. You search through; shaking the bag harder incase they under all the clutter - but they aren't there. Losing your keys now was probably the worst of times with the recent report of a break in.

"Shit... I must've left them in the office." You hurry back to your post, stopped by a sound from the neighboring hall. It seems like nothing at first - till you make out the laughter. You speed up your return - back at the door in a quarter of the time it took you to reach the front door. You legs ache from climbing three flights in record time, but you didn't feel like going all the way down the lobby to the elevator. Grabbing the doorknob, you overhead part of a conversation as you crack the door.

"The dawn is so far away... I miss them already."

A muffled reply.

"Ah, don't give me that. If anyone feels bad about ruining their hardwork me."

Another, this time in a different tone.

"You're all just jealous. You'll get your turn soon so be patient."

You ease the door open more.

"We'll tell them what you did."

The main speaker snarls.

"You wouldn't dare... As if you had no part in it."

You peer through the crack; ready to face the potential danger, but unprepared for what you witness. It's difficult to see, but you can make out shadows moving along the walls in the same placement as the paintings waiting to be restored. To your horror, you realize they are just that; the object of each piece brought to lift in a different form. Their imperfections carry over. A king's upper face distorted by smudges made by rain water. A maiden's left side burnt off and discolored like a charred piece of paper.

The paintings center their attention of the mannequin in the middle of the room attaching an arm back to their wooden body. The clock. It back talks to its fellow inhabitants as it repairs itself; the detached limb miming a talking mouth.

"All you lot ever do is whine. The bond between Y/n and I is apparent and as powerful as new dawn, but we are all important to them and we must make sure our doors always remain open to them."

You pull your hand away from the door; unsure of your next course of action. Your phone sits in your hand, emergency services at the dial, but this really didn't seem like something they could handle. As if the situation couldn't get worse, the clock doll notices your keys on the table. They pick them up, porcelain eyelids drawing back as they examine the company issued key ring.

"These... are theirs."

The room kicks up in commotion.

"Something of Y/n's? Give it to me!"

"You sound like that Scavenger on the first floor, but for good reason."

"They're mine."

The clock holds up a finger. "Hush. Don't you realize what this means? Since these are here... That means they are too."

It turns its head towards the door. Something tells you that if it could've smiled - it would've. It sticks something into its chest that looks like an amalgamation of scrap; turning the makeshift key as it draws close. With no other choice, you close the door right as its face appears in the crack. Your barricade rattles in its frame as a heavy fist makes contact. You both know it won't last long.

"Y/n... Sunshine~ Open the door. I'm sorry I didn't work right for you earlier. I just want to spend as much time with you as possible. Although you're playing keep away, it feels so good to talk to you. We all have waited to speak with you for so long.."

Through the banging, you can hear their call.

"Don't go... Come in, give us new life so we can use it to welcome you."

"Can tonight be my turn? Make me reborn in your image."

"We love you. We need you."

"This is your home, Y/n." The clock concludes. "Nobody appreciates your craft more than us. Your talents here are worshipped."

Your grip on the door loosens. It slips from your hands before you can realize. You fall to your knees, but there's hands waiting to pick you up. They've always been there - hiding in plain sight, longing for the day they could hold you. With another night at it end in the gallery, their embrace would forever remain.

#Night gallery tag #yandere oc #yandere imagines #yandere x you #yandere x reader #yandere #yandere scenarios #yandere headcanons #yandere insert #yandere blurb #yandere x darling #yandere teratophilia #soft yandere #yandere drabble

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mouschiwrites · 2 months

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yoyo!! not really a current request unless ur up for it but when your requests open again!! Wallace wells platonic comfort w a reader who is having a massive meltdown since that's been my life lately (help me lord) anyways ty pooks stay safe!! xx

YES MA'AM!! o7 Coming right up for a friend in need!! i hope you feel better sweets ♡(｡´• w •`｡)

Word count: 895

Scott Pilgrim - Some Comfort From Wallace Wells

Heart racing. Hands shaking. Tears blurring your vision. You weren’t even sure what you were doing—your every action was driven by sheer panic and stress. The sound of your own cries was the only thing in your ears.

That was, until you heard something else:

“Y/n?”

And suddenly there was something on your arm, the pressure of it increasing until you were being forced to turn around.

“Wallace? What are you—” you shook your head, still not quite thinking clearly. You let out a sob, wiping frustratedly at your tears.

“It’s all just—!” You weren’t quite sure what you had intended to say; you were really just using shouting as an outlet for some of your overwhelming emotions right now. “Gah!”

“Y/n,” the sound came again, still not really registering in your mind. The pressure on your arm had moved to your forearm, and there was an identical feeling on your other forearm. Your hands were pulled away from your face, and you were forced to look at the man in front of you.

“Slow down,” he said, and for the first time your mind understood that those were Wallace’s words, and that noise was coming from him.

You sniffled sharply, clenching your eyelids shut to squeeze out a few more teardrops.

As much as you wanted to rampage, to flail your limbs and destroy something, it felt strangely good to stand still for a moment. But the moment passed quickly, and soon you were faced with the strong urge to crumple to the ground and start wailing again.

But your friend seemed to pick up on the urge as soon as it came, and in a moment his arms were around you, pulling your weight against him. Your head rested heavily on his shoulder as you brought heavy arms around his neck, sniffling and weeping all the while.

Still embracing, you waddled somewhat awkwardly as one to the couch. You sank down on the cushions with an audible whump. A shaky sigh escaped your lips at the lethargic feeling of sitting; all the remaining tension in you was gone, replaced with an even more burdensome weight. It was as if your limbs had gone from being made of wood to being made of sandbags.

Your shoulders still shook while you cried. Wallace’s tight supportive grip loosened into a more comforting one, his hands rubbing your back slowly.

He waited for you to stop convulsing with sobs to pull away. You couldn’t meet his gaze, but you knew he was looking at you.

“Wanna tell me what happened?”

A deep frown contorted your face. You opened your mouth, but a sudden tightening in your throat made you question whether you really did want to tell him. Your mouth almost closed, but your lips remained parted, as if you couldn’t decide whether to speak or be silent.

After a few moments, Wallace shrugged. “You don’t have to. I just thought you might like to.”

“I do,” you said suddenly, surprising him and yourself. Your frown twitched at your own rasping voice. “I just… It’s so much..!”

“Hey, hey,” Wallace put his hand on your arm, stroking it. “Don’t get yourself all worked up again.”

You nodded, biting your lip and forcing yourself to take a deep breath.

“Not a bad idea. You know, I once heard that deep breathing actually makes you hotter.”

You couldn’t help snorting at that. For all your misery, for all your overwhelming stress, Wallace could still get at least a giggle out of you. And giggle you did, much to his relief.

“It’s working already!”

“Shut up,” you managed between giggles, your voice still strained from crying. But now there was a smile on your face, and you lifted your head to actually look at your friend.

Your smile faded, and your eyes flicked away for a second before you spoke again. “Okay, I think I’m ready to talk about it.”

“Then I’m ready to listen.” Wallace reclined a little on the couch—his signal that he was ready for a long story, should this prove to be one. A long story, or a long vent.

You finished speaking several seconds ago, and now silence filled the room. Wallace sat up to put his arm around you.

“Thanks for telling me. If I can ever help, please don’t be afraid to let me know.”

“...yeah, okay,” you murmured, feeling glum after recounting everything. Wallace took the balled-up tissue from your hand and replaced it with a dry one.

“I just hate seeing you like that.”

“I hate feeling like that.”

“I hate seeing you like this, too,” you could hear the sardonic smile on his lips, and you let out a sharp exhale in a halfhearted laugh.

“That bad?” You sighed, cringing as you imagined your own puffy eyes and red nose.

“Come on,” he said, his voice straining as he stood up. “To the bathroom!”

“The bathroom?”

“We need to fix… this.”

“You just gestured to all of me.”

“Yeah. It’s gonna take a while, but…” he let out a sigh, closing his eyes and shaking his head, “I’ll do it. I know, I know, I’m so kind and awesome and selfless and—”

“Pfff—shut up!”

You both burst into laughter, and you made sure to step on Wallace’s toe when you stood up to follow him to the bathroom.

Thank you for requesting, love!! I really hope you do feel better,, hugs and kisses <33

#scott pilgrim takes off #scott pilgrim x reader #wallace wells #wallace wells x reader #scott pilgrim takes off x reader #spto x reader

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eksvaized · 1 day

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Part Twenty Five

[ Previous ]

︱AO3 ︱Wattpad ︱

taglist: @kingsprettyangel, @simonsslvt, @herwristsarehercanvas, @the-faceless-bride, @ghostieslove, @bbypionaa, @wxspq

“You know it’s wrong, Simon,” Price says, his fingers convulsively crumpling into taut fists. His knuckles, white from the strain, press against the edge of the counter that he leans on for support. His voice carries a weight, a hidden plea perhaps, as he continues, “Whatever it is that you’ve done, whatever happened since you met her—I won’t ask, I don’t need to know. But you can’t keep hiding her here anymore.”

Simon makes an attempt to look as though he’s paying attention to Captain, his head bobbing up and down in what seems to be a nod, mirroring the actions of a student diligently soaking up every word of his teacher’s lecture. However, the words of the man standing before him are falling on deaf ears. They are nothing more but a white noise to Simon; his mind is elsewhere.

The only sound that Simon can tune into, the only frequency that seems to penetrate through the thick fog of his preoccupied mind, is your voice. It’s a faint echo, barely audible through the thick walls that seem to enclose him, yet it still reaches him. He’s haunted by it, haunted by your heart-wrenching sobs, each one landing like a punch to his gut, robbing him of his breath and consuming him with an overwhelming sense of helpless frustration.

Even though a wall separates Simon from you, his mind conjures up images so vivid it’s as if you’re standing right next to him. He can see, in a clarity that stings like sea salt in a fresh wound, the large, saline tears carving wet paths down your cheeks. He can see your lips, swollen and reddened from your constant biting, a futile attempt to suppress your cries. He can see your hands, the anxious way you fiddle with your shirt, twisting and turning the fabric around your fingers until the blood circulation is cut off.

“What do you expect of me?” Simon’s voice rises. He lifts his head and snaps out of his thoughts. He stands far from the doorway, his back rigid and straight, his muscles taunt. If he had it his way, he would force Captain, Gaz and Johnny out of his home. With a forceful slam, he would shut the door in their faces, his snarling words echoing as a final warning to never return. But Simon knows that if he does so, if he surrenders to his simmering emotions and acts out, none of them will leave of their own accord. Therefore, he keeps his mouth and his thoughts restrained.

“Take her to see her family, reassure them that their daughter is safe and well—this will convince them to call off the ongoing search. You need to prove to them that there’s absolutely no cause for alarm,” Price implores with a sense of urgency. His shoulders droop, collapsing inward as he rubs his face, like he’s trying to wipe away the stress and frustration. “You can’t keep her hidden here forever. It’s only a matter of time before someone else comes knocking at your door, and if her family will find her here—and trust me, they inevitably will—it won’t end well, neither for you nor for her.”

The very last thing Simon wants to do is leave the security of this house and bring you face-to-face with your family, force you into a situation that would inevitably require you and him to play yet another taxing game of pretend. Simon successfully fooled Johnny because he knew him well. But he doesn’t know your family, which means that he wouldn’t have any way to brace himself for the potential confrontations that meeting them might bring.

Of course, Simon could interrogate you, putting you under immense pressure to divulge every trivial detail, every inconsequential fact about your family that he could potentially use to his advantage. However, he has serious doubts about the efficacy of this approach. Given your current mental state, which is anything but stable, whatever answers you could provide to his questions would be far from reliable. They would be clouded by your emotions and distorted perceptions, and would most likely prove to be futile in the end.

