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bisexual-horror-fan · 2 years

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"It's About Damn Time." Freddy Kreuger X AFAB! Reader.

So shit has been rough as I said. I’ve been doing nothing but commissions for over a month and while it has been great I think I really needed to take a moment and do something truly for me. Something utterly self indulgent and really just all mine. This is a reader insert but it is also so very much for me/any other Freddy writer. I hope you all enjoy it as much as I did writing it. I’ve wanted to write out this fic for a long while and feel better for it.

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Rating. Explicit. Length. 3.3K. Freddy Krueger X AFAB! Reader. She/Her Pronouns. Warnings: Meta. Teasing. Mocking. Degradation. Vaginal Fingering. Knife Play. Blood Play. Praise. Dirty Talk. Mentions Of Masturbation. Use Of Good Girl. Edging. Denial.

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“He was an asshole. Unrelenting and cruel as he breathed into your ear, gloved hand between your spread thighs, cool blades resting on either side of the soaked and overheated lips of your cunt, pads of his fingers circling over your throbbing and straining clit. You writhed under him, begging for him to, “-speed up, please!”

And all he did was laugh in response, tongue flicking out to lick up over your throat, his weight felt oppressively heavy on top of you. “Awe, now where is the fun in giving you everything you want right away?”

He was a total fucking son of a bitch-”

I sat back with a sigh. Stretching my arms above my head and rolling my neck. I looked over what I had so far. A couple of thousand words deep and just getting into the smut of this new fic. It was good, his characterization was on point, the set up and kinks were right, it was all hot, plus there were some great twists to come. But it was getting late, right? Tiredness was starting to overtake me. I glance to the bottom right corner of my laptop screen to catch a peek at the time as I reach for my water bottle, not even ten o’clock. What the fuck? I am off tomorrow. No way can I go to bed yet! There is so much more I can do.

The credits are rolling on the movie I had just watched. I needed something new, something that would keep the energy up. I pick up the controller and I flip through the section of comedies till a niche’ movie from the mid 90s catches my eye, something on my watch list I haven’t seen with an actor or two I loved, perfect.

I put it on and sit back, curling closer into the pillows at my side, snatching up my phone to check my socials quickly before diving back in.

My eyelids sagged and I shook my head so hard my ponytail tickled the back of my neck and I took a deep breath. My phone dropped to my side and my hands came up, pressing to the sides of my head and I tried to will myself to stay awake.

I opened my eyes after a moment and tried to focus on Mathew Lilliard on screen. My hands instinctively rest back in their home position on my laptop’s keyboard, my eyes flick between the two screens as I think about the next part that I want to write out.

I didn’t know until I felt him.

Until there was icy steel and buttery smooth leather curling around my throat, the smell of smoke and whisky, spice and heat, a smell I have only ever dreamt of-

Dreamt of.

That’s it.

I feel the warmth on my back, the presence of him is so clear, I don’t move a single muscle, I am so tense. I hear him finally as I feel his warm breath fan over the side of my face, “Been a long time comin’ hasn’t it?”

My breath catches, eyes so wide that it hurts, it can’t be. There is no way, it’s not true, no way, he never visited me. As much as I longed and cried and dripped and begged he never came. But I felt him. I heard him. I knew that voice almost better than I knew my own.

My hands raised off the keyboard, slowly, they came back and I hesitated for a moment before one hand touched down, and what it feels makes me nearly jump. Cold metal. I touch, I feel, fingers explore nervously and experimentally and I hear him chuckle. “Yeahhh, hard to believe isn’t it? S’ okay. Take your time, you’ve already waited this long, what’s a little more?”

It was him.

It was really and truly him.

“That’s right, it is me.” He sing-songed out and I gasped as his glove tightened on my throat. Oh God, he can read my thoughts, he knows what I just was thinking about, fuck, fuck, fuck. It’s real, this is real, HE is real.

“Holy shit-” I breathed and he laughed again, I could feel the rumble of it on my back and he teased, “I know, I know, too good to be true.”

His fucking voice. The way he practically purred that in my ear. His non-gloved hand was on me then. It found my knee, I jerked slightly in surprise and he tsk’d, “You jumped more from me touchin’ your knee than this?-”

He moved his glove, the blades clicked, they tapped lightly on my throat and I swallowed hard before he rested it back against me. “-You’re so fucking funny.”

I am glad he thinks I’m hilarious. But he does make a good point. He’s been here .5 seconds and his glove on my throat was shockingly welcome. Was I really this invested, this willing?

Apparently so.

His non-gloved hand didn’t stop there, dragged up, dipping down, cupping my inner thigh, I feel extremely distracted. What was he going to do with me? His chin rested on my shoulder as he leaned forward. “Whatcha working on?”

My eyes darted up from where his hand was and to my laptop screen and it came rushing back, the massive fic commission I had been working on. It was a really intense piece about the very man who was curled so close to me that was loaded with kinks. Fingering, knife and blood play, spitting and spanking, extremely rough and degrading with a healthy dose of praise too, the makings of a truly great and depraved bit of smut.

I usually never felt embarrassed. I was an extremely unashamed person, certainly not over my writing or overt sexuality but to have him, the subject of a few hundred thousands of words of porn I had written is a little different. My hands reached out to close my laptop as I said, “Oh no, it’s uh, it’s nothing-”

But my hands didn’t make it very far. I felt something grip my wrists, something I could not see but was there all the same and that some strange and invisible force prevented me from moving my hands from the task I wanted them to accomplish.

His non-gloved hand moved off of me, reached out, his fingers touched the track pad and he scrolled up the nearly five thousand words I read written out so far, pages and pages flying by my gaze and surely his too. “Sure doesn’t look like nothing to me.”

I bit my tongue, I could feel myself sweating, my fists did the only thing they could and clenched, still frozen in mid-air in front of me.

“Looks like you’re writing somethin’.” He hummed. “Wonder what or who-” He breathed that last word right in my ear and I fought back a shiver. “-it could be about.”

He knew. He totally had to fucking know about me, about all the shit I have done and written about him. What did he think about that? Did he like it? Was he flattered? Did he think I was some perverted and obsessed fucking creep?

“Are you gonna read an excerpt or should I?” He asked and my heart practically stopped in my chest. Could I do that? I have read my smut aloud many a time but to the subject it is about? To the monster and dream demon himself who I wasn’t even aware was really real until two minutes ago?

“I-I uhm, I don’t know-” I stammered and he leaned on me, his head resting on me, his cheek resting on mine, I felt the blazing hot and rough skin. I did shiver this time even in spite of the heat he was giving off. “This is a lot for you to handle, s’ okay. I got a gooood compromise.”

