#Heres the other one!!! Maybe something else when I'm less ill

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA in this friendship? give me a minute here, it's more complicated than it sounds

I'm 19 years old, female. So there's this friend, we'll call her B (also 19F). We've been friends for years, since elementary. We've been good friends for that time, I thought.

But especially during high school, it was hard to spend time with her. She was always convinced the friend group hated her even though all I'd ever hear was that they liked her and were confused/frustrated/hurt as to why she thought that. She's always had a lot of mental illness going on (depression, anxiety, ADHD, etc) so I tried to give her the benefit of the doubt. She spent most of her time in another part of the school refusing to spend time with me or the friend group saying she wanted "alone time" even though she was surrounded by other friends.

I knew she was feeling unwanted within the friend group, so I tried to spend time with her when she would let me. But it kind of alienated me from the rest of the friend group so I spent a good portion of my lunches alone. Plus, even though she would say its ok for me to be there, sometimes it felt like she hated me and my presence. But then she would turn around and tell me I was the only one she could be truly honest with, etc, etc.

The reason I tried not to pay too much heed to the idea that she might really hate being my friend is because I also struggle with anxiety pretty badly. I've been working really really hard to just listen to what people tell me, because I can't trust what I'm telling me.

But this feeling continued after high school, and it felt like there was something I didn't know, like she secretly hated me and only put up with me.

Almost every time I would invite her to do something, she would try to invite someone else too. That's fine, but when it happens almost every time... it made me feel like I was unwanted.

I got really clingy. I'll admit that. I texted her often (most days a week) and would get anxious when she didn't respond within a couple of hours, leading to me double, triple texting most of the time. She told me not to text her during work, but how am I supposed to know for sure? She told me her hours once, but I have no record of it and I don't expect her to memorize my schedule so I feel like that's unfair. Plus, if I didn't press for an answer, I often wouldn't get one at all or wouldn't get one for days. Like one time I tried to schedule a time to hang out a few weeks in advance. She told me she would get back to me, but then the day before, still nothing. I texted over and over again, trying to get an answer, until she got mad at me for texting so much and told me she didn't think hanging out would work out. But the point is I got clingy, in a way that I understand made her anxious.

My anxiety got the better of me and I decided to stop contacting her. I held to it for a couple of months, aside from wishing her happy christmas/new years. But my birthday came and went for the second year in a row without a word, and I decided I needed to talk to her about it.

I did, and although she refused to do it in person like I wanted, I thought it was a pretty good conversation. She told me about a couple things I was doing to make her uncomfortable. I promised to work on those and being less clingy. I told her I need her to be honest about the things that bother her, and she said she needed time to work on that skill. She said she was thinking a month, maybe less, so i agreed not to contact her first during that time and she promised to contact me soon.

I didn't hear from her for three months. I finally broke down and texted her, asking to talk it out and telling her this arrangement wasn't working for me. She didn't respond for almost a week. I needed peace of mind, so I said I was done with waiting and I would be open to rekindling the friendship later, but I wasn't going to hold my foot in the door for her any longer. No response again.

I remembered I owed her money and asked her when would be a good time to drop it off (it was not like five bucks, it was a fair amount of money so I didn't want to like leave it on a doorstep or something). No response again for a day. I told her if I didn't hear from her in a couple of days I was going to keep the money.

She finally responded a day later, saying she didn't have the energy for a "high maintenance" friendship and to leave the money in her mailbox.

I don't know who was at fault here. I mean, I was clingy and I ended the friendship, but she didn't give me a chance to change and didn't stick to her word. But I don't know if contacting her again after those three months was clingy? I really don't know, and the end of this friendship has been tormenting me. I just want to know who was at fault and then I can deal with it, but I honestly don't know.

Also, WIBTA for contacting B again and trying to rekindle the friendship?

Please do not ask multiple questions in a single submission. It just confuses things and makes it hard for people to vote in the poll.

#aita #am i the asshole

[factorialsotherfandoms]

One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine.

Ten.

Fit breathes in, Fit breathes out. The cave wall behind him is sheer and high, something he would need tools to scale. The path down is jagged and steep, something he would rather build a bridge along.

There are also corpses down there. He can see nine of them from here, but is sure there are more deeper in.

Nine corpses.

Nine friends of Madagio.

What the fuck.

They look like Fed workers, and yet... surely the Feds murdered them when they left the island? One way, or another. Directly or indirectly, it is the Federation's fault.

It is infuriating, horrifying, disturbing.

It is about what Fit has come to expect.

They look like Fed workers, but Madagio called them friends... Madagio, too, is blank but for his eyes. Did the Federation do something to them? Change them?

Its is certainly an implication Fit and his companions have considered before.

One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine.

Ramón, Pac, Richarlyson, Mike, Tubbo, Philza, Bagi, Chayanne, Tallulah.

One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine fucked up corpses, all scattered around.

For a moment he sees not Fed workers, but his son, his boyfriend, his family, his friends...

Then he blinks, and it is gone, and nothing is alright but they are Fed workers again.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine.

Ten.

Fit slowly, carefully makes his way down the side of the cliff. His arm is broken, his ankles smart, but he makes it.

There is not just stone and corpses here, but gravel.

Fit has nothing, but he knows not what to do, and is surrounded by corpses who every time he blinks look like his family.

He cannot, cannot keep staring until Madagio gets bored. He will starve, go mad, something.

So he fights an impossible fight against the gravel, scooping it and scooping it to the sides until he has a pit.

Then he takes the closest corpse and lays it in, and pushes the gravel back into place.

One.

He does not look at the corpse as he buries it.

Two.

He refuses to see a face again.

Three.

He promised. He promised.

Four.

He will not abandon his friends.

Five.

He will not let them die.

Six.

Not ever.

Seven.

Not like this.

Eight.

He will ruining the Federation, and avoid this fate.

Nine.

And done.

Fit collapses into the gravel over the final grave, too exhausted to even try to move.

That's fine. Madagio will get bored soon, and then Fit will strangle his damned neck before getting home.

He will destroy the Federation. Whatever it takes.

Whatever it takes.

It can have him, his life, his soul.

It cannot have his friends - his family.

He will not fail them.

He will not.

He cannot.

If he fails them, he will not survive.

...

Whatever it takes.

Whatever it takes, to prevent nine corpses from being found in another cave.

#qsmp fanfic #qsmp fit #corpse tw #Heres the other one!!! Maybe something else when I'm less ill #But for now enjoy the pair of ficlets #I counted nine corpses in the cave and then reverse engineered nine names

[cy-cyborg]

Disability Tropes: The disabling change of heart

When a character in a story becomes disabled, they'll sometimes experience a trope that I like to call "the disabling change of heart". This is when the character goes through a massive change in their outlook, their personality, their goals or even roll in the story, specifically because they became (or are about to become) physically disabled. Sometimes, this will be in relatively small ways: the happy-go-lucky comedic relief character might become bitter, angry and jaded after getting into an accident that caused a spinal injury, or the severally depressed and nihilistic character might suddenly start acting more cheerful and hopeful, stating that loosing their leg has "put things into perspective and showed them what really matters". In other cases though, the impact is much larger, the heroic character you've been hearing about looses an arm thanks to the main character's actions, causing them to become consumed with anger and self-loathing which they take out on everyone else, eventually becoming an antagonist as they seek revenge for what the main character did to them. The morally grey or even villainous character is injured by their own scheme, giving themselves a permanent disability in the process, which prompts a change of heart and leads them to turn their lives around and become better people, maybe even deciding to team up with the heroes.

Now, having a character go through a personality and goal change due to a major life event, such as becoming physically disabled, isn't inherently bad. A lot of writers are told to tie major shifts in your character's development to major life events, because realistically, something like becoming newly disabled will at least impact how you view the world around you. I very frequently talk about how if I didn't loose my legs, I would have become a vastly different person, but the issues with this trope depends on how it's used and the reasons behind these developments, and whether or not the change suits the character in question.

Before we get into things, I would like to specify that in this post, I'm only going to be talking about how this trope is used with physical disabilities and other easily visible forms of disability. It does show up with characters who develop disabilities under the mentally ill and neurodivergent umbrellas, and is actually a bit more common than what I'm talking about today, but the specific ways its utilised are so different that it's more or less a separate trope, and one that deserves much more attention than I could give it here as this is already going to be a pretty long post. So for today, I'm keeping to it's use with physical and visible disabilities, and we'll talk about how this trope is used with neurodivergence and mental illness another day.

The main thing you need to be mindful of is ensuring that you, as an author, are not including your ingrained biases about disability into the reasoning behind the change. Let's look at one of the examples from before, an evil character who, after loosing their arm (because it's almost always loosing an arm for some reason) becomes a villain and wants revenge against the main character. In a story like this example, the character who became an amputee often views this new disability as something that has ruined their life. It's something that has caused them to suffer, and they want to make the main character (or whoever has "wronged" them) suffer like they did. Stories like this example portray disability as something that is not just horrible, but life-destroying, especially with villains who become all-consumed by the misery this disability has brought them. Many stories that utilise this version of the trope also often perpetuate the idea that if you become disabled, you'll have to give up all the things you love and your goals, even when this wouldn't necessarily be true for the character in question.

Let's say your character was a knight, and the main character cut off their arm in a training accident. obviously you can't be a knight with only one arm because you can't fight anymore, so they left their order. Now this character has become a villain and has found power that "makes up" for their disability, perhaps magic or some other force that doesn't exist in the real world, and are back to get revenge on the character for ruining their lives. Here's the thing though, the loss of a limb, or at least, the loss of an arm specifically, often isn't the career ender people think it is, even back then. In fact, there are many historical records of real amputees continuing to serve as knights and other similar military roles after loosing an arm or at the very least, continuing to fight in other ways. One such example was Götz of the Iron Hand, a mercenary knight who lost his arm to a cannon. Götz had fought as part of the Roman empire's military in 1498, but shortly after left to form his own mercenary company. He lost his hand in 1504 and continued his career as a mercenary with the help of an iron prosthetic capable of holding his sword and the reigns of his horse, among many other things such as writing, for another 40 years. Götz wasn't unique in this though, several suits of armour from the same time period have been found with integrated prosthetic hands, though the names of their owners are unknown. There was also Oruç Reis (aka Aruj Barbarossa), A privateer admiral who served the Ottoman Empire in and around the Mediterranean who lost his left hand - earning him one of many nicknames: Silver-Hand, thanks to the colour of his prosthetic. Oruç, like Götz, continued his career for several more years until he was eventually killed in 1518.

My point in bringing this up, is to highlight how important it is to double check that the reason your character's whole motivation for turning to villainy, isn't just based on your ideas about what a disabled person can or can not do. Actually double check it, research it, especially if it's important for your plot.

Even in the cases where the disability in question actually would stop someone from being able to do something, the incorrect assumptions can still occur and cause issues in different ways. For example, a character in a more modern setting who looses their arm due to an accident the main character was responsible for while serving in the military would be discharged, ruining the character's plan to become a general some day. This absolutely would be devastating for a character like that, and they realistically could struggle to adjust, both in terms of getting used to their disability and finding new goals for their life. They may well feel anger at the main character, however, if you are portraying just living with a disability, in the case of this example, living with an amputation as inherently "suffering" for no other reason than they are disabled, it is still perpetuating those really negative ideas about disability. I've said this a few times in other posts, but villains who are evil or even just antagonists purely because they're disabled or are trying to avoid becoming disabled is a trope all its own and one that is best avoided if you yourself aren't disabled, as even outside of spreading these negative ideas about life with a disability, it's just an overdone and overused trope.

But what about when this trope goes in the other direction? when you have an antagonistic or even just morally grey character who becomes disabled and this is the catalyst that turns them into a good guy?

For the longest time, I knew I usually disliked this version of the trope too, but I couldn't put my finger on why. With disability being the reason someone became a villain, the underlying reason it's there is often able to be boiled down to "I, the writer, think being disabled would be terrible and life like that is inherently suffering, so this character is angry about it," which is obviously an issue (the "inherently suffering" bit, not the anger). However, when a character becomes good due to becoming disabled, the reasoning is usually more along the lines of, "this is a big change in a character's life that has caused them to reconsider and revaluate things" (or at least, that's what I thought). This isn't bad, nor is it necessarily unrealistic. Hell, as I already said, I do consider my disability to be a catalyst that made me into who I am today. I also know plenty of people who, after becoming disabled later in life, did have a big change in how they viewed themselves and the world, and who consider themselves better people since becoming disabled. It's far, far from a universal experience, mind you, but it does happen. So why did this version of the trope still not sit right with me?