“Fine, we’ll go to see them,” Simon lies. He holds his breath. The silence in the room becomes deafening as he waits for Price to call his bluff. After all, Captain was always unnervingly adept at sensing when Simon was attempting to deceive him, his instincts honed over years of service. However, much to Simon’s surprise and immense relief, the man standing opposite him remains silent. “But you need to leave now.” Simon hastily adds, seizing the opportunity to regain control of the situation. “I need to calm her down—you can’t keep pushing her like this. She already snapped once and I’m certainly not going to sit by and watch as it happens again.”

Price doesn’t reply. Instead, he retrieves a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket. He flattens the note out on the counter, sliding it across the smooth surface towards Simon. “With a bit of digging, I was able to locate this,” Price says, as Simon looks at the note and the messily scribbled address. “Arthur and Elizabeth,” he adds, then handing over a faded photograph to Simon. The image portrays a family, a man, and a woman standing behind a little girl who is grinning broadly at the camera—it’s you, or rather, a much younger version of you.

“You have two days.” Price declares with a stern tone. He moves towards the doorway, but just as he’s about to cross the threshold, he turns around slowly, pivoting on the heel of his polished boot. “Otherwise, I’ll have no choice, but take matters into my hands.”

* * *

The moment the front door firmly clicks shut behind him, and the sound of the truck engine rumbles to life, starting to pull out of the gravel-lined driveway, the tires screeching against the coarse, irregular stones, Simon marches back into the living room. You are sitting on the couch, your gaze fixed blankly on the opposite wall. Your tears have long since dried up, leaving behind only their salty traces, but the sleeves of your shirt are still damp.

Simon approaches you cautiously. He kneels before you, his eyes meeting yours. His lips part, an instinctive reaction, as he wants to say something - anything - to soothe your pain, to apologize, but no words form on the tip of his tongue. The day has been long and arduous; the sun has already started setting down, painting the room in hues of soft gold and bitter orange, and he realises that all you need right now is a moment of peace, a chance to rest. He can talk with you tomorrow, in the morning, once he’s had time to decide what he wants to do.

Slowly rising back to his feet, Simon gently scoops you into his arms. Your body feels weightless against his sturdy frame. Your head rests on his shoulder. A sigh escapes your lips. Closing your eyes, you surrender yourself completely to his protective hold, the tension in your body finally beginning to unwind.

Simon carries you into the bathroom and places you on the edge of the tub. His hands linger on your arms for a second, ensuring you’re steady, before he lets go. The silence is pierced by the sound of running water. He begins to gently peel off your clothes, each piece landing softly on the tiled floor. Surrendering to his touch, you offer no protest, instead finding solace in leaning into his chest and feeling the warmth radiate from his torso as his fingertips delicately trace a path down your exposed back.

After discarding all your clothes into a disheveled pile in the corner, Simon helps you to get into the tub. You cautiously dip your toes, testing the temperature. Much to your relief, the water doesn’t scorch your skin or give a jolt of cold—it’s the perfect temperature. You lean on Simon for support, your fingers tightly curled around his arm, as you take your time to slowly lower your body into the tub. You continue to sink down until your shoulders submerge beneath the water’s surface.

For a while, Simon just sits on the edge of the bathtub, his gaze fixed on you. With a gentle splash, his hand plunges into the warm water, his calloused fingertips gently tracing delicate patterns over your soft skin. Once the water starts cooling, he realises it’s time to help you wash up.

Reaching for a bottle of sweet-smelling gel, he pours a generous amount of the liquid into his palm. As he rubs his hands together, the fragrant aroma permeates the air. It envelops the bathroom, filling the space with a scent that’s a blend of blooming flowers and a subtle hint of vanilla. Gently, he starts scrubbing your skin, his movements rhythmic and soothing. Then, he moves to your hair. Using the expensive shampoo he bought specifically for you, his fingers work through your locks and massage your scalp.

When he’s done, Simon reaches for a fluffy, warm towel that had been sitting on the radiator. He pats you dry, ensuring not a single droplet of water is left on your skin. Then, rather than dressing you, he carries you to the bed. There, before tucking you in under the mountain of covers, he brushes out your hair, and although it’s still slightly damp, he plaits it into a braid.

“Stay with me,” you whisper, your voice barely rising above a murmur that’s swallowed by the creak of the mattress as Simon begins to shift his weight to stand up. “I don’t want to be alone,” you add, a pleading undertone seeping into your hushed words.

Simon hesitates. There is a long list of tasks that still demand his attention. But the sight of you, your eyes wide and begging, makes it impossible for him to refuse. He can’t say no to you, not when you’re looking at him like that, not when the room is draped in shadows and drowning in silence. So, he slowly lowers himself once more, settling back down onto the blankets. The mattress dips under his weight.

You scoot closer to Simon, your body fitting against his. The warmth of his embrace envelopes you as you lean your head onto the curve of his shoulder. The familiar and soothing scent of his cologne fills your nostrils, instantly calming your nerves. Your palm rests gently on his chest, the fabric of his well-worn shirt grazing against your fingertips. As you press your hand against his chest, you can feel the steady thump of his heartbeat, a steady rhythm that provides reassurance amidst the chaos of your own racing pulse.

* * *

Simon cannot fall asleep. No matter how hard he tries to coax his eyes to close, to surrender to the gentle pull of rest, his mind stubbornly refuses to shut off. He wishes he could succumb to the sleep, with you nestled in his arms. He wishes he could forget about today’s events, even if only for a moment, for one night. But it’s not possible. Simon can’t slow down, he can’t calm down until he has figured a way to deal with the mess that today was. His heart races, his mind whirs, his world spins. Until you are safe, somewhere far away, where no one can harm or take you away from him, he refuses to rest, to give in to the exhaustion that tugs at his eyelids. He will not sleep. He cannot sleep. Not until you are safe.

Simon swings his legs over the edge of the bed and gets up. Like a shadow, he crosses the room towards the wardrobe. One by one, not really paying attention to what he is grabbing, he starts stuffing clothes into a rugged, worn-out bag that’s seen better days. His movements, mechanical and efficient, reveal a familiarity with this process. Before zipping the bag, Simon finds the gun, the one you had tried to use earlier today, and tosses it on top of the clothes, watching as it gets buried beneath them.

Then, Simon rushes upstairs. Each step he makes lands with a heavy thud, causing the stairs to groan under his weight. The sound bounces off the walls of the otherwise silent house. He stops in front of a locked door, a door he never thought he’d have to open again. In his haste, he forgot to grab a key. Undeterred by this minor setback, he channels his pent-up energy, a raging storm within him, into ramming the door open with a forceful heave of his shoulder. Once inside, his eyes dart away from the faded, peeling yellow wallpaper. He tries to keep his mind empty, not letting it dwell on any specific thought. He dreads the onslaught of painful memories that would inevitably follow, particularly those involving you.

Simon remembers the day you first woke up in this house, the fear, and terror written all over your face. He recalls how you were frightened of him, and how he wasn’t sure that his plan would work because you were too stubborn, too strong-willed, and had too much fight in you.

He would never confess, not even under the harsh interrogation of his own conscience, not now, perhaps not ever, but there were undoubtedly times when he seriously contemplated giving up on you. Physically breaking you down was a simple task. But the mental battles, the struggle to break your mind and spirit, those were the moments that tested his limits, pushing him to the brink of surrender. Thankfully, he didn’t give up because after many years of feeling like he could never replicate the love he had with the woman ended up killing, Simon will finally get his happy ending, and so will you.

Under the window, precisely five floorboards to the right and one down, there’s a loose one. Simon removes it. Hidden beneath is a nondescript black box filled with a variety of items, which he tucks under his arm. Then he turns his attention to two passports and grabs them out of the hole - one for you, one for him; he had created these on a day when he had left you with Johnny, under the pretense of needing to go shopping.

Simon had never truly expected to use these fake passports, considering their creation merely a precaution in case things were to spiral out of control. However, given the current situation, he finds himself immensely grateful for his foresight. Because, if getting you out of this country, vanishing without a trace from the face of this earth, is what he needs to do to ensure your well-being, he will do it without a moment’s hesitation, without an inkling of doubt clouding his resolve.

Before returning to the bedroom, where you are still asleep, Simon heads to the kitchen. His hand dives into the pocket of his jeans, fingers curling around the cold metal key to the house. With a wrist flick, he sends it flying onto the counter, where it lands with a soft clink. He tosses the note with your parents’ address on top of it. Finally, he pulls out a picture. His fingers tremble slightly as he rips the image into three jagged pieces and selects the piece where you are the only one visible, your smile radiant, and eyes full of life. The rest of the picture, or rather what’s left of it, he leaves discarded and scattered on the counter.

* * *

The sun has yet to rise. Several hours have already slipped by since Simon roused you from your deep sleep. He woke you with a gentle nudge, his voice whispering in the quiet, urging you to quickly put on your clothes before the two of you left. Initially, sleep still gripped you, your consciousness flitting in and out like a wavering candle flame in the dark, leaving you too disoriented to question the sudden departure—you trusted Simon. But now, as you sit in the passenger seat of the car, with Simon navigating a labyrinth of forgotten, winding back roads under the night sky, curiosity begins to gnaw at you, urging you to break the silence.

“Where are we going?” you ask, twirling the seatbelt absentmindedly. Your eyes flickers to the backseat, noting the hastily packed bag that holds your shared belongings, before they get drawn towards Simon, whose profile is faintly lit by the soft glow of the dashboard.

“Somewhere far away,” Simon replies, his voice steady and soothing, despite the ambiguity of his answer. Without taking his eyes off the road, his free hand finds yours, intertwining your fingers together. He lifts your hand, pressing a kiss to the back of your fingers - a silent promise that lingers on your skin. “Somewhere no one will find us.”

#cod #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you

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stariikis · 3 months

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𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐧 | 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 007

synopsis ; based on the Chinese Drama, 'When I Fly Towards You', in which you, a going-on-high-school English genius named Huang Yuting meets the Mathematics genius of the 10th grade, Nishimura Riki, underneath the rain.

masterlist >>

Riki can’t think back to the ‘bus stop incident’ without physically convulsing and curling into a ball. Why did he have to go out and embarrass himself like that, anyway? He starts to reprimand himself, pacing back and forth around his desk. A sigh leaves him as he looks over at the pile of work sitting there like a threat.

Lately, though he excels in his studies, dance has been his form of respite when he’s got pent-up stress. Yuting has probably ruined that for him, now that he’s been utterly embarrassed in front of her face. He doesn’t know why he even walked up to her as the bus approached her stop, and tapped her shoulder to wake her up, worried that she would miss her stop. He shouldn’t be so concerned, should he?

When he finally sits down at his desk to study for the night, reaching out to switch his lamp on, his head replays the past hour once more. He cringes. Formulas and equations, judging him from where they sit on his assignments, don’t even cross his mind anymore. He will never focus at this rate, he thinks, picking up his pen and twirling it coolly.

“No way she’ll remember that and laugh,” he mutters to himself, hand rubbing his forehead in an attempt to sooth himself. “She’ll think it’s really cool that I can dance, right? She won’t think I’m a weirdo for dancing in the middle of nowhere?”

He reads the first question on his worksheet, frowns when it doesn’t make sense, and reads it over and over and over. But everytime he tries, he thinks of Yuting’s wide, excited eyes, glimmering as she asks if he can really dance. This is not good, this is not good at all, he frets with a pang in his chest. What if he gets distracted like this in the middle of a test? What if something like this happens and he fails for the first time? He’ll never live it down.

Screw Huang Yuting and her pretty, curious gaze.

You pull your lavender, lace covers over your face and giggle at the thought of Riki practising how to dance at home. It’s so difficult to fathom him executing dance moves in front of a small mirror in his room. Or maybe he goes for weekly dance practice. Or maybe he even holds his own lessons somewhere! That’s a pleasant thought.

You imagine him guiding younger children with a youthful smile on his face and it’s possibly the most adorable thing that you’ve ever thought. You bring your knees towards your chest and, strangely, start to daydream about it. That’s when your phone lights up with a notification.