He reached the top of the page and scrolled a little before finding a good place, “Ah here we go.”

He cleared his throat and started to speak. “The way he spoke worsened your need significantly, you were leaking, could feel yourself soaking the thin and barely there lace you wore-”

I was going to die. I was squirming and he pulled me closer still as he continued to read, narrating the filth I had laid out, but the worst thing, something I never would have expected. Something that was even worse than what I was initially anticipating, he wasn’t reading it in his all too arousing voice.

Oh no.

He was doing a pitch perfect impression of my voice, reading out my own smut all about him. Hearing my voice coming from him, saying all those things the way I would, the inflections, the patter of it.

It was one of the most flustering things I had ever heard. It was so awful, so mocking, so much to take.

He paused his recitation of my work to ask, in his own voice again, “Oh can the smut peddler supreme not take what she dishes out?”

Bastard, he is a total bastard. The worst of the worst-

“Real original thought there sweetheart.” He hummed. Ah yes that’s right. He can hear my thoughts. Fuck.

His hand lifted and with a small gesture my hands still bound by whatever he was doing slammed down onto the table in front of me, resting right in front of my laptop. The force hurt, I made a small pained sound and he said, “You should be much more grateful to me. You’ve been wanting me to come by for how long now?”

The silence hung in the air. He expected an answer. One of the blades of his glove tapped impatiently on my throat, “Well?”

I rushed to respond. “Years. Over ten years, closer to uh twelve-”

“Such a long time.” He sighed. “You’ve been so patient too. Other than the whining and begging of course.”

He heard all of that?

“Don’t even know how many times you’ve cum over me. It’s sweet how devoted you are.” He praised me and I nearly melted against him. “Really?”

I breathed and he hummed, a small nod, his face almost nuzzling mine in a manner that was undeniable and impossible to read as anything but affectionate. “Yeah, real sweet. In a pathetic slutty kinda way.”

His voice dripped venom and sickeningly sweet condensation and I felt myself throb over it. I wanted to press my thighs together but his ankles had hooked in mine, keeping my legs spread for him. “Freddy…”

“Ooh hearing you say my name in person like this, it’s good. I think I need to hear it some more.” His glove moved, dragging down, cool metal teased through thin fabric and I tried to arch away when it reached its destination between my legs.

His glove moved, one blade sliced open the seam of the plaid pyjama pants I was wearing. I made a sound of protest and he laughed. “I love a little fight but c’mon, don’t pretend like you haven’t creamed your fuckin’ panties over the thought of this shit.”

“Wha-what are you gonna do with me?” I asked, equal amounts arousal and fear sitting heavy in my chest and stomach.

His mouth moved, lips dragged until they reached my ear, a graze of his teeth before he told me, “Gonna make all your dreams come true.”

Did I die and go to heaven?

He cut open my pants, one blade split the damp crotch of my panties, his non-gloved hand was between my legs, he had wasted no time. I didn’t need much warm up. I was embarrassingly wet and ready.

Glove was gripping the bottom of my jaw, my mouth was open, I was panting, my eyes were half lidded and my head had tipped back, resting against his shoulder. I could see his face like this, looking at him was hard, got me too hot but I can’t look away. He is really here. He is really touching me. My A Nightmare on Elm Street hoodie I loved to wear was open, off of one of my shoulders, barely clinging to me, just like my shirt he had also slashed open. I hadn’t worn a bra, my chest was heaving, tits out and on display. I felt obscene with my chest and cunt out in the open, exposed from how he ruined my clothing. Felt even more obscene with the wet squelching sound of him fingering me.

He had two fingers buried in my clenching hole, his rough palm was grinding against my sensitive clit and I was unable to stop the litany of sounds that spilled from my lips from the pleasure he gave me. It felt better than I could have ever conceived or dreamt of.

I looked forward, my laptop had gone into sleep mode, the screen black, allowing me to see the reflection of him and myself. Us tangled up and what he was doing to me. I looked wrecked like this. I looked dirty and honestly, perfect. Beautiful. Correct. Like I should.

The feeling was all consuming, the situation and mental stimulation too was adding to all this, the build up was accumulating so fast, it wouldn’t take long. Not like it usually did but this was ridiculous, might be a new record for me.

“Surprisingly tight for such a whore.” A harder thrust of his fingers, another delicious grind before he curled his fingers just so, I clenched hard around him and gasped. “Ahhn! Freddy!”

“Yeah, let it all out.” He prompted and I moaned again, louder. The edge was coming up fast, climbing up, up, up and my mind flashes to all those stories I wrote. He has seen, he has watched, he knows me. Which means he knows what I like.

I beg, it leaves me so quickly, frantic as I pant out, “Fr-Freddy I-ah! M’ close, shit, please! Please, please don’t stop, don’t stop-”

He laughed and my eyes squeezed shut, a shaky inhale, no, please, I need this. After everything that has happened lately, all the hardship, how much life has dumped on my plate, I need some good. I need some relief, what I need is to fucking cum.

I don’t stop begging, it becomes more and more broken the closer to the edge I get, the stronger the pleasure, the more out of breath I get, my sentence becomes an incoherent mess as a result. The only words that can be made out are, “-Freddy-” and “-Please-” and “-Close-” interspersed with moans and whines. Attempts to further beg him to not stop are lost in translation.

And then I am right there. On the razor’s edge of oblivion, about to tip over, so close and I suck in a deep breath, expecting him to pull away, to edge me so harshly I nearly ruin.

I am ready for it.

For a night of awful and painful denial where there is a good chance I might not cum and if I have any hope I will need to debase myself terribly and do God knows what to satiate him and earn his favour. If I am good, if I listen and do all he asks than just maybe I might be able to cu-

And then something truly shocking.

He didn’t stop.

He didn’t edge me or deny me.

His fingers didn’t slow, didn’t break stride, the pressure and pace kept the same perfect rhythm.

He kissed my neck too, his tongue licked up my pulse point and I throbbed, my legs trembled, back arching and his glove gripped harder on my jaw to help keep me as close as possible to him. The blades broke the skin, blood dripped down into his palm, the shock of pain is what did it, what made me break apart in his hands and finally spill over and cum. Tears well up involuntarily, overwhelmed by pleasure and pain both as I bleed and orgasm. I gush and leak around his fingers both above and below. He managed to keep curling his fingers in and out of my spasming cunt as I rode out the waves of my climax, panting out his name over and over until I felt I had no more breath left.

