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kindnessoverperfection · 9 months

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Please, if you can, take a moment to read and share this because I feel like I'm screaming underwater.

NPD (Narcissistic Personality Disorder) stigma is rampant right now, and seems to be getting progressively worse. Everyone is using it as a buzzword in the worst ways possible, spreading misinformation and hatred against a real disorder.

I could go on a long time about how this happened, why it's factually incorrect (and what the disorder actually IS), why it's harmful, and the changes I'd like to see. But to keep this concise, I'll simply link to a few posts under the cut for further reading.

The point of this post is a plea. Please help stop the spread of stigma. Even in mental health communities, even around others with personality disorders, in neurodivergent "safe" spaces, other communities I thought people would be supportive in (e.g. trans support groups, progressive spaces in general), it keeps coming up. So I'm willing to bet that a lot of people on this site need to see this.

Because it's so hard to exist in this world.

My disorder already makes me feel as if I'm worthless and unlovable, like there's something inherently wrong and damaged about me. And it's so much harder to fight that and heal when my daily life consists of:

Laughing and spending time with my friends, doing my utmost best to connect and stay present and focused on them, trying to let my guards down and be real and believe I'm lovable- when suddenly they throw out the word "narcissist" to describe horrible people or someone they hate, or the conversation turns to how evil "people with narcissistic personality disorder" are. (Seriously, you don't know which of your friends might have NPD and feels like shit when you say those things & now knows that you'd hate them if you knew.)

Trying to look up "mental health positivity for people with npd", "mental health positivity cluster bs", only to find a) none of that, and b) more of the same old vile shit that makes me feel terrible about myself.

Having a hard time (which is constant at this point) and trying to look up resources for myself, only to again, find the same stigma. And no resources.

Not having any clue how to help myself, because even the mental health field is spitting so much vitriol at people with DISORDERS (who they're supposed to be helping!) that there's no solid research or therapy programs for people like me.

Losing close friends when they find out, despite us having had a good relationship before, and them KNOWING me and knowing that I'm not like the trending image of pwNPD. Because now they only see me through the lens of stigma and misinformation.

Hearing the same stigma come up literally wherever I go. Clubs. Meetings. Any online space. At the bus stop. At the mall. At a restaurant. At work. Buzzword of the year that everyone loooves loudly throwing around with their friends or over the phone. Feels awesome for me, makes my day so much better/s

I could go on for a long time, but I'm scared no one will read/rb this if it gets too much longer.

So please. Stop using the word "narcissist" as a synonym for "abusive".

Stop bringing up people you hate who you believe to have NPD because of a stigmatizing article full of misinformation whenever someone with actual NPD opens their mouth. (Imagine if people did that with any other disorder! "Hey, I'm autistic." "Oh... my old roommate screamed at me whenever I made noise around him, and didn't understand my needs, which seems like sensory overload and difficulty with social cues. He was definitely autistic. But as long as you're self-aware and always restraining your innate desire to be an abusive asshole, you're okay I guess, maybe." ...See how offensive and ignorant that is?)

Stop preventing healthcare for people with a disorder just because it's trendy to use us as a scapegoat.

If you got this far, thank you for reading, and please share this if you can. Further reading is under the cut.

NPD Criteria, re-written by someone who actually has NPD

Stigma in the DSM

Common perception of the DSM criteria vs how someone may actually experience them (Keep in mind that this is the way I personally experience these symptoms, and that presentation can vary a lot between individuals)

"Idk, the stigma is right though, because I've known a lot of people with NPD who are jerks, so I'm going to continue to support the blockage of treatment for this condition."

