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nickythehickey · 2 months

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un-mask

(read on ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/54520237)

CW: Implied/referenced sh, brief descriptions of physical pain, identity issues, metaphors about/allusions to autistic masking

For what it may have been worth, Atlas hated his mask. He supposed he could see why someone might initially be impressed with it– at first glance, it appeared to be made of a brilliant bright porcelain, held on his head with black satin ribbons that buckled together in the back and adorned with a carefully painted face. Whoever made it must’ve spent a long, long time on it. But there were flaws; the “porcelain” was actually a thin, scratchy plastic, with rough edges that sanded away at his skin whenever he wore it. The painted red lips were starting to chip away, and no matter how often he tried to fill the cracks he just couldn't get it back to looking new. The coverings over the eye holes were nearly impossible to see through. Even though it looked like him, it also undeniably didn’t– it looked like someone else’s idea of what a perfect “him” would look like. No matter what he did, he couldn’t ignore how terrible the mask really was. Wearing it made him miserable, but apparently, he was the only one who saw it for what it was. He never understood why everyone else thought it was so beautiful. Why they seemingly couldn’t stand him without it. Why it was the only way people would stay.

It really did seem like the cycle never ended. It was always the same. He’d meet someone, they’d become friends, he’d feel close enough with them to take off the mask. They’d realize they didn’t actually like him. They’d leave.

Enough. He’d had enough. This time was one time too many. If a mask was what everyone wanted, then a mask they’d get. As a matter of fact, they’d never get anything else again.

Atlas sat on his bed, door locked, the only light a soft navy glow through his window. In his lap: the mask, its cheap white plastic and bright red mouth openly mocking him. In his hand: a hot glue gun. Why hot glue? It was the best adhesive he could think of at the time. Or maybe he wanted what he was doing to hurt. He didn’t know.

He tied his hair back, plugged the glue gun into the lamp on his nightstand, and waited… far too long for it to heat up. Occasionally, he’d pump the trigger a few times to test if it was usable yet. Damn his impatience– you’d think the extra time would make him rethink what he was doing, but instead it simply made him more frustrated, more upset, more set in his decision. He did tend to be rash and stubborn when emotional… and he had the nerve to be annoyed by Juno’s impulsiveness. Figures.

For the love of Harmonia, he needed to get this done. Was it…? He checked the gun again, and sure enough, the clear glue started to ooze from the tip. Took long enough.

He made a ring of glue around the edge of the mask. No going back now. He filled in some of the extra surface area over the anchor points- nose, forehead, chin... it needed to be as secure as he could possibly make it. He made sure to use just about the whole stick of glue, filling in more and more until the melted plastic stopped flowing from the tip of the gun.

Setting the gun down, he took a deep breath, and a final moment to internally yell at himself to just do it already. He tensed nearly every muscle in his body and firmly pressed the mask to his face.

It burned. It burned immediately, and it burned bad. It may not have been the worst pain he'd felt, but it was enough to make his eyes water. Time almost seemed to slow as his grip tightened, the glue seeping into the hairs along his chin and spreading across his skin, taking the heat with it. He ignored it. He just kept holding the plastic to his face.

He hated this. He hated the mask. He hated needing it. He hated Juno and Simon for not needing masks of their own. He hated himself for being so pathetic that he had no choice but to hide behind a facade. He hated the world for not wanting him without it.

He was ripped from his thoughts by the sting of sunlight in his eyes. Damn. It was morning already. He'd been up all night again. When did that happen?

Oh well. He might as well start trying to figure out how to eat with a hard plastic sheet covering his mouth. He tied the ribbon behind his head; it no longer served a purpose, but he supposed it looked neater that way. He had no idea what time it was, but hopefully, it was just the right time for him to do so alone.

— —

Of course, it wasn't the right time. Of course, it was just early enough for Juno to still be awake from the night before and just late enough for Simon to have woken up for the day. Of course, BOTH of his other thirds had to be in the kitchen at the same time. Of course, they weren’t even distracted by an argument. Just his luck.

When they greeted him, he said nothing. Talking with the mask was always difficult, even before he accidentally glued his jaw shut. He’d handle that problem later. Probably.

Naturally, Simon was the first to notice everything. “You know you don't have to wear that thing around us, right? We do like you without it.”

Even if it didn't matter now, he still wished he could believe them.

#chonnys charming chaos compendium #cccc soul #cccc fanfic #cccc fic #cw vent #cw implied sh #autistic experiences expressed through heavy-handed metaphors #tmw you jump past figurative masking and literally hot glue a party city mask to your face #abandoment issues #unhealthy coping mechanisms #i was going through it when i wrote this ngl

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writersmorgue · 3 months

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Febuwhump Day 29 - not allowed to die

TWs in tags || read on Ao3 || wc: 840

◈━◈━◈━◈━◈

Inko can hear them.

Inko knows that they know she can hear them.

She takes in a deep breath, suppressing the urge to scream at the nurses.

He’s gone, it’s just cruel at this point.

The only thing that’s keeping him breathing is the machine…

She needs to let him go.

He’s taking the room from people who need it.

Standing, she pats her son’s bandaged hand before making her way swiftly to the door. She sticks her head outside and smiles at the nurses.

“Hello, would one of you darlings mind grabbing me a cup of coffee? I don’t have anyone to take a shift with Izuku in case he wakes, and I’m in desperate need of some energy.”

They have the decency to look guilty.

“Of course, Ms. Midoriya. Any add-ins?”

She shakes her head, leaving the door cracked, and walks back to her son.

