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sunny6677 · 2 years

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Crumbled Papers

A (Hetalia) Japan x Male! Reader

Chapter 4

(READ THE TAGS FOR THE TWS)

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Chirping of crickets sounded from outside, as the shadows of the night came pouring down onto the lands of Japan's place.

The moon reflected still onto the land, bringing some natural light for those whom were out and about. Y/N was still awake, for he hadn't enough relaxation to sleep.

The light inside the bedroom was on and shining, making it practically the only room in the house with a light on.

Y/N looked at the thin poem he wrote on only a few hours ago, and then looked at his phone. 8:59. Japan was going to be coming any minute now.

Maybe then he could finally rest. He wouldn't have any unnecessary worry of getting hurt, he didn't have any comprehensive suggestion in his mind as to why he felt paranoid of someone inflicting harm on him when he himself was a country and experienced with fighting in his own right.

The inner machinations of his mind plagued him, his mouth went dry and his skin felt cold.

Fearful; that was the perfect way to describe how he felt. But why? He had never felt scared upon going to any other nations house, so why Japan's?

A rumbling sound crept up from outside, the sound of a car pulling up. It was 9:00, and a car had arrived. It must've been Japan.

Or at least he assumed so. Y/N stood up, and paced over to the door. He slid it open, and peeked out.

From inside the thin walls, he heard Japan's low voice and America's loud one speaking with one another outside.

Relief soothed his heart, the irrational thoughts of his mind insisting he was in danger became quieter.

The front door then slid open, revealing those familiar eyes of simbersite that held such a weird brightness to him once more.

Japan was back, and now, Y/N could finally sleep without any paranoia stinging his body.

"Oh, herro, Y/N-kun." Greeted Japan, just noticing Y/N peeking from inside the room.

Y/N looked away softly from hize gaze, and returned a simple; "Hey, heheh.."

Japan walked in, and slid the door closed again.

Y/N was unsure of what the japanese man had been doing, as he only began to walk towards the table inside the living room.

Japan sighed slightly, as Y/N only kept staring in curiosity.

Miriam Jasper eyes stared back at him after a few seconds, and he felt his skin grow warm.

"Eto.. do you need something?" Asked Japan, uncomfortably expressing a look of concern for his new roommate.

"A-- Ahm.. no, no! Not at all.. heheh, I'll, um.. just head back in here." Y/N laughed awkwardly as he then proceed to close the door to the room he would now call his bedroom until his house was repaired.

A fire of anxiety clinged to him, yet it didn't seem to be the same hellfire from before.

Y/N's heart beat at a rapid rate, why was this happening to him?

There was no reason for his heart to even be beating, there was no reason for the weird warmth that stayed on his body, there was no need for the needlessly quick replies.

So why was he doing it?

Y/N sighed a shivering sigh, as he clasped a hand over his chest.

He could feel it pounding against his chest, and anxiety clinged to his mentality again, yet not for any sort of paranoid reason in particular.

From behind the door, he heard slow and gentle footsteps, and without thinking-- he contorted his body towards the floor in a sitting position, as not to seem like he was just standing there for no reason the entire time.

Well, at least he tried to get into a sitting position.

His legs sprawled on the ground, his hands and arms supporting his upper torso, his head facing up at the ceiling. He looked more like he was in pain; before he could even think, the door slid open once more.

"Um, aporogies--" "N-- No.. No need to. Ah-- um, sorry, that was rude of me, continue.." Y/N only just realized how fast he cut off the man whoms eyes he grew so familiar with.

The man shot a look of concern for a brief moment, before continuing with what he was saying.

"Eto.. have you had anything to eat, Y/N-kun?" Politely asked Japan, placing a hand on the wall as he stepped in slowly.

"Anything to eat? Ah, um.. I've had some water to drink today, and a bit of chips, I think that's, uh.. it." Stammered Y/N.

"Rearry? Thats arr? My sincerest aporogies, if I had known how rittle you had eaten, I would have maken you something sooner." Japan bowed his head, a look of sadness brushing his face like a hand caressing someone's cheek.

"Ah, no-- no need, um.. you don't have to make me something if you don't want to, I'll manage." Y/N put up a hand defensively, not wanting Japan to do something for him like that so soon.

He didn't want to make Japan feel as if he had to do something for him just because he was staying there a while.

"Besides, I need to lose some weight anyway.. about time I started losing some." Added Y/N, but that only made the look of sadness on Japan's face more intense.

Japan's face looked like he just witnessed a puppy in a movie be murdered or something.

Japan didn't say anything to that, as a matter of fact, he only gave a even more intense look of concern.

It was starting to become apparent that Y/N was probably not going to be left alone after saying something like that.

A flicker of empathy flashed in his eyes, and he held a look of passionate dedication.

His voice became only slightly louder as he said; "Sushi. Amerika-kun said that was what you riked, right?"

"Eh?"

"Werr, i'rr go ahead and make you some."

"Wha-- what?! Japan, you really don't have to, man. I-- I can make some myself--"

"No, I want to make you some. It wourd be imporite of me to make you make your own. Prease, ret me herp you."

Y/N couldn't think of what to say, and finally, after endless thoughts screamed at him to not let him-- he gave in. With a bow of the head, he said; "Al.. Alright, I'll come out and eat then."

"But.. don't feel like you have to do this, I don't want you to feel pressured or anythin-- anything.." Y/N kept his face down, and fidgeted with his hands anxiously. Japan only replied with: "I don't feer pressured. I promise."

As genuine as his glowing eyes of bronzite looked, an aching feeling told Y/N that he was only doing it because he felt like he had to. And that only made beads of sweat accumulate from his skin even more.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Y/N sat with his legs crossed at the small dinner table in the living room, Japan had finished the food he had so wonderfully crafted just for him. Taking small bites(as not to leave a bad impression), he kept glancing over at Japan occasionally.

Japan would be staring at his own lap sometimes, or sometimes he would glance back at Y/N, causing Y/N to look back down at his food and keep eating.

The food was wonderful, delicious I every way. No wonder he enjoyed sushi so much if this was coming from the man who invented it basically.

Y/N kept eating away, when randomly, Japan's low velvety voice began to speak. "Eto.. after this, maybe you shourd get some rest. You deserve some after what you went through." Suggested Japan, giving him(Y/N) a glance of worry.

Y/N rather fastly looked away almost immediately and spoke: "Um-- yeah, maybe I should! Hahaha.. it has been a long day after all, eheheh.."

Y/N only found that Japan's eyes of dark brown looked at him with even more worry.

"Your being oddry jorry for someone who just rost their home.. are you sure your arright?" Asked the asian man, cocking his head to the side out of curiosity for the state of this random strangers mental well being.

"Y-- Yes, I am, no need to fear.. or-- or worry.." Y/N stuttered back in response, and looked to the half-eaten sushi he had in the little utensils that the Japanese folks used.

Half of the sushi had been eaten from how good it was, but the increasing sense of nervousness flooding the room was making anymore sushi hard to stomach.

Y/Ns lips quivered, and he turned to look at the bedroom.

Sighing, they hurriedly spoke in a fast voice; "I.. um.. I think I'm full now, thank you, Japan.. for the, uh.. meal.. I'm sorry if I seem a bit hard to talk to today."

"Hard to tark to? No, you don't seem that way at arr.. sorry if i made you feer that way."

"No-- no, it's not you! It's just, uh.. i.. I'm just gonna put this up and head to bed now. See you.. well, not see you, you.. nevermind."

Y/N stood up at the speed of light, picked up the food, and quickly threw it away.

Racing thoughts of anxiety plagued him as he paced fastly toward the bedroom, and slid it closed.

Now that he was really alone, he could sulk by his lonesome til Japan came to bed too. Well, he wouldn't be by his lonesome for long.. Japan would come in to sleep soon.

Y/N let out a groan, why was he like this?! He shouldn't have been so nervous out there, Japan was just talking to him!

There was no need to feel scared of him, was there? So why was he acting this way-- no, feeling this way?

Y/N looked at the pajamas neatly packed in the corner of the room, the pajamas he owned.

With a sigh, he took them, and began to slip them onto himself. This was going to be a long night of trying to sleep, for sure.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Japan had came in now, and currently, the light was turned plain off. Japan was sleeping right in front of the window, while Y/N slept on the right side of the room in a different futon.

He had to admit though, the futon was indeed quite comfortable.

He didn't know why, but with another person in a room with him, he always managed to sleep without any paranoia whatsoever. Yet this time was different, but it didn't feel like paranoia exactly.

Maybe it was because he barely knew this man, that was the only possible reasonable explanation.

Y/N yawned softly, and turned over to face the wall. He stuffed the blanket more closer onto the upper-half of his body, and hid in it like a little child.

He always felt soothed by big blankets, they made him feel at peace with himself.

He softly breathed in and out, but before slumber could pull him in into its tight embrace, he heard Japan talk once more.

"Werr, goodnight, Y/N.."

Y/N swallowed.

"Goodnight, Japan.."

#hetalia #japan x reader #aph japan #y/n #tw implied starvation of ones own self #tw implied depression #tw paranoia

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cupcakeslushie · 8 months

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⚠️ TW: gaslighting/manipulation, starvation, implied cannibalism, vomiting (non graphic), self harm, mental and physical abuse of a child.

This one goes pretty dark, please read at your own discretion!

Leo Arc Part 3

First | Prev | Next

The mind is a complicated machine, and it protects itself in strange ways.

Starting to think Leo knows more than he’ll admit when it comes to remembering his brothers?

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surplus-of-sarcasm · 3 months

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31st Story, Part 2

TW: Blood, implied past captivity and torture, stitches, wound description, angst, corrupt system, issues regarding figure (brief), bruises, angst, knife, touch starvation

Part 1

Guess who's back with a hella long piece. vacay from college for some time with semester 1 over, woo! enjoyyy 💙

“So how did you sleep?” the vigilante asked as she walked downstairs to find the villain sitting cross-legged on her couch.

“Well,” he answered evenly, emotionlessness overtaking his tone as usual. It wasn't a complete lie; he'd slept better than he had in a long time, but his eyes had wrenched open a little after sunrise, even though he wasn't a morning person. He couldn't relax too much into this life, the knife he took shoved into the pocket of his sweatpants, but she didn't need to know that.

“I'll make us breakfast,” she announced.

“I'll help you out,” he offered, even though he knew she could probably infer what his motives were. He still wasn't taking any chances anyway.

She nodded curtly in response, leading him to the kitchen. And he'd almost wished someone had warned him about the whiplash of doing something so outlandishly casual with your enemy, as he watched her make a sandwich and soon enough followed suit, still hyper aware of the knives and the boiling water in the kettle.

And of course, nothing was lost on Vigilante, even if she probably wasn’t half as nervous as he was, the half-frantic, wild animal wrapped in the poorly fitting garment of someone calm and collected. “Are you always this tense?” she questioned as she sat down at the table and he sat opposite from her.

“Just hungry,” he shot back smoothly, a seasoned liar. Sure, he technically was half-starved, trying to eat slowly just so he wouldn’t retch, but if that was the case, he would’ve relaxed when he ate.

The vigilante said nothing as she took a bite of her sandwich, but her disbelieving eyebrow raise needed no further additions.

The villain’s grip tightened on his mug as he worried his frayed bottom lip between his teeth,”What do you want? If you’re going to question every micro-gesture of mine, then why’d you bring me here?” His voice was hoarse with exhaustion, probably from all the screaming he couldn’t muffle, not that he cared.

“I get it,” the vigilante said placatingly, even though it was clear she was somewhat irritated. She wasn’t a goddamn bleeding heart just oozing compassion and patience, not that he expected any different. “You’re afraid of getting hurt.”

“I am not afraid of crap, Vigilante.” It came out softer than he’d intended, almost as though he was the one trying to calm the situation, a new trait of people-pleasing a new and heavily despised survival skill he’d recently acquired.

The vigilante wanted to argue, but she also knew that from the day she’d walked into his cell and pulled him out, that she’d been walking on thin ice. That the man in front of her wasn’t his normal, unflappable self that could dish out a lot worse than whatever she dared to throw at him, so for the rest of this tense, awkward breakfast, they both remained quiet.

It had taken them about two hours of trepidation spent in the opposite ends of the living room for Vigilante to break the silence. “So, about the plan,” she started.

“Yeah?” he asked, now turning to face her.

“We can’t fight her by traditional means. We don’t have the time to amass an army big enough to rival my sister’s own. The main thing we need to do is find some way to desecrate that shining image of hers,” she explained.

The villain let out a low hum as though he was contemplating something, but the slight shift in the nature of his gaze indicated he’s noticed something. “Knocking your sister off of her pedestal is surely going to gain you some traction,” he noted.

“I don’t care much for the spotlight,” she countered.

“I know. But you seem to care about making sure your sister doesn’t have everything. Still, that isn’t the issue anyway.”

And again, he was right. There is something so utterly sickening of being born in someone’s shadow, of having all your power from someone else’s name. Vigilante was only formidable in people’s eyes because it was required of Superhero’s sister. Again, she’d never claimed to be dramatically selfless.

Still, she took note of how the villain made no effort at eye contact, his eyes trained on the pattern of her wooden coffee table, but she refrained from commenting. “Right. The general idea is, if the adoring public find out what she does to the people in her custo-”

The villain, in his most daring act of the day, had let out a sardonic snort. “Oh, save it. I don’t think you realise that how people like me are treated doesn’t really irk anyone. Because that’s how the world works, it’s easier like that. I’m not the most notorious, but it’s safe to say I’m ‘famous’ enough,” he made air quotations with his fingers, “People usually want to know about the trial, when it comes to people they’ve heard of, but no one gave a damn. No one cared to know I never really got a trial in the first place. Because they were just relieved that the Big Bad Guy was off the streets. Locked up somewhere. It doesn’t matter that my record says I’m guilty of crap I’ve never done. Because technically, I’ve committed my fair share of my crimes, what’s more to the pile? Hell, if it keeps me locked away for all eternity, then why not?”

This time, the villain’s gaze was steely, his teeth gnashed together and his tone harsh, and yet before she’d even commented, the villain was quick to force the muscles of his face to work on pulling it into a blank expression, his hand going to his pocket.

Where, unbeknownst to Vigilante, the knife from yesterday was. . .

It took her a moment to register his words and realise he was right. The likes of Villain wouldn’t garner the sympathy of the same people that cheered when they were locked up, at every suffocating press conference where her sister’s airy voice seemed to ring in her ears.

But how else was she supposed to rouse some sort of public outcry against her sister? She needed the key, the concept, the idea, and from that she could form a plan. It was why she thought of asking the villain in the first place.

“Then what should we do to get people to notice?”

The villain’s pale hand made its way out of his pocket, his expression still nearly unreadable. “Your sister’s clever. She’s almost untraceable, and uncovering her shady past would be difficult. Or actually, more difficult than having her do something terrible now.”

“So you’re saying we somehow force her to commit some sort of terrible crime?”

“Force is the wrong word. It wouldn’t be a choice she wouldn’t make on her own accord. And that’s our selling point. No one needs to make her pull underhanded crap because she’ll take that choice anyway. And from then, whatever it is you want to reveal is actually going to have a basis.”

The villain straightened his posture, pulling his now slightly loose fitting hoodie down so straighten a wrinkle only for it to come down with a strange difficulty, like it was stuck to his skin, the man letting out a soft hiss.

“You alright?” she asked.

“Fine,” he answered curtly, getting up. He knew exactly why his jacket had stuck to his form in the first place, and he really didn’t need Vigilante’s supposed concern. There’s a lot worse he’d seen in his life, in those three months alone than some old scratch reopening. Walking into his room, he shrugged his hoodie off in front of the mirror only to notice that the stupid scratch was in an area he could barely reach, deeper and uglier than he thought, blood running down it in crimson rivulets, exposed tissue that was barely healing showing too. He didn’t know where the gauze was, or how he’d even manage treating the wound. And somehow, his past vanity, or rather basic awareness of his appearance that he now called vanity hadn’t completely faded away considering he noticed bone and skin where muscle used to be and the ridiculous amount of bruises adorning his figure in various shades of dusty purples and browns; every sign of how his captors had turned him into a punching bag for all their sadistic cravings.

“Villain?”

Hell no. He didn’t want anyone in this room with him while he looked like this, frantic again and wishing he could rip his hair from its roots. He almost didn’t care that he was still bleeding and it hurt to shift even slightly, or that his wound felt warm to the touch and was probably infected. He sat there on the bed, gripping onto the sheets like they were the only thing tethering him to the world around him. “Just,” he faltered. As much as the villain hated it, he couldn’t do crap right now without her help. He bit his lip again and exhaled slowly. “Come in.”

She cursed softly when she looked at the wound, the scarlet already snaking down his lower back now. It didn’t take her long to come back with a whole lot of first aid equipment. “This’ll hurt,” she said slowly.

All she got was a low grunt in response as she pressed antiseptic-soaked gauze to his back, and even though he barely let out a noise, didn’t move out of the way, his shoulders still tensed up under the pain.

Involuntarily, she stroked a hand through his hair, a reflexive action even though the vigilante wasn’t particularly touchy, especially with her enemy turned ally of convenience. He turned to stare at her, looking nothing short of surprised, but not irritated or afraid. He turned around again as she stitched up his wound and tended to his other scratches, surprised how well he was holding out. The villain barely flinched through the process, but again the man had always been surprisingly enduring.

The villain seriously didn’t remember the last time anyone had tended to his injuries, even before getting captured. He’s sure someone did, during the times he couldn’t do it himself, but no one had ever run a hand through his hair when he’d tensed up or anything of the sort. He despised the fact that it hadn’t irritated him, instead he was left there dumbfounded, half-wishing she would do it again and half-grateful she refrained from it, from making him feel so bloody exposed like that. This entire ordeal, how strangely gentle the vigilante had been with him, how he slowly relaxed even though the idea of being this vulnerable, this close to one of his enemies terrified him.

The villain didn’t like to feel things that weren’t dry, controlled anger or smugness or absolutely nothing. So he didn’t, pretended he couldn’t until he believed it.

Every lie dies in the end, no?

The vigilante had got up to hand him a new t-shirt that he slowly pulled on, minding his wounds but still refusing any help with it. “Thanks,” he mumbled awkwardly.

“Y-you thank people?” she asked, half out of genuine surprise and half to lighten the mood.

The villain didn’t smile, but his lip twitched up ever so slightly with a half-smirk, “I’m a villain, but I’m not a complete tactless bastard.”

“I guess you could say that, and you’re welcome. I’ll just go clean up. Put your jacket in the basket over there.” The vigilante looked down at her bloodstained hands, and the villain gave her a curt nod.

He was lucky she hadn’t taken the jacket herself, or noticed the knife somehow, and he could still keep it. It felt even scummier after right now, when she could’ve just let him bleed out, or made it worse since she was this close to him. He didn’t even know what she would try the second he was no longer useful.

Carefully, he lowered his form onto the bed, letting out a soft groan. This was the strangest stage of his life yet, he presumed.

So many times, life is about choosing the worst option, the choice you’d swore to never make, about condemning yourself to being at the mercy of the unknown. People will scream at you to avoid the lion’s den, but sometimes it is the only shelter from a raging storm ready to destroy you into nothing. And yet, maybe there is wisdom in the most foolish decisions, and safety in the most dangerous risks. Because even if you’re riddled with deep wounds and scars, even those can heal under care, even in the most unexpected places.

✨️Le Taglist: @larinzz @syberianjade @lateuplight @altu-interactions @enbious-prince @astr0-mj @thelazywitchphotographer @a-fucking-simp-00 @addictedsandwhichaki @justalittlecorrupted @quaggasus @theangstyclown @vernilliom @mothmancommitsarson @starssabove @kurai-hono-blog @talkingsperm @muffinrebel44 @sunnynwanda @annablogsposts @cardboardarsonist @itsmyworld23 @onlywhump @m3rakii @crotchgoblin69 @wtfevenisausername @pendarling @avloki-pal @kaiwewi @those-damn-snippets @genuinelythioehat-is-whump @ghostofnorth

Wanna be on the taglist? This'll take you there!

