#then he becomes a drug addict you rarely see
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My most favourite Overlord Husk AU fanfictions
I am no expert in writing, just a regular fangirl whose brain is constantly occupied by HuskerDust. I like these fics purely based on the kicks I get out of reading reading them. HuskerDust fanfiction is my drug now :))))
All of this start commonly with Husk winning Angel's soul in a game against Valentino, the two eventually got involved romantically but ...
Blue Is Not Your Colour by Shienkha (competed)
It is rare to see Husk as deeply flawed, an addict to his poison (gambling) as much as Angel to sex. Both fell victims to their addiction, ultimately ruined their chance at happiness. In the end, Husk lost his soul to Alastor and Angel went back to Valentino. Husk realized only then that he loved Angel. The two finally reunited at the Hazbin Hotel, connecting the story to the canon.
“And a spade,” he whispered to himself as he headed out, slipping the ring to his chest pocket, “to symbolise how far I would have gone for you.”
As far as it would have taken to keep you happy.
Or, in the absence of it…
… as safe as one can be in Hell.
This is absolutely the best fic in my opinion.
2. Loved You Like Religion by cokedupdicksuckinghoe (completed)
This is as beautiful as the song after which the fic is titled.
Angel killed Valentino to save Husk. Husk was oblivious to his feeling until Angel seduced him with "Why Don't You Do Right". In the end, Husk prepared to throw everything away for Angel.
"He was devoted to Angel; he loved him like religion."
3. To A Player Everything Is A Game by Tat_Tat (completed)
A bundle of domestic bliss. This fic is my guilty pleasure. Whenever I came across a traumatic HuskerDust fic, I come back to this to save myself from the anxiety.
4. Call Your Bluff by @razzapplemagic
Angel relapsed and went back to Valentino after being 'rejected' by Husk. He later worked through his traumas, left Valentino on his own while befriending Vaggie during Extermination Day. As of the latest update, Angel came back to the casino and reconciled with Husk. The two began dating and Angel prepared to face Valentino once more.
5. Wicked Old Soul by BunnyBight
Husk put Angel in therapy with Charlie. Angel didn't appreciate Husk making decision for him and concealing his status as the Gambling Overlord. Angel was wooed by a charismatic lion who was hired by Vox to kidnap him. Husk came to the rescue. Angel and Husk, following their language roller coaster confession of love, signed a new contract which shared Husk's soul and all souls he owned with Angel. Angel became a new overlord with intriguing powers :)))
6. Someone You Can Bet On by Shigariope
Angel begged Husk to play a game with Valentino for his soul. Husk not only won Angel's soul, he also put a ring on his finger to safeguard his Overlord image. I look forward to see how their marriage of convenience progresses :)))
7. House of Cards by abookomaps
Valentino tortures Angel with angelic weapon. Husk proved Angel's worth by betting that Angel can make in one day what Valentino made in a month.
8. But you've got company by mamini2000 (completed)
Angel thought Husk was just an bartender then they fell in love.
9. Mine NOW Val by Rocher1893
Angel filled in for Husk's lounge singer. Husk devised a plan to help him get away from Valentino.
10. When the King Cat finds his Spider by Blahaj_Enjoyer
Husk demanded Angel's soul as collateral for his trade deal with Valentino. Valentino can film at Husk's casino, while he got Angel as new employee. It is precisely because Husk didn't technically own Angel's soul yet that I want to see how this story progresses.
11. Consequences by Bigredboi (completed)
To protect Angel, Husk killed Valentino and the Sin of Greed, becoming the new Sin.
12. First Breath by huskapologist
As of the latest update, Husk and Angel were plagued by nightmares and I by cliffhanger :))
13. Casino of love by @artwaterfall
A slow burn bliss following Angel's path to recovery from his pasts trauma and insecurity. If you are looking for Husk falling in love listening to Angel singing New side of me, this is the best description there is. If I didn't already have a significant other, I would have fallen in love with the spider myself just by reading that chapter, and I had the goosebump to prove it. This story is a treat that I look forward to every week.
14. I Can Only Blame Myself by InkPhoenix
Angle ran away from Valentino and collapsed before an extermination. He was saved by Husk and now had to deal with new disability and the possibility of being sent back to Valentino.
15. Sober to Death by BrainRotgoBrrrrr
Angel beat Husk at poker and he decided to buy him off Valentino. Alastor was eyeing Husk's soul.
16. Luck Be A Lady Tonight by Basic_Witch
Valentino used Angel to spy on Husk. Meanwhile, Husk taught Angel how to play cards and valued his business ideas.
17. The Gambler by @5carecr0w
Angel's appearance somehow brought luck to Husk's game with Alastor, saving him from losing his soul. Angel became his new lucky charm.
18. Him & His Libertine Principles by @thiccspices
Alastor enlisted Husk to make a bet against Valentino. Husk found Angel pathetic.
19. Cat’s Eye Casino by Lunatic_caramelle
Absolute bliss :)) As of the latest update, Husk was attacked by Val's men and injured. Angel took care of him while he healed and they grew closer.
20. Fates Gamble (two traumatized gay men rediscover love) by Chaosfrog
As of the latest update, the Vees had hidden cameras installed throughout the casino, giving Vox's control over machines and tables there. 'Whatever will befall my favourite couple?', I asked while waiting for updates every day :)))
21. High Stakes by dreamnplay (completed)
Husk wanted Angel to work the floor on a 10-hour shift per day. Angel thought he want him to f*ck customers for 10 hours a day. Read this and you will wonder when they will start communicate openly and honestly.
22. My Kingdom for The Soul of an Angel by meg_a_dork (completed)
Absolute domestic bliss with shopping, cooking, cuddling and everything. Angel proposed to Husk first :))) They got married and had cake 🍰
23. Ace of my Heart by Karmawillcollect (completed)
Angel beat Husk at poker and he bought him off Valentino. Guilty pleasure smut ensues :)))
24. My Atlantis by Satan_Has_A_Wife (completed)
Husk was bad at feeling, thinking Angel only loved him because he owned his soul and had been half-decent to him. Angel got Husk all hot and bothered seeing him with a gun. Cherri approved of Husk.
25. I Don’t Want The World But I’ll Take This City by highfemmeicequeen
Husk was bad at feeling and thought he knew what Angel wanted. Angel was angry, tired of being told who he was and what he wanted.
26. Love in Bonds by QueenofShadows1987
Husk and Angel dived head first into a relationship based on a 'standard' BDSM contract. Note that Husk is not the consent King we know and love here and Angel had no choice but to be his mate.
27. No Rest for the Wicked by @camelliea
It's been over 20 years since Angel was freed from Valentino yet the moth's shadow was still looming over his relationship with Husk. Husk made alliance with Alastor to destroy the Vees.
28. Diamonds are a Girl's Best Friend by @purple-hyacynths
The two started of on hostile term. Angel was being a brat because of self-loathing.
29. House of Cards by Transparent_Existence (completed)
Angel and Husk are getting closer and one of Husk trusted employee can't have that.
30. High Rolling at the Grand Casino by Turntechgodliness (AmberzillaRex)
Angel became new lounge singer at Husk's casino.
31. Loaded Dice by Tat_Tat
Husk is a corrupted overlord.
32. Facing Down the King of Cards by LevySutcliffe (completed)
Husk won Angel in a gamble with Vox and Val for Alastor's soul. Yes, Alastor made a deal with Husk and temporarily gave his soul to him and is now staff at the casino. Angel becomes Husk's fashion designer and workshop of his own. Husk is looking for the boy he fell in love with in life. Little do they know Angel is that boy.
33. Double or Nothing by HoneycombSweetness
Husk died during the battle against the exorcists and went back to the past where he was still an Overlord.
34. Call me when you want, call me when you need by Spades (bumblingbees)
Husk won a night with Angel instead of his soul and continues buying his service for months. He eventually fell in love with Angel but the latter wasn't convinced an Overlord could ever love a wh*re.
35. Lucky Bastard by @poppyfieldart
Angel flirted with the sweet bartender at Lucky Bastard without knowing he was the Casino Overlord. Husk found Angel more beautiful than the paintings on the ceiling of his casino's bathroom.
36. King of Spades by kurenohikari
The story focuses on Husk's rise to power. He eventually accepted Arackniss' request for his aid in saving Angle in exchange for his soul and loyalty.
37. Rock Bottom Overlord by @cloudwatcher-1
Husk fell to rock bottom, losing all of his casino and was left with nothing but a dive bar. After winning Angel's soul, he was ready to make it up the top again.
The list is to be updated.
#hazbin hotel#huskerdust#hazbin husk#angel dust#hazbin angel dust#angel dust x husk#hazbin hotel husk#overlord husk
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All of Me
Part 1
(next part here)
Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin x OFC/You
Summary: You find yourself bored at the beach on a rare day of R & R. Things get a lot more interesting when Jake runs into you (literally). One thing leads to another and you find yourself back at Jake’s for a steamy, fun filled night.
Warnings: 18+ MDNI! Non-explicit smut, p in v, oral (f receiving), slight mentions of losing a spouse, alcohol use, etc.
•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•
Relaxation has never been your forte.
Starting when you were a little girl; always having to sleep with one eye open to avoid your drug-addict mom’s unpredictable moods and the men she brought home. That unwanted attention only increased with age and the way you began to fill out your clothes which only fueled the resentment your mom had for you.
That resentment came to a head shortly after you turned 16 when one of her ‘friends’ made a pass at you and she subsequently kicked you out. Because it was your fault, of course.
Your best friend's family had taken you in with open arms and while it was the first time you felt like you had a home, you couldn’t help but feel guilty that her parents had another mouth to feed and another body to clothe even with their constant reassurance.
So you put your head down and continued to work hard to graduate high school early with honors. You joined the Navy at 17 shortly after with nothing but a backpack and $368 to your name.
Boot camp wasn’t a walk in the park, nor was the next 12 years of medical school and residency. During that time you fell in love, married the love of your life, got pregnant, and then watched your husband wither away from a debilitating, aggressive disease to pass away shortly after the birth of your son.
With the help from your in-laws and best friend, Maggie, you were able to stay enlisted for the past 8 years as you had navigated being a single mother and widow while also pursuing and achieving your dream of becoming a doctor.
•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•
Late last night you arrived home from an endless 6 (and hopefully your last) month deployment-a week earlier than expected. Normally coming back from deployments early is ideal, but your son, Drew, was at Disney with grandma and grandpa for a few more days.
So here you sit on the beach with a cold beer catching some rays while trying and failing to relax.
A rowdy group of guys playing some version of football down the beach keeps creeping closer with each play and the hot, sandy-haired quarterback keeps catching your eye. He’s peacocking for you; flexing and glancing your way. You pointedly ignore it and have to bite back your smile when he deflates.
It doesn’t stop you from sneaking peeks at his sweaty chest under the cover of your sunglasses though as you pull out the smutty book Maggie’s been begging you to read.
•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•
Just as you’re getting to the good part of your book, something flies over the top of you; a foot knocks the beer that was nearly to your lips down the front of your white coverup.
“Shit! I’m so sorry,” there’s an apology before he’s even on his feet. “I didn’t see you ‘till the last second.”
Liar.
“It’s alright,” you reply, looking down as you try to soak up some of the liquid with your towel but it’s no use; it’s saturated with beer, and the wet fabric clings to your torso.
“Sorry!” One of his friends yells, likely the one who threw the football. “Let me buy you an apology drink?”
“No worries,” you call back, glancing back down with a grimace. “I’m good, but thanks anyway!”
“We’ll meet you at the Hard Deck then,” his friend calls before jogging over to the rest of the group already heading that way.
“I really am sorry,” the culprit repeats. Your breath catches when you turn back to him. He’s even more good-looking up close, especially with that sheepish grin. Even though his eyes are hidden by his sunglasses, it’s obvious he’s checking you out. Your nipples are now standing to attention, pushing against your bikini top through the newly see-through fabric of your top. “I knew you were here but I hadn’t realized how close we’d gotten. Are you sure I can’t buy you a drink?”
“I was thinking about taking your friend up on the offer,” you answer truthfully, “but most of the bars around here have a strict “no shirt no service policy.”
You know Penny wouldn’t care but still.
“I’ve got more in the cooler though. You can have one if you get me one too,” you wink before peeling off the soaking garment.
He swallows thickly as he watches before he shakes himself out of it. “Yeah, sure. Thanks.”
•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•
“So, I, uh…I’m Jake,” he says, handing you a beer. “Nice to meet you.”
“Likewise, I’m Reese,” you reply, shaking his hand after taking the bottle from him.
“Like the peanut butter cups?” He asks with a cheeky grin as he sits beside you in the sand.
“Wow,” you deadpan before taking a pull of your beer. “Never heard that one before.”You laugh at the dejected look on his face. “Yes, like the peanut butter cups.”
He laughs too, finally loosening up.
•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•
It doesn’t take long for you to piece together that Jake’s younger than you and it’s obvious that he has no trouble keeping his bed warm. He learns quickly that you’re not easily impressed and changes his tune, turning the conversation toward you. You keep it vague, telling him you work in healthcare when he asks, knowing some men are easily intimidated by your degree, and in turn, he tells you he works in aviation.
Your heart pinches more than once as the afternoon passes. Your late husband, Andrew, had taken you to the beach for your first date and Jake reminds you so much of him; the way he makes you laugh; the charming cockiness when he talks about flying, the way he flirts and strokes your ego just right.
You hope your ego isn’t the only thing getting stroked when the sun begins to set. A shiver works through you, making you miss its warmth.
“Cold?” He asks as he rubs his rough, calloused palm over your arm. More goosebumps rise at his touch.
“A little,” you admit with a smile, but it quickly turns into a frown when you press your phone to check the time but it doesn’t light up. “Shoot, my phone died. So much for calling an Uber.”
“You can charge it at my place if you want. It’s not far,” he offers, brushing a strand of hair off your forehead.
“Sure, that’d be great,” you agree, knowing he’s offering more than a charger.
•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•
He learn he was definitely offering more than the phone charger.
You ache in places you forgot existed as you reach for your phone buzzing on Jake’s nightstand.
Jake was better in bed than you expected.
He was a little quick on the draw the first time he had you with your back pressed against his front door, but he surprised you by dropping to his knees after he came, not even bothering to take the condom off. He’d paused at the thin line marring your lower stomach and you held your breath as you waited for him to comment or kick you out but he surprised you again by kissing your c-section scar instead before feasting between your legs like a man starved.
While you showered the sand and sticky residue of the beer off, he had ordered pizza.
After, he invited you to his bed with the excuse that your clothes were still in the dryer (even though you had both hard the buzzer). You’re not sure who fell asleep first, but you woke up a few hours later with his arms around you and his hard-on pressing against your ass.
You fell asleep after riding him, more relaxed than you had felt in years.
•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•
You sit up as you read the messages from your son.
Drew: Mom!! Grandma and Grandpa said we could home early!
Drew: They said we’d be home by 10 with our new flight.
Drew: Is that okay? I just missed you so much.
Drew: Mommmmm
Drew: We’re boarding now.
Mom: I missed you too! Of course, it’s okay! I can’t wait to see you. I love you so much.
You look at the time when your text fails to deliver, 9:18 AM.
Shit. Time to go.
Resisting the urge to whip off the covers and scramble, you slowly get out of Jake’s bed, not wanting to wake him.
You’re quiet as you find your clothes in the dryer and gather your things.
There’s a notepad and pen on the small table near the door and your heart stutters when you see the dog tags hanging next to his keys.
Lt. Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin
US Naval Aviator.
Well. He did say he was in aviation.
Your phone buzzes again and you quickly scribble a note before heading out the door.
•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•
“Reese?” Jake murmurs, cracking his eyes open when he pats the bed, finding it cold.
“No way,” he mutters grumpily as he heads out of the bedroom to find the house empty and quiet.
The first woman he’d felt anything for in years snuck out while he was sleeping.
An orange sticky note stuck to the door catches his eye and he walks over to read:
Sorry to run out-something came up and I had to get home. I have a feeling I’ll be seeing you again soon though, lieutenant.
Jake smiles despite himself at the smiley face you drew beside your name and sighs before heading back to bed.
•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•
A/N: Wellllll here’s the first part! I hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it ☺️
I’m leaving early tomorrow morning for a 6 day girls trip (to the beach) so I might be slow to respond/update but who knows, maybe I’ll get bored 🤷🏻♀️
Thank you to @lexixstewart again for the meet-cute at the beach idea 🫶🏻
As always, any interaction is appreciated but I love hearing what you think in comments/reblogs!
Please let me know if you want to be added to my taglist (sorry if I forget anyone, I won’t be mad if you remind me).
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#jake hangman seresin#jake seresin#jake hangman seresin x you#jake hangman seresin x reader#jake seresin x reader#jake seresin x you#top gun maverick#top gun smut#older women and younger men
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Amidst the Chaos
Spencer Reid x Reader
Summary: Spencer and (Y/N) didn't get along, and it annoyed the whole BAU. But when a traumatized (Y/N) shows up at Spencer's apartment late one night, their whole relationship shifts
Warnings: PTSD, trauma, references to torture, other canon-typical topics
Word Count: 3827
Author’s Note: not necessarily my best fic, but i’ve been working on it for over a year so... here it is
Orpheus - Sara Bareilles
AO3 Link
“Don't stop trying to find me here amidst the chaos. Though I know it's blinding, there's a way out.” ~ Sara Bareilles, Orpheus
~
“Guys, I want you to meet our newest team member,” Hotch said to the BAU as they settled around the table. “This is Agent (Y/N) (L/N).”
You gave a shy wave to the group in front of you, but your smile was bright enough to light up the entire room. “Hi.”
“She’s coming to us from Organized Crime. I trust that you’ll all welcome her to the team.”
“Honestly, I’m just happy to be given a chance to work with all of you. It’s been my dream to work at the BAU for years.”
“We’ll have time to get to know Agent (L/N) better on the plane. But for now, we have a case,” Hotch said. “JJ?”
~
“So,” Derek said, taking a seat next to you on the jet. “What was Organized Crime like?”
“Honestly? Boring as all hell. It was mostly stopping money laundering and drug cartels,” you said. “Not as glamorous as Goodfellas makes it seem. Besides, the BAU was always my end goal anyway.”
He chuckled a bit. “Yeah, I get that. We’re glad to have you on our team. ” The conversation between you and Morgan flowed easily and before you knew it, you had become like brother and sister. The rest of the team grew to love you too. Well, most of the team.
Spencer seemed icy and cold toward you, and no one could offer a valid explanation. By all accounts, you should have gotten along. You loved Halloween just as much as Spencer did and you always had at least 3 books on your person at a time. You had a borderline unhealthy addiction to caffeine and sugar and spent more time in the office than your apartment. But for some reason, you and Spencer just seemed to constantly be at each other’s throats.
In your defense, Reid had started it.
For whatever reason, Reid disliked you right out the gate. He tried to be civil toward you, but something about you just bothered him.
He originally just tried to avoid you when he could, but with the nature of the team’s dynamic, that didn’t work out well.
Spencer found himself doing small, petty things to annoy you, like putting your favorite mug on the top shelf where you couldn’t reach it or borrowing your pens and “forgetting” to return them. Something about seeing you mildly inconvenienced and annoyed as opposed to your normally happy and bubbly self made him feel better. He knew it was fucked up of him.
Eventually, the animosity became mutual. You and Spencer were rarely paired together on cases because Hotch couldn’t stand the constant arguing between the two of you. Mostly, Hotch tended to pair you with Derek who you began to see as a brother.
Spencer would never admit it, but seeing you and Derek be as close as you were stirred some kind of jealousy in him. He figured it was just because he had been friends with Morgan first, that was all.
~
Local cases were always extra stressful on the team. Something about unsubs being so close to home made the cases more personal. As such, tensions were running high and no one had slept in over 24 hours as the team worked to nail down a profile.
“This doesn’t make sense,” you muttered as you looked over the crime scene photos. “The crime profiles as disorganized but the victimology and timeline profile him as organized.”
“How you doing there, Pretty Girl?” Morgan asked, setting down a carrier of coffee cups.
You sighed and picked up the cup with your name scrawled on it. “There’s discrepancies in our preliminary profile and I can’t…”
“Did you try comparing notes with Reid?”