Every ounce of ecstasy dragged out through the dripping slit between my legs he slowed and eventually, finally, stopped, just when overstimulation was setting in and I had begun to whimper and squirm.

I fell slack against him.

I had no words, I was in shock, my mind was blissfully blank. More so than it had been in weeks.

My eyes open to look up and see him sucking on the fingers that had just been inside of me.

Finally one word entered my mind, one question, I asked, “Why?”

He looked down at me. He pulled his fingers out, I could see my slick and his spit on his fingers and my lips shining in the low light of the basement.

“You’ve been having a hard time. Seems like you needed it.”

Oh my God. I must have looked shocked, he laughed, a shake of his head, “Yeah, uncharacteristically nice of me ain’t it?”

I nodded with a short laugh of my own, “Yeah to say the least.”

“More people think and talk about me the better and you’ve really done a lot for me there.” He admitted and I grinned. My gross little porn writings helped with his power? Helped give him more attention and benefited him? I preened under his praise upon hearing that.

“So I earned it?” I asked and he nodded, “Mmhmm. Felt like you deserved it. And I dunno why I waited so long, you are real fuckin’ fun.”

Fun. He likes me and I’m fun. This is amazing.

“Hope you keep writing so I can come back real soon.” He dragged his fingers over my lips and I tasted myself lingering there. Is that what it took? I write and he comes and then I get to come? Fuck, I can do that.

“Maybe next time if you beg hard enough we can have some real fun.” He teased, a forward push of his hips, reminding me of his hard cock that had been pressing into my ass the entire time he had been finger fucking me stupid. Oh God did I want that.

“Till then kitten. Be a good girl for ol Freddy.” And his non-gloved hand came down hard, a solid slap to my soaked cunt, perfectly placed to hit me from hole to clit and the burst of pain to my oversensitive pussy made me jolt awake. I sat up with a gasp, eyes wide, the movie had been paused, my laptop screen was black and I was still in my basement.

I sat back, taking a deep breath, a dream, just a very, very fucking vivid dream. My hand went to my chest to help steady my heart and my palm touched bare skin. I looked down, tossing aside my throw blanket. I was half naked. Shirt split open, hoodie barely on, pyjama pants and panties ruined, very clear wet spot made on my couch and my legs were still slightly shaking and I was dripping wet. My hand touched my jaw gently, it stung, I pulled my hand away, looking down, my fingers were stained scarlet with tacky blood.

It…

Was it real? Was he real?

No way I did this to myself in my sleep.

I reached out and my fingers brushed the track pad to check the time. I had been asleep for around a half hour since I last checked the time. It was then my eyes moved to the doc I had been writing in, wondering if I should keep on writing or call it a night and I see a new sentence I hadn’t written.

“Do me proud. -F.K.”

A grin broke out on my face. I snatched some tissues and wiped my face and neck, crumbling it and tossing the bloodied ball of paper aside. I rolled my shoulders and my hands went back to my keyboard with one clear thought on my mind. I breathed it out as my hands began to type again, fully inspired and reinvigorated. “You’re on.”

#BHF writing #Freddy Krueger X Reader #slasher x reader #He is so great #I love him #Also this is like so obviously ME #BUT FUCK IT #I DESERVE IT

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inkskinned · 7 months

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hey btw if you're in the USA at 2:20 p.m. ET on Wednesday, Oct. 4, they're testing the emergency broadcast system. your phone is probably going to make a really loud noise, even if it's on silent. there's a backup date on the 11th if they need to postpone it.

if you're not in a safe situation and have an extra phone, you should turn that phone completely off beforehand.

additionally, if you're like me, and are easily startled; i recommend treating it like a party. have a countdown or something. be surrounded by your loved ones. take the actions you personally need to take to make yourself safe.

i have already seen mockery towards any person who feels nervous about this. for the record, it completely, completely valid to have "emergency broadcast sounds" be an anxiety trigger. do not let other people make fun of you for that. emergency sounds are legitimately engineered to make us take action; those of us with high levels of anxiety and/or neurodivergence are already pre-disposed to have a Bad Time. sometimes it is best to acknowledge that the situation will be triggering for some, and to prepare for that; rather than just saying "well that's stupid, it's just a test."

"loud scary sound time" isn't like, my favorite thing, but we can at least try to prevent some additional anxiety by preparing for it. maybe get yourself a cake? noise cancelling headphones? the new hozier album? whatever helps. love u, hope you're okay. we are gonna ride it out together.

#watching ppl go from being like ''support neurodivergent ppl~~!"#to being like ''if this is going to give u a panic attack ur fuckken stupid''#like..... gets me #yeah man. i know im going to be triggered by it . in the old fashioned term. it is GOING to give me a panic attack. it's pretty much certai #and i shouldn't have to tell u about what i have survived for you to be okay with that.#you can just trust that i ALSO don't want me to react to it. i'm not gonna be having a FUN time.#dismissing that bc you think it's stupid.... like is the whole problem.#these sounds are workshopped by entire teams of people to get you to pay attention and move quickly.#they arent meant to be fun and exciting.#OBVIOUSLY it's gonna set ppl off.#but yeah there's something so fuckken demeaning about ppl being like. well that trigger isn't valid bc u haven't undergone X #dude i have ptsd bc i was abused as a child. like plain and simple. the fact im 30 and afraid of the dark tells you how bad it was.#i shouldn't have to ask u for permission to be mentally ill.#the reason it's a fucking disorder and not a fucking choice is that I DO NOT CONTROL IT.#like how is it any different from when ppl are like ''oh public speaking isn't that scary'' like FOR YOU #for YOU this isn't scary. now if i could fucking eat my own amygdala...

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verflares · 1 month

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(click for higher quality!) draconified link concept ive been chipping away at this past week ..... here's my funny little compendium concept for him:

"A heroic spirit has taken the form of this bestial dragon. Unlike it's kin, this creature exhibits an extremely aggressive disposition. It appears highly territorial, and will relentlessly chase down those who disturb its skywide patrols - of which it seems to be endlessly searching for either a long-time vassal or foe. Unfortunately, it seems the spirit within has long since forgotten exactly who it was looking for…"

#now. how on earth do i begin to tag this. um.#link #loz #totk #totk spoilers #light dragon #dragon link #loz au #totk roleswap au #there . i'll add more if they come to me LOL #um i can talk about some of my insps i guess?? might make another post too #so mostly i just dont really like turning him into 'light dragon but male' and giving him slightly darker colours or something like that #this also obviously isnt exactly like the botw dragons either though and its a bit more of a mix of other creature concepts i enjoy #since everyone agrees he'd have a farosh horn i wanted to make him a kirin/unicorn :) which is why his tail looks like that #aside from the obvious eastern dragon insps and what ive picked and chosen from the botw dragons #and obviously this looks a lot like wolf link. thats on purpose #i wanted to give him some fierce deity design refs too but because this is so dark/earthy they didnt look very fitting #but honestly you could do a whole fierce deity dragon design on its own i think #okay lots of tags but IVE THOUGHT ABOUT THIS FOR A WHILE. okay. let me have this.#my art

