#(also like sometimes this is just anxiety brain lying to you but)

[mylovelies-docx]

Love Bites (But So Do I)

🎃 HAPPY HALLOWEEN TO ALL MY SPOOKY, HORNY BITCHES 🎃

I'm finally participating in Kinktober, but it's literally the last day and it's whatever the fuck I wanted to write.

Pairing: Innocent!Vampire!Reader x Werewolf!Bucky

Plot: Reader is suffering from hunger pangs due to national blood shortage. Bucky offers a solution.

C/W: 18+ MDNI!!! (I am so for serious). Loss of virginity, age gap (Reader is late 20's), what’s the name for blood drinking?, fingering, praise kink, unprotected sex, slight dom/sub, knotting, cock-warming, fluff, resolution of mutual pining.

Vampirism is cool and all, but it also fucking sucks sometimes.

Like during a national blood shortage.

You’d been turned only a couple of years ago around the time of your 25th birthday. You can’t quite recall what happened, as everything around the event is distorted in your memories. All you know is that you were on a mission with some of the other Avengers one second, and then the next you were lying in the med bay with an intense craving for blood.

Everyone was surprisingly accepting of your new ‘condition’, with the exception of one person.

Bucky.

Bucky wasn’t on the mission where you were turned into a vampire, so he had no idea what he was walking in on when he stopped by to visit you in the med bay. You distinctly remember the look of worry and confusion on his face when he peered through the window and saw you strapped down onto the bed. You’d given him a forced, awkward smile and turned your head away, not able to look him in the eye.

You heard the door to your room click open and Bucky began to call your name, but then he inhaled sharply, unable to finish his question. You turned your head slightly and peeked back at him. You could tell immediately that Bucky’s werewolf senses had picked up on the change in your DNA, his instincts telling him that you were now his enemy.

You leaned your head back against the bed and closed your eyes, devastated that Bucky hated you before you could even have a proper conversation with him. You’d been on the team for a few months at that point, only really developing surface level friendships with everyone. They were all welcoming enough, but your anxieties prevented you from letting anyone in.

With your eyes closed, your other senses were able to accommodate for the loss of sight. The gust of wind from Bucky opening the door rushed up your nose, and a heady, intoxicating scent lit up your brain. Your eyes popped open and you stared at Bucky, noticing his heavy breathing and his pulse pounding against the arteries in his neck. Your mouth watered at the smell of him, divine and irresistible in a way that no one else had been up to that point.

A choked keening had erupted from your throat, your wrists and ankles straining against the bonds holding you down. You twisted and pulled, trying to break free and make a run for Bucky, but he’d immediately sensed your desire to drink his blood. A shutter fell into place over Bucky’s face, masking any expression that might have been there. He sucked in one final deep breath and slammed the door to your room, storming down the hallway and away from you.

As soon as you could no longer detect Bucky’s scent in the air, your mind cleared somewhat and you were able to realize just how out of control you had acted and how embarrassed you were at your actions. But you were also unable to stop imagining running after him and sinking your teeth deep into the flesh of his throat. 

Slamming your head a few times onto the bed underneath you, you cursed yourself. Bucky barely even liked you before, but now he probably despised you – not just for what you were, but for how you acted, as well. You’d gotten off on the wrong foot with him to start, but then you’d stumbled hard and crossed a line by almost ripping your arms to pieces in order to get to him.

You’d never been able to look people in the face or hold eye contact for very long, but it’s especially true when it comes to Bucky. You’re not exactly sure why it is that your heart races and butterflies fill your stomach, but the feelings bubble up and prevent you from speaking and make you uncomfortable in your own skin. This happens every time you meet someone new or are with people you don’t really know, but the sensations that flood your body when Bucky is around are 100x worse than anything you’d felt for anyone before.

You’d realized in that hospital bed that whatever you’d felt for Bucky prior to becoming a vampire had changed, had become almost unbearable. His scent never left your thoughts and your mind always drifted off to think about Bucky: what he was doing, where he was, who he was with. Your eyes would darken and turn red, fangs lengthening when you imagined him with anyone other than you. 

It’d taken you weeks to recover your sanity completely. You’d drained bag after bag after bag of blood, never feeling completely satiated, but unable to find out why. Some members of the team visited in those weeks to determine if you were safe to be around, and although the aroma of their blood wafted through the air and surrounded you, you never reacted to any of them the way you had to Bucky that first day. Dr. Cho had decided that you were no longer a threat after your successes, so she’d allowed you out of your restraints. You were finally able to walk the halls again and explore the compound. 

Though the sunlight wouldn’t kill you (discovered during Dr. Cho’s studies), your skin would prickle and start to burn after prolonged exposure, so you tended to avoid the daylight. You’d wander the halls after everyone had turned in for the night, lamenting the fact that you could really only spend the evenings with them all before they needed to sleep. 

You’d catch whiffs of Bucky as you stalked the night, your pulse racing and endorphins fizzing through your veins, but he never appeared. Bucky kept his distance from you for nearly a full year after you’d nearly attacked him. You couldn’t blame him. He’d been tortured enough in his life, he didn’t need the added stress of you trying to suck him dry every time he entered the same room as you.

It took some time, but you were finally able to cohabitate the same spaces with him again. Even though your mouth watered and your hands longed to reach out and grab him, you refrained. You kept yourself distant in order to make him more comfortable with your presence even though nature meant for your two species to hate each other.

You understood why Bucky had such a vehement reaction when he smelled you for the first time after your transition; walking the streets of New York, you’d catch of whiff of wet dog and dirty sock, immediately identifying werewolves as they prowled the streets, their stench clinging to your nostrils and turning your stomach. You’d grimace and walk away as fast as you could in search of clean air not polluted with the presence of werewolves. If grody socks and dirty mongrel was what you perceived werewolves to smell like, you can’t imagine what Bucky must smell emanating from you.

The only thing that doesn’t make sense is that you’d never found Bucky’s scent displeasing: in fact, the fresh, pine scent drove you crazy and had your body begging to be near him despite knowing that he’s a werewolf. You feel insatiable whenever he’s around, needing to consume blood soon after in order to calm the raging hunger within you.

Your mouth waters at the thought of the hot liquid filling your mouth and sliding down your throat, warming your insides and sending shivers all the way down to your toes. It’d been nearly a full day since you’d last tasted the savory red substance. 

A nation-wide disaster the Avengers had handled yesterday required the hospitals to use up most of their stores of blood, leaving you feeling guilty for even thinking about taking the life-saving liquid for your own benefit. All the Avengers were out celebrating a job well-done and the prevention of more death and destruction that would have occurred had you all not been there to help. 

The fight yesterday had taken everything out of you, and you were unable to drag yourself from the couch where you had collapsed earlier in the day. Your head is spinning and your muscles are weak from the lack of  blood in your system. Some of the others had offered you their blood to help you feel better, but you’d declined and told them to go out and donate it to one of the blood banks that were in desperate need.

You’d never drank directly from a person in the years since you’d become a vampire, choosing instead to avoid the intimacy that must come along with the action. Holding someone’s wrist in your hands as you clamp down on their radial artery, nuzzling your face into the crook of their neck and sucking a mark around the two perfect puncture holes from your fangs – it just felt overwhelming.

And besides, the only person you could even imagine suckling from was Bucky and he’d never offer you his blood, regardless of whether it was in a bag or straight from the source.

You groan as your stomach contracts in on itself, the emptiness feeling as if there’s a black hole inside of you and you’re going to be consumed from the inside out. You feel foolish for turning your friends’ offers away, but there’s no way you’d have kept them from enjoying themselves after everything they went through yesterday. You can only hope that Dr. Cho is able to procure something for you in the morning or else create some alternative to the human blood that sustains your life force.

You’re curled in the fetal position on the couch, clutching your stomach and trying to think of anything else besides this nauseating hunger you feel. Your eyes squeeze tightly shut and your face scrunches in agony. You moan once more, unable to hold it in.

All of a sudden, your senses detect the presence of another person in the compound – a door in the residential wing swishing open and the pad, pad, pad of socked feet walking towards you. The sweet, fresh smell of a pine forest after a spring shower wraps around you, easing the pain enough for you to open your eyes and witness Bucky walk into the living room and find you lying there. His face contorts momentarily, but then smooths back out.

“Y/N?” he questions. You whine at the timbre of his voice, the rich sound penetrating your eardrums and burrowing into your veins. “What’s wrong?”

You wince as another hunger pang claws through your gut.  “I’m –” you whisper hoarsely. “I’m hungry. So hungry.”

“Hungry?” he asks. “What about the blood you keep in stock?” Bucky walks over to the hospital-grade equipment in the kitchen behind you, looking for a blood bag you know isn’t there. You hear him open and close the door, quickly ascertaining that there is nothing to be found within. Bucky quickly walks back over to you and crouches a few feet from the couch. “Where did it all go?”

A red-tinted tear falls from your lower lashes, leaving a pink streak along your cheek. “The… the civilians,” you murmur quietly. Even with Bucky’s enhanced hearing, he has to lean closer to hear what you say. “They n-needed it more th-than me.”

“Shit,” Bucky mutters under his breath. A determined look comes over his face as he rolls up his sleeve. He holds his wrist in front of your mouth and barks out a command. “Drink.”

You barely find the strength to shake your head at him in refusal. “No,” you whine. “I’ve never… I can’t…”

“Yes,” he growls, “you can. And you will.” Bucky stretches his mouth wide and rolls his head on his neck, transforming his normal human teeth into the incisors of a wolf. He bites down onto the center of his wrist, tearing open his vein and shoving it back in your face. “Drink.”

Your bloodlust overtakes you at that moment. The warm, coppery blood seeps down his wrist and beads onto the sofa beside your head. Your hands move of their own accord, your mind fighting a losing battle with your instincts. You grasp Bucky’s wrist and wrap your parched lips around the gaping wound. You lick and suck where Bucky’s teeth had torn apart his own flesh. At the taste of Bucky’s blood hitting your tongue after years of craving it, a pleasured whimper crawls up your throat and forces its way between your parted lips against his flesh.

Buck’s metal arm reaches around and cups the back of your head, holding you in place as you continue to feed from him. “That’s right, doll,” he says. “Take as much as you need.” You feel the cold pressure of his hand as he strokes your hair away from your face. “Fuck. Been waiting for this. For you.”

The words send a shiver through you and you would have happily stayed right where you were for the rest of eternity, but the mouthfuls of blood have quickly turned into a trickle. You whine at the realization, running your tongue over Bucky’s wrist to confirm that his wound is healing too rapidly for you to continue drinking. You cry and raise your eyes up to Bucky’s, tasting his blood that had dribbled down your chin as you lick your lips.

“It’s –” you try. “You’re not…”

Bucky curses once again. “I heal too fast and the vein is too small for the amount of blood you need.” 

He takes a hair tie from his pocket and quickly runs his fingers through his hair, gathering it all into a bun at the back of his head. Bucky rises swiftly and picks your body up into his arms. He cradles you against his chest as he settles quickly on the couch and places you in his lap. He circles one arm around your back to hold you upright and uses his other to guide your mouth to his throat.

“Bite,” he commands.

You whimper at the authority in his voice, but shake your head. “I’m okay,” you plead. “I – I don’t know how –”

“It’s instinct,” he replies harshly. “You do know how.” He takes your head and pushes your face further into his neck. “Bite me. Now, Y/N!”

“I don’t want to hurt you,” you cry, resting your forehead against his skin and struggling to maintain the hold you have on your sanity when Bucky’s pulse is thrumming just under his skin. It’s right there. So close you can hear the blood as it rushes through his veins. This is the closest you’ve ever been to Bucky and his scent is beginning to drive you insane. You pant heavily against his throat, exhausting yourself from the effort of holding back.

Bucky releases a sigh and a sliver of tension leaves his muscles. The hand against your back strokes up and down, settling your body as it shivers against his. 

“You won’t hurt me,” he says. “If I use my claws, the cut will be too big and I'll bleed too fast. Your teeth are so small, I won’t even feel them,” he soothes.

You hesitate for a moment before saying, “... you promise?”

“I promise, baby,” he hums.

The softness of his words is all it takes to tear down your defenses. You suck in a breath and bare your fangs. They sink into the skin right above his jugular and you feel the slight pop as you pierce its wall. Blood gushes into your mouth and you feel something inside you pop open just like Bucky’s vein. 

All of the sudden, you become acutely aware of everything Bucky.

The rhythm of his heart as it pumps blood through his body and into yours, his breaths as they leave his mouth, the sounds he makes as you suckle at his neck – as if he’s enjoying every second of having your lips at his throat and sucking the blood as it floods into your mouth in time to the pulse of his heart. You can feel your own heart race to match his, beat for beat.

You moan at the sensation and pull harder against Bucky’s neck. Needing to be closer, you swing a leg over his lap to straddle him, hooking one arm around his shoulder and the other around the back of his head.  You feel Bucky’s hands grasp your hips as he holds you tight to his body. 

Involuntarily you roll your hips against him, rubbing your covered core over the bulge in his jeans. The action elicits a groan from Bucky and the contact sends an electric current through your body, forcing your hips to seek more friction. You continue to grind against Bucky’s crotch, your panties becoming soaked and leaking through your shorts and onto his jeans. 

You continue to draw from Bucky’s neck as he begins to thrust against you in response to your motions. You moan at the extra pressure against your mound and work harder to match his rhythm. 

“Fuck yeah, baby,” Bucky groans. “Using me so well to work that sweet little clit.” You whimper against his neck and brace one arm on the back of the couch, gaining leverage and moving your hips faster against him. “You gonna cum like this, darlin’?” He pants into your ear. “Gonna cum when I haven’t even touched you yet?”

At his words, you release your fangs from his throat and take big, heaving breaths. You pull away and stare down into Bucky’s eyes, his pupils dilated and staring deep into your own. You lean down quickly, capturing his lips with your own like you’ve dreamed of doing for so long. Bucky returns the kiss feverishly, working his tongue between your lips and delving into your mouth. You continue to grind yourself against Bucky until you’re nearly delirious with lust and feel a tight knot forming between your legs.

Bucky’s fingers snake between your bodies and pull the fabric of your shorts and panties aside so that he can run his fingers along your soaking slit.

“What a good girl,” he growls. “Already so wet for me.”

He nudges one finger at your entrance and you keen at the pressure of his thick finger trying to enter you. You huff against his mouth, trying to relax and allow his finger entry.

“’s okay, sweetheart,” he breathes against your throat as he trails wet kisses from your lips down to your shoulders. “’m not gonna hurt ya.”

You nod your head feverishly and lean backwards, changing the angle of your hips so that his finger has more access. It slips inside and your pussy clenches hard around it, not used to anything filling you so full. You cry out in pleasure as he crooks his finger against your walls with what little room he has.

“Goddamn, you’re so tight,” he huffs. “Have you not done this before?” Bucky questions you, using his free hand to pull your face back towards his so that he can kiss you once before letting you respond. 

You shake your head no and cry out again as he withdraws his finger and plunges it back into you. He continues to massage your walls while he pulls his finger in and out, in and out.

“Then is this okay, baby? Do you like this?”

“Yes! Yes, Bucky! I – I love this.” 

He sucks your bottom lips between his teeth and holds it there for a second before letting go. “Let me see how much you love it, Y/N. Come on, cum for me.”

“Uh, ah, I’ve never –” you half confess before stopping yourself by biting your lip and throwing your head backwards.

“You tellin’ me you’ve never let yourself orgasm, pretty girl?” he asks you. “What a tragedy,” he growls against your neck, finger still working between your legs as he slowly tries to fit another one inside you.

“Unh,” you whine in time with his finger thrusts, feeling the stretch of your hole as the slick from your core coats his hand and allows his second finger entry. You gasp at the sensation of his two thick fingers inside of you and the heel of his hand against your clit. The knot in your stomach feels as if it’s stretching as tight as it can go, pulling and straining to be undone. You work your hips in time with Bucky’s hand, trying to get him deeper inside you where your body screams for more.

“But don’t worry,” he whispers against your ear. “I’ll take care of that right now.”

Bucky’s other hand comes up and pinches your erect nippled through your shirt. The sharp sizzle of pain morphs into pleasure as he surges through your nerves and rips the knot in your core apart. Your hips freeze and your knees lock tight against Bucky’s hips, every muscle in your abdomen clenching and your walls bearing down on Bucky’s fingers. 

“That’s a good girl,” he breathes. “Look at you cumming all over my hand.” His words send another blade of pleasure to your core and you squeeze his fingers tighter. “You like when I talk to you, baby?” Bucky asks. “You like when I tell you you’re a good girl?” Bucky chuckles at the realization that his words cause your pussy to work his fingers harder.