“Derek, I love you, but are you insane?”
“I’m serious, (Y/N).”
“So am I. Any time I try to have any kind of civilized conversation with that man he turns it into an argument.”
Thankfully, Hotch came into the room at that point, stopping the conversation. “We have two potential leads. Morgan, you’re going with Blake to the first address. (L/N), you and Reid are going to the second.” Hotch tossed you both keys for SUVs. “Reid and Blake have the files. They’ll fill you in on the drive.”
“Yes, sir.” You grabbed your coffee from the table, along with Reid’s, and headed out to the car. When you got to the parking lot, Reid was already leaning against the car, flipping through a file folder. “Reid. Here.”
As you handed him the coffee, he said, “What, was everyone else busy?”
You rolled your eyes. “I don’t know. I’m just following Hotch’s orders.” You unlocked the car and climbed in. “Where are we going?”
“21 Rock Creek Road, Somerset. We’re interviewing Linda Walsh, the neighbor of our first victim, Savanna Curtis.”
“Great. Can you type it into the GPS?”
“Why? I can just give you the directions.”
“Because the GPS is more accurate.”
“(L/N), I have an eidetic memor-”
“Eidetic memory, I know. But you’re telling me your memory can predict traffic patterns? I don’t think so. Just use the damn GPS.”
“Fine.” Spencer typed the address in, muttering under his breath.
“Thank you. What information do we have on Walsh?”
“72 years old, she was reportedly in the house when Curtis was attacked and taken to the secondary location. Hotch wants us to interview her and see if she noticed anything that might help us with the profile.”
Soon enough, the two of you pulled up to the witness’s house. Before even getting out of the car, you felt like something was wrong.
”Wait, Reid.” You grabbed his arm as he reached for the door handle. “Something about this doesn’t feel right.”
“What do you mean?”
“Look at the windows. All of them are dark. Not even a television glow. Something’s off.”
“I hate to say it, but you’re right.”
You hopped out of the car and pulled your gun from your side, following Reid up the path to the house. He knocked on the front door.
“I don’t hear anything from inside.” He knocked again. “Go around the back, see if you can get in that way.”
You nodded and walked around the house. You could hear Reid continuing to knock as you went around. As you rounded the corner, a sharp pain entered your shoulder. You yelled and turned around, but not before a blunt object hit you in the temple and your vision faded.
~
Spencer was panicking. You were missing, and it was his fault. He was pacing in the front yard of Walsh’s home while the team and the local authorities worked to catch up.
“Reid, what happened?” Hotch asked. “We need everything.”
Spencer relayed every detail from the moment the two of you pulled up to the house, still pacing. “I shouldn’t have told her to go off on her own, it’s my fault-”
“Kid, breathe,” Morgan told him. “You didn’t know this would happen. What’s important now is finding her and bringing her home safe.”
The team did a thorough inspection on Mrs. Walsh’s home and learned a good deal. Mrs. Walsh wasn’t home, as was reported. However, her son, Devin, was clearly staying with her. It didn’t take the team long to figure out he was the unsub.
~
When you awoke, you were in a secondary location. Your head was throbbing behind your eyes and your shoulder was in agony. Your arms were tied behind your back, but that was the only restraint to your mobility. You looked around, trying to figure out where you were. It was a large, open space, you guessed a warehouse, probably abandoned. It was dark, except for the glow of the streetlights outside and an industrial lamp in the center of the room. You didn’t have much time to assess your surroundings, though, because Walsh was waiting for you to wake up.
You knew the facts of the case. You saw the photos. He kept the women for 24 hours, torturing them until their bodies were barely recognizable. Then, he’d kill and dump them.
But you also knew your team. They were relentless. And they would save you.
~
“We’ve seen what he does to his victims. We’re in a race against the clock here,” Morgan argued with Hotch.
“But we still have to keep our heads and follow the law. If we don’t get a warrant, any evidence we do find goes right out the window.”
“Guys, Garcia found something,” JJ said. She put her phone on speaker. “Go ahead, Garcia.”
“So, Walsh’s dear old dad was the owner of a warehouse in the 80s. The warehouse is still in his name but has since been abandoned. And before you even ask, yes, I sent you the address.”
~
The SUVs pulled up to the warehouse and the team jumped out. The plan was to enter the building slow and quiet, but that changed when they heard you scream, followed by a gunshot. Then, everything went silent. Completely silent.
Everyone rushed into the building. The team was terrified of what they were about to find. What they saw, no one could have expected.
You were lying unconscious on the floor, in a pool of blood. Also on the floor, with a bullet hole through his forehead, was Devin Walsh. Standing with a gun in her hands was 72 year old Linda Walsh, tears running down her face.
“I had to,” she said, looking at Hotch. “He was gonna kill her.”
“We need a medic!”
~
The team was sitting around your hospital bed. The doctor had said you probably wouldn’t wake up for a while, but they were determined to have someone there with you when you did.
“We should take shifts,” JJ suggested. “That way there’s always someone here and the rest of us can get some rest, too.”
“That’s a good idea. Dave and I can take the first shift,” Hotch said. “We’ll do four-hour rotations in pairs.”
They talked through who would pair up and take what rotations before Rossi shooed the rest of the team out.
Eventually, Reid and Morgan were on their “shift.” Morgan glanced over at Reid, who was staring at the same page of a book.
“You ever gonna flip that page?”
“What if she doesn’t wake up?”
“Kid, you heard the doctor. She will.”
“But what if she doesn’t? It would be my fault. I’m the one who made her go off by herself. We were supposed to be a team and I couldn’t see past-” He cut himself off, shaking his head.
“Hey,” Morgan put his hand on Spencer’s shoulder, “it’ll be okay, Reid. I’m gonna go grab a coffee. Want one?”
“Sure.” After Morgan left, Spencer looked at you and sighed. Your body was wrapped in casts and bandages. “Hey, (L/N),” he said, reaching out and resting his hand on top of yours.
~
One thing you didn’t expect about being in a medically induced coma was to still hear everything going on around you. You could hear the doctors and nurses moving about your room. You could hear your teammates. You heard Hotch and Rossi talking about the paperwork they’d have to file on the case because an agent had been seriously injured. You heard the music Penelope insisted on playing, and you heard Spencer.
“Hey, (L/N),” you heard him say. “I don’t know if you can hear me but,” he took a deep breath, “I’m sorry. Not just for this. I mean, obviously for this. I never should have split us up, I never should have sent you around the back of the house, I never should have-” he stopped himself. You could hear the tightness in his voice. Was he crying? No, Reid wouldn’t be crying over you. Would he? But he continued. “I was awful to you. I mean, I was an asshole,” he said with a dry laugh. “There’s no other word for it. I was an asshole to you and there was no excuse. I’m so sorry, (Y/N). I-”
~
“One cup of sugar with a splash of coffee,” Derek said, coming back into the room.
“Thanks.” Reid took the cup in both his hands, grateful for a distraction from his guilt.
“Any change?”
He shook his head. “None.”
Derek sighed. “You know, part of me was really hoping she’d wake up in the five minutes I was gone.” He gripped your hand that wasn’t casted up. “We miss you, Pretty Girl.”
~
Your coma lasted for about 3 weeks. The doctors kept you in the hospital for observation for another full week before finally letting you go home.
During your recovery, your apartment was practically a revolving door. Just about the entire team came by to check on you and keep you company, with the exception of Spencer. You couldn’t say you were too surprised. However, something about it upset you. Hell, even Hotch and Rossi took the time to stop by and check on you.
Derek and Penelope were probably your most frequent visitors. You were honestly grateful for their visits, and for the help it brought. With your injuries, simple day-to-day tasks were more difficult for you, and Penelope and Derek were more than happy to help you out. Derek took your grocery list and all your other errands while Penelope helped around your apartment. You were even more grateful when they forced you to attend a dinner party at Rossi’s. Penelope was at your apartment, helping you pick out a dress for the event.
“I don’t know, Pen.”
“(Y/N), I’m telling you, purple is your color.”
“Yeah, but I don’t want my dress to match my bruises.”
Penelope just rolled her eyes and tossed the dress on your bed. “Do you really think I’d pick out a dress that didn’t make you look good? Let’s go, you haven’t had a proper shower in a week.”
Penelope helped you get ready for the dinner party before getting ready herself. She helped adjust the strap of your brace when your doorbell buzzed.
“That’ll be Derek,” you said. Penelope answered the door to Derek standing outside, leaning against your doorframe.
“Well, look at these pretty ladies. You ready to go?”
“Yeah, I need to get out of this house,” you said. “I haven’t seen anything but these walls in weeks.”
When you pulled into Rossi’s driveway, you were more than excited to see the team. The team, in turn, was excited to see you. You were smiling and laughing, more and more of your normal self.
When Spencer saw you walk through Rossi’s front door on your crutches, a lump formed in his throat. Ever since seeing you in the hospital, he’d been wracked with guilt. It was the main reason why he hadn’t visited you like everyone else. He tried to avoid you the whole night. Thankfully, you were so happy to be with the others that you didn’t seem to notice. But Blake did.
“Okay, what’s going on with you?” she asked Spencer, handing him a drink.
“What are you talking about?”
“You’re avoiding everyone tonight. Why?” When Spencer stayed silent, Blake followed his line of sight. He was watching you talking with JJ. “Ah. Why don’t you go talk to her?”
“I can’t, Alex. Believe me, I’ve tried. For months. Any time I try and have just a normal goddamn conversation with her, what comes out is sarcastic and cruel. I-I don’t know why it happens.” He ran his hands over his face and groaned.
“You’re in love with her.” Blake wasn’t saying it as a question. Seeing the panic in his eyes, she said, “Don’t worry, it’ll stay with me.”
~
The heavy sheets of rain outside pounded against the apartment windows. It was the kind of cold rain that seeped into your bones, despite a warm home. It was late, but Spencer was still awake, reading. He couldn’t sleep, which wasn’t unusual for him. He heard a knock on his door. Spencer set his book down on his coffee table before walking to his door. He glanced out the peephole and took a step back in shock. Spencer opened the door to see you standing there, soaked and visibly shivering, in only your pajamas. Your eyes were bloodshot and you were sniffling.
“(L/N)? What are you-”
“I’m sorry. I know you probably don’t want me here and I don’t even know how I ended up here, I just started walking and-”
“Wait, wait, you walked here? In the torrential downpour?” When you nodded, Spencer opened his door wider. “Here, come in. You must be freezing. What happened?”
You stepped through his door and began to ramble, “I don’t know. I woke up from a nightmare and I knew I-I couldn’t stay in my apartment alone so I just started walking and somehow I ended up here and I’m sorry.” Your teeth were chattering as you continued to shiver.
Spencer grabbed a blanket off the back of his couch and draped it around you. “No, no, it’s, um-” Spencer cleared his throat. “Do you want to talk about it? I’ve found that sometimes just saying it out loud helps.”
Once you nodded, Spencer held his hand out and led you over to his couch. You were silent for a few moments, staring out the window at the rain streaming down.
“I was back… there,” you said when you finally started talking. “In the dark. I-I couldn’t see anything but I knew he was there. Then I felt his hands on my throat and-” You cut yourself off, shaking your head. Your whole body was shivering, but Spencer didn’t think it was from the cold anymore.
Spencer moved to put his arm around you but stopped, dropping his arm back to his side. “I know how you feel,” he said. “After Hankle, I couldn’t handle looking at the crime scene photos because I knew what the victims were thinking right… you know… right before.”
“Do they ever stop? The nightmares?”
“I don’t know. Mine haven’t.” When he saw the defeat on your face, he added, “But it does get easier.”
You nodded, still staring out at the pouring rain. You cleared your throat. “Well, uh, I’ll, um, I’ll call a taxi and get out of your hair.”
“You don’t- uh, you can stay, um, if-if you want,” Spencer said.
“Reid, I don’t want to impose-”
“You wouldn’t be!” Spencer assured you. “I could use the company, actually. I’ve been trying to find someone to watch Stardust with me. Penelope says I need to watch more pop culture and I know you’re a fan of Neil Gaiman.” He gave you a soft smile. “Please, (Y/N), stay. I promise, you’re not imposing.”
When he saw your face crack into a small smile, he felt a swarm of butterflies rise in his stomach. “Okay,” you said.
About halfway through the movie, Spencer felt you slump against his shoulder. Before he knew it, you were fast asleep. He was frozen there, not wanting to disturb you. He knew how rough the past few months had been, and it was obvious to everyone you weren’t sleeping. Maybe it was the guilt, maybe it was more, but Spencer felt like it was now his responsibility to take care of you, if you would let him.
~
The whole team noticed the shift between you and Reid. Where you would previously stay as far from each other as possible, you were now actively seeking each other out. You chose to sit next to each other in the briefing room and on the jet, something you had never done before. On the trips back from cases, you would rest your head on Reid’s shoulder and sleep while he read a book. But, no one said anything about any of it. No one wanted to burst whatever weird bubble was surrounding the BAU team.
That was, until Blake, Derek, and JJ spotted you knocking on Spencer’s motel door one night during a case. The two were sitting up in the lounge going over the case files yet again when they spotted you, in your pajamas, sneaking out of your own room.
After watching you slip into Spencer’s room, JJ said, “You don’t think they’re…”
“Reid and (L/N)? No, there’s no way. They can’t stand each other.”
“Well, they do say there’s a thin line between love and hate,” Alex noted, turning the page in her book.
“I don’t know about you two, but I need to know what’s going on,” Derek said, getting up from the couch.
“I’m coming with you!”
“Guys, I really don’t think that’s a good idea,” Alex warned. “Just talk to them about it in the morning.”
“Do you know something, Alex?” JJ asked.
“Even if I did know something, it wouldn’t be my place to tell you.”
~
The next morning, you felt eyes on you as you drank your coffee. You looked up from the case file to see Derek staring at you.
“What?”
“Were you going to tell me about you and Reid or…”
“What are you talking about? Me and Reid?”
“(Y/N), come on. You two are practically attached at the hip when just two weeks ago you couldn’t fucking stand each other.”
You shrugged. “We worked out our differences, I don’t know what to tell you.”
“Alright, what about you sneaking off to his room last night?”
Your face paled. “It’s not what it looked like.”
“Care to explain then?”
You sighed, looking around to make sure it was just you and Morgan. “You know I haven’t been sleeping since, well, everything.” Derek nodded. “Well, a few nights ago I ended up at Reid’s apartment in a panic. It was pouring out so he let me just stay and I slept better than I had in years. And, you know, he’s not too bad to hang out with either,” your face flushed with your last statement.
“You’re not too bad to hang out with either.”
You jumped, turning around to see Spencer in the doorway with cups of (good) coffee in his arms.
“Spencer, when did-”
He handed you a frappuccino. “Just now. I take it you weren’t as sneaky as you thought?”
“Shut up,” you whined, nudging him with your arm as you stuck a straw in your drink. Spencer just laughed and took a seat next to you.
“So, you’re just, like, friends now?”
You and Spencer looked at each other, seemingly having a conversation without speaking.
“I mean, I’d say we’re a bit more than just friends,” you admitted, smiling at Spencer. He kissed the top of your head.
“Damn, I owe JJ 10 bucks,” Derek muttered before saying, “But seriously, I’m happy for you two. It’s about time you realized you were perfect for each other.”
#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid#x reader#criminal minds#criminal minds x reader#bau x reader#em's fics
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HIIII, if you don't mind me asking!
I have a prompt in mind thanks to a post I saw the other day on Instagram, and I think it's PERFECT for an Henry Winters fic, so here it is!
It is said that the ancient Greeks used the throwing of an apple to propose, and if you accepted the marriage proposal you caught the apple mid air.
Imagine that, after years of friendship and relationship, Henry proposes to y/n by throwing her?them? an apple and they caught it 👀👀👀
I'D LOVE TO HEAR YOUR OPINION
≋ Thank you for being my very first companion in this new beginning. I'll happily indulge you. I can only hope my vision is satisfactory.
≋ Henry Winter x GN!Reader ≋
≋ Word count: around 2,4k words.
≋ TW: Slight misogyny, probable manipulation and toxic relationship, Edmund "Bunny" Corcoran.
Henry Winter is a disease. I took notice the first time I laid my eyes on him. He carries himself as if he is Atlas, mantaining the entire world on his shoulders and as if the it weighs nothing at all. His friend group is not any better, quite frankly: twins, incestuous ones clinging to each other like abandoned pups, a queer young man, with hair as red as the sunset and a mask to put Melpomene and Thalia to shame, an insufferable brat and a clean slate of a man, completely and utterly empty inside, stuck in his fantasy. For some insane reason, I found myself part of this whorehouse as well.
Henry Winter rises above all of them, I fully believe that. The world bends to his will, it always has and it always will. He is the tempestuous sea that grinds down the cliff, he is the wind that bends trees with only a light breeze, Henry Winter in his magnificence is the Sun which the World revolves around.
He stands on the edge of the lake as I see him, towering over the calm surface, trusted book resting in the crook of his elbow and a red apple in his hand. If I squint and let the sun go into my eyes for a moment, I can wholly see him as Zeus, King of the Gods, unshackled by any guilt or any error he might have upon himself, he grips the fruit of sin in his palm, his thumb stroking the skin of it as if it was a lover’s cheek.
“Henry,” I call out to the wind and I feel the Heaven I had created in my mind collapse when my voice reaches him. His gaze breaks from the horizon, it sets itself upon my figure, it feels like I’m no longer standing near Francis’ lake house, instead I’m perambulating through the Elysian Fields, at the edge of the world. This man is a disease, he is a drug, and I am but a servant of his world slowly stealing crumbs of what he offers me, becoming an addict before I can realize it.
“You should have stayed back with the others. I’ll be but a minute.” He speaks and it’s a subtle order the one he gives me, but I’ve never been one to follow instructions, even if given by Gods of his caliber. I am unable to move from my spot. It is an impossible task, almost herculean, how could it be anything else when this is one of the very rare moments we can catch, with just us present.
At my insolent inobedience, his lips tilt up into a grin. It is a swift motion as he tosses the apple to me, an even swifter motion as I grab it. And it ends there: Paris has chosen the one to whom the Golden Apple belongs to. He wordlessly approaches me, spins me around, rests his warm hand on the small of my back and guides me back to the house.
A week later, as I’m nursing him back to health after he's found himself victim to a vicious migraine, his kitchen acts as my sanctuary and it isn’t until after ten minutes of pure silence that his house phone rings, on the other side of it none other than Bunny.
“How’s Henry?” He asks, and I doubt he is looking for an honest answer, “He’s resting,” I reply, hoping he might find some other poor sinner to bother. To my displeasure, he keeps talking, tasking me with the lowly chore of having to listen to him.
“That’s too bad! I’ve been meaning to talk to him about something of the utmost importance,” He professes, his smirk perfectly audible in the tone of his voice.
“I’m sure I can pass along the message, what is it, Bunny?”
“Oh, I was just wondering if he could lend me a couple hundred dollars before he begins going mental trying to organize your wedding.”
Now, this was one of the most dumbfounding sentences Bunny had ever spoken into existence. Even if it was for a fleeting moment, my mind could not comprehend him: ‘your wedding’ he had said, like he expected me to agree as second nature.
“My wedding, Bunny?” I sought further information, with not little confusion in my voice, his newly founded dubiety mimicking my feelings.
“Yes? Your wedding. You know, the one Henry proposed to you not so long ago? Have you really forgotten?” His ‘know-it-all’ tone doesn’t do much to help me find what grain of peace of mind I have lost.
“No, Bunny. Henry did not propose to me, you must be mistaken. We are not engaged, whatever you are drinking is doing you more harm than good.”
“Ah, but I’m as sober as a stone carving, dearest friend,” and there it is again, the mockery that so perfectly encapsulates what Edmund ‘Bunny’ Corcoran is. If Henry is a disease, then Bunny is the plague itself. “And I am not mistaken, I don’t know what the point of acting secretively is now that we all know about your engagement. You’re acting ridiculous.”
For once in my life, I find Bunny’s words interesting, and for as much as I would love for it to be reality, I know an engagement with Henry never occurred. Lest I was too inebriated to properly recall it.