Finally, you think, grinning and opening your messaging app to check on what Moka has replied. However, when you do so, you take a scan over your chats and realise it’s not Moka. It’s your class chat. Your class monitor reminds you in a message full of obnoxious, cutesy emojis that you’re having extra-curricular selections soon.

Instead of thinking of possible choices for yourself, you ponder whether Riki will choose dance.

Seems fitting, but he could choose something nerdy like library club or coding, if he really wanted to. With his smarts and talent for almost anything he puts his mind to, selections like this must be really difficult. Anything he puts his mind to, he can probably ace just as he does with his current hobbies.

Switching your phone off and putting it away, you tell yourself you’ll ask him what he intends to join. Tomorrow. If he doesn’t ignore you again.

“Hey, wait up!” Moka tugs your arm along as she runs after Riki and Jungwon down the hallway. It’s sure to leave a bruise on your wrist, with how tight she’s gripping you there. “It’s important!”

Jungwon clearly hears her, rolling his eyes and continuing to walk forward. Riki keeps his nonchalant expression as always. Sunoo peeps out of their classroom and waves cheerfully at you both as you dash past, but neither of you pay him any attention.

When you finally catch up to them, hands on your knees to stabilise your breathing, Riki looks down at you with a quirk in his eyebrows, as if judging you, but his lips are turned upwards. In another badly suppressed smile. He really should just smile more, wouldn’t it be so much easier on his facial muscles?

“You look stupid,” Jungwon laughs right in Moka’s face. A stark contrast to whatever’s awkward tension there is here between you and Riki. Your best friend tucks a piece of loose hair behind her ear, sticking a finger in front of his eyes. She tries to speak, fails when she chokes on a shortage of breath, and tries again.

“You,” she exhales slowly, “You…”

Jungwon cocks his head challengingly, smirking.

“I can’t think of any good comeback,” Moka glances at you and whispers quietly, pursing her lips. But this is her mess, you refuse to partake in her petty disagreements with Jungwon. You have enough with Ri-

“You do look dumb,” Riki says, shockingly. And suddenly, you are a part of one of Moka and Jungwon’s countless arguments, all because of him. Just because he’s probably insanely inwardly humiliated from last night. You just know Riki’s self-consciousness gets the better of him sometimes. This is the same guy that deems only black, white and grey (occasionally, brown) to be ‘cool colours’ and could never be caught wearing any pastels. On a daily basis, he speaks an average of less than ten words. He probably studies during every pocket of freetime.

“Cool”, you mutter under your breath. He’s such a wannabe, with his hands currently stuffed in the pockets of an ashy grey sweater, smug smile plastered over his cheeks.

Sunoo joins you all at the corner of the hallway, eyes darting in between you and Riki. “What’s up, guys?”

“I don’t really know,” Jungwon sighs almost spitefully, shrugging towards you and your best friend. “Ask them. They pulled us over to ask something important..”

“We meant to ask you if you’re planning on joining a certain extra-curricular,” you respond, before Jungwon can say anything more offensive. Sunoo’s eyes light up, and Jungwon actually falls into contemplation for a moment. Riki, however, looks at you like you’ve uncovered another one of his deep dark secrets.

“What?” You look at him, letting some disdain seep into your voice. You’re tired of his insouciant attitude every single time you do so much as ask him an innocent question. The only times he’s ever a nice person is if it’s raining and you genuinely do not have an umbrella. Maybe you should pray for it to rain more, and purposefully leave your umbrella at home.

“Drama,” Sunoo grins resolutely, and instantly you think it’s not a bad choice for him. It’s actually pretty suitable, considering how empathetic Sunoo can get. He’ll definitely be able to get into character, whether he’s a do-good protagonist, or a villain with a snarky side.

Jungwon takes a side-glance at Riki, who shakes his head wildly, before declaring, “we were thinking of contemporary dance.” The latter smacks his forehead and refuses to look your way. How cute of him, he’s embarrassed. again.

When Sunoo stares in bewilderment at you who’s desperately trying to stifle laughter, Riki grabs his shoulder and shakes his head at him, as if telling him not to ask any questions. He’s got no faith in you – why would you ever spill anything? After all, though it’s a cute little secret shared between you two, it’s not your secret to tell.

taglist (open)

@laylasmother @seunnimg @natalunae @roumajuli @tomomorin @purplelxvx

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davecall93 · 2 years

Text

Binge (3)

It had taken four pitchers of beer slowly sipped for Derek to overcome the pain from his stomach to move. While this served to only further inflate him, the gradual approach to come down. When he left the restaurant, his stomach remained taut, but it was no longer red from physical stress. He cut an absurd figure, looking like someone had sighed a flesh colored ball to a human figure, his gait made awkward from having to balance out his stomach’s new size. One could still make out the lines of abdominals, a feature which jarred with the immensity of his stomach. However, he was too stupefied to notice the stares his stomach drew as Peter led him out of the restaurant.

The first thing he did when he got to the car was lower the seat back. He moaned in relief, almost in tears, contemplating that in his gut was sitting some 25 pounds of food. Peter sat in the driver's seat, waiting to start the car.

“What time is it?”

“3:30.”

Derek thought ahead to the dinner, wishing he had said no to Peter.

“I need to just lie down.”

“Taking you straight home, champ.” Peter started the car and whistled tunelessly. “Maybe you could go into competitive eating.”

“What the fuck was that? Something’s really fucked up.”

Peter shrugged. “Hey, maybe you just have a Ripley’s believe it or not thing going on…a black hole stomach. If you can do that, you can basically eat at Las Alas for free every time.”

“I just…my mind…” Derek started wishing to explain but even the thought of trying to describe his experience seemed to stir up whatever that feeling was, clashing with his current revulsion at ever eating anything ever again. He convulsed and, made a strange, constrained coughing sound and did not finish.

They did not speak much on the rest of the drive home. Peter let Derek moan and occasionally gave a kind, “There, there…you’ll feel better soon…” As they pulled up to the little building where Derek had his studio apartment, Peter helped him get out of the car and into bed and drew the shades. Derek had him give him his phone and set an alarm for 7 PM. Just before he covered Derek in the light sheet, Peter placed his hand on Derek’s swollen stomach and rubbed it firmly.

Derek made a strange gulp and jerked in bed. The gentle massage seemed to suddenly take off the pressure off his stomach and his body felt a wave of relief and pleasure. Derek let out a moan, and when Peter lifted his hand, all he wished to do was ask him to keep rubbing his gut for relief. He realized he was hard and, although he still felt very numb to any sensations other than the pressure in his gut and need to sleep, he could faintly detect he was about to come.

“Oh, sorry,” said Peter. “Probably shouldn’t do that.”

For a brief second, Derek’s need to suppress his urge to ask Peter to continue was more painful than anything in his physical state. Mournfully, tortured, and sexually aroused and unsatisfied, he heard Peter say, “Good job out there, champ!” And shut the door behind him.

He fell asleep and was awaked by the sound of his phone alarm at 7 PM. Being summer, it was still relatively light outside. He noticed he felt more clear-headed. It was then that he noticed the sphere jutting out of his midsection. “HOLY FUCK!” He cried, running his hands over the spherical object. It was significantly smaller than when he had left the restaurant, but still made a clear pot belly. He also noticed that his abs, which had been there when he left the restaurant, were now hidden under a pinchable layer of fat. In fact, he noticed that his whole body seemed to have taken on a little layer, including his face, giving him a slightly cherubic appearance.

He shook his belly and stared at himself in the mirror, cursing that he should feel so much better and now so much worse. When he looked at his phone, he saw a message from coach: “Forgot to say suit and tie tonight.”

If he had looked ridiculous at the restaurant, his attempt to put on a suit were more laughable. He could keep the pants below his swollen gut, he could make the belt fit, although it pressed into his gut, but the shirt would not fit around his gut.

But Derek realized that among the four dress shirts he had for formal dinners and occasions, one was bigger than the others. There had been a night for a teammate’s steakhouse dinner birthday that two of the guys, two drunk to get him, had crashed with him. He gave it a try and his gut pressed enough to the edge that an inch or two more would start to separate the fabric on each side of the buttons. I just can’t get any bigger tonight, he thought to himself, before he realized it was an insane thought. How the fuck could I even get any bigger?

He had always been able to pack it away. Maybe it was Peter being there, maybe it was his sexuality working itself out after years of so much repression. He’d be running and eating normally if not tomorrow, by the day after, he reassured himself.

He took off his suit to steam it and looked at his naked figure in the tall mirror on his wall. He shook his head, jiggled his gut, still firm, and said, “Fuck, man.” And then suddenly the moment when Peter rubbed it shot into his mind, and he felt a wave pass through him and as if into his groin. He came immediately, soaking his boxers in one of the most copious loads he had ever produced.

#gainer stories

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aarcanechaoss · 1 year

Text

As you wish

Masterlist

William can honestly say he hadn’t expected this from his girlfriend

Warnings: Smut, Fem OC Yvaine

Notes: I’m procrastinating some work so here I finished something that definitely isn’t edited and definitely has a weird ending. Enjoy

When William woke up this morning the last thing he expected was for Yvaine to offer some stress relief. He’d been working himself to the bone ever since the invasion and it had seemed such an innocent suggestion.

How wrong he had been and truthfully he doesn’t mind being wrong right now.

The night black haired woman was currently tucked beneath his desk, settled right between his thighs with his cock in her mouth. His eyes squeezed shut tighter with each bob of her head and tightening of her hand. He was in ecstasy with the way her tongue and teeth worked in tandem to tease his aching length. William’s hand found purchase in the thick dark locks as his hips bucked upward- and he dared to look at her, see her sapphire eyes staring up at him as she swallowed him whole… gods she was taking him to the hilt.

“Fuck.” He hissed, hand tightening in her hair. “Yvaine… more, gods more.”

Her hand reached for his balls, softly squeezing them as she bobbed faster along his length.

And then she pulled away. William let out a whine, low and needy, as her hand replaced her warm mouth.

“What-”

“Shall I continue Captain?” She asked, voice hoarse and deep. “Or shall I help myself too… my hand is rather lonely down here.”

William thought his mind was playing tricks as he glanced down between his legs… her free hand was buried beneath her uniform pants, moving slowly, teasingly for him to see.

He doesn’t know what happened next, all the Captain knows is that the next moment his cock was sheathed inside her. Yvaine was bent over the desk, her shirt unbuttoned and pants kicked away. He rocked his hips slowly, deeply, as he waited for her to give the go.

“Do as you please Captain.”

Music to his ears.

William couldn’t fight the want, the need to burry himself into her, rock his hips harder and harder as their lips collided in a messy kiss. Her arms wrapped around his neck, holding him close with one of his arms wrapped around her and the other gripping her thigh. Yvaine wrapped her legs around him, his own pants now dropping from his thighs to his ankles as she pulled him closer, deepening their connection.

Yvaine’s soft moans we’re driving William mad, the breathlessness making him want more. His lips trailed down her jaw and neck to meet at the junction. His teeth nipped and lips sucked a deep bruise that at current neither were able minded to notice him doing. His mask knocked against her cheek making Yvaine giggle before pressing her heels into his thighs, her legs shaking slightly.

“William.” She whined. “So close Will-”

“Is that right?” He asked against her shoulder, shuddering as he did. “Let go darling, do that for me yeah?”

“But- this was supposed to… to be for.. you.” She gasped out with each sharp thrust William gave her.

“I’m close too.” He admitted. “Please Yvaine, cum for me.”

The whine she let out made him shudder again as she convulsed against him, a soft curse fell from her lips soon followed by one of his own as he slammed his hips against hers again- to help them ride out their highs. William dragged Yvaine from his desk, slumping them both into his chair with Yvaine still very much attached to him.

Yvaine littered the lower half of his face with soft kisses, her arms still wrapped around his neck.

“Feeling more relaxed now?” She giggled softly.

“Definitely.” He replied. “I admit this isn’t what I thought you had meant when you offered stress relief.”

Yvaine’s sapphire eyes softened at his response.

“You deserve it.” She said, kissing his cheek again. “I wouldn’t be opposed to helping destress you anytime.”