Inko has no qualms about using her situation to shame the young women. Of course, they don’t understand what she’s going through.

Her only baby was attacked on his way to school by a nefarious villain. It was so cruel that her quirkless child was the victim. She wishes it had been Katsuki, he was always violent and good at fighting.

Izuku wasn’t breathing when they arrived at the hospital, but thanks to All Might he was transported just in time to be revived!

She’s sure one of these days her baby’s pretty green eyes will open and he’ll apologize for worrying her. He should be sorry! She works her butt off to give her son a happy life on her own, and if he were to go- well she would have nothing left!

Inko smiles to herself, but that won’t happen.

The door creaks open all the way and the flighty footsteps of Izuku’s main doctor approach behind her.

“Ms. Midoriya,” The man thrusts the cup gently into her space, and she takes it with a grateful smile. “I’d like to speak with you about your son’s… care plan.”

“Yes!” She glows, taking one of her son’s hands in her own, feeling his cold fingers. She listens to the soft hiss of his oxygen tube pumping air into his lungs. He'll have such a bad sore throat when he wakes up, poor thing.

“Well,” He starts, sitting down on the other side of Izuku’s bed, “Just that I think it would be in Izuku’s best interest to… let him go. I would suggest you bring in any family or friends to say-”

“To check on him, yes. I think I will invite some school friends. He has one boy he’s particularly fond of.”

“Ms. Midoriya-”

“Doctor.” She responds, smile dropping, “Need I remind you who is in charge of the final decisions here? I am his mother.”

He sighs, looking down at her son. She almost wants to demand he look away as if the simple gesture will harm her child.

“Of course, ma’am. I’ll let the nurses know to expect visitors?” He asks, standing and walking to the door.

“Yes. Friends will do him good.” She agrees, taking a sip of her coffee.

It tastes like dust.

“Okay.”

Mitsuki and her son stop by the next day. Mitsuki brings a beautiful vase of Michaelmas Daisies. They brighten up the room significantly, and Katsuki spends his time sitting in the corner holding them.

He’s quieter than usual and doesn’t say hello to Izuku, but Inko figures that Katsuki wants to let him rest.

“Inko.”

She hums, letting Mitsuki know she’s paying attention as she brushes her fingers through Izuku’s hair.

Her friend huffs, taking Inko’s hands and pulling them away from the bed, “Inko, you should go home.”

Inko laughs airily, “If you’re offering to watch after Izuku, that’s very kind but I’d rather be here-”

“No Inko, you should go home, and you should let Izuku go.” She says seriously, squeezing Inko’s hands.

She frowns, eyes flicking to her door, “If that doctor told you something-”

“No,” Mitsuki shakes her head, chewing on her bottom lip. Her eyes look tired and red-rimmed. “Izuku isn’t going to wake up. It’s been three weeks, if he were going to wake up he would’ve when they resuscitated him and you know that. There’s no more damage to heal, he’s just gone.”

Inko scoffs, “None of you know my Izuku like I do, he’s strong. He’ll wake up within the week, I’m sure of it. He just needs a bit of time to sleep.”

Mitsuki drops her hands, clasping a hand on her mouth and looking over at Izuku.

She turns around suddenly and grabs Katsuki by the arm, “C’mon, we’re leaving. Put those down.”

Her son flounders but doesn’t argue, haphazardly sliding the vase onto the small desk in the corner.

The hospital is silent when they leave, and Inko turns back to her son, determined to stay at his side.

“Mom,” She hears distantly, Katsuki’s voice calmer than she’s heard it in years, “is he really…?”

“Yes baby, he’s gone.”

And Inko cries.

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hargrove-mayfields · 11 months

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Disabled Billy and Steve Week

Day 5- New Diagnosis

My prompt: Obsessive Compulsive Disorder in Billy

-•-•-•-

For what must be the tenth time in the last month, Heather is parked outside of the hospital, her baby girl in the backseat, but the passenger side empty, waiting for Billy to get back.

The doctors have been running tests and screenings at appointment after appointment. He’s been… struggling. Ever since Isabella was born, his mental health had plummeted. It was never perfect, but for the first time, Heather was genuinely afraid.

Watching her husband pick his scalp until it bled and turned his golden hair red, or wash his face until he got a rash because his freckles started bothering him, was terrifying.

The fear isn’t eased when Billy walks out with a prescription bag, and red eyes that make it clear he’s been crying.

“What did they say?” Heather asks, as soon as he opens the car door.

Billy takes his time answering. He seems like he’s in shock.

Heather would hold his hand, but he has to sanitize, take off his mask, then sanitize again. An obsession.

Somehow, Heather isn’t shocked when Billy finally mumbles, “It’s ocd.”

Honestly, she doesn’t know what to feel. She’s been researching, scrolling on a tablet for hours after Billy is asleep to see what professionals all around the world would diagnose her husband with. But none of that preparation had told her how to feel.

Some part of it is relief, to finally have answers and be able to help Billy manage his symptoms. Another little piece of her heart is scared for how Billy will be feeling through all of this.

She decides to let him tell her, “Is that a good thing? A bad thing? Talk to me, sugar cube.”

“I just need a minute Hetty. That’s all.” Billy tries to smile, but it’s more like a grimace. It hurts to see him like that, but Heather will give him his space.

Instead of bothering him more, she just checks on him every now and again, seeing him glance back at the baby using the mirror that points down at her rear-facing car seat literally every few seconds.

When they get back home, which isn’t far since they knew their array of medical issues would require them being close to a hospital, Billy takes the baby straight inside and lays on the couch with her, just closing her eyes and cuddling her as tight as he feels safe to cuddle her little body.