“I for one,” he keeps talking, much to my dismay when I see Henry staggering into the room, “Would be heartbroken if my Marion were to forget a romantic proposal such as the one you experienced. Ah! I can feel it shattering already, my poor heart.”
“Bunny, I have to go.”
“Wait! What about the mon-” I’m quick to interrupt him by hanging up. With time it’s become almost an artstyle: ignoring Bunny’s requests this way is something not even Henry himself is able to do.
My fingers are still tightly wrapped around the handset, the only noise I hear is Henry’s rugged breathing as he struggles to keep himself upright. Such a prideful man, bested by a migraine. Were I not caught up in an internal turmoil I would have precipitously scrambled by his side, wrapped my arm around his body and guided him to his armchair, but now? Now I watch him, and he watches me. His eyes are like a hawk’s, they pierce right through me.
He hasn’t heard what Bunny said, I know it, I’m certain of it. Then, why is it that I feel like in front of me is not a man, but judge, jury and executioner. He’s waiting for me to do anything, my Achilles’ heel is waiting, standing right in front of me and it seems unsure of what to do: to mercilessly bore himself through me as a spear does to an enemy soldier or to let me make the first step into the battlefield unharmed.
“Bunny called.” My voice is unrecognizable to me, his hum is enough for me to keep talking, “He is often unruly, foolish and to be completely honest unbearable. One can always expect to be mocked when in his presence,” Why I find myself detailing our friend’s manners is unclear, perhaps I am searching for a grain of context where I can find only unsureness, “But he said something peculiar today, to my surprise. Something I find myself clinging on. It was but a short-lived conversation, yet, it flooded my mind with ‘what-ifs’.”
“Even Bunny has his moments.” His attempt at a joke is but a mere flicker of light humor, a fickle attempt to avoid this situation we are both stuck in. Knowing him, Henry right now would love nothing more than a glass of whiskey and for me to start working on his dinner. So I do. A sigh abandons my lips as I move to the kitchen, and before I know it I’ve abandoned the subject at hand, focusing instead on the sound of the bottom of his glass makes as it makes contact with the wooden table.
Henry, my gentle savior, pops me out of my bubble with just a few words. “I have yet to properly thank you for taking care of me this way.” I feel he wants to say more so I don’t interrupt and as expected my transcendental divinity blesses me with his voice once again, “My kitchen feels right with you in it, there’s a dent in the place you always occupy on the couch, for some reason I can’t bring myself to fluff it out.” A beat passes, “My bed feels warmer with you in it.”
Nights with him weren’t all that rare, but they also weren’t a regular occurrence. I know I’m not the only one to have seen Henry in his most intimate moments, the sheer passion we have shared wasn’t one that he kept locked away just for me. He is a giver, at heart. His heart, although cold and behind bars, has a need to give, all the time. I fear he thinks that if he does not give, then he has nothing himself.
“Are you saying I should move in with you?” I ask, the spoon I’m using to stir his dinner almost abandons my hands to fall into the pot. He is easier to read than he thinks, or maybe I am a fool with a crooked halo.
“I feel it is only proper.” His presence behind me is noticeable only when his arms wrap around me, his chest presses against my back and I delude myself this is a display of affection for an invisible audience, I mislead myself into imagining we are in a house full of people gazing at us with a soft smile on their faces, being participants of what could be our affection for each other. I know better. From the way his arms twitch, my beloved Henry is only using me as a crutch to make sure I am not burning his food.
“Is it?” The ability to form sentences seems to have fled my mind, “And why is that? Simply because I nurse you back to health?”
“I won’t lie and say that’s not part of why I want you here. I would have thought you had understood by now.”
Maybe I don’t know Henry as well as I do, because his words strike me with each syllable. “What Bunny said, he said something about a wedding. My wedding, your wedding, our wedding.”
And just like that the bandaid comes off. And a response never comes. His hair tickles my neck and the cold rim of his glasses sends goosebumps down my neck when he nuzzles his face in my shoulder. Now I’m sure I don’t know him at all.
“Our wedding.” He finally breaks the silence when he notices the spoon inevitably fell into the pot. I hear his soft whisper directly into my ear.
As my head turns to try and find his gaze, my eye falls onto the basket of apples set on the counter. Red ones, like the ones near the lake house. Red, the color of love, of passion and of blood. It ties together the two most gruesome things in human history, a pair that cannot be undone not even by divine intervention: Love and Murder.
“I thought you’d be overjoyed to be my bride. Was I wrong?” There’s a challenge in his tone, he wants to be challenged, almost wants me to deny him, but Henry knows. He knows I cannot deny him, ever. I don’t want to deny him.
Now it seems so obvious. Henry must think me a fool for having taken so long, even so, teasing him tastes just like sweet ambrosia and no matter how much I try, part of me cannot be restrained.
“Throwing an apple at a girl to claim her as your bride might have been the fashion back then,” His smirk is pressed into my skin as his lips kiss the spot right under my ear, “But might I have to remind you, Henry, not all of us are as knowledgeable about Ancient Greece's customs as you are. It was such an ephemeral moment it did not seem to have much meaning.”
“I’m offended, I’ll have you know I put quite a lot of thought into it.” His hands rest on my waist as they have done so many times, only now it doesn’t feel as inconspicuous as it used to be. I’m the last one to know, this is a first.
“I doubt aiming a fruit at my face took you much thought.”
“On the contrary, dearest. Were my toss too strong it would have hurt you, and that was not my intention.” His hand is warm, it’s all I can feel when it rests on my cheek, and as he did while holding the apple that day, his thumb strokes my skin. “It was entertaining to see you so oblivious, I have to admit, even if I owe Bunny around two hundred dollars now.”
“What for?”
“He bet everyone that you would not understand what my action meant until someone brought your attention to it.”
“That bastard.”
I have a sneaking feeling a diamond ring will sit on my finger before tomorrow, but for the time being, this is fine. Jewelry, accessories have never meant much, it’s just gold, silver, rubies. The way his lips press against mine to muffle my laugh means much more than any diamond ever could. I’ve spent long trying to not fall in love with Henry, and now I’ll spend even longer knowing what being loved by him feels like.
He is my Paris, kidnapping me from my rotten existence to be with him, and unlike Helen I accept this fate. Unlike Helen, I love my abductor, I love him so much this doesn’t even feel like a transgression. Henry holds my heart in his hands, as he did that apple, and it is his choice to chuck it as far as he can or to gently place it in a basket in his home. For the time being, he is being as generous as to handle me with nothing but love and care. If our story is to be narrated, like a Greek myth, like a victorious hymn, let it be forever like this, while we hold each other in our kitchen, exchanging the first kisses of our real, unmasked love.
#fleetingcalypso#calypsodaydreams#the secret history#the secret history x reader#henry winter x reader#oneshot#gn reader#reader insert#dark academia#fluff#angst
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When I first got into Jekyll and Hyde I thought "this is the perfect sci-fi/horror to put romance into", because at some point the horror becomes Jekylls secret existence within his own home. Its having to navigate to the bathroom as someone you're usually not, praying hoping, crossing your fingers that none of your housemates will see you, in this vile uncanny form, and on instinct, knowing it's a breakin, call the authorities, and having you removed from your own residence.
Of course Jekyll very simply avoids this dilemma, introducing all his house-servants to the concept of a mister Hyde, explaining to them, that this young man is here to aid Jekyll in his work. But would a lover be so easy to convince? Would a spouse simply go along with this? Maybe when Hyde is only really ever in the hallways and the lab. But what about when he appears in the living room? Jekylls bedroom?
It's a reoccurring motif in Jekyll and Hyde that Mr. Utterson fears what Hyde would do to Dr. Jekyll at his bedside at night. What if Utterson was Jekylls husband, rather than his lawyer and friend?
I really like the idea of a more modern adaptation where Jekyll and Utterson have been married for some years. They'd have one hell of a relationship, considering Uttersons constant curiosity, and Jekylls general secrecy. I like the idea of Utterson believing that he finally knew where he had Jekyll, being proven wrong in a series of unfortunate and otherworldly events. I'd love to see how they'd handle it. I'd love to write it.
It makes me angry then, that most adaptations include romance, but do it in the most boring of ways. Instead of this potential domestic dilemma, this horror in your own home from both points of view, you get Dr. Jekyll being interested in one girl, whereas Hyde is interested in another. Oftentimes the women are little more than a symbol of Jekylls descent into disassociative madness, one woman for each ends of the moral spectrum. It's honestly very tiresome (and somehow often manages to be more sexist than the original work)
Jekyll is rarely married, he is rarely ever allowed to have a deeper relationship to a man or a woman than "yearning", I crave a Jekyll who is bound to someone else, a Jekyll who needs to somehow navigate a new violent drug addiction, his dissolving friendships, and a spouse who wants the best for him.
I want a spouse waking up in the middle of the night to see a stranger in their husbands place.
I think the tragedy could be even further pronounced than it already is
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정윤아 … … ( DUST BOWL. )
❝The excuses we make for them are outrageous, but they’re nothing compared with the ones we make for ourselves.❞
― Kate Elizabeth Russell, My Dark Vanessa
CHARACTERS : JUNG YOONAH … KANG JUWON … REID KIM
WORDS : 4.0K
WARNINGS / NOTES : Panic Attacks. Discussions of Drug Addiction, Abuse, Grooming, Being Locked in a Room Unwillingly, and Suicide. Lots of gears are turning now and I'm very excited! Yoonah going through it as usual! If I missed something, just let me know! Thank you so much for reading! rbs, comments, and asks are always appreciated ♡
“You think he’s going to buy your contract too?”
“I know he’s going to.”
“He told you?”
“No,” Reid takes a drag of his cigarette, shaking his long black hair out of his eyes as he leans against the back of the Rejects dorm, sitting in the dying grass of their backyard. “But he’s predictable.”
Yoonah huffs through her nose, smiling at the ground as she plays with Reid’s black lighter, letting the smooth plastic slide between her fingers.
“He is.”
Yoonah and Reid can talk for hours, but they never say much. It’s not like they have to. They already know so much about one another, what the other has been through, what they’ve seen, everything through fragmented conversations in a bloody bathtub. They’ve practically outgrown words and have matured into silences that say everything they need to say.
The silence between them right now is uncertain, only filled with puffs of smoke Reid exhales and inhales.
It was never easy to talk about Jinhwa with most people. Yoonah has tried to talk about him with Juwon but always wrapped her stories up too early when she’d see the look of horror on his face. She knew it wasn’t at her, but if someone as weathered as Juwon could hear her story and be moved to the point of grimacing, she had to wonder how bad it all was.
The girls were no better. She tries to tell them about him, about what happened between them, but it always comes off wrong. Either too loving or too detached. “You still talk like you love him,” Chloe told her once while they were writing songs together, an activity that has become rare with time. They fought for twenty minutes after she said that, resulting in an unfinished song and Yoonah going home to cry into Juwon’s shoulder.
With Reid, it was never hard to talk about Jinhwa. He just seemed to understand even when she didn’t say anything.
Yoonah flicks the lighter to ignite a flame, watching the orange and yellow flicker and twist around. Reid watches her without words, honey-brown hues scanning her face for any kind of words. He stares at her for longer than what would be deemed appropriate, but Yoonah isn’t uncomfortable or even put off. She feels an odd sense of comfort. A weak gust of wind puts out the flame of her lighter, making her lips quirk to the side. Her gaze finally meets Reid’s, turning her head to face him. She can’t stop herself from smiling when she looks at him.
“Are you going to sign with him?” Yoonah wonders as she reaches over to take the cigarette from between his plump lips, placing it between hers to take a drag. Reid watches her with a soft chuckle, resting his head against the back of the house.
“Probably,” Reid sighs, “Unless you don’t want me to.”
Yoonah scoffs, smoke wisping out of her mouth as she does so.
“Don’t say that.”
“I mean it,” Reid assures with a raise of his brows as he nods to elaborate. Yoonah gives him an unamused look before shaking her head and taking another drag of his cigarette. “I care about what you think. You’re my friend, you know?”
“I’m just a friend,” Yoonah reminds him. Reid smacks his lips together, eyes widening and head bobbling to tease her. She laughs, playfully hitting his arm with her free hand. “My opinion shouldn’t stunt your career.”
Reid rolls his eyes at her, giving her an unamused look before shrugging.
“I’m in a co-ed group,” Reid reminds her as he plucks his cigarette from between her fingers and puts it back between his lips. “My career has always been stunted.”
Yoonah laughs at that, hitting his arm again. She sees Reid smile around his cigarette, proud that his joke landed as he turns his head away to keep her from seeing his smile. It was a rare sight to see Reid smile so genuinely. She couldn't help but feel a warmth fill her chest, a feeling like she was home. She glances over at him, her heart skipping a beat as he takes another drag of his cigarette, his smile disappearing as he turns back into view.
“Seriously, though. I don’t want something so superficial to take this away.”
“This?” Yoonah repeats with a small smirk, raising her brows at him. Reid smiles again, this time shier and more nervous. He rubs his palm on his jeans.
“You know what I mean.” They lock eyes for a moment before Yoonah hums, looking at the grass and then at the fence in front of them.
“It’s fine, Sangwon. He’ll make you anyway.” Yoonah says the quiet part out loud, not looking up so she doesn’t have to see Reid’s reaction to the truth. She clears her throat.
“Thank you for asking, though. It means a lot.” She still doesn’t look at him, rubbing her fingers together. Suddenly, she feels his hand on the top of her head, making her look up with a small chuckle as he pats her head.
“Anything for you, Nana.” Reid smiles, squeezing the top of her head gently before letting go. Yoonah takes a deep breath, feeling her cheeks heat up as she realizes she’s been blushing this whole time.
“Jinhwa! Jinhwa!” Her fist pounds on the door before going to the knob, trying to twist it but finding it locked. Yoonah pounds on the door again, a cry leaving her lips as her brows knit together in panic. “Jinhwa! Open the door!”
He doesn’t say anything, but she knows he’s there. Her heart is pounding, and her head is spinning. She pulls at the knob again, letting out a yell when it doesn’t budge. “Let me the fuck out!” Yoonah shouts, ramming her shoulder into the door once, twice, three times before letting out a scream. She’s lost so much weight these past few months it’s useless. The door doesn’t budge, and the man behind it still says nothing. Yoonah shakes her hands' card through her bleached blond hair, taking a deep breath that studders and turns into a whimper when tears spring into her eyes.
“Jinhwa…” Yoonah calls desperately, fear clear in her voice as she takes another shaky breath. “Jinhwa, please let me out.”
She can hear him sigh through the door. Yoonah rushes to the door, putting her palms flat against it as her bottom lip trembles.
“I-I’m sorry. I shouldn’t-I shouldn’t have come here like this. I’m sorry. I won’t do it again. Please, let me out. I-I don’t want to be alone. Jinhwa, please.” Yoonah pleads desperately, her voice cracking and tears beginning to fall from her eyes as her head falls against the wood with a sob.
For a moment, she doesn’t think he’s going to say anything, making her sob again, shutting her eyes tightly.
“It’s just until you sober up,” He finally says, making her weakly hit her head against the door with another sob. “Just get some rest, Yoonah.”
Yoonah blinks herself awake, eyes wide and looking around before jolting up to take in her surroundings. Her heart is pounding and in her throat as she looks around, seeing her and Juwon’s room not Jinhwa’s. Her clothes are on the floor, Juwon’s bottom dresser drawer is slightly ajar, the blinds are shut, and Juwon sleeps beside her with soft yet deep breaths.
Without thought, she puts a hand on his arm, taking a deep breath when she feels his warm skin beneath her palm. He shifts in his sleep with a small grunt, rolling on his back, and she moves her hand to his chest.
“You had the dream again?” Juwon asks groggily, eyes still shut as Yoonah swallows the spit in her mouth. She doesn’t answer; she just exhales shakily through her nose, which seems to answer enough for Juwon. He opens his eyes, rubbing them with the heel of his palm as his other hand wraps around her waist to pull her down to his chest. Yoonah falls against him, resting her palm on his stomach and her cheek against his chest's warm skin.
Juwon’s hand rubs gently at her side, pressing his lips to the top of her head to soothe her, but nothing inside Yoonah relaxes. She stares ahead of her, moving her hand against his stomach as she does so to feel his skin beneath her. Juwon is strong and sculpted, warm, and comforting, except now. The warmth doesn’t reach her racing heart, making her brows pinch and bottom lip quiver. A silent plea goes through her head as she feels her bottom lip tremble, begging herself to calm down to find peace in the man she’s supposed to love for the rest of her life, but the plea is left unanswered, and a sob escapes her lips.
“Baby,” Juwon whispers as she ducks her head down to press into his chest as if to burrow herself into his ribcage, locking herself inside him so she could never leave. “It’s okay. It’s okay. He can’t hurt you anymore.” It’s the same mantra Juwon has repeated to her for months now, but tonight it felt especially hollow. Yoonah swallows thickly, lifting her head with a sniffle as she looks at Juwon’s face. He’s already staring at her, long black hair around him like a halo, features strong and striking as usual as he reaches up to take her face into his palm, stroking her wet cheek with his thumb. She blinks down at him, tears still spilling from her eyes as her lips part to speak, but just a sigh comes out.
“I ache,” Yoonah finally whispers, touching her heart. I want to feel normal again. I feel like I’m going crazy.” Juwon tucks her hair behind her ear, his dark brows knitting at her confession before he nods with a sad smile. Yoonah can see the guilt in his eyes, which only makes her ache more.
“It’ll take time–”
“I don’t have time, Juwon. Every day, it just gets worse, and I–” She stops herself before her admission, shaking her head as more tears roll down her cheeks. Juwon pushes himself to sit up in the midst of her talking, taking her head into both his hands and pulling her towards him to rest their foreheads together. Yoonah takes a shaky breath, another sob tumbling from her lips as his nose bumps against hers.
“I won’t let anything happen to you, do you understand? I love you so much, Yoonah. I’d do anything to keep you safe.”
Anything but say no, she thinks as she stares into his eyes with an unrelenting gaze. Yoonah bites the inside of her cheek, shaking her head out of his hands with another sniffle. Juwon sighed in defeat when she pulled away from him, watching as she climbed out of their bed, wearing athletic shorts and a tank top. She’s been wearing his shirts less and less. They don’t seem to fit right anymore.
Yoonah locks herself in their bathroom, keeping the light off for a few moments so the only light that fills the small room is the warm orange one from the nightlight near the sink.
Yoonah exhales shakily, her reflection in the mirror showing a face streaked with tears and eyes filled with turmoil. She reaches for her phone on the sink counter, her fingers hovering over Reid's contact before finally pressing call. The phone rings once, twice, and then a deep voice answers.
"Yoonah? Are you okay? What happened?"
A strange sense of calm washes over her at the sound of his voice, like a cool breeze on a scorching day. "Reid," she breathes out, her voice barely above a whisper. "I... I needed to hear your voice."
There's a moment of silence on the other end before Reid's gravelly voice responds, "What happened?" His tone is gruff, but there's an underlying concern that Yoonah can detect.
Yoonah swallows hard, trying to steady her voice. “I’m…I’m having a really hard time with Juwon. I…Um, I just can’t-It’s so hard to look at him and it’s killing me. I just see Jinhwa. He’s fucking everywhere, and I–I–I feel like I’m going to explode.” Yoonah's voice trembles with each word, the vulnerability in her tone palpable even through the phone. She can almost hear the furrow forming on Reid's forehead as he listens intently.
Reid's silence encourages her to continue and pour out the emotions she's held back for so long. “I thought love was supposed to make you feel safe, but lately, it feels like a cage closing in on me. Juwon... he says he loves me, but I just…I don’t know how someone could love me as much as he says he does and do that to me.”
The darkness of the bathroom seems to echo her words back at her, magnifying the weight of her confession. Yoonah clutches the phone tighter as if Reid's presence on the other end is the lifeline she desperately needs in this storm.
“Nana,” he started, his tone a mixture of caution and curiosity. You know the difference between being trapped and being held. It sounds like you're feeling more like the former right now.” There was a pause before he continued, his words deliberate and thoughtful. Yoonah nearly sobbed at his words, covering her eyes with the hand that didn’t desperately clutch her phone. “You're smarter than this. You know what you’re feeling. Don’t trap yourself.”