William chuckled, his hands trailing up her bare thighs and waist.

“Perhaps next time we do so in a more private manner.” William suggests, not at all opposed to doing this again either. Yvaine grinned teasingly as she shifted herself just that little bit, William sucked in a breath before chuckling again. “Or Perhaps I am in need of more relief… it seems you’ve stressed me out a little bit.”

“As you wish William.” She smirked, grinding herself down into his lap.

“Teasing songbird… a year of dating and I still can’t get used to you being such a tease.”

“Come now my love… you know I like to push you to the limit.” He laughed, hands moving to pull the shirt from her shoulders and to tug at the breast band around her chest. “Plus… I did lock the door.”

The hunger in his gaze deepened as she said that, his violet eyes taking a darker hue.

“Then you best stay quite darling, my office doesn’t have a silencing spell like my room.”

“Do your worst Vangeance.”

“I shall try.” He smiled as he tugged off his own shirt, hips lifting just that little bit, pushing himself deeper into his girlfriend’s welcoming warmth. “You drive me insane Yvaine.”

“Good.”

#black clover smut #william vangeance smut

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electrasev5nwrites · 10 months

Text

Ninja Daily: Clarity 18

"Tell me, Uzumaki-san. Do you believe it is possible that you have repressed the memories of your death and associated time in Konoha because it is painful?"

Dr. Yamada blinked placidly from her leather chair, as if she hadn't asked a particularly prying question that implied Aiko was an emotional wreck. Aiko felt her teeth grind together, a new and unpleasant habit she had developed in reaction to her twice-weekly sessions with this woman.

"No."

The older woman didn't even have the decency to look surprised, her steel-gray bob barely shifting when she nodded understandingly. "Why is that?"

Why is-

Oh for shit's sake. How was she supposed to answer that? She didn't have any fucking problems with her feelings.

"I don't remember anything before the hospital because of head trauma sustained against Nagato," Aiko answered mechanically. Her fingers twisted the material of her long but close-cut black sleeves. The material was sturdier than anything Obito had provided, that was for sure. No wonder the shinobi here seemed to wear the same clothes over and over again when Aiko would have planned ten ruined outfits into her budget.

There was no point in looking any further into what had caused her memory loss; she wouldn't know any more and she didn't want to know any more. Aiko pointedly did not consider the conflicting information that she had been experiencing some severely creepy déjà-vu in Konoha. She hadn't talked about that with Dr. Yamada. It might as well not be true, as far as the doctor was concerned.

She took a shallow breath and wished that everyone else wasn't so scent blind. The office they had initially had consultations in had been poisoned with a sickeningly saccharine air freshener pumping in fraudulent vanilla stink that had been an instant route to a headache. The current office had been pointedly fumigated, but the tempting aroma of plasticky baking crap still hung enticingly in the air.

Unfortunately, there was no way around having to breathe.

"How does that make you feel?"

The big muscle on the right side of Aiko's jaw convulsed painfully. She consciously relaxed the joint, not letting her teeth touch.

'It doesn't make me feel anything and I don't see why it matters. The situation is what it is and talking about it won't do anyone any good.'

That answer would be unacceptable. Aiko didn't want to answer.

Artificial light glinted off of five tiny steel orbs. Dr. Yamada was the only working professional Aiko had ever met with a facial piercing- a little dot on the left side of her nose that matched the plain jewelry in her ears.

Her staring hardly seemed to bother Dr. Yamada. Pity. Aiko wouldn't mind sharing the discomfort.

Silence stretched on, thin and fraying at the edges. From painful experience Aiko knew that the civilian woman wouldn't allow the conversation to move on until she had an answer, however unsatisfactory. In her first sessions, Aiko had thought to be a troll and sit in silence for an hour and a half. That had been satisfying enough- until she was 'escorted' to her next session and realized that Dr. Yamada was still waiting patiently for a reply.

Ugh.

"I feel peachy," Aiko gritted out. She gave her sixty year old psychologist a look that threatened violence if the good doctor disagreed.

"Hmm." In the well-lit office, she could make out flecks of variation in Dr. Yamada's brown eyes. But she couldn't get a read on the other woman. That was part of Yamada's dark gift. The dark blue fabric of Yamada's immaculately neat pant suit shifted and shadowed when the older woman crossed her legs, still relaxed. Aiko didn't notice that she mirrored the motion, her own black pants barely a whisper of fabric secured with wound bandages.

"You know," Yamada said, sounding for all the world as if they were discussing matters unrelated to either of them. "Many people, civilian and shinobi alike, experience stress. The mind often deals with matters that are too traumatic or sudden by putting them aside until there is time to confront them."

That sounded perfectly alright as a concept applied in theory to other people. Aiko favored Dr. Yamada with a nod, trying to look attentive enough.

The faint wrinkles around Dr. Yamada's mouth moved nearly imperceptibly as she talked. "It would be quite understandable for a near-death experience to result in memory repression."

'Death experience. It was a death experience. And no.'

And that was where she lost Aiko entirely. She uncrossed her legs, letting them stretch out, and leaned back in an unconsciously arrogant pose with one elbow propped on an armrest. She did not speak, because there was nothing to say to that.

Yamada's eyes narrowed slightly, the smallest hint that Aiko was getting to her. "Mental health is every bit as real and critical to human performance as physical health is. It is merely less tangible and quantifiable, but there are real psychological connections between the mind and the body." She gestured ever so slightly at her chest as she talked.

That was another that that bothered Aiko. The mind was connected to the brain. It was so intuitively obvious - but she wouldn't try to tell Yamada that. The woman was convinced that a person was centered in their heart. The Yamanaka specialist, on the other hand, gave more credence to the eyes as the window to the soul. 1

Basically everyone but Aiko was weird.

But Yamada was still waiting for an answer, wasn't she? Aiko bit the inside of her cheek while she dredged up an appropriate platitude.

"I believe that."

However wrong-headed her psychologist was about the mind being in the heart or Aiko being a fragile flower incapable of coping with the inherent scariness of ninja work, she was undoubtedly correct about the paramount importance of mental health.

It was the wrong thing to say. Dr. Yamada gave another of her infuriatingly sphinx-like nods of acceptance. Aiko watched her mouth open almost in slow motion, dreading whatever crap would come next. "I'm glad to hear that. Uzumaki-san, it is my belief that your mental health is less than optimal. That state of affairs is affecting your ability to perform to your fullest capacity. In order to be happy and healthy, that residual fear and trauma must be dealt with."

Fear and trauma?

Irritation jumped up a full range into bubbling anger.

'Fear- bullshit. I'm not afraid. I think I know most about what goes on in my head, thanks.'

"I don't have any feelings like that." Oh. Shit, that was a poor choice of words. Aiko hurriedly backtracked, tapping her fingers on her lap. "I mean I do but in a completely normal fashion that does not impede my ability to function."

However much of a cipher she was, Yamada was a civilian. She was simply so threatening that Aiko occasionally forgot so. When her left eyebrow raised just a hair, Aiko saw it.

Aiko took a deep breath through her teeth in an attempt to calm herself, cursing the rush of foully sweet air that rushed in. It didn't work. "Oh, how would you know?" She instantly regretted snapping, words heavy and accusative in the air.

Yamada didn't say anything. She didn't look at the framed diploma that declared that she was in fact an expert in mental health. She didn't have to.

The stormcloud hanging over Aiko's head was all but a tangible thing, bubbling and seeping lower. "Fine." She tossed her hair, breaking eye contact to glare bitterly at the wall behind Dr. Yamada. It was a profoundly stupid wall and Aiko hated it. "You win this round."

"As I have said before, our consultations are not a competition," Dr. Yamada repeated for what had to be the tenth time. Aiko didn't deign to answer that, because she had looked up to the clock and- "It's time for us to finish now. Uzumaki-san, I would like for you to spend some time this week in meditation about what type of hurts fighting Nagato-san might have inspired. Can you do that for me?"

"Hai." Aiko agreed with no intention of following through, and stood abruptly. She wrestled with her poor mood for a moment- and then grudgingly gave a short bow. Her loose hair swung down, leaving the back of her neck bare and prickling with chill. However infuriating she found the older woman, Yamada-san was both highly educated and a worthy opponent. It would be indescribably rude to simply walk out. "I look forward to seeing you next week."

There was zero chance that her doctor believed that, but Dr. Yamada gave no indication she had thoughts otherwise. "Likewise, Uzumaki-san. Have a good week." She made some decisive notation on her discarded clipboard- probably the time.

'Oh, I fucking will. I'll have the best fucking week anyone ever fucking had.'

Then she wheeled around and stomped out of the office, flinging open the door carelessly without stopping. Shizune wasn't waiting to walk her home- Aiko was far too old to need an escort, and Shizune too busy for such trifling tasks. It wasn't like the older kunoichi didn't have someone watching and reporting to be certain Aiko behaved herself and went to her sessions.

'Two days of freedom. Then I go see the other hack.' Moodily, Aiko flipped up the hood on her pink vest and stepped out into the oppressive damp. At least the soggy heat was doing a serviceable job of beating most of the day-walkers back into their homes.

She was mildly jealous. If she could go home, she would. When her blue sandal landed in a particularly deep puddle, dirty water splashed up over and between Aiko's toes. Disgusting. She'd have to give herself a pedicure. How did anyone live like this?

'Akatsuki was much more civilized.'

Homesickness hit her like a physical thing, tugging at her gut. She was tired of sharing space with so many people. She was tired of being poked and prodded to talk about her feelings and health with Yamada and her experiences and resurfaced memories with the Yamanaka mind specialist. She wanted to be free and unfettered- to run and just not stop until she was so far away that everyone else might as well be dead. She wanted to be left alone in a dark home somewhere that Konoha wouldn't bother her. She wanted-

What?

Flummoxed, Aiko stopped to blink at the steps she was mounting.

'This isn't Shizune's apartment complex.' Confused, she took a cautious step backwards, sandals scraping back onto the cobblestone street. 'Where is this? Why did I walk here?' Aiko cast an unnerved glance over the construction- one of the many new buildings, a construction with a wooden frame, oddly abstract sense of whimsy in the design, and a paint job that made it look like some kind of dessert. All in all, it was surprisingly typical for Konoha architecture. There was nothing about it that caught her eye or explained why her feet had led her there.

A hand curled up to rest in a fist over her heart, feeling the gentle pounding for a moment. Then Aiko tightened her fist and brought it back down to her side. She tilted her face down against the rain and set off again, this time not letting her mind wander.

She was arrested one more time before reaching the safety of her temporary home.

"Uzumaki!" A male voice called out, sounding oddly disgruntled for someone trying to initiate a discussion.

She glanced over- a long-haired young man dressed in white was frowning at her.

Ew. There was something seriously wrong with his face. He appeared to be blind and had a bad problem with thick, pulsating veins on his temples and cheeks.

'I cannot imagine a world wherein I want to associate with this person. Konoha ninja are total freaks.'

"Your presence is surprising." He moved toward her easily, veins subsiding a bit. Still too creepy. "I had heard that-"

"Who are you? No, don't tell me. I don't care." Pointedly, she pulled her hood slightly further up and turned away, leaving Hyuuga Neji gaping in the street. Aiko walked a little faster than was really suave, eager to put some distance between herself and that creepy weirdo. Luckily, he didn't follow.

She peeled her hooded vest like a soggy second skin as soon as she was inside, grimacing at the way the fabric clung to her skin. It hit the ground with a wet schlopp, splattering rainwater onto Shizune's nice floor.

Feeling guilty, Aiko toed off her sandals and rubbed her numb, pink toes into the tatami. She gave a quick glance into the apartment to be sure she was alone and then stripped off her shirt and pants, using the fabric to wrap up the sopping jacket to reduce drippage.

'I should shower.'

Instead, she hung her wet things in the shower and all but leapt into her bathrobe. That was, of course, when there was a shunshin and a knock on Shizune's door.

'It's Yamato or Hatake.'