Heather gives him a kiss on the cheek, and goes to take her own meds, calling from the kitchen, “What are you feeling for dinner tonight, baby?”

Silence. She comes back in, and Billy is in tears. Their little girl is biting his shirt and dozing off, and Billy is trying not to shake too hard with each sob.

His red eyes lock onto her, his lower lip wobbling, “Am I a bad dad?”

“Biscuits for dinner it is.” Heather declares softly, deciding he needs one of his comfort foods at the moment. Additionally, she takes the baby in her arms and comforts Billy with her words, “And no. Sweetie, you’re the best dad in the world.”

It barely helps anything. Billy is spiraling, “But I’m the reason the baby room is so plain. It takes me three times as long as you to change a diaper and I can’t cook for my wife and my kid because I have panic attacks if the oven timer is the wrong number. I can’t clip my baby’s nails cause I might go too short, I can’t hold her when she’s hyper and moving too much- I can’t even fucking be trusted with myself, let alone her little life!”

After all that, Billy takes a shaky, tear-filled breath in, “This OCD shit sucks.”

“None of that means you’re bad though. Your way of doing things is particular, but baby, you’re still here, and you’re doing your best for our girl.” Heather soothes gently.

He scoffs at himself, wiping his eyes more aggressively than necessary, “That’s the bare minimum.”

“Some parents can’t do that. Your mother didn’t.” It probably stings, but it’s reality. One of Billy’s biggest fears when they got pregnant with Isabella was becoming like his parents, or worse. Heather needs him to know that’s not the case.

“Hetty-“ Billy’s face pinches up, like he doesn’t know whether to be hurt or not.

So Heather decides to offer a little bit more insight, and maybe lessen the blow of the brutal reality, “My mom didn’t either. She drugged herself out of her mind and missed my whole childhood. I don’t have any memories from before I was ten. But Bella’s gonna have so so many with you.”

It seems to work, with Billy even smiling as he looks at their little girl and takes it all in, “Do you think she’ll think I’m weird?”

“Honey bun, every kid thinks their parents are weird at some point. But I do know she’s going to think you’re the most loving father a little one could ask for.” Heather chuckles softly.

Now it’s her turn to feel a little bit of panic.

See, Heather has a secret, and seeing as Billy could use a little cheering up, she decides to let him in on it. She takes his hand in hers, and places it on her stomach, right above her scar, “Two little ones, actually.”

Instantly she sees the difference in Billy, and the way his eyes light up. He sits bolt upright and hugs her tight, crying now but for a much better reason.

“Holy shit, baby! How long have you known?”

“Four days. But I’m six weeks along.” Heather enthuses, combing her fingers lovingly through his long curls.

Billy looks like he’s calculating, then he gasps, “Six weeks- Hetty, that’s almost a quarter of the way!”

“I know! Hopefully it’ll fly by like the last one.” Heather laughs softly in pure joy.

Her pregnancy with Isabella was relatively easy, and the number of seizures she had even stayed consistent since her epilepsy medications were safe for her and baby. The worst thing was the morning sickness, but it passed early on enough that she’d somehow enjoyed pregnancy.

Billy had been a wreck, between his emotions and his fears. It took days of promising that she’d be okay when she was nine months in and he’d been scheduled for a work trip before he felt safe to leave her by herself.

At the moment, he doesn’t seem as panicked as he’d been before, but he does fret- “No, no, no, no- I need time. I need to work on stuff.”

Heather cups his face sympathetically, “Bubs, I already told you-“

But Billy interrupts to tell her she’d misinterpreted, “Not personal stuff, lover. I mean I literally need to work on fixing this shitty house up if we’re gonna have two littles running around.”

“First, we need dinner.” Heather happily changes subjects then, but sternly puts her hands on her hips when Billy gets up to help, “Don’t even think about it. This baby bun is literally the size of a grain of rice, I don’t need you butlering yet.”

“Please let me. I feel like I’m buzzing inside.” Billy begs, pouting his bottom lip out in that way that’s always made Heather feel soft.

She rolls her eyes playfully, and hands him a snoozy Bella back, the little one year old reaching for her daddy too, “Put baby girl in her high chair. I could use your help washing fruit.”

“Fruit and.. biscuits?” Billy looks absolutely perplexed by her dinner choices.

Oh how Heather loves this boy.

“No, silly. I’m making you biscuits. Bella can’t eat stuff like that yet though.”

A flush strikes Billy’s cheeks a deep red color- Heather's favorite since she met her soulmate in a pair of swim trunks the same shade- “How the hell do you remember all that stuff?”

Heather just shrugs, though her point is that it’s not as easy as it seems, “Because I don’t have two hundred other things to remember in a day. That and I read a lot of books when I was bedridden. C-sections give lots of time for learning.”

She also goes out into the kitchen, fishing ingredients out of the pantry and measuring utensils out of the cabinets. Billy steps behind her, his hand on the small of her back so she doesn’t bump into him, to reach into the fridge for some strawberries, blueberries, and grapes.

“I’d probably lose my marbles trying to keep track of what’s real and what’s pseudoscience garbage.“ Billy huffs, while portioning out fruit to clean.

It makes Heather recall a time when they were about to be parents and she couldn’t, “Right? Remember when I thought it was bad to sleep on my side when I was pregnant?”

“Changed your tune real quick when the back pain hit.” Billy laughs lightheartedly.

Heather takes the opportunity to reiterate what she’d promised Billy before, “Exactly. Nobody gets everything perfect on the first try.”