Yoonah whimpers, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand with a nod before taking a deep breath through her nose.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. You’re right. I know you’re right. It’s just…” Yoonah can’t stop herself from sobbing again, covering her eyes as she leans against the counter. She can hear Reid’s sheets move around, and his feet hit the floor as she swallows the saliva in her mouth, trying to get herself together. “It’s just hard. I love him so much, but…I don’t feel warm anymore.”
“Feel warm?” Reid questions, confused. Yoonah laughs at his clear confusion at her word choice, swallowing again with a nod.
“Yeah, like, when you love someone you feel all warm inside,” Yoonah explains to him, putting a hand over her heart. “It’s like getting butterflies but all the time.”
“That sounds awful.” Reid’s deadpanned response makes Yoonah chuckle, making Her smile for the first time that night. She hears a door open on his side of the line, and her brows knit together.
“Are you going somewhere?”
“Yeah,” Reid replies gruffly as a door shuts and keys jingle. Yoonah looks around with just her eyes in slight confusion. “I’m on my way.”
“On your way were?”
“To see you.”
“Huh?” Yoonah blurts a bit too loudly, leaning forward in sudden confusion. Reid airly laughs at her outburst.
“You called me crying, and you expected me to not come check on you? Come on, Nana. You should know me better than that.”
Yoonah lets a silence fall between them as she processes what Reid said to her. She can’t stop a smile from forming on her lips, looking around as an airy laugh leaves her throat.
“You know Juwon is home, right?”
“Yeah,” Reid shrugs, “And? We can go somewhere he isn’t. He’s not my concern.”
Yoonah feels her chest get hot when she realizes she’s his concern. It was the middle of the night, and he didn’t even question getting in his car and driving over to comfort her. She can’t place the feeling, but she knows she likes it.
One might say she adores it.
Reid’s car is small.
It has black leather seats that stick to Yoonah’s thighs and a radio that looks like it’s from 2015, but Yoonah doesn’t say anything. She thinks it adds to Reid’s allure and fits his character, but she doesn’t say anything again. She just gets in the car and lets him take her to a Dairy Queen, where he orders her an Oreo Blizzard. Her favorite.
They don’t say anything for a while. They just sit in the parking lot and eat their ice cream as a static rendition of a popular indie song plays over Reid’s radio.
“You wanna talk about that nightmare you had?” Reid asks between bites of his Reeces blizzard, shoveling it down like a child about to get caught for eating past his bedtime. Yoonah hums around her red plastic spoon, looking out her window with a sigh before shrugging her shoulders.
“It’s nothing new,” Yoonah tells him with another shrug, taking another bite of her ice cream. Reid grunts in response, taking another bite of his ice cream.
“Who cares? Let it out. That’s why we’re here.” He uses her spoon to tell her to go on, twirling it in the air before it dips back into his cup. Yoonah can’t argue with that, clearing her throat as she sits up straighter and sighs.
Talking about Jinhwa has always been hard for Yoonah. She never gets the response she wants from people. She wants them to tell her it wasn’t that bad, that he wasn’t that bad, that one day they could work it out and get back together, but they never do. It’s always “Poor Yoonah.” or “I’m so sorry, Yoonah.” never anything she wants to hear. A part of Yoonah longs for Jinhwa, but another part of her loathes him. She fears she only does so because she’s told to. Would she have ever hated Jinhwa if Bliss hadn’t stepped in and gotten Iseul involved? She hates that question because she doesn’t know how to answer it.
“It’s not a big deal,” Yoonah starts, leaning in the crook of the door and his seat. Reid gives her an unenthused look because he doesn’t believe her. She continues. “When I was hooked on drugs, he really didn’t like that. ‘Said it made me trashy, and he wasn’t wrong but, yeah, he didn’t like it. One night, I was at his house––I lived there, basically––and it was after dinner I just got so…” She lifts a hand next to her head, shaking it slightly as she twitches a bit, trying to give a physical representation of how she was feeling back then.
Reid nods with a hum, taking a bite of his ice cream. Yoonah likes that he understands so easily.
“Anxious, I guess? I don’t know. I did a line in his bathroom, and he could tell I was high. It pissed him off, so he threw me in his room and locked me in there.” Yoonah looks up at the car's roof, scratching behind her ear with a swallow. She can still feel the way the walls closed in on her, how raw her throat felt because of her crying. Her hand gets random aches, and she swears it's from how hard she was banging on that door, trying, begging, pleading to get out.
“How long?” Reid wonders after a beat of silence.
Yoonah mindlessly stirs around her ice cream, lips quirking to the side.
“Five days.” She runs her tongue against the underside of her teeth. Reid whistles lowly, brows raised in slight shock. “He was trying to detox me. ‘Didn’t work ‘cus I tired to fucking kill myself with his razor on night five but-” She shrugs like nothing, shoving her spoonful of ice cream in her mouth to shut herself up. She’s talked for too long, or at least she feels she has.
Reid's silence doesn’t feel like their usual one. It makes her sigh through her nose, lifting her eyes to look at him, only to find him staring at her with an unreadable stare. Yoonah tilts her head at him, blinking a few times. Reid shakes his head.
“Don’t do that,” Reid tells her. Yoonah shakes her head this time, looking away from him with a small huff. Reid laughs softly through his nose. She can hear his spoon scraping against the bottom of his cup.
“I’m not telling you that wasn’t awful. He shouldn’t have done that to you.”
“No shit,” Yoonah dryly replies, biting the inside of her cheek. “I shouldn’t have-”
“Yoonah,” Reid interjects as he raises a hand to both verbally and physically stop her, “Nothing you did would excuse him locking you in a room for five days. Nothing. You know it, too. You’re not stupid.”
Reid has always been blunt. It was one of the things Yoonah liked about him but now she feels like his words are cutting through her like knives. They’re not what she wants to hear. She wants to be overreacting. She wants to be dramatic. She wants to be dismissed. Yoonah swallows the lump in her throat, rubbing her nose with a sniff.
“He never hit me.” Yoonah throws that out there without even thinking. It doesn’t fit into the conversation, so she doesn’t know why she says it, but she does anyway. Reid doesn’t say anything; just turns his head towards her to listen. He rubs his lips together when he looks at her, watching her push her hair behind her ears as she places her half-finished cup of ice cream in his cupholder, silently offering it to him. He doesn’t take it; he just glances at it before returning his attention to her.
“He didn’t groom me either. That word is so fucking stupid. I wasn’t a kid when we met, but everyone acted like I was a toddler. No, I was eighteen. I was old enough to make decisions for myself, and that’s what I did. I made the decision to date Jinhwa because I love him, and he loves me, and that’s how it was supposed to be; then everything got fucked up because I couldn’t handle a fucking detox. I just fucking ruined it, and now-now look at me,” Yoonah shoots off, gaining speed with each word until it sounds like one big jumbled and shaky mess. Tears brim her eyes, and her lips form a wobbly line as she looks down at her hands, picking at her cuticles to calm herself down. It only stings with every pluck, making her brows knit together with a shake of her head.
“I have an apartment and a dog with a guy I can’t fucking look at because-because he’s a hypocrite and an idiot. He’s so fucking stupid he signed with Jinhwa despite telling me so many times I’m the victim! He thinks I’m a victim, and he signs a contract to work with the guy he thinks abused me? What the fuck is that? I can’t stand him. I fucking hate him. I hate looking at him, I hate talking to him, I hate it so much, and there’s nothing I can do because all I had was Jinhwa. He was all I had, and now I have nothing but Juwon––Oh my god, all I have is Juwon.” When she finally takes a breath, she sobs, covering her face with her palms. Before she can really start crying, Yoonah groans out of what has to be frustration, stopping any tears with violent wipes of her eyes. Still, Reid silently takes her hand into his, squeezing tightly.
Just as silent, he lifts her hand to his lips, pressing them to the top of the pale skin. Yoonah sniffles, looking at him in slight confusion, but there’s a fondness in her eyes that she can’t hide even if she wants to. She forces a tight smile, squeezing his hand, waiting for him to say something but he just brings her hand to his chest so she can feel his heart beating. It’s fast but even. It tells Yoonah all she needs to know.
A tight laugh leaves her lips, sniffling.
“I got you?” Yoonah asks softly, just to make sure. Reid, for once, smiles. He nods.
“You got me.”
#╰ * venus : scenarios ⧽ burn it to the ground .#ficnetfairy#fictional idol group#fictional idol community#kpop fanfic#idol oc#kpop oc#fake kpop oc#kpop au#idol au#kpop addition#idolverse#oc girl group#bts addition#fake kpop girl group#fake kpop idol#oc kpop group#stray kids addition
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“I can hear my dead homies sing, now my eyes always hurting..wiping tears with diamond rings…”
I haven’t written angst in a long time because honestly, I’m a crybaby bitch that can’t handle it but I had to do one for my favorite pairing and challenge myself for once. Please don’t hate me too much!
tw: s*icide, angst (obv), reflections of eren’s past life prior to (y/n), drug/alcohol abuse and addiction, depression, s*xual harassment, mentions of death, breakup, gun violence
📝: read this at your own risk. I’m just trying to test myself and step outside of the box a bit.
we’re all aware of the dark side of the music industry..the pressures and struggles that come with fame. Behind our favorite celebrities; singers, rappers and actors alike are a world of struggle or pain that led them to create the art they put on display for us to see..at some point or another, there are battles they fight everyday that us as average fans aren’t aware of. Not that we’re owed any obligation to them outside of the public space, but we can’t help but worry. This all rings true for rapper and renowned artist Eren Jaeger, EJ The Don..whatever you choose to call him.
No matter how many loving, adoring fans screamed his name, friends he kept by his side, women he hooked up with and chains he purchased, it could never drown out the pain that plagued his heart. “You’ve traveled the world..seen it all and performed in front of millions. You’re one of the world’s most famous rappers and most respected producers in the game. At this point in your career, is there anything that you look back on and say ‘I regret this’ or ‘I wish that hadn’t happened’…are you happy?” the question shot to him by an interviewer sitting adjacent..a single camera lens focused in on his face in front a clear white background. In a very rare exclusive, the artist sat down with XXL to reflect on his early come up and what they could expect in the future. A loaded question he wasn’t quite ready to answer yet..still, those infamous green eyes; glossed over by the euphoria of marijuana and covered by designer shades, brown hair tucked behind his ear as he released a sigh. At this point in the game, he’d be considered a legend despite his rather young age of only twenty eight years old. An amazing feat considering that many of his peers hadn’t even made it to see that. What was even more so sad..most of the ones coming along today weren’t even twenty one before they were snuffed out. It was something he struggled and toiled with often…’are you happy?’ how could he possibly answer that truthfully when he had sat in the same room with his homies..one moment popping Xans as they recorded their next single and the next, shaking them as they seized up, overdosing on the pills before passing away?
How could he ever be happy when he had to go hug the mothers and hand out flowers to the wives of his friends who lost their lives to gun violence, simply because they decided to come back to their city after making it big? To tell their kids that daddy wasn’t coming home…something he often times feared for his own. He was a husband now and inevitably would become a father. Truth was, he had become jaded. Worn down and tired out by industry politics..it was exactly why his circle was small enough to count on one hand now. Why he was afraid to get close to anyone. Paranoid that he’d become the next victim of a setup, leaving his family, friends and fans to grieve and mourn..it was that paranoia that had him hurled over a toilet, throwing up after downing lean to drown out his hurt. To hear the constant voices that never quite went away, ringing in his head. Whether it was the delusions of his dead friends, comments made by some random who swore they knew his life; plagued by the memories of being coerced into sex before he was old enough to buy alcohol from women who had no business with him, but knew he wanted to make it big or his subconscious saying to end it all..that he’d no longer feel guilt, sadness, anger…all of the emotions that kept him up at night. The ones that refused to let him sleep and nearly made him do something stupid. Lying next to his beloved (y/n) as you dozed peacefully..the many of nights he contemplated leaving because he’d never want to bare you with the burden or trauma of finding his body because he followed in the footsteps of his fallen brothers. He loved you so much that he couldn’t ever dream of causing you that type of pain. You’d never understand what he felt and he didn’t want you to..he wanted you to remain blissfully ignorant to what went through his mind. But when he stood on the balcony leading out of your shared bedroom..glaring aimlessly to the ground below, he wanted to put a stop to it all. That was until he felt the gentle touch of your hand spreading across his bare chest..arm wrapping around his torso with your head pressed to his back. Entangled in your warm embrace and love, like a wilting rose trapped within its vines trying to save it. Hearing you whisper in the faintest voice.. “it’s okay, I’m here..you don’t have to do it alone.” It was then that he realized, you knew. You knew his pain, his sorrow and still, you remained..ready to carry those burdens with him. Turning around to sob into your shoulder and apologize as you both sank to your knees and you held him close. Having that safe space to fall apart and be pieced back together by the love of his life…it was then that he could finally..truthfully answer:
“Yeah..I’m happy.”
#eren imagines#eren jaeger x black reader#eren x black fem!reader#eren jaeger x reader#eren x black y/n#eren drabble#eren fanfiction#eren x reader#attack on titan eren#eren angst#aot angst#aot au#aot x black reader#eren x black yn#eren aot#eren yeager angst#eren jaeger#shingeki no kyoujin eren#x black reader#black y/n#black reader insert#black fem reader#black fanfic writer#black fanfiction#angst drabble#black reader#this made me cry#it’s so back to the filth and funny stuff after this#i am so sorry#aot imagines
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Born to Die
hey, so, basically, i was writing this fanfiction called born to die based upon kurt cobain and an original character called nirvana lacey anhedönia and, well, i never finished it and i think i’ve lost the inspiration to. but, i still want it to see the light of day because i think it’s beautiful (sort of). so, here we are.
Gibson Girl.
1480 words.
July 6, 1981.
Aberdeen.
Washington.
[ You wanna… ]
Lovelace.
That’s what I’m fucking carving into my arm. With that oh-so-American size of the knife, the cut was deep and my handwriting as unhinged as it could be, probably and possibly worse than the cruel (upon me!) variety of forms it takes; like it was in my journal (I’ve always adored the copulation of the words probably and possibly as it tends so well to my seeming lack of sincerity and existential confusion), but worse, worse. Tingling all over I was in not an aroused, sexual way—but in the way it tingles when the high becomes scary, when the swirly faces start to scratch at you and when your belly feels scarily pregnant (everyone whom I know wants children; I wonder, am I sociopathic or a prophetess? Probably both, they’re primarily synonymous anyway). I knew so damnéd well I was addicted to this shit, the little, translucent, hallucinatory blotters (I prefer ’em trippy on both the outside and in, and pink; but I’m an addict! I’ll take whatever anyways) I get by shaking my ass to the guy whose name I do not wish to have my married brain clouded with. He still cut into my head like the knife that was working with all it’s effort and my inputs carving that v on my plump, ripe forearm. I was addicted as fuck; and I fucking loved it. At the very fucking least, I was pumping out poems like a heroine of the fifties. It’s what it was: the fifties had Sylvia Plath and the eighties had me. Downright iconic. The blood by now—I felt like a lamb, but I knew I was the dragon—was flooding my lap on which that forearm of mine was settled. I apologise if my writing, grammer, thoughts, anything else is fucked up in this or don’t make sense—I’m drugged up into Cloud Nineteen (ten blotters, two packs of Marlboro Reds over this evening).
I know I sound fucking insane and I probably am, and I treat myself to pain Virgin Mary couldn’t have dreamt off—but, I promise I’m not mean. Just a hard, excessive exterior and a tight, eager posterior in this dollhood of mine. Does that even make sense…? I don’t fucking know shit… “Ah, fuck…” I whispered with the most disappointing one I could muster when I fucked up the second l of Lovelace.
Lovelace, Lovelace… Great, I have to recall him.
The fucker who got me into this.
Norwegian trucker in India who was friends with my greaser pa, Norman Anhedönia, called Gibson Lovelace. The chap had forty years worth of oxygen wasted in his shallow breathing (he always breathed shallow, even when he came; I had noticed), a nine-incher monster of a dick, pedophilia, a drunkard wife and an obsession with me. I’d always been what Nabokovian terms would term nymphet, and I do say I’m split on it. I’m a shit daughter and a demon child, or am I? Maybe I’m just depressed and suicidal, or I’m fucking divine and the reincarnation of Eve meant to meet her Adam through a senseless act of violence upon myself (I didn’t know at the time, but I was fucking foreshadowing; go me.). Every girl needs a senseless act of violence properly upon herself but rarely upon the other to discover her one and only cult leader.
Anywho, Gibson led me into his truck away from my father who was too busy cleaning his shades listening to Elvis on the records: January of ’77, I was seven going to turn eight in the November of that year. He fucked me raw, smashed my head so hard into the steering wheel that I bled (I was questioning too much), kissed my cuts and made me promise I wouldn’t pick up a knife again but didn’t do shit about what I actually felt; he told me to stick my tongue out and placed this thin translucent sheet of pink from a little booklet he kept in his glovebox. And I decided that I loved it. I’m at fault, I’m at fault… Fuck Waheguru.
I’m finished. I squeezed my arm as hard as I could, the blood spraying over the marble floor (I had tucked the rug away; I can’t let Mumma see). My incisors with the utmost force to keep my vocal chords at bay dug into my chapped bottom lip and drew blood there too. It trickled down to my chin and came to nirvana at my lap resting amongst the other red molecules; it left a ferric taste on the tip of my tongue, slightly bitter and quite sweet. Bittersweet. Blood, blood, blood, blood, blood… Blood, everywhere. Gibson would’ve rubbed it all over my nipples and told me to lick it up like it was his sperm all over my asscheeks or, well, just cheeks. I did have quite big tits for an almost twelve-year-old, I must admit… I’ve always had more estrogen and my estrogen was also more sensitive: susceptible. Susceptible to manipulation, fuckery, religion, what not… Finally, I could fucking feel something except for the stimuli of my g-spot and the irritation in my nostrils that still blossomed when I chainsmoked indoors or that itching feeling in me when I go too much time without my LSD. I have this delusion that I only pump men good or pump out good stuff when I’m pumped on those little squares: He said that LSD would be good for me when I told him that I write; I’ve been pumpin’ poetry for my baby ever since. I hate children, and I sincerely wish that all babies die alongside their parents and the doctors and the nurses and the medical’s parents and me…
My disorders kicked in (Borderline Personality Disorder, majorly untreated) and I fucking panicked. After so much shit, I fucking panicked. Panicked. Jumping up almost to slam my head to the sink I was cutting up like ham under, I had to hold onto the sink to make myself stand actually. I slowly experienced my hand creep up to switch on the faucet (like Gibby did to the faucet in my eyes everytime he crossed my neurocircuitry) and my other arm (I’m right-handed) creep to wash the blood from Lovelace off. Thankfully, I had a few bottles of peroxide, a pack of Reds, a babydoll dress all set up, razor and men’s shaving cream, my skincare, makeup—all of that set up, and the shower prepped as well. Today, I was to die.
The same year as Gibson’s arrival to me, I spiralled and ended up flinging my curvy body down the roof of some pretentious hotel in Seattle. I didn’t die, unfortunately. Then, well, I was transferred to a crazy people place for four years until I got out in March of ’81 (this year!) equally, if not more, fucked up. I had glowed so much surrounded by my little hellspawns, my creatures... My paradise is dying in the arms of nobody. But, I couldn’t care when the blotters kicked in and helped my cerebrum in distorting so fucking shittily my face into some eldritch horror that passed the likes of werewolves mid-transformation and golems. I giggled manically at the twistings of my eyes into the hair and my ears into halo, my mouth stretched through the giggle was transmuted to the petrified image of a dog and a lady and what fucking not. Oh, I need my pen… Pen, pen, pen, pen,... pen!
The lad
I tried to write into the journal page I had kept open on the small settee of my bathroom that I had also made sure to drip some of my essence onto (not like that, pervs; the blood, I’m saying) but my mouth wouldn’t co-operate with my cerebellum or my cerebrum. The giggles just wouldn’t stop and they just got more and more distorted like guitars fitted into amps and amps and shredding. I fell back on the ground, it cushioned by my ass, and held my head in my arms, shaking my head as if to curate outside of my all the fogginess and to shake out of my trip. I wanted to write, write! Not whatever the fuck this was. My eyes were squeezed so hard, I was crying. And, I couldn’t fucking stop laughing like a shitshow.