“Does my sweet, pretty girl want to cum on my cock?” He wonders, tracing a finger down the side of your face and then slipping it into your mouth. You instinctively suck on his digit, lathing your tongue around the tip. Bucky sucks in a sharp breath when you nip at his finger with one of your fangs.

“Dirty girl,” he teases as he takes his finger from your mouth. He grabs your chin and looks into your eyes again. “Will you let me fuck that tight little pussy of yours?”

You moan and nod your head. “Yes! Yes, Bucky – please!” you cry out.

With a wolfish grin, Bucky grabs the back of your thighs and holds you up as he carries you out of the living room and towards his bedroom. You notice two little pinpricks of blood where your fangs had been earlier, the skin already healing over. You lower your mouth back to Bucky’s throat and lick his skin clean. Bucky bounces you in his arms and kisses your lips forcefully as he finally arrives at his room.

He crawls with you up the bed until your head is nestled on his pillows and his body covers yours completely. The warmth of him encompasses you and his scent surrounds you where it pours from his sheets and clothing scattered around the room. Bucky’s bedroom smells just like him, like being sheltered by a grove of pine trees as the sun rises in the sky after a long, dark night. 

 Bucky slides his hands under your shirt and pushes it up your chest, kissing your breasts as they’re exposed. You hum at the warm, wet kisses he places on your nipples before he pulls the shirt over your head and up your arms. Next, he kisses your lips and slowly makes his way down your body, leaving a trail of warmth in the wake of his lips as he reaches the waistband of your shorts.

His fingers curl around the elastic and tug them down, down, down, your legs. Bucky sits back on his haunches, your shorts and panties dangling from the end of his fingers. You reach to cover yourself with your hands, never having had anyone look at your naked body before. 

His glacier blue eyes lock onto yours and freeze you in place. Bucky shakes his head once, telling you to stop hiding yourself from him. You slowly pull your hands away, not exactly sure what to do with them now that they don’t have a purpose.

Bucky hums in content at seeing your naked body lying on his bed, wet and ready for him. He slides backwards off the bed, keeping his eyes on you the entire time. Your face heats as he whips his shirt over his head, exposing his solid chest and torso. He reaches for the button of his jeans and slowly undoes the fastenings. He watches your eyes widen when his cock springs free, finally relieved of its confinement. 

You can’t take your eyes away from Bucky’s dick as it stands at attention, the pink tip weeping liquid. You quickly glance up at Bucky’s face, and see amusement flicker in his eyes.

“I don’t th-think…” you stammer.

“Oh,” Bucky rumbles. “It’ll fit.”

Bucky positions himself on top of your body again, pulling your legs apart so that he can nestle his hips between yours. You feel as his warm, hard length rests between your lower lips and up onto your mound. He’s so big that you could wrap both hands around him and there would still be leftovers. You swallow hard and look up into Bucky’s eyes as he hovers over you. 

“Are you sure?”

He leans down and presses a hard kiss to your lips. “I’m sure.”

Bucky guides his tip to your entrance, coating the head with your juices. He slides it up and down your slit, notching it against your clit and sending shocks to your core. You slowly bring your knees up and wrap your feet around the small of Bucky’s back, reaching your hands to grab onto Bucky’s metal wrist where he has it placed above your head. You look into his eyes as a smile graces his lips.

“Good girl,” he praises. Your body shivers at the compliment and you smile shyly back at him. Bucky takes the head of his cock and slowly notches it into you, pausing at your gasp of air. “Relax, doll,” he says as he leans down to kiss you. You melt into the kiss, allowing your legs to relax slightly and your walls to open enough for Bucky to slide in a couple of inches.

His cock is thicker and longer than his fingers and your body is unsure what to do with so much of it inside you. You whine against Bucky’s lips, the stretch and pressure unfamiliar. 

“It’s okay, baby; you can take me.”

You nod and consciously relax your pelvic floor, imaging the muscles loosening up and allowing Bucky inside. You can feel the effects immediately, Bucky’s hips closing the gap and the tip of his cock lodging deep inside you, the notched head putting pressure against a point inside you that forces all the air to leave your lungs. You suck in a sharp breath as Bucky fully sheaths himself inside you, barely believing that his entire length rests within your walls.

“That’s it, doll,” Bucky commends your efforts. “Told you you could do it.”

You smile at him earnestly, proud of yourself for taking all of him inside of you at once. He brings his flesh hand up to your face and pulls your bottom lip down with his thumb. “I’m gonna move now, okay? You ready?”

“Yes,” you breathe. Your heart pounds in your chest as Bucky slowly slides from you until he’s almost completely out. Then, in one smooth motion, he presses back inside, the head rubbing against the spot that made you lose your breath when he entered the first time. You stare into each other’s eyes as Bucky continues to rock into you, his hips meeting yours with every press forward.

You can’t help but sigh at the sweet pleasure that builds from Bucky’s measured pace. You unwind one hand from Bucky’s metal wrist and reach for his face, closing your eyes and capturing his lips in an ardent kiss. The feeling of him moving inside you is nice, the coil from earlier returning to its place inside your core.

You cry out suddenly when Bucky’s next thrust enters you with more force than his previous ones. He opens his eyes and looks down at you, seeing the heat of your cheeks spread down your neck. He smirks and slams into you again, harder. Your eyes widen and your breath rushes out with the thrusts, your walls constricting around him with the repeated motion.

“You like that?” he questions, thrusting hard into you again. You gasp when he picks up speed and force, slamming into you over and over again. “I said: do you like that? Answer me.”

“Uh”-thrust-“huh”-thrust- you answer, your affirmation being knocked out of you as Bucky slams into your core. The rapid, harsh thrusts have the ridges and veins of Bucky’s cock sliding against your walls, and you can feel every single one of them tightening the coil inside of you until it is stretched tight once again. Bucky continues to thrust, taking you higher and higher and higher until there’s no room left inside of  you that your emotions seep from your eyes, your pink-tinged tears from pleasure rather than pain this time.

You gasp for breath repeatedly, listening to the wet sounds of Bucky thrusting in and out of you, the moans and muttered praises falling from his lips. 

“So good for me.”

“You take me so well.” 

“Look at you, crying over my cock because it’s making a mess of your sweet little cunt.”

The praise sends you soaring, you can’t help but whimper and sob into Bucky’s mouth as he keeps his face close to yours, making sure that you like everything he does to your body, monitoring your cries of pleasure to make sure he’s doing the best he can.

The coil begins to fray and snap. You begin to tense up, the sensations becoming too much.

“I think,” you moan, “I’m gonna…!”

Before your body completely lets go, you feel Bucky snarl into your neck and bite down hard with his incisors. You feel a flood of endorphins rush from Bucky’s mouth and travel through your body, pooling in your core and lighting the coil on fire. You cum hard on Bucky’s cock, liquid gushing from you. Your mind goes completely blank as your body shudders and shakes against Bucky’s, your pussy sucking him in as if it will never let him go. Buck retracts his teeth from the mark on your neck, licking his tongue over the puncture wounds. 

“Oh, fuck yes, baby girl. Look what I did to you – no one else will ever make you squirt like I do. No one will ever touch you. You’re mine, baby. No one else’s. I’m never letting you go.”

You stare down in enraptured surprise as you feel Bucky’s cock suddenly swelling inside you, locking him in place. He’s buried to the hilt and you feel a bulging just inside your entrance, preventing him from thrusting any more. Bucky groans loudly in your ear and you feel warmth and extra pressure against your walls, filling you to the brim with Bucky’s cum.

 Bucky leans down and nuzzles into your neck, placing tired kisses against where he’d bitten you. “Mine,” he growls. “Say it. Tell me you’re mine,” he commands.

Your eyes drift closed as the after effects of your orgasms and Bucky’s mark leave you breathless and blissed out. “Yours,” you murmur. “Always.”

Bucky flips you both over, his knot keeping you firmly locked together, unable to separate even if you wanted to (which you don’t). He lays you gently on his chest and holds your face in both of his hands. He wants you to look at him, but your eyes are so heavy that you can barely lift them.

You hear Bucky’s low voice as you drift off to sleep, but the words don’t make any sense.

“My mate.”

***

Your eyes snap open at the feel of soft lips against your forehead, then your nose, then eyelids and cheeks, and finally against your own lips.

You pull away immediately, hands covering your mouth in absolute horror. The previous night comes rushing back to you when you sense the heaviness of a mark on your neck and the aching pulse between your legs. Bucky looks up from where he lays beneath you, his expression turning puzzled and then quickly alarmed at your words.

“I’m sorry,” you say. “I’m sorry, Bucky. I didn’t mean to. I can’t believe –” you gasp out, placing your hands over your entire face and scrambling away in embarrassment. “I don’t know what came over me. I told you. I’ve never done that before, I didn’t know that would happen. I – I must have hypnotized you or something!” you cry out. “I didn’t know that was something I could do! I'm so sorry. I never should have –”

“Hey, hey, hey,” he calls, rushing to sit up and pull your hands away from your face, tilting your chin up until you’re looking at him. There’s a tender look on his face that you’ve never seen before, as if he’s dropped all of his walls with you. Your heart shatters at the realization that you’ve made him do things he never wanted to.  

His eyes soften, almost as if he could understand your thoughts just by looking into your eyes. He tries to get you to calm down, to regulate your breathing by taking in deep breaths of his own, but you’re too full of anxiety and self-loathing for it to work.

“It’s okay,” he consoles you. “We didn’t do anything I didn’t want to do.”

“How is that possible?” you sob helplessly, trying your best to divert your gaze from his. “You don’t even like me. You’ve never liked me and especially not after I became a vampire. I mean, you’re a werewolf! You hate me. You couldn’t even stand to be in the same room as me for a year.” 

“Shhh,” Bucky soothes. “When did I ever say I hated you?”

Your brows furrow in confusion, your breaths continuing to heave in and out of your chest, but your heart somehow calms of its own accord. You feel its beat echoing around you and you realize that Bucky’s heartbeat is working to calm yours, his eyes peering into your own while his hands rub up and down your arms in a soothing motion. “I – we’re enemies,” you say quietly. “Vampires and werewolves have always hated each other.”

“Do you hate me?” he questions, turning your face so that you’re looking at him once again.

You hesitate for a moment before shaking your head softly. “No.”

“And I don’t hate you,” he states, raising a hand and softly stroking your hair.

“But you…?” You try to make sense of what Bucky’s saying. “You can’t stand me. You avoided me after – after I…”

“Because I didn’t want to scare you,” Bucky murmurs. “I knew that if I was around you, I would do something I would regret.”

“...like kill me?” you wonder.

Bucky’s lip quirk into a small smile and he chuckles at your question. “No, Y/N. Not kill you.”

“Then what…?”

“After you were turned,” Bucky begins. He pulls his hand from you and clasps your hands within his, gently stroking your skin with his thumbs. You watch, entranced, as his fingers move over your skin. “I realized something as soon as I walked into your room in the med bay and scented you for the first time.” He tugs on your hands until you look up into his face. He smiles softly down at you with a look of pure adoration and love. “You’re my mate, Y/N.”

You stare at him in confusion. There’s no way – that’s not possible. “How… How is that possible? Are you sure I didn’t hypnotize you into thinking that?”

Bucky rolls his eyes and laughs. “You didn’t hypnotize me – that’s not real, and you know it.” He moves one hand to your throat, where he caresses his bite mark on your skin with his thumb.  “I don’t know how it happened or why the universe saw fit to bind us together, but it did.” Bucky bends his head and smiles ruefully at you as he continues. “I knew you were going to be special to me the first time we ever met, but you were so quiet and you avoided me like the plague, so I thought you were afraid of me.” 

You feel the anguish coming from Bucky as he thinks back on how you treated him these last couple of years. How your inability to meet his eyes or hold a conversation with him led him to believe that you were frightened to be near him, frightened of him. 

You pull your knees to your chest and rest your chin on your folded arms. You glance away and say softly, “I’m… I’m not good with people. Sometimes it’s okay, but others… it’s like I forget how to talk to people.” You flicker your eyes to his quickly, but look away just as fast. You raise your fingers to your lips and rub back and forth, a nervous habit you’ve had for years. “If…if I… like someone. It makes it worse.”

“And that’s why you wouldn’t talk to me?” Bucky questions, pulling your hand from your mouth and placing a kiss on the center of your palm.Your face flushes and a small smile flits to your face. You nod your head while looking down at your knees.

“Well,” he says, “I like you,too.” You raise your eyes to see a smile lighting up his face and brightening his eyes. “I always have.”

“You do?” you ask, checking to be sure that Bucky isn’t just saying these things because you slept together after feeding from him. “It’s not because of what I did last night?”

“No, sugar,” he replies. “I’ve wanted to be with you this whole time.” You watch his eyes scan your face, watching your reactions and feeling your emotions through your new bond. “Do you want to be with me? I wasn’t going to mark you without asking first, but my instincts wouldn’t allow you to be so close without claiming you.”

You shyly pull your hair over your shoulder where Bucky’s mark resides. You worry a strand between your hands and look up into his eyes. “I… I like it,” you confess, feeling your heart beat faster in your chest at your bold words.

“Good,” Bucky states. He leans into you and brushes your hair back away from your shoulder, exposing your mark and placing a tender peck against the raised edges. “Because you’re mine.”

You nod and tilt your head to the side, allowing Bucky to trail his lips up and down your throat before he makes his way to your lips. He kisses you deeply, his tongue sliding into your mouth and meeting with yours. You hum and unfurl your body, climbing into his lap as his hands guide you into straddling his waist.

“I’m yours,” you agree.

“And I’m yours,” he echoes.

________________________________________

So I didn't have time to make the part 2 I was thinking about for this, but it was never a direct continuation anyway.

Hope you enjoyed! 🎃

#kinktober #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x y/n #bucky fanfic #smut #bucky barnes fic

[ms-scarletwings]

So there was a note under my post about Zim hovering a finger over the self destruct switch on his first day on Earth that just cracked open something in my mind.

Cause…Oh. Oh hecc you, @murhuedur. You actually touched on like, my favorite thing about this character, period. I really like this take, I do. It’s a good one. I ponder, still,

In my own opinion, it’s actually genuine confidence and arrogance, but Zim’s delusions of grandeur are as a thin rubber band. They can stretch out to wild lengths and remain malleable enough to bend around truth as he wills,

But there’s a hard limit out there eventually, and should reality require him to stretch his cognitive dissonance just too far, it’s a violent snap-back to full clarity. I don’t think he’s faking it or always lying to everyone else about what hot shit he is, because I think he fully believes those lies about as fast as he can speak them, even if he will later realize he was wrong after a cosmic punch to the face.

Like, Zim’s smart, but smart people aren’t inherently rational ones. Within Zim, the tallest, hell, maybe even Skoodge, there’s sometimes this very short-sighted flippancy about what is objectively true/false that peeks out every now and again in their psychology. I mean, humans sometimes do this too when it’s convenient to their interests, just, obviously not to goofy cartoon character levels if they want to function in society.

Zim has whatever this flaw is and cranked up to 11, maybe as a side effect of his PAK defects. Sometimes it gets him into DEEP shit, but it’s also his biggest mental shield. Zim has like no fortitude against spiraling into a full on depression or a justifiable panic attack over the smallest concession of being an absolute failure to his race. That weaponized denial that makes him so dangerous to himself and others also keeps him together and motivated forward. But it’s not largely a conscious lie he’s telling himself. It’s genuine faith he’s trying to manifest into matter through sheer force of his will.

His dogmatic mantra, “I am Zim” and what it means to him is a statement he holds on such conviction it overpowered and hijacked the ego of 3 control brains at once.

If I were inserting him into DnD he’d have the wisdom stat of a stale poptart and a 20+ thrown into charisma. He’s faking it without even understanding he’s faking it.

But were he completely detached from reality, he’d be WAY more likely than even now to accidentally get himself killed. While a narcissistic level of self esteem is what lets him ignore and selectively unhear inconvenient truths, the adrenaline of immediate life or death danger is what grounds him back in the real world. You notice over time that as self-sabotaging as he normally is, he seems to act his most rational and competent when he’s suddenly put against the grindstone and self preservation HAS to jump into the driver’s seat. He basically survives his day to day on a tightrope between a falsely glorious narrative of himself, and his perceptive anxiety both tugging him to land on either side of the fence when something big happens.

In “The Trial”, he wastes very little time on his expected bullshit or his confidence in being able to just win over the approval of his judges.. by virtue of being his awesome self. He spent most of that ordeal on the verge of a heart attack, squirmed to find an escape, and actually tried to DENY causing the death of two Almighty Tallests (reminder that he usually owns up to his atrocities with downright offensive pride). He understood the full gravity of an existence evaluation and how cooked his goose was. As soon as the situation resolves and he’s no longer in that danger, it’s right back to full trust of his status as an invader, and in Red and Purple as his biggest fans. When his disguise starts to slip in front of Skool kids he knows are dumb as a bag of rocks, he can silver tongue his way around that without skipping a beat. Losing his disguise in front of a bunch of alien-obsessed adults? Uh oh, pants-shitting terror, this is potentially game-over levels of bad, immediately gtfo of here. Stand there, chest beat, and scold the obviously rogue duty-mode Gir all day until the second it actually tries to kill you and you suddenly have to realize you’re not the one holding the cards anymore to save your own life.