(All of these were written by me, because I didn't want to link to other folks' posts without permission, but if you want to add your own links in reblogs or replies please feel free <3)

#actuallynpd #signal boost #actuallyautistic #mental health awareness #narcissistic personality disorder #people also need to realize that mental health professionals aren't immune from bias #(it really shouldn't come as a shock that the mental health field has a longstanding pattern of misunderstanding and mistreating ppl who ar #mentally ill or otherwise ND)#the first therapist i brought up NPD to like. literally pulled out the DSM bc she could barely remember the criteria. then said that there'#no way I have it because I have low self-esteem lmaoooooo #anyway throwback to being at work and chatting with a co-worker. and the conversation turning to mental health. and him saying that #he tries to stay informed and be aware and supportive of mental health conditions & that he doesn't want to be ignorant or spread harmful #misinformation. and then i mentioned that i do a lot of research into mental health stuff and i listed a bunch of things. which included #several personality disorders. one of which was NPD.#and after listening to my whole ass list he zeroed in on the NPD and immediately started talking about how narcissists are abusive and #he knew someone who had NPD and how the person who had it had an addiction and died from the addiction in a horrible way and he #was glad he did #fun times #or when i decided to be vulnerable and talk abt my self-criticism/self-hatred bc i knew my friends also struggled w that and i wanted to #support them by sharing my own coping methods. and they both(separately!) started picking and prodding at my npd through the lens of stigma #bc i'd recently opened up to them abt having it. they recognized self-hatred as a symptom and still jumped on me for it. despite me #trying to share hurt vulnerable parts of myself to help them and connect with them.#again..... fun times

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whumpinggrounds · 1 year

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Overused Disability Tropes

Woohoo here we go. I expect this one to be a bit more controversial because I am using specific media as examples. I would really prefer if, when critiquing this post, you avoid defending specific media, and focus instead on what’s actually being said/represented about disabled communities. If you feel I’ve done a really grave injustice, you can come into my askbox/DMs/replies to talk to me about it, but I might not answer.

One more time: I am not interested in getting into a debate about whether something is a good show/movie/book/whatever. I’m not telling you it’s bad, or that you shouldn’t enjoy it! People can like whatever they want; I am only here to critique messaging. Do not yell at me about this.

Newest caveat aside, let’s get into it!

Inspiration Porn

Without a doubt, our biggest category! Term coined in 2012 by badass activist Stella Young, but the trope has been around for literal centuries. There are a few different kinds that I will talk about.

Disabled character/person is automatically noble/good because of their disability. A very early example would be A Christmas Carol’s Tiny Tim, or, arguably, Quasimodo from The Hunchback of Notre Dame. Real life examples include the Jerry Lewis MDA telethon, or children’s hospital ads that exploit sad-eyed kids with visible illness or disability.

Having a disability does not automatically make you a kind/angelic/noble person. This many not seem harmful, and may even seem positive, but in reality, it is condescending, inaccurate, and sets bizarre standards for how disabled people should behave.

This portrayal is often intended to elicit pity from abled audiences, which is also problematic.

In these portrayals, disability is not something to be proud of or identify with, only something to be suffered through.

Disabled character person does something relatively mundane and we all need to celebrate that. This is less common in writing, but happens in the real world when people do things like post pictures of disabled people at the gym captioned “What’s your excuse?”

This is condescending, and implies that anything disabled people are capable of, abled people are automatically capable of.

Makes it seem like it’s an incredible feat for a disabled person to accomplish tasks.

Uses people’s actual lives and actual disabilities as a reminder of “how good abled life is.”

The “Supercrip” stereotype is a specific kind of inspiration porn in which disabled people are shown to be capable of amazing things, “in spite of” their disability.

The Paralympics have been criticized for this, with people saying that advertisements and understandings of the Paralympics frame the athletes as inspiring not because they are talented or accomplished, but because their talents and accomplishments are seen as “so unlikely.”

Other examples include the way we discuss famous figures like Stephen Hawking, Alan Turing, or even Beethoven. Movies like The Theory of Everything and The Imitation Game frame the subjects’ diagnoses, whether actual or posited, as limitations that they had to miraculously break through in order to accomplish what they did. Discussions of Beethoven’s deafness focus on how incredible it was that he was able to overcome it and be a musician despite what is framed as a tragic acquisition of deafness.

The pity/heroism trap is a concise way of defining inspiration porn. If the media you’re creating or consuming inspires these emotions, and only these emotions, around disability, that is a representation that is centered on the feelings and perceptions of abled people. It’s reductive, it’s ableist, and it’s massively overdone.