“Oh, God, stop, stop, stop, just fucking stop…!” Hadn’t even realised I was sobbing but in that moment that epiphany hit me like a freight train (whatever the fuck a freight train is; I just picked up on the writing tool from whatever I read using this). My arm was still bleeding, smearing blood over my cheeks; my lip was still cut from my teeth, bleeding the smaller bits too; I was shaking like a fucking banyan leaf in the rainstorms of Wash.
• • •
Strangers.
5010 words.
July 6, 1981.
Aberdeen.
Washington.
[ Don’t talk to strangers, or you might fall in love ]
Even the isolation, deprave, and mesophilia of our fucked-up, Lacey, crazies hospital was better than this drenched, little town. What was better than any of those two fucking disasters, though, was my stance on the railway tracks. Sittin’ there like teke-teke, waitin’ for my gorgeous guts to be smashed over, destroyed, violated, clawed out by the grinders of the train. I’d never seen starry nights—the ladies at Lacey would never have enough testicles to let me watch a shooting star and hope that it crash into me, the fuckin’ meteorite. My years at Cawnpore already were quite less in number, and it eternally was too polluted for us to see something more than the dhruv star and a few other killers; I’d never seen starry nights. According to this astronomical magazine I picked up while the nurses took us out to the local stores of Lacey for us teenage girls to detoxify our battlefields for minds, today was a meteor shower and I was thoroughly intrigued by blazing space rocks in the skies, so I bluffed and fucked my way out of the hospital. My egg and sperm donors did not believe for a major nanosecond that I was cured. At two years of pained age, I was standing in the middle of the gray-like-me roads, conscious of the act; at four, I burnt my pierced earlobe on purpose, using the steam-fuelled iron to; at six, any blade I pranced upon would find it’s metallic way to scent the room in the aroma of my equally metally blood, I only wished for one to kiss those marks and draw about them, to be what the lyre was to Apollo; at eight, this curvy brain of mine finally snapped into her hemispheres and told me to fling my curvy body down the highest story of our hotel. At eight, my suppliers abandoned their Catholic mistake of a dolly into a mental hospital in my Americana birthplace, Lacey.
There, I morphed myself like the blesséd Phoenix, curse, profanity I am into The Mother. Mother Lace, Mother Nirvana, Messiah of thee, and the literary combo of Three. One of the only times I shall ever cherish are my years with those six girls… My girls: my loves, only ones who would ever succeed in enveloping me with so much heat that the outward exterior, the exoskeleton of middle fingers and catty hisses, melts into a puddle of rot beneath me and the inner delicacy of my wretched fragility and mortality is on display for all those mental fuckers to eat.
Needless to say…, I missed my bundle of little women, my packets of compressed, oppressed joy. So, I lay there longing with my arms stretched onward craving hiraeth in the Heavens—now that I look back, it never was hiraeth. I knew exactly what my home was: the browned mental hospital where I spent four formative years of my Jim Morrison's life in. I longed for the hug of my collected daughters, their soft digits brushing my hair as they softly inquired escape from the hellhole I promised to save them from. My girls... I loved them, like the mother they never received. I had promised, I had promised… I was a betrayer. What mother to those girls…
On instinct I experienced my hands reach to the crown of my head, relief coursing through my blood the moment a thorn stung me. Their entity had crafted for me a crown of thorns to relish me as their Lady and Saviour. I did feel blood seep from the pinch, but I stuck my finger between my lips and thrashed my tongue around, gazing at the dying glows of the starry night.
I pretended to be Jesus.
I am Judas, or am I?
I don’t even know what I’m writing. You’re hallucinating while interpreting strange symbols written left-to-right in lead and antimony compounds upon thin, delicate tablet-like structures made of tree sap, so I guess we two are never too far apart in our crazy.
Well, to them (my girls: Laine Jean Ray, Bonita Ana Dios, Aurora May-Belle Long, Theresa Midge Check, Verbena de Baïa Voisin, Margaret Sarah Check), I still remain Yeshua. Yet, I feel a wolf in lamb’s skin as myself; a panther in the throes of the night sky that I stare emptily, tearily, upon. I fake it so real, I am beyond fake (translation: you people are fucking dumb).
In my convulsing tubule of thoughts birthed by my cerebral quality, I failed in my life to notice movement, possibly a metre from me. I was laid over the railway track like a corpse, eyes empty yet body warm for no reason at all. It truly seems bizarre how the movement noticed me neither—maybe dissolved so much in the grief were they that they were as heady as me, as crazy as I! Trapped inside the fever dream of their own thoughts, vowed to never spit it out, bit tongues and summertimes spent in clawing bedsheets and clamping hands over the own lips so as to refrain from the awareness that might spread. That might say…: I am iron. I am usable, extremely so. Exploit me, as if you have not already. Though, I might have not warneth thou… I rot as vigorously as I am used, keep me out in the world and I will break down and become ash of myself. In the velvet night, a puff of air as a sigh crawled out of me, liquid dripping down the corneas of I, ruining not the night (this was to be, I planned to die today for fuck’s sake) but my precious mascara and eyeliner. Oh, how I worked on that lining to accentuate my inherited, unwanted, auto-appreciated felinity. I’d be the prettiest girl in the morgue.
Someday you will ache like I ache.
Anyhow, the shower from the atmosphere had concluded a few minutes prior. And, well, finally, the train I was waiting for to scramble and crumble my guts into nothing but wasted potential, like I already was, had arrived… Only, it arrived wrong. It ran over the steel beside me, beside us (counting in the movement I am). A severe monsoon bummer filled my chest, the void in my heart had been concealed tightly and packed with Lyssa, Eris, what not. I craved to screech at the tyrant Father for his sin, for his fucking disruptive mercy on me—I did not want mercy! I needed death to fuck me like his personal, unpaid, loyal servant-girl; I needed it violent! So, as soon as all registered in my voluminous cerebrum, I recoiled in my pose, resorting to the protection of a foetal position as I screamed out my sobs and muffled them by staining my shaved thighs with my lipstick and drool smelling of minty chew-gum that I chewed last minute, tears of brown-black from my mascara and liner, hitting my head against my knees and punching the bloody rails that I was once moonbathing over until I experienced my knuckles burn and bruise, actual slivers of blood peek through the skin. I continued then too, but was too passionate in my quiet wailing to keep up the aggression.
And, thence, I swiped my tears with my bleeding knuckles, unrealising in my little girl’s misery of the fact, and smeared blood over my eyes and mascara over my blood. By some distance, I could hear some twigs crunching, maybe it was the movement I hadn’t noticed beforehand. When I did notice in that current moment, fear struck my gut like Cupid’s arrow when I had seen Priscilla Presley for the first time in forever. Naturally, a response occurred within the fatty mass of electric muscle in my head and I recoiled within myself, burying my face in my knees that I had pulled to my tits, only my eyes blinking up like a defensing cat—if I had been a cat, my pupils would have shrunken to that reptilian, creepy glare. I saw that the thing was lighting a cigarette, my cravings relit alongside (the appearance of the thing was half-revealed in the dim spark).
Stupidly as I ever could be, I murmured from my coil, “Do you have a light?” However softly I did speak, the boy did hear because it was the death of the night in wherever we were, the railroad was as quiet as could be with the crickets around chirping and inaudible bats may or may not be sauntering about. Dim moonlight that I somedays worshipped (as a witch, I did) proved herself, and I saw him. The first predicament was that he’s cute: blond, ice eyes, hopeless swagger, shaky legs. He paused himself in his trek, and slowly but mildly clumsily, turned to see my form. Perhaps cold moonlight proved her importance to hallucinatory pages of dead sap’s inkéd words of feel-good love. Wow, fuck, I went overboard on there. So, he scrutinised me for a moment, squinting to gaze at me carefully.
I’ll never forget what came out of my future husband’s mouth the first time he spoke a single thing to me…: You look very pretty when you’re crying; tears suit you. I don’t think that I can emphasise the moan that was nearly to escape me at that very moment, it was a shockwave of whatever down my spine to my ladyness. My knees dropped to become flat, just legs, and I did acknowledge the gashes in my doll heart bleeding so vigorously, it matched my swallowed drool.
“You don’t mean that, you’re drunk.”
His honeyed voice, sort of scratchy as I observed he was pubescent and hormonal in his blue jeans, white striped shirt—walked into the room, you know you made my eyes burn!—and black-y jacket he kept open, pushed me to experience the yayo-type, giggly joy of his chuckle, he shook his head in amuséd denial of his drunkenness. He was poetic, he had a slur, he had his thin lips wrapped around a cigarette—shit, I needed them wrapped around mine… And, I loved it. Why the fuck was I enamoured? “You’re a hypocrite,” He paused for a moment, maintaining that smile. Two distinct holes, punctures in muscle, were noticed by thee truly, myself, at that very moment; I felt my ribcaged heart palpitate. “You’re bawling your eyes out here like Virgin Mary.”
“Oh, fuck me, that’s beautiful.” The moan that was slowly and gradually, steadily and irresistibly, mountaineering up my throat finally escaped in the form of this: *Oh, fuck me, that’s beautiful*. Which, I did mean—how could I not mean *this*? I’m not Lisa Rowe, you buzz (although I wish to be—have you not read the sheer charisma produced from the description Kaysen emits of her? She was definitely the prettiest girl in the morgue!).
Hands of his extended to mine, both, and I took them, shakingly wobbling from my psych-out. I felt drunk. As terror-inducin’ it seems, drugs had exhilarated me, no cock of a man who had money this nymphet had onlooked had been left out, I was such a La Lolita for my crazy desires—but I had never had a swig before. Smelling the booze off my falling, twisted guy as he pulled me up from my literal and mental death—I only knew that my heart was hitting at my sinews, she felt a depraved wanderlust. Some wanderlust it was to, like a man in a Prime Minister pose, mark that free, angel Earth mine with maybe a flag (a tattoo) or a hole (a lovebite), something, somewhat. I held onto his shoulders for both metaphorical and literal support, he held onto the curve of the lower back I possessed, though the fabric of his jackie didn’t benefit friction and he kept slipping his arm off accidentally because, one, he adorned too much weight on; two, the fabircs intermingled like our forms, the cheap satin and whatever the fuck his jacket was made of. “Why am I a hypocrite, though?” I finally asked this little blond dude what had been pestering me (I am not to blame for this worthy-of-disdain obsessiveness, I have Borderline Personality Disorder. I am Cool Girl: I am nothing in my soul if not obsessive) for how millennium long. His ocean eyes matched mine for a moment, and he seemed to think through for a momento before he permitted the giggle of a hyena break out of him: Because you’re pretty when you cry, and I’m not.
“Yes, you are.” No hesitation was laced through me, none of that unaware uncertainty that I usually experienced leaking through my tune when I comforted one of my girls—my girls...—and instead was there an ignorant stubbornness. I was always stubborn, but what the fuck? I, having registered in my still plush cerebrum that my crown of thorns (gifted to me by Laine specifically, although all the girls worked on it) had fallen like my Lucifer when I had risen, thence I bent to grab my status, injuring my already injured hand thus further as the thorns pierced and pricked into my skin. And, I didn’t even cry…
He recoiled almost physically at my olden compliment (remember the first dialogue of the previous paragraphed rambling?) and I was due a breakdown of my psyche in that very singular fraction of a minute when my man suddenly perked up, “I only have this cig,”, changing the subject. Yahweh, my knuckles burnt. I ohed a tiny bit, and chuckled, extending one of my quivering, weak limbs and bending to wrap my lipstickéd lips on the ass of that cigarette, same one he took a drag from not fifteen seconds ago. His Atlantic eyes widened for a twiddling momentous, and, possibly and probably in drunken stupor and marijuana heights of his death wish, he giggled—I physically felt my pupils dilate, what the fuck? Maybe it was the nicotine, maybe it was the aftershocks of my tiny-teeny mental breakdown on the rail, maybe it was hisself… Damn, I think I understood Grant so well in that miniscule moment: Heaven is a place on Earth with you.
The world was built for two.
Delusional, I was convinced that it was us two the moment he grabbed the cigarette from me for his chance, and he examined the matte, messy mark of my lip stamped on it.
With the dumbest smile he could muster in my damnéd opinion, this little, blond, territorial, underdeveloped man adjusted his lips on the exact place I had left my shine, suckling it like it was some part of me. He knew what he was doing, I could pluck it from the glitter in his pretty orbs that told me shit he’d never be able to spit out in our tragic, magic relationship of some thirteen years. We kissed in death like we kissed in that moment, he blew smoke into my mouth and I giggled, almost extracting the alcohol of his from the roof of his mouth as my tongue felt her way around. We parted for perhaps, well, a second (I don’t remember the details, I’m writing this after our wedding sex, 1988. We’re in our flight back to Olympia from Honolulu, and he’s sleeping on my tits), and rejoint as I adjusted the angle to kiss-fuck this virginal Cherub better. “Darling, is this your first?”, he nodded, responsive—to be frank, that was adorable...! I’m pretty sure I squeaked out of sheer kiddy excitement, squeezing the sides of his face (cheeks). My grip migrated to around his neck, form bent for he was teenier than I. I didn’t even know his name and we were kissing in the blue dark…
Parting, I only gazed into his oceanic gaze and breathlessly giggled, “Oh, wow, fuck,... That was…, yeah.” A grand total of seven partners (three females, four males) I had engaged in before this merman, and I had never felt myself stolen of breathe ever in my existence after a mere kiss. Possibly was it the intoxication, the nicotine fucking over my senses so that my taste buds tickled with the enriching experience of his glazed cavern, but was it not thrilling, oh Mary! I had enchanted outward the sweetest giggle, and he in his still stupor snuggled his head inside the curve of my shoulder and chest; he was only that much tall. I was not lanky in any aspect, neither I am still—on the flipside, truth is that my mother repeatedly insisted upon me to not drown in my head and force her to onlook, rather to go outside, soak some tan (I am racially brown, thence I don’t require a tan) and run some. I decline profusely, tangling in blankets again and writing what, if discovered, would have positively filed me into the South Sound Behavioral Hospital yet again for a term not of four years now but of God-knows-how-long.
Eventually, I figured: some other day, this nymph may or may not have only prolonged my life now, and I told myself it. By the railway roads were grasses uncared for (like most daughters were; the human was their mother and the stain’d, tall grasses were the lost), we decided unconsciously to sit by those and talk the dimlight of the night off the clouds, to dawn we conversed. As unbelievable as it may sound considering the turbulence not even Athena might have dreamt of that had plagued the twisty courses of my lifetime, I had not sipped upon the liver eater yet: alcohol! With my newfound darling, that was precisely what I did.
We were dwelling inside uncanny synchronisation with our acts: we looked around at the same time, fixated on the same piece of cement, reached to gasp one another’s hands the same moment. I didn’t flinch, neither did the blond darling. Which..., was quite, well, it was especially choking as I... Usually froze at contact of the physique from someone whom I loved. Around this time, with my drink-induced lover, it felt good.
We curled up by grass, against a gray boulder-like structure, perhaps a part of a rotten or demolished building of some sort, debris. There, I suckled upon the lengthy cancerstick and inquired like an owl: “Why were you here, anyway?” In a casual tone I did, as if it was something so normal that I was nonchalant. “Oh, y’know, to kill myself.” The answer delivered by this sweetness would dwelling in me a day or so afterward (take that very literally) was just as nonchalant, confirming the suspicion conjured by my despaired subconscious that he was just as heady as me, as crazy as me, someone who would rot along me like iron all the while fearing the rot, hiding from something murmuring within thyself and teetering about; aura as a nymphic call and melancholia as the default ring of the mood. GOD is a teenaged girl of grunge and glitter, and I am a doll (soulless, empty, pretty with no matter on the inside yet pretty from the back—it matched!).
“No, no, like, why?” I repeated with an accentuated tone and my regular gestures of hand and eye, “The reason you wanted to kill yourself. I don’t judge, promise.” I shrugged, chuckling a bit as I passed the miniature cancer to him for a drag. “Clearly.” He chuckled too, widening his eyes momentarily to allude to my appearance; as I remember it, that elicited out from me a little giggle. I mean, it was the factual; darling, not lying. A girl; a girl dressed in a pearly babydoll dress with lacy tights (opaque white-like, frilled, a bow on top of each, knee-high) and no footwear with mascara smeared down her face from a clear breakdown of her battlefield for mind, manic brown eyes with a grape-coloured lipstick on pouty heart-shaped lips, blood and dirt also staining her optic area due to her bleeding knuckles from which she punched the steel of the rails because the train did not run over her? Paired alongside the fresh wounds on display littered across that fatty arm of hers? Oh, she was a crazy chick—and I could tell that this little guy loved it. He loved my mania, he loved my blood, he loved my crazy, he loved everything that I loved about myself. Maybe it was his alcohol that urged him this way, but I loved him for he loved what he saw.
But is she pretty on the inside?
“Well,” I spaced back in with the thrill of his voice curling the air around us; I wish we were plunged into steel. Sound travels best in something like steel… What would his voice be in steel? The thought messaged down my spine a shiver. “’s mostly everything about my life. Wouldn’t say I’m addicted, but all I do these days is mope and get high, or drink. I’ve been this since last month. Last year, I saw this… This dead boy who hung himself in the woods. That really affected me, I think; I’ve got suicide genes.” He paused a bit, sighing as he was passed the smokestick again. I puckered up a bit and drew closer to his pretty face, rounding my lips out and pushing out a ring of cigarette smoke. On impulse, he stuck nose through the centre of the dissipating smoke ring which drew from me another giggle—he was just like me! I did that too! I’d never thought someone else would…? What the fuck is going on?
Taking a drag, he then resuméd: “My parents are divorced… I’m really embarrassed of that.” He added a bit hesitantly, I could gauge that he still felt the shame of it all; which perplexed me. A divorce is shameful? How so? It’s a fucking life decision… But, that’s okay because this little one was clearly less mature and emotionally developed than I, although that amount still was remarkable considering his physique and my presumé of his age (which I thought to be elder to me, but still not too much so). “Why?”
“I want my real family back. My dad promised me he wouldn’t remarry, and he fucking did; to a bitch nonetheless. I hate her and her children are so… Phoney…!” Humming at his hurt words, I was analysing him: eyes gliding over the pasty, smooth contours of his vanilla face; staring into the trench of his pupils surrounded by his ocean eyes as he passed back the almost dead cigarette to me. The guard he wore over his exterior again was forming as he read that I was reading him without contempt (he thought I was feeling that, but I was simply analysing him emotionlessly—as if he was a labrat and I was dissecting him to figure out the following: what the fuck is this little shit?). But, I got him before he leaned away or apologised: Don’t worry, go on. Say it. I hate my cousins too. He relaxed yet again, I could see his shoulders come down and he leaned into me again,. Our heads were almost leaning against each other’s, breathes intermixing with each intake and out. “Go on.” I repeated, tapping his knee to accentuate my point.
He snapped out of whatever daze (he was reading me too, perhaps; mentally dissecting my Barbie body too, perhaps) and his hand came to clasp mine. I bit back a giggle and a smile at the contact, he did notice the corner of my lips tilt upward so he took that as a positive for further lacing of his fingers with mine. I, now a bit assured in myself, squeezed his hand and nudged him again: go on.
“Right,” He chuckled, “So, well, I just feel… Alien. You know, when I was little, I used to look at the stars,” He pointed briefly to the stars that were shining above the both of us, “And imagine my real family because I just felt like I wasn’t from here, like I was from another planet. I think I like that feeling, I was homesick for a place that didn’t even exist. And, to be honest, you’re the only other alien I’ve met.” That made me giggle after I muttered hiraeth at the sentence spoken second to the last. I found in my nicotined mindscape that this… Theory, was almost verbatim of a theory I myself had gardened in my meadow for mind. “Y’know…! I felt like that too, still do actually. I just used different terms for it. I called whatever the fuck our species are Earth Angels, angels on Earth. I read somewhere once that a person with scars of cuts on their arms was called an angel by a kid, and I think I really internalised… That.”
He chuckled, “Your mind is divine, Pretty. Yeah, I think my family is also a reason in why… I want to kill myself, y’know?”