The other way this quirk of his really shows through is in his selective memory. Zim has this skill to repress down and push away unpleasant experiences that I think some of us can only dream we had. I love it because it’s equal parts a comedic and analytical goldmine.

Tak, who actually posed a legit threat to his entire mission and tried herself to chip through that massive wall of denial he’s shielded in- same Tak who’s powerful af ship was stolen and desecrated by Zim’s arch nemesis… she’s not just an afterthought in his mind after that mess. He’s literally pushed that one out of his thoughts altogether in the comics. Like she, and Skoodge, who he can’t fucking stand, might as well have never even existed, even while GIR’s trying to remind him. That time he played around with time travel and it was one of the biggest clusterfucks he quickly lost control of? The bologna incident he stooped so low as to ask dib to help him with? You must be thinking of someone else. Nope. Not a thing. Lalala, can’t even hear you. This is also what makes it no wonder he deeply struggles with actually learning from certain mistakes.

From an outsider’s eye this behavior of his is baffling. It makes him look actually insane or at least obnoxiously obstinate. And I think both assumptions are half right, because this is clearly not the result of mere stupidity. Those truths are simply wayyyy too discordant with his view of himself to devote surface memory to, or too uncomfortable, unless and until, of course, you confront him with them in a fashion where that rubber band has to snap, that bubble pops, and he instantly sobers out of that complacency.

Literally god forbid he ever stops being defective in this way or is given the ability to reckon with the reality of his situation and his history all at once. I’m not even just talking about his job or banishment. I’m talking about his entire life. This chaotic, flexible, incoherent mindstate is the only branch he’s holding onto from dropping into a much more horrifying chasm beneath himself, the depth of which we can only guess. I straight up have no idea what he would do or what could happen to him if he could, even for a moment, rationally comprehend his every action, memory, and empirical truth all at the same time. Seriously, leave that Pak’s Gordian Knot be, or I imagine there could be an HP Lovecraft type of breakdown in the making.

#By the way this is probably one of the most important differences between him and Dib, and what makes Zib so… way he is.

#iz #iz analysis #invader zim #iz clips #iz headcanons #character dissection #dude’s a little messed up #scarlet talks about things #oh hecc #here i go again #long post #by the way this is like the main difference that separates him and dib the most starkly #Youtube

[painted-bees]

Thinking a little more on the whole "when did Margie and Raf realize they were In A Relationship?" question, and while they'd both struggle to find a definitive moment, I think there was one particular situation that arose to kinda...lock things in for them.

Sometime prior to autumn 2009, Margie was headhunted by Bioware[Edmonton] thanks to the recommendation of an old Orbital Media colleague who was trying to establish/salvage Bioware's beleaguered handheld dev team. Following a promising phone interview, she was asked to make a 30 second demo track as part of the hiring process, and met expectations well enough that she was offered a job as an in-house musician and sound designer. Which also meant that she'd have to move to Edmonton. She had been keeping Raf up to date with this whole thing, mostly because she was too excited to keep it to herself. Raf was hugely supportive and excited -for- her. 'Cus like...he plays games. He even plays Bioware games, so, yanno...very cool. But he had also assumed this was gonna be more of a freelance contract kind of thing. And so, hearing her mention that the company would cover the costs of relocating her to Edmonton comes as a weird surprise. And suddenly, he's having a real hard time being excited for her. He keeps it to himself, 'cus he'd be an asshole not to. He's been really adamant with himself, and with anyone who asks, that he and Margie are just really good, comfortable friends/roommates. But even by this point, he's kinda known and been unwilling to admit to himself that the only reason he hasn't openly recognized their relationship for what it actually is--is because the non-committal ambiguousness provides him a clean way out if he starts feeling cagey/uncomfy about anything. It was an exit door that he liked keeping open incase he needed it. But Margie had seen it differently. To her, it was a door she figured she was gonna have to leave through eventually. Because Raf would inevitably find a more serious partner to settle down with, or he'd be whisked off by some other important venture that she couldn't be a part of. She figured he was leaving that door open because his current situation was a temporary transitional stage in his life that he simply allowed her to be a part of. And so, she's not really torn-up about the prospect of leaving, especially under the circumstances. It presented an easier, more exciting transition than she might have had to face if Raf had 'outgrown' her first.

So, Margie's excited about the new job offer, and Raf's sitting there feeling like he played himself--while being wholly unable/unwilling to tell her "Hey, uh...this sucks, actually, I really don't want you to go." Because that'd require him to admit that he's been lying to himself--which sucks. But more than that, it'd require him to admit that he's been lying to her--only employing honesty as a tool of convenience to dissuade her from going and getting something really good for herself. He can't, he won't. The sudden off-key in his tone, though, doesn't go unnoticed by her, and Margie is perfectly candid about the whole "we'll visit each other, I'll stay in touch--I'm not gonna disappear on you lmao" Except that's not really...how Raf operates. Distance + time does not make this man's paranoid lil' heart grow fonder. There's never been a relationship-friend, family, or otherwise-with enough staying power for Raf to maintain it once they're no longer within physical proximity. Even if he wants to 'keep in touch', it quickly falls off. He's just known...too many people, and been too many places...his brain doesn't have the bandwidth to maintain close relationships when there's a distance. And, after a long enough pause in communication, his paranoid anxieties lift the barrier of entry higher and higher until it's almost insurmountable. People become strangers again. Always. In the end, Bioware did not get to develop any more handheld titles, and the handheld division in Edmonton is dissolved before Margie was even offered a job start date to plan her big move around. And so the whole thing falls apart before it even had the chance to get started lmao. At which point, Raf finally allows himself to be honest and say "thank god, I was fuckin' dreading an empty apartment again." Treats her to a consolatory dinner, and gets to tell her as much as he is able to figure out for himself--that he doesn't really know what he wants, actually--but that things aren't as casual and clean-cut as he thought it was. He still can't bring himself to be like "yes, romantic committed relationship, that's us, that's what we are" but he does at least take measures to establish that he'd really like to take off his shoes, place them on the rack next to hers, and close the door behind him.

#Margie takes a little while to get over the sting of disappointment with having her cool validating job fall through #but she's happy she gets to stick around with Raf too...and then soon realizes the full implications of what he tells her #over that consolatory dinner lmao #hi-note #magritte #rafael

[flowercrowngods]

*checks time* a prompt for you. eddie's insomnia versus steve the human weighted blanket. 🥺

in which Eddie hasn’t slept in days and feels like he’s losing his mind. fairy lights, music, and Steve lying down on top of him with promises whispered into his skin are what saves him | cw: gets pretty heavy on the insomnia | 2.8k

Eddie doesn’t sleep. Hasn’t slept in a while. He knows it must have been two days. Maybe three. And before that it’s always just been one lucky hour, maybe two, his body collapsing into blissful darkness before black turns red and he’s back in the Upside down, before silence turns into Chrissy screaming at him, for him, because of him.

Eddie doesn’t sleep. And it’s starting to show. His movements are slow, thinking and speaking takes way longer than it used to, than it should, and everything is dulled. Sometimes he hears voices where there are none, sometimes he misses words directed at him before one of the shrimps call for his attention again, annoyed and only a little worried. Only a little, because Eddie is quirky, Eddie is dramatic, Eddie is like that, right? Right?

Wrong. Eddie is just tired. His hands won’t stop shaking, his mouth won’t stop talking, his thoughts won’t stop running. It doesn’t even feel like he’s in control of himself anymore, and it’s beginning to be real scary.

But even when he thinks, screw the nightmares, I just want some sleep, rest won’t find him. The constant thrum of anxiety keeps it all away and he’s starting to get frustrated, angry, desperate.

He just wants to sleep. Please. The laundry already starts talking to him, and he doesn’t remember hanging it up, and almost panics when it’s gone.

This is fine. It’s all fine. His joints ache, his scars itch, sometimes smiling hurts, but it’s all fine. He just needs sleep.

It all comes to a head when he’s hosting Hellfire for the kids two weeks since his last full night of sleep — and a full night is being generous, because his standards have gone so low as to that meaning he got five hours of almost uninterrupted sleep. Magically, the kids don’t really suspect anything, don’t even notice the bags under Eddie’s eyes or find their own completely misguided whiz kid explanations for it without so much as asking how he’s been doing. Part of him is glad, because they shouldn’t know, shouldn’t worry, shouldn’t see.

It also helps that even complete and utter sleep deprivation can’t ruin Eddie’s Dungeon Master headspace — and so what if the traitorous elf that asked the kids for help sounds a bit like the angry cabinet door he left open all day yesterday because he always forgot to close it? That’s between Eddie and his mind that he’s absolutely been losing.

Everything goes by without a hitch, the kids busy discussing each other’s moves and yelling and hollering, than watching Eddie massage his temples one, two, three times.

It’s fine. Everything is fine. Except his skin has started tingling three hours ago and he knows he shouldn’t drive the kids home, knows he shouldn’t even be hosting them in this state, but he can’t… He can’t let the Upside Down win.

They didn’t get him with red lightning and murderous bats, and now they won’t get him with nightmares or the lack of sleep.

Maybe he’s been cursed. What if he’s cursed? Fuck, what if he’s actually been cursed to die the slow, agonising death that Dustin gave Mike’s character in the one shot he hosted last week, his brain rotting inside his skull and the cure just out of reach, so close but so far? Is that possible? Is that a thing? It sure feels like it, and—

“Eddie?”

Wait.

Steve? Why’s Steve asking for him, calling his name, where is he?

Eddie blinks. And blinks again. Only to find himself in the living room, a shaking hand pressing the telephone to his ear.

He’s been calling Steve. He does not remember. Panic is building inside him and he swallows it down.

I’m not going crazy. I’m not going crazy. I just need to sleep.

“Eds? You there?”

“Yeah, man,” he says, his voice too shaky, not at all sounding like him, and he wonders if someone’s taking over his body. If Vecna is back. If he’s been possessed. Fuck, he might really he possessed, and he shouldn’t be calling Steve, he should keep them all safe, he should—

“What’s up?” Steve asks then, and Eddie sort of never wants him to stop talking, because his head is quiet when he does. Keep talking, Stevie. Please tell me I’m not going crazy. Tell me I’m not cursed. “You okay? Are the kids still there?”

After a moment Eddie finds his breath and his voice, hoping it sounds more like him now. “Yeah, actually, I was wondering if you could come pick them up around nine-ish? I’m not…” okay, he wants to say, but doesn’t. “I can’t really drive. Today.”

There’s a bit of rustling on the other end of the line and Eddie listens, because listening to Steve, to his voice and his movements, is easier than listening to all the things inside his house that suddenly have a voice now.

“Sure,” Steve says. “Yeah, I can come pick them up, no problem. You okay, though? Do you need anything? I can come over sooner if you want, grab them and end Hellfire early. Just say the word, okay?”

Despite himself, Eddie scoffs. “End Hellfire early? Peasant. Heathen! Heretic!”

And Steve just laughs that soft little laugh of his and Eddie listens like his life depends on it.

“Alright, Munson, you little shit, I’ll be there at nine. I’ll just do two rounds, grab you, Dustin and Will on the second one, yeah?”

“Sure, whatever,” Eddie says. Then Steve’s words process and he asks, “Wait, me?”

“Yes, you. I’m not leaving you alone when you sound like… Like you could really use a hug but don’t wanna ask for it, alright? Trust me, I know all about how that sounds. And you don’t gotta be alone, okay? We can just hang out here, don’t even have to talk, just listen to some music or whatever.”

And Eddie doesn’t know what to say. It’s not the sleep deprivation this time, though, it’s Steve Harrington and the way he always seems to know when something’s up. Maybe Eddie’s voice really didn’t sound like him just now, or maybe Steve is just really fucking perceptive and sweet like that.

“The things you listen to are hardly music, Stevie.” That’s all he says. All he can say without breaking into tears, because hanging out with Steve outside of these walls that mock him, laugh at him, talk with him, sounds exactly like what he needs right now.

Well, what he needs is sleep, but Steve feels like second best. And isn’t that something he never expected to feel.

“Shut up, Munson,” Steve laughs, and it’s soft, soft, soft. “But that’s not a no. So I guess I’ll see you then.”

**

Just as promised, Steve is there at exactly 9:00pm. Not one minute early, not one second late. Eddie scoffs and shakes his head as he jogs to the front door.

And maybe it’s the sleep deprivation, but Steve looks really fucking pretty with that smug half smile and another stupid polo shirt under his grey jacket. Eddie swallows. It’s probably the sleep deprivation. It definitely is. Because suddenly he wants nothing more than for Steve to come and hug him.

Sleep, hug, hang out. That’s his list now. It’s growing.

He obsesses over that while Steve brings Lucas, Erica and Mike home. Dustin and Will are talking strategies and Eddie busies himself cleaning up, sorting his notes and carefully storing his Hellfire stuff in the little cabinet unter his desk.

When he’s done, because maybe this took longer than it should have after he forgot what he was about to do a grand total of three times, Steve’s just pulling up to come get them for the second round.

Eddie grabs a bag with a change of clothes, a notebook because he doesn’t expect to find any sleep anyway and he wants to keep himself busy with something, even though writing takes precious brain power he’s going to be lacking for basic things such as making himself breakfast or remembering to get into the house when he’s standing by the front door.

Not like that has happened before. More than once, that is.

With his bag packed, he goes to grab Will and Dustin and together they head out to where Steve’s waiting outside his car, just leaning against it like he’s the goddamn protagonist of some shitty movie. Maybe he’s seen too many of those. Maybe Steve should stop working at Family Video, the movies are a bad influence apparently.

The car ride is blessedly silent, the only noise being the quiet music coming from the radio, and Eddie closes his eyes as he lets street lights wash over him. In the back, Will and Dustin do the same. Everyone’s tired after Hellfire, Eddie knows. Sometimes he catches Steve smiling when he comments on how he hates driving the kids home after their sessions because they always manage to fall asleep on the short ride home and he gets to be the asshole that wakes them up.

Eyes closed, the vision of Steve’s fond smile and faux exasperation in his mind’s eye, Eddie smiles. It’s only when the constant, pleasant rumble of the engine stops and the world is cast in absolute silence, that he opens his eyes. Steve’s watching him, but instead of that smile Eddie’s been dreaming of, there’s a worried expression waiting for him.

“You look like shit,” Steve says so, so quietly, and Eddie sags into the seat, twisting around to face Steve completely as he loses every ounce of fight left in him.

“Can’t sleep,” he says, rasps, whispers.

Steve just looks at him. He’s always looking, always seeing. “Nightmares?”

Eddie shakes his head, plays with one of the loose threads where his jeans are ripped at the knees. “Not even nightmares, just… Insomnia, Nancy called it. I love how she has a fancy word for everything.”

“Shit, man. I’m sorry.” Steve sounds like he means it, and Eddie wants to wrap himself up in that. “Is there anything I can do for you?”

“Tell me I’m not going crazy?” The words leave his mouth before he can hold them back and Eddie hates how small he sounds, how scared, how tired.

But Steve, oh, Steve, he’s not small or scared or tired. He’s none of that. He’s not weak like Eddie, because after looking for five, six, seven seconds, Steve turns to open his door and gets out of the car. Eddie’s heart sinks and he rubs at his eyes — his dry, aching, burning eyes, protesting at never getting to close anymore.

Then the front passenger door opens and Steve is there, kneeling beside him, taking Eddie’s hands from his eyes and holding them in his own.

“You’re not going crazy, Eddie. I promise you, you’re not going crazy.”

Eddie doesn’t look at Steve, can’t possibly meet the eyes that belong to this incredibly sincere and kind voice. He keeps his eyes on the dashboard instead, watching as the unmoving shadow of a tree morphs into different shapes right before his eyes, his mind playing tricks on him without hiding it anymore.

“Sure feels like it, though,” he whispers. Or he thinks he does. He’s not so sure anymore, watching the one shadow become two, then three. He closes his eyes, clenches them shut like it would make all his problems disappear.

Maybe it does, because like this, there’s only Steve’s voice as he’s talking so gently, so quietly, so unlike anything and everything Eddie has ever known.

The words don’t really register, but one moment Eddie is sitting in the car, the next he’s standing, and it’s warm and it smells like Steve and— oh. They’re hugging. Steve is hugging him. Holding him. Talking still like he knows Eddie needs it, like he knows the world will fade and shift and morph if he doesn’t, like he wants nothing more than to talk Eddie down from this brink of madness.