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eventiderpg · 1 year

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BASICS

Faceclaim: lisette olivera Name: katniss everdeen Age: twenty - two Gender: cis woman Home: district 12 Role: victor of the 74th hunger games, mentor for the 12th district Personality: persevering, resourceful, protective, anxious, wary, oblivious Song: elastic heart by sia

BIOGRAPHY

parental death, depression, starvation, ptsd, implied self-harm, suicide/death idealization tw.

when lilian left her comfortable city house to marry heath and live with him in the seam, there was some talk; those who said she could do better, however, soon enough were left speechless, envious of their love. heath was the best husband, father, hunter, and certainly one of the best men in the district 12, and once they had their first daughter, and then another, life was complete. full. happy. katniss recalls nothing but happiness of the days with the four of them — deep down, when she thinks about it, she knows there must have been tough times, but those just did not seem important.

when heath dies, it’s like there’s an eclipse in their life, only it is too long lasting for any sort of science to explain — he goes to the ground and nothing but coal dust comes out, and its shadow enters their life. katniss is fourteen then, and notices, more than ever, that they just can not get that dust out of the way. it is on their empty table, upon her mother’s blankets, on her little sister’s fingers as they dig in the drawers for something to eat. soon enough, it begins to suffocate her, and katniss is close to begging for death when the baker’s boy saves her. (she loathes it. she loathes him. she can never repay him, can she?)

peeta’s kindness awakens her to life, to hope that comes with a glimmer that brings light back to the everdeen house. for the following six years, katniss clings to life that seems to be always a synonym to the rose shade in prim’s cheeks and the sound of her laughter. her family grows bigger, with gale and his own (they have too much in common, and at some point, she can not pull herself apart without picking at gale, too), and she accepts routine. it is not pretty, nor it is glamorous, but she’s a good hunter, good scavenger, good haggler and even better sister. the day of her sister’s reaping, if not by that fact alone, would just be another day. she had a year with her name floating some dozen times in the bowl, but all katniss wanted was for it to end so she could go home and have the small feast she’d gathered with gale earlier that day.

there is no other way out, when prim’s name is called, though. there is no life without prim, after all, and before she can even think over, she’s volunteered, standing next to the baker’s boy; then she’s being plucked like a chicken, fattened like livestock, adored as the girl on fire. and then she is ready — barely understanding things still — to complete the sacrifice, take the jump to the slaughter. by the end, she may not die, but there are still sacrifices made in every step: rue, the boy from 1, the romance act with all those kisses. and then, the one she believes will be the last one, with the berries. she could not let peeta die (because she owes him her life, prim’s life, so many times over and can never repay his kindness), and he would not let her die (because he loves her, somehow).

as always, she had not thought it over, comprehended all the intricacies of the move. when she took those berries, all she wanted was to go home, with peeta, and see her family again. when they announce the victors — plural, for the first time since the games began — and she spits out those berries, relief washes over her for a few seconds, happiness as she has not allowed herself to feel for too long.

the games are over, she thinks, when all the pageantry is done and the capitol stays behind the train tracks.

they have to be, she thinks, pulling her hand away from peeta’s after a dinner at the city hall; she avoids his gaze, as she does gale’s, as she does her own.

they are not, she notices, when she wakes up from what will only be the first of the nightmares, screaming, thrashing and waking everyone else in her new house, at the victor’s village. but she’s not in the arena, her family is safe, and that has to be an improvement. it has to be.

at some point (when president snow stinks up her office room with his stench of roses and blood), katniss realizes the games will never be over, she hasn’t dodged everyone trying to kill her just yet. to realize that she, trying to stay alive and keep peeta alive, had given ignition for something, for people she’s never met, it’s unbelievable, and katniss can not let herself think of it. no, she thinks of her family, of gale, of peeta. so she must stifle it, not tend to the flame, else she’d be burned again. so that is what she does, even if she hates it. but there is no other way (even if gale is furious with her — and it wounds her, that it is so obvious even she can feel the full force of his pain — she can not just leave towards the unknown. what of her family, his family? what of peeta?).

so she dons her angelic dresses, smiles until her jaw hurts, reads the written cards during the victors’ tour, and she kisses peeta when he puts a ring around her finger, in front of the cameras and all of panem. the capitol cheers for them, their star crossed lovers, living their happily ever after, because of them, for them.

for all purposes, she has done it (or so she is told, with a snake-like smile offered by the president over the table on one of the feasts for their sakes at the capital). she has snuffled the flame, stomped on it with her expensive heels; she becomes one more of the capitol’s well-crafted items, the fawning blushing bride, too head over heels over her pretty baker boy to care about the districts. nevermind whenever the scenes of what happened at 11th comes into her mind, she feels sick to her stomach; whenever she imagines how many more lives are over because of her foolishness, she feels the dust climbing up her throat again.

her gowns are pristine, innocent mockingjays perched up on branches hidden on glittering pink satin, but as she stands next to the reaped tribute from 12th for the quarter quell, katniss realizes she may just never stop burning. and she may just never stop being consumed by the flames, too.

written by mina

#new rp #the hunger games rp #canon divergent rp #fandom rp #thg rp #eventidebio

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dr3amofagame · 3 years

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uhhhh ,, , hi ??

i feel bad bc i havent been here in. LITERALLY forever lmao - hope you guys r all doing good!! ive been working on some stuff but it’s been pretty slow going, and school is also A Thing, so i definitely havent been writing as much as i’d like.

as an apology, have this? really self-indulgent feel-good syndicate + c!dream centric oneshot bc i felt like writing this so u know. why not.

tws: implied torture, abuse, self-harm, disordered eating, starvation mentions, prison arc themes - overall everything’s just blink-and-you’ll-miss-it mentions, not too much angst here for once! c!sam and c!quackity critical, sorry guys but we r still in the prison arc and they still r on their “fuck human rights” arcs.

Dream leaves.

It’s a surprise - or maybe it isn’t one, Niki isn’t quite sure. She’d never grown to quite trust the man, she knows, and she can’t really tell if the bitter twist of emotion that swells up her chest when Phil comes to her city with the news is betrayal or resignation - what can she say. She’s gotten more than her fair share of broken promises. They don’t exactly faze her anymore.

None of them seem all that surprised, save Techno, who entirely fails to hide the worry that flickers over his face when he calls the Syndicate meeting to officially inform them of what’s going on. She shares quick, careful glances with the other members when his back is turned - despite how many times he’s been burned, Techno still seems so adamant at holding onto every thread, trusting all too easily those who would use and leave him behind without a second glance. He can handle himself, she knows. Still, that’s not going to stop her from slapping Dream upside the head for being yet another worthless person to betray her friend’s forgiving nature.

Nothing much changes in the next few weeks. Niki has to admit, it’s strange without Dream around - he’d not been an ally, much less a friend before dipping completely, but he had been some sort of constant - and Niki is self aware enough to know that she misses him, a little, the same sort of way you might miss an old routine once it’s gone, if only for the familiarity. She still visits Techno and Phil with various baked goods, knowing that Phil would have his hands full just keeping Techno from running himself ragged - makes sure to check on Ranboo, whose nerves have inevitably returned with Dream’s disappearance. To be honest, she doesn’t worry as much as he does - ally or not, she’s spent enough time with the Dream that had left prison to expect that he won’t exactly be able to get himself very far should he come for the four of them, and doesn’t particularly care about he might pull with the rest of the server - if things get bad, she’s sure Phil and Techno will have it handled. She asks Phil, once, what happened, and he shrugs.

“I don’t know, mate,” he heaves a chest to the side, pulling out a stack of stone blocks that Niki gladly holds for him. “One day we woke up and he was just- gone. Everything. Was like he wasn’t ever there at all.”

Niki hums. “Why’d you think he’d do something like that?”

“If I could understand half of why Dream does what he does, we wouldn’t be having this conversation now, would we?” He smiles at her from behind a crate. “Shall we bring these things upstairs and start on dinner?”

Niki laughs, knowing that the conversation about Dream is over. “Of course, Phil.”

Dinner is a welcome distraction; all of them have gotten better at cooking in recent months, between her baking and the veritable library of recipes Phil knows that she’s never even heard of, but Phil is still the only one she really trusts to hold his own behind the stove - Ranboo is still a little too nervous around water, and fire, and much of everything, and though Techno can be a perfectly capable cook, he’s been distracted as of late. She has a strong feeling that left to his own devices, he’d just grab a stack of steak and disappear for another few weeks, searching the server for information.

Honestly, she’s a little thrown off by his behavior - he’d not done anything like this with Tommy, if she remembers right, and had hardly seemed affected by Wilbur’s betrayal on the Sixteenth at all (then again, she was a little too lost in her own head to notice if he was.) She tosses her head over to ask Phil, who’s leaning over a few carrots he’s slicing to throw into the stew he’s making, and the man pauses, frowns.

“From what I know,” he starts, words slow, careful, “they’d spent three months in there together, and the conditions weren’t exactly- stellar. According to what Techno said, I’d assumed they had come to some sort of understanding.” He goes back to the carrots, expression dipping into shadow and out of sight. “Guess I was wrong.”

Niki hums. She can see it, sort of - spending months together with someone, no matter how insufferable, probably would end with some degree of attachment - she thinks back to plotting through sleepless nights with Jack, anger and grief leaving them simmering, crabs in the same pot of boiling water, remembers looking into his dead-eyed gaze and seeing her own stare back - and feels a brief pang of guilt. Besides, Techno is Techno. She’d never met someone so willing to forgive, understand, reach out despite everything that’s happened - for Dream to take advantage of that feels almost too obvious. Of course he would - what were they all thinking?

“He’s Dream,” she says as if that explains everything, flipping open the oven door and feeling a wave of heat blast her face. Phil hums lowly, understanding. “I hope Techno will be alright.”

“He’s tough,” Phil cracks a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes, “And he has us on his side. He’ll get through.”

Niki opens her mouth to reply, only to be interrupted by the front door slamming open. Outside their quaint little cottage, the wind howls - it sounds like the beginning of a blizzard out there, flurries painting the world in a thick blanket of white. In the door, Techno strides into the entrance with loud, decisive movements, shutting the door loud enough to make the walls shake. Inadvertently, Niki finds her eyes drawn to the small pile of snow that he’s tracked into the house - Techno’s usually so careful to kick it all off on the porch, never liked it much when there was a pile of melting ice and snow dampening the floorboards and soaking into his shoes. He huffs harshly, stripping off a snow-dusted scarf from his face - a long, multicolored abomination that had been the product of her attempting to teach Ranboo how to knit. Phil has reached his side, hands splayed over his upper arms, eyes soft in the corners from concern.

“Techno, mate-” his tone is chiding but his movements gentle as he brushes snow off of Techno’s signature cloak, “you’ve gotten snow everywhere. What were you doing, dueling a blizzard?”

Techno shakes his head, not meeting Phil’s banter as usual, fur sticking up from the snow melted into it. His voice is gruff and holds little humor - unconsciously, Niki feels her shoulders tense.

“Phil, call a Syndicate meeting.”

---

Phil, per usual, is unrelenting, so it’s not until a quick dinner and some hurried messages to their final member later that the Syndicate is gathered in their meeting room, Techno pacing the length of the room as they wait in their respective seats. He looks less frazzled than he did when he first entered the house, in part due to Phil’s sitting him down to eat and picking through his fur to smooth it out of its windblown spikes and tangles - Techno had grumbled at him to stop preening him, but looked a lot more relaxed by the time they were all finished with their food. Still, his ear flicks periodically, twitching toward ssome sound that Niki can’t hear, movements tighter and jerkier than she is used to. He’d always been a little flightier after the prison, but not quite like this - everything here feels like that but dialed up to eleven. Inexplicably, it reminds her of Dream.

“Techno?” Phil gestures towards his seat, prompting, and he settles into it with an obliging huff.

“Y’know, Phil, the code names are kinda pointless if we never use ‘em,” he says, words carrying no real heat - he looks back at the rest of them, lips thinning into a line. “Anyway. I called this meeting because I found a couple leads on Dream.”

“O-oh,” Ranboo stutters, tail lashing behind him.

“You don’t have to do anything that you don’t want to, mate,” Phil reminds him gently, a sentiment that Niki affirms with a determined nod.

“There’ve been some reports- rumors, really,” Techno says, calling their attention again, and they all turn towards him, “of increased activity around the prison again. The Warden spending more time on its grounds, movement seen around the walls and around the portal- so I decided to go check it out for myself.”

Niki frowns, and watches as Phil does the same beside her - Techno had seemed to avoid the prison if he could help it, save for when he went on the initial mission to break Dream out. It was no secret to them that he didn’t exactly like the place.

“We could’ve helped if you asked,” Phil reminds him, and Techno shakes his head.

“I know, Phil. It’s just- that place is bad news. I’d rather keep you guys away from there if I can-” his hand goes to his head with a poorly hidden wince. “Sorry, Chat’s a little- worked up, at the minute.”

“Sorry, we’ll stop interrupting you,” Niki says, cutting off Phil before he says anything else. “So you went to the prison?”

Techno takes a second to gather his thoughts, mumbling quietly in the way that usually means he’s telling off Chat. “Right- I decided to stake out the portal. The rumors were right- Sam has been hanging around there, entered and left the prison four times yesterday. And today-” he hesitates, expression visibly darkening. “This morning, about an hour after the Warden arrived, Quackity came to the prison and went through the portal. He left the grounds about six hours later.”

“Quackity?” Niki frowns, eyes flicking over to how Phil has stilled in his seat. “What is Quackity doing at the prison?”

Phil ignores her question, reaching towards Techno, something indiscernible in his gaze. “Mate…”

“He smelled of blood when he left,” Techno says, words sharp, and Niki feels her heart skip a beat. “Warden left about half an hour after, and I came back here.”

Ranboo clears his throat, sounding tentative. “Okay,” he drums his hand on the table when they turn towards him, eyebrows drawn, “but what, exactly, does this have to do with, uh, Dream?”

Techno and Phil trade glances, one of their bouts of unspoken conversation that Niki’s grown extremely used to. They seem strangely hesitant, she notes internally, Phil looking towards Techno with a question written clearly in the planes of his face. Techno sighs, a long puff of air through his lips as he closes his eyes and turns his face towards the table.

“You know how Dream was- injured,” he starts slowly, looking back up at them. Niki shifts uncomfortably - of course she noticed, it was impossible not to - if not the bandages that peeked under his sleeves and the cuffs of his pants, then how skinny he’d been, all skin and bones curled up uncomfortably in a pile at the corner of Techno’s couch. She’d not know the extent, by any means, and had always assumed that they’d been self-inflicted - she’d been in a bad enough place on her own before to know how your head can make you want to hurt, sometimes, how eating food can feel like choking on sawdust and the world could feel so much smaller when focused into delicate pricks of pain. Phil’s eyes are trained on Techno - on his face, then on the pinkish raised skin of a still-healing scar along his forearm, and she feels understanding settle like a rock in her gut.

“The Warden had apparently been lettin’ Quackity into the cell to torture Dream for the revive book,” Techno trails off, eyes narrowed and seemingly fixed on a random point of the opposite wall. “By the time I go there, it’d been goin’ on for months.”

“But wait,” Ranboo’s tail moves even more erratically behind him, “You mean you think he’s back- there? How?”

“He has to be back in the prison,” Techno points out. “I can’t imagine anyone besides him that the two of them are goin’ to just start torturin’- Sam had been iffy about the whole thing when Quackity started in on me. It has to be Dream in there again.”

“But how did he get in there, then?” Ranboo asks, visibly confused. “Last time it took the entire server to lock him up!”

“There were no signs of a struggle,” Niki points out, matter of fact. “I believe you, Techno, but I don’t really know how they managed to drag him back so easily. I can’t imagine he was jumping at the chance to go back in there.”

Techno shakes his head with an uneasy sigh.

“I have a feelin’ of what might’ve happened,” he says quietly. “And I really hope that I’m wrong and he’s less of an idiot than I think he is.”

---

They set out to investigate - and maybe attack - the next day, Techno and Phil taking on the bulk of preparations as Ranboo stays behind. He’d been understandably uneasy about the whole mission, so they’d left him back by the Syndicate room to set off their pearls in case anything went wrong. (“By the end of the day,” Techno had said, giving Phil a look with the corner of his lip quirked upwards, “don’t be like Phil here and think I meant the end of the month, alright?”) They’d all be supplied with armor and weapons, thanks to Phil, but she’d been handed the bulk of their potions, arranged neatly in her inventory by type in case they’d be needed. She lingers in the back of the room as Phil and Techno chat amiably over the sound of making last minute repairs on their armor, listens to Techno’s ceaseless reminders for Phil to be careful, watches as they make sure that their stasis chambers are properly prepared should they need them.

(She watches as Phil nudges Techno’s shoulder when he lingers behind a certain chair, empty as long as she’s been part of the Syndicate, the fountain behind it bubbling quietly without a pearl inside. Techno sighs, expression strange.

“Should’ve set him up with one,” he says, quiet, and Phil pats him on the back.

“You couldn’t have known, mate. We wanted to wait a little before telling him about the Syndicate, remember?”

Techno hums, noncommittal. “Still.”)

They Nether travel to the site of Techno’s lookout, which ends up being a little shambling thing with dirt walls dug into a small hill looking towards the prison portal, having hardly enough space to fit the three of them. Phil looks at it with no small amount of apprehension, and Techno shrugs lightly, wearing an expression that makes Phil turn to him with a look that makes Niki break into giggles. Techno crosses his arms- “in my defense-” and Phil looks up at the dirt ceiling with a long-suffering sigh.

“You couldn’t have made this a little roomier, mate?” Phil asks, voice dry as kindling, and Techno raises his hands by his head.

“Hey hey, it’s discreet, it gets the job done, it’s perfectly structurally sound-” the sound of the leftmost wall crumbling, along with the cloud of dust that puffs from it and fills their tiny space, undermines the tail end of his statement and leaves him sputtering, Niki falling into another fit of quiet giggles. Underneath it all, Phil sighs again, raising his wings behind him.

“...these are going to take so long to clean out.”

To his credit, Techno looks sheepish. “Sorry, Phil.”

They sober up quickly; Techno turns around to the opposite side of the hill, where he’s hidden some peepholes inside the dirt - Niki settles herself by one, leaning forwards to put her eye to it and catch a glimpse of the prison looming over the water. It’s been repaired since the breakout, she notes, the gaping hole in the roof completely gone and replaced with obsidian, as intimidating and undamaged as it had been before, if not more so. Phil makes a considering sound from behind her.

“Same plan as last time?” He asks, and Techno shakes his head.

“They’ve probably reinforced it, and Dream’s blueprints won’t include anything new the Warden’s added. I wouldn’t be surprised if they moved Dream to a different location completely. We don’t want to draw too much attention, either, we were cutting it pretty close during the breakout.” He narrows his eyes. “I was thinking we’d try something a little stealthier, this time. “

He gestures at Niki, who blinks back at him with wide eyes.

“You got a couple of invis potions for us?”

She distributes the potions among them all, one regular and two splash potions of invisibility each, and Techno points towards the prison once she’s done.

“The most important thing is to get through the portal,” he says with a grim expression. “Worst comes to worst, once we’re inside we can always blast our way through - but gettin’ through that portal is our first priority.”

Phil narrows his eyes at him. “The portal is locked, though. We’ll need to follow someone else inside- and I’m pretty sure Sam uses pearls, so he’s out.”

Techno nods. “Which is why I’m bankin’ on the prison gettin’ another visitor today. We’ll just have to wait.”