“Oh, absolutely. I love them so much so I do what they want and they hate me for every speck of originality; I don’t know if it’s my mental disorders or it’s my hormones, but every small inconvenience makes me wanna kill myself. I’m also a hater! I hate everything and I do nothing to change it which, admittedly, makes me an arsehole—but, fuck it.” We both had laughter crawling up our throats and I could tell it wasn’t actual laughter. Oh, no. It was mania, laughing not because it threatened to spill; laughing because you had nothing else to do. Like crazy people (I do think that I am insane, in some way, shape or form. But, I also think that I’m supersane. Who fucking knows? I think a lot, don’t I?).
The cigarette had gone out by now, I think I had stubbed it out by pressing to the moist ground after he had truly started opening the shells of himself, not wishing to be distracted by drugs when I had the most addictive and healthy sedative offering his lifestory to a little shit like me. “Well, what’s it for you? I haven’t ever seen… You around…” He slurred out as we jumped down from our maniacal, little, episodic bursts of sacrilege or insanity… Well, are they not synonyms?
“Ah, so, I just moved here about a… Maybe a few days ago? I think a week or so. I moved from Lacey, though I’m actually Indian. Well… It’s a fucked-up fairytale, really. My whole ancestry and family is the following: sexist, racist, extremist to Sikhism, religious, doomed, homophobic, transphobic, Islamophobic, very, very Indian. It’s only my grandmother who acknowledges the sexism floating between our family; she dreamt high and was ambition incarnate but her marriage to this horrible fucking man led her to be so oppressed she couldn't speak a word of English without being thoroughly taunted for it.” His face clearly contorted into a gnarly grimace, and I felt my nose start to itch and burn again remembering all this up… Never had I ever trauma-puked this well or been so comfortable vomiting it out to someone I did not know.
“’s just… Fuckin’ Hell. I can’t translate it into words, I can only feel.” Shaking my head in a paternal sort of disappointment (no matter how much I despise the fact, I am my father’s daughter; his copy of carbon) at my inability, I felt myself pulled in again… How? How was he doing this shit? Being so fucking kind? It made me anxious, admittedly. Why was he so kind? What did the fucker want?
I’m being too cynical. I wanted to cry; instead I accepted his tentative comfort and shoved my face into the nook of his neck, breathing down it like a vampire in the night. I had the purely feminine, feline urge to wrap myself around him like Sarin and never let go to slowly dissolve into him even if maggots eat us out. Why, why, why, why, why, why, why, why, why…? For a few minutes I think, we stayed in that exact position, in a sort of silence that neutered my turmoil. His arms were gel onto my wounds, and I, terrified, readily crept in like the Dutch beetle on the elm.
“Don’t.” I eventually muttered out into the tender, pale, untouched flesh of temptation on his neck; I don’t know why I did it, don’t decipher or discover the root at all. What is a girl to do when offered love on a silver spoon when she only possesses a forked tongue of venom caused from licking slivers of love off a parental knife? I was a black, not racially but spiritually. I was corrupt, disgust, free-use trash for swollen cocks with zero semblance of any soul and only a pretty body. It’s my pretty power which is my ugly. I am disgusting… I sometimes feel the scorching need to cleanse myself, to face redemption, to hurry to salvation; and other days I revel in the hellfire of lust that would surround me once I am liberated of this uséd body.
#💌.docx#kurdt#kurt cobain#kurt donald cobain#kurt cobain x reader#kurt d cobain#kdc#80s aesthetic#70s 80s 90s#washington state#washington dc#kurdt kobain
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Hello, Can I así for Saturu Ska8er boi I was listening to Avril and thougth it could be nice hehehe
(only if You want to ofc , thank You for sharing your Beautiful work with us !)
skaterboi!satoru is like so genius ohmygod…
warnings y disclaimers / sfw. fluff. established relationship. puppy love satoru. spanish usage: mi alma..my soul | mira.. look | pero..but | papito.. (erm idk how to explain this one, but it’s just a nickname)
𝐒𝐊𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐁𝐎𝐈!𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔 . . . is heavily fucking obsessed with you. you’re all he thinks about day ‘n night. he could simply be strolling down the street and if he were to walk by a store and see something he knew you’d like, he would buy it without hesitation. right there, on the spot. it had become quite a bad habit, to the point where you sneakily stole his debit card for a week and he was acting like a drug-addicted fiend begging for it back like his life depended on spoiling you. (it did.)
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀when he wasn’t hovering over your back trying to buy you everything you dared to lay your eyes on, he was mindlessly skating his life away at the park where he first met you. it was a happenstance. quite a coincidence. it had been his first time going to that park simply because his was being cleaned that night. he told himself it’d just be a one-night thing. he would never go back. yet, the minute he laid eyes upon you after you jumped from within the pool, he couldn’t pull them away.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀the radiant smile you bore enticed his entire attention. despite the fact that you had crowds surrounding you whilst you performed your favorite tricks, satoru felt as if you were the only other person there at the park with him. even when he made his way into the horde of people that surrounded the left pool, he couldn’t believe such a beauty like you could associate with a low-status group.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀it took him months of straight up bothering you, poking fun, walking you home, offering to help you do community service; just so you would alas say yes to his date offer. you hadn’t a clue as to why the estranged boy was so hyper focused on you, but your curiosity didn’t stop you from abusing the spotlight. every chance you could, you’d have him do something for you and it humored you to see the puppy-like expression he had marred on his face.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀even while your relationship is still going, he loves running errands for you. if it had to do with you, he was all for it, no matter the circumstances. his friends swore there was no one who loved you more than that boy.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ “toru, c’mere.” you ushered the boy to you, one foot rested along the end of the board with its back on full display for the pool below. your other foot was planted on the apex, no pressure being applied at all.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ “yes, mi alma?” spanish had come easy to the man after picking up a few phrases from you, you thinking it was cute that he paid attention to the small details of your native language.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀broadening a sharp grin at your boyfriend, you watched as he hurriedly rushed to your side with a hint of wariness and curiosity lingering within his bright blue eyes. it was endearing to see him so full of life at just the simple sound of your voice. you brought your bottom lip to the skim of your teeth as a slight chuckle tumbled from your lips, satoru’s eyebrows pursing together at your abrupt actions.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ “you’re cute, y’know that?” if it wasn’t how you teased and prodded at him, it was your words that caused the oh-so familiar red hue to shade the man’s face.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀it wasn’t odd for you to suddenly compliment him, rather it was rare. yet, each time you happened to do it, he was left as nothing but a pure puddle of stammers and wandering eyes.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ “mira, i wanna try this move pero like i need you to hold my hands so i can properly turn” you motioned while realigning your stance on the board.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀the moment you mentioned needing satoru’s help, his ears perked as if he were some sort of trained dog who was being ushered for a treat. he hastily took hold of your hands before observing your every move. one step at a time, he watched whilst you turned your body to face his own, keeping an eye out for any slips or cracks so he’d be able to catch you.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀once you had finished readjusting yourself, you smiled at him prior to quickly pecking his cheek. the move was not only tricky, but also risky since you had to do it backwards for the first half. but, you knew you’d be able to do it. you were the one to teach yourself how to skate anyways.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀the minute you let go of satoru’s hand, your body began to propel backwards. you could feel your heart sinking into your ass from the sudden endurance, yet you calmed your nerves by delving your nails into your palms. the wind that rushed through your clothes wasn’t helping your situation, but did reassure you that even if you fell, the current would cause you to at least fall forward.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀as you were halfway down the ramp, you bent your knees and lowered your body by a slither, leaning to the side a bit just before you jumped into the air. the second your feet lifted from the board, not only did your body do an entire 180° spin, but your board did likewise. you spent a rather long minute in the air, satoru’s jacket that you wore snuggly on your body floating and flailing around from such a harsh pivot.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀all you could think while your body remained mid-air, was how if you messed up the landing; the hospital would be your new home. your board was only a slither ahead of you, but you knew that when landing back on it you could adjust yourself to fit right back where you started. and so you did. it was a rather unpleasant heart attack that you gave yourself, but once your feet planted solidly on the wooden surface, you couldn’t help but smile like a toddler on christmas.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀due to the momentum and speed you started off at, your board was able to swiftly guide you up the opposite side of the pools ramp. the moment you could reach the top, satoru was right there awaiting your arrival. he had the cheesiest and most adorable grin smeared clear on his face, a tight embrace hoisting you from your board whilst your ecstatic laughter filled his ears.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀you could tell he was just as nervous for you as you were, your chest fully engulfed into his to the point where you could feel his heartbeat. your arms wrapped around his neck before he captured your lips with his own, faint giggles and squeals leaving your mouth and getting muffled against his.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ “jesus, you had me worried.”
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ “i know, papito. i know.” you cooed, the pad of your thumb running smoothly across the flesh of his cheekbone as you caught his eye contact.
ᶻ z Z ! © TAKST4Z — all rights reserved. mature discretion. please do not plagiarize or steal any of my works or graphics.
#⠀❙ 𝐀𝐒𝐊𝐁𝐎𝐗𝐈𝐄𝐒 .†#⠀❙ 𝐙𝐀𝐑𝐒𝐂𝐑𝐈𝐁𝐄𝐒 .†#⠀❙ 𝐃𝐑𝐈𝐁𝐁𝐋𝐄𝐃𝐑𝐎𝐏𝐒 .†#⠀❙ 𝐉𝐉𝐊 .†#⠀❙ 𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎 .†#⠀❝ 𝐒𝐅𝐖 .♱#gojo x you#jjk gojo#gojo fluff#gojo#gojo x y/n#gojo x reader#gojou satoru x reader#gojo satoru#gojo comfort#jujutsu gojo#jujutsu kaisen satoru#gojou satoru x you#jjk satoru#jujutsu satoru#satorugojo#jjk x y/n#jjk x reader#jjk x you#jjk
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Very tempted to write a Spectacular Spider-Man(cartoon) fanfiction taking place during Across The Spider-verse.
Most events are largely the same, but instead of traveling to 42, Miles is running around different earths. He ends up on the earth where TSSM takes place( don’t know the number, so I’ll just call it Earth tssm). The spiders have been dispatched to look for him, and some have been told to keep watch over their own earths for him.
On TSSM Peter’s end, he’s been in the society for about a year after the s2 finale, making him halfway to 17 in my fic. After all the shit he’s been through, he distances himself from everyone else, save for Captain Stacy and the Daily Bugle’s Foswell, (er, “Patches”), who are the only people who know(or have an inkling) that he’s Spider-Man.
He also tends to spend more time on Society work, limiting his time in his own earth. While this causes problems for his aunt and school, you can see this really take shape with New York. Especially the villains. People from Electro to Tombstone to fucking Silvio Manfredi notice that Spidey’s been showing up less and less, even disappearing for weeks on end. He rarely works with the cops anymore, and the battles have started to become less quippy than usual.
Needless to say, the villains are both scared, and pissed. Scared because if Spidey’s quiet, then shit’s serious. Pissed because they’re needy bastards who feel ignored.
Thus begins a manhunt for Spider-Man, from none other than the people he fights every day. Turf wars between the Six, Manfredis, and Big Man are put on hold for this one instance, all in favor of finding the wallcrawler and getting answers out of him(also cause they’re actually kinda worried about him, like, it’s SPIDER-MAN).
I’m thinking of getting the Lizard involved, maybe changing some things to make it so the Connors family knows Peter is Spider-Man because he came to them after he got bit and tested out his powers with their help. Connors can still turn when his emotions get the better of him, but he’s on the good side now. Through the undernet, he finds out something’s wrong with Peter and is like: why didn’t the kid call me when something went wrong? So he comes back to add more fuel to the fire.
Speak of the devil: Spidey returns from another awful—I mean, UPLIFTING week over at SS HQ. He’s tired, Miguel is his usual annoyingly loud self, and Miles is still not found. Even worse, it’s been found that Miles is in HIS earth, so it’s HIS responsibility to bring him back. Great.
You can imagine how hard it is to get back into a normal routine(for like a couple days at least). His aunt keeps asking where he’s been, his classmates think he’s a drug addict, his villains are starting to pry into his private life too much(which is kinda nice to know that they’re worried about him, but it tends to border on obsessive sometimes), and the other Spiders are getting antsy. Especially Miguel. Very much so Miguel. All the while, Peter deals with his own issues on the Canon. The good and the bad. The relief of finding out that his trials and losses are set in stone and not his fault, and the anguish that he could’ve been Miles, desperate to save Uncle Ben now that he knew what would happen.
All the while the villains of New York are trying to gauge why so many spider-like vigilantes are entering THEIR hero—ahem—nemesis’s turf and why he always returns to the city with bruises despite no one seeing him prior.
Trying to come up with a title is hard tho. Stuck between:
The Spider Society: Spectacular’s Story
and
Converge on The Spectacular Spider-Man
Now that I’ve written it down, there’s a lot going on here. I’m hoping to maybe start on this when I complete my other fic. No promises, but I’m interested.
#the spectacular spider man#tssm peter parker#dc universe#peter parker#spiderman fanfiction#the sinister six#enforcers#tombstone#silvio manfredi#silver sable#midtown high#across the spiderverse#miles morales#miguel o'hara#canon event
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31 - Mr. Percocet // Forever Winter Series
pairing: austin butler x fem!oc(s) // word count: 3k
summary: austin's addiction becomes too much for aspen to handle on her own. when austin disappears, aspen realizes she needs help from someone who knows him better than even himself.
warnings/notes: drug use, addiction, shitty/angry austin, auditory hallucinations, 18+
see masterlist for chapter log + all other fics💫 | ao3
vibes -> fw playlist❄️
I barely recognize you when you wake up in the morning
Must be someone else's eyes that I look into every night
You're only kind when you're all fucked up
You're only mine till your high is gone
But I wish you'd still love me when your drugs wear off in the morning
-ASPEN-
Nox finally left and we were stocked up on all of our party favors. I didn’t expect for Austin to put me on the spot like that, so I just chose the ones we’d been taking. I trailed a fingertip along the granite countertop then tapping it a couple times, “So… what’s this ‘deal’ you and Nox have going?” I asked, genuinely curious.
“It’s none of your business.” Austin replied bluntly, filtering through the stash. I knitted my brows at his tone, then observing his stiff body language – sharp, broad shoulders and angular, clenched jawline. In the short amount of time I had known him, I’d never seen or heard him like that. His voice was usually soft, gentle.
“Okay…” I trailed off, “You feeling alright?”
His jaw somehow clenched even tighter than it was before, and his brows angled downward not even looking at me. “Yeah, I’m fucking fine.” He spat back and cracked open one of the new bottles of Percocets, pouring some into his hand and knocking them back with a swig of his water bottle.
I pressed my lips together into a straight line, “Got it.” I nodded, nervous to press any further. Of course, I’d had men talk to me like that many times before, but it wasn’t something I ever expected from him. Nox must’ve really gotten under his skin.
We went about our day as we had for the past couple weeks, getting high. The only difference was that he barely talked to me, he rarely even looked at me.
That went on for the next few weeks. I even went home a couple times from how unwanted I felt or how much we fought. Each time I was sure it would be the end of our little affair, but he’d always call me the next day and beg for me to come back. And I’d always return because well, he was fun, most of the time – when he was good, when we were high. He made me laugh harder than I thought possible and actually looked at me like a human. He didn’t look right through me like most people did, like most men did. He didn’t look at me like a sex object, he saw me for me. You really get to know someone when you’re on constant benders together and he never shied away from any of my demons, and I didn’t shy away from his.
We were good when we were good, under any other circumstances, in any other life, we’d be perfect for each other.
In another timeline, this would be love.
Then he’d flip like a dime, and I could barely recognize him. Especially in the mornings, god the mornings were the worst – before he got any substance in his body, when he was freshly sober. Or when we ran through our stashes.
Like yesterday when we ran out everything –
A pillow flew past my calf, but I dodged it with a swift hop over. He raked fingers through his overgrown dirty blonde hair, “I know you took them Aspen just fucking tell me.” He growled.
I shook my head, pulling my arms into myself while I watched him stalk towards me, “I didn’t Austin, you know I didn’t. I don’t even like them!” My voice coming out weaker than I would’ve liked.
“So, you’re saying I was the one who finished this whole bottle in 5 days?” Holding up the empty bottle with his brows slanted down emphasizing just how sharp and hollow his features had become.
“Fuck, no – yes, I am. It was you Austin! I didn’t touch them!” I pleaded, hating the way my voice wavered. I didn’t dare correct him on that it had only been 3 days since our last re-up.
His features softened the closer he got to me, but his eyes stayed just as terrifying, “C’mon baby, it’s okay if you took them. Just tell me.” His fingers trailed down the underside of my arms so gently, taking my hands into his. “Okay? It’s okay, I just need them ‘Pen, just tell me where you put them.” His voice so calm, like the eye of a hurricane. It was a serenity wrapped in rumbling rage, just one slip away from destruction.
A burning sensation pooled tears in my exhausted eyes, I swallowed the knot that formed in my throat. Sure, he was a little scary like this, but he never hurt me. It wasn’t the fear that that put tears in my eyes. It was the Austin I could sense below the surface, the one I caught glimpses of – sweet, compassionate, funny, thoughtful, intelligent Austin. And it was the inherent sadness that was laced between each low, the melancholy looming beneath every word. I’d never met someone who hid so much pain behind such a bright smile. I didn’t see it right away, but when I did, I couldn’t unsee it.
I took a deep breath before running my hands up his arms, softly squeezing his biceps and looking into his lackluster blues rimmed with dark purple under eye bags. “Aus it’s okay, I’ll call Nox, and he can bring some more okay?” I felt him tense under my fingertips, as if he was about to erupt again but slumped instead. He nodded defeatedly, “Okay.” Then made his way to his bedroom, falling into bed, pulling the thick duvet over his head to block out the sunlight.
The meetings with Nox became more and more frequent. I couldn’t put my finger on it but something was off like there was some key puzzle piece I was missing. It made me feel like I was 7 years old again, getting kicked out of an all-boys club. Only the secrets weren’t about the best playground hiding spots anymore. It was an itch I couldn’t scratch, a word I couldn’t remember. And the more I asked, the more I prodded the more access I was denied.
As I walked out of the bedroom, wrapped in an oversized towel and dripping wet hair, I could hear him talking to someone. Being my nosy self, I halted at the door to eavesdrop on the conversation.
“Yeah, I know I need to work harder,” He spoke, “I’m really trying.” Then a pause, telling me that he was probably on the phone. “Yeah- Well- I-“ He kept getting interrupted by whoever was on the other side of the line. “Yes, I’m rehearsing the script every day.”
I couldn’t quite remember what job he was working on but it didn’t matter, whoever he was speaking with was being lied to. I was with him almost everyday and I’d never seen that man pick up anything but substances, nonetheless a script.
“Yeah I know, I know.” I could practically hear his eyes rolling, “I got it.” His responses now curt and filled with exhaustion, “Love you too Dad. Say hi to Mom for me. Okay, bye.”
A couple beats after he ended the call, I stepped from the doorway. “Who were ya talking to?”
“My dad, not that that’s any of your concern.” He answered annoyed, clearly in one of his moods.
I took a moment before speaking again, wondering if I should even say anything. Then a vague memory popped into my head, “Didn’t you tell me that-“ I stopped myself before continuing, nervous of how he’d react.
“Tell you what?” His words were sharp and quick, sounding on edge. Much different from his voice on the phone just a bit earlier.
“Nothing, nothing.” I hastily backtracked, I must’ve been too high when he talked to me about his dad. Maybe I was mistaking it for someone else. “I’m gonna get changed.”
He didn’t even acknowledge my statement, his focus on making coffee in the kitchen. I wondered what exactly I was doing there,
Once in fresh PJ’s, I plopped myself onto the edge of the bed Austin normally slept on, the right side. When I went to grab my hairbrush from the nightstand, I spotted something that sent a chill through my bones – his phone.
I replayed the events of the last 15 minutes, between his phone call, our conversation, and me changing in the room, there was no point in which he would’ve been able to come in and drop his phone off. I had been in there the whole time.
My next natural thought path was to mentally check how high I was, maybe it was just me not remembering things or misunderstanding them. But I had surprisingly not taken or smoked anything all day since we slept in so late. I was sober. Completely and utterly sober.