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planefood · 9 months

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warriored cats

#art #digital art #warrior cats #theres something so funny to me abt a hairless bluestar #if there was any cat id happily accept as being hairless in the story as a silly hc it would be her #I know she obviously isn't but idk its silly #imagine hairless stormtail as a bonus too #also I know a lot of people draw firestar as short furred but I kinda like the fluffy interpretation cause it reminds me more of flames

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cracklewink · 2 months

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Harmony Syndrome Part 5/5

The last chapter of my mlp infection AU! Thank you to everyone who followed along. Some final thoughts on my twitter @cracklewink if anyone's interested : )

#mlp #my little pony #mlp infection au #mlp infection #twilight sparkle #Sorry for leaving the ending open ended but I genuinely couldnt decide on just one way for things to turn out and I liked the idea of #leaving it open the most #in my mind sunset's final message is like we found a recording from the later days of the infection and we dont know what happened in the #end because the recordings stopped/ended #In any case I think they were able to put twilight and the others to rest #but who knows who survived the “final battle” and who didnt #also yes Twilight created harmony syndrome but not on purpose lol #it was the result of her botched attempt to create a spell that makes ponies immortal #obviously it backfired lol #and the irony is that twilight ends up dying before any of her friends #if they didnt want me writing my little pony horse tragedy they shouldnt have left mlpfim off on the note that all of twilight's friends #were growing old without her #ending thats been haunting me for five years #if anyones seeing this this is an open au btw so feel free to adopt any of the ideas if you like! : )#tw thanatophobia #thanatophobia

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reasonsforhope · 2 months

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You don't need to believe that people as a whole are good or well-intentioned to be an optimist about fixing climate change.

A lot of the time, it's enough to trust in this: people hate being screwed over. And even more than that, they hate feeling screwed over.

Climate change is actively screwing over almost every single person on this planet, whether they know it or not. We just need to keep making sure that people do know that they're getting screwed over, along with all their loved ones, and who's doing it.

Spite and righteous anger will honestly do a lot of the rest.

#hope #good news #hope posting #climate change #climate optimism #life #not news #advice #me #human nature #like. obviously this is imho. but also I'm genuinely convinced that I'm right #spite and anger are powerful motivators #there are scientists who argue that anger's whole evolutionary purpose #is to keep us from being screwed over #because that's so vital to our survival #and what's more vital to our survival than a liveable planet???#channel your anger into action #do not let anyone tell you that optimism or being an activist or being part of a healthy community means never being angry #that is so so untrue #and if you find a way to channel your anger and pain and grief to do GOOD in the world #to help people #then that will also do a lot to stop your emotions from eating you up inside #hopepunk #anger #spite #optimism #hopeposting #humanity

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nyctophorum · 10 months

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I love the film version of nimona but I do find it very funny how they’re like ‘ambrosius cut off ballister’s arm but he didn’t mean to 😢😢😢 he was just traumatised and reacting to a dangerous situation 😢😢😢’ whereas in the comic it’s like ‘ambrosius shot ballister with a laser canon that took off his whole fucking arm just because he couldn’t bear to lose lol. Lmao, even’

#nimona #like obviously there’s more to it than that but the contrast is very funny to me #comic amballister are bitter exes who’ve been fighting for a while #whereas movie amballister are more like boyfriends who have briefly fallen out so it’s a very different dynamic #ambrosius goldenloin #ballister blackheart #ballister boldheart #inch resting to me also that they renamed bal #amballister

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ruporas · 11 months

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endless love!

[ID Two drawing collage pages of Vash and Wolfwood from Trigun Maximum. In the first collage, top corner, Wolfwood looks upwards disgruntled with a flushed expression, lying against a pillow, as his hair is being pet by Vash's hand. Next shows Vash and Wolfwood from behind, Wolfwood with his top bare and hickies covers around his nape area. Vash lifts hair away from his nape and asks, "More?" Wolfwood nervously says, "No." Next is a side profile of Vash, his arms around Wolfwood from behind while Wolfwood rests his hands against Vash's arms. Next to this are two smaller drawings; Vash turns to Wolfwood and says repetitively, "Wolfwood, Wolfwood..." Wolfwood, not looking at him, says "What?" He finally turns his head and looks shocked as he exclaims, "So close!" Vash says plainly, "You just noticed?" Below these is a drawing of Vash and Wolfwood sitting together as Vash kisses and hugs him from behind with his right arm around Wolfwood's neck and his left hand around his side. He also has his right leg propped against Wolfwood's knee. Bottom of the page has a comic. Wolfwood looks annoyed, speaking to himself, "Where is that idiot?! Need to get out of town before--" A chat bubble exclaims, "Wolfwood!" The next panel shows Vash running from the townspeople, small text saying "Get him! Vash the stampede!". Wolfwood, mad and about to pull the Punisher off his shoulder, says, "Argh, you fucking dumbass!" Vash exclaims, "Ah, don't!" before pulling Wolfwood into a quick kiss. He then tugs on Wolfwood's collar and says, "There's no need to shoot, just run!" Wolfwood stammers, "R-right..." with a flushed, dumbstruck expression.

Second collage; Top left, Wolfwood spoons Vash in bed, his arms around his chest and the other beneath Vash's head. Vash has his hand on top of Wolfwood's as he sleeps while Wolfwood lies awake. Behind this drawing is faint sketches of Vash's face. In a small panel, Wolfwood hides in Vash's neck as he mumbles to himself "Stop. Stop thinking embarrassing things, Wolfwood..." Beneath this drawing is another of them in bed, Vash now turned to Wolfwood and a hand on his cheek as he kisses him good morning. In a simpler style, Vash wraps an arm tightly around wolfwood with the text "snork mimimi" next to him while Wolfwood says, "We need to get up. Spikey! HEY!" In this corner, there are faint sketches of Vash and Wolfwood; one of them looking at each other; Vash kissing Wolfwood's forehead; Wolfwood saying, "Hand" with an outstretch hand and Vash says "ok" behind a drawing of them holding hands, both turned away from each other shyly. Next is a 4 panel comic. First shows Wolfwood's face getting squished by Vash's hands with the text "squish" around his face. Next, his cheeks are stretched with the text "Chee--" Wolfwood then hits Vash's face with his palm, exclaimining "That hurts!" The last shows Vash on Wolfwood's lap, smiling to himself as he continues to have Wolfwood's face in his hands. Next to this is another comic; A close up of their hands, Vash holding Wolfwood's with both of his. He then kisses the palm of Wolfwood's palm and says, "They're soft!" Wolfwood looks at him with flushed cheeks, "There's no way that's true..." END ID]