Disabled Villains

To be clear, disabled people can and should be villains in fiction. The problem comes when disabled people are either objects of pity/saintly heroes, or villains, and there is no complexity to those representations. When there is so little disabled rep out there (less than 3.5% of characters in current media), having a disabled villain contributes to the othering of disability, as well as the idea that disability can make someone evil. There are also a few circumstances in which particular disabilities are used to represent evil, and I’ll talk about how that’s problematic.

Mentally ill villains are colossally overdone, particularly given that mentally ill people are more likely to be the victims of violence than perpetrators of it. This is true of all mental illness, including “””scary””” things like personality disorders or disorders on the schizoaffective spectrum. Mental illness is stigmatized enough without media framing mentally ill people as inherently bad or more suspectible to evil. This prejudice is known as sanism.

Explicit fictional examples of this include the Joker, or Kevin Wendell Crumb in Split.

People can also be coded as mentally ill without it being explicitly stated, and that’s also problematic and sanist. In the Marvel movie Doctor Strange and the Multiverse of Madness, Wanda’s appearance and behavior are coded as mentally ill. This is used to make her “creepy.” Horror movies do this a lot - mental illness does not render someone creepy, and should not be used as a tool in this way.

Visible disability or difference to indicate evil is another common, incredibly offensive, and way overdone trope. This is mostly commonly done through facial difference, and the examples are endless. These portrayals equate disability or disfigurement with ugliness, and that ugliness with evil. It renders the disabled villain in question an outcast, undesirable, and uses their disability or difference to dehumanize these characters and separate them from others. This is incredibly prevalent and incredibly painful for people with visible disability or facial difference.

An example of visible disability indicating evil is Darth Vader’s prosthetics and vastly changed physical appearance that happen exactly in time with his switch to the dark side. In contrast, when Luke needs a prosthetic, it is lifelike and does not visually separate him from the rest of humanity/the light.

Dr. Who’s John Lumic is another example of the “Evil Cripple” trope.

Examples of facial difference indicating evil range from just about every James Bond movie, to Scar in the Lion King, Dr. Isabel Maru in Wonder Woman, Taskmaster in Black Widow, Captain Hook in Peter Pan, and even Doofenschmirtz-2 in Phineas and Ferb the Movie. Just because some of the portrayals are silly (looking at you, Phineas and Ferb) doesn’t make the coding of facially scarred villains any less hurtful.

A slightly different, but related phenomenon I’ll include here is the idea of the disability con. This is when a character fakes a disability for personal gain. This represents disabled people as potential fakers, and advances the idea that disabled people get special privileges that abled people can and should co-opt for their own reasons.

In The Usual Suspects, criminal mastermind Verbal Clint fakes disability to avoid suspicion and take advantage of others. In Arrested Development, a lawyer fakes blindness in order to gain the sympathy and pity of the jury.

In much more complex examples such as Sharp Objects, a mother with Munchausen by proxy fakes her daughter’s illness in order to receive attention and pity. Portrayals like this make Munchausen or MBP seem more common than it is, and introduce the idea that parents may be lying or coaching their children to lie about necessary medical treatment.

Disability as Morality

Sometimes, the disabled character themselves is a moral lesson, like Auggie in Wonder. Sheerly through existing, Auggie “teaches” his classmates about kindness, the evils of bullying, and not judging a book by its cover. This also fits well under inspiration porn. This is problematic, because the disabled character is defined in terms of how they advance the other characters’ morality and depth.

In the “Disabled for a Day” trope, an otherwise abled character experiences a temporary disability, learns a moral lesson, and is restored to full ability by the end of the episode/book/movie. Once again, disability is used as a plot device, rather than a complex experience, along with more permanent disability being rejected as impossible for heroes or main characters.

Examples include an episode of M*A*S*H where Hawkeye is temporarily blinded, an episode of Law and Order: SVU where Elliott Stabler is temporarily blinded, and an episode of Criminal Minds where Agent Hotchner experiences temporary hearing loss.

Real life examples include sensitivity trainings where participants are asked to wear a blindfold, headphones, or use a wheelchair for a given amount of time. This does not impart the lived experience of disability. It should not be used as a teaching tool.