I picked up the oversized iPhone, held it in my hands, then set it down. Took it back, tapping to wake the glass screen, then placed it down again. I picked it up once more, flipping it around in my hands contemplating going through it like some jealous girlfriend.
On one hand, his privacy was important. But, on the other hand, I wasn’t a jealous girlfriend I was a concerned not-girlfriend. I didn’t know what the fuck was going on. So, I decided to go against my instincts and unlock his phone – the code being predictable, what I had learned was Elsie’s birthday.
Like a good – faux – jealous girlfriend, I went directly to his texts, expecting to maybe find some texts to Elsie or his parents. But my brows curved at the wall of multiple conversations with unsaved numbers. When I heard some noise from past the bedroom door, I stilled quietly locking the phone and setting it down cautiously.
He never walked into the room and I stole the phone again and unlocked it, clicking on the most recent text thread to a random number.
“What?” I whispered as I scrolled through the one-sided gibberish-filled responses. Each message filled with sentences that made no sense or were flat out lies. Each reply to him read the same – ‘This number has been disconnected or is no longer in service.”
“What the fuck?” I exited the thread then clicked another a couple lines down, this one even worse. Some of the words made no sense or were straight up not words, not a coherent sentence in sight. It must’ve been when we were actually really high. “This makes no fucking sense.” My scrolls increased in speed the higher in the thread I got. The color of the bubbles changed from blue to green after various ‘you’ve got the wrong number’ and ‘leave me the fuck alone’ text messages.
Taking my bottom lip between my teeth, I contemplated my options.
Stay silent and observe him.
Directly ask him about it.
Or… well that seemed like the only two.
But if there was something actually wrong, we needed to address it immediately. So, option two it was.
I stood up and walked anxiously to the door, then back again, shaking the nerves from my hands. I took a deep breath before opening the door and slowly coming out. I was prepared to confront him, chest puffed out and everything, but he was gone.
I briefly took a pace around the seemingly empty apartment when at the end of my lap I found the front door wide open. With each oddity I found, it built up a prickling fear in my body. The buzzing dread ran through my bone marrow like coolant, chilling every molecule in my carcass. I didn’t know what I was scared of or why – I had no idea what exactly I was dealing with – but it terrified me nonetheless.
I peeked my head out the open door turning it side to side like I was about to cross a road. He was nowhere to be found and now I had no idea where he was or if his brain was just as scrambled as the messages in his phone.
“Okay.” I said to myself while exhaling and turning around to the kitchen. “Okay Aspen, it’s fine you can handle this.” Talking myself through my pacing over the linoleum floor. I wanted to be this not-girlfriend and handle it myself, but it wasn’t realistic. I’d only known Austin for a couple months, and most of it we were high, I knew virtually nothing real about him.
But I knew who did.
I unlocked his phone and went to his favorites list, knowing the person I needed would be there.
And she was.
She was the only one on the list.
I let out a deep exhale knowing this wasn’t going to be fun and clicked her name. It rang and rang until it hit voicemail. “Augh!” I groaned impatiently, the time seemed to be thinning through some impending hourglass. I called again, this time going directly to voicemail. Again, voicemail, again, voicemail, back to back. “Fuck!”
Then in some stroke of genius I had the idea of calling her number from my phone – and it worked.
“Hello?” Answered a cautious voice from the other end.
“Hi.” I replied nervously, knowing that I was probably the last person she wanted to hear from.
“Aspen?”
“Yeah, um, I-“
“Listen, I don’t need some jealousy spiel-“ She began, rightfully thinking I’d be some ‘you can’t talk to your girl best friend’ girlfriend.
“It’s not that.” I interrupted urgently. “It’s Austin.” I stated quietly, nervously.
There was a pause, “What happened.”
I exhaled a breath I didn’t know I was holding and her recognition was like someone lifted the plug in an overflowing bathtub. Salty water filled my eyes and a quiver took hold of my voice, “Something is wrong.” was all I could manage. “I think I need your help.”
Elsie took a breath, “What happened.” She repeated, sounding frustrated but mostly concerned.
“I-I don’t know – He just, he left and-and,” The tears now flowing and my voice noticeably cracking, “He was just acting strange, and I don’t know where he is Elsie.” I sobbed, “Please, I don’t know what to do.”
I heard a rustle on her end, it was 11 pm and she was probably in bed. “Okay, strange how? – I’m changing and I’ll be on my way.”
“Well, I got out of the shower and I overheard him talking to someone…” I trailed off, steadying my breathing.
“Okay, who Aspen? C’mon I’m gonna need you to get it together.” She snapped hurriedly. It was clear she was just as, if not more, rattled by the situation as I was.
“Well, I-I overheard him talking to his Dad but I could’ve sworn he told me-“
“Wait, wait his dad?” She interjected immediately, “Are you sure that’s what you heard? You heard him say Dad?” Her demeanor significantly more urgent than before.
“Yes-Yes, I heard him clear as day. He said, ‘I love you Dad, say hi to Mom for me’.” Trying to emphasize the validity of my concern.
“Fuck,” She sighed, the locking click of her door loud in the background. “Okay, um, meet me in the city, I think I know where he is.”
When I arrived to the location Elsie had dropped me, I stood in front of a random diner named Harry’s Diner. My arms were wrapped around my frail body freezing from the rain that was pouring down over me the entire way there. I stood under the awning looking for Elsie when I saw her through the diner window, already inside talking to a waitress. From her body language I could tell it wasn’t good news. She noticed me and made her way over, the door dinged a bell when she pushed it open.
“He’s not in there.” She sighed defeated, “The waitress said that he was, but he left.”
“Fuck,” I let out, “Why would he come here? It’s just a random restaurant-”
“It’s not.” She cut me off sternly. “It doesn’t matter, that’s not important right now.” Waving off the details, “He just always ends up here.”
“Okay.” I shivered not wanting to push further. “Well, where the fuck else would he be?”
“I don’t know.” She sighed, bringing a hand to run through her wavy locks. The stress in the air between us was practically tangible.
Suddenly, I heard some rustling from behind us. “Do you hear that?” I whispered.
Elsie perked out her ear silently searching for the noise I was hearing, “Yeah I do.” Then the noise began to sound like whimpering, sobbing. “I think it’s coming from the alley.” Nudging her shoulder in the direction of it.
I nodded a silent agreement to quietly and cautiously walk over to check. In New York at midnight, an odd noise could be anything. Once we peeked past the wall, it was Austin, drenched in freezing rain, curled around himself pacing back and forth. Out of the corner of my eye I caught Elsie squeeze her eyes shut like she was preparing for the worst. It was evidently that she’d seen this before, he’d been here before. They’ve been here before.
We stepped towards him careful not to spook him off. “Austin.” Elsie whispered softly, catching his attention.
He looked up apprehensively, like a scared alley cat. Once he recognized her, he immediately went to her.
He went to her.
There was no hesitation, no second thought as he landed into her, sobbing into her shoulder.
She held him tight, rubbing his back quickly to warm him up. He was only in a plain white t-shirt and some sweatpants, exactly what he was wearing at home. He was shivering, teeth chattering, and his soaked clothes stuck to him like glue. His skin was so cold and pale, he was nearly purple and blue.
There was pain in both their bodies, I could feel it. Almost like they were feeling the same hurt together.
I knew from the beginning that there was something between them, but until now I didn’t realize just how special it was. I called it from the beginning. I knew it the moment I saw the way she looked at him, the way he looked at her. If I could see it this vividly, why couldn’t they?
I told Austin from the start that I’m just the lesson girl, the fun girl, the one you date before you settle down with the ‘bring-home-to-mom girl’, and I was right. I was looking right at her.
Sorry this update is so late 😅 i hope you enjoyed this one 👀 i know the past couple chapters have been a lot of build up, so i'm very excited to enter this new era of this series, big things to come 💗 Thank you to everyone who's stuck with me through these many chapters, I appreciate your patience for my love for writing slow burn & plot development LOL
Thank you for every like, reblog or comment, it means the world to me truly. I love hearing your thoughts and I'm glad you're liking my little story 💗
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#austin butler fanfic#austin butler x oc#austin butler fic#austin butler fanfiction#austin butler x fem!oc#austin butler#austin butler imagine#austin butler series#austin butler angst#austin butler sad#forever winter series#austin x elsie<3#austin x aspen#Spotify
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Writer ask game, let's go.
10, 19, 38, and 39 please
c:<
Shit. Oh shit, oh fuck.
Okay yeah let's do this, Mushy.
10. Do you set yourself deadlines?
I mean I definitely used to. I've said before that I got my start in National Novel Writing in a Month, or NaNoWriMo, where you write 50k words in 30 days. The org has since proven itself to be less than reputable with its recent scandal, but I still stand by the belief that endurance sprints like that are a great way to get the muscle formed to write long-form projects. And you can just do it too, you don't need the backing of a semi-scammy nonprofit.
But now? Not really. I kind of set goals to keep work moving. I'll be like hope I finish editing by the end of this week. But I very rarely make it a hard deadline with actual...I don't know. Stakes? My brain don't work like that.
19. How do you keep yourself motivated?
I stand by the methodology of giving yourself a little reward after writing sessions, although at this point I space mine out more than I would suggest newer writers to. For me this is usually a fun drink or nice little baked good - I'm especially fond of what I refer to as a medium-fancy cake. Something with mousse. But it can be anything really.
Small breaks also help, although I am less good at keeping up with that. I actually haven't taken a full day off in like three weeks but shh don't tell anyone. I'm also very fond of reading over what I've already written and just enjoying it. Or reading books that relate to my character's interests - I'm reading a very interesting book on bird lore that I know Edgar from Songbird Elegies would love.
38. Weirdest story idea you’ve ever had
My weirdest play is probably Naked Lunch: The Musical, which follows a happy-go-lucky, classic musical lover who gets roped into adapting the essentially grindhouse experimental William S. Burroughs novel into a musical and goes a little insane in the process. He imagines himself befriending the ghost of William S. Burroughs, and the ghosts convinces him that to adapt his work properly he needs to do a lot of drugs and have a lot of gay sex, both of which go very poorly. I think Lin Manuel Miranda is mentioned as an unseen side character that my protagonist sees in the audience and threatens to beat up?
And my weirdest novel turned play is Bloodletting, which is based from a dream I had when I was detoxing off of weed - I was like addicted, not a casual stoner. I essentially dreamt that someone made me drink their blood and the blood got me high again, and from that point I developed a sort of sci-fi world where street drugs are so potent that they turn the blood of addicts into a new intoxicant that they can then sell as its own drug. I think they can also sell their blood to major medical organizations and have it used in pharmaceuticals. I still like this concept and might reuse it since I can't find the finished play it turned into.
39. Weirdest character concept you’ve ever had
Bloodletting had a romantic couple made up of a drug dealer and the AI house he was squatting in. My second novel had a leitmotif of the characters experiencing a feeling of "static" in their heads that I later on made into a sentient side character. I think I wrote a short play with a cannibalistic Guy Fieri. I started writing another play based around Sonic the Hedgehog where it was planned for Shadow to non-ironically become a rabbi, but frankly if you consider his character I do not think that's too far from canon.
I'm still percolating a project to do either alongside or after Songbird that's like Armistead Maupin's Tales of the City but with an all-robot cast. And the main character eventually transitions from a human-passing robot to some form of non-human looking machine and is much happier for it. Which I'm excited to put to paper.
#writing community#writeblr#writers on tumblr#on writing#authors of tumblr#writing#queer writers#writing asks
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[ 𝖕𝖔𝖎𝖘𝖔𝖓𝖔𝖚𝖘 𝖔𝖇𝖘𝖊𝖘𝖘𝖎𝖔𝖓 ] — 4
>> Ghost x Reader, part FIVE
>> 18+
>> this was inspired by the tv show 'you'
Simon lit his second cigarette. He was standing across the street from the nightclub; this wasn’t his scene, and he hated places like this. But you might be in there, and he was willing to confront and endure things he despised if it meant he could see you, be near you, even if it was just for a second or two.
You were like a drug to him - addictive and lethal, and even when Simon tried to quit it, to stop thinking about you, he couldn’t and only fell deeper, his addiction growing worse.
The more he allowed it - you - to devour him, the more the darkness spread inside him, wrapping around his body, coating every inch of his skin, slowly, entrapping him, ensuring he remains oblivious until it’s time to snap back to reality. That’s when he will find himself trapped, unable to move, to stop or to turn back. He will have gone too far and it will be too late.
Simon tossed the cigarette to the ground, treading on it with the tip of his boot.
He put a little more effort into his appearance tonight than usual.
The subtle scent of his cologne lingered around him, leaving a trail of allure wherever he went.
Normally, he wore simple jeans and even plainer shirts, but today he dared to pull out and put on a leather jacket, which was an impulsive purchase and which he seldom wore since he felt odd in it.
He wasn’t blind, so when he glanced at himself in the mirror before going out, he knew he was going to catch your eye.
Tall. Muscular. Dark eyes, dazzling smile and deep voice. Unapproachable man with a frigid exterior who only seems to have his eyes on you. What woman wouldn’t like that?
He was confident that you would fall straight into his trap.
Simon entered the club, attempting to steer clear of people, but it was difficult since everyone kept bumping into each other, and there was no room for personal space - the place was overcrowded.
He rarely drank since alcohol dulled his senses , and he disliked not being fully conscious and aware of his surroundings. But if he was going to get through the night, he understood he needed a drink to stay calm.
He pushed his way to the bar. His stature towered over most people. Their heads snapped around to look at him because, even in the dim lighting, he still stood out against everyone.
The music was deafening, and there wasn’t a single song that Simon had enjoyed so far. However, others appeared to like it, and the dance floor was packed.
The lights were flashing, occasionally illuminating the space in different colors and making Simon grunt in frustration since it was hard to see, making it difficult for him to locate you in this crowd.
And what if you weren’t here? What if today was Simon’s unlucky Friday, and you chose to stay at home instead of going out?
Simon shoved those thoughts out of his head. He didn’t want to think about the worst-case scenario just yet. And he should probably have a drink before giving up and leaving.
The bartender took his time getting to Simon once he finally reached the counter, and the man took even longer to serve him his drink. However, after ten minutes of waiting, Simon was finally handed his glass of neat whiskey; he didn’t like cocktails, and he preferred his alcohol not to be diluted and, of course, with no ice.
He was lost in his thoughts. At first, he just watched the people and judged them. How could anyone think going to this club would be fun? It was dingy, gloomy and old, and the service was shit. However, when it came time to criticize you for coming here often too, Simon, of course, came up with an excuse for you.
Maybe your friends just kept inviting you here. Maybe it wasn’t your idea to keep coming back, but you didn’t want to say no and turn down an invitation to a girl’s night out, which, at this point, had become a tradition.
He preferred to imagine that you were the type of woman, who enjoyed staying at home, curling up on the couch and watching a movie with a bowl of popcorn instead of spending the night, drinking and partying, while trying to avoid drunk men, who were too confident and kept flirting, kept putting their hands on you, kept…
Simon took a deep breath. His thoughts were spiraling. He needed to stop for a minute because he was becoming enraged; his own mind was making him furious, and that wasn’t good. If you came here tonight, if he saw you here , he didn’t want to be in a sour mood.
Desperate for a nicotine fix, he stepped outside , hoping the fresh air would calm him. He moved away from the crowd, but not too far away from the entrance, since he wanted to keep his eyes open in case you showed up. After spending nearly an hour inside, he could safely conclude that you weren’t there.
“Simon?”
He was so concentrated on staring straight ahead that he didn’t notice you approaching him from behind.
He turned around, blowing out the smoke. He expected to see only you, but there were two other women standing a few steps behind you, their gazes fixed on him as they waited for you to finish speaking.
“Y/N, what are you doing here?”
“Isn’t it obvious? ” You asked, chuckling and playfully rolling your eyes at him. “But I must admit... I wasn’t expecting to see you here tonight.”
“Neither did I expect to run into you.” He said, which was a lie, but it’s not like you could ever figure that out.
After your last encounter, you thought you would never see him, but it was a pleasant surprise now because for the past few days, your mind occasionally wandered and you often recalled your interaction with the handsome stranger, who paid for your coffee.
“It’s perfect, actually.” You said, and he raised his eyebrows, waiting for you to continue. “Remember how I promised to find a way to repay you? So, after you’re done here, come inside and find me. I’ll buy you a drink.”
Simon's euphoria intensified, his awareness of the world diminishing as he locked his gaze on you, his eyes gently caressing the details of your face, tracing a path from the sparkle in your eyes to the allure of your lips.
He thought that he would have to figure out a way to get close to you, to make you want to talk with him and do it all without coming across as pushy or like he was stalking you. But it was you who made the first move.
You encouraged him to find you and insisted on buying him a drink. This was perfect. The way you came together felt like a perfect alignment of stars. It was almost as if fate had conspired to bring you together; it was almost as if you wanted to get to know him as much as he wanted to get to know you.
You left Simon without giving him a chance to object, not that he would have, either way.
He watched as you walked inside the club with your friends.
Mindy and Liz.
He knew enough about them to know that they were a bad influence on you.
Mindy grew up in a rich family. Everything was handed to her on a silver platter. The only drawback to her life was that, despite having it all, she was trapped in this small city and unable to leave. Her online profile was loaded with promiscuous pictures of herself, displaying the expensive items she owned, letting everyone know that money wasn’t an issue for her.
Liz was Mindy’s best friend; their mothers were quite close. To an outsider like Simon, it seemed like those girls just kept you around because you met their high standards, and you stuck around because even if you were aware of their awful personalities, they still were your friends.
Liz was almost as pompous as Mindy , and Liz was the one who introduced you to her (Simon knew this because he discovered one of many birthday posts on Mindy’s account in which you thanked Liz for bringing Mindy into your life).
Simon was still perplexed as to how you could be friends with them. They were polar opposites of you, possessing all the negative traits and characteristics that Simon was certain you didn’t have.
But, based on what he’s learned about you so far, you liked routine and never deviated from it, so perhaps they were just a part of your life, a part of your routine, that you didn’t want to change since you never stepped outside of your comfort zone.
It was also painfully clear that your social circle was small. Besides Matt, Mandy and Liz, there weren’t many people you spent time with. And Simon guessed that you weren’t close with your parents, either.
Simon shook his head. This was not the time to start overthinking and over-analyzing. You were waiting for him. It was time to act because this was his chance to become a part of your life, a part of your routine.
He was going to count tonight as a success if it ended with you giving him your phone number.
For the time being, being able to text you and perhaps call you to invite you on a date would have to suffice.
He didn’t want to be obnoxious and pushy. He wanted everything to be perfect, and perfection couldn't be rushed.
#PoisonousObsession:Ghost#call of duty#cod#simon ghost riley#simon riley x reader#simon riley x you#simon ghost x reader#simon riley#ghost x reader#ghost cod#ghost x you#ghost x y/n
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A Different Undertale: Main Cast Summary
Content warning:
Frisk: Climbed Mount Ebott when playing with their friends. Fell and got amnesia. Actually takes the name of the first fallen human because of this. Goofy and childish. Naive. Easily manipulated because of their amnesia and general nativity and gullibility.
Flowey: If a monster body can't handle determination how would a lowly flower be able to? That's the logic I went with here. The determination and continued resets take a toll on Flowey's body. Due to his constant suffering he views the world through a pessimistic lense. More like a travel buddy for Frisk, constantly manipulating them to their bidding. Doesn't actually want to harm anyone, especially not Frisk, as they feel genuinely grateful for their help, but steal the souls to try and stop or at least delay his own demise.
Toriel: After being banished to the Ruins she lost all hope and began to deteriorate mentally. Delusional and has blotchy memories. Still kind and gentle but keeps mistaking you for her children. Doesn't remember who killed her kids but knew it was someone she loved and trusted. Somehow she begins to believe you killed her children and that's why you want to leave so soon. Similar to Horrortale and Underfell Toriel.
Sans: His magic became too strong and due to a combination of over exertion, low stats, laziness, drug addiction, and his loss of hope, his body began to deteriorate. He's basically a walking body made of dust puppeted by his soul. The only thing giving him a reason to live is taking care of his brother. Using magic, including shortcuts, causes him great pain. Smokes and drinks. Buys drugs off Grillby. Similar to Underfell Sans. Eye glows....grey. One hit is all it takes to shatter him completely. In genocide he doesn't even need to dodge as he's basically just dust now meaning your attacks have no effect.