Then there’s a hand in his and the air is cold again, but it’s fine because there’s a hand and its guiding, holding, soothing.

A door falls closed, a lock clicks, and the hand is still there.

They’re in Steve’s house. Then in Steve’s room. And then there’s music. The hand is gone, and Eddie blinks, his eyes aching, so dry and tired and angry him.

Steve gently, so very gently pushes him to sit down on his bed, but Eddie doesn’t have the strength to sit, so he falls backward until he’s lying on Steve’s bed. It’s soft, comfortable. There’s a string of lights on the wall behind his headboard casting the room in warm light, and Eddie wonders if it’s Christmas soon.

It’s not. It’s August.

It doesn’t make sense.

But they’re pretty.

Eddie is only staring for a while while Steve is off doing something or other, and then he’s back in Eddie’s line of sight.

“Can I try something?”

Eddie just stares.

“It’s absolutely cool if you don’t want to, man, but I do this with Robbie sometimes when she can’t sleep. It doesnt work on me this way around, I always have to be on top, I hate having something on my chest, but—“

“Stevie, I have very limited brain capacity right now.”

“Right, sorry,” he laughs sheepishly and then rests one knee on the mattress. That’s when it hits Eddie that he’s lying in Steve Haddington’s bed, and that aforementioned Steve Harrington has nothing better to do about it than to fucking smile at him.

“Tell me if it’s bad. Seriously, tell me. Uncomfortable, bad, panic-inducing or just plain wrong, yeah? Tell me.”

And Eddie doesn’t understand what on Earth he’s supposed to tell Steve, when…

Steve’s lying down on top of him. They’re touching from knee to shoulder, Steve’s head landing on his collarbone. He’s warm. He’s heavy, and for a second Eddie can’t breathe and it’s too much, his lungs can’t fill, he can’t—

“Breathe, Eddie.”

And he does. And it’s the easiest breath he took all day. He takes another. And another. And all of them smell of Steve, all of them are warm, all of them a promise that he’s not losing his mind or his sanity. His heart, possibly, but that’s a problem for a different day.

“Better?” Steve asks, his breath leaving goosebumps on Eddie’s skin.

He nods. His hands coming up to wrap around Steve because part of him is still scared that this is a dream, a hallucination, or that Steve will decide it’s enough, he can leave Eddie to his business of losing his mind again.

But Steve’s not going anywhere. He shifts, getting comfortable on top of Eddie and promises into the skin of his throat, “I’m not going anywhere, Eddie. I’ve got you and you’re safe. Close your eyes for me, I’ve got you. I’m not going anywhere.”

And, miraculously, Eddie believes him. The weight of Steve on top of him, his promise now eternalised in Eddie’s skin, and the quiet tunes coming from the record player take him where he hasn’t been in far too long.

He doesn’t even have the time to think about the way his past self would scoff at him for letting Steve Harrington lie down on him like this. For holding him close.

There’s only Steve who keeps him safe from the brink of insanity and guides him to a much gentler, warmer, kinder place. It’s a bit like insanity, actually, but at least here there’s someone to take his hand and hold it.

The last thought that crosses his mind is the list he made earlier. Sleep, hug, hang out.

He falls asleep with a smile on his face.

**

This quickly turns into the only way Eddie can fall asleep, and he’s embarrassed about it at first. Feels like a burden and doesn’t ask for it, spends most nights alone and with the resolution that he just won’t sleep. But Steve finds out and makes him come over again or just kidnaps him in broad daylight.

Every night they spend like this, Steve promises the same thing. “I’m not going anywhere, Eddie. I’ve got you and you’re safe. Close your eyes for me, I’ve got you. I’m not going anywhere.”

Every night they spend like this, Eddie believes him as he winds his arms around Steve in turn and holds him.

And then, over time, words whispered into skin turn into the tentative press of lips there. They turn into kisses, into more promises, declarations, pleas.

Some nights turn into most nights, into every night, and Eddie doesn’t lose his sleep again, not like that. Sometimes it’s Steve who wakes up from a nightmare but Eddie is there to soothe him, to make promises of his own and to hold him until he’s asleep again.

They make it work. And somewhere along the way, somewhere between sleep and promises, underneath the fairy lights Steve never takes down, they fall in love.

It’s a different kind of insanity, and one that Eddie never wants to run from.

#steddie fic #steddie #stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #steve x eddie #the irony of me writing this because i can’t sleep and posting this at 3am is not lost to me #okay actually im posting this way past 3am because sleep deprived ol me forgot what he was doing lmao #THE IRONY #dio words #sorry for taking this wonderful opportunity for mild hurt and big comfort and just. writing insomniac eddie whump #i am a whumper at heart what’s a dio supposed to do #eddie munson whump #steddie hurt/comfort

[babystrcandy]

interlude | jjk

summary: Growing up you only had one goal: beat Jeon Jungkook. Sometimes you'd win, other times you'd lose. Sometimes he'd lose, other times he'd win. But you'd both walk away from the match thinking the other was the lucky one.

pairing: tlo!jungkook x fem!reader rating/genre: 18+ Minors DNI | sports au, fwb, fluff word count: 2.9K chapter summary: When Jungkook was little, he used to wish on shooting stars that he'd hear a bell when he met his soulmate. warnings/notes: this is part of my the lucky one jk series; it does not need to be read in order to understand the fic, it's just an extra pov from jk, no smut but i'm leaving this as 18+ because of the topics discussed, typos probably, explicit language, abuse of alcohol mentioned, your name references/inspo, descriptions of anxiety, depression, mental illness, trichotillomania (pulling out of hair: in this case eyelashes), just a lil look into jk's brain, i think that’s it but if i missed anything please let me know, i hope you enjoy, my loves <3

chapter four 1/2: interlude ( ← previous | next → )  

BECOMING SOMEONE HAD NEVER truly been on Jeon Jungkook’s radar. He was born to two loving parents who adored each other as much as they loved him. They weren’t exactly poor or rich, they were just owners of another small restaurant on the streets of Busan, selling mostly chicken that young Jungkook would normally take to school for lunch when it wouldn’t sell.

That was supposed to be his legacy, and he was fine with that. He quite liked helping his mother in the kitchen and packaging the orders.

It wasn’t like they’d sat him down and told him he’d be forced to sell chicken all his life once he got older. No, actually, his mother had always told him to shoot for the stars. He could be anything he wanted as long as he was a good person at the end of the day.

And Jungkook had lived by that.

So becoming someone to him never meant becoming someone great . . . it just meant becoming someone kind.

Until he discovered badminton. You, his mother’s best friend’s daughter, and consequently his best friend since birth, also discovered badminton at the same time. And the both of you . . . the both of you discovered that badminton could be your chance at becoming someone . . . great.

You had taken quite a liking to this fact. You’d been the first to buy all the equipment and when Jungkook said he wasn’t that interested . . . you used all your saved-up birthday money to buy him equipment of his own. (You knew he was just lying anyway. You knew the Jeons didn’t have enough to buy Jungkook his very own racket . . . so you took matters into your own hands. He knew now that was the day he’d developed a crush on you. (A small, childhood crush of course, but still a crush he always remembered.)

He’d never wanted it as much as you, though, and he knew that. He used to think that he did. He used to think that making it to the Olympics would be a dream come true, but even now, after everything, he wasn’t sure if that had ever been true.

Jungkook had loved badminton . . . but he’d been gradually falling out of love with it for years now. But one small fact made it hard for him to admit this: he was good; no . . . he might have been one of the best.

He supposed that was why the little feud with you had started in the first place. He had never really cared about the sport, whereas you had always cared too much, and so his careless actions, yet ever so gracious, results managed to always get under your skin.

And of course, he’d find it funny, mostly because you scrunched your nose in this cute way when you were angry.

(He didn’t like to admit it, but he’d always used to challenge you just to show off to you. Now . . . not in a cruel way . . . but rather, he did it to try to impress you. Yeah . . . it had never really worked out in his favor.)

But he never really minded your attitude toward him. He knew the two of you were some weird kind of friends, and he liked that. He liked having you near him, just like he had liked having Taehyung and Jimin close.

He’d never really liked anyone else . . . (He didn’t realize why until later in life.)

So, yeah, there you had it . . . Jeon Jungkook had the chance to become someone great, but he’d never wanted to be that. He’d just wanted to be kind like his mother had wished him to be. But things didn’t work out that way; Life . . . didn’t work out that way, and in becoming someone great . . . he’d become something he wasn’t proud of.

And that was true . . .

. . . becoming someone had never been on Jeon Jungkook’s radar until he’d turned into someone he barely recognized; until he’d become a ghost of his old self. He hadn’t realized he’d been becoming this . . . person all his life; that it hadn’t started after the incident; that it’d started even when he was a kid.

Because you see, Jungkook had been pulling and plucking at his eyelashes since the sixth grade when he started developing his . . . issues. Like when he’d wake in the morning with his heart racing and his stomach churning, creating a nervous sickness deep inside of him all because he had to attend school. (He’d go all day with that feeling taking over his body. Eventually, he just kind of got used to always having this tight feeling constricting his lungs unless he pretended to fall ill and call his mother to come to pick him up from school.) Or when he’d be left with no choice other than to talk to his peers because that's what you're supposed to do when you're growing up: make friends.

And he’d hide this by putting on a personality. He’d make himself big, loud, and unmissable so no one could ever make him feel small. He’d make fun of himself, make himself seem more approachable, more well-rounded, and less easy to offend. Because if he made himself seem stupid; if he made himself seem laid back . . . no one would think to judge him.

Of course, that didn’t always work. Sometimes people became too comfortable with him. Sometimes so comfortable they’d say things about him to his face, thinking he wouldn’t mind. And while he did make it seem like he didn’t care . . . he did, and hearing those things from people he called friends made him wonder if anyone actually liked him.

That only made him feel more alone.

So he had friends, yes, but none of them ever really knew him because . . . well . . . that had always made him . . . freak out.

And the thing they don't tell you about anxiety: there is no give and take; it just takes and takes and takes.

. . .

He used to think once he got older, these nerves would die down, but he just became scared of new things. He knew how to hide his nerves more now, but storming off toward a bar or disappearing for days on end only worked so much. No matter what he’d always find himself right back at square one . . . He’d sit down by himself, pulling at the ends of his eyelashes because it'd be the only thing he knew that would calm him down.

The funny thing about that was the fact that he used to get compliments about how long his eyelashes were when he was younger (mostly from his mother, followed by her pinching his cheeks but you know . . . ). He didn't even notice just how quickly these compliments stopped once his strange little addiction kicked in. Now in their place were broken lashes and small gaps at the tails of his eyes.

Until the small anxiety tic grew into something so much more . . .

Even as he grew, he never truly learned how to deal with the tight feeling in his chest that would consume him when he got even slightly overwhelmed, and that seemingly small habit never left his side. Like some sick vice, the urge to pluck and pull and pick at his body, at his chapped lips, at his eyelashes, and even the tails of his eyebrows, never went away. They only got worse.

It wasn't until the incident that his strange habit developed into something more gruesome. And this new habit he had developed couldn't be hidden with a silly little white lie. No, this he couldn't hide, because of the simple fact that there was no way he could make things right with his friends, with his teammates, with Tae or even himself. There was no way he could hide just how badly he wished he could take Tae’s place. There was no way anyone could look at him the same again, especially as his tiny habits turned into day-long benders filled with booze and drunk walks back to the dorm. He couldn’t hide the smell of alcohol on his breath no matter how many times he scrubbed at his teeth.

The feeling of numbing everything; of just being able to forget . . . would still stick, and the urge to do it again and again and again would remain because that was the thing about anxiety: it only knew how to take and take and take.

He’d tried to stop a few times before it got worse. He’d tried to quiet the urge and just let it be . . . but he never could, not when he was reminded of what he had done every day.

And the thing was: Jungkook knew he never truly believed he would stop. He had wanted to. Trust him, he wanted to believe that he had actually been getting better, that he wouldn't need the booze and the euphoria which came from numbing the pain inside him. But he always knew he’d give in. He knew his memories would seep back in. They always had.

The past had a way of sneaking up on Jeon Jungkook, and his anxiety only fed on it.

He’d thought he’d left everything behind him. He thought he could live in this sick limbo, forever dotting the line between madness and numbness. Truly, he really thought he could, and he almost did.

Until he saw you again.

He remembered he had walked into that bar all those months again, expecting nothing but another drink in his hand, but there you were, a scowl on your face and a furrowed brow. And suddenly, it was as if he had been transported three years back.

The past was looking him right in the face, and he couldn’t cross it out. He couldn’t put an X on your face and pretend not to know you. He couldn’t pretend to not remember. He couldn’t erase those years. He couldn't erase you.

So he sat down right in front of you, and then he saw it. He’d seen how nervous you had been, trying to make yourself blend in with the group. He’d seen just how different you had become in just three years. And then he saw you bite your fingernails, taking note of the dried blood.

You had an anxious tic, too.

And he wondered if you understood how all this felt.

He wished he could say what his plan was after that, but truth be told: he had no idea. He just remembered touching your hand once and he couldn’t stay away. He supposed a part of him . . . perhaps the part of him stuck in the past couldn’t let a part of you go. And, sure, he wasn’t sure what that all meant but it did mean something . . . and he trusted it.

He still trusted that gut feeling as he brought a hand up to his eyes, rubbing them to clear the sleep from the corners. Dropping his hand, he finally took the time to focus his eyesight, squinting in the dark as he turned his head to the side, finding none other than you sound asleep with your mouth slightly agape as you snored softly.

Then . . . you let one loud snore out, and he couldn’t help it: his grin grew so wide, his eyes crinkling as he silently laughed.

You were a snorer. A loud one at that.

This was something he’d keep to himself.

You’d never admit it if he told you. So he’d keep this to himself. It was something he knew about you that would stay a secret, and that in itself had him attempting to reach for you, but he found that your hand was already clutched tightly around his thumb, stopping him from moving entirely.

With a small smile on his face, he gently pulled the hand wrapped around his thumb, slowly moving you into his arms. Luckily, you were a heavy sleeper, so when he’d finally tucked you into his chest, his chin resting on the crown of your head, you were still snoring into his skin without even stirring in the slightest.

And finally, he could breathe a sigh of relief.

But for what? he still pondered.

And then it hit him.

He’d recognized that look on your face, the nail-biting, your demeanor . . . He recognized it because he knew it well. That look, those feelings, the habits . . . he’d borne those, too. He still did.

Perhaps he had issues with letting the past go. Or perhaps he felt a sense of familiarity with you.

Or maybe he believed in you more than he believed in himself.

And then it clicked.

Jungkook wasn’t exactly a fan of parties. In college, he’d attend them for the sake of his team, perhaps even help throw them, but he’d always find himself standing near Taehyung or Jimin, trying to pass the time before he could crawl into his bed. So . . . when his social battery would drain out . . . Jungkook liked to watch movies.

All kinds of movies . . . sometimes shows. He liked anime and dramas. Hated Pulp Fiction and most sitcoms (mostly because he thought they were trying too hard to be funny half the time). But he didn’t mind romance movies. In fact, he preferred to watch them. He didn’t really find the point in watching something if there wasn’t at least one well-written romance.

He loved love, although it had never really worked out for him, but he still believed in it. His parents had shown him that.

Call him a hopeless romantic, he didn’t care. That was what he was.

He liked thinking that everything would work out the way it was supposed to. It made his anxiety subside enough to let him breathe, although most days he lost sight of that. Most days he lost sight of everything.

But . . . he never truly lost sight of you . . .

Anyway . . .

One of his favorite go-to movies when things would get . . . too much . . . as a kid was Your Name. He loved the art, he loved the plot, the characters . . . everything. He loved the fact that despite it all, a soul connection would always be a soul connection.

When he was little he’d even wished upon shooting stars that he’d hear bells when he found his soulmate. But no bells ever rang, and Jungkook grew up. He realized no bells would ever ring, and that was OK. (He still had just an ounce of hope . . . not that he’d admit that.)

Now . . . OK . . . maybe he was going a little overboard. He’d realized now that perhaps soulmates didn’t exactly exist. Maybe two people just happen to find each other and fit into each other, but where was the fun in that? (Fine, he was getting off track. Fine.))

Soulmates didn’t have to exist. Jungkook could admit that.

But every once in a while, two people find each other and maybe no bells ring and there’s no red string tying them together . . . but . . . they meet and everything else doesn’t seem that scary as long as that person is standing beside them. Maybe that was Jungkook’s fucked up version of love, but he believed in that. Maybe it wasn’t exactly what you’d call fate . . . but it was . . . something . . .

And for a second, as he toyed with your hair, he wondered if you believed in soulmates. That only made him grin, because of course not! You didn’t believe in soulmates, he knew that.