#vashwood #vash the stampede #nicholas d wolfwood #trigun #trigun maximum #just posting first for now!!! wanted to have these two spreads together grah #ive been weirdly selective when it comes to posting on tumblr but i really need to start dropping everything from twitter/insta onto here...#anyway what is there to say... i like to just draw them being in love and silly. there are so many flavors to vw #and i so happened to really enjoy the intimate sickeningly affectionate aspect of it... lays down...#give these two touch and loved starved selfless individuals the chance to pour their entire being into loving the other....#thoguh in particular i drew these both for wolfwood wednesday (which is everyday to me) so theyre wolfwood centric #i think for some time i was just seeing a lot of work of vash being loved by wolfwood and obviously that makes sense #ww loves that fool so much and will love him two times as much for the love vash refuses to give himself #but i also love wolfwood and desperately needed to see wolfwood being loved so i drew it #bc it goes both ways... i def believe that ww would be adamant about giving affection to vash at first bc vash would hesitate asking #but once he gets comfortable vash's love pours and he'd noticed too that ww avoids getting spoiled affectionately bc of his own issues #vash is. stubborn to me. more so than wolfwood. he will destroy him with love!!!!!!!!!!!#and wolfwood will adjust and get used to it. being loved. loving. steadily but slowly as his days are filled with soft touches and reminders #that he's being handled gently and with care for the first time in a long time #ruporas art

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puppetmaster13u · 29 days

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Prompt 266

Back on my Danny & Ras frienemies/rivals/maybe-lovers-nobody-can-tell-their-signals-are-very-mixed train.

See, Danny has gone through time a lot. Often. It comes with being Clockwork’s charge-son-thing and honestly he finds it fun. And several times he’s used this time travelling to get some training in. Enter Ras, stage left, also a teen at the time and also learning swordsmanship from the same person.

And they… utterly despise each other. They would kill the other for an apple slice, if the other one would die! But also, only they can kill the other, as it is obviously their right!

And well, they keep running into each other. It has been a hundred years, surely the other would die by now? But of course their rival would live through utter spite. Probably to spite them specifically.

The amount of times they have ended up sparring- trying to kill each other or not- the moment they see the other is actually ridiculous. But time is also passing. And… Danny understands, not having another to talk about things people are forgetting, or have already forgotten.

How they ended up actually talking without a murder attempt was a long story that included a demon, a dragon, a pair of fae, some bandits, and a lot of alcohol, but it happened. And then it happens again. And again, and now it’s just kind of normal to share a drink after their spars, talking about things that no longer exist, and things they miss.

Sure Danny can go back in time again, but he knows better than to do it willy nilly. He’s matured, he’s been an adult for a hundred years now, he knows there’s consequences for messing with time, even with Clockwork’s blessings.

The first time they got married was technically for an undercover assassination. Well, Ras was there to assassinate someone, Danny was there to grab an artifact that should Not be in the realm of the living. And they got divorced after, it was fine.

They just, also got married again when they met a few years later, for another job. And… okay, so maybe they have gotten married over a dozen times now and only divorced like half of those times. Half of those were for the bit or while drunk!

And even if technically they’re married or shared a bed, it’s not like they're exclusive! As Ras’ daughters’ existences attest to (adopted in one case or not). They don’t exactly have a label for their relationship, despite others asking for one or trying to put a name to it themselves.

Now Danny knows Ras isn’t exactly a good dude, or at least on the side of ‘good’ as he’s a literal assassin. But he also knows that good? Bad? Rather relative. He had gotten labeled as a villain when he was just trying to help all that time ago after all, and really who was he to tell someone else how to live their life?

Which brings him to now, where he’s run into his old frienemy-rival and his youngest daughter. Who has a braindead teenager and a small toddler. Which is fine, really- but also, Talia dear, why are you using a brain dead teenager to guard your three year old son?

…

Okay, Talia dear, Ras (Derogatory), why are you using your brain dead son and grandson to guard your younger son and grandson? Do you not have the Pits, which you were soo proud about Ras? Yes, he will spar with you, but for Realms’ sake, heal, what’s his name? Ah yes, go heal Jason and he’ll actually stick around for a few years, deal? Good.

#DCxDP #DPxDC #Prompts #Deadly Decisions #Danny is Not Ghost King & he doesn’t want to be #Danny isn’t from the same timeline as DC but he hops around so many that he’s formed a few favorites #You Know the bats are going to go crazy searching for some sort of proof of Danny’s existence when they finally communicate w/ each other #Why yes Danny is an adult lol (he is also tall but has body more like his mom)#Yes Sam showed him how to do makeup & it was a bonding thing while they bitched #Is Danny Dusan’s mom? Wonderful question that the league is pondering themself #Danny introduced Sam & Tucker to Ras once & it was horrific how well they got along #Danny almost forgot that Tucker was once a royal dictator who had constant assassination attempts #Sam & Ras bond over violent love of nature & willingness to kill to keep it safe from assholes #Damian about Danny: Obviously this is Grandmother #Jason after being thrown in the Pit: Who are you Where am I What the fuck #Damian: :O Akhi you can speak now :D Come see my puppy Grandmother gave me for protection #Ras & Danny: Threatening each other #Everyone else: Do they want to kill each other or are they flirting or both…#Space Core Danny #Star Core Jason

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flowercrowngods · 10 months

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this wouldn't leave me alone, so have my thoughts on a steve-centric "who did this to you?" steddie concept inspired by @imfinereallyy (i hope this is okay, even though it's uhhh nothing like what you mentioned)

When Eddie gets to the boathouse, he immediately notices that something is off. The door is cracked open but he can’t hear anyone talking or moving stuff around. No one ever comes here — it’s been his hideout spot since the ripe age of thirteen when he’d had hist first real fight with Wayne.

No one comes here. But now the door is cracked open and Eddie stares at it for a good minute as though that would make it come to life and tell him who’s inside so he won’t have to look and deal with whoever decided to steal his spot. He’s really not in the mood to start any shit today, or to be called all sorts of names — most of which aren’t even half as true as people fear.