She looks over, and Billy is just staring at her lovingly. That was exactly what he needed to hear. Heather smiles back, and blows a kiss, a little puff of dough flour coming from her hands.

Billy acts like he catches the kiss, and puts it to his heart. Nothing beats flirting like dumb, lovestruck teenagers.

Until a piercing wail cuts it off.

Bella over in her high chair starts crying her little head off, Heather guesses because she missed a nap earlier while they were waiting for Billy to finish his appointment.

That sound to them as new parents is instant panic, all the time, and Heather isn’t sure when that feeling will end. Until it does, she knows it’s been hitting Billy harder, and decides to let him take care of it, in the form of an offer, “You wanna get her, bubs?”

Just like she predicted, he’s already drying his hands on the apron not around his own waist, but on Heathers, and running to grab the baby, “Already on it.”

Heather just smiles after him, proud and fond all at the same time. Throw any new diagnosis their way, and they can handle it. Just Billy, her and Isabella, and their little bean on the way. An unbreakable family.

~~~~~

Interested in helping the community? Today’s organization that I’ve chosen to highlight is the Peace of Mind foundation.

POM is part of the international OCD foundation, which means they are recognized as being on of the most beneficial sites for individuals with obsessive compulsive disorder.

On the site, folks can access information about their disability, seek positive affirmations, reach out to care teams, and provide education to family members or carers to make sure the individual is getting the best treatment.

While the site uses language that I personally see as demeaning, I still thought it was important to highlight what they do for the community. I also couldn’t find a single charity or organization that didn’t use the word “suffering” to describe living with our disorder. I personally don’t see my OCD that way, but as I said, I wanted to show that there is a foundation out there trying to support us.

The site accepts donations, saying they will go towards families, therapists, support teams, and of course individuals with OCD. If you’re interested in reading more on your own and forming your own view, click here and the link will take you to the site!

#disabledbillyandsteveweek #hollogrove #billy x heather #ocd billy hargrove #heather holloway has epilepsy #my writing #ej writer #tw unhealthy coping mechanisms #<- I don’t know what else to tag this as because it goes into detail about Billy’s symptoms and how they can be self destructive #but ultimately this is a fluff fic and the angst is very temporary

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the-cookie-of-doom · 7 months

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Chan/Kim AU where Chan was in love with Kim’s mother. He was assigned as her guard before Korn’s; always loved her from a respectable distance, grateful to be around her and asking for nothing more. They never had an affair, just a courtly love, full of admiration and fondness and the mutual knowledge it could never be anything more.

He’s there when she dies, unable to protect her, but he saves Kim, and Kim never quite forgives him for it.

10 years later and Kim has forgotten his mother’s voice. What she looked like. There are no pictures of her anywhere, no one will talk to him about her. But he finds out about Chan’s feelings for her and tries to leverage them to his advantage. First he he only wants to hear stories about what his mother was like. Then it’s more than that.

A storm of daddy/mommy issues, puberty, and an identity crisis (everyone tells him how much he looked like his mother, but he doesn’t remember her enough to know if it’s true) + generally being starved for affection/approval means he’s throwing himself at Chan. Tells him you couldn’t have her, but you can have me, and Chan hates himself for a it a little bit (she used her dying breath to make him promise he would always protect Kim), but Kim really does look so much like the woman he loved, and Kim is so desperately in need of someone to take care of him. Chan promise he would always take care of him.

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rairecs · 8 months

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title: part time soulmate (full time problem) author: ksmwifeguy rating: teen wordcount: 5178 pairing: kim seungmin/lee minho summary:

"Can you come get me?" It all comes out in a rush, a jumble of syllables like marbles in someone's mouth. "I'm at the Gangdong-gu station." Minho huffs, annoyance prickling beneath his skin. "If you're already waiting for a train just ––" "Police," Seungmin interrupts. He doesn't even have the decency to sound contrite. "Station. Police station. I am––" he hiccups again and pitches his voice into a lower, mocking tone,"––detained."

Two weeks after their breakup, Lee Minho becomes Kim Seungmin's one phone call.

link

#skz fic #stray kids fic rec #stray kids fic #2min #seungmin #lee know #au: modern setting #drunken shenanigans #post-break up #tw: unhealthy coping mechanisms #hopeful ending #idiots in love #author: ksmwifeguy #wc: 5000

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pekejscatbed · 9 months

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Strawberry Shortcake | Dick Grayson centric

info/warnings:

Vent Fic, Past Rape/Non-con, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Childhood Trauma, Implied Childhood Sexual Abuse, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Angst and Porn, Sexual Content, Masturbation, Dildos, Dick Grayson is Not Okay, Author Projecting onto Dick Grayson. Angst, Hurt No Comfort, Song: Strawberry Shortcake (Melanie Martinez)

batman masterlist

———

Dick can still feel their hands on him, can still feel the way their fingers traced his skin and hovered over his most sensitive parts before plunging their nails into his flesh as they touched him in all the wrong ways and all he could do was scream and cry and beg as he tried to fight back and couldn't; tied down or drugged or too physically exhausted to even know what was happening until after everything was done. He can feel the way they caressed his body, hands trailing from his face to his chest to lower, lower, lower. He can feel them groping his pecs and his ass and his-