Aiko didn't even have to think to know that. She didn't know why they both hummed with identical chakra, but now that she'd determined a pattern, she couldn't deny that she was hyperaware of those two specific men.

She pulled open the door, hoping for Yamato.

Hatake Kakashi took one look at her –soaking wet and in a fuzzy bathrobe- took a step back, and said, "I'll come back later." Just like Sasuke, he was gone with a puff of smoke.

Aiko tilted her head to the side, watching it dissipate.

'I think that was the best interaction we've had so far.'

With a shrug, she went to cross the day off on the calendar in her room and tried not to scowl at the appointment note coming up far too soon. Her appointments were two days apart, but she wasn't going to see Dr. Yamada the next time.

By the time that session had rolled around, Aiko still hadn't warmed up to the idea.

As irritating as the appointments with the civilian trauma and mental health specialist were, Aiko reserved a special place in her heart for loathing of sessions with the pointy-faced Yamanaka who actually had the clearance to ask her about the specifics of her memories and missions. He was just as hard to lie to as Dr. Yamada, but Yamanaka-sensei couldn't be brushed off with 'that's classified'.

It was embarrassing to go over every nightmare she had in excruciating detail. She wasn't even sure that they were memories at all- for all Aiko knew, she was just baring her soul for the fun of it. Lovely.

There wasn't any choice. Dr. Yamada was there to ensure Aiko's mental health- Yamanaka-sensei was the one who was getting what Konoha needed to know out of her. She was savvy enough to see that, no matter what he said about patient confidentiality.

'I can't really begrudge them that anyway. I did attack one of their people.'

After her third session, Aiko lingered in the doorway to nurse the sucker she'd begged off the receptionist. Peach, of all the things, but the sugar still helped somehow.

Maybe the sessions would go easier if she had some method of validating or eliminating some of her opinions. She was itching for something to do- letting Yamato bat her around in spars wasn't that fascinating. Until she trusted Konoha enough to let go and use her spooky eyes on them, she was pretty much jutsu-less. An intellectual hobby might be a nice distraction from the increasingly crowded feeling of being in Konoha.

'What would they have information on that I could use? And how do I get it…'

She gave a hard suck on her candy, spinning the stick it was on as she stepped out into the streets to wander aimlessly. 'The obvious answer is a library, of course. But that's going to be heavily skewed on a lot of topics. I might… Huh,' Aiko marveled. 'I bet their genealogies and service records are complete. I could compare Obito and Madara to see if there's anything there I can use to convince them I know what I'm talking about.'

And while she was researching Uchiha, she could keep an eye out for information on the Sharingan and Rinnegan. She still didn't even know what the medium stage between the regular Sharingan and the Rinnegan was called or for- if anyone would have that kind of information, it would be Konoha.

But surely that sort of information wasn't accessible to just anyone. The blue building seventeen blocks from Hokage tower wasn't called a 'Public Library,' it was the 'Compendium for records of Konoha culture and history'.

'Lucky I know someone who could help me get in.'

Somehow, the sweet candy in her mouth tasted bitter. Aiko didn't like having to ask for favors, however small they may be.

"You want permission to go to the library?" Tsunade blinked once Aiko finally got an appointment, openly bemused. "What brought this on?"

'How many reasons are there to go to a library? I'm looking for a new pet, obviously.'

Somehow she managed to keep disdain from dripping into her tone. "I would like to do some reading through your records of Uchiha shinobi."

Assuming there was anything remotely useful, she might be able to find something- anything- to help her argument. And, more importantly, figure out if her eyes were liable to do anything particularly awful like liquidify if she used them incorrectly.

Aiko suppressed a shudder.

"Fine." Tsunade bent to the side to pull open a drawer and pulled out a yellow pad of paper.

Wait, what?

'That was too easy. She isn't really just going to give me what I want just because I ask, is she?'

Suspicious, Aiko took a moment too long to walk forward when the Hokage beckoned, pen in hand.

"Come on, girl. You'll need authorization, since you don't have a hitai-ite." She blinked, as if saying that aloud had made her realize the truth in that statement for the first time. "Hmm." The Hokage frowned, inking something arcane that didn't appear to be a seal script, hiragana, katakana, or kanji. "I'll have one brought up from the supplies. I hadn't realized that your old one would be completely…"

Completely what? What did happen to that?

Curious, Aiko cocked her head to the side as she took the proffered paper and immediately shoved it in her jacket pocket.

She gave it a second's thought and instantly regretted it.

'I died. That was probably when it happened. There aren't many reasons that a loyal nin loses their headband.'

Well, that was a mood killer. She slammed the door behind her as she left.

"You really think she's remembering things?" Tsunade watched the closed door contemplatively for a moment. "Yamanaka-san still isn't certain that her nightmares are anything more than nightmares."

The ANBU she had been talking to before a knock on her door slunk back into visibility from the little cove where he had been crowding her regular guard. He took up his position in front of her desk with a straight back, hands at his side. "As I said, she did attempt to return to her old apartment building yesterday," Yamato said mildly. "The memories are there on some level."

The Hokage hummed noncommittally. "You also said that her skills have deteriorated."

Yamato made a face, uncomfortable with that summation. "Not… exactly," he picked. "Her physical condition is noticeably better than I remember. And although her taijutsu is less varied, it's still lethal." He paused, giving the impression of attempting to be fair. "And her chakra chains are much more like Karin's now, although she wields them with far less speed and precision than she used to."

"That can be ameliorated with practice and attributed to the change in her chakra proportions." Tsunade rested her cheek on a palm, pursing her lips. "I would have to say that losing all of her jutsu is a significant sign of deterioration overall. She still won't show aggression in spars?"

"Not unless I specifically order her to, and it's halfhearted."

Tsunade sighed, leaning forward to relish the last trembling vestiges of sunlight from the window behind her. "And she still is operating under the delusion that the Waterfall jinchuuriki got better from being dead." Her lips twisted sourly, hidden by the angle of her head. "What a mess. If it weren't for that and the insistent confusion about Uchiha Madara, I would say that she was coming along well."

She needed Aiko to come along well and lie like a champion about Konan's coerced action for Akatsuki. Konan was the only shinobi who could hope to keep Ame in one piece. Not only was she their most powerful leader, but she carried the support of the shockingly deluded masses who refused to believe that Nagato was not a literal god who would eventually return to his faithful. They were willing to accept his 'angel' as a temporary stand-in.

'I suppose that personally ensuring Ame had no casualties for the length of his tenure would endear him to the populace. How many times did he revive his shinobi?'

"Is that why you gave her Chuunin clearance in the archives?" Yamato instantly flushed at the interest his question betrayed, though Tsunade didn't even look up at him.

"Yes. She's stubborn. No amount of repeating what we've already told her will change her mind." Tsunade pushed back her chair to stand, arching her back slightly to stretch. Women her age weren't meant to sit in one position for hours at a time.

She pretended not to hear Yamato's soft sigh and continued.

"I wish she would confide in Shizune or Yamanaka Santa. I want to know what the hell those eyes are about. Failing that, taking the initiative to ask for the ability to come to her own conclusions may be the best sign we've seen yet." She gave a teensy snort, shaking her head slightly. "Aside from her paranoid, delicate treatment of you, of course. It could be so much worse if she was hostile."

She glanced up in time to see the slightest hint of a smile on her jounin's face. Tsunade let one eyebrow slide up her forehead, not seeing what was so charming about that.

Yamato flushed at her scrutiny, ears pinking. "It's cute," he offered weakly.

'Cute.' Tsunade took a slow inhalation and released it in a controlled seeping, chest falling. 'He thinks it's cute. The people I work with.'

There was the slightest sound of a sandal scuffing on her brand new carpet as her jounin fidgeted. He cleared his throat. "As far as I can tell, it's genuinely because she doesn't trust herself not to hurt allies in a spar. It'll go away after a few weeks, I'm sure."

'I wish I shared that confidence. But as long as she only sees Konoha nin as those allies, we won't have problems with it.' Tsunade waived him out- and then spoke up just as he finished bowing and turned to leave.

"Tell Naruto he can contact her, if he likes. He's probably in Sasuke's office at the moment."

She was leery of exposing him to someone who had been in Akatsuki custody for such a long time, but even her paranoia had limits. Whatever problems she might have, Aiko didn't seem to be violent.

Yamato nodded and left without comment.

"Hey, Aiko!"

She halted mid-step in the lower lobby at a very loud, slightly raspy voice. She hadn't even completely made it out of Hokage tower. The boy who'd come bounding out of the crowd was grinning toothily, pulling a one-handled bag off his shoulders.

"Hold up a minute, would you?" He didn't wait for a response, plopping the bag down and unzipping it in one motion. "I'm supposed to- I have your stuff," he amended, talking hastily. He scrunched up his nose in unconscious irritation with the strands of blonde hair that were hanging down into his eyes.

"You have my things?" Aiko repeated cautiously, frowning.

'Why does he have my things?'

"Yeah, I think baa-chan forgot," he said absently, pulling out a very familiar bit of red leather.

"My holster?" Aiko reached out, somehow unsurprised when he placed it in her hand without looking. In the work of a few moments she had it strapped on- no one had fiddled with the straps, so it was already fitted correctly.

"Yeah, I think there's some kunai and senbon in here too." With a careless clatter, the boy tipped the bag and collected the weapons that fell out. Someone had bound them together and polished them- they'd need to be unwrapped.

'This is strange, but… okay? I think it's okay.'

"Thanks," she said. She took the first package and began unraveling it, packing the freed weapons away. "So, um, you know my name…"

He flushed. "I'm Naruto. Uzumaki Naruto."

It took a moment for that to sink in. When it did, her fingers fumbled. A flash of pain was the only thing that told her she'd managed to cut her index finger on a bare blade.

'Uzumaki. That's my last name. He looks roughly my age. Obito said that there was only one other Uzumaki child in Konoha when the last jinchuuriki died and- and-'

She clenched her hand into a fist, pressing the leaking finger into her palm to stop the bleeding.

Dear kami, that was a jinchuuriki right there, not two feet away from her. Her heart jolted unpleasantly. A jinchuuriki, meaning a person who had another one of those bijuu in him.

A familiar acidic tang prickled in her nose and the feeling of dry heat, of slowly baking alive washed over her flesh. Fear. Helpless. Insignificant.

On some level, her mind was whimpering helplessly.

Did it- no he, she'd decided jinchuuriki were people- did he know that she'd helped kill jinchuuriki before? Was he holding a grudge? Was he-

He was awfully familiar. Actually.

"I think I know you," Aiko said carefully, giving a smile that she did not feel. "From the orphanage, right?"

For a moment, his face was very still. Then it cracked into a painfully bright smile, accompanied by a thumbs-up. "Yupp! We lived together up until we were fifteen or so."

'That's a long time.'

"Oh." Her mouth was dry. "That's nice. You, um." She fumbled for words, torn between wanting to be very polite and wanting to escape.

'Someone wants me to like him and to associate him with safety. That's why he's the person who gave me back my equipment. That's not a coincidence. Why does Konoha care? What do they want?'

"Want to get lunch?" Naruto asked hopefully, shouldering his deflated bag. "I'm heading out on a mission later today and I didn't pack a lunch, 'ttebayo."

God no. Never.

"Yeah. That sounds nice." Aiko forced leaden feet to move, keeping pace with Naruto's strides toward the door.

'He's related to me somehow. Probably pretty closely, since we share a last name and there are few Uzumaki. Should I ask? Is he emotionally compromised? He seems friendly. I don't think he's registered me as a threat.'

The place he took her to was a dinky ramen bar that had quite possibly survived an invasion or two, judging by the dents and pointedly fresh paint. A pretty serving girl greeted both of them –by name, that was so freaky- and immediately set to work on their order. As she walked away, Aiko curled her toes against the bar under her stool and looked at the counter.

They weren't the only patrons—an older couple was sitting further down, the taller man feeding his protesting boyfriend tonkatsu with a laugh. The other patrons seemed to be too busy to take a full lunch hour- while they waited on their order, no less than three people came by to pick up 'to-go' orders.