Well, I think there's a few reasons for it. The first being that there's a tendency for non-disabled people to think real disabled people are just incapable of evil deeds, both in the sense that they aren't physically capable of doing them (which is bad and not even always true for the reasons we already discussed), but also in the sense that there's this idea that disabled people are, for some reason, inherently more "good" and "innocent" - As if breaking your back or loosing a limb causes all evil and impure thoughts to be purged from the body. This is a result of many folks viewing disabled people as child-like, and thus attributing child-like traits (such as innocence) to them, even subconsciously. This is an incredibly common issue and something disability rights organisations are constantly pushing back against, as this mentality can cause a lot of unnecessary barriers for us. With how often I and many other disabled people are subjected to infantilization, I would be honestly shocked if it wasn't at least partially responsible for people thinking becoming disabled is a good reason to kick off a redemption arc.

This infantilization isn't unique to physically disabled people by the way, in fact it's way, way, more commonly directed at people with intellectual and developmental disabilities - or at least, people are more open about it, but as I already mentioned, how that is reflected in tropes like The Disabling Change of Heart is vastly different and deserves a post of it's own.

That's mostly just speculation on my part though, since that infantilising mindset does show up a lot in media, but not usually as part of this trope specifically.

However, it's not the only reason I wasn't a fan of it. When the disabling change of heart is used to fuel redemption arcs, I think, once again, that the disability itself being credited with causing the change directly is another factor. When this happens, it's usually because "it put things into perspective for me and showed me what really mattered."

This sounds better than our previous example on the surface, but stories that use this logic are often still portraying disability as an inherently bad and tragic thing, something so bad, in fact, that it makes all the other (legitimate) issues they thought were massive before seem so small by comparison. This is a type of inspiration porn: content made to make non-disabled people feel inspired or just better about their own situation. It's the mentality of "well my life is bad, but it could be worse, at least I'm not disabled like that!"

In a fictional story, this might look like an athlete character who dreamed of making it big so they could be famous and get out of poverty. They were a dick to anyone who got in their way but only because they were worried about not being able to make rent if they don't constantly win. One day though, they overworked themselves and got into a car accident on the way home because they were too tired, and now they're in a wheelchair and can no longer walk, which is (supposedly) absolutely tragic and way worse than anything else they were already going through. But they end up becoming a better person because it has put things into perspective for them. Yeah they were struggling to make ends meet, but at least they weren't disabled! Now that they are, they know they shouldn't have cared so much, because money doesn't matter when compared to not being able to walk, right?

As well as portraying disability in a negative light, these kinds of stories dismiss and diminish the other struggles or challenges the character is experiencing, placing the status of "not disabled" above all else.

There's also the fact that, when a lot of real people say their disabilities had positive impacts on their lives, they don't usually mean the disability itself is directly responsible for the change. There's exceptions of course but for myself personally, and most of the people I know who say they are better people because of/since becoming disabled, the disability has been more of a neutral catalyst than the actual cause of positive change. Meaning, it opened the door to allow those changes to happen, but it wasn't the direct cause. For me personally, becoming physically disabled at a young age didn't make me a nice person like people expect, I was still a little judgemental asshole for a lot of my childhood. However, because I was disabled, I had to travel a lot, initially because I needed medical treatment that my local hospital wasn't equip to provide, and later, because I started competing in disability sports. because of both of those things, I met people I never would have otherwise who made me reconsider what I'd been taught on a wide range of subjects, and made me question where those beliefs had come from in the first place. When I say my disability played a part in who I became, it wasn't because my disability itself change me, but it helped me meet people who were positive influences on me and my life. but when creatives make characters who experience arcs like this, they ignore this, again, defaulting to the "this was a bad thing that just put all my other problems into perspective" reasoning.

Some iterations of this trope also use disability as a kind of "karmic punishment" where the disability is portrayed as a rightfully deserved punishment for an evil character's deeds - usually something relating to the disability they acquired but not always. An example might look like an evil tyrant who punishes the rebels they captured by cutting off their hands. Eventually, this catches up with him, maybe the friend or a child of one of the rebels is able to capture the tyrant and cuts his hands off as payback so that he gets a taste of his own medicine, a taste of the suffering he imposed on others. Now facing at least one of the same realities of the people he subjugated, he realises the error of his ways. With some pressure from the main characters, he has a change of heart and surrenders himself, steps down to let someone else take his place, or perhaps he decides to start changing policies to be more in-line with these new morals until some other character usurps him, becoming an even bigger threat than the previous former tyrant.

Once again, stories that use a disability like this are still portraying the disability as an overall inherently bad thing, but there's the added layer at play in this example. The thing is, there are a lot of people in real-life who actually believe disability is a punishment from God. I remember one time when I was over in the US, an older lady came and sat down on the seat beside me on the bus and started asking me about my disability and specifically, how I became disabled. This isn't an unusual interaction, it happens fairly regularly whenever I use public transport, but on this particular day, the conversation suddenly shifted when I told her I became disabled when I was very young. This woman, despite the bus-driver's best efforts to get her to stop, ended up lecturing me for an hour and a half (during which time I couldn't move due to how my wheelchair was held in place) about how my disability was punishment from God for my parent's sins. She then tried to convince me to attend her church, claiming they would be able to heal me. And the thing is, this isn't an uncommon experience.

A lot of disabled people are targeted by cults using this same method: they'll convince people their disabilities are a punishment, make them believe they deserved it, that they just weren't good enough, but don't worry, if you repent and come to our specific church we can heal you. There was even a case in Australia recently that uncovered a cult called Universal Medicine, who taught that disabled people were reincarnations of evil people, and that being disabled in this life was their punishment, as well as that parents who have disabled children were being punished for other sinful behaviours. They were found to be operating a disability care service named Fabic that was being paid for by the NDIS, a subsection of the Australian government funded healthcare system that specifically aids disabled Australians by paying for and subsidising treatments, technologies (such as mobility aids) and other services relating to their disability. Fabic was found to be stealing excessive amounts of funding from their disabled clients under the guise of therapies and carer services, but was not actually helping their clients at all. Whether it's just taking advantage of them to get their money, or actually using this logic as a justification to mistreat them, this mentality of "disability is a punishment" actually gets real disabled people hurt or worse, and so seeing it come up in media, even if there is no ill-intent, can be very distressing and uncomfortable for disabled audiences.

So with all this being said, is the disabling change of heart a trope you should avoid in all it's forms and versions? No, but it does need to be handled with extreme care. I do think it should be avoided as a reason for a character becoming evil for the most part. If that really can't be avoided in your story though, at the very least, ensure that you foreshadow the change. Your happy little ray of sunshine, embodiment of sweetness and innocence type character probably isn't going to turn murderous and want revenge for an accident for example. A character who is likely to be driven to that kind of extreme of wanting revenge for their disability, so much so that they become a villain, probably already had at least a few traits that would predispose them to that line of thinking already, before becoming disabled. As for when it goes in the other direction, and you have a character becoming a good guy, avoid using the reasoning that "the disability put things into perspective for me". Instead, if you must use this version of the trope, use the character's new disability as the reason they encountered other people and situations that challenged their views, things they wouldn't have encountered otherwise. No matter the reason though, be very careful to avoid inspiration porn, and as always, try to find a sensitivity reader to give your story a once-over, just to make sure something didn't slip under your radar.

[Thumbnail ID: An illustrated image showing the same elf character twice. The picture of her on the left shows her laughing evilly, two tiny horns protruding through her brown hair. She is wearing a black dress and red shoes. On the right shows her in a yellow dress, sitting in a bright pink wheelchair with her head held eye and her eyes closed. The horns have been replaced with a glowing halo. In the centre is text that reads: "Disability Tropes: The disabling change of heart." /End ID]

#Writing disability with Cy Cyborg #Disability 101 #Long Post #Disability #Disabled #Disability Representation #Writing Disability #Writing #Writeblr #Authors #Creators #Writing Advice #Disabled Characters #Disability History #Language #On Writing #Disability in Media #Tropes #Disability Tropes #The Disabling change of heart

[thegnomelord]

Alright since 28 is taken Ill do the next best thing 29! Graves and his shadows with M reader, who is a colonel.

I need the wholesome and maybe a bit of the spice ya know. Thank you for soing Shadow company content, i am so starved.

Once again good soup!

Here you go dude, I'm not the best when it comes to writing for a group of people so idk how this turned out :/. Play the game HERE

Prompt: Hug from behind

CW: NSFW, subbot Graves, domtop Mreader, Shadow company fluff, hug from behind, fluff, groping, handjob, cumming in pants.

Being a colonel in the Shadow company and Grave's right hand man, you had a lot of responsibilities. From running drills to stitching up wounds to writing reports and drafting contracts when your magpie of a commander sees a new person he wants to recruit; you expected to deal with a lot of shit, but never in your wildest dreams did you expect to become the Shadow Company's emotional support Colonel.

Colonel Care Bear — it was their nickname for you. You'd made the mistake of being annoyed at the name which, of course, made the little fuckers double down on it. Nothing you did made them stop, even Graves joining in their fun and calling you that instead of your name with a smug grin.

You're not even sure when or why it had started.

It wasn't like you were overly paternal, you just took care of your soldiers. In whatever ways they needed you; The first time you'd needed to give emotional support had been after Jenkins had lost his battle buddy. Jenkins was still relatively young compared to the other Shadows, a rising star that Graves had snatched up, but on the flight back to base he'd been no better than a scared kitten, desperately trying to hold in his sobs. You hadn't said a word when you had pulled him close to you, letting him cry his heart out into your shoulder.

None of the others said a word either, and you didn't bring it up after your plane had landed. You'd expected it to be a one off experience but oh — you were so wrong.

Like feral cats learning to trust a human, the Shadows started approaching you, carefully at first, standing just at the edge of your personal space nervous fingers toying with the hem of their shirts and eyes flickering between you and anything else, until you grew annoyed and pulled them close to you, letting them cry or talk or just sit with their head on your shoulder for as long as they needed; a lighthouse in a dark sea.

Then Williams, who'd had one too many bad missions, had come into your office without a word and plopped himself into your lap while you were busy doing paperwork.

You were surprised, but not too much, with how often you'd found yourself with a Shadow near you you figured something like this was bound to happen. Though you hadn't expected it to be this forward. "Bad day?" You asked.

Williams just grunted into your neck, slightly nodding his head.

You shifted to still be able to write with him in your lap. "Want me to talk?"

You felt his hair scratch your neck when he shook his head, a negative grunt leaving his throat.

"Got it." You said and went back to your work, a hand on William's hip to keep him stable.

Safe to say you weren't amused when Graves had walked in and cracked the biggest bloody smirk when he saw you like that. You were even less amused when he'd whipped out his phone and took a photo of it. And you were ready to piss in Grave's beer after that photo had circulated through the entire Shadow Company, leading to many more similar incidents of a Shadow crawling into your lap when you weren't busy.

It really wasn't their fault your embrace just felt so good and comfortable, your arms perfectly sized and muscled to put weight in your hugs, shoulders just broad enough to make them feel small and safe.

Graves knew this because when he'd needed to confiscate Smith's phone after he'd caught him taking pictures of your ass (not that he blamed him, you had a nice ass but they needed to have some professionalism) Graves had found their simp chat.

It took him days to finish reading all the messages. I mean there were hundreds of texts gushing just over you, calendrer times for when which Shadow could go bother you for attention, not to mention the countless pictures they'd taken of you, from mundane to more suggestive when you were in the communal showers (Graves would die before he admitted he'd needed to rub one out at some of the pictures).

Safe to say that when he gave Smith his phone back Graves was. . .curious. He'd never approached you for comfort like the Shadows did, mostly because he knew he couldn't keep his thoughts pure after just a few minutes in your presence, his throat going dry whenever he feels you pat his shoulder when you pass in the hall.

"Care Bear!" Graves calls when he finds you on your way to your room, using that name just so he can see the irritated twitch of your brow.

"Yes commander?" You ask in that same tone of voice you use when you know he's up to something.

"Oh come on, no need for that." Graves grins, "Ah just need you to do something for me," He says, because he wouldn't be your commander if he was straightforward. "Follow along." He motions with his hand like a dog as he passes you.

Like a dog you follow, so close you cast a partial shadow over him. He leads you to a more secluded hallway, stopping abruptly and hearing you stop too. But you're not close enough, so with an annoyed sigh he says "Come closer."