His first instinct is to leave, find somewhere else to hide from this miserable world today, when he hears it. The sound of sniffling, followed by wet, heavy breaths.

Oh. It sounds like someone’s crying. In his spot.

Maybe it’s some girl who got her heart broken, some dude who lost the last bit of faith in his family, or some kid who—

Ah, fuck it, he’ll just come back later. Not his problem. Definitely not his problem. And it’s definitely not guilt or worry that gnaw at him as he turns on his heel to leave.

But then there’s a groan. A pained groan. Someone’s in pain, and crying in his spot, and Eddie really shouldn’t make that his problem. He shouldn't. Nopbody cares when he's crying and in pain either! But fuck if he won’t be thinking about it for the rest of his life if he turns his back on whoever it is. Maybe they need help.

They most certainly sound like they do.

With a heavy sigh, Eddie is already at the door before he can think about it too much.

“Hello?” he asks the darkness, and immediately the sniffling stops.

Silence falls, but only for a moment before whoever it is has to draw shaky, wheezing breaths that make Eddie swear under his breath.

“Listen, I know you’re here.” He’s taking slow, deliberate steps, his eyes roaming he mess of boats, tools and tarp he knows so well. “And I’m not trying to start anything. Tell me to go away and I will. But I have a first aid kit in my car and, uh, you sound like maybe you need it.”

There’s no response, but the wheezing breaths turn into whimpers with every second that whoever it is tries very hard not to make any noise, and Eddie’s heart starts to race in his chest. He can feel worry and panic starting to rise. And overshadowing it is an overwhelming sense of dread.

What the fuck is happening?

He tries to be careful but his mind is racing and his limbs are starting to feel like lead. His wary steps become heavy and clumsy, and then he accidentally boots something that makes a terrible, horrible noise, breaking the eerie silence. Eddie cringes and is about to apologise, when finally there is movement in his peripheral vision.

And then he sees him. There, hidden in the shadows between a boat and the far wall, his face breaten and bloodied, his eye swelling around a nasty bruise. Wait, do bruises bleed? Should they look black like that? Is it a cut? Something worse?

Even after years of constant bullying and goading in middle school and high school, he has never actually seen someone look like this. With their face completely smashed in. It makes him freeze for a horrible, horrible moment before he saps out of it.

“Fuck,” Eddie breathes, hurrying over as fast as he can, stumbling over tools and tarp as he does. Something falls to the floor with a loud clunk and it makes the boy flinch again. Eddie curses. “Sorry, shit, sorry!”

He makes it to the boat rather quickly, crouching down in front of the boy a few feet away so as not to spook him, not to crowd him. And then his heart only plummets further, because he knows this one.

Steve Harrington. The boy who’s come to school with many a black eye over the past two years — but never this bad. The boy who’s been looking like the world might be about to end each time he rounded a corner in school; ever since things started happening around Hawkins. Since the Holland girl died and the Byers boy disappeared.

It fascinated Eddie, the way Steve fell from grace. The way he turned quiet, and showed up with healing bruises. There are stories woven around it, because teenagers like to gossip and word spreads fast, and Eddie always listened with rapt attention as Harrington turned into a bit of a myth. A legend. A ghost story.

But fascination is not what he feels right now, seeing Steve like this.

His eyes are unfocused and Eddie knows about the danger of head injuries. He knows about the consequences of blood loss, he knows that Steve will be warm to the touch even though he’s shivering already, and… Fuck!

“Shit, Steve,” he rasps, not daring to speak louder lest he spooks the boy. Of all the reasons he’s had to be afraid of talking to Steve Harrington, this one might be the cruellest. "I..."

He takes in his wounds, his bruised and scraped knuckles where his hands are wrapped around the knees he’s pulled to his chest, and his split lip that he keeps biting.

Eddie swallows before he asks, “Who did this to you?”

But Steve just shakes his head clumsily. Sniffles again, and then his breath comes in wet heaves, and Eddie worries for a moment that he’s going to throw up now.

He doesn’t.

Steve’s just staring. Eddie isn’t even entirely sure he can see him, or maybe he did and then forgot, or maybe he’s fading. Eddie should do something, he should get help, he should—

“Steve,” he says, and dares to touch him when he doesn’t react.

A light touch to the knee shouldn’t make anyone flinch like that, but Steve’s whole body jumps, and then the shivers and the wheezing get worse. It almost sounds like a whimper, and Eddie curses again. Feels like crying now, scared and helpless as he is.

“Fuck, I’m sorry. I’m sorry, okay, I— Jesus, okay.” He swallows hard, trying to think, willing for the panic to subside and a plan to form. “You’re okay. I... I’m gonna, I’m gonna grab the first aid kit. I have it in my car. It’s not, it’s not far. And a blanket. So you'll be warm again. I’ll be right back, okay? Don’t move, don’t…" He gestures wildly, caught between reaching out and pulling away. "Don’t move.”

Eddie takes a wavering breath and moves to stand on numb, tingly legs, nearly missing Steve’s, “Can’t.” It’s barely more than a whisper, hardly even a wheeze. It’s like he’s just breathing out words because everything else is too much effort.

Right. Right. This is messed up and Eddie’s panicking, but Steve will be okay. Because things like that don’t happen, not here, not today, and not to Steve Harrington.

Except this is Hawkins. Where Will Byers disappeared and Barb Holland died and many people are missing and weird shit just ends up happening everywhere even though they’re all just kids. They’re just kids. And Steve’s not even conscious enough to realise that right now.

Eddie all but runs outside, sprinting to his van with a speed that would make the coach swallow his stupid whistle if gym class only mattered right now. It doesn't. Nothing matters, because Steve is... He's hurt. And there's no one else around to help.

Grabbing the first aid kit, a bottle of water and a thick blanket he always keeps spread out in the back of his van, he makes it back to the boathouse in no time.

He wasn’t even gone for three minutes, but still he sighs in relief when Steve is still awake. He even looks up. Blinks. Frowns in what can only be confusion and makes Eddie's heart fall.

“Munson?”

Fuck, that’s not a good sign. That’s messed up, it’s fucked up, it’s— Focus, Eddie!

“The one and only,” he says, voice shaky and his smile not fooling anyone. He wraps the blanket around Steve, whose eyes are unfocused again, though he tries so hard to blink it away.

Brave boy, stupid boy. Head trauma isn’t blinked away. Though Eddie is inclined to let him try. Maybe he’ll find a way.

“Here.” He hands the bottle over to Steve, who grabs it with clumsy hands. He can hold it, but he can’t get it open — again, not a good sign.