Niki swallows. “Do you mean-”

“Quackity?” Techno turns away, not quite meeting her eyes. “I’m not totally sure, but he’s not exactly the type to just give up on his goals. He’s pretty predictable- an empire needs an emperor, always needs something new to rule- you know the type,” he says, tipping his head towards Phil. “He’ll be mad at Dream for disappearin’ on him and won’t miss the opportunity to prove he has the upper hand again. I’m not sure that he’s going to come today-”

“-but you wouldn’t really be surprised, either,” Phil finishes for him, eyes steely with cold determination. “I trust your judgement, mate. Just stay safe- from what I’ve heard, Quackity has been...erratic.”

“When is he not,” Techno huffs a short laugh, shaking his head. “I’ll be fine, Phil. Just be careful, both of you. Don’t get too close. And if things get messy- which is what we’re tryin’ to avoid, by the way- then don’t do anything too risky. Our priority is gettin’ in and out alive.”

“We can handle ourselves, Techno,” Niki reminds him with a small smile. “And Ranboo is there in case anything goes wrong.”

“Alright, then. Here’s the plan.”

---

It takes quite a long time for Quackity to arrive, long minutes that Niki spends fidgeting in the corner of the room, brushing her hands over seams of the netherite plates that Phil had shoved into her hands, back at the Syndicate room. The set is inexplicably light - not weightless, by any means, as it is still netherite, but not nearly as bulky as any set of netherite armor she’s owned or seen in the past. The runes are precise, lines thin and exact, written with graceful strokes of lapis.

“Phil’s the best metalworker I’ve ever met,” Techno tells her with a small grin, catching her in the middle of tracing what she can make out as an Unbreaking rune along the metal strapped to her forearm. “But then again, he’s had the time to practice.”

“Are you calling me old again?” Phil huffs, and Techno flashes a smile her direction before looking at Phil with a slight grin.

“Well, Chat is,” he says, lips twitching when Phil glares back.

“You can’t just blame Chat every time you insult me, you little shit,” Phil groans, and Techno only grins wider.

“Phil, my ad revenue,” he complains, a dramatic lilt to his voice that has Niki stifling a snort, and Phil’s glare only grows deadlier.

“You’ll have more than your ad revenue to worry about if you keep this up,” he mumbles, going back to keep watch at one of the peepholes and stilling as he does. “Shit- Techno, Quackity’s here.”

Techno straightens up, hindered slightly by the low ceiling of their room. “Alright- we all know the plan, right?”

Niki nods in the affirmative, pulling out a splash invis and letting it settle in her hand, the glass cool beneath her fingertips. She reaches into her inventory and lets her armor fade into it, takes a deep breath and watches as the two across from her do the same. She doesn’t wear armor often, but so close to the prison, feeling mining fatigue settling deep into her bones - she’s never missed the security it offers more. Techno keeps watch, waiting- drops his arm in a signal. Now.

Niki throws the potion at their feet, flinching back at the sound of shattering glass and feeling its effects seep into her skin. When she opens her eyes, she can’t see anything but the inside of the room that they’d holed themselves in and the faintest of wisps rising from where their feet must be, curling around the grass.

(Please let this work, she begs to no one in particular as they walk towards the prison. And if you can hear me- please keep us all safe.)

She hardly breathes as they follow Quackity across the path, holding someone’s hand in her own - Phil’s, by the feel of it - careful to muffle her footsteps in the grass and stand still whenever Quackity’s eyes come a little too close. Thankfully for them, he seems focused, hardly stopping or looking around at all as he walks towards the prison’s portal, movements stiff as he walks forward. He punches the button on the wall particularly harshly, and Sam’s voice comes crackling through a speaker a second later.

“I’m here for my visit,” Quackity says, punctuating the sentence with a snort of laughter that doesn’t sound particularly sincere. Niki hasn’t seen him in a long while, not after everything that happened in Pogtopia, and she feels a chill worm down her spine - this man looks nothing like the one that had laughed and danced and sung at her birthday party what feels like an eternity ago. What happened?

Sam sighs, the sound turning into a sharp burst of static through the speakers. “Hello Quackity,” he says, voice deep and tired. “Please step into the portal after I tell you to and then wait on the other side.”

“I know the drill, Sam,” Quackity rolls his eyes. “Just because the bastard was gone for a few weeks doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten how this damn place works.”

“Just going through protocol, Quackity,” Sam replies, and something about this response has Quackity exploding into a brief fit of laughter, the sound grating against Niki’s ears. She feels her grip tighten on Phil’s hand, air caught in her throat.

“Protocol- ha. Whatever you wanna tell yourself, pal.” Quackity smiles, cold and cruel, and Niki tries not to think about how she’d seen that same grin on Wilbur, eyes sparkling from the light of the lanterns hung from the bridges and walls of their ravine, remember how she’d looked into them and realized her old friend wasn’t there, anymore. Quackity disappears into the portal, and after a second, the hand around her own pulls her inside of it too.

On the other side, Quackity taps his foot impatiently, crossing his arms and waiting- Sam’s voice comes through the speakers again, words clipped.

“Go through the portal,” he says, and Quackity does- once again, they wait for a second for his body to disappear, then go within it themselves, pressed close enough together within its frame for Niki to feel the warmth of a wing wrap around her shoulders for a quick second before they’re out of the hot, stifling air of the Nether and into a large, neatly made lobby of blackstone and quartz. They duck into a corner, watching as Quackity moves towards the front counter, the Warden waiting there with his arms crossed over his chest. He looks- tired. His movements are slow, footsteps loud against the floor, shoulders tense and back hunched. He walks around the counter, sword strapped to his belt, and Niki feels her breath hitch at the sight of dried blood still stuck to the blade in patches and splatters.

“He ready?” Quackity asks, holding his hands out - Niki catches a flash of metal as Sam drops something into them, watches as Quackity raises what ends up being a pair of shears, dangerous-looking and gleaming with enchants, to the light.

“Yes,” Sam says, side-eyeing Quackity with a small glare. “You know, it’s supposed to be your job to clean those things off when you’re done with them.”

“I told you, busy day back in Las Nevadas yesterday,” Quackity waves a hand- “I’ll do it, alright? Don’t get all pissy now. What happened to being partners?”

“You said we’d be done with this months ago, Quackity,” Sam sighs, and Niki feels a light tug on her arm as Quackity and Sam begin to walk towards the wall to the right of them, breathes in slow and deep as she follows Techno and Phil towards the others. The wall yawns open with the hiss of redstone firing and pistons pulling blocks upwards, opening into a dark hallway that feels like entering the maw of some sort of giant, insatiable beast. They step inside as one, and the door shuts behind them.

“We’ll be done soon enough,” Quackity says, and Niki feels hairs rising on the back of her neck. “Trust me.”

They stalk forwards through a labyrinth of blackstone, Niki brushing the palms of her hand against her clothes when it goes clammy from adrenaline. Halfway through, she pauses to tip back a second potion of invisibility, careful to keep her movements slow and steady as not to make a sound - the liquid is silvery, cool and light on her tongue, and she lets the effects wash over her with her breath caught in her lungs before moving forward. The tunnels are simpler than she’d expected, bearing little obstacles or checkpoints - Quackity makes a wry comment a second after (“Guard tunnels today, huh? Appreciate the hustle, pal-”) that confirms her suspicions. Despite the potion particles still whirling around their bodies and the sounds of their footsteps, too loud in her own ears, they manage to make it forwards without much trouble, entering a large room with a doorway filled completely with a curtain of lava.

“Set your spawn,” Sam says, still stoic, and Quackity rolls his eyes again before doing as told. Niki keeps looking back at the lava flowing past the wall, its heat filling the room and making her already slick palms even worse, and Sam moves to the side to flick a lever, eyes trained on the lava slowly bubbling in front of him.

“Give me your tools?” Quackity asks, and Sam sighs before doing so - Niki watches as he hands over a netherite axe, then potions, then a few raw potatoes that Quackity accepts and puts into his inventory. Sam raises an eyebrow once he’s done, hand tight around the handle of his trident.

“You bring your own sword, today?” He asks, seeming irritated, and Quackity shrugs.

“Sorry pal, I need to make a new one. Guess I’m borrowing yours again.”

Sam sighs again, louder, and hands over his sword as well, watching as Quackity swings it a few times experimentally. The blade skims a little too close to her on one swing and she can’t quite help the squeak that escapes her lips as she throws herself out of the way, feels her heart hammer in her ears as she backs up against the wall. Please don’t hear that please don’t hear that please don’t hear that please don’t hear that-

“Quackity, wait.” Sam raises a hand, ear twitching as he looks over in her direction with narrowed eyes. “I think I heard something.”

Oh fuck.

“Well, guess show’s up then,” Techno drawls, and both of them whirl towards his voice, giving Niki enough time to pull her armor back on, scrambling to get her sword and shield in her hands as Phil does the same besides her. Pieces of armor appear where Techno is standing, then a bucket of milk- oh, why must her friends be so dramatic- and Techno’s standing there, smiling sharply, with Orphan Obliterator held loosely at his side. “Let’s get this done, then.”

As one, Techno and Phil blur into action - Techno moves forward to catch the prongs of Sam’s trident on his blade as Phil parries Quackity’s blows with his own sword- they move fluidly, easily covering each other’s backs as the room devolves into chaos. Niki remembers their guidance as she flits in and out of the fight, scoring quick hits to keep the Warden and Quackity off balance while remaining out of range from their weapons, and it’s not long before both of them have fallen with a spray of items and experience orbs scattered all over the floor.

Techno moves over to block off the exposed face of the bed with a block, looking over at the two of them with an uncharacteristically severe expression. “They’ll be back soon- we have to move fast. Niki, you have those fire res, right?”

She nods as she reaches into her inventory, finding the potion’s orange-pink glow and smashing it at their feet. They dive into the lava together, Niki scrambling to keep up, her arms struggling to move through the thick lava, loses sight of both until she flails into something directly in front of her and hands are pulling her up out of the lava.

“There you go, mate,” Phil smiles down at her as hauls herself to her feet, making a face at the feeling of the lava clinging to her clothes. “Yeah, swimming through lava isn’t exactly fun. You good?” She flashes him a thumbs up, and he laughs- “Niki, you’re still invisible.” She flushes pink- right.

A few sips of milk later, she gives him a proper thumbs up, and he laughs, loud and bright. She looks past him to where Techno’s crouched over something- someone, she realizes with a start, in the corner. Dream’s back in prison clothes, ragged and ill-fitting, and he’s curled up with his back towards the front of the cell, shaking enough to be obvious even from where she’s standing. Techno speaks lowly, voice barely more than a deep rumble in the air, almost inaudible.

“You there, Dream?”

She watches as Dream turns his head, looking up with wide, bleary eyes. His hair flops in front of his face, and something within her itches to brush it out of the way. “T-Techno?”

“Yeah nerd, who else?” Techno smiles, and Dream seems to blink awake, drawing himself up with a shuddery breath.

“Techno- it’s a trap- what are you doing here?” he hisses, and Techno gives him a look, deadpan.

“Yeah, yeah, it’s a trap- come on, Dream, we’ve been over this by now, bro. You have to know that their traps aren’t goin’ to do anything to me by now,” Techno rolls his eyes, reaching forward to steady his hands on Dream’s shoulders when the other man sputters and struggles to breathe. “Easy, now. Geez, you wanted to prove me wrong about being homeless bad enough that you came back here? We could’ve just made you a house, you know. You didn’t have to go this far.”

“I- they were gonna kill you,” Dream breathes, face twisted up uncomfortably, and his eyes flick past Techno’s face to where Phil and Niki are standing at the opposite wall of the cell. “All of you- they said-”

“And that’s what I thought you’d say,” Techno groans. “Come on, you idiot, I thought you were smarter than this-”

“They were right there, Techno!” Dream fires back, eyes alight. “You- they were right there, what were you thinking, they could’ve-!”

“And my best friend is a necromancer, remember?” Techno shakes his head. “Come on, Dream- Sam and Quackity? You know we can handle them in a fight, especially when you can just revive us if anything goes wrong. You don’t have to do this whole self-sacrifice thing, bro- there’s only so many times I can break into the same prison, y’know.”

“You’re so stupid,” Dream huffs, but he leans in anyway, head just barely settling against Techno’s shoulder. “I- I can’t believe. You’re so dumb.”

“Hey, don’t be sayin’ that to the guy that’s breakin’ you out of prison,” Techno laughs, slinging Dream over his shoulder with an easy motion and laughing harder when it makes him yelp. “That’s just bein’ ungrateful. You’re making Chat sad, man, and when they’re sad they don’t subscribe-”

“I regret this entirely,” Dream says, voice muffled against Techno’s shirt, tone completely flat. “Put me down- you idiot- I’m staying here. You’re worse than Quackity.”

“Rude. Now you’ve really made Chat mad. I demand an apology-”

“Boys, boys.” Niki can’t help giggling, watching the way their gazes snap towards her, rolling her eyes as she moves forward with a few potions held loosely in her hand. “Dream, do you want a health pot?”

Dream seems to deliberate for a second, before nodding at her, expression slightly strained. “...sure.”

“You two can finish your argument after we’ve broken out of the biggest maximum security prison on the server,” Phil drawls from behind her, arms crossed at his chest. “Come on, now, before Sam gets back.”

“Isn’t this the only maximum security prison on the server?” Techno asks aloud, an amused expression on his face - one that only gets worse when Phil glares at him with one ice-blue eye.

“Shut-” he sighs, shaking his head. “You two are chaotic little shits, you know that?”

“Don’t compare me to him, Phil,” Techno complains, Dream mirroring his words with muffled protests of his own, and Phil breathes another drawn-out, long-suffering sigh as he rubs at the bridge of his nose.

“Niki, give us some fire res please?”

She finds the potion bottle between giggles, throwing it to the ground as she tries to choke down the laughter rapidly bubbling up her throat. “Of course, Phil.”

She looks back at Techno and Dream before jumping into the lava, the two of them once again lost in some sort of argument, Dream draped over Techno’s shoulder. He’s breathing easier now, she notes, and Techno looks looser too - a little less tense, leaning back with a perpetual quirk to the corner of his lip as they fire insults back and forth. This is familiar, she recognizes with a soft twist in her chest, the same way that Phil and Techno can finish each other’s sentences and look at each other with laughing eyes sharing the same memories of the past, the same way Ranboo watches Techno’s every step as he adjusts his stance and lifts his sword and Techno laughs and calls him a main character in turn, the same way she and Phil will settle together on the porch over cups of tea and sit at each other’s sides for hours. The rhythm between them is one well-established, the road well-worn - she imagines them, huddled in this dingy cell for months together, and breathes in slow and deep.

“Come on,” she smiles, making sure to keep it on her face when Dream meets her eyes with wide, startled ones of his own. Dream still isn’t an ally, and isn’t a friend.

But - she watches as he smiles back, something inexplicably warm in her chest - maybe, one day, he could be.

#tw torture #tw abuse #tw self harm #tw disordered eating #tw ed #tw sh #prison arc #pandora's vault #tw starvation #c!sam critical #c!quackity critical #my writing :D #> my writing

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wattpadscapcons · 2 years

Text

Staying Sane (Tsurugi Kinjo x Fem!Reader)

tw: mention of dra's killing game, Tsurugi pushing himself to the brink, mentions of death, reader and Tsurugi act like a married couple sometimes, implied intentional starvation , Tsurugi having relationship insecurity, FLUFFLy FlUFF

Word Count: 2253

Living with Tsurugi was somewhat difficult at the beginning, but you've got used to his in and out personality. You told yourself over and over that he had the right to be how he is now. He'd suffered through so many traumatic events, his body has deteriorated to the point where he has to use a wheelchair, and he works one of the most demanding self-appointed jobs that could exist. It's very clear how and why he can come off as being a cold and cruel individual to everyone who didn't know him before Utsuro's killing game.

He gets so stressed out that sometimes he unintentionally snaps at you. You have to fight him to get him to stop tearing out his own hair on some of his worst days. He can try to hide, try to fight you, scream all he wants to, and yet you'll still stick with him. You comfort him the best you can during the time he's home with you, letting him rest his head in the crook of your neck while rubbing circles into his back.

This is the only escape he gets, the one person who's keeping him from snapping completely. You don't look at him any differently than back in high school and if he's being honest, he has no idea how you manage to deal with him at this point. He acknowledges that back then he was a lot more open with you and that he's changed for the worse. You never say an ill word towards him though, reassuring him that you'd stay with him until death due you part.

There are times when his brain is so clouded with doubts that he tries to give you an out. To reason with you, in an attempt to keep you from getting hurt just like everyone else he's become close to. It's just another part of him not wanting to get hurt again and you always assure him that you know the risks. During these times you set what you're doing aside and try your best to comfort him.

"Y/N."

"Yeah?"

"Why haven't you left yet?"

"My trip isn't going to be for a long while, Tsurugi."

"That's not what I meant."

".....We've talked about this already dear."

"I just don't get it...."

"You've had a lot of bad things happen to you so I can understand why you're still expecting a disaster to occur between us. Do remember what I've told you though."

"....Can you tell me again?"

"If I have to repeat it until the end of time, I will.... I will always love you no matter what you do and there is nothing you can ever do to change that. I will never let anyone come in between us because I know there is no one better for me than you. I will never abandon you, even when you fall apart, I will still be here to help you. I know that you've changed but that doesn't change a thing for me. You're still the man I fell in love with no matter how many times you try to deny it and I will believe that until the moment I take my final breath."

"........"

He's hanging his head low. At that point you can tell he's becoming too overwhelmed, but he needs to hear everything you're saying. You won't accept for him to just dismiss it when he's the one who asked you to pour your heart out to him once again.

"Tsurugi, look at me."

He found it rather difficult to meet your eyes until you placed a hand under his chin and tilted him just enough to see his eyes again.

"Y/N..."

"Breathe sweetheart."

".....I don't deserve you."

"Yes you do. I understand that you're in a lot of pain and I never look to make it worse for you. I'm not staying out of pity. You are the most important person to me."

"It's not safe anymore."

"Tsurugi."

"...?"

"Who was it that taught me self defense again?"

"Me..."

"I know you're not around a lot to see me practice anymore. I assure you, I can protect myself. The gun you left here for me helps too."

"You chose-"

"I chose you. As much as that should be the end of discussion, I know how difficult it is to believe me still."

"I'm trying."

"I know you are. I know just how scary that can be though. Your past still haunts you. You can't keep blaming yourself for what happened to them, there was nothing more you could've done. I will never allow myself to become another victim, and I know you won't allow it to happen either."

Not the best choice of words. You move to entangle his hands with yours before a panic attack has the chance to start.

"I'm safe and I'm going anywhere."

"......."

Unsatisfied by the lack of answer, you moved to remove on of his glove which protested for a slight moment.

"What are you doing?"

"Proving to you that I'm fine. Stay still for me for a second."

After ridding him of his glove, you folded his hand and placed it against your neck. He kept it there even when your grip loosened, understanding almost right away what you were wanting him to do. To check your pulse, something that has brought him comfort in the past. He'd admit that laying against your chest to listen to your heartbeat was better, but this was better than nothing.

"Can you feel it?"

"......Yes. Thank god."

A small period of silence ensued as you continued to hold his hand hostage. It wasn't until he moved to set you in his lap and wrap his arms around you that you decided to speak up again.

"I know you don't actually want me to leave dear, you don't have to play it tough for me."

"I try to picture myself without you....but I just can't. I don't get why I just try to convince myself that I could ever live without you."

"You don't have to. Please don't hurt yourself like that."

"I'm sorry for making you worry about me."

"Its ok, your mind is just being mean to you."

"It's always like that."

"I'm glad you aren't."

"You don't think I'm mean?"

"No, just a bit bossy. You do run an organization though so I get why."

"Well that's a relief."

How it is that you can remain sweet towards him after all of the bitter things he's said when he was angry completely stuns him. He knows that he couldn't be closer to anyone else like this. You are the only one who knows and has survived through all of his struggles with him. You are the only one he allows his guard down around and makes him feel at ease.