He can still feel it even after all this time, he can still feel the first time it happened when he was still a child and every time after. He can feel the hands from his childhood and his teen years and the most recent instances of his adulthood. He can feel it all, so, so vividly. It's like they never stopped. They didn't before, and Dick swears they still don't because he can still see it all happening to him over and over again when he blinks, relives the assault and abuse every single time he closes his eyes.

Maybe all that pain is why he is the way he is. Maybe that pain shaped him into the man he is today- into the slut he is today.

(He can vividly remember how the word sounded on their tongue.)

If he hadn't gone through that, would he be the way he is now? If he hadn't experienced that, would he still sexualize himself every chance he got just so he could feel loved when complete strangers stared at him with lust? Would he flirt with all of his friends and make dirty jokes and revel in their attention and praise when they complement him? Would he show off his body and wear revealing clothes just to feel something- anything?

If Dick hadn't been harassed and assaulted and worse, would he still be here now, hand stroking his cock while he rides the dildo underneath him, camera in front of him catching every whimper he makes as he gets closer and closer to yet another orgasm that he's lost count of because he's just not satisfied and he won't be until he's a crying, shaking, withering mess?

Dick wonders if this is normal as his fingers grip his cock, moving up and down in time with his hips as he drops down onto his dildo, wonders if other survivors' film themselves getting off to post for random people on the internet. Do they also cry when they cum? Do they push themselves to the edge no matter how tired they are or how much pain they're in? Do they have rape fantasies despite knowing how wrong it is, how horrible it feels?

Do they feel as dehumanized as he does as his cock spurts cum all over his hand and his stomach, tears cascading down his face, body collapsing in on itself as he falls to the floor with a sob?

Or is Dick just broken, shattered pieces of the child he used to be, of the child he never will be again- a hollowed, empty shell of what once was?

#dick grasyon #vent fic #ptsd symptoms #nightwing #richard grayson #Richard dick Grayson #unhealthy coping mechanisms #angst and smut #hurt no comfort #angst #dick grayson is not okay #kenny writes shit #dick grayson fanfiction #dick grayson fic

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crueclown22 · 1 month

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maybe thats why this is hurting me so much. so many of my own problems are reflected in dave in the story. not the drugs or sex shit but the other shit. maybe thats why its affecting me so much.

because its stupid but the way that ive tried to go better (and its working!!!! we're getting better), i know how fucking hard it is. the feeling of relief when you realize it doesn't hurt you as much is weirdly indescribable. maybe i just got too attached and wanted it for him

#god this hurt #its a fic why is this hurting me so much #making me think too damn much about my own problems and recovery from those unhealthy coping mechanisms #not your pretty woman

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fluffisgreater · 10 months

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from the depth, to the shoreline

Summary:

Childe like to drown his feeling. Literally. After Osial, he frequently goes to lakes, usually Luhua Pool. Making sure no one is around before stepping into the water. He'll float a bit before taking a deep breath and let himself sink. Before, back in the abyss, inside the water is where he feels most safe, apart from his Master's side. But here in Liyue, there’s no Master. It aches something terrible in Ajax's chest, because Liyue used to be warm. It almost feels like home. But no more. So he returns to the water, where it feels more safe, much like a creature of the depth he truly is inside. When he emerges, everything will be muffled either from lack of oxygen or the after-effect of the underwater silence. There'll be dizziness, but it is worth it for the few moments in which he becomes one with hydro. Free from thoughts of his mission, about Zhongli, about Liyue. But of course, nothing lasts. Not for him. Ajax is never that lucky. One of Zhongli's Adepti saw him.

Chapter 1 : Seeking The Nostalgic Abyss

The winds blow softly, making a hypnotic sound and shaking the red leaves on the trees. Some of it falling into the water and creating a ripple. The motion of water and the reflected sunlight gives an illusion that something is shifting slightly. It enhances the mystery and beauty of Luhua Pool, giving no other obvious change despite currently hosting an extra person in its water.

Childe— no, Ajax blankly stared at the overflowing blue around him, eyes absently focusing on some fish. His thoughts have been turning round and round, just like the fish in front of him. This fish appears to have taken a liking to him, twirling around and picking at his hair. It's a cute playful fish worthy to be pampered and Ajax usually will coo at it, but his mind is currently elsewhere. He just can't make sense of it.

‘How can Zhongli be Morax?’

Besides the ridiculous development that the God he has been searching for months is actually the same person that has been dining with him almost every day— ’How scary...’ Something in Ajax whispers. It sounds afraid and thrilled at the same time. How can he smile, tell stories and eat with him as if he doesn't have the power to fatally wound Ajax? Ajax bitterly realized how many openings he gave away. Zhongli is always so steady without changing his rhyme. It is a lulling sort of peace. He never did give a reaction when Ajax purposely tried to provoke and needle him at the start of their relationship. ‘What makes you think he won't kill you later?’, the voice whispers sweetly. —Ajax still can't wrap around his head that Zhongli is Morax. Klutzy with mora Zhongli, who can't cook quickly to save his life and always savor his tea like some kind of tea connoisseur? Keeping aside that (endearing) part of him and his own mixed feelings, Ajax it's genuinely confused. Wasn't Morax supposed to be a Warrior God? A fierce dragon that successfully defeated other Gods that threatened Liyue in the past? How can he be that unassuming consultant who seems to have an endless story to tell? From the few interactions Ajax has with dragons in Snezhnaya, they're always callous and cruel to other beings. They're powerful but arrogant, only holding themselves as a special existence. Even among their species they hold those pride and won’t associate with other dragons, seeing only themselves as the most important. It is that arrogance that makes their downfall. Childe always did have the most fun while fighting them. He always comes to that brink between life and death whenever he must deal with them. It is one of the reasons that makes him very excited when he is sent to Liyue. Unfortunately instead of the thrill and satisfying scars, what he got here is a wound that can’t be defended with his blade. It is a wound that does not cause his flesh to separate and tear, but still manages to be even more painful than that.