Eddie opens it for him, then turns to his first aid kit. It seemed like a great idea five minutes ago, but he’s petrified now. It’s too dark in here and he can’t really see the wounds, he doesn’t know what to use, what’s in there, he doesn’t, he can’t, he—

The bottle, empty now, is handed back to him, bumping into his hand, tearing him away from his spiralling thoughts.

“Thanks,” Harrington breathes, and there’s a small smile visible in the darkness. Eddie just nods and takes it with hands that are still shaking.

“I wanna help you,” he says, like it isn’t obvious. “But I don’t know how. You gotta tell me where it hurts, Steve.”

A beat. “Everywhere.”

Eddie sags, falling back to sit opposite Steve, frantically rubbing at his face. “Shit.”

“Yeah.” Steve chuckles, but it sounds so wet with tears and pain, Eddie never wants to hear it again. “Thought I could do it.”

He’s talking. That’s a good thing, right? He can’t pass out as long as he’s talking. That’s how that works, isn’t it? So, Eddie asks, “Do what?”

“Doctors told me,” Steve sighs, his voice slow and slurring. “Told me to... to stay out of fights. Stay out of them. Said I had to make sure my head won’t—“

He makes a motion with his fist, and Eddie thinks he’s simulating a punch, disoriented as it is. It makes his heart fall. Is that what happened? Someone beat Steve to a pulp? Again? Just like that?

Eddie is so stuck on that thought, trying to piece together the puzzle, that he almost misses Steve’s mumbled speech.

“Y’know, th— Said I’ll go blind. Or deaf. Or just… die.” He says it to matter-of-factly that Eddie’s heart stops for a second.

What the fuck happened to Steve Harrington? Not just today, no. What happened to him?

What happend to make him look up at Eddie Munson, out of all people, with glistening eyes so endlessly scared, and say, “I don’t wanna die, Munson. I never… I didn’t. With the monsters or the torture. I can't—” A wheeze, a keen, a whimper, and Harringtin pulls at his hair, uncaring that he's making things worse.

Meanwhile, Eddie is stuck on his words. Because what.

“Can’t, can't die now ‘cause Tommy thinks he’s so… He’s… He’s just sad, man. Griev'n' and confused. But Billy’s gone, an'— And now I’ll…”

Steve looks at him now, his eyes shining with tears and something that Eddie’s written poems about and created characters around. This expression, like the world will end. And inspiring as it is, it fucking breaks his heart now.

“They said my brain is hurt, Eddie.”

Eddie swallows the hurt and the fear and the complete overwhelm he's feeling. Steve is telling him things that Eddie doesn't know how to handle.

“You won’t die, Steve,” he says in as gentle a voice as he can muster right now, because that's the only thing he knows.

And he won’t, right? People don’t just die. Not from taking a punch, not when they just graduated high school, not when they’re Steve Harrington. Right?

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay,” Steve breathes. “That’s good.”

Eddie wants to hug him in that moment. He never knew that this was possible, wanting to hug Steve Harrington, wanting to wrap the blanket around him even tighter and keep him safe and convince him that he won’t die.

And then the rest of what he said catches up with Eddie and leaves anger in its wake.

“Hagan did that to you?”

Steve nods. “Started going off about Billy.”

Eddie’s blood freezes at that name. "Hargrove?”

Another nod, though Steve doesn’t look too happy about moving his head, and he groans quietly. “They were friends. Tommy is angry. Grieving. Con— Confused. He was just saying shit, like it’s my fault. And it is. Kinda. But Tommy’s, he, he’s... Just saying shit. And then he punched me. A lot. And he didn’t stop. And now… is now.”

“Yeah,” Eddie breathes dumbly, carefully bandaging the glaring wound at his temple, needing to start somewhere. “Now is now.” His blood is still frozen as he tries very hard not to listen to Steve. Nothing that Harrington says has any right to matter anything to him; they live in two different worlds. If Harrington confesses to murder while severely concussed under Eddie’s watch, then there are no witnesses to drag either of them through the mud for it. Eddie is just gonna forget about it. Or try, anyway. “But you’re… Shit , Steve, you’re really hurt.”

Steve blinks. Pauses. And Eddie thinks he’s lost him. But then, “Yeah. I’m always hurt.”

And that, in this little voice, is like a gut punch. Because Eddie knows something about always hurt. “What?”

“What?”

There is ice in his veins as he asks, “Who’s hurting you, Steve?”

Steve looks at him, opening his mouth once, twice, like he’s about to say something and Eddie holds his breath. But then Steve’s eyes droop and he shrinks in on himself a bit more.

“Jus’ everyone, sometimes. God you don’t… You don’t even know.”

Know what, Harrington? Eddie can barely breathe anymore.

“’M tired, Eddie,” Steve mumbles, closing his eyes. “Don’t wanna hurt anymore.”

“Hey, hey, no!” Eddie reaches out, catching Steve’s head and preventing it from colliding with the floor as he’s slumping and falling over.

And just like that, the panic is back, frantic but determined this time. He’s going to get help; there’s nothing he can do with his lousy first aid kit, not when Steve keeps going in and out of consciousness like that. Not when he can barely see anything or clean the wounds properly.

He’s going to get Steve to a hospital and allow them both to forget this ever happened. Because Steve Harrington and Eddie Munson don’t breathe the same air or share traumatic stories in a boathouse like this.

He’ll get out of Steve’s hair the second the hospital doors close behind him, and get out of whatever trouble someone like Harrington could be in. Eddie doesn’t even want to know. He doesn't want to be part of his ghost story.

But as he’s scooping him up and helping him out of the damned boathouse, clumsily preventing him from stumbling over his own feet or tools or tarp or planks or whatever fucking shit is littering the floor of this godforsaken place, he can hear Steve speaking quietly.

"Where‘re we going?"

And even though a second ago he was determined to take Steve to a hospital, there is only one place on Eddie's mind right now. Only one place he knows where he won't be scared anymore.

"Somewhere safe," he says, tightening his hold on the boy even though his hands are shaking now, too. He looks over his shoulders the moment they're out of the boathouse, stupidly worried that whoever did this to Steve – Hagan, apparently – would still be around, would follow them and do the same shit to Eddie.

"Safe?"

"Safe."

"Okay," Steve sighs, like he believes him. Like he trusts him. Hell, they've never even spoken before, but something inside Eddie breaks at the little sigh, at the way Steve goes slack in his arms. And even more at the little, "Thanks."

If Eddie's eyes are filled with tears and the hands around the wheel are clenched so tight to hide the way they're shaking, then Steve is not conscious enough to comment on it.