You believed in people.

You believed in . . . him . . .

Jungkook slowly blinked. He knew that now.

He wasn’t exactly sure what that all meant . . . but . . . but you’d sat there and you’d listened to everything that had happened to him . . . and you’d understood. You’d understood him and you’d looked him right in the eyes and told him he wasn’t alone. And fuck . . . he’d believed you.

Maybe it would take a lot longer for him to accept everything you had said, but he did know one thing: you would be there.

And he . . . he wanted to be there for you.

He felt . . . that.

He felt it all.

At the time, he had wondered what he should call this feeling. He’d almost forced himself to stay up half the night with you snoring in his arms while he tried to find the right word, desperately mauling over countless explanations after explanations . . . until . . . well . . .

As Jungkook closed his eyes, squeezing you a little tighter, and breathing in your scent, he realized what he had been trying to ignore ever since he saw you again at the bar all those months ago. He realized why it had always been your opinion that mattered to him the most; why he didn't mind putting on matching froggy headbands with you and doing face masks while just letting the world . . . be; why he could never forget you; why he’d always searched for you in everything . . . even in how he’d dress. He realized why it had always been you; why he would always choose you no matter what over and over again.

And then he realized why that all occurred.

Jungkook loved you.

Wait—

Fuck!

He loved you. He loved you. Holy fuck, he fucking loved you! And fucking hell, he was sure he always had.

He realized this wasn’t just a feeling. There were no bells, and no bells were needed. He couldn’t find a red string tying the two of you together, and he didn’t care to search. He knew this wasn’t just a feeling. No, it was . . . love.

And for a second time that night, he wondered what you believed in . . . and if it included him at all . . .

taglist:

@hrts4kook , @taehyungs-chopsticks , @loomipee , @st3ft0n3s , @callmenada , @neg-l3ct , @dawn33 , @illegurlbangtan , @jeonsdetails , @rihabaxl , @yoongipost , @jjk1iscoming , @miumiugurl , @sadgirlroo , @lucwithbangtan , @iamsisuu , @shanelleeex , @beonim , @sherlynxx , @fairy1919 , @purplewhales , @bloopkook , @ggukcanim , @bloodline1632 , @jungkooksseuphoria , @tea4sykes , @mugiwaraelly , @darkuni63 , @jalexad , @lpgirl2324 , @fairy-jaykay , @h0tvillainap0logist , @stuffy16 , @keniicastillo , @yoongukie-ff , @seesawe , @chocolatesublimesoul , @yopjm , @jeonlovescoffee , @xmirvamx , @jk-190811 , @percyjacksonlovesannabethchase , @vminkookgf , @werxyz , @tornparts , @aprilspring , @kswr1d , @jimilter , @02010802 , @sunsetnamjin​ , @lonekittycat , @moonchild1 , @hanamgi , @yoongslast , @heronstairsxd @pointofviewyugyeom

#jungkook fanfic #jungkook x reader #jungkook #jungkook au #jeon jungkook #bts #bts au #jungkook series #jungkook scenario #bts fic #bts x reader #kpop #jeon jungkook x reader #jungkook x y/n #jeon jungkook x y/n #jungkook fluff #jeon jungkook fluff #bts jungkook

[marvelmymarvel]

Do I Wanna Know?

Uvogin x Reader

Synopsis: At first, the cat and mouse game was fun, but he was slowly growing restless. He wasn't going to lose his cool though, he wanted you to come crawling back. However, it only took Hisoka cornering you in a club for his restlessness to boil over and for the stupid game to end.

TW: Sexual Assault (very minor), panic attacks, Hisoka (yes he's a trigger warning)

A/n: Uvo is strong and I believe he could pick up anyone. Comfort character for real 🤗 oh BTW! For all my queens who also have panic attacks - intense change of temp helps with those (splashing face with cold water for instance) just a tip!

Song: Do I Wann Know? By Arctic Monkeys (Link: https://music.youtube.com/watch?v=pqrUQrAcfo4&feature=share)

Six months.

It's been six months since you and Uvo last kissed. Six months since you clung to him like a lifeline. Six months since you proclaimed that you were head over heels in love with him.

And it's also been six months since you last looked his way.

He was growing restless at the way you moved around him like he meant nothing to you like he wasn't even there. You'd only look at him if he called your name, other than that you acted as if all 8 feet of him were invisible.

It was driving him crazy.

He knew why you were playing this stupid game, but he didn't know if he could atone for his mistake. You said you loved him, and what did he say?

Nothing... Like the idiot he was.

And now he was paying for it. He still couldn't get the image of your heartbroken face out of his mind, sometimes it would wake him from a deep sleep that he had hoped would be an escape from you. But that never happened. You were everywhere. In his brain, in his line of sight, in his sheets, on his clothes, on his lips.

Everywhere.

But he was stubborn, oh so God damn stubborn. Despite being the one that broke your heart, he wanted you to crawl back to him, as it should be. 'You were below him' he would repeat every time he thought of reaching out to you, and while it would help stave off the urge to corner you and tell you he loved you more than life itself. It didn't last long.

It was a vicious cycle, and the more the cycle continued, the worse it got. His restlessness was starting to show physically. His eyes were heavy with sleeplessness, cheeks hollowed from not eating, and his legs bounced with anxiety. You took note, of course, but didn't pay any mind.

Whatever he was going through didn't involve you.

God how he wished you'd just come back to him, maybe then he could return to who he was. Not some love-sick puppy who couldn't stand the thought of you not wanting to breathe the same air as him. But he had to stay strong, you were beneath him. You should be glad to be breathing in the same air as him...

But that mindset was slowly starting to shift as he sat across the club watching you swing your hips against Hisokas. His eyes narrowed and his legs shook, anger and jealousy taking over every cell in his body. How dare you dance with Hisoka when you clearly belonged to him.

You didn't pay any mind to the giant and instead focused your attention on the magician feeling you up. 'It was just fun! You weren't playing a game' You thought to yourself, but you couldn't deny that your eyes kept flicking over to Uvo to see if he had finally caved. Okay... So maybe you were playing the game.

Uvo had it coming though.

Hisoka spun you around to face him, one hand ripped you closer to him as the other roughly cupped your face. His nails dug into your skin, and you winced a little at the pain. 'I'm enjoying this...' you once more repeated in your head, though you knew it was a lie. Hisokas hooded eyes grew mischievous, he quite enjoyed inflicting pain on you. Whether it be physical or emotional, he enjoyed it. He wasn't dumb, he knew you were doing this to get a rise out of the spider in the corner, and he'd be lying if he said toying with both of you wasn't exciting.

So why not kick it up a notch?

"We should get out of here" Hisoka purred, head lowering so you could hear him better. Your fingers curled into his shoulders, instinctively moving closer to him as the dancing bodies bumped into you. Fear shot through you as Hisoka nipped at your ear. You didn't want to sleep with him, didn't want to do anything with him. But now you felt stuck. "I think that's a terrible idea-"

"What? You're going to say no to me?"

His hands traveled lower down your body, causing goosebumps to erupt along your skin, but not in a good way. You inhaled sharply, eyes darting to where Uvo was, but the dancing bodies blocked your view. And if you couldn't see him.

He couldn't see you.

"I think I'm good thank you-" you tried again and this time you tried to push him off of you, but he grabbed your wrists locking you in place against him. "H-Hisoka please let me go" you whimpered out, lips trembling as you began to grow claustrophobic in the sea of people. He could do anything to you and no one would be able to help. Your eyes had wandered around again, frantically looking for any other Troupe member, but you found none. You yelped as Hisoka dug his nails into your wrists, yanking your focus back onto him.

His eyes were dark, bloodlust oozing from him as he took in your fear. He got off on it and loved it so much. If Uvogin wasn't so head over heels in love with you, he would have captured you by now and made you his little plaything...

Maybe Uvo would share you-

Your knee flying up into his groin cut off his dark thoughts. You had hoped the pain would have made him let you go, but he gripped you harder and recovered quickly. If anything, the fight made him even more excited.

Your chest rose and fell quickly, the world spinning a bit as he ripped you once more into his body "You know... I like it when you fight dirty"

"Let me go" you yelled, hands pushing at his chest as your fight or flight once more kicked in. He didn't budge, but you didn't stop. Your screams for help grew in volume and grabbed the attention of a few people, but none of them did anything.

"LET ME GO" You shoved hard and Hisoka flew back, for a second, you felt proud of your strength and ability to push him off with such force.

Until you realized it wasn't you that did it.

A large hand grabbed Hisoka's collar before roughly ripping him off of the ground. The 6-foot magician looked tiny as Uvo lifted him to eye level, and you could have sworn that fear flashed across the magician's face at the mere sight of Uvo.

A snarl was carved into his lips, eyes blazing with fury and his aura was deadly. Those within a 20-foot distance stopped dancing and stood wide-eyed at the interaction. "What the fuck do you think you're doing?" His growl caused you to feel light-headed, both from relief and terror. "I just wanted to have a little fun" Hisoka muttered, he was trying to stay calm but he seriously misjudged Uvo's strength.

And love.

"I should kill you right here and now for even touching her." Uvo's tone once again made you feel a little seasick so you decided to just sit down, maybe that would help... You zoned out everything around you, eyes blankly watching the way Uvo continued to scream and threaten a still-dangling Hisoka who had somehow grown paler. Your ears began to ring, why was it hot all of a sudden? Reaching down to your boots, you tried to untie them in the hopes of cooling off. Your head felt heavy, your mind racing as you fought to get your feet free. Uvo noticed your frantic look and panicked actions, he knew you were most likely seconds from passing out thanks to the way you were hyperventilating.

He turned his gaze back to Hisoka, "I won't kill you today. But if you ever so much as breathe in her direction. I will kill you"

"You can't kill a Troupe member" Hisoka whispered, the thought was comforting, but Uvo's smirk wasn't. "Fuck the Troupe's rules. She's mine. Got it?"

Hisoka nodded and he let out a sigh of relief as he crashed to the ground. He would most certainly not be playing with you again...

Your fingers were still shakily trying to undo your shoe, and you didn't notice how blurry your vision was getting until a large thumb was clearing away the tears. Hiccups fell from your lips and you began to hyperventilate more as the person pulled you into their embrace. Your hands moved to fight them off, afraid they were either some random person or it was somehow Hisoka, but Uvo's soft coos calmed your fighting.

You couldn't catch your breath, part of you was wondering if you were dying. "H-he tried to-" you cut yourself off with a sob, head shaking as you tried to fight off the memory of what just transpired. Uvo sighed internally at the state of you, he always hated when you felt fear while he was around.

Your breath catching with each inhale brought him back to the task at hand. Moving his arms under your back and legs, he lifted you with ease.

He moved swiftly through the crowd as you curled deeper into him. He had hoped that his presence would calm you, but your breaths were still catching and he could tell that if he didn't shock you out of it you would indeed faint from hyperventilating. He picked up the pace, eyes locked on the exit as he gripped onto you tighter, "Uvo" you whined out as the world seemed to tilt. Your fingers dug into the flesh of his shoulder as if holding onto him would stop you from slipping into a dreamless sleep.

"Almost there" he muttered, eyes narrowing at the people who got in his way. Your eyes closed and you began to welcome the darkness.

A sharp inhale of cold air filled your lungs as the winter breeze penetrated your scantily clad body with ease. Your eyes were wide and Uvo watched as you slowly started to calm your breathing, he had managed to get you out here in time before you truly fainted but he knew that the fear you felt remained.

But now without you panicking, he could make you feel safe.

It took a couple of minutes for you to realize Uvo was still holding you. Clearing your throat, you moved a leg to signal that you wanted down, but he only gripped you tighter. He shook his head at you, and that's when you saw it.

Fear.

You didn't know what exactly had caused the fear to be written all over his face, but you had a feeling it was centered around you. Opening your mouth to calm him down caused him to shake his head once more. He set you down then but quickly had to catch you again as your legs wobbled like crazy. Your hand instinctively grabbed his arms, stabilizing yourself against his warm body.

It was silent, and some people gave you weird looks as you held onto him like a lifeline. Uvo wanted you to crawl back to him, needed it. He was too stubborn to just talk to you. Too stubborn to say it. His eyes widened... Say it...

"I love you"

Your heart seemed to stop for what felt like the millionth time this evening. Slowly lifting your gaze, you took in how flustered the 8-foot giant was. "You do?" You weren't sure why you asked, all that he's done in the past 10 minutes would certainly point to love, but you had to make sure.

He nodded slowly, eyes searching yours for a sign that you felt the same.

A soft smile graced your lips and you grew bashful under his gaze. "I uh... Love you too" you whispered out with your eyes trained on his chest. His free hand moved up your body before resting on your face, forcing you to look up at him. The height difference was shocking and any normal person would run away in fear. But not you. No no.

You felt safe.

"Are you okay now?" His serious question made you heat up, no one (other than him) has ever cared about you this much. It was both uncomfortable and sweet. Nodding, you let your gaze flick up to the starry sky. Uvo smiled down at you, thumb caressing your cheek as he took in the way the stars sparkled in your eyes. Before he thought it through, he leaned down and captured your lips with his. Your eyes closed, shutting off the dazzling glow as you melted into his embrace. He had to practically hunch over to kiss you, so it wasn't long before he was lifting you once more to be at eye level with him.

You wrapped your legs around his waist, hands coming up to play with his wild hair. You could once more feel stares and pulled back shyly. Uvo shot a glare at a group of men looking your way and you hid your face in his neck out of embarrassment. He opened his mouth to bark out a threat but noticed your shivering.

Shutting his mouth, Uvo let you down and quickly ripped off his jacket. You sighed in relief as his heat and scent encapsulated you in pure serenity. "Let's go home. You'll freeze to death in that outfit"

You nodded and let him guide you back to his apartment in the city. You didn't expect the night to go the way it went.

But you were not complaining.

#uvogin imagines #uvogin imagine #uvogin x reader #uvo imagine #uvo x reader #uvo imagines #hunterxhunter imagine #hunterxhunter imagines #hunter x hunter reader #hunter x hunter imagine #hunter x hunter imagines #hxh imagine #hxh imagines #hxh #hunter x hunter #uvogin #uvo #imagine #x reader

[silent-shanin]

My Love For You Is Like A Balloon; You Deserve To Float

Fandom: Fire Emblem: Three Houses/Three Hopes (Modern au) Ship: Marianne/Hilda Rating: sfw (Also on Ao3)

"Come on, Mari...anne." She added the last part because you're not 'Mari' to her anymore. You're 'Marianne' now. Some distant habit that she's trying to stomp out, just like how you stomped on her heart after breaking up with her. "I just want to talk." 

"I don't," you lie. You do. You do. You do. You've been wondering how she's been doing these past three months. You would like nothing more than to talk. To make up, make out, make love, and have everything be alright again. To have her in your arms and hug her so tightly, your chests mush together and her body heat finally warms up your cold hands and cold heart. 

The only thing you can do is not talk lest your brain spills out of your mouth and your ugly feelings lay bare for Hilda to see. So you don't. 

She's done waiting and throws up her hands. "Ugh, stop being stubborn. You never wanted to talk and only ever listened. Do you know how annoying that always was?" She loved how you were the listener. She preferred you that way because she was the talker, the chatterbox. You are━ were perfect for each other like that.

"I guess we just don't work together." Another lie. How many more do you need to commit before the Goddess will smite you and take you out of this situation. 

Silence. Something you haven't heard a lot in your two year relationship with Hilda. And then she sighs again. 

"... I guess we don't."

And that hurt more than not seeing her for three lonely months. Now she's the one lying. Right? 

"Don't look at me like that, Marianne. What do you want me to do?" Chase you to the ends of the world. "You're the one who broke up with me." You didn't mean it. "Don't give me that kicked-puppy look." You can't help it. 

"Then," you say, because you need to talk to keep the tears at bay. Change the subject. "What did you want from me?"

The sound of Hilda's jacket indicates a shrug. "Nothing, I guess. Nothing anymore anyways." You must've looked confused as Hilda starts to explain. "I just wanted to talk. Ask you how you've been. You straight up ghosted me after you━ after we broke up." She still holds it against you. 

Should you tell her? How it's been hell. How you've finally managed to sleep one night without crying. How you want nothing more than to━ No. You don't deserve that. Not after breaking Hilda's heart and running away like some coward. You wonder if she can see it by the bags under your eyes, though those have always been there.

"And... I guess I wanted to ask why."

Why what?

"Why you dumped me. Did you really fall out of love? Was it something I said or did? I'm not asking you to take me back, but an explanation would be nice."