Because the wound is not physical. Surely even if the region is different, Liyue dragon will have some similarities? How can a person like Zhongli— Ah. Of course. Ajax wants to slam his head at the rock behind him. So he did. Letting out a few bubbles while at it. Turns out that having an epiphany underwater is a bad idea. Childe gasp as he burst out of the water and hold his bleeding head. Cursing he slowly trekked back to the land. He can't believe how stupid and careless this realization is. Morax's true form is said to be unknown. Although he is often depicted as a majestic dragon, there's a talk and record that said Morax is part Qilin. Of course, expecting him to act territorial like other dragons is a no-go! Childe wouldn't have wasted a few weeks messing around Adepti's domain if he know this! “Why is everyone obsessed with only the Dragon part? No wait, why didn't I think of that! “ Childe mutters furiously while walking back to the Northland Bank. Ignoring the whisper and suspicious stare thrown at him. Walking back to his room, he take out the files named [Beings to Fight in Liyue], flipping around until he got the section he want to.

Qilin. One of the illuminated beasts in Liyue, a creature with supernatural abilities, including heightened combat prowess, extreme longevity, and the ability to speak human language. The Qilin are gentle creatures who refuse to harm any animal, living a vegetarian lifestyle, with fur as soft as clouds. However, when they do not live in times of peace, they will fight.

“Huh, that makes so much sense.” Childe trailed off. Actually, he remembered halfway that in Liyue, a dragon is depicted as not only powerful but also wise, symbolizing both power and leadership. So even if Morax being part Qilin is not true, it still fits Zhongli's temperament. Still imagining him as a part of a gentle beast like Qilin makes it easier to connect Morax's identity with the man Childe once knew. But what use is knowing this fact now?

Suddenly the files in his hands become less interesting and feel even mocking to him. Childe silently closes it and put it back into the hidden compartment.

The next times Childe decides to sink himself, he stays under the water for much longer. If the first time he sinks into Liyue water was for the sake of ruminating and filtering the information that shook his world, then the times after that are purely for the sake of dealing with his emotion. To put it simply, Childe like to drown his feeling. Literally. After Osial, when he stays too long in Liyue Harbor, there's an urge to search for lakes. Usually, he will end up heading to Luhua Pools. It's because no one loiters there aside from a few treasure hoarders. The fact that the water is clean also makes it an easy choice, he likes to appreciate the view around him.

”Xiangsheng, you’re not joking when you said it's beautiful!” Childe can't help but gasp at his surrounding. He received a smile, before the man standing beside him replied with fondness that can be heard, eyes already looking from the start to see his reaction, “Of course not, I did say I will bring you to the most wonderful place in Liyue. I’m glad, it seems you have taken a liking to this place?” “Yes! The water is very clean and the pools are fascinating too! Oh, I wish I can share this with Tonia, she would love it. I should’ve brought my kamera.” Childe cant help to lament. His princess always appreciates the scenery he encounters on his journey. This place might be one of the best places Childe has visited in Liyue. A hum of thought escape the man's mouth. His gaze is still fixated on the redhead instead of the beautiful scenery around him, “Hmn, Tonia is your sister correct? Although I too, didn’t bring any kamera with me, there’s a talented painter named Veemer that recently looks for inspiration from this place. It is said that he likes to wander around here. Perhaps we can see if he got some painting you can buy for your sister.” “Huh.” “Huh?” Amber eyes look at him questioningly. Holding his laugh, Childe said with a grin, “I mean, of course, you would know a painter that likes to wander around beautiful spots. Sure then! Let's walk around and maybe we will bump into him. You can tell me the stories about this place while at it.” A nod and a satisfied smile, “My pleasure. Luhua Pools has been said to be an ancient garden made from deep pure affection. Although no one is sure whose affection it is and toward who that feeling is directed. Two statues stand tall near the pools as if guarding the garden. People have said that those statue eyes will light up sometimes—” “Can the statue move?! You think they’ll make a good fight?” Childe gasped in delight at the prospect of a fight. A startled laugh before, “Childe, please wait—”

It's not as if Ajax has other reasons to choose these pools.

Full chapter on ao3

#zhongchi #childe #zhongli #鍾タル #teal writing fic #fluff and angst #misunderstanding #mutual pining #idiots in love #reconciliation #unhealthy coping mechanisms #just like me writing this #oh i almost forgot the mvp wingman of this fic #xiao #send help #this is a backup #ao3 fanfic #genshin impact fanfics #genshin impact

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trujellyfish · 2 months

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not to sound like a quitter, but.