The times people have overheard your conversations he almost lost it, and you had to keep him from hurting them. He stopped having those talks with you while at work after one of his co-workers remarked about him "getting soft". He was sure to make sure to show all of his workers just how sharp his tongue can be in response.

He knows that he'd lose it if you left him alone. He already did when his friends died but he doesn't think he could come back from it a second time. You've tried to get him help to sort out some of his issues but it seems his pride keeps from actually seeing someone until he can't take it anymore.

He gets so worked up with his job that he often thinks about quitting like you've suggested he should do. His morals often are the reason that he keeps going though and you have to psychically have to get him to take a break or simply get someone to help you drag him home to rest. Despite his protesting, you don't really give him a choice when he's on the edge of fainting.

"I can still-"

"Tsurugi, you've been awake for three days. It's time for a break before you burn out."

"I can't-"

"Yes. You can."

"Y/N-"

"You can do whatever you want when we get home and you get some sleep, ok?"

"......You're not open for negotiation are you?"

"Nope. I'm taking you home regardless. I'd hate to put you under house arrest over something like neglecting to take care of yourself."

".......Just take me home already."

"Thank you for making this easy."

He doesn't realize just much he actually needs you until you leave him alone to go visit family for a few days. He passed out on the job, and a trainee of his had to call you. You were not pleased when he did manage to wake up.

"Y/N?"

"You passed out at work. Again."

"Dammit, how long have I been out?"

"Two days."

"I'm supposed to be monitoring the trainees. I need to-"

"Oh no. No no no, you're not going back to work. You're staying home with me the rest of the week since I can't seem to leave you alone to take care of yourself."

"You can't do that-"

"Oh like hell I can't! I already called in to get you the week off. My parents are coming in to talk to you as well."

"Y/N-!"

"Not another word about this. Do you hear me?"

"Yes ma'am..."

"Good. Now it's time to get up. I assume you haven't really taken a break to eat so I made sure to cook for you while you were out."

".....Thank you."

Years of living with him lead up to this point. It's not the place you expected him to ask but he's always surprised you the moment you had your guard down. Being asked something as big as that in the middle of the night certainly woke you up. You knew he was hiding something important in his nightstand due to the amount of times he's made excuses for you not to open it.

"Y/N?"

"Hm?"

"You're not asleep?"

"I was trying to. Did you need something?"

"I was just thinking..."

"About?"

"Us, my job, life after all of that."

"Are you ok?"

"I'm fine, honest. I just had a question."

"Shoot."

"Would you marry someone like me?"

"Yes. I would think that would be obvious for just how long I've been in a relationship with you."

"Good. You can have what's in my nightstand then."

Your eyes shot open with that and you turned the light next to the bed on to look at him.

"What did you do?"

"Nothing bad, just go look."

"Please don't be messing with me right now."

He moved to sit himself up in bed. The small smile on his face told you that he wasn't, along with the lovesick look in his eyes.

"I'm not. Would you rather me show you instead?"

He went to open the drawer in his nightstand to retrieve what he'd been hiding from you after you were too slow to answer.

"I know it's been long overdue..."

He turned to face you with a small box opened in his hand. A beautiful diamond ring sat in the middle.

"Would you marry me-?"

You didn't let him finish, tackling him into a hug.

"Yes."

"That was a quick response."

"I literally thought you'd never ask me, dummy. I was ready for this as early as two years ago. I didn't really have to think about it hard."

"You're the reason I manage to stay sane, I swear."

"You looked like you were going to faint for a second."

"It felt like that."

"Wait a second..."

"Hm?"

"How long have you had the ring for?"

"......A year...."

"......"

"I wasn't mentally prepared for it yet, but I knew what I wanted. I'm just happy that I didn't buy it for nothing."

"Were you worried about me saying no?"

"No, I was worried I'd never get the chance to ask you."

"Well, you're definitely stuck with me now. I'm not going to let you chicken out of this."

"I expected that..... Can you let me up for a minute?"

"Oh right, sorry. I got a little too excited there."

As soon as he was able to sit up right again he asked for your hand. He was happy to slide the ring onto your finger.

“You do know that I’m going to have to take this off so I don’t lose it in the sheets right?”

“That’s fine. I just wanted to be able to do that.”

“I guess I really did make an honest man out of you huh?”

“I guess you could say that…”

“Hubby~”

“Ok, now you’re just teasing me.”

“Maybe so, but you deserve it.”

“I knew I should’ve asked you earlier…”

“Were you ready earlier?”

“I’ve actually been trying the last month to force myself to ask. Every time I tried the words would get stuck in my throat.”

“Well I’m happy that you finally asked me.”

“It’s so pretty…”

“I thought you’d like it. I did go through several dozen to find one that looked right.”

“You went jewelry shopping and I didn’t even have to drag you to the shop? Damn. You’re all grown up now.”

“You’re never going to let me live this down are you?”

“Not a chance.”

“Thought so….”

"And the rest was history."

"You forgot the part where when I tackled you, we both fell to the floor hon."

"Can't you let me tell it my way?"

#dra tsurugi #danganronpa #tsurugi kinjo #tsurugi kinjo x reader #tsurugi kinjo dra #tsurugi dra #danganronpa another #super danganronpa another 2 #sdra2 tsurugi #sdra2 x reader #sdra2

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just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi · 3 years

Text

New Training - Rudy

Note: I was pretty sure I might come back and flesh these trainings out a little more, but didn't have the ideas at the time, so it's a bit spacey. These happen over about 3 days.

Also just keep in mind that Rudy has a very low pain tolerance.

[Masterlist]

TW: pet whump, kidnapped whumpee, conditioning, muzzle, restraints, conditioned whumpee, dehumanization/animalization, manhandling, light mouth whump (noncon mouthwash and sharp muzzles), implied starvation, mind games, broken whumpee mindset,

When Rudy woke, the first thing he noticed was how much his head hurt. One spot in particular on the right side of his forehead was pounding. The next thing he realized was he was muzzled again. Master hadn’t put him in a muzzle in so long - what did he do wrong?

With a jolt, the memories of yesterday came back and he sat up, nearly choking himself on the chain clipped to his collar. He reached up and felt the little lock, whining in fear as he looked around. Tears sprung to his eyes as he felt around the collar and realized it wasn’t his, the bed wasn’t his, the room wasn’t Masters.

“Now you’re awake, sleepy head.”

Panicked, he tried to scurry back but the chain kept him in place. Casey rounded from the otherside of the room, grinning wildly. The whimpers and whines were so impossibly cute, better than he could have ever imagined. The boy was scared now, but he’d soon love Casey. He was so excited, so ready to get started training.

He reached own the pet the boy’s cheek - a gesture of peace and comfort, but the boy pulled away, hands up to tug at the chain. Casey scowled and slapped him.

“Ugh, you know far better than that, Archimedes.”

“No!” Rudy cried out, tugging at the end of the lead.

“Come on, Archimedes,” Casey groaned, pulling the boy back roughly. “Listen to your owner.”

The sharp tug put him off balance and Rudy tripped to the ground, getting up quickly on knees to relieve pressure from his throat. “N-No! Not, not my name, not my Master!” He glared up at the man, shaking but resolute. He knew who he belonged to.

Casey’s blood boiled.

“Stupid pet, you’ll learn better than to speak back to me like that.”

He grabbed the back of the boys’s collar, dragging him up and down the hall. Rudy tried to struggle and plant his feet, but it ended up only choking him. Casey threw him into the small room against the counter and quickly grabbed a bottle sitting on the self. With a firm grip under his jaw, he pried the boy’s mouth open and forcefully poured some of the liquid in.

“Don’t swallow it - or do, if you want to throw up,” he remarked coldly, pressing a hand against Rudy’s mouth to keep it closed. He watched the boy’s eyes get wide, recompense for his disobedience.

The liquid, whatever it was, tasted horrible and sour. It made him gag when it hit the back of his throat, bound hands coming up to try and pry the man’s away to spit it out. Casey pinned his hands down with a knee and pushed him back farther, sink counter digging painfully into his lower back.

Then it started to burn.

It hurt and burned, like it was starting to eat away at his gums and teeth. Rudy whined loudly, eyes begging Casey to let him go. The man was grinning back at him, the expression like a dagger stabbing straight at his heart. He was, he was enjoying this, enjoying seeing him so scared and in pain.

“Tastes bad, doesn’t it? Doesn’t it?" He prompted, shaking him lightly. Rudy panted through his nose and nodded quickly. Please let him spit it out, please. “Bad words get punished, and this is how they’ll be punished. Do you understand, Archimedes?”

Rudy whined, but nodded again. It burned, it hurt his mouth. He wanted it out, out out out.

With a spin, Casey faced him towards the sink before he released him. Rudy quickly spit it out, nearly gagging in the process. Even then, the taste lingered in his mouth. Shaking, he curled over the sink and began to cry again as he felt the man begin to replace the muzzle. His eyes found Casey’s in the mirror for a moment as Rudy considered struggling again. Something about the darkness in his eyes made the pet reconsider.

He didn’t fight as the muzzle was closed, tighter than before. Something sharp sliced against his tongue lightly and he jerked back with a whine. Sharp? A sharp bit?! He could barely even swallow to get rid his mouth of that terrible taste. His eyes pleaded with Casey, who didn’t seem affected by the teary green look.

“There,” said Casey, petting down Rudy’s hair as if nothing happened. “Isn’t that better. Are you going to be a good boy for me now?”

Rudy didn’t know how to answer.

“Hungry, Arch?” Casey asked as he turned from the stove. The boy was at the very end of the lead hanging from the man’s waist, backed up against the wall. The pet shook his head vigorously, hard enough to make the rings on the muzzle chime against each other. Casey huffed a laugh and turned back to his saucepan.

No food then.

Rudy laid in the little dog bed, hands closed away in mittens with a softer muzzle strapped into place. Thankfully, this one didn’t have a bit, but it was still pressure around his face and head. Tears fell, again, and Rudy nuzzled his face into the padding.

He, he still belonged to Master - didn’t he?

He knew he belonged to Master because he was the one who fed him and clothed him and gave him a name and a collar and he stayed in his house. There were other human rules too, that proved he owned him. The chip in his arm and the code on his side and maybe other stuff too - but he didn’t know any of that. He had never had to worry about it.

But now he wasn’t in Master… Mason’s?... he wasn’t in that house, he wasn’t wearing that collar or being taken care of by him. Did, did that mean he belonged to Casey? Was… was it Master Casey? He didn’t know, didn’t know what to think. It was all so confusing.

He wanted to be home so incredibly badly, but didn’t Master Mason say that pets didn’t get wants? They didn’t get to decide what happened to them? They trusted their Master and their Master took care of them. He rolled over to his other side.

But no, because Master Casey (just Casey?) wasn’t following the human rules. Or maybe he was - the pet didn’t know. He couldn’t believe that stealing a pet from the park and shoving them in a trunk counted in human rules, but they weren’t for him to understand. Master Mason had taught him to not question those things and now Master Casey was doing things he didn’t understand and, and....

A sob broke out and the pet pressed farther into the bed, desperate for comfort but not knowing if he was allowed to get it. Or if he was supposed to want it? It hurt to think, everything hurt so much to try and untangle. He wanted someone - anyone - to come along and tell him what to do. To explain it to him, to make the bad feelings go away. That’s what Master Mason had done, he had made the bad feelings go away. Slowly, the pet raised up and peered over the foot of the bed to see Master Casey looking on his phone. He whimpered.

Casey looked up to see the boy absolutely distraught. He let out a sad ‘aww’ and put away his phone to go to him. The pet tired to wipe its eyes with the mittens and sniffled, leaning towards him.

“Here, let’s take these off,” he said, gently releasing the buckles and guiding the mittens away. The pet laid its head on his shoulder and Casey felt his heart lift. He pulled the smaller boy onto the bed with him and held him close. The boy settled into him, obviously accepting as Master and wanting comfort from him.

It was so satisfying.

“There you are, there you are sweetheart. See? I knew you’d figure it out. You’re gonna be such a good boy for me, I just know it. Someday, I’ll find someone to correct your chip and then you’ll really be mine.”

Rudy’s eyes flashed open from where he was nuzzled into the man’s chest. ‘Really’ be his. He wasn’t his. He did belong to Master - Casey was the thief. He tried to keep his breathing slow, to not disturb the man holding him. He need out, he needed to go home, still. Then, he noticed the man starting to breathe slowly, starting to relax. He froze, a dangerous thought growing in his head.

He was falling asleep. Rudy could get away when he was asleep.

It felt like it took so long, but eventually there was a soft snoring coming from above him. Rudy peeked up to see his eyes closed, face slack. Oh so carefully, he pulled away one arm, then another, then eased farther away. He froze again, pulse hammering in his throat, watching to see if the man would stir.

He didn’t.

Holding his breath, Rudy placed both feet on the ground and stood. The floor was mercifully carpet, not producing any noise to get him caught. He took one step, then another, until he was out of the bedroom and into the hall. It was dark, only a forgotten bathroom light to illuminate his path.

As quietly as possible, he crept down until he saw the doors again. He knew from the first time that they were both locked, and that he would have to find another way out.

That’s when he noticed the window above the sink open slightly.

Casey had kept him on a lead the entire time, never letting him get too far away. It had been pure luck he was taken off one that night, and that must have been why he left it open.

Rudy climbed up onto the sink and pushed it open slowly, hoping it wouldn’t be too loud. The fact it wasn’t excited him a bit - until he looked out.

That, that was a long way to the ground.

He gulped and realized he was still wearing the muzzle. With shaky hands, the buckles were eventually worked through and released. He had to take a very deep breath after, never having taken off his own muzzle before. It felt like he was being bad, but it was Casey that put it on him, so he must be allowed.

Laying it down on the counter, Rudy considered the window again. There was grass below, which would be better - right? He looked around for a rope or something to use to lower down, but his anxiety was starting to get the best of him. Casey could wake up at any moment, and he wouldn’t get a chance like that again.

Feeling like his last option, Rudy climbed up onto the counter and put one of his legs through. Breathing hard, he looked one last time to make sure Casey hadn’t woken up.

He put the other leg through and climbed out.

taggg: @whumpingredroses @suspicious-whumping-egg @as-a-matter-of-whump @albino-whumpee

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eversleepyriver · 2 years

Text

fragile masks

~fandom: genshin impact~

~character(s): n/a~

~genre: angst, hopeful ending~

~tw: suicidal thoughts, implied/references self harm, implied/referenced eating disorder, negative self talk~

~summary: a character study~

~link to AO3~

If you asked them, the first thing out of their mouth would be “Of course not! I still have so much I haven’t done yet!” With a tone an expression so rehearsed it looked real, and fooled anyone who dared to ask. There was truth to it, of course. There were many things they wanted to do in their years of life, however short or long that may be. Exploring the entirety of Teyvat, experiencing cultures they could never have dreamed of prior to the blessing that quite literally fell from the sky, making (mostly) genuine connections, the list was endless. But how does one fit this list with the question they all but prayed not to be asked?

“Are you trying to kill yourself?!?!”

Life is forever uncertain, but most can expect their lives to go on until old age allows them to slip away peacefully in their sleep. Not everyone puts themselves in danger to feel something other than the never ending hatred for their own existence. Not everyone let’s the lies flow so easily past their lips that even they start to question their true feelings and motivations. Not everyone skips meals because the thought of starvation satiates the urge to take their blade to their own skin. The question always came with frustration or great worry, sometimes even both. But this was basically routine at this point, all they had to do was smile, give a semi valid reason and hope no one caught on. And it worked for a while!

A lot of people suffer, and most do so while still smiling, still trying to fight for some control to bring about a stability they lack. And if they can’t keep fighting, they seek help, as they should. But it’s different with them. For other people, they were treating themselves with the respect and compassion they deserved. With themself? It’s a sign of weakness, and they were not weak. They refused to be weak, and refused to burden anyone else with their struggles. Everyone has their own issues to deal with, bigger fish to fry, sharing thoughts that went through their mind at least a dozen times on a daily basis only made the load everyone else carried even heavier.

However, that begs the question… what happens when the smiles continue past the initial pain? What happens when they can’t even look at a particular person without having to plaster on a smile and put on an act in order to keep suspicions at bay? What does one do when one knows what could fix everything: changing the answer to the question from those who can see past the layers and layers of masks?

People that perceptive are rare, and yet here they were with one that, while they treasured their company and friendship, would not leave them alone. Alone enough to give in to the desperation for control and taking it by any means necessary. Alone enough to finally let down the mask after a long day of pretending they were fine, just a little tired. Alone enough to indulge in the one thing that made them feel something other than a deep rooted hatred for themself and the world they’re forced to live in. This blessing from the sky was also a curse, being able to see masks on top of masks down to the first they ever donned, and holy shit it would be their undoing.

What if the true answer slipped past their tightly guarded filter one day? Instead of their usual smile and laughter, thanking them for worrying with false reassurances, they opened up and said “I wish I had died that day.” What if the mask slipped too far and everyone could see the dead man walking in front of them? Their eyes were shielded for a reason, their practiced expressions ensured no one would know that they would literally rather be six feet under than still pushing forwards as everyone expected of them.

The mere idea of being vulnerable like that shook them to the core. Everything and everyone would change. It would start with their loved ones saying that they were so very loved and deserved to stay, then the kind suggestion that getting help from a professional will make things easier, and lastly reassurances that their place in this world was not a mistake… all of these lies or misguided wishes piling up to crush them with the guilt of worrying the people they don’t deserve but somehow still have. They would never be left alone, their weapons would be taken, and anything potentially harmful or lethal immediately removed and hidden because Archons be damned, they just wanted to die.

Then came the thought of the the pain from those they cherished would face once they were gone. Those that they wished would just let him go. But to no avail, the evident pain directed at their own pain only made them feel worse, wishing more and more that fate could strike them down so at least they didn’t have to leave this world knowing they hurt the people that cared. Which hurt them, not that they would ever tell. The kids in their life wouldn’t understand, would miss them so much, only be hurt again to learn they ended their life with their own hands once they were old enough. The friends and their lover would be crushed knowing they couldn’t change the outcome, perhaps leading them down their own dark spiral into a place of no return.

What’s funny is, despite the fact others put them through this never ending cycle of wanting to die but too guilty to actually do it, they wouldn’t wish this feeling on anyone else. Not their enemies, not those that had already turned on them, not even the gods that cursed their very existence… only themself. If they could bear it, then no one else would have to. So they had to hold on. They had to keep pushing so that no one else took on the pain that they not only endured, but chased after to perhaps free them from the chains binding them to this world.

Life is uncertain, but one thing they knew with every fibre of their being is that no matter how much you’re struggling, still fighting to protect those that don’t deserve the constant torture, it’s really is too much for one person, and it broke them. They denied it until their last day, with the fatal blow being a revelation they had intentionally blinded themself from. They were weak. They tried so hard to be strong for those around them and it was a catastrophic failure. And so they caved. They made a choice, made every attempt to get those they loved to turn their backs on them and let the consequences of their actions be the blade that severed their ties with this body and life. That was what they hoped for, by betraying their trust so they could be at peace with their own demise, the release from mortal hell they desired so deeply. Surely if it was divine punishment for committing horrible deeds, it would at least give them closure and a sense of justice.

But it backfired, and everyone still cared, still trying to protect them despite their constant pleas for them to run away, to hate them so they could face his punishment, to stop caring so they could face retribution for what they did in a desperate attempt to kill themselves by the hands of another.

Not one of them did, and they watched them all, one by one, see past the carefully crafted masks and chose to help instead of condemn them. They picked up their weapon and told the heavens to be damned, Celestia was not taking them away so easily. Can you not see they are in pain? How they put on a smile so no one worries about them? How they bite their tongue, playing the role they were given only to be used, forgotten, and once again crushed with a feeling that they weren’t worthy of their love and compassion? The heavens laughed in response, pushing them out of the way like the pawns they were on the massive chessboard called Teyvat. The arrogation of man defied the heavenly principles, and those that rebel must be dealt with, being captured and removed from the playing field.