You raise an eyebrow but do as he says, taking a few short steps closer until your chest is almost touching his back. Without a word Graves suddenly grabs your arms and wraps them around his waist, leaning back on his heels until his back is flush with your chest and you're supporting his weight.

You stall for a few moments just trying to convince your head that yes, your commander is doing that. "Really?" You ask.

He tilts his head to meet your eyes, casually resting his head on your shoulder. "Something the matter Colonel Care bear?" He smirks, reminding you of a very content cat.

You give him a blank look before rolling your eyes, "Could have just said you wanted a hug." You huff and move your arms to really hug him, your hands resting comfortably on his hips, your arms caging him in, the heat of your body seeping into his, your chest rumbling as you mutter your annoyance at the damn nickname.

"What fun would that be?" He says, eyes closing.

And, Hell, Graves gets it now.

He could get addicted this. Your scent and cologne clogs his nose, the heat of your body chasing away the lingering chill of the base. You support his weight so easily it's like he's floating on a firm cloud, forgetting about ranks and war and everything for a few blissful seconds. His mind wanders; wonders what it would feel to have your strong arms pin him every day, what it'd be like to be pinned down, the current gentle pressure turned bruising and demanding, bending him in half and shit— he's hard.

And of course you notice, wouldn't be his right hand if you couldn't read him like a book. "I'm getting the impression," You note, your grip increasing just a bit to keep him still, your other hand skirting down. "That you wanted something more than just a hug." You growl and squeeze your hand, groping the bulge in his jeans.

"Shit—" Graves sucks in a breath, legs scrambling for purchase but you hold him still, his weight still on you. "—I wasn't thinking of nothing." He says quickly, the pressure of your hand on his clothed cock too good.

"Uh huh," You hum, keeping a careful eye on his facial expressions as you experimentally move your hand; Short slow brushes of your thumb against his cockhead earn you little whimpers, unable to hide them with his head still resting on your shoulder. Firm squeezes of his entire bulge has his skin turning a nice shade of pink, his ear hot beneath your tongue as you nibble on it. His thighs part as you bully your hand lower, the strong pressure of your fingers against his balls as your palm grinds into his cockhead making him moan, the stuttered attempts at explaining himself dying out as a visible damp spot grows in his jeans.

"Faster-" Graves growls, his hands grabbing purchase in your hair, yanking your head down into a rough kiss, "-mhh, faster, fuck, man-"

You smirk against his lips. "Ask me nicely." You say, purposely pulling your hand away from where he needs it the most, ignoring his disgruntled sounds. "You son of a bitch-" Graves snarls, breathing rapidly in an attempt to get his frazzled brain to work before swallowing his pride. "Please," He says it like the word hurts him.

"Please what commander?" You wonder, undoing his belt and slipping your hand into his jeans, "Please touch my cock? Please get me off? Please fuck me till I can't walk?" You throw suggestions, applying just enough pressure on his twitching cock to leave him dumbly nodding his head.

"Yes, yes, yes- oh fuck- shit yes-" Phill pants, eyes closing and weakly thrusting his hips into your hand with what leverage he has, seeking out the pleasure that comes with your calloused hand stroking his sensitive flesh. "Fuck- just, ahh-" He breathes in through clenched teeth, "-just please."

"Alright, alright," You hum, increasing your pace, the glide of skin on skin eased by the precum he's leaking, swallowing his little moans and rough grunts as you kiss him. You can tell he's nearing his end with how he begins twitching even more in your hold, hips pushing into your hand sporadically, fat tears prickling his eyes. "Come on then Commander, cum already."

He does almost as soon as you tell him to, his moan swallowed down by your lips as he cums in his pants, your thumb rubbing insistently on his tip to milk him of all he's got, strong arm keeping him close to you.

"You did good commander." You coo gently as you pull your hand out of his pants, and without waiting for a response you push your cum covered fingers into his open mouth. "Real good," You smirk when Phill immediately sucks on your fingers, his brain melted into mush and incapable of rousing his pride to feel ashamed of how he moans at the taste of his own spend. "Such a good boy," Your praise does something to him, has his cock making a valiant attempt to get hard all over again.

The air leaves his lungs when you suddenly push your hips against his ass, making him feel your own hard cock trapped in your pants. "I took care of you," You begin, pulling your fingers from his mouth. "Are you prepared to take care of me?"

#Gnome's Prompt Game #cod mw2 #gnome correspondence #cod modern warfare #phillip graves x male reader #shadow company #shadow company x reader #top dom reader #x reader #top male reader #phillip graves smut

[spitdrunken]

Rollo corruption kink???🤨🤨🤨

I wanna ruin him so bad but bros probably worse than me PFFFT

notes: corruption

PLEASE. MAYBE HE WOULD BE?? i'm still trying to figure out what type of horny he is... i just can't see him as the type of 'desperately repressed' guy, personally. to me he just kind of feels like hm,,, sex or masturbation has just never particularly interested him, and he would probably not know much more about it than what's told in mandatory school lessons. (not to mention, if it really is as pleasurable as he’s led to believe... someone such as him would not deserve  it.) PLUS he spends most of his time around magic students nowadays and maybe he just wouldn’t wanna fuck them lmao. ANYWAY, ENJOY. 

Rollo is a horrible kisser. Mere pecks on the lips already have him freezing up and leave him unsure of how to handle himself, much less anything more. He wouldn’t want you to stop, not even close, but he’d never be able to ask you to continue either. His own inexperience hadn’t crossed his mind much before dating you, but now he’s growing more self-conscious with every touch you bestow upon him. As diligent as he is, he would use the same strategies here as when he’s struggling with anything else: copious amounts of research. 

It starts with him searching kissing tips online, trying to memorize the things one is ‘supposed’ to say or do in these scenarios. He watches kiss scenes in movies, reads how they’re described in novels, and tries to find variables that determine a good kiss. In reality, he’s not getting much better. He knows that if he were to try and copy scenes he’s seen, it would feel so unlike him that you’d likely start laughing. Perhaps he should just ask you to help him practice, and yet... His online searches eventually lead him to filthier content he’s never had much interest in viewing prior.

Watching two people making out is enough to get him slightly flustered, but only because he imagines doing such things with you. The two strangers on the screen touching each other, seeing their tongues and their spit... Makes him feel vaguely ill. It’s filthy. But your tongue caressing his own, the tip of your tongue rubbing against the top of his mouth- It makes him squirm. Rollo is no stranger to getting random erections, every guy his age gets them occasionally, but he’s certain this one is not merely random. Never before has the urge to touch himself been as strong as now. The scene on his phone screen has long since been abandoned, and all he can think about is you. He tries to pace around and wait until it goes away.

His building thoughts culminate into a single moment, where he finally makes a move while you lean in to kiss him. Rollo, despite all his research, has no idea what he’s doing, and simply pushes his tongue against your closed lips. Immediately, he pulls away.

“Ah... I, I- My apologies.” Rollo fumbles to pull his handkerchief out of his pocket, and nearly drops it to the ground in doing so. His face is burning up like never before. He feels a little better after taking a deep breath or two. “I shouldn’t have done that without asking. Was it- Are you alright?”

You smile at him, and it has his heart fluttering. “I’m fine, really! I barely felt it.” You laugh a little, but he doesn’t feel like he’s being made fun off. “But, please be honest- I know kissing isn’t like your favourite thing in the world, so you aren’t just doing this to make me happy, are you...? You don’t have to force yourself for me. In fact, please don’t.”

“I can promise you that’s not the case,” Rollo says. “This was something... Of a personal desire of mine, yes. I’ve never minded your kisses in the past either.” He crosses his arms and presses them close to his chest. “I will admit that I simply didn’t know how to respond yet. I’ve tried to educate myself further on the subject, but, ah... I’m not certain I’ve made much progress yet.”

Something in your expression, your smile, shifts a little. “The only way to get better at kissing, is through practice. Nothing else. Should we try?” Rollo’s throat suddenly feels a bit dry, but he finds himself nodding nonetheless. 

When you press your lips to his, and your warm cheek presses against his cold skin, he’s already content. You mirror his previous action, the tip of your tongue brushing against his mouth. He parts his lips without hesitation. Your mouth makes a little noise as you readjust your head, tilting it a bit further to the side as you slide your tongue in. For a moment, Rollo’s surprised at how well he’s still breathing, until it feels awfully obvious.

Your tongue inside him feels both bigger and smaller than he expected. He tries to reciprocate, and though he’s sure the way he’s swirling his tongue around yours is clumsy, he hasn’t felt this good in ages. When you slide over the top of his mouth, a noise he’s never made before gets pulled from his throat. It’s a much more sensitive spot than he could have imagined. 

Your kiss swept most of coherent thoughts from his mind. Once it’s over, Rollo is a little dazed and breathless. He leans forward to try and chase your touch when you pull away, without even realizing it. He doesn’t even try to hide his face. Nor does he clean it, despite a dribble of spit sliding down his skin. (It’s not filthy, as long as it comes from you.) All at once, he becomes conscious of just how warm he feels within, and folds his hands over his lap in a flurry of motion.

It’s such a sudden and suspicious movement, that you know instantly what’s happening to him, and it’s all just a little too much. He gets up in one jerky movement, pulling away from you and staring straight past you before excusing himself. The exact words he uses are immediately forgotten as soon as he says them. You don’t have a chance to protest before he’s gone and, the moment the door closes, he regrets it. Ah, he’s really hopeless, isn’t he...?

#cha.rollo #rollo flamme x reader #rollo flamm x reader #twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #cw.corruption

[lowkeyrobin]

Mcyts x autistic reader

•Like autistic reader, who is very open and proud about being autistic. And like openly stems, especially when happy. Hand flaping, finger wiggling, spinning, vocal stims, full body shaking ext

• reader is really bad with volume control and often either mumbles or yells. Maybe when talking about something they're interested in, they just scream mid sentence and then carry on.

• read unknowingly mimicking there s/o while masking like copying their accents, laughs, boy language or just repeat whatever they just said.

• reader info dumps and asks allot of questions (even if that seem obvious)

• reader will randomly just stop masking and give like resting bitch face and speak with more monotone voice.

•and reader quotes things a lot like shows, movies, tiktoks, and people.

<3

oooo okay okay!! I did my best here I swear 🙏 I only did Tommy, Freddie, Quackity & Nihachu bc I genuinley had no new ideas for the others so I apologize 😭🙏 ranboo and tubbo would've been mixtures of everyone and I'm trying to make them all different and it just didn't work ; also this took way too long and maybe ill do a pt2 of this w them + foolish & charlie and whoever else ; anyways hopefully this is good, I did a little bit of research just in case so yeah djsjskkaka

MCYT ; autistic reader

includes ; tommyinnit, badlinu, quackity, & nihachu

warnings ; language

disclaimers ; i'm not autistic so i referred to req above + some research, i apologize if anything is incorrect

masterlist

TOMMYINNIT

he's never had a problem with you being autistic and neither have you, and you're totally fine with him making little jokes or comments because you can most of the time see therough them

he finds your stimming, especially when you're happy and excited, so fucking adorable. he literally crumbles everytime.

he also loves when you have him stim with you

you two have this little finger wiggling thing you do together, reference the "dunga dunga dunga" moment in the amsterdam vlog because I can't describe it 💀

if you're spinning to stim, he'll often joke about you getting dizzy or needing to throw up, and halfway join you because you're spinning to create a damn tornado, he can't go that fast LMAO

if somewhere is too loud and you need out, you're going dw, he couldn't care less if you just automatically yell, go nonverbal, or only begin mumbling to him. he's got you

absolutely loves when you're ranting about special interests or hyperfixations

he'll genuinley listen all day long

"and it's so interesting *cue yell* because-"

he'll lightly cringe at the change in volume but don't worry, he's fine. if you ever think differently he'll 100% reassure you that he's alright and he doesn't mind it whatsoever

you'll unknowingly pick up his accent and he'll notice immediately but not point it out, because he's learned that you'll go back to normal after he points it out. he finds it so cute tho

if you're masking in public and get comfy enough, you'll have this miserable looking bitch face and he's just like "Oh they're just like that, don't worry"

you also pick up saying bitch a lot, which he finds hilarious

doesn't understand tone tags a hundred percent but he uses the ones he knows and learns a lot of the other ones as your relationship grows

youre probably quoting total drama and mean girls 24/7 let's be honest

"you're just a homeschooled jungle freak!"