#wat do u do wen ur in iceland with two of ur best friends #but u cant fucking sleep #and u dont have any of ur creature comforts and by gods are u a creature of comfort #and u have no money #and youve put very little effort towards this trip and even less money lmao #like wow i have ppl who will just. buy me plane tickets and tour tickets and food #which is lovely but ultimately soul crushing #bc im going to spend the next four years repaying that #bc i cant get it the fuck together with my spending habits #like ffs im almost 30 and i keep spending my money like a 10yo who found $5 in the street #and cash doesnt feel like a real option in iceland #and unfortunately i also screwed myself by not getting my new credit card #there is. a lot of negativity in my brain rn.#yeah its bc im tired as shit but with the insomnia #like i would pretend to sleep bc i know its better than doom scrolling but fuck #my brain refuses to be distracted from the self loathing rn #2hrs of lying there and i was like okay ill read fic for a bit so i stop. Thinking.#but then i close my eyes and my brain just fucking flushes itself again #anyway. screaming. hollering. homesick.#i only have unhealthy coping mechanisms at this point and unfortunately my fave one is illegal here sooooo.......#might try buying a pack of smokes tmrw lmao #provided i dont find anything sharp first heyyo

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thesoulesscollection · 1 year

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Feel Better? (Thsc Fic)

I've always wanted to write a one-shot about my Oc, Honey, that I'm a little proud of, so here it is, I hope.

Additional Tw/Tags: Implied/Referenced Drug Use/Addictions, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Depression, Bad Choices, Manipulation, Toxic Character, & Unhealthy Relationships

This one-shot I feel takes place around my Hc when Terrence was a right hand/elite member **

Just so you know if it isn't obvious, Honey isn't a good person whatsoever with no redeemable qualities. Also, I did want to try to explore the dynamic she has with others, Ie. Terrence Suave.

Smoking this crap is going to kill you, Terry.

With a strangled inhale, his nose wrinkled, taking in the fumes, Terrence felt like shit in the beginning, eyes burning, and throat tensing up. The pain, although a short one is excruciating, is far too excessive, hitting him like a freight train. Despite its intended purpose to help him relax, he could never quite get used to it, at least not completely without expressing the gross need to keel over at a moment's notice. The lazily self made smoke is snuffed out in an ant pile beside him. A hagged cough leaves him hunched in a fetal position, such an ugly pathetic mess who could never keep it together.

From the outside looking in, anyone who can be bothered to glance at his direction, Terrence understood he's a useless piece of shit. What they saw is a misfortunate to the clan, a dead weight trailing behind, no matter what there is no one that can see the good in him. True to the world, he isn't faring well, appearance wise, seen as an ugly disgrace, his old gray suit is wrinkled, torn, stained, and heavily coated in musty cobwebs. Worse, whenever he takes note in a mirror, he's gaunt, no meat or muscle on his withered bones. His unshaven face is sunken in, choppy black hair left askew, his eyes wide are unable to stop chasing the smallest movements.

"Terry, my dear friend, you look positively wretched. Would you like to take another hit? From something other than this awful mockery of a cigarette you got your hands on?" A sickeningly sweet voice pulls him from his troublesome thoughts, "And gosh. If I only knew you were going to spiral this bad, I would've brought heavier stuff then this"

Sickened that there's more potent stuff out then what he's taking currently, cigarettes simply laced with mild relaxers, Terrence reflects grimly, unwillingly being reminded of his bad choices, "N-No. I… I should be fine… Thanks though... Damn. Yet I still feel like shit"

"Sure you do. You know you wouldn't have to feel this way if you agreed to test out my new product. It shouldn't be too strong as it should be enough to help you feel better"

Then light pink shoes came into his line of clouded vision, then as it cleared, Terrence lazily noticed the woman's outfit. A pastel, knee length dress, joined by a long slit up to each hip revealing her slender, tanned thighs. Above noticing the design on her chest, was a full heart shaped cut, which he'll admit in great shame to staring at it for a split second too long. In a panicked haste to avoid further embarrassment he diverted his attention to her sharp angular face, full in makeup somehow she makes it look so natural. Her strawberry blonde hair is a swirly updo, where a few loose curls perfectly frames her face, and her intense amber eyes stare at him, slowly inspecting as if he were an ant.

In between her slender fingers, index and middle held a long, stick thin cigarette that was yet to be lit.

"… I just don't think it's a good idea…"

She bent over, hands laid flat on her knees so she could be eye level where he sat on the dirt ground. "Do you not trust me?"

"... I do…" Terrence crumpled. "... Honey… I'm in pain. Mentally, I'm not there. All the stuff I'm using isn't working anymore"

"You shouldn't be worried, dear. I wouldn't hurt you on purpose, would I? For this, you don't need to smoke it yourself, so you can equally get as high from the second hand stuff alone"

Tilting his head, curiously he watches the woman take a lighter from a hidden spot on her person, and lit the cigarette. Unlike what he initially expected, pink smoke fills the area, unnaturally thick like it's holding a weight. Furthermore, she isn't affected in the least, instead, whether he is reading the signals correctly here, she's actually enjoying the sensation. She then inches closer, filling her mouth, cheeks rounded until it can no longer be held within upon her exhaling through her cupid lips. In his shock she unleashed the smoke towards him, he experienced what he never felt before.

Again his sight falters until refocusing with a pleasantly comfortable sight. The hues were a little off, primarily pink color, takes hold. Both mind and body took a backseat to the new appeal ravishing his painstaken self, while he slumped against the wall. No more did he feel the tension dragging him to the deepest pits of hell. So amidst the colorful smoke clouds dancing ahead in many shapes there's little hearts freely floating around.

"Do you feel better?" She asks, standing aside, getting a lopsided grin in return by Terrence, "Nice. That's good. I was kinda worried it wouldn't"

"Y-you said this is new, right?"

"It is. It's a new hobby I took up. I come from a long standing family motto: we're meant to deliver the sweetest services to help the least fortunate"