So yes, someone did die that day, but their plan to be seen as another victory towards their goals failed miserably. Their death was not painless for those they tried so hard to push away, to help avoid their pain and grief. Instead, they were given a funeral of a warrior rather than a villain. Their face looked so at peace, dressed in expensive clothes as they lay there motionlessly. They looked happy, most people commented, finally being freed from a burden they should never have been forced to endure along. They watched people cry and laugh during a eulogy fit for royalty, full of old banter, confessions, and memories. They watched the love of their life slide a ring onto their left hand, one that they never got to truly reply to and reciprocate, remembering the ring in their own side table drawer. They watched the children grow and mature, watched their peers develop grey hairs, settle down, watched their beloved find love once again instead of succumbing to the temptation of seeing their partner, they watched the elderly pass away, ascending to Celestia where they deserved to be and greeted them into the afterlife with tears of joy and laughter carried by the winds.

In a way, they really don’t regret what they did. They had no will to live, existing as an extension of someone else’s will and taking on what others couldn’t. Simply following what was expected so no one batted an eye or tried to look past layers of disguise. They very much regret that he hurt those they loved, but watching them grow and heal was the most merciful punishment for bringing about war and chaos. Reuniting with them when it was their time to ascend was a gift they still didn’t believed they deserved, but sometimes the afterlife is kind.

Oh, I suppose I didn’t specify the main character of our story, so I will leave that conclusion to you. He had friends, he had a family, he had a love that burned so bright despite his self perceived lack of worth, and he lost them all because he couldn’t pretend for them anymore. I know that doesn’t narrow it down at all. With that description, it could be several characters in the story of Teyvat, the Teyvat of yesterday, today, and tomorrow. But I know this resonates with one in particular for you, and I’m sure you feel a connection to them somehow. So let me say this, while you’re still here.

You are loved, and yes, you are worthy of it. You are worthy because you are here. You are alive. The probability of you existing right here, right now, the way that you are is 1 in 10 Trillion. You are here by no mistake, and your life is priceless. As someone who wrote this as a vent, a way to expel my hatred for myself so that I didn’t fall back on unhealthy coping mechanisms, you have intrinsic value that cannot be defined in simple terms. So feel free to read this story again and again, see yourself in the character you’ve associated this with, and then show yourself the same kindness you would show them. You are worthy, you are deserving, and I am really proud of you for being here. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ A/N: Thank you for reading all the way through!!! Please leave any feedback you may have and consider a like and reblog if you enjoyed the story!!

I wanted to leave this completely open ended so that if you’re facing hard times and you see the reflection of a character within this story, I don’t take away that validation and feeling of being seen and heard. I had two specifically in mind writing it, but that’s because it’s who I relate to and allows me to express the message I’m trying to convey. Whoever you placed in the narrator’s place while reading my silly little story is incredibly valid, no matter who it is.

My ask box is open for requests, please just check the pinned post on my blog before sending in an idea. I will be writing more, both requests and my own little whims, so let me know if a tag list is something you might be interested in! I will stress this again, I’m so damn proud you’re here. It is really fucking hard, and I see you. You are so strong, just don’t forget you don’t have to be strong alone. People love you and care about you, and yes, you deserve each and every one of them.

~Riv xx

#genshin impact #genshin #genshin angst #genshin impact angst #genshin impact fanfic #genshin fanfic

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feetoffire · 3 years

Text

Captain Christopher Pike, the rec list

I had this almost finished and ready to post, and then the kitten wiped everything, so here it is, a gazillion years later than I wanted. Yay.

Ongoing - the fic is complete, but not all chapters are posted

WIP - fic isn’t finished

Incomplete - last-updated-more-than-a-year-ago WIPs

recs under the cut; spoilers abound

AOS

Gen

Pike’s Office by AnxiouslyGoing. Poor Jim has a Tarsus related panic attack, and ends up sleeping in Pike’s office/on Pike’s lap. Academy Era, bonus appearance by Spock, dad!Pike. 2k oneshot.

Another Life by LullabyKnell. Time travel fix it for ST2009. As ever, LullabyKnell gave us a spectacular, delightfully well-written fic. Dadmiral Pike, even if he’s technically a captain at this point. No pairings, everything is platonic. 12 chapters, 61k, T. Complete.

Watching the Cloud of Dust by AngelQueen. Pike runs into Spock Prime while seeing the Enterprise off. Cue melancholy fluff (it follows Spock Prime around like a dog). 1.7k oneshot, G.

Phil Boyce/Chris Pike

horizons universe by gracieminabox. Massive, massive series spanning the whole of Chris’ life. Not canon compliant, i.e. Pike Lives. “Christopher Pike, in word and in deed.” Series, 263k in seventeen parts, G-E.

Altered Horizons by InsaneSociopath. The bar fight goes very differently because Chris gets elbowed in the face. Featuring depressed!bipolar!Chris, who is Not Having A Good Time, Emergency Department (ED) doc Bones, and mother-hen!Jim. Phil is essentially Sir Not Appearing In This Fic, but he and Chris are married. Seven chapters, 14k, G. Incomplete. I adore this one.

When Darkness Drifts by InsaneSociopath. Tarsus fic. Jim gets adopted by Starfleet but still ends up on Tarsus, except Chris is there. All Tarsus-related warnings apply. Jim and Chris centric; Phil is most present in the last few chapters. Six chapters, 44k, M. Complete.

Kinktober 2017 by nerdqueenenterprise. What it says on the tin. Series, 13k in eight parts, T-E. Complete.

A Vacation Long Overdue by nerdqueenenterprise. Reunion sex, mostly. They haven’t seen each other in six months, so they take leave on a remote beach. ~9k oneshot, E.

The Weight of a Man by imachar. Another huge series charting the evolution of Chris and Phil’s relationship. Both canon compliant and canon non-compliant, so there’s a choice if you want it. Series, 174k in sixteen parts, M-E. Complete.

shatterproof by gracieminabox. Will Make You Cry. Phil’s POV, STID compliant, featuring a picture from their early days. 4.3k oneshot, M.

Winged Desires and Veiled Persuasions by imachar. Post-Narada, ignores/was written before STID. Bones ends up hanging out with Phil and Chris at Spuhura’s wedding reception, and then the three of them have sex in Phil and Chris’ hotel suite. Pretty much pure smut. 12k oneshot, E.

McPike

The Wind and Its Satellite by severinne. Long series, some BDSM, eventual Bones/Jim/Pike. Something of a McPike classic. Series, 186k in twenty parts, M-E.

Partridge Fallen From the Pear Tree by severinne. Post-divorce Bones works as a prostitute to make ends meet. Pike comes to town to recruit him, ends up paying for a night without knowing Bones is Bones, and then they both freak the fuck out when Pike realizes who he is. More-or-less just smut and angst. Pre-canon. Three chapters, 12k, E. Complete.

Singularities Verse by FrancescaMonterone. Bones and Pike fall in love, Pike adopts Chekov, Jim is Jim. Bonus Admirals Archer and Reed, and Archer/Reed. Mostly pre-canon, ace Pike. Series, 81k in six parts, T. WIP.

Need by Noranem. Post STID, Pike and Bones invite Jim into their relationship and their bed. Established McPike, early days Bones/Jim/Pike. Four chapters, 12k, E. Complete.

Pirk

See All The Stars by HoneyBeeBritt. Chris and Jim fell in love some time before Daystrom. Fluff and angst, with a happy ending promised in part four. I come back to this one regularly, especially part one. Series, 6.2k in three parts, T-M. Ongoing.

Shining On The Quay by topaz. Post-Narada through Beyond, ignores STID. Chris and Jim fall in love, get together, and figure out how to keep a relationship going when one of them is in space and the other is an admiral. Series, 32k in three parts, E. Complete.

You Still Got Wheels, Kid by withthepilot. Yes, this is partially on here because it’s one of the few (good) fem!Pike fics. Pre-canon, Pike finds out Jim’s alive because she (not Winona or Sam) is listed as his emergency contact. Prostitute Jim. Takes place two years before canon, I think. 12k oneshot, E.

Moments along the path by InsaneSociopath. Jim, through no fault of his own, is assigned to Pike as an aide bc Command thinks he’s a loose cannon. Pike is delighted /s. (he warms up eventually.) Some Tarsus PTSD; also a fair amount of fluff. Academy Era slow burn that goes right through to (immediately) post-Narada. 46k oneshot, M. Second chapter is artwork. Long but 100% worth it.

How Do You Want Me, How Do You Want Me? by babykid528. Get together via smut. Feelings abound but talking about them does not. 3k oneshot, E.

The Ocean Between Us by severinne. They get a drink in a bar. They’re both dead. Something of a get-together fic. Can and Will sucker punch you with feels. STID compliant. 1k oneshot, T.

Mutual Profusion of Good Feeling (aka Wherein the Aliens have a Flair for Mood Lighting) by kayliemalinza. This doesn’t really count as Pirk, but it’s not platonic enough for the gen category. Away mission, the premise is ‘aliens made them do it’ but there’s no sex or fade to black. Romantic, I guess? I really don’t know, but the prose is gorgeous. Also a Pike Lives/returns to the Enterprise AU. 5k oneshot, T.

Timeline Shenanigans

In plain view by IceCream_Junkie, Killermanatee. Pike/Pike. What can I say? The image of Greenwood’s Pike and Mount’s Pike together is very pretty. 2k oneshot, E.

Out of This World by TheAsexualofSpades. Space Puns. That is all. 1.1k oneshot, G.

Discovery/quasi-SNW

Gen

A Small Storm by EKthered. Spock goes to visit his captain and ends up comforting him instead. Post Boreth. 2.3k oneshot.

you were never broken by ordinary things by SiderumInCaelo. Michael Burnham & Chris Pike. Michael has only an inkling of what’s going on, but she manages to comfort Chris anyway. Post Boreth. 1.2k oneshot.

Piler | Chris Pike/Ash Tyler

the chair and the badge by ninjamcgarrett. The boys are soft and in love. Lots of smut, but a fair amount of plot. Their respective traumas are addressed too, so there’s plenty of h/c. Honestly? My favorite from this pairing. Series, 59k in five parts, M-E. Ongoing.

Reality by aishahiwatari. Initially a take on how these two idiots settled their differences, and evolution from there. Part two is post-season two of Disco. Series, 5k in two parts, E. Complete.

survival is insufficient by topaz. Post-Disco; they get together to remember Discovery’s crew, and then they get together. Traumas are addressed. Part two is a sort-of case fic, TW starvation. Series, 33k in two parts, E. WIP.

Feeling Too Deeply by NightOfTheLand. Established Piler, post-Disco season two couch sex. 6k oneshot, E.

dancing to a beat of our own, flying with the speakers blown by wolfhalls. Neither of them want to talk about anything, aka Horrible Coping Mechanisms TM. Bottom Pike, quasi-hurt/comfort. 2.7k oneshot, E.

Christmas in Sickbay by lah_mrh. Chris is accident- and injury-prone and has a new reason to hate spiders. Ash just wants to spend time with his boyfriend. 1k oneshot, G.

The Pillow Will Disappear When I Forget I Put a Pillow There, Worry Not by prototype_malice. Sleepy fluff and cuddles. (they deserve it.) 665 words, oneshot, G.

Chris Pike/Una | Number One

it will take place without witnesses by love_in_the_time_of_kohlinahr. Post Disco, Pike is struggling with the knowledge of his future, so he and Una play chess until stupid o’clock in the morning (as one does), and then he lowkey has a panic attack. Una POV. Also features sleepy sex, but it isn’t plot-important and can be skipped over, if you wish. 2k oneshot, E.

Overtime by Astronoddingoff. Una has Thoughts about Chris working doubles for the better part of a week. Also men get pegged. Definite sub!Chris. 7k oneshot, E.

Terminal Velocity by Astronoddingoff. Una pegs Chris and drags his favorite fantasy out of him. Chris is On Board with all of this. Implied poly!Chris (i.e. Boyce/Pike) and hardcore switch/sub vibes from Chris. 6.8k oneshot, E.

All for One by knightinmourning. D/s universe, where Pike had/has to hide the fact that he’s a sub to make (and stay) captain. Mostly reccing for part two, which has a fair amount of hurt/comfort (and also hints at threatened sexual assault and definite torture; be forewarned). Technically also Chris/Phil and Chris/Spock, but there’s no pairing sex, and part two is entirely Una’s POV. Series, 4.2k in two parts, M-E. Probably incomplete.

A Gentle Touch by jedi_harkness. Chris and Una shower together. Body worship, no sex. So Much Fluff (and also happy tears). It’s super sweet. 1.7k oneshot, T.

Phil Boyce/Chris Pike

Decompression by Astronoddingoff. Chris is elated by a recent treaty success and the time spent dirtside. Phil does his best to make him even happier. Lowkey sub Pike. Implied poly!Chris (i.e. Pike/One). 3.5k oneshot, E.

Most Pike/Boyce fics fall under the AOS tags

Una/Phil/Chris

Triangulate by Astronoddingoff. Sex pollen, but they’re already-kind-of-mostly in an established relationship. Recent miscommunications lead to angst. They all love each other and they’re all idiots. Lowkey sub Pike. Two chapters, 20k, E.

Holy by Astronoddingoff. Self-actualizing featuring religious guilt/conflict, i.e. Pike is a sub and religion is weird about enjoying yourself. 2.7k oneshot, E.

Happy Birthday by MeganMoonlight. It’s Phil’s birthday. Cue breakfast in bed. 530 word oneshot, G.

#christopher pike #star trek #trek aos #trek dis(co)#fic recs #christopher pike fic recs #pike/boyce #one/boyce/pike #pike/one #piler #mcpike #pirk #a couple disco-aos crossovers for funsies #captain dad pike #dadmiral pike

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themysteryofwriting · 4 years

Text

Masterpost

Sanders Sides OneShots

What Happened Before Accepting Anxiety - what I think happened that caused Virgil to sink out

The Creativity Split -my interpretation of the Split. Warning for slight U!Pat and gaslighting

Analogical Clothes Prompt - some fluffy Analogical with Logan stealing Virgil’s clothes

Moceit No Mom prompt - fluffy Moceit prompt with a bit of demiboy Patton or Patton in a skirt where Patton is oblivious til the end

Royality short Pat prompt - no further explanation needed

Can’t You See It - Analogical One Shot. Virgil wants the others to know about how loving Logan is...and that he’s a giant memelord. Is that so bad? Hints of background Roceit And Remus being himself

Who say you have to leave your past behind you - my first one shot with Rachel. Some stuff has changed about her since this but it has a special place in my heart. Hinted at Past U!Pat and Remus being himself. Dee speaks in lies ofc.

This is the Worst Ending - oh boy. okay this is what I call my angst :tm: If you are senstive to any of the following: don’t read Unsympathetic Patton, multiple major character deaths, blood, Sayori like scene, string imagery, gore, depression, brainwashing, emotional manipulation,murder, strangulation, eating disorder(kinda), stabbing, gaslighting There was a part 2 but......it didn’t last long, i wasn’t proud of it

Puppet!Ray Origins - the first part of my fnaf au! (i literally only have this part and the end so far). Warnings for U!Pat (he’s Afton), along with child death. However some cute Logan and Ray interactions

Puppet!Ray: End of Everything: continuation of FNAF AU. This time the Henry scene at the end of FNAF 6. The fic I got to use the tag ‘is it still fluff if everyone dies’ on. TW: Hinted Unsympathetic Patton because of who he replaces

And They Were Roommates - a hurt/comfort fic writen for the sanders gift exchange last year. LAMP fic, nonbinary Dee, college AU, supportive boyfs all around

Prinxiety Prompt - takes place post DWIT, Virgil and Roman talking/flirting

Moxiety, Mobster Patton - again, nuff said. no death, actually pretty fluffy for the prompt. maybe a little kidnapping?

Movie Night: cute fluffy LAMP

Logan Prevents A Murder: QPP Analogical, Virgil debating murdering Roman

The Bane of Protectiveness: Ray was there when Roman....and she couldn’t stop him TW: Suicide, Self-deprecation, self-hatred

MM3: The Murder: based of a Murder Mystery from a discord server, how Talyn’s death played out TW: death, murder, vomiting, planned murder, drugging a drink, Unsympathetic Logan

How Ray Became Anxiety: Little clip from an au of mine where Ray becomes anxiety, along with keeping protectiveness. TW: character death, Virgil ducks out, Patton and Roman are jerks

Fighting the Dragon Witch isn’t Therapy: after POF, Roman will do anything to prove himself TW: Temporary Major Character Death

Random Fandom One Shots

Peter Meets Angel - short one shot about my oc meeting Peter (Marvel)

Mitsue Goes Off: Mitsue was already having a bad day, so when the LOV kidnaps her, she’s going to give them a piece of her mind (MHA)

We Have Mic - Mic gets kidnapped, Aizawa has something to say bout that (MHA)

Scar to Remember - Overhaul left a mark on Mitsue (MHA)

Demise Of A Gamer (DR) - Chp5 of SDR2 from Chiaki’s Pov

Friends Protect Each Other- Tubbo goes to visit Tommy during his exile...and finds Dream with him TW: manipulative Dream

Original Writing

Saving The Moon - a short story I wrote for a contest a few years back

Never Trust A Newbie- short story written for a writing camp

The Hug Wizard- if you know, you know

Spiritfarer Hug Wizard: o w o

Soulmates Don’t Have to Be Romantic (finished :D )

my platonic soulmates series, starring my oc Ray

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Soulmate GC

Based off my soulmate story, a gc with the members messing w/ each other. Crack fic.

Chp 1

Chp 2

Bad Things Happen Bingo

The Collector - Logan collects people. TW: U!Logan, Kidnapping, Taxidermy on a person, blunt force trauma, character death, implied use of a date rape drug, major character death

Pressure Doesn’t Always Make A Diamond: Reminding a side for their mistakes was never a good idea. Especially when they feel guilty about it like Patton did. TW: Unsympathetic Deceit, Unsympathetic Logan, constant guilt-tripping, self-hatred, self-deprecation, blaming someone for something that isn’t their fault

He’s Not Yours: Patton’s parents....aren’t the best TW: emotional abuse, yelling, numbness

Keeping Them Pure: Patton just wanted to make sure his kiddos wouldn’t get corrupted by those nasty dark sides TW: Unsympathetic Patton, Kidnapping, Forced holding, chains

The Past Can Haunt You: Remus keeps getting left by those he cares about TW: Abandonment, Self deprecation, Childhood Trauma, the split, implied unsympathetic light sides

Snakes Don’t Like the Cold: Dee is part snake...so what happens when he gets trapped in a freezer TW: Unsympathetic Roman, locked in a freezer, hypothermia

All It Takes Is One Mistake: It’s very easy for the Ego to crack TW: Roman angst ,cracks, roman needing to talk to people

A Game of Paranoia: Something seems off to Rantaro as he goes through this game

You Just Need a Push to be Good: Patton couldn’t let those dark sides keep corrupting Thomas TW: Unsympathethic Patton, using shock collars as punishment

‘I’m Fine’ And Other Lies: Introduction of Mitsue, my bnha oc. Mitsue gets hurt in a fight and doesn’t realize how bad it is until it’s too late TW: mention of blood, hospitals

They Never Saw It Coming: a small one shot with my own sides. Warning, the title is a really bad pun. TW: graphic eye injury

The Collector: What Happened Before: a sort of prequel to The Collector, Patton thinking over what happened TW: hypnotism, mind control, U!Logan

Replaceable?: takes place post POF, Logan’s reaction to what Janus did

Those Left Behind: Ray was there when Virgil left them

You’ll See: From my given to Overhaul AU: Why Mitsue works with Overhaul TW: Forced Starvation, Kidnapping, Parents not caring

Why Roman’s Sword Isn’t Allowed In the Common Room: All I’m gonna say is this is not as much as a crack fic as it sounds. TW: stabbing, coughing up blood, fighting

Scar To Remember: Mitsue wasn’t left okay after Overhaul got a hold of her

We Have Mic: Someone kidnaps Mic to get to Aizawa. TW: Kidnapping

Don’t Hurt Ray Or Else: Even while with the lights, Virgil is going to protect his sister TW: Morally Grey/Unsympathetic Patton, Outing Someone, not Accepting someone, Transphobia?, mentions of fighting someone

Even In The Face Of Death, Logan Ignores His Feelings - a day to relax goes wrong when Remus decides to mess with Logan TW: blood, stabbing

Trapped- Virgil gets kidnapped while out in the imagination. It doesn’t go well. TW: kidnapping, panic attack, flashbacks, claustrophobia, implied pranking, implied fighting

Who Knew Sleep Paralysis Could Be Deadly?- Talent Swap AU with Makoto and Kyoko TW: stabby stab, K-nife, sickness, sleep paralysis

Kokichi’s Sacrifice - Kokichi’s POV of Chp 4 TW: major character death, strangulation

A Well Needed Lesson - Byakuya has had enough of the Ultimate Lucky Student, Kyoko responds in return

Oh Look, A Yandere - Mic gets kidnapped by a yandere and has to try to escape TW: Yandere, kidnapping

Bad Things Happen Bingo Part 2: New Card, New Category

To Manipulate A Protector -Orange goes after Virgil? Or is that just a trick? TW: Kidnapping, implied fighting, manipulation, being controlled

Some Apologies Go Nowhere - after chp 4, Kokichi tries to apologize to Shuichi. Key word there is try

No One Noticed...- What if Shiro hadn’t been the only one Replaced? TW: Abandonment, heavy doubt, replaced and not noticed

Of All People Why’d it have to be Deku? - Bakugou and Midoryia switch bodies. Chaos ensues. TW:… cussing I guess?