Disabled people as inherently pure. This is related to inspiration porn and disabled people as noble, but is different in that it is usually appears in combination with developmental, cognitive, or intellectual disabilities. These characters are framed as sweet, “simple,” and a reminder to other characters to be cheerful, happy, or grateful.

Examples include Forrest Gump, Rain Man, I Am Sam, and What’s Eating Gilbert Grape.

No matter what the stereotypes of a given diagnosis are (yes, I’m thinking of the automatic cheerfulness associated with Down Syndrome), disabled people have personalities. They are capable of being sad, angry, sarcastic, irritable, annoying - any number of things beyond good/sweet/pure. It is reductive to act otherwise.

Disability as Surreal

Less common than some of the others, but still worth thinking about!

Disabled characters are framed as mystical, magical, or other than human, a condition that is either created by or indicated through their disability status. This is especially common with little people.

“Disability superpower” is when a character compensates for, or is uniquely able to have a superpower because of, their disability. Common tropes include the Blind Seer, Blind Weapon Master, Genius Cripple and Super Wheel Chair.

Examples include Pam from Supernatural, Charles Xavier from X-Men, or the grandpa in Spy Kids.

Disability as Undesirable

Last and least favorite category here. Let’s go.

Disabled people as asexual or not sexually desirable. Disabled people can be asexual, obviously. When every portrayal is asexual, that’s a big problem. It frames disabled people as sexually undesirable or implies that it is impossible for people with disabilities to have rewarding, mutually satisfying sexual relationships.

Examples include The Fault in Our Stars or Artie in Glee.

Abandoned due to disability. Hate this trope. Often equates disability with weakness. Don’t want to talk about it. It’s all right there in the title. Don’t do it.

Examples: Quasimodo in Hunchback of Notre Dame, several kittens in the Warrior Cat series, several episodes of Law and Order: SVU, Bojack Horseman, and Vikings.

Discussed in 300 and Wolf of Wall Street.

Ancient cultures and animal nature are often cited as reasoning for this trope/practice. This is not founded in fact. Many ancient civilizations, including Sparta, cared for disabled people. Many animals care for disabled young. These examples should not be used to justify modern human society.

Disabled characters are ostracized for disability. Whether they act “““normal”““ or odd, characters with visible or merely detectable disabilities are treated differently.

Examples include pretty much every piece of media I’ve said so far. This is particularly prevalent for people with visible physical disabilities or neurodivergence. Also particularly prevalent for characters with albinism.

This is not necessarily an inaccurate portrayal - disabled people face a lot of discrimination and ableism. It is, however, very, very common.

Bury your disabled. What it says on the label.

Examples: Animorphs, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, American Horror Story, Criminal Minds, Dr. Who, Star Trek, The Wire.

Mercy killing is a subtrope of the above but disgusting enough that it deserves its own aside. I may make a separate post about this at some point because this post is kind of exhausting and depressing me.

Examples: Me Before You, Killing Eve, Star Trek: The Next Generation, Of Mice and Men, and Million Dollar Baby.

Disability-negating superpowers imply that disability is undesirable by solving it supernaturally instead of actually portraying it, and giving their character powers instead.

Examples include (arguably) Toph from Avatar: the Last Airbender, Captain America: The First Avenger, The Legend of Korra, Dr. Strange, and Daredevil.

Overcoming disability portrays disability as a hindrance and something that can be defeated through technology and/or willpower.

Fictional examples include WALL-E, Kill Bill, The Goonies, The Dark Knight Trilogy, Heidi, The Secret Garden, The Inheritance Cycle, Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D, The Big Bang Theory, Dr. Strangelove, Sherlock, The Witcher.

Real life examples include videos of wheelchair users standing from their chair to walk down the aisle at a wedding, or d/Deaf children “hearing” for the first time through cochlear implants.

What Does This Mean for Your Writing?

First of all, congratulations for making it this far!

Now, as I have said again and again, I’m not going to tell you what to write. I’ll ask some questions to hopefully help guide your process.

What tropes might you be playing into when writing disabled characters? Why do you find these tropes compelling, or worth writing about? How prevalent are these tropes? How harmful are they? What messages do they send to actual disabled people?