It wasn't any of those reasons. It wasn't Hilda. Or, well... it was in a way. It was her radiance, her happiness, her everything that you didn't━ couldn't taint. You saw how she struggled with your anxiety, with your panic attacks and your depressive episodes. She didn't understand. She couldn't understand a monster like you. You couldn't keep pulling her down with you, so instead you let her go. Like a balloon, she had to soar and go her own way. 

"I'm sorry," is instead the only thing falling out of your mouth.

She waits for more, but nothing comes out. You don't want to cry again. 

"Marianne... I'm trying. I really am, but sometimes you're just impossible. I wanted to be there for you, I still do but━" You think you hear a quiver in her voice, though you're not sure. You haven't been able to look at Hilda this whole time. You know you'll fall again if you do.

Always weak to her tears, fake or not, you never could say no to her.

"I don't know what you're thinking if you don't talk." And yet the fact that she's here makes you realize she suspects the true reason of your avoidance. "Tell me. Please?"

"I don't... want this." Is your weak excuse.

"Want what? Me?"

You shake your head and gesture at yourself.

"Oh, Mari..." There's that quiver again. She takes one step forward, hand grasping at nothing, right into your vision. You forgot how small she actually was. Her eyes meet yours by accident and...

There they are. And there you go. Falling for her as gently as the first time, as steadily as her tears. And soon your face matches hers. 

Hilda has never been a pretty crier, not when she's actually hurt. Her face scrunches up, her eyes become red, and her throat closes up so much she can't even speak. You've seen it once, when Holst ended up in the infirmary for eating bad mushrooms. You were there with her, you were the one to catch her and drive her to the hospital. You were the one who she could lean on, because she allowed herself to lean. 

And yet you still think she's the most radiant woman in your life. 

"Ma-Marianne..." she croaks. "... Can I hug you?"

Without a thought you open your arms and she falls in them immediately. You hate that she's your puzzle piece. Fit together snugly, both physically and mentally. 

You were made for each other.

#marihilda #fire emblem #fire emblem three houses #fe hilda #fe marianne #hildamari #marianne von edmund #hilda goneril #hilda valentine goneril #3 houses #three hopes #3 hopes #fire emblem three hopes #fe #modern setting #shanin writes #fanfic #fanfiction #dont let me write things #sad with a hopeful ending #lots of self hate #from none other than marianne ofc #hilda still loves her #and mari loves hilda too #they're perfect #but mari doesn't see it #or well... hopes it's not true because hilda deserves better blah blah yada yada #please read!

[eminems-skittles]

Headcanon 6 and 15 with Bob? ✨

headcanon prompt list

omg these r both so long i hope that you like them!!!!

6- different ways they cuddle

ok ok ok

bob has {insert} ways he cuddles

big spoon- he loves being big spoon. he loves wrapping you in his arms and hugging you as close to him as possible. this is his go-to when you’re feeling down. he also likes to put his arm under your head and drape his other arm across your waist. he likes to press his hand against your stomach and rub it/trace shapes on it very lightly. his head is either behind your head, on your shoulder (not rly on it but he likes to be close to kiss your shoulders/neck), or above your head so he is curled around you and you are curled against him

you on top- he likes when you lay on him. he loves to rub your back and play with your hair. he also melts when you lazily kiss his jaw. loves the way you look up at him when you’re tired. this is his go to when he’s reading or watching tv and wants you close.

full body weight- when he has had a rough day, he’ll just plop down right on top of you. he loves when you play with his hair. he always wraps his arms around you, neither of you caring if it was uncomfortable. he also lays on you whenever you ask him to. maybe it’s because you like to feel his weight on top of you and it grounds you. he will never pass up an opportunity to lay on you

koala- this is a very rare one for him but he also loves when you sit on his lap and wrap around him like koala. this is his favorite way to cuddle and hold you when he gets back from a mission. he’ll sometimes get up and walk around your house with you like that. when you’re sitting down like that, you’re almost always lazily making out. he always has his hands on your thighs/at the crease of where your thighs meet your hips (does that make sense) he just loves having you close to him.

15- how they confess

bob puts a lot of thought into how he’s going to reveal his feelings for you

like he mulls over it for weeks

he eventually lands on sending you a bouquet of flowers before hangman tells him that’s lame

and he doesn’t want to listen to hangman because why would he but something about the idea of you not thinking his confession was grand enough got under his skin

so he planned out a whole dinner for you and invited you over

however you called to tell him you were sick (you really were) and anxiety was eating him alive because he wasn’t actually sure you were sick or if you cancelled because you didn’t want to go

he didn’t think you were lying, it’s just how his brain works

he decided on a whim to go over to your apartment and check up on you

because if you were sick (which you were) he wanted to make sure you were okay

so he grabbed the flowers he got you off the table, got in his car and stopped at the grocery to pick up some of your favorites for you

his heart broke when you opened the door wrapped in a giant blanket

“bob?” you asked, sniffling.

“are you okay?” he asked almost immediately. he took in your appearance. you looked so tired and your nose was running.

“just a cold. what are you doing here? what’s in the bag?” you asked, eying the grocery bags in his hand curiously. however, your gaze focused on the fresh bouquet of roses in his other hand.

“can i come in?” he asked. you nodded and moved back to let him in the house. he went straight to your kitchen, having memorized the layout of your house from countless movie nights and get togethers. when you finally made your way into the kitchen, he was opening the can of soup he had bought for you and grabbing a small pot to heat it in.

“you’re making me soup?” you asked, your voice soft.

“is that alright? you said you were sick and we were supposed to have dinner together anyways so i figured..” he trailed off at the end of his sentence. his back was turned to you as he fussed with the stove. he was surprised when he felt your arms wrap around his torso and your head rest against his back.

“i love you,” you sleepily mumbled. you were so exhausted from being sick that you didn’t even think twice about the words that slipped out until you felt bob turn around in your arms.

“what?” he asked. his eyes were wide as he looked down at you and there was a hint of disbelief in his features.

you were quiet for a second as you processed what you accidentally confessed. he didn’t say anything and that caused you to panic. you looked down only to have him push your chin back up so you were looking right into his eyes. “never mind.”

“say it again.” he was basically begging you.

“why?”

“because i love you too.”

#cassie's masterlist #{ writing } #masterlist #{ headcanons } #{ top gun: maverick } #top gun x reader #top gun maverick x reader #bob x reader #robert floyd x reader #{ robert 'bob' floyd } #robert bob floyd x reader #100

[penname-artist]

It’s kind of hard to find any good source materials that I can pluck from in regards to discussing the “yays and nays” of writing convincing PTSD, but I’m gonna take the knowledge I do have - both from my experiences and from everything I’ve picked up and learned around that - and just leave a few key points lying around like crumbs for y’all. Mostly made with writing trauma in mind:

-Though there are exceptions, for the most part, your sex and horomones may determine how you respond to stress and trauma. Higher testosterone makes it much more likely to react to trauma in a more “stereotypical” way, fighting back with aggression, deflecting, sometimes turning to addictions as means of an escape. Some of that comes from toxic masculinity, but some of it is just from having less natural emotional depth or a harder time venturing that emotional depth. (In summary: men put off therapy. A lot.)

-Meanwhile, more estrogen-based people will more often feel the emotional wringing of depression or fear, and actually become more vulnerable to getting in toxic situations. When you’re at a low point, it may be difficult to make clearer judgements, and seeking comfort for the sake of comfort might end up taking a toll like any other negative outlets. (Again with “there are exceptions” because not everybody responds in these ways, there’s definitely a uniqueness to the brain’s stress responses)

-For ye writing people, here’s some ideas on not-so-good outlets one might turn to when facing trauma: alcoholism, painkillers and substance abuse, anger outbursts (towards people or things equally), emotional outbursts, self-isolation (can be anything from leaving a virtual chat to locking ones self in a bathroom - both of which I have done, *ahem*), self-harm (note that this also includes restricting yourself from things such as food, water, communication, sleep, etc), co-dependency (ie looking for whoever will pay attention to them regardless of what that might do in the long run)

-And here’s some better ones: hobbies, games (particularly ones that require focus), physical exercise, basic self-care (look we all should be taking care of ourselves anyways but lots of us just don’t so doing that actually really fucking helps. Dude sometimes a long hot bath and Epsom salt can just make me not want to unexist), m e d i c a t i o n,  t h e r a p y, positive social groups or support groups (not specifically a therapy support group, but any group that is supportive towards healing from things like PTSD), meditation- and/or just sitting with your fucking feelings and acknowledging it’s a THING

-PTSD is oftentimes this tree that grows from a root problem (this can be something like family trauma, war, assault, abuse, emotional neglect, loss, literally any situation which made the person feel helpless, physically OR emotionally) and that tree branches into various symptoms and side effects. Some of these are bigger and broader terms, like depression (feeling hopeless about ones self and life, often becoming so emotionally overrun that you’re just numb and don’t care anymore) or anxiety (sometimes social, sometimes situational, or both, or all)

-In other ways, side effects are very specific things that comes from the same source. These can (but do NOT always) include: nightmares, flashbacks, bodily tremors, tics, headaches, bowel issues, heart palpitations, and a broad category called psychosis (a big fancy word that means you sense something that is not actually there)

-On that psychosis thing, because lo and behold I fucking have that problem, it’s usually not as “real” as it’s made out to be. Even we question ourselves for the realness of it, which if anything kinda adds to the fear because sometimes you really don’t know. Anyways you can experience psychosis in a lot of ways, from hearing things to seeing types of hallucinations, to believing in the higher meaning of things around you and having types of delusions (I struggle with those the most). It can also vary in frequency. Some people see shadowy figures all the time at night. Some people hear stuff only once every blue moon. Often, they come in episodes that only last for a short period of time (hours to days)

-Another vague category is dissociation, a feeling of “spacing out” that might be kinda frequent and kinda freaky. People can dissociate in different ways so it’s a little harder to pinpoint how to feel, but to an outsider it really just looks like your brain did an Error 404 on you. Some people feel paralyzed and cannot move. Some people feel out of their own bodies. And some feel like the world around them doesn’t really exist. Whatever the case, this is closely tied to the flashbacks thing and it can really take you outside of the present moment. It’s easy to get lost.

-Trauma does not have to be around 100% of the time. Sometimes people can heal from trauma and almost function like normal again. But it may still always exist, and while manageable, some things like triggers (I want to cover those but I don’t have the time at the moment to) will still be hard to deal with and take time and gentleness to get through. Some people can overcome PTSD in months to years. Others overcome it in decades. Some never overcome it, but it gets manageable with time and taking the efforts to process and heal.

Okay that’s all I got time for this morning :’)

#PTSD #writing ptsd #trauma #writing trauma #mental health #trauma talk with pen

[filet-o-feelings]

7. To shut them up -- David & Patrick please :)

I'm so sorry this has taken me 6 weeks to write! My brain has not been cooperative at all, lately, but thanks so much for the prompt, anon! I hope this is okay, I'm not entirely sure how I feel about it but it got me out of my head about Library Boy for a bit and I'm happy to have written some words today!

Patrick glances past the customer he’s ringing up and watches as David continues to pace back and forth across the store. He’s wishing they were busier today, not even for the business (which is always welcome) but simply to keep David occupied.

He’s been at it all morning - what’s left of morning after he strolled in at 10:00 with a coffee and a tea for Patrick, and a bag of pastries he’s been stress eating between laps.

When the store is empty of customers, he mumbles his anxieties, and sometimes the mumbles turn into full volume rants directed at nobody or Patrick, he’s not sure.

“David,” Patrick starts as the door closes behind the latest customer, “it’s going to be fine. This is not doing you any good.”

“What else am I supposed to do then?” David shouts, and Patrick frowns. He never takes David’s shouting personally; it’s just how his anxiety manifests. Patrick counters with a calm tone, stepping out from behind the counter.

“We’re going to run out of body milk before the next shipment is ready, and Alexis hasn’t been answering my calls or texts all day and who knows what trouble she’s getting up to in New York and I can’t afford to save her like I used to and the house needs so much work and it’s just never going to end,” David continues, summing up the biggest of his worries in one frantic breath.

“Hey, if we run out of body milk that means it’s selling well, and that’s a good thing. We’ll order extra next month, it’s not the end of the world. Alexis can take care of herself, you know that. She’s grown up a lot since you had to rescue her, and from what you’ve both told me, she could handle herself just fine back then, too.”

“Okay, maybe you’re right, but the house-”

“The house will be fine, David. This is home ownership. We own a house! A house where I get to spend all of my free time with you, creating a life together. A house where I get to take care of you, love you. We have a solid roof over our heads and a comfy couch we can curl up together on while we watch the game tonight.”

“Game? What game? Patrick, I’m freaking out here and you want to watch the baseball?”

“I do, I do want to watch the baseball, because there’s nothing we can do about the things you’re freaking out about right now. They’ll work out. We’ll talk to Ronnie about helping out with some of the house stuff. Alexis will answer you when she can, she’s probably out doing amazing things that will make you proud.”

“I don’t know, Patrick, I don’t know what to do!” David throws his hands in the air and starts pacing again, mumbling some more. Patrick sighs before stepping forward to follow him. When David reaches the wall and turns around, Patrick is there to catch him.

“Hey, David, sweetheart,” he says, placing a hand on David’s arm.

David opens his mouth, eyes wild with anxiety, ready to spout off another list of things out of his control, to which Patrick rolls his eyes, grabs David’s shoulders and pulls him in, stopping the words in their tracks. He swears he can feel David’s anxiety melt away under his touch. He’s kissed his husband a thousand times, but he’ll never tire of the feel of David’s lips on his. He’d be lying if he said he only kissed David now to stop him from spiraling any further; it does the trick, sure, but it grounds Patrick just as much.

And for a moment, they both forget about inventory, and a sister who’s too busy to answer her phone, and an old house in need of repairs. They also forget that they’re store owners, in the middle of their store, during business hours, making out in front of the floor to ceiling windows in full view of the town.

When the bell signals someone entering the store, they’re both relieved and irritated when it turns out to be Stevie.

also on AO3

#thanks for asking! #kiss prompts #this could use some editing but I'm posting it anyway

[hachama]

okay i want to preface this by saying your posts are really comforting and inspiring to me. i'm still in the process of converting and i've been encouraged by my rabbi to bake hamantaschen for Purim in my home. what came to mind first was how nervous i get in the kitchen, especially when it comes to baking new things-- i'm a wreck, i drop stuff all the time.

and admittedly, i, for one reason or another-- perhaps because the kitchen is a holy place-- just feel terrified of making even the slightest mistake. but what came to mind second was your blog, so it was as good a sign to me as any to direct this specific question to you:

how can i be less nervous in the kitchen? what can i do to lessen the anxiety of perfectionism with food?

Part of feeling more comfortable is just... doing the thing. "fake it 'til you make it" is a cliché because, at least sometimes, it really does work like that. The kitchen is where the food lives, and it's where the tools for doing stuff with food and the food specific work spaces are. There's a lot that can go wrong in a kitchen, but also so, so much that can go wonderfully right.

Hamantaschen are, honestly, both a great recipe for beginners, and a terrible one. They can be extremely technical: the right amount of flour to keep dough from sticking when you roll it out can become woefully too much flour on the surface of the dough and prevent the corners from sticking. Even when everything looks properly stuck together, they can open up in the oven and the filling pour out. But you know what you call a flat, failed hamantaschen?

A delicious cookie.

And that's the other part of getting comfortable: having a realistic concept of what "failure" looks like. Short of classic failures, like using salt instead of sugar or forgetting an ingredient entirely, no matter what your food looks like, it's still going to taste good.

Perfectionism is letting the perfect be the enemy of the good, and it's a natural impulse. It's also your brain lying to you. You are not Amaury Guichon or Duff Goldman. You do not need to be perfect.

Here. I got you a present.

[liongoatsnake]

You’re Never “Too Old” To Realize You’re Fictionkin

 By Sky Singer (he/him/his)

1 October 2022 – Word count: ~1660

  Talk about coming out is pretty common in the alterhuman community, even if it’s not always framed that way. Telling others about being alterhuman; being open about being alterhuman to others. It’s a common conversation: how to be open to others about being alterhuman, whether it be actively telling people directly or just passively let it be open in some way or another. Parents, siblings, close friends, partners… Less talked about is this being brought up in the context of the alterhuman community itself, though.

 Maybe that doesn’t automatically make sense: why would one alterhuman need to “come out” to another alterhuman? But coming out isn’t always about making non-ingroup people aware of something and expressing they are part of that group. Sometimes it’s just about opening up to others about something about yourself. And it’s not like this “opening up” is always a topic that goes smoothly, even if both the speaker and the listener are all from the same “group.” Opening up about being a certain kind of alterhuman, or having a certain kind of ‘type, or so on isn’t always easy peasy. The person wanting to open up about something can be worried how others will react.