A Broken Disc- Spoilers for the March 1st Tommyinnit Stream TW: Major Character Death, Attempted Manipulation, Flashbacks

not again...: Nagito gets kidnapped...again TW: kidnapping, locked in small place

Goodbye Green- Who ever said the Creativity twins were supposed to be separated? TW: Morally Grey Patton, having to leave someone you care about

One Step Behind: Phil’s POV of what happened that fateful day TW: Major Character Death, Stabbing, Bleeding Out, Explosions

Adrien’s Realization

Lila Bashing fic where Adrien finally realizes that ‘Hey what Lila is doing to me isn’t good’

Chp 1- TW: Unrequited flirting, unrequited crush, Lila hate(?)

Chp 2- TW:Self doubt, bad advice

Another Path

After All Might tells Izuku he can’t be hero, Izuku decides it might be better to take another path to help people. Planned mix of actual story and chat fic

TW: slight All Might bashing

Prologue

Chp 1

Chp 2

#masterpost #my writing #ace's writing

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obsessionsposts · 4 years

Text

⚡Yan!Azula hc's🔥:

Tw: Violence / torture / implied sexual harassment / child neglect / starvation/ burning / death threats/Author being such a lazy turd/ etc...

◇ - First sighting: At the Fire nation castle. After the Shadow nation defeat, you were brought as sign of triumph of the Fire nation; as well as a gift to the Fire lord considering you are one of the finest soldier in Shadow nation. Anyways, your nonchalance, and frequent disobediences piqued Azulas interest. No matter what she incites of horrid words, your spirit is never broken or damaged. Thus, her mania began to leek out until it began to smother you into a darkened embrace.

◇ - Infatuation: Ah ah ah~, poor misfortune thing you are! To enrapture the attention of a wicked vixen. Azula finds your unperturbed, self restrained, and unshakeable spirit a generous challenge for her to see if she can break you into a thousand splinters.

Before, she can garner all the splinters to create her preferred version of 'you'. Yet, what the martinet lightning bender didn't take into a value is that you would dig a deep hole; only to fill it with an unblemished love. The same love that she didn't receive from either of her parents.

Consequently, she began to hoard you to herself and forbid you to interact with anyone in the castle except for her father. God forbid anyone from touching,seeing, and interacting with you! Lest, the foolish bug will be subjected to an Agni kai with her (the insignificant insect will be toyed with, then be exposed to a torturous death) or be charged with treason.

Yandere Type: Sadistic,Possesive,Obsessive.

Nobody has the right to hurt my darling, but me. That's Azulas motto right here fellas. Furthermore, Azula demonstrates her love through pain let be physically or mentally or sexually. Afterall, that's how she perceives love.

Surprise! Suprise! , Azula is more obsessive than you think. The way her darling eyes sparkles such a vehement desire to be free. "Haha, how frivolous! The only way to be free is when you marry me~". Not to mention, the unconditional forced respect and love her s/o shows makes her grip her cold-dead heart. Don't blame her, her parents neglected her emotionally wise. However, she didn't need them anymore as she founded her own emotional support and won't let them ever go.

Leading little Azula, to be exclusively possessive of her s/o. (Do you recall that ep, where Azula hogged a guy and demanded him to become her boyfriend? The same with s/o, but on a worse scale.) Her possessive trait is inherited from her truly asshole lovely father. Also, its stems from her paranoia that her love might leave her just like how her mother betrayed her and left her to fend the world on her own.

◇ - Method of stalking and the frequency of it?

You bet your ass, that she'll keep tabs on you. Everyday, you'll feel as of someone is watching you or in her case 'making sure no one come close to you, or else'. She'll send spies to gather info about you, then she will kill them because no one deserve you, but her.

◇ - How do they treat their s/o?

Two factors plays in role here: Azu's mood and her darling behavior. Most of the time, she loves to humiliate her darling whether they were obedient or otherwise. Is it out of spite or hatered? No,no,no. Mainly, she wants to see your fiery passion that run through your blood and that inky black powers of yours.

◇ - Nicknames: Normally, she picks names that are degrading and humiliating. In rare occassions, when she is vulnerable she calls her darling in an endearing nicknames.( In fear that they'll leave her like how her mother left her. So, Azu will try anything even if she's not familiar with to keep her dear from abandoning her.)

EX: My pet, prisoner, little one, love, darling, princess etc...

Punishments:

My, where to begin? Azula is the mama of torture, even surpassing her shitty father. If she had no qualms about bullying and tormenting her elder brother, then she has no problem doing so towards you.

The only difference is that this time out of twisted love and adoration. Plus, how are you going to learn if you didn't get punished. After all, pain is the best teacher~

Azu's fan favourites are psychological and mental chastises. Furthermore, it revolves the destruction of one's individuality and shattering their perception of reality.

Torture by proxy: What's better way to make your s/o listen to you then tormenting their loved ones© . Azu will nitpick your most beloved one? Is it Mommy dearest? Or, Daddy? So, many options to choose from. Their survival depends on your cooperation, along with their mental health.

Brainwashing: C l a s s i c a l method! To mold you into her pretty little thing. Gaslightings and Information Manipulation is used here to convert her pet to her ideals. EX: Fabricating in a subtle manner a part of her pets nations history to demonize the darling's nation and make them grateful that they live in a wonderful nation! :>

Debilitation: Another power trip for Azu, is starving her favorite prisoner from necessary nutrients. Whether be it food? Or, water? Maybe, even sensory deprivation that will cement her control over them. (Ps: I may said this before, sensory deprivation can cause hallucinations and breakdowns if prolonged. Which makes perfect sense, for azula to take advantage of the vulnerable state of the darling.)

Branding: "Please, Please with a cherry on top disobey! So, I can show your place to the world. Which is beneath me, yet farther above the rest", a wild grin tearing her face as she burns her name into your forearm permanently. Blood trickles down and skin falling apart, only the name of the demon remains. A Z U L A.

In Conclusion:

Azula is a terrifying yandere to have; she is a melting pot of possessive,obsessive, and sadistics tendencies mixed altogether.

Thanks to mama(in the comics, if I am not mistaken.) and papa neglecting her (emotionally wise). Her insecurities began to resurface. The only way she was taught to battle said insecurities is through fear and intimidation tactics.

So, when dear s/o shows her genuine love or adoration for that matter. Most likely She'll get confused at first, then a little while later gets hooked as fast as a fish on a bait.

" My own mother feared, despite, and abandoned me. However, I won't let the same event happen again. You're mine, and you'll worship me as I provide the heavens for you."

A/n: Hope you enjoyed this!

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere imagines #yandere fandoms #yancore #yandere atla #yandere azula #yandere azula x reader

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thewhumperinwhite · 3 years

Text

ATTD: The Wolf Pup Without His Pack (1)

ATTD Masterlist

@whumpitywhumpwhump @favwhumpstuff

Baby Time :)

TW for: whump of a minor; trauma response/panic attack; referenced/implied past child abuse; guilt and self-loathing; touch aversion; starvation/implications of disordered eating.

----

Now that he was no longer feverish, the boy was aware that his head ought to have been perfectly clear—clear enough to plan, or to make decisions, or at the very least to identify what he was feeling and why.

However. He knew his heart had been thudding almost painfully while he had obediently followed the Magician out of the Healer’s salon and toward the closest inn. And he knew that, about halfway through the short walk, he had begun desperately planning ways to escape. He could not, however, entirely tell why he his mind was so blank with panic.

He felt—guilty, for taking advantage of the Magician’s hospitality under such entirely false pretenses. Anticipation of all the lies he would have to tell before he could get away was making his palms and shoulder blades itch. But that wasn’t all of it. There was—another feeling, too, like a bird fluttering inside his ribcage: he was trapped here. By the time they reached the inn door, there was only room for one thought in his head, so loud and bright he could hear or see almost nothing else: If I run, he will catch me. Even if I need to, I can’t get away.

Then the voice of the inn’s doorman broke through the panicked buzzing in his ears, and he went weak-kneed with relief: There were no weapons allowed inside the inn.

Jasper was frowning at the doorman. “I don’t suppose you’ll accept our solemn vow not to cause any trouble,” he offered doubtfully. The doorman laughed once, without humor.

“No exceptions,” the doorman said, crossing thick arms over a thicker chest. He jerked his chin in the boy’s direction, and the boy smiled weakly at him, with utter sincerity for once. “He can leave that dress-sword with me, or you can both take your business elsewhere.”

The boy shook his head, squared his shoulders—laid his hand very gently on the Magician’s shoulder.

(He had not touched another human being in—quite some time, now. The Magician turned to frown at him, but only mildly. The Magician didn’t flinch. The boy hadn’t hurt him. He hadn’t hurt the Magician.)

(And the Magician didn’t hit him.)

There was a plain wooden bench against the front wall of the inn. The boy nodded towards it.

“I can wait out here, Magician,” he said gently.

Jasper looked at him, doubtfully.

“Boy,” Jasper said. “I don’t know when you last ate, but I know it was at least two sunsets ago. You will fall down in the street if you don’t eat. I will be less than ten minutes.” Jasper put his hand on the boy’s shoulder; the boy couldn’t keep his muscles from going wire-tight, but he didn’t flinch back from the touch, which felt like an accomplishment. “Wait here,” the Magician said, very seriously.

The boy nodded, smiling easily. That wasn’t enough, apparently. The Magician’s hand was still on his shoulder. (His shoulder burned slightly, under the man’s hand, but he didn’t shake it off. He was in full control of his faculties, now, and he could withstand having a stranger’s hand on his shoulder. It was fine.) “Alright, Magician,” he said. “I’ll wait.”

Jasper withdrew his hand. (The boy didn’t not rub at the skin of his shoulder. He did not readjust his tunic over it. It wasn’t even his tunic—the Magician had leant it to him—he had no way to give it back. He didn’t immediately tear it off. He didn’t even fidget.) Jasper frowned at the boy, until the boy huffed and sat down on the bench, and made a show of settling in.

“…Okay,” the doorman said. “You coming in, or not?”

Jasper sighed. “Yes, alright, shove over. I’ve no weapons on me.” He made eye contact with the doorman, as if daring him to comment on Jasper’s staff; after a moment the doorman rolled his eyes and stood aside to let Jasper enter the inn.

The doorman looked down at the boy, sitting on the bench beside the door. The boy smiled politely at him. The doorman shrugged, and stepped back inside, slamming the door behind him.

The boy counted to thirty in his head. Then he did it again, in Galdrean, just to be safe.

Then he got to his feet, brushed some dust from the green wool tunic he supposed he was apparently going to have to steal, and began to walk, quite quickly, in no particular direction.

“And where, exactly, are we off to now?” Chorus said, rather snidely, in his ear.

“Right back where we were, I imagine,” he said quietly, barely moving his lips, which was a skill he’d cultivated, for wearing the sword at formal occasions, in his father’s House.

Chorus made a wordless noise—of disgust, probably—and he laughed a little, shaking his head.

He was half a street away when a largish ball of something silver crashed into him, at waist height, driving into his stomach with bruising force and knocking him backwards onto the dirt road, hard enough to scrape both his palms bloody breaking the fall.

The little silver shape—it had rammed into his stomach with its head, and disoriented itself, apparently—lifted a hand to its head, and then looked up at the boy with wide eyes—green, with slit pupils.

It was a little boy. Not older than twelve summers. Younger than Dream was, when he—

(He stopped that thought, with force, before it could make him sick.)

The shape was a child. He had thought it silver because its hair was a waist-length tangle, stormcloud-grey. Through the mass, the tips of a pair of pointed ears were just visible. The wide eyes were too green—grass green, not a human color at all. It was clutching a thick cloak about its shoulders—fur, the exact same color as its hair.

A very small part of the boy’s brain registered that what he was looking at was, beyond doubt, a demon.

The demon looked at him with clear dismay—it’s small mouth opened just enough that he could see a pair of tiny white fangs—and then it scrambled to its feet and took off running again, down the street behind him.

The boy could see, now, a small crowd of full-grown men, some of them in weathered plate armor, all of them carrying weapons.

The boy pressed his hand against his stomach. There was blood on his tunic—and not, for once, his own.

The crowd of men ground to a stop in front of him, to catch their collective breath; some of the older members bent forward to rest their hands on their knees, or leaned against their spears and pitchforks.

“You—Crythian!” The man who addressed him was the most well-armored, with an iron breastplate and a helm, the visor of which he pushed up now to reveal a sweaty bearded face. “The demon must have passed this way—where is it?”

The boy blinked up at the man—some sort of knight, presumably. Very much a grown man. Armed, as well, with both a sword and a bow.

“That way, I think,” said the boy, and pointed with confidence in the wrong direction.

#all those that dance #fantasy whump #nonhuman whumpee #minor whump tw #abuse tw #disordered eating tw #on the run #traumatized whumpee #trauma response

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ootori-sibs · 3 years

Text

Kyoya's second shot

Episode eleven: Kyoya's adventures in hate!

Tw: self harm, self hate, starving (mentioned)

What time was it? What day was it? Kyoya couldn't answer any of those, he was sitting in the bath, there was no water. He had tears running down his face, biting his lip as he took another slash at his tight, the blade gripped tightly in his fingers. There was blood at the bottom of the bath, there was blood on his fingers, it was his own blood though, so it was all ok. It had been a while since he'd had an intrusive thought, but he'd imagined the blood as someone else's in that moment, likely Haruhi's now he thought more about it- he always finds himself exploring intrusive thoughts before pushing them away, and even then little details nag at him, begging to be rationalised, made more realistic. If Kyoya would hurt anyone it would probably be her, but he wouldn't, so he was only hurting himself tonight.

Cut

Slash

Cut

He always struggled with the cutting, though the aftermath was the best part, starting was terrifying and impulsive, and the act was just painful- though cathartic and wonderful. He wondered how long he'd spent making cuts tonight, last time he'd spent maybe an hour? He was never sure, he didn't time himself, he feared the ticking of the clock would only make him more frantic. So he sat in silence as he made the cuts; one for his leg, one for his arm, and switch sides… he was left handed, so the scars on the left arm were always more sporadic and messy, he wasn't sure how to remedy this.

Cut

Slash

He didn't really have a system, but he wanted each side to be equal, if he could focus on that instead of the fact that Tamaki knew… Tamaki knew. He'd figured out why Kyoya had the corset so tight- why Kyoya had his tie so tight, he'd asked if the starvation was on purpose too… it wasn't, but how long until Tamaki realised there were scars? How long until Kyoya broke his promise? How long until Tamaki hated him? How long until-

Slash

Kyoya let out a sigh as one cut dug slightly deeper then he'd intended, he did his best to avoid getting too hurt, he wanted the scars to heal quickly after all- what if someone found out? Fiyumi and Yuuichi always got so worried when they found recent cuts, it really wasn't fair- it was Kyoya's body wasn't it? Why should they care what he does to it? He'd say he hated them but he didn't hate them, he could never hate them, they were his siblings and he craved their affection, attention and praise, things he knew they'd give so willingly if he asked, but he could never find the words, he could never ask for anything, ever.

Cut

Slash

Kyoya wasn't one to every ask for anything, especially not help, he knew he needed help, it was obvious: he was self-harming, he was depressed, he was spiralling, he kept breaking down, he wasn't eating, he simply wasn't very happy, but he couldn't ask for help- that would be surrendering. He would have all the happiness and health he needed the day he could kiss Tamaki, the day he could hold his hand and not be worried about what Haruhi would say- because Haruhi would be disgraced and Tamaki would be his. That was all Kyoya wanted, love. Was that so wrong?

Cut

He was slowing down now, he'd been at this for a while and his arms and legs were quite bloody, he should probably stop. He gave himself one last scar on his right arm, before placing the blade down on his sink, then he slowly stood up, reaching to grab the shawer head, he took it and sat back down, rinsing all his cuts off with cold water, until most of the blood was off of himself and in the bath. He then got out of the bath, grabbing the bandages kept in the first aid kit, making sure to wrap them tight, but not so tight around his thighs because that got uncomfortable at times. He picked his book up and… oh dear, he'd gotten blood on the book. He took his finger, using the blood to at least make his sketch more realistic- he couldn't wash paper after all, that would dissolve it.

He left the bathroom, glancing at the window, oh it was nighttime, wonderful. Kyoya made his way to his bed, passing the table and pausing for a moment, there was some uneaten food there, he must have forgotten to eat dinner. He sighed, sitting down to pick at the cold pie. It wasn't enjoyable persay, but the food did make him feel better, maybe next time he'd even get to the food when it's hot. God, he couldn't believe that sort of thing was a maybe, he really was pathetic huh? He sighed, checking his clock- he had no idea where his phone was.

2:04 - Just got out of the bath, didn't bathe though, did some cutting. Ate dinner, it was pie, it was cold. Feeling a lot of hate; mostly for myself, a little bit for Haruhi too.

God, Haruhi was awful. Theoretically she'd done absolutely nothing wrong, but in truth she was awful; she'd stormed into a social ecosystem where she did not belong, took the hottest guy in school after Kyoya had called dibs- not to mention how she'd constantly berated the poor king constantly the year before, and now they were in love? Kyoya didn't fucking buy it, no sir. Tamaki was just in love with the idea of common folk, and Haruhi was a vessel to channel that through, not that Tamaki realised that- as much as Kyoya adored him, Tamaki wasn't smart enough to psychoanalyze himself.

He hated the twins too, their first instinct was to stand up for Haruhi, when she wasn't even anything like them. Hikaru was horribly crude and rude and judgmental and Kaoru just went along with whatever Hikaru or Haruhi said- not to mention they'd both laughed at him the day prior.

Honey wasn't much better, sure he acted all sweet and innocent, pretending to be caring whilst he dug his nails in, right where it hurt. He always knew what to say to get the conversation moving in just the wrong direction, and acted like he had no idea, Kyoya just hated that cutesy facade so much. Honey could display that much weakness, because he actually had strengths to back it up with, Kyoya only had weaknesses.

Mori was another one who made Kyoya's blood boil, how dare he stay so quiet, why can't he just shout how he's feeling like the other hosts? And he's so hot when he actually does stuff, he should remind people he's more than just Honey's prop more often. But he never speaks up, not in defence nor against any host, and it was awful, didn't he know they were all friends? How can he just sit there and watch? Kyoya needed someone on his side and he just sat there- Mori's a voice of reason, he could have stopped Haruhi, but he didn't. For that reason, Kyoya hates him.