(addendum 7 december) onwards to part 2

#steddie #steddie fic #steve harrington x eddie munson #steve harrington #eddie munson #this is somewhere between s3 and s4 obviously #but also i just re-read the op post and realised that this is nothing like what they wished for so uh. sorry? never trust me with prompts y #who did this to you #hurt steve #steve harrington whump #pre-steddie #sorry op maybe i'll try again and get it right this time but uh. yeah #dio words

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unproduciblesmackdown · 1 year

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Lackadaisy Enrichment

#in our enclosures!!#video linked as source; which i'm glad to see already has a million views and is trending. That's Right #lackadaisy #WHICH i have been reading since at least '07 when i was thirteen my god b/c this animation is based on the ongoing webcomic #like does its influence show up Directly in some Discrete way i can point to in my art? not very easily probably. And Yet.#the inspiration....i wasn't able to be Regularly Only for at least another year / art done Nonprofessionally Online was novel to me #like wow ppl can make & post fanart of w/e they love huh....didn't know webcomics were a thing & i never really read that many since but.#good god the quality of Lackadaisy at its onset is like this is superb?? this person putting in all their talent and effort???#and Then you get years & years more art and i don't even know what superlatives to throw out abt its quality as it evolves. obsessed w/it..#if i see a new lackadaisy comic page i Will be acting out. obviously this animation is a delight & also stunning. and fascinating to also #juxtapose as a Translation / Interpretation of the comic in a different medium & standalone snippet of Story #and that we're not even quite there in the comic timeline; Taking Notes abt character info we get distilledly here....genuinely love like #take it back to '07 i'm like oh boy can't wait for the dream team to assemble. then a decade later when it did? Oh Boy. that is payoff lol #namely hooray for stitches and mudbug at the field office for every passing gangster. killing one marigold associate but not the other #which seems like a promising start to shootouts w/the other dream team triumvirate. i adore that in canon so far mordecai freckle & rocky #have met but only over a nice brunch. re: all intentions anyways. anyways i'm like Gifs Must Be Made while i'm also so riled afresh abt the #comic that i've been sooo hype for for over fifteen yrs now babeyyy Deservedly. i've done a couple of rereads & ought to do another....#For Interest it'd probably take a few sittings to catch up from the start but there is much to be engaged over....this ongoing story that's #historical fiction prohibition bootlegging cats with plenty of focus on characters & several Mysteries. which i'm better at parsing now lol #like one of the more recent rereads like Oh Of Course x (probably) accidentally killed his y & z took the fall & that's a binding secret...#Not [oh of course] abt the circumstances surrounding a's death & how b & c were involved. nor the ''what's marigold's damage'' mystery #which is great. love to not know things. love that we can readily follow all the emergent drama everyone's wading in nowadays. hell yeah #anyways admire my organized approach to gifs here. four shots each Expressions Atmosphere Action Groupshots #sure might've muddled through gifmaking for this anyways but fr being a huge lackadaisy comic enjoyer for now most of my life helps #and its very Overall Inspiration like. just really getting the [you can really just draw stuff out here] going. fr the art's detail & skill #and that enrichment like i'm gonna have a great time following this. And I Have #you don't expect a crowdfunded indie animation in the mix back then but hell yeah fellas #SIGH ok removing a 4th gif that's broken / not displayed despite reuploading then entirely remaking it. if it's a bug i'll try again later

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inkskinned · 1 year

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something bad happened to you, and you died, and you came back wrong.

not wrong all the way. the little ways. you forget important dates, stopped going out with friends. it's harder to make you smile. you're apathetic towards things you used to love, afraid of places you used to go to cheer up. quieter. flinching. different.

you came back for love. you're still here for love. what pulled you back was a brightness so loud that even death couldn't outshout it. death heard the call and smiled at you and said okay. go home. somebody is waiting for you.

but you came back different. like lot's wife; you've turned into salt. you used to chirp through life in hops and skips; but now you lose skin just standing up. you have to move slower, skimming across this world without-touching-it. most things feel dull - until they're suddenly all-too-much. life, and being alive just rushes up and over you and you get hopelessly crushed.

you try to explain it to them: it is ugly, but this is what you are, now. the huge golden hoop of your halo now a little bronze ring. you are still watering your plants and wearing the same clothes. after all, you worked hard to come home. this life; so odd and off-color, now that you are wrong.

but they waited for you - it's just that they wanted the "you" that happened before this. the "you" that could sing in the show and hug people tight and look at a blade without breaking down to cry. the you with a smile in pictures. god, holyshit, it's like looking at a completely different person, isn't it. that other-you; the one they actually wanted.

you are the consolation prize. you are the body that forgot the ghost. you are the memory of the bad thing, and the death after; like you are wearing that memory as a banner. you are a fragment, an assembly. simulacrum. you don't make eye contact in mirrors, afraid the light will glance off and your true nature will flash back at you.

you hear them talk about it in their hushed, desperate whispers. sometimes they even admit it to your face; harsh and violent, acid thrown at christmas dinner. god, can you just fucking be normal again. you do not remember what normal is. you had to climb so far to get back here; you are far too exhausted. you want to open the glass door of your heart and show all the gears. can you help resolve whatever got messed up?

you try so, so hard. you came back for them. because you believed they would love you, even when you were so horribly broken. because you believed they would be patient. because you believed unconditional meant "without exception." you cannot do things the same way. you just get tired too quickly these days.

you want to put them on a couch and pour them the tea with hands that shake more than they remember. you want to line them up and draw them a map of where you have had to wander. you want to show every bruise in a backsplash; the little helpless ant of your soul carrying all that weight, over and over. you want to say: yes! it is different! but i did it for love!

you want to say: "i'm not the same, but i'm yours and i'm here. can that be enough?"

#this is very obviously about my battle with #ptsd #but i think it's also like a pretty apt metaphor for a lot of things like setting boundaries or going to therapy or choosing recovery #i was thinking about the 'comes back wrong' trope and i was like. oh no i have feelings about this bc i have mental illness #and once i stopped masking - i was WRONG. i was different #here's the good news: i am now INNUNDATED with love. fucking swimming in it. excelling at it. the people who stayed #learned my new self. my new different body and how i am different but i am trying. they have held me so tightly #and my life no longer feels quiet. it is not based in my suffering. it feels like i have been growing a tree in my chest #and now it is flowering.#it is so lovely to be surrounded by people who have said - oh! you cut off so many branches i was worried you weren't the same. but now...#... this is just a new you. and i love you. and i love that you're different and happy.#(but yeah also im nb so i was absolutely influenced by Trans things)

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