We remember a time when grilling was still common. Where coming out about an aspect of your identity could lead to issues. People demanding to know the logistics: How long have you “properly” questioned this identity? Have you considered every alternative explanation? Can you write a small thesis detailing your reasonings to hold this identity? (We’re only slightly exaggerating on the latter question, though the old Awareness Forums certainly did have its moments of desiring thousand words long replies to questions…)

 We don’t expect that sort of mind-numbing, soul-crushing analysis from anyone… Except ourselves, unfortunately. We are our own worst critic. It’s not a conscious thing. It’s not even something we want to do. It’s just something that got drilled into us for years, and our issues with crippling anxiety keeps that methodology alive in the recesses of our brain. Our anxiety makes us uncontrollably nitpick and second guess ourselves. Imposter syndrome is strong in us.

 Not so fun fact, the origins of our personal essays on our experiences, both the ones we have actually finished and the dozens of WIPs languishing in folders, almost all got their start within a question that we were grilled about. We hate reinventing the wheel over and over again, so we just started writing out these monstrously long explanations just so we can copy/paste parts of them over and over again when the same questions would crop up again and again. We write and update our personal essays still today because we hope they might be of interest or use to someone else, but we would be lying if we said we didn’t go into painstaking detail about things because we fear someone might think we didn’t explain something in “good enough” detail.

 Some habits die hard. Some linger like scars.

 Not even a decade ago, if someone came out as fictionkin they were either doomed to be the community pariah or, if they were lucky, the community might have accepted them if they could play the grilling “game” well enough to placate any self-appointed gatekeepers. A “game” where they could never stop playing and if they fumbled the ball, they could possibly be ousted from the community for their loss. We remember that time in the community too well. It pained us to see fictionkin treated like that back then, and it hurt to see the people in our system who were open about being fictionkin have to be ready for scorn at the drop of a hat. Now, those old fears are weighing on not only my shoulders but also those of the other two hosts here at the House of Chimeras.

 It’s funny. Our system has members who are very open about being fictionkin. They’ve been open about it for years. Several were even open about it in the late 2000s and early 2010s when fictionkin were still treated with so much contempt and ridicule. (Ebony the thestral, Miushra the Named, Cavern-Risen the Black Spiral Dancer garou, and others.) So, one would think that other people in our system discovering they too were fictionkin wouldn’t be so destabilizing. Yet here we are. Maybe it’s because I and my siblings have grown comfortable in the way we are perceived in the community. Yeah, we’re part of a large multiple system but we were “just” polytherians with only two theriotypes. The most likely controversial thing people found with us was either the fact we are part of a system or that Ocean Watcher’s theriotypes are a shark and a sea slug. (In the past there was controversy in the therian community if it was possible for someone to have fish and mollusk theriotypes.) Outside of those possibly controversial things the three of us have long felt like just a face in the crowd. Maybe our anxiety of changing the status quo for us publicly has rattled some old fears about how fictionkin are perceived.  

 Maybe what also raises our anxiety is the fact that we actually were aware we were these characters before we knew we were these characters. That sounds so paradoxically absurd, but here we are. We’ve known since we first saw the movies, each just over a decade ago. We knew. We just never thought about it. We never questioned it.

 It’s particularly absurd for me, Sky Singer, because out of the three of us, everything was a lot more obvious in my case, looking back. I didn’t always go by the name I go by today. Growing up, as a kid, my name was Jim, and I went by that name until only a few years ago. Moreover, I didn’t discover my theriotypes, red-tailed hawk and Sinornithosaurus, until our early 20s. So before then I stuck exclusively to my human form. So as soon as we first saw the movie my fictiotype is in I knew right off the bat I shared the same name and appearance as one of the characters. (Since myself and the two other hosts of this system were aging roughly at the same rate as our body, I was even around the age as the character in question, so it was even easier to see the resemblance. However, it wasn’t just the name and appearance. Seeing the movie, it was almost like watching old home videos from your childhood: you just knew that was you from some time ago, you generally remembered stuff (give or take some hazy spots) but from a first-person perspective, and everything. But bizarrely enough, that being weird somehow didn’t click in our system’s brain. We knew I was Jim, but we didn’t recognize that as odd. We just went about our life like that knowledge wasn’t anything noteworthy. Even when our system discovered the term fictionkin because of the therian community, I didn’t connect the dots.

 It wasn’t until a month ago, while talking in-system about what movies we could watch that this anomaly was highlighted. It wasn’t even me who brought it to light. While glancing through DVDs I saw our old copy of Treasure Planet and dismissively said I didn’t want to watch it which led to Miushra asking questions as to why I didn’t, and it was her who pointed out how similar I looked to the character. It was only then everything fell into place. It wasn’t even a question of “do I actually identify as this character?” It was a realization of years of knowing I was that character meant I was fictionkin. I had made the discovery long ago. I just never connected it to fictionkin. Somehow. Cognitive dissonance can be one hell of a thing, I guess. I hadn’t “missed the signs;” I had hit all the signs and hadn’t bothered to read any of them or wonder why they were in my way.      

 And it didn’t end there.

 Long story short: the three hosts at House of Chimeras: myself, Earth Listener, and Ocean Watcher don’t just have names that really follow a similar pattern. Everything about us kind of does that. If one thing is the case for one of us, then something along the same lines (but not in the same way) will be the case for the other two. That is why we call ourselves siblings. So, when I realized I was not just a therian but also fictionkin that got Earth Listener and Ocean Watcher thinking if there was any character they knew they were but hadn’t ever made the connection either. And they did. Earth Listener realized her being San from Princess Mononoke was something unusual as did Ocean Watcher with the character, Tetsu from Blue Submarine No. 6. (And they also had to deal with the feeling of “how did I never question this?!” like I did.)

 Since discovering this we’ve been equal parts wanting to talk about this to others (because what the fuck, this is buck wild) but also highly anxious to talk about it as well (because of all our bad experiences with fictionkin being treated terribly in the not too distant past). But also, talking about it to others, or just writing about it, is useful for us to get a handle on our thoughts. Like, how we connect our fictiotypes into our existing personal mythology regarding our origins, and more.  

 This essay isn’t a grand splash but a timid dipping our toes into the water. A shy opening up about the three of us being not just therians, but fictionkin as well. It is so bizarre to have known something for a decade but were not aware of it until recently. We are anxious how people might react, either to just how ridiculously oblivious we were for a decade or to the news we are fictionkin in general, but we want to share this anyway.

#alterhuman #fictionkin #fictionkind #fictive #therian #alterhuman community history #awakening

[hello-eeveev]

How to Rest: Director's Commentary—Chapter 4

| Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 |

I always knew this chapter was going to be the problem child. It was the least clear snapshot next to Chapter 6. But unlike Chapter 6, Chapter 4 is the emotional nadir rather than the high, and I did not have a great idea of what form that low point would take for a very long time. So writing this was very much a process of discovery that sometimes felt like pulling teeth, but I still feel like I got a good chapter out of it, and there are some moments and choices I’m excited to discuss.

So let’s get into it! 

(spoiler warning for the entirety of How to Rest)

We start off with a bit of scene setting—Caleb is trying to read a book but is distracted by the ever-present countdown to Essek’s departure—before properly establishing how we got to this point.

It’s a bit of a departure from the format of the rest of the fic because of the cut to a past event rather than it being one continuous scene, but I felt this was justified because 1) it’s also just Caleb remembering what happened this morning, 2) Essek and Caleb do not separate in between these scenes; Essek is there all day, and 3) it aids the narrative. And 4) I like it :)

I have a whole 1644 words laying out what Caleb and Essek are individually doing during their six weeks apart (Caleb’s is week-by-week; Essek’s is a more general summary of his emotional state over the month), which is far too much to include here and largely irrelevant to the story, BUT I can offer you a glimpse into Essek’s perspective as he shows up to Caleb’s house in the middle of the night.

First off! He is somewhere in the Menagerie Coast when he gets the message from Astrid that it is likely safe to return to Rexxentrum. He is also in the middle of his trance, because you’re lying to me if you think Astrid has a normal sleep schedule.

(I don’t think I’ve explained my thoughts on Essek’s relationship to Astrid and directly tied it to How to Rest, but this post was made from my planning for this fic and this chapter specifically, and sums it up well.)

So Essek’s trance-addled, anxiety-ridden brain gets a rush of relief and adrenaline, so he’s not thinking clearly at all, and he gets as far as “Rexxentrum = east = later” before he has his go-bag in his hand and he’s teleporting away. It only occurs to him that “an hour later than the middle of the night” is still very very early in the morning once he’s at Caleb’s door and knocking on it (probably harder than he intends to because again, he just woke up and is tightly wound coil of paranoia and stress regardless). But that’s all right because Caleb is there despite the hour, and is pulling him inside and holding him so tightly that Essek both feels like he is at risk of exploding and being put back together at the same time. 

Six weeks of hell is worth it if it means he gets to keep this.

Essek spends a looong time in the bath to make up for all the quick, cold ones he had to take in the road. Warmth seeps into his muscles, his bones, his heart. He closes his eyes and accidentally trances for fifteen minutes or so, and even that is better rest than he had in weeks. 

He finally takes in the state of his hair. He was aware that it was long and unruly, had felt it tickling his ears and neck for the better part of a fortnight now, but taking a razor to the unkempt hair was like washing away the last of the muck and grime. 

He emerges from the bathroom and sees Caleb asleep on the couch, and what a joy it is to be overcome with tenderness and…

(This is one of the first times that word has crossed Essek’s mind with the full romantic and devoted meaning behind it. He recognizes it and sets it aside with the knowledge that it may well be the just product of a long-awaited reunion.)

He sits with Caleb and finishes his trance knowing that they are both safe and he is cared for here. 

Now let’s talk about lines and scenes from this chapter:

Essek held his spellbook in his lap, propped up against one knee, an invisible Mage Hand keeping the book he was referencing floating in the air just to his left. 

I have given Essek the Telekinetic feat (as shown by the invisible Mage Hand) because I refuse to believe he used a whole-ass 5th level Telekinesis to take the cupcake from Jester in c2e74.

[Essek] was chewing on the inside of his lip, Caleb noticed, and the pen he tapped against his chin pointed directly to the slight pull of his skin beneath his mouth. This—Essek in the Tower, bathed but unstyled, comfortable and focused and brilliant—was perhaps the loveliest sight Caleb had ever seen.

Caleb is down so bad he just likes to look at Essek and honestly I don’t blame him.

It’s about comfort! And feeling like you don’t have to put on airs around each other!! Essek doesn’t have to look or behave like anyone but himself here!!! And Caleb thinks he so beautiful for it!!!!!

He moved across the couch and wrapped his arms around Essek’s middle, shifting him just enough that he could hook his chin over his shoulder. Essek went along with this repositioning without hesitation; he leaned fully into Caleb without taking his eyes off his work. He tilted his head to the side, his cheek warm against Caleb’s own.

It’s not just comfort in a space, but comfort in an interaction! It’s like second-nature to lean into an embrace now AHHHH

ahem.

anyway.

“If you think they would be of use to you, you are more than welcome to my notes on the Happy Fun Ball.” Caleb made to summon one of the cats to retrieve them, but Essek laid a hand on his arm, stopping him.  “I appreciate it,” Essek said, “but I don’t think there is time to go over them tonight.” Caleb lowered his hand, and his heart fell alongside it. “Right. Of course.”

Caleb was not intentionally trying to get Essek to stay longer, but he certainly wasn’t trying to get him to leave sooner. Poor buddy :( and then he’s having a resurgence of the dread with added anxiety about Essek’s well-being while Essek’s still in spell-mode :(((

In this next section, we stumble into a misalignment of Caleb and Essek’s goals, at least in this moment. They’re both trying to recuperate from a very stressful six weeks apart, but they’re approaching it from different angles. Caleb’s way of making himself feel better is trying to convince them both that it doesn’t need to happen again, but Essek’s is reminding them of the reason it happened in the first place. It is Essek’s desire for Caleb’s rest and peace of mind vs. Caleb’s desire for Essek’s safety and well-being. Essek’s mindset is, “I will not subject you to a life of transience and paranoia. Maybe I deserve it, but you do not. After everything you’ve been through, you should be allowed to create a comfortable life for yourself. I love you care for you too much to let the consequences of my poor choices jeopardize that.” While Caleb’s is, “I am fully aware of what you have done, and I have known that refusal to let anyone else shoulder any of the burden. And it’s bullshit. I know what you are facing, and I am here. I accept the risk that associating with you brings because I love you care about you a great deal. I have the resources to keep you safe, and if there is a gap, I have the resources to fill it. I will do whatever is within my power to protect you.”

They try to comfort each other, but they’re also frustrated. Mostly at the situation, but kinda at each other and kinda at themselves. And a big part of what made this chapter difficult to write was finding the balance between showing frustration and showing concern, because honestly, the frustration wasn’t planned. It kept showing up, and I, Eve, the author, had to figure out how to incorporate it in a way that felt true to the characters, the scene, and the fic as a whole.

��You are leaving soon.” Essek’s mouth went slack before pinching into a frown. This close, Caleb could see the remnants of his earlier exhaustion, the faint circles under his eyes, the redness around his irises.  “Ah,” Essek said, closing his eyes. The weariness seemed to settle into his body anew. “Yes.” […] Essek covered Caleb’s hand with his own and nudged closer. “But I will return.”

Caleb is not the only one dreading Essek’s departure. But Essek is trying his best to stay optimistic, partially for his own sanity, partially because both of them having a breakdown about how much stress Essek being on the run is causing them would be a really sucky way to end this visit. It wouldn’t help Caleb at all, and Essek just had six weeks of stewing in the misery of his situation, so he can put off the next breakdown to when it’s not going to cause both of them to lose all sense of reason.

“Caleb.” Essek’s hand was gentle as it came to rest on Caleb’s knee, but his voice was tight. Concerned. “What do you need from me?” […] Caleb opened his arms, and Essek fell into them. He wove his arms between Caleb and the couch and squeezed him tightly around the waist before settling his head against Caleb’s shoulder, his breath skimming across Caleb’s neck.

This is something of a call back to All Things End, specifically this moment:

“Is there anything else I can do?” Caleb pressed his lips together, looking down as he placed his elbow on the armrest and extended an open hand towards Essek. Taking a deep breath, he glanced up. “Stay with me a while?” Essek softened and took Caleb’s hand in his, wrapping cool fingers around a warm palm. “Of course.”

Like. Please note: Essek is more confident in both his readiness to ask and in his ability to provide comfort. Caleb is less nervous to accept it. Holding your crush’s hand vs. laying on your dear friend/bf/doesn’t-matter-what-you-call-it’s chest like a weighted blanket.

But also, unfortunately: the “of course Essek can stay” of then vs. the “Essek must go” of now :'(

“I miss you,” he choked out.

Not “I have missed you,” not “I will miss you,” but “I miss you” less as a current emotion and more as a state of being. Essek is away more often than not, and even when he visits, it is for such a short amount of time that he is not truly able to reprieve Caleb of missing him. This is the essence of what is bothering Caleb in this chapter, and saying “I miss you” while Essek is here is the closest approximation he can get. He’s throwing darts trying to pinpoint his emotions.

“I…” Essek’s confusion filled the silence. “I am here.”

But Essek doesn’t know that. How could he? “I miss you” is surely not an unusual thing for them to say, but it doesn’t make sense when Essek is here, holding him. I think Essek recognizes that there is some further meaning, but he cannot figure out what that may be. 

Caleb throws another dart and gets a little closer to center:

“You don’t have to go.” Essek sighed, resigned, and pressed his forehead against Caleb’s neck in what felt like an apology. “Yes, I do.”

And Essek finally understands that Caleb has been trying to say, “I want you to stay.” Essek cannot promise him that, and they both know this, so there no point in pretending it's that simple. But there is something about knowing this that allows Essek to let down his own walls a bit and let Caleb see how the separation affects him, too.

“I have only just confirmed that the Assembly is unaware of my movements. It would have been better for me to stay away for at least another week, so as not to give my hand away immediately, but I—” His voice faltered. “Well.” He tightened his arms around Caleb.

The unspoken sentiment here is “I needed to see you.” But he can’t say that out loud. Not yet. He’s too emotionally stunted. The earnestness and blatant sentimentality would give him hives.

I don’t know what else to say about this. I am in my own walls. You know that image of someone biting a laptop? Yeah. That. 

Cut content (1) “It’s not easy being a weighted blanket”:

A brief rush of vertigo suddenly came over Caleb. He tried to blink it away, and while the initial sensation faded, a slight sense of floatiness persisted. “Apologies,” Essek said, running his hand along Caleb’s spine more easily than he should have been able to with the weight of both of them pressed against the couch. Ah. Adjust Density.  “I was losing feeling in my hands.”