"Hey." Naruto looked as uncomfortable as she felt, glancing down at her from the corner of his eye. "You alright?" He leaned slightly into her personal space to push her bowl down to her and- and-

That was a familiar scent. She eyed his vibrantly yellow hair, noticing a tiny braid peeking out from under his right ear. Other than that bit of order, it was a riotous mass. It was rather like how hers might be, if it wasn't long enough for truly exciting tangles to form.

"What shampoo do you use?"

Naruto blinked, face blank. "Uh. Cloves and something else. I just use what Karin buys me."

Aiko hmmed, breaking her chopsticks apart and fiddling with them. "Gotcha. So, um. A walrus?"

That appeared to utterly confound him. A noodle slipped out the side of his mouth.

Oddly, that helped. It was hard to feel intimidated by someone with food coming out of their mouth. He tilted his head and licked futilely at the soup escaping down his chin, blue eyes straining and failing to see the mess. "Your sleeping hat," she explained. "Someone gave it to me." Aiko shrugged. "I recognize your scent. I'm guessing that wasn't you?"

Naruto snorted and clapped a hand to his face to prevent any more liquid from escaping. He took a moment to laboriously swallow his enormous mouthful of food. "Socially challenged bastard," he mumbled, sounding fond. "No, um." His voice raised. "That wasn't me. It was meant to be helpful, I'm sure."

She didn't have anything to say, so she stuffed the boiled egg that had come with her meal into her mouth. Her eyes watered almost instantly. Hot. Her bowl was too hot. As soon as she had swallowed, Aiko grabbed for her water.

"How are you doing?" Naruto burst out in a rush of air. He glanced at her under his bangs and then jerked his gaze back to the countertop.

"Um." Aiko set down her chopsticks and interlocked her fingers on her lap. "I'm fine." In a moment of uncharacteristic honesty, she stared into the depths of her ramen bowl and admitted, "This just feels surreal. You know? Like this last week is a weird dream and I'm about to wake up."

Naruto nodded slowly, licking off his chopsticks. "But not a bad dream, right?"

She hesitated. "It's not a good dream, but it's not exactly puppets and zombies either."

"Well… I'm glad to hear that, I guess." He flashed a smile at her, holding a hand up to signal for another bowl. The waitress must have been expecting that because she quickly fluttered over to switch out bowls. "It'll get better. You're staying with Shizune-chan, ne?"

"Mm," Aiko nodded. "Yepp. She's alright. Kinda strict, though." Her intuition had been right the first day, when she had thought that Shizune would be difficult to budge on the whole 'mental health care' thing. There was just no arguing with that woman.

Naruto gave a surprised laugh, interrupted in the middle of blowing on his ramen to cool it. "If she wasn't, we wouldn't get anything done," he shared mischievously. "Baa-chan is crazy smart and cool and stuff, but she lacks in organizational thought. Shizune-chan makes sure the day to day stuff gets done."

'…Wait. Is 'Baa-chan' the Hokage?'

Her lips twitched. Maybe she could see them being related. That nickname was flippantly inappropriate enough that she sort of wished she'd come up with it. The analysis of the power in Konoha, on the other hand, she stored away for later consideration. Naruto might have a pretty good gauge of his Hokage's character.

The boy in question gave an obscenely loud slurp, polishing off his second bowl. Aiko glanced down at her ramen. It was still nearly full. Feeling mildly guilty for her slowness, she diligently picked through the mushrooms and pork belly, ignoring the greens.

"I need to go soon." Naruto frowned up at the position of the sun, waiting for his third bowl. "Can I get the check with this one?" The waitress gave him an indulgent smile and whirled away, smelling like flour and fresh dough.

Aiko didn't even pretend to look for her wallet. He was paying. She didn't have any money.

"I should be back in a week." Naruto gave her a nervous glance through his lashes, fiddling with a worn coin purse. "Want to do this again?"

The moment struck her as very awkward, in a sinking way.

'Wait. Was this a date?' She opened her mouth to ask, and then nodded silently instead. She didn't want to make an ass out of herself by misinterpreting the situation.

He grinned, counting out a hefty tip and exchanging cheek kisses over the counter with the ramen girl. A girlfriend, maybe? "Great!" Naruto chirped, waggling his fingers at the pretty brunette. She was already drifting away to take another order. "Have fun, yeah? Oh man, I'm gonna be late." He slipped off his stool and moved to push open the fabric veiling the stand from the street, tossing her one last blinding grin. "See ya!"

For a moment, she sat there to give her mind a chance to catch up. When she felt a little less like she had been hit in the face with a salmon, Aiko favored the girl behind the counter with a smile. "Ayame-san?" When she was met with a nod and the girl's full attention, the smile became a little more genuine. "Weird question. How often does he come here?"

"Not as much as he used to." The girl tapped her chin with a slim, uncalloused finger. "I'd say perhaps once a day when he's in town." She practically beamed. "I might be the first one to know when he's back from his missions!" Her laugh was as cute as the rest of her, Aiko noted.

'That's appalling. The food here is not nearly good enough to merit that.'

Aiko stretched her face into a parody of a smile, intentionally wrinkling the corners of her eyes. "I'll probably see you around, then." She tapped a loose parody of a salute before sliding off her stool and pushing her way through the fabric that separated the stall from the hubbub of Konoha's streets.

Irritatingly enough, she ended up backtracking in the general direction that Naruto had dragged her from. She only knew how to locate the library from the Hokage Tower. The only stop she made was a Shizune's apartment to acquire a notebook and a few nice pens: black and blue and pink ink that would be good for taking notes. It also wasn't a half-bad place to tuck away her flimsy pass.

When she got to the library, she just looked at the outside.

'I don't really feel like doing this right now.'

She steeled herself and went in anyway, only lingering to read the headline of a newspaper discarded on the long counter. SUNAGAKURE PLAGUED BY BIJUU. EXPERTS SUSPECT A WITHDRAWRAL FROM ALLIANCE IMMINENT.

Poor Wind Country. For just a moment, a guilty smile tugged at her lips. That was terrible, it really was. Bijuu were fucking scary. On the other hand, it was also sort of hysterical.

'It's also not important right now. I'm avoiding thinking about what I should be doing.'

Aiko shook her head, tugging at her hair. She really didn't want to go bury herself in books about Uchiha, but this was important. Information was her only weapon at the moment, so she needed as much of it as she could get.

Uncertain but stubborn, Aiko stalked in purposefully and flashed her Tsunade-gifted pass at the woman behind the counter.

Brown eyes narrowed on her with a fiercely intelligent sharpness, and then dismissed her just as easily. "You don't show that to me."

Aiko faltered, fingers tightening on her pass. The spiral notebook under her arm was digging into her skin, sticking uncomfortably.

"Where-"

"Up the stairs and to your left." There was the sound of a magazine page flipping. That had never seemed like a particularly 'final' noise before, but it ended the conversation handily.

"Right." Aiko pinned her lower lip between her teeth and attempted to look as though she knew what she was doing. She allowed her sandals to make tapping noise on the stairs, taking comfort from the steady punctuation. The man she was meant to show her pass to was in fact recognizable by his headband and the giant sign above his station.

He barely glanced at her paper, spending an exploratory tendril of chakra through the paper to check for who knows what. It must have passed muster because he passed it back.

"Looks fine. If you try to go to the fourth floor or higher, I am authorized to use lethal force."

Her eyebrows shot up. She couldn't quite keep from assessing him as a potential opponent while his arm was extended. Wiry muscle under a Konoha flak jacket indicated he was light and fast. The thin lines of scarring on his fingertips and palms told her that he was fond of some sort of wires or small blades.

'I think I can take him. I would take him down fast and hard- he's probably a clever fighter. I'd be better off using brute force. My Susanoo is utter shit, but it wouldn't have to be great to rip him apart in this confined space.'

Aiko shook that thought off and gave him a smile to cover that she had been contemplating how she would murder him.

He gave her an unimpressed look that implied he knew exactly where her head had been. "Mmhm. Enjoy the library."

She flushed and wheeled around, tucking a bit of hair behind her ear. She didn't need to ask directions. She'd just read titles until she found what she was looking for. That could only take a few hours or days. Very reasonable. She wasn't avoiding anything.

Surely there were genealogies and histories on this floor and the one above. Otherwise Tsunade would have given her higher authorization. Right?

Strangely enough, she did not find the correct section in that trip to the library. Aiko combed the second floor and discovered a great deal of information about Konoha's clans, founding, and administration.

It was on her second trip early in the next morning that she found what she was looking for. She took an armful of scrolls and books to a table without thinking too deeply about why most clan information and genealogies would be stored at private repositories off site but the Uchiha things had been moved to the library.

She went to the genealogies first, thinking to find Madara and start her research on him from there. It took a while to discern the slightest hint of the logic behind organization. The Uchiha had internally sorted itself by lines descending from their oldest known ancestor. Uchiha Sasuke, as far as she could tell, was the last scion of the 'purest' line- that descended from Uchiha Madara's female cousin Uchiha Kana, who had succeeded him as clan head after he scarpered the hell out of Konoha.

'Apparently, it was impolitic to enshrine Madara in the family tree. Seems rather counter to the stated purpose of a genealogy to leave out anyone you don't like. But then, if no one in Konoha was really closely related to him, the inaccuracy might be worth it for the ability to distance yourself from the legend of the first traitor.'

Painfully, there seemed to be ten or so different family lines within the Uchiha. That had probably been very useful in terms of keeping the inbreeding to a minimum, but it introduced another level of irritation to her research.

'So all I have to do is read each record of births and careers in the time frame that Obito was born to figure out which book he's in. I can discard any one book that has no mention of him in that time frame. It would be nice to know what time frame I need to investigate.'

She paused for a moment to wish that she had a more than vague idea of how old Obito was. He had a strangely ageless face. He was older than her, for sure, having been her father's student. But he didn't look like he could possibly be thirty. And that was a ridiculously conservative estimate- math that would have made him eleven at the time he murdered her father. So he had to be older than that.

But it just didn't seem possible. Obito looked twenty-five or so, on the skin that wasn't scarred with inhuman tissues.

Aiko scowled down at what felt like the hundredth nearly identical picture of a pale, dark-haired Uchiha with pretty features. She had almost convinced herself that the stupid family line in this particular book would be the right one, but she had reached Uchiha born a little over twenty years ago with no sign of Obito. Stupid Uchiha with their stupid, complicated eyes. Eyes that they never seemed to have any trouble with. She was sick and fucking tired of looking at generations of those smug bastards. Feeling irritable, she snatched her black pen and scribbled sunglasses over the pointy-faced jerk she had been reading about.

Then she paused.

'Actually, I like that. Uchiha look good in sunglasses.'

She couldn't quite resent them for that, no matter that she was envious of that sort of easy cool. The next Uchiha got big bug-eyed glasses, though they were slightly lopsided. Her next four attempts were better, at which point she felt confident enough to move on to rather suave cat eye glasses, and then a flat-topped variety that may have been a faulty paradigm in design. She worked it to a science, paring the time for each sketch down to about five seconds. Perhaps she should try-

"What the hell are you doing?"

Aiko jerked guiltily, pen flying. Uchiha Sasuke plucked it out of the air- damn him- and laid it down on the table by her defaced books.

'Nothing, why do you ask' wasn't going to cut it.

"Fixing this book." As soon as she recovered herself, Aiko leveled her steadiest gaze up on his dark eyes. Eyes that would indeed look better under a lovely set of cat-eyes or wayfarers. "The pictures are all wrong." Shameless, she raised an eyebrow in challenge.

He was very still, features unhelpfully blank. "They're… wrong."

"Yes." She pushed a book toward him. "Everyone knows that Uchiha always wore glasses. I was helping."

Sasuke looked down at her, knowing full well that she was feeding him a bald-faced lie. Aiko looked up at him, knowing that he knew she was a damn liar.