"christ, okay, y/n"

"you know I was quoting mean girls"

whatever phrase he's addicted to saying, you are too

"DARLINGGGGG GUESS WHOS BACK FROM THE PSYCH WARD"

"WHAT THE FUCK?"

FREDDIE BADLINU

always smiles seeing you stim when you're happy/excited

vocal stims with him >>>

9 times out of 10 he'll repeat them after you say them to kind of make it a game, to see who can say ___ the most

you copy his accent and his frequently used phrases a lot

it makes him get all mushy inside because you're literally thinking about him 24/7

info dumping to him >>>> he's always listening bro

he doesn't mind you asking a lot of questions, even if the answer seems obvious. he understands that you don't wanna screw something up or understand something wrong

lots of quoting Garfield. I don't make the rules

"WE'RE BACHELORS, BABY" ; you both quote this often, let's be honest

"whoever moved my shit around should be dragged out onto the street and shot"

"i really hope you're quoting Garfield this time.."

your resting bitch face genuinely makes him giggle, ESPECIALLY the monotone voice

you're also constantly quoting bits from Tommy's show 💀 or replicating the little dance they learned to introduce Freddie

he apologizes a million times, he just can't take you seriously sometimes (if it's a more lighthearted situation)

he seems like the type to know most the tone tags and knows when to use them, but the ones like /nf trip him up

like wdym nf??? like the rapper?? like the guy from those gacha music videos? what's he doing here?

when you randomly yell when you're talking about a special interest/hyperfixation, he raises his eyebrows with an amused smile and nod

"and *cue yell* it's so fucked up but so good!"

"yeah?"

NIKI NIHACHU

she's picked up some stimming from you

you guys finger wiggle little whiskers, like ants or some sort of bug

spinning when you're exited >>>

she cheers you on to try and get you to go faster LMAO

bad with volume control? that's totally fine. she completely understands

giggles whenever you get loud mid-sentence and playfully throws her hands up like you scared her

"Peter... the horse is here"

"is it now?" she giggles

always quoting tik toks and vines istg

ALEX QUACKITY

"road work ahead? yeah, I sure hope it does"

"THIS IS THE BEST DAMN CHICKEN I HAVE EVER HAD"

"oooo I love that scarlet color" she smiles

"I love that scarlet color" you whisper

she loves when you info dump about your special interests/hyperfixations, especially if it's something she's not really into but will gladly hear you talk about because it's interesting

she's also very on it with tone tags just in case, whether you tell her you need them or not

"I'll kill you wtf"

"/J /J SORRY"

she knows every single tone tag, if there was a tone tag test, she'd ace it

the monotone voice and bitch face always scare her for a moment, she's gotta make sure if you're okay and just not masking or if you're actually upset about something

she always gets you gifts surrounding your special interests/current fixations

bro if you're a fanfic writer... she's ur number one reader. absolutely lovessss your writing

you'll pick up her soft tone of voice and the accent and she will do anything but point it out, she loves knowing that she's the one paying attention to it, and seeing you just catch onto something and for you to not notice

need compression for comfort? he's there, any squeezing or form of compression you need is there

need to squeeze his hand? go ahead. need a tight ass hug? he's there

always does a proud smile when he sees you stim, especially in public

generally proud that you aren't masking in public and you're comfortable being yourself

he'll even stim with you sometimes to make you not feel weird about stimming in public and shit 💔

you catch onto his mannerisms a lot, like adjusting your hair, any hats/beanies, talking with your hands, etc

like you'll catch yourself going to adjust your sunglasses and you don't have any on. you realize "wait I've been watching him do it all night, have I been doing that??"

so much info dumping and he's here for it

"wait, what then?"

"she *cue louder talk/almost yell* fucking dies! it was either die or suffer!"

"holy shit, for real?"

you guys are both quoting dumb shit let's be honest

modern family quotes.... you can't go an hour without them

always mumbling "gotta fix that step" it's a vocal stim atp

there's not even a step to fix.

"THERE IS NO DONE IN DUNPHY!!"

"YEAH BEAT HIS ASS Y/N YOURE THE BEST PVPER EVER"

y/u/n was slain by Tubbo

"oh"

"I'm the cool dad, that's my thang, I'm hip"

"y/n I can't do this today" He cackles

#lowkeyrobin #mcyt x reader #mcyt preferences #mcyt oneshot #mcyt x gn reader #tommyinnit x reader #badlinu x reader #freddie badlinu x reader #quackity x reader #alex quackity x reader #quackityhq x reader #niki nihachu x reader #nihachu x reader

[moscowluvr]

°•°•° dark!rhysand x reader

•°•°• rhysand always gets what he wants. sometimes, it takes longer than others. after finding something of yours, he gets the perfect opportunity to make you his

You never lost your journal. The leather-bound brown notebook was tucked under your pillow, under your arm, or under a loose floorboard in the servant's quarters of Hewn City. That morning, you put it safely under the floors at the base of your small bed. It had every horrible thing you'd done, every ill-thought, and worst of all, how much you hated Prince Rhysand. As his personal servant, you knew more than you should about him. You criticized him, his friends, his sexual escapades with males, females, lesser fae, and High Fae alike.

Hewn City was not kind. Even less so for the servants. Born into it, there was never any chance for you to do anything else with your life. From the time you could walk, it was decided that you would take over for your mother once she decided to step down. She'd had you in her later years, far past the point expected for females to carry. Her own father had put her in a life of debt, and she was expected to work it off. She wouldn't have children until it was dead and gone. She wouldn't put that kind of strain on you.

But, shit happens.

Now, here you were, standing over the open floorboard, the space empty. Your fingers clenched into a fist, nails digging into your skin. You thought you should just leave while you can. High Lord Rhen would take it as an act of treason. For writing those things about his son, he'd surely take a finger. Maybe even your tongue. Whoever had it wouldn't hesitate to turn it in.

Oddly, you felt numb. For now, there was shock, the full scope hadn't hit you. You thought you were clever. You thought no one would find it.

That calm feeling didn't last long. Not when he started reading in a low, mocking voice. Ice practically filled your heart. He found it. Maybe this was the worst outcome of all. "He thinks we all don't laugh at him, that even though we may be beneath him, we will never have to live with his shame and disgrace–"

You cut him off with a whimper, whirling around finally to stop him. He leaned against your wall, sleeves rolled up his arms. His hair had been messy, alcohol wafting off him. His purple eyes tracked you, a predator looking at its prey moments before it strikes. When he did, you knew it would land. Gods, you didn't think you would survive it.

He snapped the journal closed, holding it above his head. Against all rhyme or reason, you lunged for it, body pressed against his as you clawed for it. With ease, he has the two of you swapped, hand on your throat with your back against the wall. You blinked, gasping, as you wondered if he had winnowed or if he was simply that quick.

His wings appeared, spreading wide. The tips just barely missed the walls of your room. It efficiently cut you off from the rest of the room. Light didn't peek above his shadows. It was like Rhysand has suctioned all the light and warmth from around the two of you.

He was furious.

You held your chin higher. So be it. Those words you wrote were true. Maybe if Rhysand were a better male, you would've been able to tell him what you thought. If he were a better male, then maybe he never would've been snooping in his private servant's room.

Rhysand could be good when he wanted.

He could be even crueler when he felt like it.

"Be done with it," You said finally.

His lips pulled upward, his smirk sending chills down your spine. "I'm not going to kill you, darling. Rather, I'm going to make you regret every fucking letter you wrote. Be in my room tonight at midnight," His wings flared once more before they vanished entirely.

He laughed, grin pulled wider like he'd gotten the best idea. "Don't be late. Hell, maybe you should. What's one more thing I get to punish you for?"

#acotar x reader #rhysand x reader #rhysand acotar x reader #mine

[pure-oddity]

Gifts and Well Wishes

Content: very fluffy!! brief hint at nsfw, so MDNI(this is an 18+ blog anyway yall shouldn't be here regardless), Simon's Pov

He feels a weight settle on his chest and awareness hits him quickly. He keeps his breathing level while he listens to the weight mutter under her breath , something about him being built like a slab of concrete. He slits his eyes open to see her sat on his chest, a brownie in hand - little waxy candle in the middle.

Almost laughs as he watches her struggle to light the damn thing. Snorts when she swears at it. Her eyes flick up and she grins at him, "don't fuckin laugh at me! This thing won't light!"

Watches like a lazy cat as she flicks the lighter on over and over, moves a hand to take over when she finally gets it. She's humming a tune at him as he caresses the soft skin of her leg. He realizes it's happy birthday.

"Okay big guy, blow this thing out and make a wish - preferably before I drop it and burn down our home." And the candle lit brownie is lowered towards his face.

He pinches his tongue between his thumb and pointer finger, and snuffs the light out between spit slick fingers.

"You-! Ah whatever, I'm sure whoevers in charge of granting birthday wishes won't mind that you didn't blow it out." She waves a hand passively and removes the still smoking candle.

"Thought we celebrated already?" He watches as she places it in her cup of water on her side of the bed. Makes a mental note to replace it for her.

"Nope! Yoooouu said you didn't want a party or a surprise, so we didn't have one." She reminded.

"Hung out with the boys at the pub." He countered.

"That was just something fun to do, not a party. If it were a party we would have had cake and they woulda brought you gifts - maybe asked the staff to sing!" She insisted, tone musing as if she could picture it.

"Thank fuck that wasn't a party then." He snorts. He can imagine it too. The idea ends with himself getting up and walking out mid song.

"And because it's just me and I got you a brownie instead of cake - it's still not a party" she's clearly anticipated his responses. If it were anyone else he'd be more agitated at feeling predictable.

Her leg shits, subtlety for her, not so much for him. He sees a shape now partially hidden behind the same leg.

"Love." Making his dissaproval known with a single word is a skill he's honed.

"Shhhhhhh! Just eat your brownie, I made it myself!" She's undeterred by his dissaproval.

"Told you I didn't need anything" he grumbles, in hindsight he should have seen this coming.

"Less talking more eating!" She shoves the treat closer and with a deep exhale he sits up, one hand on the brownie the other to help stabilize her as she's sent off his chest into his lap.

It's a good mix of bitter and sweet, slightly more bitter. Still warm and gooey in the way he likes. Made with his preferences in mind he chews with an appreciative hum, places a peck on her forhead - "get chocolate on my face and ill bite your boob!"

His chest shakes in mirth as he spares a glance to make sure he hadn't gotten chocolate on her - knows she'll follow through on her threat, he's got the marks to prove it.

He eyes the shape - present- warily, as though it might bite them.

"Oh stop! You're gonna love it, just two things and they're small." She sounds hopeful, and excited. He supposes even if it were dog shit in a box he'd atleast TRY to sound happy, or at the very least sound not as angry as he could be to recieve dog shit.

He swallows the last bite of brownie, she plucks a crumb from his face and licks it off her finger. He contemplates asking for another kind of present for his birthday.

She seems to know where his mind has wandered and gives him an impish grin and a swat to his chest

"Down boy! We'll get to that later- open this first!"

She leans in his lap towards the gift and plucks it up with egar hands, practically shoving it into his own. Her fingers slide against his own rough and calloused palms and he shudders out a sigh. Her hands so much smaller but no less sure of what they're doing.

He takes a pause to settle his nerves, and pulls on the string holding the wrapping together. He's careful as he plucks open the paper, going slower at her insistence that 'you don't need to save the paper, just rip it!'.

Paper and ribbon no longer keeping the box closed he pops the lid open. Inside he finds what he recognizes as a sheathed knife, and a - bracelet?

He moves to pick it up but he's guided towards the knife."That one needs an explanation, focus on the knife first" she speaks softly, a hint of nerves.

Ever the dutiful soldier he follows her command. Grabbing the blade and carefully removing it from its case. It's got a good weight, balanced. It glistens in the lamplight. He recognizes the brand immediately

"how'd you get your hands on this? They only deal with custom shit - and only if you can prove you're armed services. Which you, love - unless you have something to tell me - are not" he says it like it's a joke. He hopes his eyes convey how deathly serious he is.

The idea of it - her in the field hurt or worse, lost and -

"I'm not in the military no. Buuutt your captain is!"

Ah, that. That makes more sense. But-

"He gave me his number the night you introduced us, in case I ever needed him or you"

Ah, so the old mans sticking his nose where it doesn't belong. He gives her an unimpressed look before sighing "alright fine. 'S a good gift. Thank you love, I'll keep it close."

"You're welcome! Now the other one."