Papyrus: Suffers from extreme autism and ADHD. Has little control over his body and magic. Still an expert with puzzles but they're more of his pastime. Needs constant attention and stimulation. Sans usually keeps him on a child leash to make sure he's not mugged or shanked or something. However most monsters actually really like him and most gangs even help him. A shining hope in the underground, showing there is good out there. Similar to Horrortale and Axetale Papyrus. Almost completely mute only speaking in jumbled words and an occasional NYEH. Sans translates what he means to the best of his ability.
Undyne: The cruel captain of the Royal Guard. Ashamed of the person she's become which is why she rarely removes her helmet. Sent to execute innocents and usually follows through. Refuses to kill children or queer people (as long as being queer is their only "crime") so she "accidently" lets them get away. The only person who can access Alphys. Secretly lesbian but won't come out due to fear of being removed from the Royal Guard.....or worse. Stays in the Royal Guard only because she's afraid of someone worse taking over. Still hates humanity but comes around pretty easily. If anything were to happen to her friends she might just finally snap.
Alphys: A "criminal" due to possessing human objects, being bisexual, and also illegal experimentation (honestly that's the only real crime here). Ashamed of herself. Isolated and hidden in her lab which has high security designed to only allow humans and or Undyne. Due to her isolation she has terrible eyesight. "Sees" by sensing Infrared heat like snakes. Nervously shakes ALOT. Has a lisp and a stutter and just generally has trouble talking. Has a huge crush on Undyne but doesn't want to get her in trouble.
Asgore: Has a genuine hatred for humanity after they sealed his kind underground and cursed them suffering. A cruel leader who hates anything the humans made. Doesn't even burry the humans just stores their corpses in his corpse room to intimidate the next humans. Doesn't even want freedom. Just likes killing humans. There's a small bit of his original kind and gentle self in there. Similar to Underfell Asgore. Cold. Destroys the Mercy and Fight buttons. Forcing you to just stall.
Mettaton: He was able to avoid execution for being so....Mettaton by promising to "bring hope and happiness to the underground." In other words....he's a sex worker. Hotland has become one big strip club. Many monsters hate him because he avoided execution by offering over his body. He's viewed as a cheater and able to be free. But really he's just as trapped as everyone else. Forced to stay in his ex form 90% of the time and has come to hate it. He's also come to hate Alphys for ditching him. He's become almost as pessimistic as Napstablook now. He buys drugs from Muffet to cope but they don't really have an effect besides gunking up his machinery. His body was also made more sexually appealing and even more feminine. All of his dreams of acting have been taken away and replaced with an eternity of dancing poles. He's similar to Lusttale Mettaton and Angel Dust from Hazbin Hotel
Napstablook: After his cousin left their dying snail farm Napstablook turned to drugs. They smuggled them from Grillby's as they didn't want to be seen but at least they always left money on the counter on their way out. Unfortunately the drugs dont do anything for Napstablook because they're a ghost and the drugs are corporeal. If they would've asked for ghost drugs Grillby probably would've asked Muffet to make them since who would pass up an opportunity for a whole new group of customers but Napstablook doesn't like to talk to people and prefers isolation. They are also suicidal and similar to most Horrortale Napstablook interepretations they make a noose with their tears which is what they're doing when you first meet them. Unfortunately since their a ghost they can never truly rest in peace.
Monster Kid: Hangs around with other gangs who are a bad influence on the child. They're violent and aggressive. They still admire Undyne (though they pretend not to, to seem cool) and get under her skin and she comes close to killing them a couple times. They actually do die in the neutral and genocide routes. In neutral they fall off the bridge before anyone can save them and in genocide they are killed before Undyne can arrive. They are incredibly petty and jealous towards those with arms which is almost everyone.
Temmies: Tem has taken advantage of her intelligence. She runs a cultist gang of Temmies worshipping the all knowing egg. She keeps the loyal by manipulating them and getting them high on Grillby's drugs. She believes herself to be too smart for college and just wants all the money for the hell of it. Sends her Temmie hordes on heists and has them donate their riches to the egg's donation box which just so happens to lead to Tem's underground weapons shop. She sells great weapons at high prices and is a pretty influential terrorist of the underground. The only Tem she hasn't converted yet is Bob. He sits in the corner of the abandoned Tem Village (they relocated to a new area known as Tem Empire or Tempire) and thinks about how far he let things get out of hand....and if he should just follow everyone else.
Grillby: A drugs dealer in Snowdin. One of the kinder monster though. He's greedy and will kill anyone who pisses him off. But won't go out of his way to hurt anyone and at the end of the day he's just trying to provide for his family. He doesn't make drugs just sells them though sometimes he spices them up with fire magic. He's well liked in Snowdin....too well liked as he's afraid someone's gonna let slip about his underground operation. He makes sure to butter the dogs up with treats in his "apartment" and let them play poker. Misses his daughter but was forced to move away to Snowdin when Muffet threatened not to supply him with anymore products if he didn't move further away from her shop.
Muffet: Money isn't the root of all evil. It's people's greed that makes them evil. And none are more evil than Little Miss Muffet. Little Miss Muffet sat on her tuffet making her joint and weed. When along came cops who told her to stop but they're just food for her pet to eat. She makes all the drugs in the underground and sells them to other vendors only asking for a third of the revenue. She may sound like a great boss. But if you don't pay her in time you'll find yourself on the wrong side of her web. She already helped save the spiders from the Ruins due to her immense influence. She just wants the money to fill her putrid black heart. She may be cruel but deep down she's really just a scared little girl. Trying to prove herself to adults and not get pushed around. The only people who truly understand her are her spiders.
Mad Mew Mew: She's already transitioned due to her dummy body being destroyed in a fit of rage from Undyne and her finding this body dumped in the trash by the guards who raided Alphys human junk. Shes content with this body. But the underground doesn't take to lightly to queer folks. Asgore thinks it's something the humans made up and thus must be evil. And so Mew Mew is considered a criminal just for being herself. But if she's gonna be a criminal she might as well own it. She's gonna be the Undergrounds greatest criminal. Cause if she's going down she's taking all these other motherfuckers down with her. She leads a gang of other oppressed people and commits small misdemeanors and attacks those rude guards. Always being careful to avoid capture. She's one of the top crooks on Undyne's radar. And yet Undyne can't bring herself to capture and execute her. Undyne understands her struggles but doesn't agree with how she goes about dealing with them. They fight on the battlefield but in secret they hang out. They have a frenemy relationship. Undyne is trying to convince Mew to join the guard to at least offer her some protection but she's decided on raining hell in the Underground just to see the look on the guards face when they realize they messed with the wrong trans kitty.
River Person: Hope can be found in the strangest of places. River Person has gone quiet. Communicating through actions rather than words. Ferrying those who are worthy and drowning those who aren't. They drown very few people though. They try to see the good or rather potential for good in everyone. They believe there is hope for this world. That people can and will change. And that one day very soon peace will be returned. Until then they'll just hum their little tune in their riverboat and pray for a better tomorrow.
Annoying Dog: God has left this world
Asriel: Hopes and Dreams are a thing of the past. Asriel was born in a world with no Hopes, no Dreams, no Love. They befriended Chara but were distant from the rest of their family. They helped Chara move in their wheelchair and wanted to believe humanity was good....but one day disaster struck. Asriel and Chara were picking flowers. Chara knew very little about flowers and made a pie with them for Asriel's 12th birthday.....and poisoned him. The buttercups they picked poisoned the young monster and he passed away soon after.... As Flowey he blames Chara for everything. For the way the underground is. For the way he is. And for giving him hope that humanity was capable of anything but cruelty. He hates humans he hates monsters and wants them all to burn in hell alongside him. Even after regaining his true form he's covered in melting scars like a decaying corpse. Because some wounds never heal.
Chara: The first human who fell. They climbed Mount Ebott to bring joy to Monsterkind but ended up falling and breaking countless bones. They became wheelchair bound but Asriel and Toriel cared for them. They loved flowers and baking but weren't good at recognizing flowers. This lead to Asriel's death. Chara was stricken with grief and blamed them self which may be why they didn't fight back when Asgore killed them. It's said that when you enter the King's throne room you can still hear their laughter.
Gaster: His fall into the Core was no accident. He saw the decent of Monsterkind. And didn't want to around long enough to see it. So he fell into the Core. However even in death monsters are doomed to suffer. As he didn't die. He's stuck watching the world he tried to help spiral into hell unable to help. In intense pain his new goal is finding a way to put this world out of its misery.
#sans#undertale#napstablook#papyrus#toriel#undertale aus#asgore#Flowey#chara#frisk#asriel#undyne#alphys#temmie#mettaton#Monster Kid#grillby#gaster#Muffet#Annoying Dog#river person#mad mew mew#A different Undertale#Dark themes#Content warning#I put those tags at the bottom because yes#If you're still reading these tags you're probably bored
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Im laying my bets now. the entire idea that autism (and adhd) is more common in men and boys is pure myth created by poor science, backwards statistics and faulty parameters of the condition itself. in another 50 years we will understand it was never a gendered condition. just a highly gendered and biased measurement system. i'm absurdly confident on that
the rates of autism in girls is "rising" exponentially. it is rising even more exponentially in girls than in boys. not because girls are becoming more autistic. but because the "science" is just getting better at measuring and accurately acknowledging autism in girls.
autism often does present differently in girls, due to how girls are raised or personality differences. the literature and criteria was based on boy sample groups. the entire research data was done on white men as if that is a standard default person and control group.
not only that, doctors and teachers and parents literally were not looking for it in girls under the false widely propagated belief it was rare in women in girls. it is a self fulfilling prophecy. that's not science.
we will soon have to reckon with the lost generations of autistic girls and women and children assigned female at birth* who never got diagnosis and early intervention. we should be forcing the world to reckon with it right now. a great deal of autistic millennial women are brilliant minds who dropped out of STEM and the workforce due to their untreated and misidentified disability overtaking their life. the impact of never Knowing you or your child is autistic or adhd is difficult to comprehend for autistic and adhd people who did get diagnosed as children. even when the awareness and interventions were unhelpful or harmful. the harm of not knowing means the child trying even harder to become neurotypical and a level of autistic burnout few others on the spectrum can comprehend, often taking place after the woman is a legal adult, and there are no legal protections in place for this disabled person.
the unmitigated stress of being developmentally delayed and never knowing it, simply hating and blaming yourself and fighting day in and out past your limits to become neurotypical, limits your don't know you should have because you have never been so much as briefed on what adhd or autism can feel like. you don't know the distres and tiredness you're feeling is "dysregulation". this is why we see women in nervous breakdowns. psychiatric wards. treatment resistant depression. electric shock therapy. hard drug addiction. cutting. homelessness. personality disorders. dissociation. psychosis. early death by accident or suicide. (obviously people who are not autistic or adhd have these illnesses but my point is untold and disproportionate numbers of them are undiagnosed neurodivergent with unprocessed trauma. i'm telling you. more than you think).
it's why we see young people on tiktok not faking DID per say, but describing a dissociated experiences and fractured sense of self and escapist alternate personalities, a mental illness that has much less in common with traditional DID, but has much in common with struggling and under-treated autistic people. DID is a very rare condition. autism is very common. autism can create out of body experiences and self protective blurring of reality and fantasy so extreme, no person can be expected to understand it is autism if they never been advised about their own disability and the knowledge that should he available to them. it's no wonder we have people with mislabeled rare disorders like DID who are clearly very sick but instead of showing real DID signs, are sick with all the signs of severe unassisted autism they have been completely barred from understanding or coping with in any other way. for those lucky enough, we see unemployed young women with severe chronic pain in their 20s and 30s who look and feel like they're elderly and gave up their dreams when they hit 21 or 25 and their brains stopped working and their bodies shut down. now they mostly scroll tumblr and tiktok and try to remember to open the blinds. they have a roof but people scorn them for entitled laziness and worst of all derided for "self diagnosing".
again i'm asking why CFS chronic fatigue syndrome is so responsive to adderall. i'm asking why professionals are reluctant to test women for adhd if she does well in school because she is very bookish and why experts in the field are openly amused and doubtful to test a woman for autism if she has a long term boyfriend. why is ability to mask or function a disqualification. why is inability to function in women, who later turn out to be autistic or adhd, so aggressively mischaracterized as BPD, bipolar, depression, OCD, schizophrenia. why is autism and adhd clinically diagnosed and defined by distress and dysfunction and not by intrinsic traits and qualities that present while still functional for preventative care. why are all people, men and women forced to wait until their lives and minds are deteriorating and they have experienced some irreversible disasters and pain before they can be diagnosed. why must girls and boys wait until their daily life as children have become unbearable hell for them before their disability can be treated and acknowledged. and if these policies are changing now, why are doctors and psychiatrists not eagerly and urgently reaching out to find the vulnerable adults they missed during more archaic screening methods. we aren't rising in adhd diagnosis because of tiktok you assholes. adult onset adhd and autism don't exist. those people were always adhd. adult onset skill regression and increase in severity due to stress DOES happen in adulthood. modern day stresses like loss of structure during the pandemic and social media is advancing to become more attention span draining. everyone is feeling the effects but these are causing adhd and autistic people to cope less and mask less effectively so they are running into significant problems, their loved ones are noticing, they are getting referrals and suddenly forced to google their rapidly worsening mental issues for the first time and seeing they line up with a known neurological condition . this is obvious. doctors blaming it on some sort of trend are being willfully clueless
*because autism especially is screened identified diagnosed and first intervened ages 2-5, before a child has an internal concept of self or gender and above all before they can express their gender, diagnostic practices and criteria are based on how adults perceive a child via birth assignments. and the studies are overwhelmingly beholden to data only on children assigned male at birth, rarely accounting for their actual future gender either. as part of the warped science insisting that autism is as if somehow linked to the y chromosome and not a universally likely human quality, you see amab kids laser focused on as candidates and afab kids fucked over most of all. all children assigned female have the worst chances of their developmental disability being identified and acknowledged in a timely manner and disproportionately experience late diagnosis in later adolescence or adulthood. tho i wouldn't be surprised if trans womens rates of accurate diagnosis is lower than cis men. as trans girls may present autism differently and characteristic of girls autism, even while still in the closet or before she knows she is trans. regardless adults are very vigilant for signs of autism, even atypical ones, in any child they perceive as a boy. so any millennial or gen z child identified female at birth had significantly worse chance at receiving autistic support compared to peers
in particular women assigned male at birth might have a better chance at being identified for types of autism that are often labeled "high functioning", involves high masking, and often receives few services. these more invisible types of autism often need to be diagnosed before age 5 in order to qualify under the criteria at all. and so in the days where autism was believed to be 20x more common in the genetics of xy children, any chance of being considered and diagnosed would come down to almost purely birth assignment dependent. with the less outwardly visible types of autism, a person who misses this window will remain autistic all their life but once they learn a certain level of skills and masking, no matter how late they learn these, the person will no longer qualify for diagnosis, either not until they have a nervous breakdown or possibly not ever qualify. it's this type of more hidden autism we see struggling across the board as undiagnosed adults including both trans and cis women especially, tho we are seeing it disproportionately even more so in undiagnosed afabs of any gender. who are dropping out of schooling and work and succumbing to severe mental illnesses during what should be the prime of their lives. overall tho birth assignment is not everything this is an issue that disproportionately impacts cis women. trans women. trans men. non-binary people. likely doubling for those that are afab. and then tripling and quadrupling for children who are not white.
bit of an understatement in that last part there. gender likely isn't even the biggest barrier to proper diagnosis and treatment. probably race is even more so. but since gender is such a big disparity in itself across race and one i relate to and can speak on from experience ive focused on it here. a more in-depth look is needed on the neglect of adhd and autistic children of color especially black native and latino kids. but for now do keep in mind the points i'm making increase exponentially for kids who aren't white across all genders including cis boys
#this is dramatic and long but it's a dramatic situation that is completely slept on in the public eye#it's not just about me this is about people who had it so much worse. tho my insider experience obviously brought it to my attention#i'm pretty sure i'm not autistic im adhd but the reality of adhd is a lot more like autism than we are acknowledging#a topic for another day#autism in women#adhd in women#atypical autism#adhd inattentive#undiagnosed autistic#undiagnosed neurodivergent#undiagnosed autism#undiagnosed adhd
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So like, liquid luck makes you choose outcomes that will benefit you. Which means that the potion gives some level of foresight/omniscience (sorta like Hong Bellamy), not that the user is aware of it.
So... why don't all wizards abuse the shit out of that? What are the limitations? Why didn't Voldemort drink some before going to the battle? Why don't ministry of magic candidates use it to get the job? We don't students use it to cheat on tests?
WHY THE FUCK DID SLUGHORN GIVE THIS INCREDIBLY POWERFUL MAGICAL POTION TO A STUDENT?????
I imagine it makes you the equivalent of an NFA, at each decision point there are multiple probable outcomes, and the potion makes it such that you get the highest ranking path that leads to the most probable good result.
The obvious answer is JKR only came up with it in book 6, had an "oh fuck" moment when she realized everyone and their brother would use it all the time, and came up with weird exceptions for why it's never used.
JKR does this a lot with things like portkeys, time turners, you name it. It will suddenly exist in a book and either be treated like it was there the whole time or all the time turners in the world get smashed in book 5 and so the Death Eaters can never ever get one.
But this is a Watsonian blog so I have to try.
Canonically we're given a few reasons.
The Time Ingredients, and Skill of the Potion
When we're introduced to felix felicius it's noted that it's highly expensive to make with its base materials being both rare and luxury items (I believe gold is an ingredient).
Ron, Harry, and Hermione once casually debate making it themselves but take a look at the price tag and shudder.
It also takes a large amount of time. A batch has to be very carefully brewed over a six month period. This requires a) not only buying all the material but b) having the time to dedicate to the brewing.
It's also noted as a particularly difficult potion to brew and outside the skillset of most wizards.
There's Presumably Some Means of Detection
It's noted right away that the use of the potion is forbidden in job applications, examinations, and sporting events. This is why Hermione nags at Harry when she thinks he gave the potion to Ron. What this assumes is that there's some drug testing in the wizarding world where they can and will catch you if you try to use it in these settings.
(Nevermind we never see the students drug tested but let's just play along with it for now.)
Presumably, some very wealthy people do try this now and then, but if they have that kind of money it's probably easier to just buy the answer sheet or else buy the position.
It's Highly Addictive and Messes with Your Thought Process
Say all of the above doesn't bother you. You have the time, talent, money, and are sure you can escape detection or are using it in a situation where it doesn't matter if anyone knows you're using it.
There's still some issues.
The first is that it's highly addictive. If you keep using it, you will become addicted to it, which is a problem if you can't afford the materials, have to have a batch constantly on hand when it's a six month brewing process, and suffer whatever physical and mental side effects come with addiction.
So, already, if you use it, you want to save it for when you truly need it.
Second is that what we see from Harry it seriously fucks with your reasoning ability. Harry when on felix felicius acts like he's high, is unable to explain any of his decisions when asked, and acts on impulse guided by gut feelings.
He's not really in control of his actions.
Now, Harry's fine with that, but I don't see Tom Riddle being alright with that even if, in theory, it will make the outcome of an event more likely.
Probability is Only Probable
What felix felicius seems to do is make you make the right decision at the right time to get the most likely outcome of an event.
However, that doesn't guarantee an outcome of the probability is simply too low or else the event is impossible. If you're going to lose the battle then you're going to lose the battle.
What might happen is that felix felicius makes you choose something with some other outcome (less bad but not the worse) where you in the aftermath have no idea why you chose to do that and can't justify it to yourself.
Had Harry not been able to get the Slughorn memory even after drinking the potion (or had to do something truly awful to do it) then Harry would have declared the potion bullshit even if he got some other, good, result or got the memory in a way he didn't like.
Conclusion
I can see why people don't take it.
Harry would, but he's very stupid. However, he doesn't have the patience for it.
#harry potter#harry potter meta#harry potter headcanon#felix felicius#anti harry potter#tom riddle#meta#headcanon#opinion
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