And then he nodded, pulling out the chair she had stacked with books and shifting enough that he could sit. "You have another-"

"Yeah, here." Aiko passed over the blue pen automatically.

'I can't believe that worked.'

The Hokage's apprentice pulled open a book, made a mildly amused sound at whatever he recognized, and inked a rather uninspired set of glasses over someone named 'Shisui' with the faintest hint of a smile. After a moment he leaned back, pursed his lips, and added a wiggle that was probably meant as a light refracting off a curved lens.

There was absolutely no chance he believed her. Right? Right, she assured herself. The world had just- just tilted a little bit. That was all.

Aiko gave a little shake to banish her disorientation and set back to her art so that she didn't risk looking at Sasuke again. She was a little more attentive to her surroundings this time, which helped her subtly shut her book and allow Sasuke to do the same a moment before a Chuunin messenger was standing at their table.

"Uchiha-san?" The girl's eyes flickered over to Aiko for only a moment. "Your presence is required in the hospital."

He stood up instantly, chair scraping on the wooden floor. "I understand. Go." The messenger gave a quick bob of a bow before fleeing. Aiko straightened a bit, ears perked in interest. He glanced down at her. "Better keep working, Uzumaki. There's a lot to fix."

She stuck her tongue out at him, but he was gone in a puff of smoke.

'I suppose that counts as having his blessing.'

Still, the appeal of her lonely campaign to help the Uchiha accessorize was dulling. Aiko pushed aside the useless book for a genealogy of another line- and finally struck gold.

"Holy shit." Aiko leaned back in her chair. "Holy shit. Obito is –is thirty-five?" She shook her head slightly, marveling. That was just… unimaginably old. Decrepit. Aghast, she leaned her forehead into her palms and let her mouth hang open.

'He's ancient. I never thought he was anywhere near that old.'

Then she took a mental step back, remembered that Konoha thought she had been spending time with Uchiha Madara. Perhaps she really was as naïve as Konoha thought she was. Even by her estimate, she had really believed a man nearly twice her age had been her friend and cared for her as an equal. What did a 35 year old man care for a 19 year old girl?

'I don't want to think about this.'

Aiko moved on to all but devour the little that the Uchiha had deemed worthy to record of Obito. It was admittedly minimal, bare in comparison to the entries before and after his. He had been born to a respectable career Jounin who had died less than two years later. There was nothing of his mother, childhood, or early career. Judging by the other records she had read, that meant that the Uchiha had found there to be absolutely nothing of value about him.

She re-read his entire entry and cringed, because it was two lines.

Uchiha Obito, born in the 90th year of the ninja. Died in service to the Sandaime Hokage in the 104th year of the ninja.

Ill at ease, she closed the book on the unsmiling academy graduation portrait of a disconcertingly small child who did not entirely remind her of the man she knew. There was nothing useful for her here.

It was hard to feel anything less than sympathetic with Obito's reluctance to return to Konoha when looking at that bleak record of his life and death.

'Is that how they think about me?'

Maybe. Maybe not. They certainly hadn't discarded her as easily as they had Obito, but they hadn't hidden that they had use for her.

Which was fine, honestly. The last time she had bet that someone would help her because he cared for her- well, she'd gotten burnt on that, hadn't she? Practical motivation was easier to predict. She was useful to them, so they would keep her alive. Konoha wasn't so stupid as to waste a perfectly good soldier of some small amount of political importance.

She felt her lips press into a grim smile. At the risk of being arrogant, she wasn't just a perfectly good soldier the way Obito had been. She was a symbol of Konoha's political legacy- the fourth Hokage's child.

'Not to mention badass in my own right. If they really want to make sure I re-learn the Hiraishin and make me exponentially more frightening…' Aiko shrugged, gathering up her belongings. 'That'll be fine. They don't even know I have the Rinnegan. What would it even be like to have Hiraishin and that?'

She didn't waste time in day-dreaming. All Aiko needed to know was that one day very soon self-determination would be within her reach. If she had enough power, no one would be able to use her again. Tools and techniques were one kind of power, but information and alliances were another type of power; one that that she needed altogether more.

And Uchiha Sasuke looked like a surprisingly weak point in Konoha's armor. Another girl might have been charmed by his unexpectedly diplomatic, tolerant response to finding her defacing his family's property.

Aiko saw his small, silent kindness, and chose to judge it possible vulnerability. That naivety was rather unbecoming in a kage's right hand.

'He'd be a good one to befriend.'

The poor phrasing of her thought struck her with enough force to make her cringe. Maybe 'friend' wasn't the right word for what she intended. Putting her idea in those terms made her feel scummy- it made her feel like Obito. That had been what he had done, after all. Befriended her for his personal gain.

'But that was to my detriment. I won't hurt Konoha or anyone in it. I just don't want them to hurt me.'

#vapors #uzumaki aiko #electrasev5n #ninja daily #fanfiction #naruto fanfiction #clarity

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whump-captain · 2 years

Text

No. 10 - Poor unfortunate souls

Taser | Whipping | Waterboarding

850 words | OC: Ghost Ambulance

is this a heist au? who knows ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ im also not super happy w/ it esp for a day with such good prompts but once again, and i cannot stress it enough: ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ the whump came out good and that's what matters lol

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CN: stun gun use, electrocution, burns

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Three things happen at once:

The electronic lock beeps an approval.

A voice from behind shouts: "Hands in the air!"

And Cutter spins around to face the security guard, just in time to see her aim.

Then he feels two hits to the chest. He looks down and follows the zig-zagged lines back to the taser gun in the guard's hands. Just in time to see her finger squeeze the trigger.

Every nerve in his body explodes. Muscles lock, wrenching his spine backwards. The current burns through him like a strobe light, pain sizzling away his vision, then hearing, then thoughts. A strangled, guttural groan forces its way out between his clenched teeth that feel like they're going to crack from the strain. Another impact rattles him as his rigid body hits the ground. He's on fire, convulsing, every tendon threatening to snap.

The three seconds stretch to an eternity in Cutter's scorched consciousness. Then the current stops. But his body keeps seizing, his head slams against the ground over and over again as the pain, like an afterimage, remains in his muscles as lethal, excruciating tension. The air cracks like fireworks, the sound of overloading synapses.

He can't tell how long it lasts. It feels like minutes until the blinding fog dissipates and finally he can feel that this battered body is his again. He's gasping, small whimpers escaping his throat with every desperate inhale. His fingers feel slick; he must have clenched his fists hard enough for the nails to draw blood.

Senses return to him like a movie image fading in; it's all there but feels distant, like he's still separated from the lobby by a screen. But he knows there's no time. Pushing through the ache that lingers like a fresh bruise, he turns onto his side. With a groan of effort, he puts a hand underneath him but immediately his head spins. His newly returned vision swims away again and he lays there for a long, painful moment, forcing deep breaths into his lungs. Something stings him right through the ribcage and he realizes the taser's electrodes are still embedded in his chest. They stick out like bizarre insects, framed by rings of dark soot where they have singed his shirt. The thin rigid wires trail down and tangle with each other. The smell of burnt cotton mixes with that of burnt skin.

Cutter winces as another crack pierces through his head, point blank into his eardrum: his comms earpiece, he realizes. The discharge must have fried the electronics. Elaine is going to be so mad.

A gloved hand appears suddenly in front of him. As if summoned, the huntress herself is leaning over him, face haloed by the backlight. Cutter lets her pull him up; everything wobbles around him again but he manages to catch an unsteady balance.

"Are you okay?" Elaine asks, her eyes fixed on the two electrodes sticking out of his chest. That and the gun itself, abandoned on the floor, make the story clear.

"Yeah." It takes him a moment to answer, but it's mostly the truth. His chest aches like he's been punched and his breath comes choppy. He counters Elaine's tense frown with a smile. "How's my hair?"

She raises her eyebrows - and so has to stop frowning. "It's fine. Your shirt is not."

"A good shirt, too," he muses, picking at the charred fabric. From under it shows the angry red of damaged skin which he has no desire to inspect closer. The sight of the electrodes embedded in it makes his head spin again.

When he grabs the first one, Elaine puts a hand on his shoulder blade; bracing. He yanks it out like pulling a tooth, gasps at the sharp pain - but it feels good to toss it away. A tiny ribbon of smoke trails it as it skids across the polished floor.

Cutter's hand wavers when he reaches for the next one. It's instinct, the body refusing to cause itself more pain. The electrode's surface is still hot between his fingers, the sensation blurring together with the burning on his chest. Blood sticks his skin to the barbed metal. Why is this so difficult? He has to close his eyes, slowly exhale so that the dizziness goes away. He grits his teeth and rips the second electrode out with a grunt.

The sudden motion sends him swaying again but Elaine's hands keep him steady. Though any touch feels now like a fresh bruise on his aching body, he leans on her. All he can do is wait until the world stops reeling around him and his vision finally clears. Even then, the ache remains in his limbs like a leaden, sizzling weight. Suddenly, he feels very, very tired.

But looking down at Elaine's questioning, still worried face, he can't help but grin at her. They'll both be fine. How could they not be, when they're here together? A small hitch like this could never be enough to throw them off track. Not them.

He crooks his head towards the newly unlocked door.

"Shall we?"

#whumptober2022 #no.10 #taser #oc #writing #stun gun #electrocution #captain's stuff #captain's ocs #ghost ambulance #¯\_(ツ)_/¯#<- don't know if i mentioned that #idk if i want this to be an au bc the dynamic between them seems to be 'we've been through so much shit together and we're ride or die #which fits w/ the main canon #but to be frank it would be Very Funny if it was the heist au and they had literally just met #and elaine is like gotta help my fellow heist crew member so we can carry out the plan #but at the same time cutter's like 'f is for friends who steal things together :)'#complete vibe mismatch #for comedy

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whumpywankenobi · 2 years

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It's time to torment Obi-Wan! It's my favorite past time. So if its yours as well, feel free to join me :)

Rating: E

Warnings - NSFW, rape/non-con, alcoholism, forced substance abuse and intentional triggering of addiction, manipulation (this gets heavy. so please take care of yourself)

Obi-Wan whimpers as Anakin slowly drags his cock out of his aching hole. Cum dribbles out of him, down his balls, then down his thighs to mingle with the blood and bruises. It should be a relief, but all he feels is empty.

Anakin palms his aching ass, still burning red and sore from the vicious spanking Anakin had started the night with.

“You’re so perfect,” Anakin says. Obi-Wan sobs when Anakin’s fingers knead the tender skin around his hole. “All full of my cum.”

It’s too much.

It’s way too much.

“Think you can come again?”

Obi-Wan gasps and shakes his head desperately when Anakin palms his aching cock. He’s already come three times this night – well beyond the norm for his age.

But Anakin is extremely persistent.

And far more powerful than Obi-Wan could ever hope to be.

Anakin pinches his balls, but blissfully releases him without putting Obi-Wan through his paces a fourth time.

“We’re almost done, Master,” Anakin says. “Just one more thing.”

“Anakin, please,” Obi-Wan begs, but the cuffs around his wrists are too tight and the ropes around his thighs and ankles are too well-knotted. He has no more chance of escape than he did when the night began.

Anakin chuckles. “Just relax. You’ll love this part.” Anakin yanks him off the table and sets him up against the wall. “I know how much you love to party.”

Then he drops a bottle of vodka in front of him.

Not even when Anakin had ripped his pants off and pinned him in place with the Force had he felt this terrible, sinking fear.

“Not this, Anakin, anything but this.”

Anakin shakes his head with a sad smile. “Sorry, master, we both know you’ll go running to the Council to report me the moment I walk out of here. But since I’d rather leave you alive, this is the solution.”

“Anakin, please,” Obi-Wan says.

“You’ll be fine. It’s just a bit of alcohol.”

“You don’t understand—”

Anakin’s expression turns thunderous.

“I’m sober,” Obi-Wan says. “Seven years.”

Seven long, painful years. And he’s currently clinging to recovery by his fingernails. The war has brought him to the brink again and again. Cody saved him last time. Not with violence, but with quiet support and stillness in the silence of his quarters, waiting for morning to arrive.