Stuck in a blissful trance, a sweet escape from a cruel reality, Terrence, unworthy, is forever thankful for her gracious deeds.

"You needed this. Terry, you deserved this"

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quietly-by-myself · 1 year

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An Earthly Cosmological Redshift - Chapter 8 - In Love and Crime

Masterlist

Thank you to @darkthingshappen for the beta and @sparrowsage for brainstorming with me

CW: mafia whump, breakups, unhealthy coping mechanisms, alcohol/drinking problems, brief mention of drug use, favoritism, broken bones, references to torture, smoking/tobacco use

===

Fearon carefully removed the hat he was wearing, placed it on his chest, and found himself kneeling on the ground a few paces into the room he’d entered.

“Fearon, it’s a pleasure to see you.” A sugary sweet voice came from the desk in front of Fearon.

“As it is to see you, Boss.”

Galileo chuckled. “It’s okay, Fearon. You can stand up.”

Fearon hurried to follow the order. Galileo stood up from his seat at his desk and motioned towards one of the chairs in front of it. Fearon moved towards it quickly and took a seat, still holding his hat in his hands.

“Do you know where Archimedes is?” Fearon knew that familiar tone of annoyance with his co-underboss.

“No, Boss. He wasn’t supposed to be doing anything in particular today, either, as far as I know.”

Galileo tsked and shook his head a bit. His earrings clicked a little as he did. Galileo sat back at his desk and opened one of the drawers. He pulled out a container of tobacco out of the drawer and quickly closed it.

“I apologize, Fearon. I only have tobacco, no paper to roll it. I know you prefer cigarettes.” Galileo took out some of the tobacco and placed it in his pipe, lighting it a little, just enough to smoke.

“I have some with me, Boss. Thank you for your consideration.”

Again, Galileo chuckled as he smoked his pipe. Fearon felt that familiar anxiety in his chest, that tight coldness that told him to watch out, that something was about to go wrong. Subtly, Fearon took a breath and pulled the cigarettes out of his breast pocket. Galileo gave Fearon a light.

“How are you and Matthew doing?”

Fearon tapped his cigarette on Galileo’s ashtray. “He broke up with me.”

“And I assume you’ve been out drinking since then?”

Galileo knew him too well. After all, it was after a breakup that the two had met. The memory was miserable - Fearon had taken some pills and had far too many shots just to forget. Galileo had approached him and, well, the next thing Fearon remembered was waking up a vampire, with a new name.

“Only one night.” The cigarette was doing its job - Fearon was starting to feel more relaxed. That tension in his shoulders was going away. He looked away from Galileo. He wasn’t exactly lying. He hadn’t taken any pills nor had he drunk himself into stupor. “It was at the usual spot.”

“Well, I'd be proud of you if it was only one night of drinking.”

A knock came from the door.

“Come in,” Galileo shouted, standing from his place at his desk.

The familiar form of the black-haired, pale-skinned vampire came through the door. His red eyes flashed with a sense of disdain when he saw Fearon quietly sitting there at Galileo’s desk.

Archimedes didn’t bow, didn’t take off his glasses, as he came into the room and took a seat at Galileo’s desk.

Galileo glared at Archimedes. “And where were you?”

“You should ask Fearon that. He was a no-show to the last meeting.”

“Don’t disrespect me, Archimedes. Fearon and I were discussing that. It is none of your concern. Fearon is safe and somewhat well. That’s all that matters.” Galileo waved his hand. “Now, onto business.”

Archimedes shot Fearon a glare, which just made Fearon shift a little in his seat. Galileo cleared his voice.

“I would appreciate it if you paid attention, Archimedes, instead of bothering your fellow underboss.”

Archimedes’ face twisted a bit - he was in a bad mood if he was showing his disdain for Fearon so openly.

“Someone came forward the other day to say that one of our Capos has sold himself out to the Hubble Clan. Hypatia reported it to me directly, since you were absent for a few days, Fearon.”

Fearon swallowed a little. Had the breakup really affected him so much that it had been a few days since he was last seen?

“Now, that’s completely understandable Fearon, which is why I called you two into a meeting as soon as possible. I didn’t recognize the name, so I wanted to see which one of you two he works under. His name is Hannes. Either of you recognize that?”

Before Fearon could speak, Archimedes answered for him. “He’s one of Fearon’s.”

“Is this true, Fearon?”

“Yes, Boss. He’s one of mine. I apologize if my neglect led to his turning.”

“These sorts of things happen, Fearon. All is fair in love and war. Do me a favor and correct his behavior? You might find it therapeutic after Matthew.”

A smirk formed on Fearon’s lips. “Yes, Boss.”

“I think that was all. Fearon, take care of yourself. Archimedes, please don’t be so late next time.”

It was only when the two vampires left the room that Archimedes grabbed Fearon by his shirt collar and slammed him against the wall, letting out a small growl.

“Really? Do you always have to make me look bad? And what, you had another fucking break up? Is that why you were missing?”

“That’s between me and the Boss, Archimedes.” Fearon grabbed onto Archimedes’ wrist and pressed down, snapping the bones like they were shale.

Archimedes snarled as he was forced to let go of Fearon’s shirt collar. “Fuck you, Fearon. I’ve had a shit day and you always have to go and make it shittier.”

Fearon waved his hand. “Not my problem, Archimedes. Now, I have something to go take care of, if you’ll excuse me.”

Fearon walked away, not oblivious to the burning of Archimedes’ eyes into the back of his head. He took a moment, once at the elevator, to readjust his collar, before he took a deep breath and contemplated whether he was headed to the bar or to find Hannes.

===

Taglist: @i-can-even-burn-salad @whumpsday @pigeonwhumps @oddsconvert @sparrowsage @darkthingshappen @honeycollectswhump

#whump #whump fic #whump writing #whumpblr #an earthly cosmological redshift #fearon oc #galileo oc #archimedes oc #mafia whump #breakup tw #unhealthy coping mechanisms #alcohol #alcoholism #drug use tw #favoritism #broken bones #references to torture #smoking

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