But how could he say such things about his wonderful friends? He hates himself so much more. He's a horrible friend after all, absolutely terrible, he'd turn against then all if it meant he could be with Tamaki. But friends don't do that, what kind of a friend is he? He feels horrible at the very idea of hurting his friends- it's only Haruhi towards whom he feels no remorse, she brought it upon herself. She did ask if he was alright when he was so stressed, she always made sure he was alright, she did so with all the hosts… she was so caring and that made Kyoya hate her even more, because she made him look like the bad guy, she made him feel horrible for hating her, what kind of a friend does that? She should be rude, she should accept her role and let Kyoya be the good guy for once. It's so unfair, she can't be the hero for the second year in a row- let someone else have a go. But Kyoya wasn't very heroic, was he? The council sure showed the contrary- god, he hated the council, every last member.

Eclair was obvious, Kyoya hated her because she almost stole Tamaki, but also she was pretentious, older than he was by like- a year, she hated him too do the feeling was very mutual. She was a horrible, business orientated person… and so was he.

Umehito, he was the magic man. He was a coward, to let his fear of light cripple him like that, Kyoya has a fear of intimacy but you don't see him screaming anytime someone gets close. He believes in magic, which is stupid and immature, Kyoya knows magic isn't real, wishes and dreams never come true, and the only curse is the burdens you place on other people. So Kyoya hated him, it was as simple as that.

Chika was a child, Kyoya hated children. The idea of responsibility scared him especially when it was more than just numbers he was responsible, so having a child in the council was a scary thought, even if Chika is supposed to be the muscle of the group. He's unbelievably rude too, for a child he knows an awful lot of swear words, Kyoya would have a word with Honey if that didn't mean admitting to having a council. There was also the fact he saw a lot of himself in Chika; a small, younger sibling, who despises his elders for being better than him, and pushes himself to horrible extremes because of this, never factoring age into the equation, hating any ounce of fun an older sibling has whilst still being the favourite… Kyoya hated Chika because he hated himself.

Akira was exactly what his nickname implied: a bitchboy. Kyoya had always thought him quite slimy, but had decided he hated him when Akira had tried to expose Tamaki for things Tamaki could never do in a million years. Now behaving like a child and calling Kyoya slurs? That was just extra reasons to hate Akira, not to mention his general aura made Kyoya highly uncomfortable.

Seika was a bitch, plain and simple. She was Tamaki's favourite guest before she was banned, and Kyoya had hated her for a long time because of this, he hated her when she bullied Haruhi- back when Haruhi was still new, and he hated her now for being so cruel to him in the group chat. Slurs weren't fun and neither was calling anyone a whore. To be fair, Kyoya would hate her without all of that because let's face it; she's an absolute bitch with terrible hair and an even worse attitude.

And Arai… he was poor? Kyoya couldn't really think of any good reason to hate Arai, which was odd, because Kyoya hated people quite easily. He hadn't paid much attention during the online meeting, and during the first meeting he had spoken out against Kyoya's plans, so that was one reason to hate him; insubordination. He wasn't anything special but that wasn't much reason to hate him. He'd insulted Kyoya when offering help, how dare he assume Kyoya wasn't perfectly ok! He'd… he'd offered Kyoya help, and a willing ear…

Kyoya Ootori: Have you been talking to Haruhi?

He didn't know what he was doing, but at least he had an excuse to be messaging Arai at, what? Three am? He sighed and stood up, heading to bed. At least his bed cared for him, he didn't hate his bed… He was just getting in when he heard his phone buzz.

Peasant: why? Was I supposed to?

He… actually responded? What was he doing up this late? Was this a good reason to hate him?

Kyoya Ootori: Well no, but you could have been.

What are you doing up at three am anyway?

Peasant: what are *you* doing up at three am?

Oh, he had him there actually, Kyoya couldn't really think of any good excuse, so he sighed and answered the most generic and foolproof answer.

Kyoya Ootori: I couldn't sleep.

Peasant: oh wierd, me neither dude

ive just been doing homework for the past three hours

Kyoya Ootori: Oh? So you're busy at the moment then?

He couldn't tell you why he felt a pang of disappointment, maybe he was actually going to reach out for someone… maybe he wanted to talk.

Peasant: nah not really, just got done i think

why? You wanna talk?

Kyoya Ootori: Possibly, I find myself unable to fall asleep, though I don't have any homework to occupy my time.

Peasant: ohh, thoughts keeping you up?

Kyoya Ootori: It appears so.

Peasant: you can talk to me man, i dont judge

Kyoya Ootori: Could you compile a list of character flaws? I don't know you well enough to hate you.

Peasant: wh- are you trying to hate me? Why?

Kyoya Ootori: I hate every other member of the council, it's only fair.

Peasant: i mean i can see why you hate them but if you hate someone you shouldn't spend time with them bro, why are they even on your council?

Kyoya Ootori: Because they were useful, emotions cannot be involved with business.

Peasant: i mean this in the nicest possible way: youre not running a business, youre trying to take someones man

Kyoya Ootori: I saw him first, it's not my fault she doesn't respect that I liked him before she even knew he existed.

Peasant: we already went over this, you cant call dibs on a person

you should have asked him out if you really wanted him

Kyoya Ootori: And I already told you: I thought he was straight.

Peasant: then why would you call dibs on a straight dude?

Kyoya… had never considered that. Why had he called dibs? He supposed he hadn't, he just never thought he'd ever feel challenged, never thought Tamaki would ever date anyone. But when he found out Tamaki was bi it was too late…

Kyoya Ootori: Change of topic then, what homework have you been doing?

Peasant: mostly maths, i struggle with it

what have you been up to this whole time if not homework?

Kyoya Ootori: Other than eating my food, I cannot say.

Just know that it isn't anything you couldn't mention in polite company.

Peasant: ok but i think it might be

spill

im betting its either sex or self harm

hope its the first one

not cause of a weird reason or anything though

Kyoya Ootori: Well I certainly don't find myself sleeping around at all.

He'd said it, oh god he'd said it. He'd just admitted to self harm, to someone he barely knew, was this good? Was this asking for help? This was a good thing right?

Peasant: dude… self harm??

oh fuck man

are you ok??

i mean, obviously not

but like

are you safe?

Arai's immediate response was care- worry, but care. Yet he barely knew Kyoya, how could he care like that? It was… entirely alien to Kyoya.

Kyoya Ootori: I am safe, I have cleaned and bandaged everything I need to.

Peasant: so you wanna talk about it?

this is why youre here isnt it?

im here for you man

Kyoya Ootori: Unfortunately emotions are not my strong suit, and I was not aware it was possible to get this far.

He may as well be brutally honest, since he'd already opened up this far. The worst that could happen was Arai hating him.

Peasant: alright, youre very brave to reach out to anyone, even in a small way

i want you to remember that

now do you want a distraction? A solution?

maybe even a phone call?

Kyoya Ootori: I couldn't possibly trouble you for the latter, and the second opinion is already something I am in the process of figuring out, a distraction would be wonderful if you are willing to provide one.

Peasant: of course!!

i could tell a story, or walk you through some fun puzzles, or maybe something else, idk, its up to you

Kyoya Ootori: I would be fascinated to hear any stories you have to tell.

#tamakyo #ouran high school host club #kyoyassecondshot #kyoya ootori #ohshc arai #ohshc #tw self harm #Second

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meta-squash · 4 years

Text

[Old Manics meta repost, originally written in 2015 or 2016. I was definitely in a....place....when I wrote this.]

Cue yet another long convoluted rambling strange post about Richey Edwards and Theodor Adorno. For some reason this has been rolling around in my head as half-formed thoughts for a while. They’re definitely still half-formed, but I wanted to get them out of my head and into something slightly more sentence-like.

[Uhh, TW for weird logic, ED-style thinking, and convoluted ill-formed ideas.]

In one of Richey’s manifestos to a zine in December 1992, he writes “THE GODS THOUGHT THERE IS NO MORE DREADFUL PUNISHMENT THAN FUTILE AND HOPELESS LABOUR. GROW UP, GET FUCKED, WITHER. NO ONE IN THIS COUNTRY KNOW HUNGER, TRUE HUNGER LIKE SOMALIA. EVERYONE HAS CLOTHES, FOOD, A DRINK. EVERYONE IS LAST, PATHETIC WRETCHED. THE ONLY FREEDOM LEFT IS THE FREEDOM TO STARVE. FILL YOUR HOME WITH ANYTHING YOU LIKE BUT YOU CAN’T INVENT ANOTHER COLOUR…” The “freedom to starve” quote keeps being attributed to him on the internet, or to Tom Morello, lead singer of Rage Against The Machine, who has a different but similar quote about capitalism and labor exploitation that includes the phrase. (It also appears in the comic V For Vendetta, apparently.) But the phrase didn’t originate with them. I keep seeing repeated uses of it when reading essays by Theodor Adorno from the 60s, and I’m sure the phrase is probably older than that. Morello’s quote containing the phrase is essentially summarizing one of Adorno’s ideas.

So far I’ve come across the phrase in two of Theodor Adorno’s essays. One is in “Freedom In Unfreedom”. In essence, it discusses the paradox of the idea of freedom in our current society. He essentially says that people no longer have a specific concept in mind when they invoke the word “freedom,” and that the nature of present society means that whatever concept of freedom we come up with is not possible because it contradicts current circumstances. He gives the example of early Nazi Germany, when an social-democratic organization took up “Freedom” as its slogan, but the concept and the term had lost its power entirely because employment was incredibly low, and people were struggling, so upholding freedom as a conceptual principle which implies self-determination looked foolish because in practice no one is free and everyone is unemployed and starving and unable to access food/wellbeing and therefore unable to practice self-determination. He says “In other words, freedom was exposed as the freedom to starve; people had direct experience of their dependence on society, a dependence that made a mockery of a freedom that was defined in purely formal terms.”

The other Adorno essay that uses the phrase is “The Culture Industry: Enlightenment as Mass Deception”. Basically, in the section that uses the phrase he discusses the way that the culture industry (or mass culture) exploits and uses artists by homogenizing them. He says “anyone who resists can only survive by fitting in.” Freedom is supposedly given to each individual (in society, in art, in expression, in culture, in the workplace) but if a person doesn’t inherit the ability or resources to succeed in life, then this freedom becomes the “freedom of the stupid to starve”. People who aren’t able to adapt to society’s expectations/who question or refuse to conform are neglected and made to starve, literally or metaphorically. The blame is placed on them for their inability/unwillingness to adapt or conform, because they were “given” the opportunity to succeed (despite that opportunity requiring conformity, or changing their nature, or giving up morals, etc). So a person who is unable or refuses to conform to society and culture and the working class, who goes hungry or cold (literally or metaphorically), is an labelled outsider. They retain their integrity, or their morals, or their original artistic vision, but they suffer through loss of wealth, or faith, or by being rejected and called an outsider and being mocked or no longer listened to. They are free, but at a price.

Applying this to Richey, I thought it was interesting that he seemed to be taking freedom to starve both literally and figuratively. “Freedom to starve” becomes a refusal to consume in certain ways, ascetism, essentially. It becomes a literal or physical manifestation of the neglect that occurs when a person refuses to conform to society’s expectations. It becomes Richey refusing to conform to society’s expectations of food consumption while also refusing to conform to musical and artistic standards by creating The Holy Bible and specifically pointing out the wrongs of society. The band having complete control over the album, hiding in their studio and working together without any outside influence pushes against the expectation of producers/managers/sound engineers/labels/etc having partial influence or control over the sound of a band’s music. Richey’s inability to adapt mentally to fame, to touring, to the stress of schedule, etc etc also is a sort of manifestation of that “freedom of the stupid to starve”, in that he was unable to properly adapt to what was expected of him in terms of fame and touring, and he was blamed for it and seen as strange for disliking aspects of fame.

This is where I get into some interesting, if problematic, ideas. Richey seemed to kind of take the idea to another level through his eating disorder. Freedom to starve/freedom of restriction essentially becomes true freedom because it takes back control of body mind and spirit. Richey sort of talked about this in an interview with Simon Price in 94 in France. He mentioned that people can’t hold you down and force you to eat/watch you all the time, and that your body is your own and you should have a right to do with it what you want. Essentially, self mutilation/self harm/restriction becomes a mode of self-control, a reclamation of the body from expectations of society. Society expects excess and encourages/wants consumption. In creating consumption, the culture industry takes control of the mind and the body by telling consumers what they want even if they didn’t originally desire it, saying it over and over and continually producing under consumers are convinced that they do want whatever they are being given. Self-mutilation, restriction and ascetism removes that and reclaims the body as owned by itself and its mind. It puts control back into the awareness of the self and the body and the mind, which forces the self to be aware of the influence of culture industry. This awareness allows the self to refuse that influence, the refusal of which includes those actions or decisions that go against the expectations or desires or encouragements of society. It also confronts the fact that society sees certain types of expressions of emotion/mental state as “wrong” or maladaptive and those who express themselves a certain way are marked as outsiders. Repression and restriction and stoicism becomes revenge for society marking you as outsider for expressing rage at unfreedom/expressing emotions that are seen as maladaptive. Self-harm or starvation becomes a reclamation of the mind and the emotions, and increasing of that maladaptive expression in order to basically reject society’s expectations altogether. Richey essentially says that when talking about his time in hospital; self-harm or self-restriction takes back control of body and mind from expectations of doctors and society – they can’t hold you down and force food down your throat, someone can’t be with you 24 hours a day, it’s my body I do what I want with it.

The height of this could be disappearance/death: refusal to participate “correctly” in society, refusal to “be” in society in the expected way. A rejection of literally all things. James Bradfield notes that a major theme in Journal For Plague Lovers is a rejection of experience, a rejection of expected lyrical formats, and a rejection of some sort of answer or truth. A realization that nothing seems to be working. A refusal to continue to consume or participate correctly or to express consumption or participation correctly, especially in that the meanings or messages of most of the songs are completely obscured through unconnected phrases or disparate references that take research to decipher. The idea is sort of expressed in individual songs from the album as well. All Is Vanity asks questions of vanity extremes vs personal neglect – which one is refusal to participate correctly? Are they both refusal? Are they the same? Inability to adapt correctly compared to what is expected/right vs what you are doing and how your actions are called into question as incorrect. Discipline is respected, but certain types of discipline are seen as different/maladapted compared to the expectations of society or the culture industry, which allows for the question of which type of discipline is “wrong” or “right” and does it depend on perspective? Excesses are lauded in the culture industry, consumption is encouraged, as is vanity and obsession with the self, and ascetism or restriction and neglect of the self is seen as wrong. But extreme excess of consumption is also frowned upon or mocked. Society encourages a certain amount of excess and consumption in order to control and delude. In encourages and creates consumption so that the consumer doesn’t stop and thinking about how they are being made to overwork and overconsume in ways they probably didn’t originally want to be doing but have been convinced into by society. Refusal of consumption/vocal awareness of participation in consumption becomes maladaptive because it’s not what society wants, which is exactly the kinds of words and things the band was expressing.

And the idea of disappearance or death takes all of this to the highest level, in that disappearance rejects society’s expectations entirely, refusing to participate in society in a “correct” way. It is also expressing whatever sort of emotions or thoughts a person might have in a way that creates an absence (metaphorical and literally) rather than yet another thing to be consumed. Disappearance when a person is still living is a complete reclamation of the body and self because the person essentially is able to drop out of society as themselves, and even if they assume a different identity, they are still inherently refusing to participate in an expected way, still creating an absence of a person and an absence of an identity, and in using a false identity that refusal becomes even more complex. Death, too, and specifically suicide, is a refusal to participate in society, but in a much more final way. Suicide is yet another reclamation of the body, since it is by one’s own hand and willpower that one’s life is taken, not through illness or another person or old age. It creates a different kind of absence, since often a suicide, since there is a body and often a note, gives answers or at least there is a physical proof of refusal and a physical proof of that person’s death. A suicide creates a narrative with finality, with refusal as the finality and therefore certain aspects of absence are filled in with the assumptions that come with suicide and death in general. A disappearance has a narrative with an ellipses rather than a full stop, and because it is left open, the absence and refusal are left with unanswered questions, reasons, and unspoken ideas, specifically because it is a kind of refusal to participate that is completely unexpected and cannot be explained with a body or a note.

I don’t really have a conclusion to these thoughts or any sort of cumulative idea or whatever. I just was thinking about the phrase “the only freedom left is the freedom to starve” and what it meant in relation to Richey when Adorno is applied.

#manic street preachers #manic street preachers meta #old meta repost #from 2016

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jamiebluewind · 5 years

Text

Fantasy High Theory: Fabian has an eating disorder

TW: eating disorder symptoms, anorexia symptoms, abuse mention, death mention, violence mention, gun mention, alcohol mention, drug mention, trauma mention, smoking mention,...

Word Count: about 2100

I know this is a big assumption to make with what we have, but I couldn't ignore all the data and the warning signs. In fact, I think that even if Fabian does not have an eating disorder at this time, he's certainly at risk for one and needs the issues addressed before it gets worse.

Before I get into it, let me remind everyone that I am about to talk about a very heavy subject. Remember, stay safe and consider the warnings before you continue. You can always message me for a summary of the red flags or for an edited version if you need it. I would rather you be safe than to have you're like on my theory.

Okay? Okay. Let's start by defining a few things.

Eating Disorder: Any of a range of psychological disorders in which people experience severe disturbances in their eating behaviors and related thoughts/emotions. People with eating disorders typically become pre-occupied with food and/or their body weight/shape.

ARFID: Avoidant/restrictive food intake disorder is an eating disorder characterized by eating very little food and/or avoiding eating certain foods. It does not include having a distorted body image (as occurs in anorexia nervosa) or being preoccupied with body image (as occurs in bulimia nervosa). People with avoidant/restrictive food intake may not eat because they lose interest in eating or because they think eating has harmful consequences. They may avoid certain foods because of their color, consistency, or odor. When it becomes more severe, it can cause substantial weight loss, slower-than-expected growth in children, difficulty participating in normal social activities, and sometimes life-threatening nutritional deficiencies.

Anorexia nervosa: Diagnosed when patient BMI (body mass index which is a rule of thumb measuring body size vs mass) is low for their age and height. Severity is classified as mild (BMI of greater than 17), moderate (BMI of 16–16.99), severe (BMI of 15–15.99), or extreme (BMI of less than 15). Hallmarks of anorexia include limited food intake, excessive monitoring of the calorie and fat content of food, fear of being “fat”, problems with body image, denial of low body weight, excessive exercise, food rituals, cold intolerance, mood swings, sleeping issues, chronic fatigue, distorted body image, and many more. Eventually, the body goes into starvation which cause a lot of bad symptoms.

Atypical anorexia nervosa: All of the criteria for anorexia nervosa are met, except the individual's weight is within or above the normal range.

Again, ANY BMI can still mean a person has an eating disorder. It is NOT confined to those that are underweight. The BMI is only there as a red flag and to help classify severity of anorexia. I want to make this very clear, not just for my theory, but for the people reading this who recognize parts of it in themselves or others. I'm about to give an example that gets... personal in order to show that people who don't fit the stereotype of being underweight can still have an eating disorder. How personal? My own.

I am overweight to obese (depending on the doctor and the range). I don't exercise much. I eat pretty well around friends. But I have an eating disorder. I just... don't get hungry most of the time, so I forget to eat a lot more often than is healthy. A LOT more. I've been to the hospital a few times due to dehydration. I've collapsed because I literally forgot to eat for two or three days. I could have died at one point because despite being overweight, I was eating so little that things just... stopped working. Again, I was overweight. People and doctors thought I was just lazy. I was told to eat less and exercise more. Even my blood tests came back fine until one day, they didn't. And even then, nobody listened. Somebody doesn't have to look how you expect them to in order to have a problem. Also, don't be afraid to reach out for help if you feel like some of this hits close to home or someone you know is showing symptoms. It's okay to need help.