Cut content (2) “Essek flexes his shadowhand skills”:

“The Assembly is not looking for me officially, so any tail Ludinus sends after me must be small and likely has some limit to their resources,” Essek explained. “Becke has her fingers on the pulse of the remaining Scourger contingent and is disinclined to believe that any would be working under Ludinus without her knowledge.  “Regardless, a target teleporting erratically across the continent is difficult to track at all, even more so without the force of a government to bolster the effort. After six weeks, they have certainly lost my scent. With some skill and some luck, it will be a long while before they are able to pick it up again.”  Essek lifted his head to meet Caleb’s eye. “That is why I was gone all that time. I had to be sure that shaking them off would last, and that no suspicion would fall on you or any of the Mighty Nein.” 

(a/n this is very hot of Essek tbh)

“This is the longest I have stayed in one place in quite some time.”

I wrote this line at 3am. It destroyed me. This line is what led to this post. I can’t believe I did this to my boy. He spent 6 whole weeks never staying in one place for more than 18 hours. How dare I. I’m so sorry, Essek.

“There is always a place for you here.” He felt Essek smile.  “Someday, maybe.”

This is the rewrite of this short exchange that, for the longest time, was the only solid I had written for this chapter. 

“You don’t have to go.” “I do. I wish I didn’t.” “Someday, maybe?” “Someday.”

No matter what, I knew that I wanted the “someday, maybe” sentiment. It’s kind of the core idea of this chapter, and it’s all they can really offer to each other at this point in time. We will discuss the first line more in Chapter 5, but the seeds have been planted.

Their foreheads knocked, and Essek’s eyes fell closed. “I will miss you,” he breathed, “most dearly.”

Yes, this is a not-so-subtle nod to Miss You Dearly, but it is also a nod to the fact that for the better part of 3 years now, I have headcanoned that Essek and Caleb use “my dear friend” when they refer to the other. Not “boyfriend,” not “partner”, though they’re not really going to correct anyone about it. It’s not wrong, it’s just not what they say.

Does this line really work as a reference to that headcanon? No, I am realizing. Nevertheless, that was part of my intention. I’m just thinking of it constantly, and I have yet to figure out a way to properly incorporate it into my fics.

With a tilt of his chin, Essek pressed his lips to Caleb’s.

This post sums up what happened here. I didn’t mean for this to happen. In some ways, I was trying to avoid it because I… kinda feel bad? that all the big kiss scenes seem to happen from Caleb’s perspective? Yes, this is silly. Yes, I have a How to Rest coda fic in the works that amends this somewhat.

“It will not be so long this time,” he said. “I promise.”

Essek cannot promise Caleb that he can stay, but a promise to visit more often and more frequently is not impossible, especially after the work he put into getting ahead of a tail.

While Essek put on his boots, Caleb went into the kitchen to scrounge together food that would keep well to send with him—half a loaf of bread Caleb got from the market the other day, some dried meats, the last few hard candies from a tin given to him by a student, and a puck of fermented tea from the Blooming Grove that he knew Essek liked—and bundled it all together.

This scene didn’t exist until I was sitting down and writing the transition between “they leave the Tower” and “Caleb starts to teach himself Private Sanctum,” but I love it. The care package, somewhat hastily assembled on account of zero notice that Essek would be showing up, is both practical (Caleb knows what keeps well on the road) and indulgent (candies and a favorite tea for a man on the run). The tea is pu-erh tea, which Essek tried back in Chapter 3 and which Caleb keeps in his house specifically because he knows Essek likes it. This is very important to me.

Caleb slipped into his study and tossed a few pearls in the tin with the candies. He didn’t doubt that Essek had enough, but, well, one could never have too many.

c2e135 01:07:05!!! “How are you on pearls?” “I will always accept more.” “They go fast.” hhhhhhnnnnnnngggghhhhh

Plus, Essek’s gets a little surprise present when he opens the candies the first time, and I think that’s nice :)

He looked down and ran his fingers softly across Caleb’s wrist. “I suppose it is time to say goodbye, then.”

For all his talk about how he has to go, Essek is procrastinating. He put on a very brave face, but he had a miserable time for the last 6 weeks and he’s worried that might happen again. It won’t get that intense again, I know, but he doesn’t. And even if he did, he’s allowed to steal a moment or two more. Like the Beacons :)

Essek reached into one of his pockets for a stone whose origin Caleb could not begin to guess, and rolled it around in his palm. “Goodbye, Caleb Widogast.”

It is important that Essek uses Caleb’s name—his full name—before he goes, as he will not be able to until the next time they see each other. We see that in the message Essek sends a bit later, where he says:

“Goodnight, my friend. I will see you soon.”

“My friend” isn’t really an Essek-ism. He most likely picked it up from Caleb. Other endearments with more romantic connotations aren’t really a good idea for someone on the run to be using openly. “My friend” is generic enough to the average eavesdropper, but you and I both know he’s really saying, “Goodnight, my (dear) friend (Caleb Widogast).”

Caleb opened his notebook and got to work, a small seed of hope sprouting in his chest.

I used a plant metaphor to describe Caleb’s feelings in Chapter 6, so I wanted to repeat that here to create a bit of a throughline. A leitmotif, if you will. Essek gets the fire/spark descriptors, Caleb get the plants ones. We have a little fun here. We get a little silly.

#there's a lot to chew on with this one #this chapter went through a lot of iterations during drafting #but i'm happy it ended up here #long post #shadowgast #caleb widogast #essek thelyss #eve talks #eve’s writing #how to rest #how to rest director's commentary

[selectivechaos]

intermittent mutism vs situational. chronic catatonia

main differences i could find (from 1 website and 1 unit of energy. also: do not have intermittent m; these are quotes from site) were:

sm situations are more consistent and related to social anxiety; (and although the dsm criteria excludes autism, i’d like to point out that many people with sm are autistic)

intermittent mutism can involve social anxiety, but also a range of other factors which, for many with it, is related to chronic catatonia, autism and adhd.

“We’ve seized on the term ‘selective mutism’ (a separate diagnosis defined in the DSM to explicitly exclude autistic people), but most of us don’t report the ‘selective’ pattern of mutism, where someone consistently speaks in one setting but not another, classically a child who speaks at home but not at school. 

Instead, we go mute intermittently, when we’re experiencing sensory overload, are drained from performing at work or at an event, have anxiety over an interpersonal interaction, or have been alone for long enough to get out of the habit of speaking.

This intermittent mutism is, for me and many other people, part of a larger cluster of experiences: Chronic catatonia. Most symptoms of catatonia involve freezing up or slowing down, but an inability to inhibit repetitive actions or physical agitation can also show up.”

long post under cut about what intermittent mutism and chronic catatonia can look like (from experience of just one person)⚠️

🌹“there are many different gradations and expressions of mutism, beyond the obvious one where you can’t speak at all. For me, levels of mutism include:

Being able to speak normally, except to bring up one topic that I want to but am afraid to.

Being able to speak but not say ‘no’ or anything to that effect.

Not being able to speak normally at all, but appearing normal-ish because I (not necessarily voluntarily) reply with empty niceties or whatever my brain assumes the other person wants to hear.

Being very limited in my speech, slow and halting and not able to say what I mean directly, but able to utilize what I can say and people’s reactions to it to eventually get a situation resolved.

Being unable to speak at all, but able to type or write.

Being unable to speak, and having my hand freeze up when I try to write, or my legs refuse to move when I want to stand and get something to use for communication.

🌹“But this mutism is itself part of a broader spectrum of catatonic experiences, including:

Being stuck in a weird pose, completely unable to move, yet displaying “waxy flexibility”––like a posable doll, if someone were to move my position, I would hold it.

All of the above, but with only parts of my body impacted, e.g. I can move my left arm but not my right.

Lying in bed unable to get up for hours after waking every day, unless I have a strict routine of getting up at a prompting event (like an alarm clock, or a certain amount of time before a bus comes that I really need to catch).

Sitting in the car for half an hour after parking. Sitting on the toilet seat for over an hour after showering.

Staring off into space while sitting/lying somewhere much of the time.

Automatically following instructions or assumed expectations from other people.

Being able to walk again but only if I’m walking with someone.

Moving jerkily and/or slowly, sometimes with bad balance.

Various forms of mental shutdown in stressful situations, such as large sensory-overloading, unstructured social gatherings.

Temporary physiological changes including extreme susceptibility to cold, reduced strength and endurance, and a difference in heart rate.

again, would like to point out that many people with sm are also autistic. this is not a ‘stop using sm as a term’ post. this is just because i’ve known a few autistic people irl who experienced things like this and didn’t know what to call it, so they ended up using ridiculously inaccurate and harmful phrases like ‘going nonverbal’ when they were still speaking some of time🌹🌹

#gotta sleep #situational mutism #selective mutism #lose speech #intermittent mutism lmk if any misinfo #autistic struggles #sm tag #id in alt text

[adhd-attention-deficit-dumbass]

Hi! Hello! I’m so sorry if I’m bothering you. I see a lot of adhd symptom lists and things, but I was wondering if you knew any symptoms that a person would HAVE to have in order to qualify for an adhd diagnosis? Saying the question that way kind of makes it sound like I’m trying to lie to get a diagnosis, I’m not I promise. I’m just in line to get an Adhd evaluation, but if there’s a way I can determine for certain if I don’t have it (Emphasis on “don’t”, I’m not looking for a confirmation that I have it. I’m trying to find any disqualifiers so I can determine if I should even bother going to the evaluation.) without doing the evaluation that‘d be really helpful! I know not wanting to do an adhd evaluation sounds super dumb, but the thing is my doctors already hate me for getting an evaluation in the first place and if the person evaluating me is like “No, you obviously don’t have adhd” I’ll literally never hear the end of it! I cannot emphasize enough how much my doctors hate hate HATE that I’m getting an adhd evaluation, they tried everything they could stop me without actually evaluating me, to insulting me to lying to me about “not being able to be diagnosed with adhd after a person turns 7???”

I’m so sorry this ask is so long.

(Apologies for answering this like a year later I hope You’re doing ok)

You’re not a bother at all, the asks are open for a reason❤️ Thank you for your question.

The thing about ADHD is that it’s a diagnosis determined by a bunch of observations made and many doctors (including mine) are more and more leaning towards an understanding of ADHD as more of a spectrum disorder much like Autism.

That said, I know how nerve-wracking it is pre/during evaluation and I just want you to know that whether or not you have ADHD does not invalidate your experiences and struggles. Of course since I know how annoying it is to ask something and recieve an answer that doesn’t adress your question here’s my two cents. (am I using that correctly? Native speakers let me know)

Symtoms of ADHD can often seem relatable because they are. Everyone struggles with these things sometimes because we all have brains. This makes a diagnosis complex.

The thing about ADHD is that these things happen so frequently and in such a severe way that they disrupt our everyday life.

I am chronically depressed, exhausted and riddled with anxiety, in part because ADHD causes a lot of stress in my life

Assignments are always late. I am always late even when I try my damned hardest not to be. I struggle with routines because I have memory issues.

Eating, brushing my teeth and showering regularily doesn’t feel like routine even if I do it daily. It always feels new and requires a lot of effort.

My emotions are all over the place, to the point where my partner doesn’t know what to expect and it causes him anxiety and stress when I fail to regulate them

I ”blow up” easily over little things and I can cry for hours. And I mean hours, full on ugly crying, sobbing, shaking for hours without even feeling ”done”

More scientificly; tests show that although I have an above average intelligence (or whatever you wanna call it) I underperform severly in areas involving numbers and remembering patters which indicate I have a a deficient working memory

I also have several comorbidites which are common with ADHD such as a connective tissue disorder known as Hypermobility Spectrum Disorder, (HSD) as well as chronic insomnia, extreme fatigue and as mentioned depression and anxiety. These are not required for a diagnosis but makes it more plausible.

I hope this was helpful in some way, I wish you good luck with your evaluation and general life. Remember your struggles are valid with or without a diagnosis.

❤️Peace out ✌🏻

#adhd blog #adhd #adhdblr #adhd post #adhd asks #answered asks #answering anons #sorry i’m really bad at answering asks #sorry for taking so long

[newts-and-sharks]

Ok, here is the Ophiuchi Fleet/Crew! My alien oc’s for @maudiemoods alien au!

Rasal is the positive and cheerful person of the group, his power basically being a flash bomb, but he can control the brightness, so he can either be a homing beacon, distress signal, a night light, or a living glow stick. He is a little dumb, but he has a good heart and would do just about anything for his crew. He has poor patience and terrible memory, but luckily Sabik is there to help him out. Rasal is quick to form attachments to people and gets very sad about leaving a planet and all the friends that he had made. At least he’s got his crew with him though! That is his main comfort, knowing that his crew will never leave him behind. However, this also makes him grow a hero complex, always going out of his way and even endangering himself to save his crew mates. He would never forgive himself if one of his crew mates died under his watch, whether he could have prevented it or not. But at the end of the day, as long as his crew is safe, he will be the happiest creature in the entire universe.

Sabik is the most manipulative of the group. He has no qualms about lying to get his way and does what he has to to survive. However, they would never do anything that wasn’t in the best interest for their crew. He grew up on the streets and still likes to partake in a little shop lifting here and there, but he mostly steals stuff for Omi in hopes to impress her. They are an excellent strategist and can has the second best poker face on the ship, but he also has a slight anger issue and is terrible at intimacy or anything touchy-feely or emotional. Sabi’s power is the Siren Call, basically verbal Hypnosis. Even a whisper can convince someone to do as they ask, but he prefers not to use this. Mainly for the fun and challenge, but he also hates using his power due to the intense headaches and temporary voice loss.

Cebal is the gentle giant of the crew. He is unusually big and bulky, but don’t ask him about it. He is a selective mute and has his own collection of terrariums in his ship quarters. He cares deeply about all life on all planets, and likes to collect tiny trinkets from all the planets they visit. He is kind and gentle in everything they do and finds it difficult to harm others, even when the crew is in danger. His power is controlling plant life, which admittedly you wouldn’t guess by looking at them. They mainly just grow flowers to decorate the ship and give as gifts to everyone. They have severe social anxiety, and he’s the most introverted of them all, rivaled only by Nu.

Marfik is the prankster of the ship. She has boundless energy and is the most active of them all, always scouting ahead and finding places to settle down when they explore a planet. Their power is unnatural speed, and they love to use it to trick the others. They know just how to cheer up the others, always getting to make them laugh and smile. They even got Nu to smile one time, but it might’ve been a trick of the light. She has a very very high metabolism so they’re always hungry despite not needing to eat for several days. Sometimes they ask Cebal to grow fruit from other planets just so they can eat it and stave off the hunger. Their favorite prank victim is Sabik, mainly just because it’s easy to get him riled up. The reason their nickname is Murphy is because everyone started calling them Marfi, and eventually it just blended into Murfi/Murphy.

Omi is tired 24/7. No nonsense, and all common sense. She is a bit stressed out about everything, but uses her studies to block out any negative or unwanted feelings that arise. She is the brain cell holder of the ship and 95% of everyone’s self control. She has the best poker face, and has become apathetic to most things. Sometimes Sabik gives her gifts that he says he bought, but she knows they are stolen. She has, however, grown a soft spot for him. Her power is telekinesis, but she uses it sparingly. Her power gives her major headaches, but she will do what she must to help the crew. She has grown up with the mindset that if she can’t be of use to someone, then she was useless over all and unwanted. She cares about her crew mates and wants to be wanted and useful to them, so she has a habit of over exerting herself for them.

Nu is…Nu. They crawl around the ship and fix any damage from the journey, Murphy’s pranks, Sabi’ temper, or Attacks from other ships. Most of the time, they can’t be found on purpose. You either find them on accident, or when they want to be found. Sometimes the crew finds them crawling in the vents, or in a dark corner of the ship while repairing something only to have them spin their head at a 180 angle and stare right into their eyes. On the rare occasion, they can be found ravaging the fridge at the dead of sleeping hours for their rations. Despite their cryptid and creepy behavior, they actually really care about their crew mates, which is why they work so hard to make sure nothing is wrong with the ship. Their power is being able to walk on any surface. They use this power to walk on the wall or ceilings, and also stick to the side of the ship when doing external repairs. They sometimes help Murphy out with pranks to spook other crew mates. Their best friend is Cebal, sometimes just sitting next to him and reading a book in comfortable silence as he takes care of his terrariums.

#alien au #newts doodles #if you can’t tell Sabi and Omi are my main ship #I really hope they get together #but imma make em dance around each other for a while #just for the drama #hope I explained their personalities well enough ^^ #also they are all based off of stars except Nu #Omi had to have color alterations bc too many orange-yellow people bugged me #Nu is based off of a small planet rotating around the Nu star #ignore the change in head shape after Sabi pls #also Sabi may or may not have done an oopsie and did an eclipse when he was a child #oopsie #my ocs <3