She reaches for it before he's even set the blade on the bedside table. It is indeed a bracelet, it's something woven. Three strands, black, gold and blue.

She prods at his hands and taps each wrist, he gives her his preferred hand as she ties it on.

"So it's. It's uh. Hm. So okay, I was thinking about jewelry recently and I ended up remembering a conversation with my nana - you haven't met- but it was something like uh. " He watches her flounder, and if he wasn't already giving her his undivided attention his is now.

"Jewelry can be kind of a shield between the wearer and bad things. That if a piece of your jewelry breaks it means that it stopped something bad from happening to you. Like it sucked up all the bad and broke itself so you wouldn't break."

She's finished tying it, and now runs her hand along the lines in his palm. There's a sadness in her eyes now. He despises it, especially because this is likely something he can't just kill.

"And we'll. I cant...I can't protect you when you leave. I'm, I'd be no good at what you do. And sometimes that really bothers me. But I can do this. I can make this so that - so that even if I can't protect you, this can."

She rolls her eyes, and he sees that they're shiny now.

"And yes, I KNOW this little thing can't stop a bullet or whatever and it's not exactly jewelry like my nana was saying but. You know, I feel like it counts. And I made it. I...I kinda wished on it? Sorta. I just - thought every good thought I could and poured all my hopes that you come home safe and that you know I lo- well you know. " she flaps her hands dismissively and his free hand cups her warm cheek. She leans into it instinctively but her eyes brighten a smidge.

"And I know its silly but...can't hurt? And, and! It has your two favorite colors , black and blue"

"And the gold?" He encourages. Has a feeling his assumption is correct.

She meets his eyes, she knows he knows the answer - he just wants to hear it from her.

"....it's me. You say I light up your life and well , golds like sunlight so...... it was either that or piss yellow."

He barks out a laugh "gold. Gold's fine..." a comment rests on his tongue. The one where he tells her that he isn't superstitious and that he doesn't believe in things like luck. But he remembers that neither does she and instead trails off.

She can't control what happens out there or what he does. She understands it, she struggles with it. It's the fear, loving a man made for war is hard. She won't leave him, won't let herself be chased off. Willingly haunted by a man mostly dead. But he knows she's scared.

So if wearing her little trinket will sooth her soul, even a little, even if it doesn't make logical sense. He'll wear it.

"Thank you love. I'll keep it with me yeah? I'll be bullet proof."

"Okay - now you're making fun of me!...you don't HAVE to-"

"Might have to ask you to make some for the boys..specially Johnny. Fucker keeps adding holes faster than the medics can patch em up."

She pauses and a teeny grin lights up her face. That's better he thinks.

"Yeah! I have some yarn left over fro-"

"Fuck no. These are my colors, give him piss yellow."

She laughs loud, he'd worry about bothering his neighbors if he gave a fuck. But the woman in his lap makes it hard to be worried about much else besides keeping her laughing.

------------

"New gear Lt.?"

He flicks his gaze towards Johnny at the question, and he almost tells him no - he doesn't have any new gear. Until he remembers.

He took it out subconsciously, her knife. Just to keep his hands idle on the flight over to the middle of danger again. He also spies the tricolor cord peeking out from under his sleeve, knows the Scotsman has seen both.

"Something like that yea."

"Hmmmm wager a guess its from the missus?"

He stares at Johnny and the man snorts.

"Sorry yea, shouldn't have asked when I know the answer - ain't that right cap?"

Ghost eyes the captain next to him, catching his whiskerd grin tells him all he needs to know. Meddling old man.

"Never took you for a jewelery kinda guy Lt. ,not gonna lie" it's Gaz this time, he looks at the braclet with warmth in his eyes - a pinch of longing. A good lad Gaz, if he doesn't already have someone to come home to - he'll find them easy enough.

"Man of mutitudes Sgt. What can i say?"

The knife is returned to its proper place and his sleeve is adjusted to hide the woven band from any more eyes as the helicopter makes its descent.

And when there's a moment of peace after the fighting, he checks to make sure both are still there - keeping him safe.

#simon ghost riley #simon riley fanfic #simon riley x reader #female reader #listen yall it was my bday recently so im gonna gove him bday gifts as a gift to me #i just wanna be sweet to him #ALSO this is very much simon in an established relationship #also sunshine grump trope #odd stories #sunshine series

[totally-not-here-for-the-smut]

So, @arcanavoid made me thinking about Lucio in their post

WELL THEN LETS TALK ABOUT LUCIO YOU BITCHES

Pleas keep in mind that I'm right now very drunk and I'm not a native speaker and the autocorrect for this phone can only do so much Also I'm in a different time zone so if you see this at, like 10 in the morning or whatever, no worries bc now is definitely night here and I also program my posts I have not a drinking problem thats why I cant hold my f-ing liquor

WELL THEN MY DEAR LUCIO and

WHY

as a person who is very close to people with serious mental illness, like i legit live with them

I THINK LUCIO'S ROUTE IS SO GREAT

Let's start with an assumption: we're all assholes. Somewhere in our life, maybe in the past, or present, or future, we are huge AH. It's not like we're evil and condemned to hell, it's just that as humans we're small, petty and miserable so we behave badly and are very selfish when big difficulties challenge us. Like, sometimes we manage to scramble enough willpower and common sense to act decently as we're afraid and suffering, but lots of times we don't and make shitty things. So here's my first point:

1. We all are a Lucio sometimes. Or often.

Like, way more than we want to admit. We're afraid, we're too full of ourselves, and we behave in petty ways. We're mean towards strangers, we feel happy in humiliating them and showing the world how better than anyone else we are. We need something bc we live in a world that doesn't grant basic human rights (food, shelter, health, safety and human connection), so we strain to get those things, sometimes at others' expenses. Then we tell ourself that those people deserved our scorn and malice because they're bad, and we tell us such lies because facing the guilt of what we've done is painful and complex.

We need to show ourselves we're better, so enjoy picking at others' mistakes without caring who they are in a whole (this is super easy on the internet). All this while low key ignoring what bad we're more or less responsible for.

And we are. Like, if you ever did buy something on sites like shein, you are actually exploiting poor people who are basically slaves. And you're keeping a blind eye on it.

But you know what? You're not evil for this. We're weak sometimes, we're tired, we have little time and really don't have the lucidity to think whether this stupid chicken breast is full of hormones and antibiotics or not. We're humans and we're small. Often we're sad, afraid and tired and we need a malicious self esteem bost.

Often, we're Lucio.

2. A flaming piece of trash can change. And doesn't need others' forgiveness to do so.

Did you notice how everyone is so eager to show of other people are wrong and bad and evil? That's because they, and we as well, need reassurance about how we're the hero of the story.

That's because we can't tolerate being the flaming piece of trash, because the the flaming piece of trash can't change and everyone hates them.

This idea is stupid.

It doesn't matter how low you fell. How many people you hurt, how many times you made the same stupid mistake or how many people deeply despise you. You still can change.

That's why is

So

Important

To have a Lucio route where it's shown he can choose to be better, no matter how deeply wrong his past deeds were.

The moment we understand this concept is the one our guilt becomes less heavy and we start being less judging of others. Granted.

This doesn't mean you're entitled to people's forgiveness - but the fact that YOU are willing to forgive yourself means that you can really change and forgive others. If some people won't forgive you, it will be fine, no need to hate them: you can always find new people to gift your better self to.

This is what happens to Lucio. Will Asra ever truly forgive him for making him and orphan and killing you? No. But this doesn't mean that Lucio will be a villain forever. He will be still able to change, become a good man and gift his goodness to the MC.

As MC says to Julian: you can always come back.

3. What it takes to change

Now, I'm in general rly humble when talking about mental health bc I'm no doctor nor therapist. But living with people who went through hell and managed to survive (and knowing people who sadly didn't), made me able to figure a couple of things. So, brace yourself. I'm about to give you the ultimate recipe of healing.

It takes two things:

Compassion and Accountability

When all is said and done, this things are the two main things it takes to change and heal. Compassion for believing you can change and deserve happiness, seeing the world through other people's eyes and accountability to motivate you into stop being a dick and owning the shit you did (so yeah, maybe you should stop blaming your parents for who you are, sry, but it doesn't serves your cause).

and there's one and only one way to get them:

Positive human connections.

That's it. When you go to the bone to it, that's how one can change, heal and survive.

It's reduced to the very bone, simple idea: the whole process is much more complicated and it's ok if you get lost in it. But at the very root, this is it.

And this is WHY Lucio's route it's so great:

MC shows compassion, because they don't recall him doing anything bad to them.

MC helps him being accountable. They doesn't shelter Lucio from his guilt, never.

MC believes in them but NEVER puts up with their shit

MC doesn't believe his lies and doesn't lie to them either. No games: they talk through everything, they're kind but firm and true.

MC helps him accept other people's scorn towards him

I love this route because it's the one where the MC is the most clever. There's a murder mistery? Let's ask the ghost of the murdered one who did it. Everyone is mad at him? Let them be. Not bc "he deserves it", but bc people are entitled to be mad at him and to their idea about him. He has troubles with his mother? Don't get between them. Listen, understand, let them unravel their shit. Ghosts are mad at him? Sit with him, but don't do his emotional weightlifting. Mc puts Lucio in front of his deeds and holds his hand as he deals with them.

Folks: THIS is how it's done irl.

4. No dumb justification & the danger of privilege

There are a lot of shows about "why villains are like this" that paint them as a poor misunderstood saint who was mistreated by their parents. Like in Once Upon a Time or the Disney Villain's Live actions. I hate that stuff because they distort the plot to make the villain a misunderstood anti heroe who was a victim all along, so he's justified.

Guess what: they're not. If you actions are evil there's no justification. No retelling of your story: you made very bad choice and were an AH and that's it.

This is what happens with Lucio: in his route his story doesn't gets to be retold. It's an honest story about how Lucio, the villain, can choose to be the better man and benefit from it. It's a story about the inherent dangers of Privilege:

Lucio's story shows how dangerous privilege can be: he wasn't hold accountable for his actions while he was alive, bc he was pretty, powerful and rich. He loses his privilege, he gets his ass kicked, he find motivations to change in his desire to be loved. I know irl folks who got to adulthood without having to face how shitty they were bc of social privilege. It literally kept them from changing, healing and be happy. So beware, folks. Your privilege might be harming you in the first place, and the day you will face who you truly are without it WILL come. The later, the worst.

So, this is why I love Lucio's route. It's relatable and helps us to find the courage to face our demons, knowing that we can change. Knowing that we can forgive ourselves and accept others' scorn. It WILL be hard, it WILL be painful, there WILL be consequences, but eventually it will be worth the hassle.

So, long live the goatman, for he can change. And so do we.

#the arcana #the arcana game #lucio morgasson #lucios route #the arcana files

[drpeppertummy]

i was gonna be like "a little something for the burp people" but not really bc im dogshit at writing burps

[fever, continuous bloating, burping, tummyache, tummy rubs]

"Jeez, Val, are you alright?"

"I'll be okay," he said weakly, gazing listlessly up at Connie. He'd seemed a little under the weather when they'd first woken up that morning, but now he looked absolutely dreadful. He was wrapped up tightly in a blanket, shivering, looking flushed and clammy and exhausted and overall ill.

"Maybe you will, but you don't seem very okay right now," said Connie. She touched her hand to his forehead and pulled it away just as quickly with a jolt. Val, being from hell, had an exceptionally high temperature on a good day. When he had a fever, which he evidently did, that already high temperature skyrocketed. Connie was shocked to find her husband painful to touch.

"Sorry," he said sheepishly. "Should've warned you."

"Well, hey, it's the only time you've ever hurt me, so I'd say we've got a pretty good streak," she said. "Alright, old man, what do I do? How can I help?"

"I don't know," he sighed. "Normally I just wait for it to go away on its own."

"If I sit next to you am I gonna get some kind of hell virus?"

"No, I don't think so. But I wouldn't blame you if you wanted to keep your distance."

"Well, I'll take my chances," said Connie, sitting beside him. "I can't leave my poor boiled ham sitting here all alone." Val smiled at her.

"You're an angel," he said, leaning back against the couch. She reached out to stroke his hair, but caught herself. Suddenly, her face lit up.

"Oh! I'll get the grill gloves," she exclaimed. A friend had given them to her for Christmas years ago but she'd never used them, and with Val's heat tolerance, he didn't either. She rose from the couch and disappeared into the kitchen, then returned wearing the heat resistant gloves, a glass of water in one hand.