So remember, eating disorders can affect anybody with any body. The important thing is to be kind, supportive, and encourage professional help such as cognitive therapy.

****

Now to list Fabian's risk factors (I only listed the ones I believe he has)

Dysfunction family: This is a big risk factor for Fabian. His father is chaotic evil and (despite loving his son) puts massive pressure on him and tries to make him conform to his ideal for most of Fabian's life. Fabian has seen his father abuse his crew and snap at the drop of a hat. His mother has been a heavy alcoholic and mostly absent his entire first 16 years and when she gets off alcohol, she puts an extreme amount of pressure on him herself.

Abuse: This is another big one. His parents have been verbally abusive, emotionally abusive, neglectful in a variety of ways, controlling, manipulative, isolating, and his mother rested his food intake. He could have also been physically abused in the guise of sparing.

Genetics: Fabian's mother is very slim. Using images of weights and comparing it to her shape, she in fact fits the underweight shape which may or may not imply a genetic component depending on if the normal body shapes are different for high elves or not.

Exposure to warped body ideals and weight stigma: Exposure to "body ideals" in places like the media (especially if at a young age) can increase body dysfunction and eating disorder risk. Weight stigma can make this worse due to discrimination and stereotyping based on a person’s weight. Fabian has actually been exposed to this a lot due to his father and the crew. He's a kid around very strong muscular people and he feels pushed to get stronger to live up to his dad. It's also very easy to imagine that crew members who were not strong or active enough got a very bad reaction from his father, which would reinforce the ideal. Some of this is conjecture, but it's not so far outside the realm of possibility to be impossible.

Participation in sports: He's on the Bloodrush team and is a fencer.

Pressure to have a certain body shape from family: I think this risk factor is there too, especially when his mother takes over training.

Bullying/Teasing: Fabian was actually bullied by peers when he first starts school, but I believe his parents were bullying him long before that.

Trauma and PTSD: Oh boy, is this solid. He was most likely traumitized by his parents before high school. He saw two new friends die the first day of school and nearly died himself, only saved by Riz. He watched two teachers die by gunshot right in front of him (and a staff member killed by bludgeoning). Fabian mentions having nightmares about Riz killing Daybreak which might have been due to it being via gunshot. He was forced to kill people due to the situation he found himself in. The person who was supposed to have been helping them the entire time (Biz) turned out to be an evil dude who trapped one friend in a palimpsest and wanted to capture another. He was stuck in jail for weeks! His family was attacked, his home was damaged, and his dad died (and by his hand no less). He and his friends almost died to a dragon. That's a LOT of trauma for a kid to try to process and Jawbone mentioned that he never came to visit him, so he probably dealt with a lot of it on his own.

Low self-esteem: This is unfortunately something else he has. Despite all the bravado, he doesn't know how to be a friend or have people like him for who he is (instead of who his parents are or how much money he has). He tries to put up a cool front, but he judges himself very harshly.

Perfectionism. One of the strongest risk factors for an eating disorder is perfectionism, especially self-oriented perfectionism, which involves setting unrealistically high expectations for oneself. If they fail to meet their high expectations, the person becomes very self-critical. Fabian has this type of perfectionism.

History of an anxiety disorder: This one is reaching, but possible. People often show signs of an anxiety disorder (generalized anxiety, social phobia, OCD,...) before the onset of an eating disorder and Fabian stays on edge a lot, worries excessively, puts up a front, and deals with nightmares.

Substance abuse: Fabian has had alcohol and drugs before the age of 16, his parents almost encouraging it. He smokes regularly. Addiction runs in his family as well with his mother being an alcoholic and his father doing multiple drugs. Neither parent even hides the fact that they take drugs and drink alcohol to excess, the crew probably took drugs and got drunk in front of a young Fabian, and Bill offered drugs to his friends upon meeting them.

History of using weight-controling methods and dieting: Fabian exercises a great deal. He skips meals. He has a limited number of things he will eat. There is a lot of evidence to back this up.

Limited social networks: This was a HUGE issue before high school. Fabian was very isolated. He had no friends, limited social activities, and lacked proper social support. Recently, he's been skipping class exclusively which on top of smoking a lot, puts distance between him and other people.

Long story short? Our boy is at risk. Big time.

****

List of common signs of eating disorders (including anorexia)

Limited food intake: Seen when he has mostly protein smoothies, his mother tries to give him limited rations, and when he refuses to eat with his friends more and more as the series goes on. The first incident of it was in Cool Kids, Cold Case where Fabian refused the food he was offered on two separate occasions, passing it to Riz both times. Once was after the battle with Daybreak and being stuck at the police station a good while. The other was when the teens were hanging out at Riz's appartment when Sklonda got takeout. Fabian's mom also makes him earn food as seen in the live show. This mentality could have very well been internalized, even with Cathilda there to try and give him more.

Excessive monitoring of the calorie and fat content of food: He worries about empty calories, how fattening something is, and removed the cheese from a slice of pizza and dabbed the oil

Fear of being “fat” or in a shape that is not the ideal: In episode 1 of season 2, he is very preoccupied with staying trim and tight.

Excessive exercise: He exercises who knows how long every morning plus for Bloodrush plus the times outside of that

Food rituals: This is interacting with food a certain way (like small bites or how it's prepared) which causes anxiety when not followed. The pizza event might be one, but it's hard to say without a pattern.

Sleeping issues: Fabian has issues with sleeping, dreaming, and nightmares. His father confirmed this and he himself mentioned his nightmares.

Weight loss: By comparing his previous official artwork with his new official artwork, it's easy to see that Fabian looks visibly thinner. He's also VERY cut. (very defined muscles requiring very little fat) for his age. He was muscular last year sure, but his chest and abs are much more defined this year. Being that cut means that despite how muscular Fabian is, he has been eating less and probably doing fat burning exercises, getting a lot of his nutrition from multivitamins and whey, and would have less energy than normal.

Negative energy balance/chronic fatigue: This is only a possibility, but it deserves being mentioned. If this is going on, it puts a spin on some of Fabian's other actions in season 2, episode 1. He showed up late on move in day and didn't really move anything (just carried a book), which might have been a character thing, but could have also been because Fabian is running on empty and capable of things like adrenaline fueled busts of energy, but otherwise dealing with low energy and fatigue.

Also, Fabian is smoking now which works as an appetite suppressant as is common among those with eating disorders.

(Signs with no evidence as of this post: problems with body image, denial of low body weight, cold intolerance, mood swings)

~*~*~*~*~*~

TLDR: Fabian is showing a lot of symptoms of an eating disorder and also over a dozen risk factors. The number of both is substantial enough to see a pattern. Enough that I sincerely hope that it's acknowledged during the season because if Fabian does not have an eating disorder, he is at substantial risk of developing one.

PS: I know it's data heavy, I might have missed a few things, and it could be totally wrong, but I seen enough there that I thought it might make for a solid theory. D20 is no stranger to heavy subjects and I think if they do cover it, they will do a good job (as always). If they don't, I still learned a lot making this theory and maybe a few of you will as well. ^_^

#fantasy high #fabian seacaster #d20 theory #dimension 20 #d20 #theory #tw eating disorder #tw anorexia #tw anxiety mention #tw abuse mention #tw violence mention #tw trauma mention #fantasy high spoilers #tinfoil time

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dr3amofagame · 3 years

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Dream tried to stop Wil from creating L'Manburg, Phil tried to stop him from blowing it up, BOTH value people over items and builds, Phil has said that they're replaceable but people aren't, Dream traded spirit for his best friends fishes (we kno he's not someone to talk abt feelings:[) BOTH were kind and selfless but used by almost if not everyone, BOTH were ready to be THE VILLAINS if it meant everyone else could live better after. ONE of them always had someone there, ONE didn't. Intentional?

aaaa sorry for the really inconsistent posts ,, im gonna try to post a little more in the next few days. i have a few things written up, so look out for them? maybe? for now, have this *gestures vaguely* thing ,, it’s kinda a mess but *shrug*

phil is such a fun character, anon, especially for all the reasons that you mentioned in the ask!! he’s a really fun character with a lot of complexities that go (sadly) overlooked by a large portion of the fandom, but he’s super cool even tho i havent analyzed him too much. hope you enjoy (and i hope my interpretation of c!phil isnt too ooc lmao)

tw: mentioned blood, injury, implied torture/abuse, starvation, trauma, mentioned death, prison arc/pandora’s vault

When Techno first brings Dream back from the prison, Phil doesn’t quite know what to think.

“I don’t trust him either,” Techno assures him, but there’s a flickering anger in the backs of his eyes, one that had emerged ever since he came back from the prison with the other man in his arms, and Phil knows his friend well enough to know that the words are empty in the face of the piglin hybrid’s particular brand of to-the-death loyalty. He shakes his head in reply, refusing to voice his thoughts for Techno’s sake, at least, but the look that the other slants at him suggests that he’s caught onto them all the same.

At first, the work is thankfully mindless; even if Phil has reservations on the man that Techno has more or less dumped into his house, he would hardly wish the clear suffering he’s been through on anyone. The first few days pass in a flurry of brewing potions, wrapping and rewrapping dressings, stitching up cuts and setting broken bones straight. The damage is extensive; Phil has to take more than a few breaks to just leave the house and breathe - he’s far from a stranger to blood and carnage, had received the title of ‘Angel of Death’ for a reason, but even he had never been particularly familiar with this form of cruelty. Torture was a level of violence that extended beyond what even he was willing to bestow - his hands may have caused many deaths, and the weight of each one would continue to haunt him for the rest of his life, but even those had the mercy of being a quick end. The wounds and scars that ripple over Dream’s skin, thin and stretched tightly over his bones with little muscle and fat left to cushion them, speak of horrors that were anything but merciful.

“I didn’t know they were capable of all of this,” Techno says, once, as they huddle of Dream, wringing towels in cold water to wipe his feverish skin. Techno’s hand reaches for the ribboning gold-filled scars that remain from the execution - carefully, Phil raises his hand to let his fingertips brush over them as well. “I mean, I knew he was dangerous and all, but-”

“I know, mate,” Phil looks back at Dream’s face, tight even in unconsciousness, at the darkened, hand-shaped bruises that remain around his throat, at the scar that runs over his left eye, clearly meant to mirror the same one that makes its way down the duck hybrid’s own face. “You said that Quackity and Sam were working together?”

“Yeah,” Techno’s expression darkens, eyes focused somewhere on the wall, seemingly very far away. He said that nothing happened to him in the prison, and he seemed relatively unharmed when Phil activated the stasis chamber, but ever since he came back, sometimes he’ll have moments, and Phil can’t help but - wonder. “Quackity does the dirty work, Sam gives him the way in and out, probably also the tools to do it. It’s-” he huffs a short, self-recriminating laugh. “It’s bad, Phil.”

“Mate-”

Techno shoots him a look, and Phil cringes, knowing already that he’d used the wrong tone. Even with the execution, Techno had been adamant to hide all traces of his own terror and fear away from him, masking it all with fury for Phil’s own sake. He knows, just from the way his old friend looks at the ribboning scars that remain sometimes, that he is far from as over the whole ordeal as he acts, but Techno never wants to talk and Phil never knows the right time to ask and they smooth it all behind plans and explosions and hope that the TNT can blow apart the trauma, too. He’s got a sneaking suspicion that the same thing is going to happen, here.

“As soon as we can,” Techno starts again, pointedly shifting his eyes away from Phil’s face, “we’re calling a Syndicate meeting to figure out what we’re going to do about the prison. Like- come on, man, you couldn’t make a more transparent abuse of institutional power if you tried, really-” he looks over, uncharacteristic uncertainty warring over his features. “If you think that’s good, I mean-“

“Of course, mate.” Phil’s voice softens. “Whenever you’re ready.”

‘Whenever he’s ready,’ as it turns out, is easier said than done, becoming even more evident when their charge wakes up from his days long spell of unconsciousness. The worst of his injuries have, under their careful care and the benefit of many potions, healed enough to no longer directly threaten his life, but the vast majority have quite some time to go before being healed completely. Being as the goal was torture and not death, most of his injuries weren’t made to be life-threatening, but rather to cause as much pain as possible - from the grimace that twists Dream’s face when he struggles to force himself awake, they’re doing their jobs.

“Hey, mate, slow down,” Phil murmurs, pressing the man down by his shoulder when Dream weakly tries to push himself up and off the bed, and his struggling only lasts for a few more minutes before he gives up and slumps against his pillow, eyes cracking open and seeming surprisingly lucid.

“Where-“ his voice is wrecked, and Phil reaches for the glass of water at the bedside as Dream coughs. “Where am I?”

“You’re at Techno’s house,” Dream’s eyes widen and then slip closed as he processes the information, a wrinkle forming between his eyebrows as they knit together. “We broke you out, after Techno escaped with a stasis chamber with your book. Do you remember?”

Dream gnaws on his bottom lip. “Um- yeah. I think.” His head turns as his eyes crack open again- “Techno-“

“He’s out, right now. He’ll be back in a bit.”

“Oh.” Dream falls back into the bed, strength seemingly sapped from the short conversation. His breathing stutters, then steadies. “Okay.”

Recovery is slow. Phil doesn’t actually find himself seeing the man very often; now that he doesn’t need around-the-clock care anymore, he’s moved back into his own house, letting Techno do most of the work when it comes to rehabilitating the escaped convict crashing at his house. As he begins to spend more of his time awake and aware, he brings a whole slew of new problems; Phil catches him screaming one day, blurting harsh, angry words as Techno reads, unbothered from the other side of the room, and he stops in his tracks standing awkwardly in the doorway.

“Um-“ he winces when Dream curses, smashes something against the floor, and then curls into himself at the sound. Techno doesn’t even flinch. “Am I interrupting something?”

Dream stomps away, face flushed, arms wrapped around himself. Techno raises an eyebrow.

“You lookin’ for something, Phil?” he asks, and the unpleasant knot in Phil’s chest refuses to unwind.

The episodes, unfortunately, don’t seem to get much better. Though he’s rarely outright violent, Dream looks constantly murderous, usually muttering underneath his breath about something or another while he stalks the grounds of Techno’s house. It’s not too long before Techno sends him out to work around the house instead of just moping within the cottage, which also means that Phil sees him a lot more - tending to a small farm behind the house, feeding the dogs, hacking away at mobs, and usually complaining the entire time. It’s unnerving, even as injured and unarmored as the man is, to see him walking around like this; despite his rather pathetic appearance, swamped in sweaters that dwarf him thoroughly and thin enough to look like the slightest breeze will knock him over, his eyes are flinty and intelligent and bubble with promises of revenge.

“FUCK!” Phil turns to see him slamming a shovel into the snow, stomping away into the woods, and his hands tighten around his cup of tea. Next to him, Techno shrugs.

“Nerd’s got a few issues,” he drawls, and Phil laughs shortly.

“That seems like an understatement.”

“He’ll ease up in time,” Techno sounds surprisingly confident, completely content despite the muffled curses that come from the woods next to them. He’s probably used to it, with Chat and all, but Phil can’t quite seem to find the same calm.

“I just don’t know, mate,” Phil shakes his head. “You sure having him around is the best idea? He doesn’t seem...stable.”

Techno looks up at him over the rim of his cup of coffee. His head tilts, considering, but there’s a small smile on his face that tells Phil that Techno, inexplicably, doesn’t share the same sentiments. There was always a part of him that was, for the lack of a better word, softer than the rest of the server for his self-proclaimed rival, a sort of understanding that Phil could hardly hope (nor would really want to) understand.

“Don’t worry, Phil, if he tries anything I can always just tie him up in the attic or something,” Phil huffs a small laugh, amused, and nods to concede the point. “And- well, call it intuition. You could really try talkin’ to him, you know. He reminds me of you, sometimes.”

The words stick in his head despite his best efforts, rattling in his skull when he tries to sleep, lingering when he catches glimpses of the green-clothed man stalking around their properties. He can’t imagine what would’ve prompted his old friend to make the comparison, can’t think of a single thing (besides their affinity for the color green) that would mark him as similar to the - from what he’s heard - deranged menace with a particular penchant for destruction (not that his rants and fits of anger are doing anything to correct that impression). Even so, Techno had sounded so sure when he’d made the comparison, the words offhand like he’d thought them a million times before, like it was a simple observation that held no more weight than commenting on the color of the sky. Phil watches as Dream lugs a pile of logs behind him, huffing at one of Techno’s dogs that comes to chase and nip at his feet and grumbling loudly before faceplanting into the snow. He just...can’t see it.

Days later, Wilbur comes to visit, a grin on his lips as he dramatically recounts his newest exploit: a nation by Las Nevadas, a supposed safe haven away from the glitter and glory of Quackity’s city; it sounds brilliant, it sounds lovely, and more than anything it sounds stupid, and Phil tells him as such immediately.

“You’re being reckless,” he rants at his son, wings flaring outwards and only barely noticing Dream watching from the corner of his eye, “What are you doing- picking fights with Quackity? Starting another nation- didn’t you see what happened to the first two you made? You’re going to get yourself killed, Wil!”

“Well, I’ve already seen what’s on the other side of death, and it’s really not that bad-“

“You’re my son!” The words are angrier than Phil would’ve liked, and he knows that he looks ridiculous and overbearing, criticizing the actions of his fully grown son, but all he can see is Wilbur’s face, slack with pain and grief, stained with ash and soot as his eyes flutter to half-mast in the midst of the rubble of a country he loved and destroyed and destroyed him in turn. “I can’t lose you again, Wil!”

Wilbur doesn’t quite storm out, but it’s a near thing, leaving with a clipped goodbye and leaving Phil seething on his doorstep. He spends the rest of the night pacing around the house in a sort of mad frenzy, wings stretching and folding over and over. Not for the first time, he longs for the sky, to feel the air through his wings and let the world fall into pinpricks below him; it’s this that leads him to the roof of his house, staring stubbornly at the clouds as the sun sinks down to the horizon.

“Hey.”

Phil startles; there, down below him, is Dream. He rocks back on his heels, seeming awkward, before clambering up the wall (Phil rolls his eyes at the ease with which he scales it, the feeling in his chest almost fond) and settling himself on the shingles at Phil’s side.

“Hey, mate,” Phil shakes his head. The fondness leaves, and the irritation that had risen at Wilbur’s words, earlier, comes back full-force. “Sorry- Wil came to visit, we talked. I just needed some time to think.”

Dream hums in acknowledgement, and they fall into a comfortable silence, watching as the sun dipping down past the mountains in the distance.

“You know,” Dream starts, sudden, “I told him the same thing.” He looks up at Phil, eyes faraway with old memories. “Wilbur, I mean. When he made L’manburg- I told him he was being reckless.” He shrugs. “I guess he never listened.”

Phil pauses, Techno’s words ringing in his ears. He reminds me of you, sometimes.

Dream looks surprisingly normal up close - face no longer reddened with fever or pale from blood loss, even the scars fail to really take from the boyishness of his face. He bites his lips, eyes falling away at Phil’s scrutiny, golden blond hair flopping over his forehead, newly trimmed to be something a little closer to his old length, at least in the front, the back pulled into a small ponytail. He’s young, and shockingly awkward, teeth worrying his lip, hands fiddling with each other, shifting his weight from one foot to the other several times a minute. He looks like a kid.

“He never does,” Phil lets himself smile, watches as Dream smiles back, almost like they’re sharing a joke. He wonders how well he really knows the man behind the mask. “Want to come in for some tea?”

Dream smiles wider, and something old and worn in Phils chest, knocked loose ever since he felt his son fall limp in his arms with his own sword shoved between his ribs, falls back into place.

“That would be great,” Dream replies, the words almost hopeful, and they go inside.

#tw trauma #tw death #tw blood #tw injury #tw torture #tw abuse #tw starvation #prison arc #pandora's vault #-> my writing #my writing :D #my asks !!#-> my asks

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