It had been a welcome change.

Even if it was only for a few hours.

“More lies?” Anakin growls and unscrews the cap.

“Ani, please. We can pretend this never happened. We’re stressed. A couple questionable decisions were made, but it’s over. Nothing untoward, nothing—” He swallows. “Just a bit unusual. I promise, I won’t say anything.”

“I can’t believe you. But it’s okay. You won’t remember anything in the morning. Now open up.”

Obi-Wan shakes his head again. Drinking cost him his friendship with Bant and almost cost him his place in the Order and his relationship with his master. Mace had filled in for him during Anakin’s early years as Obi-Wan struggled to get his feet back under him without Qui-Gon’s support.

It had been agonizing.

But he was desperate to be who Anakin needed.

He keeps his mouth stubbornly closed.

“You’re going to drink this, one way or another,” Anakin says.

Obi-Wan sets his jaw.

Anakin rolls his eyes. And then he uses the Force to yank Obi-Wan’s jaw open and pin his head to the wall.

The vodka floods his mouth and burns his sinuses, but he won’t swallow. He’d rather die.

And then the Force tickles at his throat. It doesn’t crush his larynx likes Anakin’s Force choke, nor does it wrap gently but possessively the way Anakin’s Force leash had done earlier.

He realizes a moment too late what Anakin is doing.

His throat convulses.

He swallows.

The next mouthful goes down easier. Then the next. And the next.

With it comes the haze, the numbness, that comfortable, fuzzy headspace that made him feel less alone.

Obi-Wan sobs. He can’t do this again.

He can’t.

They’re well into the second bottle by the time Anakin finally lets up.

He passes out.

Obi-Wan stares at the mirror and his shadowed face, the sweat on his brow, the gauntness of his cheeks. He’s disgusted with himself.

Two bottles. Two empty vodka bottles.

He never even liked vodka.

Force, he should have called someone. Preferably Mace. He would have talked some sense into him. Even Cody would have been a good option, for all that it was unfair to ask it of him.

Whatever happened last night, whatever—

Already, the cravings are coming. The shaking, the depression, the dependence. It’s all coming back. All of it. And he’s not strong enough to resist again.

It’s over.

His life, his career, is over.

He should run now, disappear into the depths of Coruscant, before he tries to convince himself he can function like this, that he can somehow be a competent general while so compromised.

No one would question him. And clones would die.

Someone else – someone better – will take his place.

Maybe Anakin will.

He deserves it.

“Obi-Wan? Are you alright in there?”

It’s Anakin.

Wonderful, too-caring Anakin.

Obi-Wan will destroy him. Just like he did Bant, like he almost did Qui-Gon.

Obi-Wan can’t contain the sob that escapes his throat.

And then he’s being encased in heavy arms and held against Anakin’s chest.

“It’s alright, Obi-Wan,” Anakin says, soft and steady, exactly what Obi-Wan needs. Exactly what he would so selfishly cling too until Anakin was drained dry.

“Ani—” He can’t bring himself to push away.

“Shh, it’s okay, Obi-Wan. I’ve got you.”

#nsfwhump #whump fic #Obi-wan kenobi #anakin skywalker #vaderwan #alcoholism tw #noncon tw #rape tw #addiction tw #star wars

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treatnow · 3 months

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Hyperbaric Oxygen Therapy May Be the First, Only Clinically Effective Treatment for Long COVID

February 26, 2024 Erin Hunter, Associate Editor https://www.pharmacytimes.com/ “I’m better than I was before I had long COVID, and in so many ways,” said a patient in an interview with Pharmacy Times." Key Takeaways Hyperbaric Oxygen Therapy (HBOT) may be an effective treatment for long COVID, and it is the only therapy that has shown clinical effectiveness in a controlled clinical trial. The benefits of HBOT are durable, as it triggers neuroplasticity in the brain and may reverse brain damage caused by COVID infection. There are still many challenges in diagnosing and treating long COVID, as there are more than 200 symptoms associated with it (with most affecting the brain and nervous system), and many patients experience a delay in diagnosis or dismissal of symptoms. After suddenly developing a series of severely debilitating neurological and physical disorders, Lynette Milakovich, a yoga teacher currently living in The Villages, Florida, spent almost 2 years and $20,000-plus on doctors’ appointments and failed therapies to treat her symptoms. It took nearly this duration of time before she learned the cause of her illness was long COVID-19 (long COVID), she told Pharmacy Times in a recent interview. It was not until receiving hyperbaric oxygen therapy (HBOT) treatment that she found lasting relief. HBOT is currently the only treatment protocol that has been proven clinically effective in the treatment of long COVID in a controlled clinical trial, according to Shai Efrati, MD, the co-founder and chairman of the Medical Advisory Board to Aviv Scientific, and director of the Sagol Center for Hyperbaric Medicine & Research at Shamir Medical Center, in an interview with Pharmacy Times. Additionally, there are findings from a new longitudinal study published in Scientific Reports —which evaluated patient outcomes after 1 year of finishing an HBOT intervention— that show that the benefits sustained from HBOT might be long-term. According to Efrati. HBOT can repair brain tissue damaged by COVID-19, and this can actually lead to permanent changes.1 “When we take care of the brain damage, it heals symptoms,” Efrati told Pharmacy Times. What Is Long COVID? There are estimates that more than 65 million people around the world have had long COVID, although this number is likely to be higher, according to investigators of a study published in Nature Reviews Microbiology.2 Long COVID (also referred to as post–COVID-19 condition) is a syndrome characterized by mild-to-severe symptoms of COVID-19 that can last for weeks, months, or years after overcoming initial COVID-19 infection.3 There are more than 200 symptoms associated with long COVID.3 Symptoms can be an extension of those experienced during acute infection, or they can appear as new symptoms altogether—and although symptoms can impact many different organ systems, they largely affect the brain and central nervous system (CNS).2,3 “We understand that COVID may penetrate the brain through blood vessels or the cribriform plate that is located above our nose and cause brain damage in the neurons,” Efrati said. “So, what we are dealing with is brain damage.” Milakovich had suffered from many symptoms related to dysregulation of the brain and CNS: total body neuropathy, tinnitus, postural tachycardia syndrome (PoTS), tachycardia, high blood pressure, tremors, convulsions, insomnia, and severe mental symptoms (cognitive decline, depression, anxiety, suicidal ideations, apathy, and post-traumatic stress disorder). Long-Term Impact of HBOT for Patients With Long COVID The purpose of HBOT is to increase oxygen absorption into tissue, which can support brain injury recovery;1 it may be particularly effective for brain/CNS symptoms because it triggers brain neuroplasticity, or “the ability of the brain to repair itself,” Efrati explained. In essence, neuroplasticity enables the brain to reverse the damage and dysregulation caused by the virus. Previous studies affirm these neuroplastic benefits in patients with stroke and traumatic brain injury who had improved cognitive and motor function and quality of life measures following HBOT. Findings from previous studies also show that HBOT creates positive microstructural changes in the brain.1 However, no studies had evaluated the long-term clinical benefits associated with HBOT for patients with long COVID.In the present longitudinal study, 31 patients—having originally completed 40 sessions of HBOT the year prior at Aviv Clinics—filled out a series of questionnaires about quality of life, quality of sleep, and psychiatric and pain symptoms.1 Patients were treated with hyperoxic-hypoxic paradox (HHP), an HBOT protocol that exposes the patient to elevated atmospheric pressure (compression/decompression rate of 1.0 m/min) and fluctuating oxygen levels (100% oxygen for 90 minutes with intermittent breaks of medical-grade air with normal 21% oxygen levels). 1 Based on the results, HBOT was found to be associated with persistent improvements in quality of life, quality of sleep, psychiatric and pain symptoms. There was a moderate magnitude of improvement in neuropsychiatric symptoms (ie, depression, anxiety) and sleep quality that lasted long term, along with a significant reduction in pain and significant increase in quality of life at the time of analysis.1 “ I still have a bit of tinnitus, the rest of the symptoms are gone,” says Milakovich. “I have full cognition and feeling back… no more tremors and convulsions, no more PoTS.” Prior to HBOT, Milakovich used various pharmacologic agents to try and treat symptoms individually: low-dose naltrexone for nerve pain/neuropathy, a nitric-oxide supplement (Cardio Miracle ) for PoTs and tachyardia, and temazepam (Restoril; Mallinckrodt Pharmaceuticals) for insomnia. Milakovich also found anecdotal evidence supporting the use of other supplements like nattokinase (Cardiokinase; Plamed), curcumin, and bromelain for long COVID. Efrati noted it may be worth trying different methods and treatments for long COVID, however, none offer evidence-based outcomes besides HBOT. In time, Efrati believes that HBOT clinics will begin to create a multi-strategy treatment protocol to treat patients more effectively. Additionally, Efrati explained that going forward, there will need to be more research on the specific minimum number of sessions required for recovery. Currently, Efrati and other HBOT practitioners have made it a practice to calibrate the number of treatments needed for patients based on their response. Long COVID and The Patient Perspective of Medical Gaslighting It's worth noting that long COVID can have many possible symptoms, which makes it difficult to diagnose. Moreover, there are no laboratory tests that can technically prove an individual is suffering from long COVID.4 Given the myriad of symptoms, continued knowledge gaps, diagnostic difficulty, and other factors, there have been reports that long COVID is being improperly diagnosed; as a result, patients have reported that they feel like they are experiencing medical gaslighting, according to findings from a qualitative study that aimed to understand the experience of patients with long COVID in seeking care in the United States.5 Investigators observed that patients thought that their providers dismissed symptoms, met patients with a lack of empathy, and some providers were reported to have disqualified the patient experience and their ability to report symptoms. This can make the patient feel as though they must “prove” that their illness is real, and it can ultimately prolong the time it takes to receive adequate care.5 According to 1 study participant, it took over a year to prove that their symptoms were not psychosomatic.5 In Milakovitch’s case, it took nearly 2 years and countless providers before receiving a proper diagnosis, and she cautions pharmacists and providers to not “make the patient believe it is all in their head.” “Patients need to be validated because long COVID is real,” Milakovich said. Conclusion Therapies like HBOT are an exciting innovation that can transform the treatment of long COVID. HBOT can provide long term improvements to neuroplasticity and reduce brain damage—it is the only therapy that has been proven safe and effective, improving psychological symptoms, pain symptoms, and quality of life in patients with long COVID.1 “I’m better than I was before I had long COVID,” Milakovich said. “And in so many ways, I have my life back!” REFERENCES Hadanny A, Zilberman-Itskovich S, Catalogna M, Elman-Shina K, et al. Long term outcomes of hyperbaric oxygen therapy in post covid condition: longitudinal follow-up of a randomized controlled trial. Sci Rep 14, 3604 (2024). doi:10.1038/s41598-024-53091-3 Davis HE, McCorkell L, Vogel JM, Topol EJ. Long COVID: major findings, mechanisms and recommendations. Nat Rev Microbiol 21, 133–146 (2023). Doi:10.1038/s41579-022-00846-2 COVID-19 and the Nervous System. NIH. Article. Last reviewed on January 30, 2024. Accessed on February 18, 2024. https://www.ninds.nih.gov/current-research/coronavirus-and-ninds/covid-19-and-nervous-system#:~:text=SinceCOVID19canaffect,twitchingorjerking(myoclonus). Katella K, What Happens When You Still Have Long COVID Symptoms? Yale Medicine. News Release. October 27, 2023. Accessed on February 26, 2024. https://www.yalemedicine.org/news/long-covid-symptoms Au L, Capotescu C, Eyal G, Finestone G. SSM Qual Res Health. 2022 Dec; 2: 100167. Published online 2022 Sep 7. doi: 10.1016/j.ssmqr.2022.100167 Read the full article

#Covid #Covid19 #HBOT #hbotforcovid #HealingwithHyperbarics #HyperbaricOxygentherapy #longcovid

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