"Here," she said, handing him the glass as she sat down. "It's kinda warm, so it shouldn't be too harsh."

"Thank you, sweetheart." He took the water with a shivering hand and took a small sip. Connie kissed her gloved finger and touched it to his forehead.

"Do you want anything else?"

"No, I took a little ibuprofen. Only other thing I can think of is you."

"You are such a cheeseball," she said, grinning. He smiled back at her.

The two sat together, Val drinking his water and Connie stroking his hair. He desperately wanted to snuggle up against her and wrap his arms around her, but even if he hadn't been painfully hot to the touch, he was still sick. Glumly, he finished his water and set the glass down.

As they sat, Val became aware of a growing tightness in his stomach that hadn't been there before. He rested a hand on his belly and was startled to find it unusually bloated. Suddenly, before he could react, a large burp escaped him. Connie looked at him, surprised.

"Sheesh, where did that come from?" she said with a chuckle. Val shrugged, bewildered. He didn't feel any less bloated. In fact, the pressure in his stomach only seemed to be growing. He let out a soft groan of discomfort, followed by another burp. Connie looked down at his distended belly, which was bubbling and gurgling softly, and her eyes widened.

"Oh, Christ, Val, the water," she exclaimed.

"Huh?"

"The water you drank, you're boiling it!"

"Sh-urp-shit," Val groaned, clutching his stomach.

"Keep burping," she urged.

"I'm tryi--" He was cut off by a big one, accompanied by a puff of steam. He covered his mouth, embarrassed. Connie placed a gloved hand on his belly. It was unbelievably tight, and only seemed to be bloating up even more. Val burped into his hand, trying to do so quietly.

"Jeez, Val, I'm sorry," she said, carefully rubbing his belly. "I didn't think you were that hot."

"I di-urp-dn't either," he said. His stomach ached horribly as it stretched well beyond what it was used to. His cheeks puffed as he burped with his mouth closed, and he let out another steamy breath. His belly gurgled uncomfortably as the pressure inside it continued to build.

"Don't worry about being polite," said Connie. "Just try and let it out. I don't want to have to track down all your kids and tell them you exploded." Val nodded, burping into his hand again. It was a long one, and steam rose up between his fingers. He was absolutely mortified, but she had a point. It felt like the steam was building up faster than he could let it out. Gently, Connie pressed into his bulging belly, massaging just deeply enough to coax out another long burp.

They went on like that, Connie rubbing his sore, continuously bloating belly as he did his best to release the steam. Of course, she never would have judged him, especially in a case like this, but he was horribly embarrassed at the situation regardless. Still, for the sake of self preservation, he eventually became relaxed enough to keep on top of it, burping freely enough that his stomach no longer felt like it was constantly on the verge of bursting. Finally, after a little while, the bloating slowed and, eventually, stopped. His stomach was still painfully distended, but at least the crisis was over.

"I'm sorry," he said, looking sheepishly up at her. Connie stared incredulously at him.

"You're sorry? Jesus Christ, Val, I thought you were gonna explode! I'm the one who should be apologizing!"

"It's not your fault." He stifled a small, pained burp, followed by a soft grunt of discomfort.

"It literally was, knucklehead," said Connie, gently rubbing his taut belly. "Jeez, your poor tummy. That's gonna hurt for a while." That, he couldn't argue with. His stomach was terribly sore after being stretched so harshly, and he imagined it would remain sore at least for the rest of the day, probably more. Still, with Connie keeping him company, nothing was unbearable.

"Come on, let's try to get a little more of this out," she said softly, massaging his bloated belly as gently as she could. He winced, but it was still less painful than trying to force a burp out himself. Reluctantly, he allowed another one to come up, and this time, the pressure finally eased a little. Another burp followed that one, and he let out a sigh of relief. Connie was glad to feel his stomach begin to deflate at last. He would likely be bloated for a while still, but at least his stomach wasn't stretched to its limit anymore. He laid his head back against the couch cushion, shivering and exhausted. Connie looked sorrowfully at him, wishing she could hold him in her arms, when an idea struck her.

"I'll be right back," she said, standing up and wandering off. She returned moments later with the pillows from their bed. Val looked up, curious. She returned to her spot on the couch, propped the pillows against herself as a barrier, and gestured for him to come close. Smiling, he leaned against her, laying his head on her shoulder. Connie wrapped one arm around his back, using a pillow from the couch to shield herself from the heat, and rested her other hand on his belly.

#writing #belly kink #tummy kink #xvalx #xconniex

[win-writes]

𝘉𝘭𝘶𝘦 𝘏𝘢𝘪𝘳

༶ pairing; jouno x fem!reader

༶ contains; sensitive topics (s/h), mentions of cuts & scars, fluff, jouno comforting reader

༶ a/n; please proceed only if you're sure that reading this won't trigger you!! this is pretty much a vent and i was really hesitant if i should post this, but i thought that maybe something good can come out of this and help comfort others as well

"I'm sorry" your voice comes out raspy, cause by your violent cries from just a few moments ago. Your eyes are puffy and your hands, that previously assaulted your own body, are now trembling.

"It's alright" he replies, without interrupting his hands carefully taking care of your damaged skin. The soft pads of his fingers run over your cuts ever so gently one last time, before applying bandages over them "But you shouldn't be asking me for forgiveness, my love" he leans closer, placing a kiss over your covered scars "Your own body comes first" Your chin trembles as you feel another pool of tears forming in your eyes.

Jouno always finds the right words to say when you need it the most. You truly couldn't be more grateful he embraced with so much love this side of yourself that you despise so much. But there's still a part of you that feels guilty knowing he has to deal with something like this because of you.

"Princess, what are you thinking?" you snap out of your thoughts and stare at him with your big sad eyes "That I don't deserve you at all" your throat thickens as your tears roll down your face. Jouno lets out a sad sigh, positioning himself beside you "Please. don't ever say that again" he cups your sweaty face in his warm hands, drawing invisible circles on your cheeks with his thumbs.

"But it's true" you lower your gaze as you speak "You could do so much better than this.." a sob arises in your throat "With someone far less pathetic than me"

Jouno can feel his heart twisting at your words. It pains him when he listens to you speak so ill of yourself. Especially when you say things like that. Like he could find somebody else and be happier. Little did you know that Jouno couldn't even dream of being with someone who isn't you.

"My love, look at me" you slowly raise your eyes. Jouno gently pulls you closer to him, connecting your lips together. Your hands grab on his shirt for dear life, afraid that he's gonna disappear the moment you open your eyes. Like he's part of a dream and you'll lose him when you wake up. He can taste your salty tears on your lips and hear your heartbeat pacing with every passing second your lips remain locked with his.

A few moments later, he backs up "I wouldn't change you for anyone else" he whispers right above your mouth. He places a kiss on your cheek before resting his forehead against yours "Not a single day passes without thinking how lucky I am to be yours"

Hearing his last words sent an electric pulse through your bones. Jouno always preferred to express his feelings through actions, so to say you're not shocked by his direct confession would be an understatement "If you're the lucky one.." you raise your hand to play with his earring "Then what the hell am I supposed to be?" you ask while a smile slowly roses on your face.

Jouno's face dazzles with happiness the second he notices your heartbeat returning to its calm rhythm. He holds your free hand into his own, placing another kiss at the back of your palm "Since I'm the lucky one.." he caresses your face and gives you his warmest smile, before leaning into your ear to whisper words coming from the bottom of his heart.

"I guess that makes you the perfect one"

Hello again, if you've read this far, i just want to let you know that you matter and idc if you don't take my words seriously cause i'm a silly little nobody on the internet, but this comes from the bottom of my heart, your life matters and i'm so proud of you for being here today <3 thank you for spending your time reading this, please take care and remember that you'll always have someone wishing nothing but the best of things coming your way<3

#win; writes #jouno saigiku #jouno #jouno bsd #jouno x you #jouno fluff #bsd jouno #jouno x y/n #bsd x reader #bsd x you #bsd x y/n #bsd imagines #jouno imagines #bsd fluff #bungou stray dogs fluff #bungou stray dogs x you #bungou stray dogs imagines #bungou stray dogs x reader #bungou stray dogs #tw sh implied #tw sh #jouno x reader

[farfromstrange]

Hello!

I read Angel on the Roof and that was AMAZING. I was feeling like that way and honestly that was exactly what I needed to read. Thank you for writing!

I have a request! Maybe alternate ending + sequel of the fic if you are interested/have time, where Matt did notice it and in this universe it’s going to be more comforting. OR maybe whole new story where reader is having mental illness, angst but comfort in the end?

Again I LOVE your writing can’t wait for another Matt fics!!! Thank youuuu !!!

Okay, nonnie, first of all, I hope you're doing okay! I hope you're feeling better, too. I know how hard it can be to feel this way and I wrote that fic when I was at one of the lowest points in my life. I'm glad you liked it, but I also hope you're taking good care of yourself! I love you. Now to your request, I re-read Angel On The Roof and I remembered why it was so sad, and I'm so glad you requested a comfort version. I decided to do it from Reader's POV since the original was Matt's POV and I've changed the ending, so it's still the same foundation, but you've also got a whole new fic. I hope you like the way I did it!

Angel On The Roof (Your Version)

Masterlist

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Reader (she/her)

Summary: What if Matt saved you from your own demons instead of being too late?

Warnings: TW: SELF-HARM, graphic descriptions of self-harm, blood, scars, ANGST, mental illness, suicide attempt, hurt/comfort, happy ending, fix it fic for a fic

Word Count: 3k

A/n: So you can read "Angel On The Roof" here. Like I said before, this is the mentioned fic from your POV but with a twist so that it ends without Reader committing suicide. If the above-mentioned topics trigger you, please don't read! Not tagging because this is a sensitive subject and I go really into detail.

18+ THIS IS HEAVY STUFF!

Mental illness speaks in silence. 

Unlike a broken leg, you can’t see a sickness of the mind. There is no physical proof for the scary truth that something is going not quite right inside of your brain. And because people can’t see it, they have a hard time believing the truth. They have a hard time believing that being sick in the head could even affect you this much, so they try to sell your pain as worth less than it is. How could thoughts possibly turn paralyzing? How could someone’s mind make them feel worthless to the point the affected person sees no other way out but to inflict pain onto themselves? Attention whores, it’s what those people like to call the struggling ones. Lazy, weak, selfish… every mentally ill person has heard one of those words being used to describe them one way or another. 

Mental illness speaks in silence because if we spoke louder, people would only sneer and turn their backs on us. Mental illness speaks in silence because suffering alone seems better than burdening someone else. And mental illness speaks in silence because those who are mentally ill live in a different world. Their heads work differently. Mental illness speaks in silence because pain paralyzes, and silent acts are the only way someone so stuck in the claws of the faceless monster knows how to ask for help. By the time people consider questioning certain behavior though, it is often too late, and the person soon enough feels as if they’re being a burden once more because the judging looks are worse than admitting you need help in the first place. 

The monster that is mental illness is cruel and it has no regard for you or the people around you. It has set out to destroy you, and you feel helpless as it tears a knife through your soul and picks your heart apart piece by piece. And those who say, ‘Just ask for help’ or ‘Don’t be scared to speak up’ clearly don’t know how hard it can be to break out of such a circle once you’re already active in it. 

Self-harm is considered a serious addiction on the roster, but most people see it merely as a symptom of many personality disorders or mood disorders. Those who seemingly know nothing about mental illness even like to call it a call for attention. As if self-mutilation would ever be a conscious choice made by anyone. You try to fight a pain that no one can see and only you can feel, and sometimes, when you feel so much - too much - it gets deafening and you need another pain to balance it out. 

Drugs aren’t the only thing hurting you that can result in addiction. There is a long list of things that harm the mind and body, and that is often used as a coping mechanism for the terrible things most people are forced to feel inside. 

You don’t remember when it started. You only remember that you were merely a child when you first started feeling this way. Helpless, alone, and with a pain deep inside of your chest that had claws and sharp teeth, ready to eat you whole. The monster ate away at you for years, but you ignored it. 

People told you it was just hormones, that this was part of growing up. Meanwhile, you only got sicker. Your mind turned against you. You became your own worst bully, and the voices in your head started taking you apart one by one. 

You reached a point where you loathed yourself so much, all you wanted was to scratch your eyes out and tear your skin off. You hated looking in the mirror and seeing the same miserable face every day. You hated being the friend that was the least fun and being stuck inside with this hurt consuming you. It made it harder to breathe, it made your heart stop in your chest, and yet you never physically died. Inside, you were long gone, but you ignored it because no one seemed to care. 

You tried drugs and alcohol, but that wasn’t enough to kill your pain, and you never fully managed to end it all. Your existence became a nuisance. 

You never believed in God. The constant self-pity, shame, guilt, and blame became your best friends. In your mind, you fucked up your own life. Your mind was fucked up, so you were automatically at fault. You ended up being in so much blood-boiling pain, you tried to find a way to inflict pain in other ways to distract you from the numbness that burned your insides like acid would burn the cells of your skin in an instant, and the toxic waste ended up in your bloodstream, then your mind and in the end, it poisoned your heart and your soul. 

You truly believed you were rotten inside, and there was nothing that seemed to help.

You turned to cutting, the blood running from your wrists a testament to your pain, and it made breathing so much easier for just a moment. The razor blades were the brush with which you painted the tiles of your bathroom floor red almost every night. You weren’t proud of it, but you had no one to listen, no one to help you and you just felt so fucking numb– You had to find something to relieve you of this pain for a simple moment, and a moment was all it took to get you hooked on the feeling. It was a different kind of pain, and your wrists looked mutilated, even long after you were done, but whenever you brushed over the scars, you felt the need to do it again, and so you did. 

One summer night, you found your way to one of the rooftops in Hell’s Kitchen. You didn’t want to jump, but having the choice to do so filled your body with a certain sense of relief. If you had jumped, you would have died. You could have broken your neck and ended it all. You would have died on your way down already, probably, or maybe you would have passed out. 

The world seemed so small from up there, but you were still alone. 

That night, you felt his presence for the first time. He wore a black mask; you had seen him on the news a while back, but word on the streets had it that the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen disappeared. After Wilson Fisk got imprisoned, he must have found his way back. 

“I don’t want to jump,” you assured him. “I just want to feel.” It wasn’t a lie. Your heart beat slow and steady in your chest and against your ribcage. The wind in your hair cooled the sheen of sweat from the early summer heat. 

He didn’t talk, he simply stood by your side. You were too tired to ask him why. When you sat down, he followed shoulder to shoulder, together. Your tears had dried on your cheeks and you watched the clouds pass by, hide and reveal new stars, and you pointed out the constellations in your head. He wouldn’t let you fall, it seemed, and so you simply stayed there. It was the first time someone seemed to care without trying to fix you. 

You were okay.

He walked you home before sunrise and asked you again, “Are you gonna be okay?”

“Yes,” you answered. In the moment, you usually were. 

You smiled and thanked him, and he told you, “If you ever need to talk, well… you know I’ll find you if you call for me.”

One day, after finding you on the roof again (at this point, you weren’t sure why you were doing it anymore), it started to rain. He offered to walk you home and asked you if you were okay again. You offered him to stay. 

“Who hurt you?” he asked you once you bid him inside. 

You brewed some tea, offering him a mug. He took it. You shrugged as an answer to his question. The numbness settled back in. You had no tears left to shed. Did he care? You weren’t sure. People often liked to ask for no reason whatsoever, and you knew if you told them, they would have called you crazy. 

“I hurt myself,” you said. 

He caught your wrist when you tried to walk away. His fingers dug into the fresh scars without trying to, but it hurt and it functioned as a cruel reminder of what your arms looked like. Of what you did. Instead of numbness, what you felt was guilt, and when his mouth contorted, you knew he realized something wasn’t right. 

You were so stupid, you thought and pulled away from him. How could anyone ever care or love a broken mess of nothingness like you? You weren’t worthy of anyone’s affection. This – the scars on your wrists and the hole in your chest – was what you deserved. 

He didn’t run though. The stranger tilted his head as if to understand you.

“Why?” he asked. 

It made you think. Why, exactly, were you doing this? 

“Because I need to feel something other than this pain that is numbing me,” you admitted. 

You were so honest with him that night, and it seemed to surprise him, but he also listened to every last word coming out of your mouth. 

He let go of your wrist then and said, “Have you ever asked someone for help?” 

“Why would I?” you asked. 

“Because there are people who can help when you’re hurting.” 

Fixing you, that was what he meant. There were people who could fix you, but you didn’t want to be fixed. You couldn’t be fixed. Everyone always tried to fix you and you were so sick and tired of being the one everyone deemed broken all the time. 

“Perhaps you should go,” you said and opened the door for him. You had to end it there. 

One night, you cut too deep, and the world caved in on you. You had no choice but to endure it, but you broke under the weight like a fragile vase. You cut too deep, and the blood mingled on the floor with your tears. It hurt – the cuts weren’t the worst part because they only thudded numbly in sync with your pulse; the worst part was the bomb in your chest exploding and sending all these feelings hurdling around. 

God, you hated yourself. 

You always kept your windows unlocked. What you didn’t expect was for him to climb through your window. Only when he kicked the door down did you look up, your face stained with tears. He tilted his head, seemingly smelling the air, before he knelt beside you and wrapped towels around your bleeding wrists. The essence of your heart was on the floor now, the vase broken, and he cleaned it up without hesitation. 

You didn’t deserve such gentle treatment. 

You sobbed into his strong arms until there was nothing left to give. Instead of leaving though, he stayed. He took you to bed and bandaged your wrists, still keeping the black mask right where it was. It was you curious, and you hadn’t felt curious in quite a while. 

He stopped the bleeding without problems, and then he lay beside you as you regained some sense of self. 

“Why do you keep doing it?” he asked eventually. His finger ran over the bandage he had applied earlier. “Why do you keep hurting yourself?”

You shivered. “It wouldn’t make sense even if I told you,” you said. 

Because even to you, it didn’t make sense.

“Try me.”

“No, you wouldn’t understand. You barely even know me and I don’t know you. Why do you keep doing this, D?”

“Matthew,” he told her. “That is my name.”

It was the first display of trust he showed you, and you were a little taken aback. 

Your lips parted and you whispered your name into the darkness. He smiled softly, taking your weak hand into his.

“Nice to meet you,” he said. 

You stared at him for a while before asking something that almost came naturally. “Can you stay?” your voice was barely above a whisper. 

He battled with himself before giving in, agreeing to stay, and you felt something in your heart turn around. A candle was lit. Was that the scent of hope you could smell? You weren’t sure, but the fact he held your hand as you tried to find your way into a restless sleep and never once waivered with his support filled you with a sense of safety, and finally, for once in your life, the voices went quiet. You focused on his heartbeat and breathing, and you finally felt less alone. 

The next morning, your window was closed again and he was gone, probably disappearing in the middle of the night. You found a note on the dining table, poorly scribbled, but you could decipher what he wrote. 

It’s because I care about you, Angel.

He cared. About you. You broke down crying, not used to this much affection, but it was also then you realized that it was what you desperately needed. 

You looked at your bandaged wrist, then your reflection in the metallic shimmer of your fridge, and you made a decision you should have made from the beginning. 

You waited on the rooftop again that night, this time the one of your apartment complex. He appeared not long after you whispered his name into the humid night air. Cars passed by and the city grew louder by the minute, but he still came. 

He wore his mask again. 

“Will I ever see your face?” you wondered aloud.

He chuckled. “It wouldn’t be a good idea.”

The Devil of Hell’s Kitchen knowingly never did home visits. 

“Can you see mine?” you asked. 

“No,” he said. “I can’t see yours.”

Your breath shuddered. 

“What’s wrong?”

“You changed something in me last night.”

Matthew seemed to pipe up at your admission, and he took a step closer. “Oh yeah?” he asked.

“Yes,” you breathed. 

“What did I change?”

“You saved my life.”

“I only came because you needed someone.”

You asked, “Is that why you always come to these rooftops?” 

He shrugged. “You call, I come,” Matthew said. “That’s all there is to it.”

But it wasn’t all. 

With a weak sniffle, you closed the distance between you and fell into his arms. He caught you, holding you close to him. His heart thudded in your ear like the night before, and you couldn’t hold it back anymore. Years of pain, sadness, and anger fell off your shoulders, leaving you even more broken than before, but for the first time, you felt it all. And you knew you couldn’t live like this any longer. 

“I need–” you choked on a sob. It burned in your lungs. 

His grip tightened. “What do you need, Angel?”

“I need help,” it was the first time you said it, but the moment the words left your mouth, Matthew vowed to stay by your side. 

That night, he took his mask off for the first time after taking you home. You saw his face, and you felt a sense of relief. He was beautiful, inside and out, but he was also incredibly human. His blind eyes were unfocused, but you only touched his cheek with tender fingers. You owed him your life, and you made sure to show him that. 

“Matt Murdock,” he introduced himself. 

You gave him the courtesy of doing the same. 

He smiled, and you saw something in his eyes that would end up changing your entire life. 

Love. 

That cruel time of finding back to yourself after years of self-harm and depression is in the past, it has been for a while now.

The sun stands high in the sky above New York. A long time ago, summer filled you with dread. As you’re staring out through the windows of your home now, all you can think about is how beautiful the world is. The city stands tall in the distance, and you find yourself smiling into your cup of chamomile tea. 

The light reflects off the golden wedding band on your ring finger. Your name stands in Braille letters next to his with a heart of diamonds. It’s unique, special, just like your love story. 

When you first met him, you never thought you would end up here, but he woke you up from your coma and you found your way back to the light. He helped you, he supported you and he made sure you would always have someone to turn to. 

Years later now, you’re wearing his name and ring on your finger, and you have a home that truly feels like one because he is in it with you. He is your home, your haven, your sanctuary, and you owe him more than he will ever know. 

A pair of arms snakes around your waist and pull you back into a sturdy chest. You smile even more. “Hi,” you whisper. 

Matt presses a kiss to your shoulder. “Hi,” he says. 

“The sun is out.”

“I know, I can feel it.”

“Right. Even after all these years, I still tend to forget I’m married to a superhero,” you say, albeit teasing, but your words also hold a mountain of truth. 

He chuckles. “You’re forgiven, Mrs. Murdock.”

“Oh, I’m glad.”

Matt’s hold on you tightens. Now that he has you, he refuses to let you go. “What were you thinking about just then?” he asks. 

You lick your lips, closing your eyes as your body melts into his almost naturally. “You and me,” you say, “and how far we’ve come.”

“Mhm.”

“And that I can’t wait to start a family with you one day and give our children the support I’ve never had.”

He tears up a little at that, you can hear it in his voice when he whispers, “I love you,” and he turns you around to capture your lips in a loving kiss. 

You realize it then for the millionth time since that night you first ran into the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen on the roof; Getting help was the best choice of your life, and no scar on his or your body matter now that you’ve got each other.

You belong in each other’s arms, today, tomorrow, and forever and always. Just like you said in your vows – there is nothing you can’t overcome, as long as you’re doing it together. 

#matt murdock x reader #matt murdock #matt murdock angst #matt murdock x you #daredevil #daredevil x reader #female reader #hurt/comfort #matt murdock fluff #matt murdock imagines #reader insert #x reader #charlie cox #lizzi writes #request #requests are CLOSED

[headspace-hotel]

hey, so I did read your post about the paranoia of moral purity and responsibility of having a large following on here, and I swear I'm not trying to attack or demand anything from you. feel free to not publish this ask of you want. I'm just writing to say I think you should be more careful about how you frame ticks in your biodiversity posts. people being afraid of them is not a ridiculous or silly or purely aesthetic concern. the diseases they transmit are serious, often permanently disabling or even deadly, and still largely unknown by the general public. putting them in your original meme as a silly, harmless boogeyman is dangerous, it makes people already ignorant about the dangers feel safe, when they aren't. And adressing that with 'you can make a trap with dry ice' in a reblog really isn't enough, because that kind of trap is not 100% effective, and neither are other solutions. Ticks are absolutely something to be feared, and perhaps the most reasonable and important obstacle to consider when trying to restore lawns that people, especially children often play on. In the future, please consider using literally any other bug to make your point, one that isn't a deadly danger, and maybe acknowledge that danger with more than 'just make a trap its fine' when people raise concerns. It's fine if you don't know in detail how dangerous lyme is, most people don't. Chronic lyme is largely still considered a fringe diagnosis, and people often suffer for years before learning why they're sick. Just, please, try not to downplay the danger of ticks because the world already does and people need to be more afraid, not less.

I'm not framing them as a silly or harmless concern, idk where that's coming across? The first panel of the post is saying "a natural yard doesn't mean just having your grass turn into the sort of weedy overgrown environment where you'll get ticks all over you if you walk through it."

Judging by the number of comments on my post saying specifically that more "natural" yards are dangerous because ticks, people don't need to be "more afraid." Yes, I know about chronic Lyme disease and other tick-borne illnesses, but it's not a deadly threat to your life to have an area of your property that's a low-maintenance native plant garden or a grove of trees. Like, having vegetation around you doesn't make it inevitable that you and your family will get bitten by ticks.

Maybe this is gonna sound like "hurr durr where *I* grew up..." but a lot of the population does live in areas where they're in contact with woods and pastures all the time, and they've been adjusting their behavior to deal with the potential threat of ticks their whole lives. Not everybody lives and raises their kids in a house with a flat suburban lawn and nothing else. There are people that are hunters and farmers. Bug spray exists. Check yourself and your clothes regularly, minimize contact with thick brushy areas, wear long pants and socks, etc etc. The solution isn't to make people "more afraid" it's to make them better informed.

There are way more dangerous things in nature than just ticks! There are venomous snakes, other creatures that can carry and spread disease, even bears and mountain lions. Most of them will not harm you, barring unusually bad luck, if you are informed and vigilant about them

And I do think that—for lack of a better term, city slickers—way overestimate how much an untidy garden with lots of trees and flowers is going to expose them to ticks. It depends on the region and local environment for sure, but I've gone on long hikes in the woods or played in overgrown pastures and wooded places countless times with 0 bug spray and didn't get bitten. Like, not recommended, but in my experience it's not actually that easy to pick up ticks if you're accustomed to avoiding them. You'd have to actually partially submerge yourself in the vegetation for a garden to get ticks on you at all. Just having the native plant garden close by won't hurt you.

[asexual-society]

I needed another ace's opinion on this or I was gonna go crazy. I feel so alone.

My best friend is allo and recently started to go to therapy. His therapist told him something to incinuate that my advice about romantic relationships was less valuable/productive because "our brains work differently" because I'm ace and he isn't.

He's upset that I'm upset about it when I believe this is just benevolent aphobia. I see it the same way as someone telling a straight person not to take advice from a gay person. Am I just making a big deal out of nothing? Why is my opinion less important/applicable because I don't have the same experience as someone else?

I personally don't think an aro or ace person's advice on relationships is less valuable just because our brains work differently or our experiences are different, I mean, for most other topics, asking someone impartial for advice is completely normal, even if you take that person's advice with a pinch of salt because they don't have firsthand knowledge of the situation. I've had my opinions and advice belittled countless times and I know how hurtful it can be, and there are times when someone's opinion on a subject is totally useless because they're not informed about it, but this isn't like asking your friend who can't drive for advice how to parallel park or your American friend about British politics,, culturally and socially we are fed a LOT about relationships all the time for our whole lives, even without firsthand experience, we absorb a lot of information, and that's not even accounting for the things we have actively sought out, or the experiences of aspec people who have been in relationships.

I understand that we might not fully understand how it feels to be allo and want relationships of whatever kind in the same way, but a lot of (not all, I'll grant you) ace and aro people know as much or more about aspects of sex and romance than your average allo purely on the basis of having had to learn about it ourselves, and I think we have incredibly valuable insights into relationships that are generally overlooked by people who take for granted that everyone feels the same way about sex and romance. Maybe my confidence is unearned, but I'm still here giving advice to strangers on the internet, and people keep asking for it, so someone must think my opinion is worthwhile, and if I can't give someone the advice or help a person needs, I'll just say that. The number of allo people who have terrible relationships and then give out terrible advice because of it is crazy, like. genuinely there's some actively dangerous advice being pedaled by allos, I think on average an ace or aro person acting in good faith can give advice of a similar quality to your average allo person's.

By the therapist's same logic you can't trust them with advice about how aspec people are, in fact you can't trust them to give advice about any mental or physical illness or disability they don't experience, which is obviously not how therapy works. Tbh, I'd argue that unless a therapist is aspec themselves or has been given decent training about aspec people, which generally speaking, they aren't (although there are some good ones), anything they have to say with regards to us is even less "valuable or productive" than what an aspec person thinks about relationships.

There will always be aspec people who give terrible advice, and trust me, I have heard some terminally online or just downright ignorant takes, but I've heard just as bad, if not worse from allo people, and acting like we're the problem sucks.

~ mod key

#asks #anon #just my little rant of the day #sorry folks #asexual #mod key

[serialeclipse]

happiest opening, i'm so excited to meet everyone! i'm pom ( 21+, s/h ) & this is jeong domi, the girl who wouldn't have made it if not for terra, but now she's really flying high as the two time iron fist champion... though it's come with some strange side effects! jumped in with no pages prepared yet but info / plots are under the cut, pls like to plot or ask for my d/scord & i’ll be there! 💗

info

domi’s born with a ticking clock from the moment she arrives—the doctors tell her parents to brace themselves for the worst, because while her baby avatar can't feel pain, or illness, they warn that there's something wrong with her physical body

but the worst won't come, if they pay for extra care on outer world. and so they do, because what other choice could they have?

she’s on the cusp of it, but terra always comes through for her. at least, that's what they say. everything's worth it to her dad, who pays up willingly, but love isn’t enough in the face of all of this, and her mum leaves & never looks back, tired from the constant reminders of her daughter's imminent almost-death. domi has pictures, but doesn’t rlly remember her face

domi gets used to the thought of dying, but maybe it's less scary bc she can't feel any pain or any real concept of death? is she still here? what if she's just an npc and her physical body's gone kaput ages ago? all questions with no answers, so she whittles her time away with as much as she can

it's kinda relieving when she realises she can feel pain in iron fist. there's something there about grappling w mortality in a game where you can die, & maybe it's the wrong sense of mortality, except she keeps playing, & then she keeps winning, & suddenly she's signed onto orbit with her own fighter & her ranking's climbing up & she's actually winning one tournament, then two, and now it's been 8 years since?

not to mention that she didn't actually think of the consequences of being signed so domi never hid her face or did anything to protect her privacy lmao. she has a side gig as a broadcast staffer for a late night podcast even tho she has big gamer money just to fill up her time

but as of late, she's been noticing that something's up with her. specifically, she keeps phasing through things like she's actually shadow, when she's... pretty sure she's not. unless she is? it's more a minor inconvenience bc it doesn't happen often, but when it does, she can't touch anything around her & gravity starts acting up, so she goes floaty!

her chart: gemini sun ( go fast ) aries moon ( & go big ) virgo rising ( & you’ll get to the terra moon! ) she’s been living like she never knows when she might kick it so she sits and smells the roses, but doesn’t know where else to go. domi says she’s content but it’s a lie she tells herself. in her existential crisis era rn bc she keeps being told she'll die & then she doesn't & maybe she has died but is a cookie? and the glitches don't help either... the conspiracy theory board is real! big What Do I Do Now energy all the time bc she’s never had to think about the future & still doesn't, not really. doesn’t think ahead & will pay for it in the future ( that she still has, can you believe it! )

i think i have everything important here but this might get updated later!!

plots

iron fist / shadow fans who've followed her career! or are just bandwagoning for one of the most successful players currently?

people she works with due to her gaming career! fellow gamers, orbit developers, maybe even offshoots of marketing campaigns or stuff that comes with her famous person ranking

she also works for a late night podcaster, mostly due to wack sleeping schedules and being used to staying up in fear of her own mortality. your muse runs the late night radio sessions, & she works for them!

she doesn’t have a lot of forward thinking experience, she’s easily tricked—so your muse figures this out and makes good use of it

new residents at one of the gated districts who came here for the privacy and quiet… so why is your next door neighbour trying so hard to befriend you??

someone she found via gaming & treasures very much ( potentially one-sided )

a friend who's in a similar situation ( bad physical body, keeps getting fleeced by terra ), who understands her situation really well

someone who doesn’t get her situation, but she appreciates them all the more for it. they don’t treat her like she's fleeting, like everyone else does

someone who’s tired of mourning her before she goes. something complicated and ancient and maybe codependent, relationship fraying at the seams

someone who’s her guide to living! bring her out let her experience life. touch grass ( not literally )

she falls in love easily, but doesn’t bother taking it seriously bc the long-term was never viable for her... she owes u an apology

ofc the usual suspects: besties, childhood friends, enemies, fwbs, exes! i also love a brainstorm too we should do that 💗

#ts:intro #// tags pending aa

[mara-xx217]

Hi! If it's okay, can we ask something for our favorite doctor, Herman Carter? Sprinkle in some (LEGAL) age gap, power dynamic and maybe some dubcon as well? Could be in the dbd universe or modern au, I'm not picky with that. I'm so obsessed with him and your writing is so good I wish I could inject it into my veins omg

I've got some similar stuff to this on the Doctor's masterlist here!~

But why not have something a little different?

Warnings: Dead Dove Do Not Eat, Dubcon that crosses into Noncon territory, Toxic Ideations, Fucked-up Relationship, Delusions, Torture, Betrayal, Canon Typical Death and Violence

What were you expecting?

Pride?

Acceptance?

Gratitude?

Who were you but a mere stranger?

What were you other than a mere annoyance?

A parasite.

A fraud.

How could you expect anything in return when you were nothing but a unoriginal thief?

An imbecile.

You had dedicated the majority of your teenage and adult life to studying Herman Carter. THE Doctor. At first, it was genuine, innocent curiosity.

What teenager didn't find the macabre fascinating?

It was easy to fall down the rabbit hole but it was much, much more difficult to claw your way back out of it. You didn't even want to get out. Why would you when you thought you had it all figured out and that you actually found something akin to an understanding in one of the most infamous men in all of U.S. medical history?

Such a silly little child...

What were you thinking when you were transported to the Fog? What did you feel when you saw the halls of the once great Léry's Memorial Institute? Where you terrified?

Excited?

You were a sick little thing that needed help. Didn't you understand that? The truly sick do not know they are ill, that much is true, which is exactly why the Doctor decided to see you in the first place.

How strange it was to be face with someone that truly seemed not to know better. What was wrong with you? Where others were fleeing from his overwhelming presence, you actively sought it out. It was enough to give the Doctor pause, a genuine head tilt as he observed your demeanor, less like a prey animal in front of a starving predator and more akin to a star-struck fan faced with their idol.

How utterly pathetic.

The Doctor only need to snap his fingers and you would do anything that he asked. An exam of your person? Why, you were already undressed and waiting for him, even in spite of him not even asking to to bare yourself to him. An experiment? Even in spite of the pain, you eagerly took part, as though fascinated by your own pain. Perhaps you were a bit of a kindred spirit, one that was both masochistic and sadistic, as you would even willingly offer up your fellow survivors to 'your' Doctor.

How quaint that you though he actually gave a damn about you.

He pushed you to your limits, never minding how you would cry or how you would beg for relief. You think you made a mistake, that you weren't ready for this? Too bad. There are no 'take-backsies' in the Doctor's office. It didn't matter if you said 'no' after the fact, if you said 'stop, please, I can't take it'. Unfortunately for you, there were no safe words in his diction.

He would hold you down and electrocute you over and over and over again as he tested the limits of both your body, mind and spirit. You could take a lot of punishment, much, much more than most, but you would break. They all would break eventually. Why did you think you were so special, that THE Herman Carter, THE Doctor, wouldn't do to you what he had done to everyone else, including himself? It was ridiculous on your part, no, more than that, it was idiotic.

You were an imbecile, just like the rest of them were.

Your cries were ear piercing but so, so sweet. You had screamed so much for so long that your throat was bleeding. Raw. You thought that you could take it but you couldn't. It was too much. It all was too much for you but there was no turning back. No amount of pleading would save you now. All you could do was take it, tears streaming down your eyes and your body screaming in pain.

You were bleeding. You were dying. Dying as he was overtop of you and doing whatever he pleased with your broken body. Every time your heart would stop, he would restart it, ensuring that you wouldn't die until he gave you permission to do so. If he had his way, you would never die, but you were so weak that you would ultimately succumb to even the most basic of 'therapeutic' measures. How disappointing.

You were disappointing.

Barely worthy of a footnote in the mass that was his life's research.

@prettycutebunny, @infinitewhore, @kennbb, @slutwithadegree, @dead-bxxxtch-walking, @space-arsonist, @pink-soft-shadow, @sinlessdesire, @hoemine, @memoryofheather, @horny-3

#dead by daylight #dbd #dbd the doctor #herman carter #dbd x reader #dbd the doctor x reader #dead dove do not eat