Just because they are common tropes does not mean they are universally awful. Cool fantasy or futuristic workarounds are not necessarily bad rep. Showing the ugly realities of ableism is not necessarily bad rep. It’s just a very, very common representation of disability, and it’s worth thinking about why it’s so common, and why you’re writing it.

As always, conduct your own research, know your own characters and story, and make your own decisions. If you have questions, concerns, or comments, please hit me up! Add your own information! This is not monolithic whatsoever.

Happy writing!

#disability writing guide #writing disabled characters #disability #disability representation #disability justice #writing advice #disability tropes #writing tropes #ableism #sanism

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rosesbxrry · 1 year

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Gingerbread

Pairing: Boyfriend! Jake X Girlfriend! Fem! Reader

Genre: Smut🔞(Minors DNI), established relationship! AU

Warnings: Dom! Jake, unprotected sex (wrap it up before you tap it), cream pie, heavy food play, fellatio (blowjob), throat fucking, making out, slight ass spanking, dirty talking, riding, slight slut shaming, Jake calling you a bunch a pet names (baby, baby girl, slut, doll, good girl), breast worshipping, praising/ degradation. Hopefully I didn’t miss out anything else.

Summary: Gingerbread cookies; sweet and warm, perfect for the Christmas season as the smell overwhelms your shared apartment with Jake. However, what seems to be an innocent baking activity you spent with him for Chirstmas Eve turns into something more delectable than the confectionary.

A Holiday Special: ➜ Jake

| ➜ Heeseung | ➜ Jay | ➜ Sunghoon |

Main masterlist

Word count: 3,911 words

a/n: This was suppose to be posted 3 days ago but of course, in true fashion, I was late in writing it in time. I’m sure the mood for Christmas is already over but I’m determine to finish this as soon as possible (while enjoying writing it for u guys too). This would also be the second last fic for the holiday special so I hope u guys enjoyed it and Happy New year!

There is something special about the Christmas holidays that is imbued with a magical aura of warmth and happiness. It's a month filled with festive food, decorations, songs, and movies that overwhelm you with nostalgia.

You and Jake decided to celebrate the season together this year instead of choosing to be with your families and relatives separately. The plan was to spend Christmas Eve bundled up with blankets and matching pajamas, watching a bunch of movies on the couch while eating an unhealthy amount of snacks until Christmas morning.

What initially begins as an innocent trip to the supermarket becomes a spontaneous shopping spree for ingredients to make gingerbread cookies. You weren't sure how the both of you ended up with that idea, but it proved to be regrettable further into the baking process.

Jake is an awful baker (Jungwon would vouch for that), while you were manageable as long as the recipe was concise. Still, the odd pairing of each other's ability in the kitchen was bound to end in a mishap, which led to the scene of two people staring at a tray of cookies in the oven, hoping that it won't burn like the previous batch.

By some miracle, you both persevere until the end; Jake places the last batch of perfectly baked cookies onto a drying rack while you whip some of the decorative vanilla icings to be placed on top of the confectionery.

The large window of your shared apartment displayed the amount of time that has passed, the city night below illuminated as the moon and stars became the sole residents under the dark sky. Only a few windows appear lit at the blocks across, indicating the vacancy of the vicinity during the holidays.

"We should never do this again next year." Jake groans beside you, pulling on his flour-stained apron around his waist. You chuckle when he plops down to rest his elbows on the kitchen counter, his chin on a palm while mindlessly in a daze with exhaustion on his face.

You nudge at his side playfully, but he doesn't budge like a statue.

"Did it take you that long to realize?" You said, gripping the whisk handle a little harder to work the powdered sugar and milk mixture together.

He shook his head, and his wispy bangs followed his movement. "I knew the moment the first cookies looked like they belonged in the toilet."

His deadpan response caused you to snort in amusement.

"Why didn't you say anything?"

He shrugged his shoulders. "Didn't want to ruin the mood."

He leans down to your level to snuggle his chin on your shoulder, his nose slightly buried in the sweater you were wearing. A slight tilt of your neck to the side caused a bump of your head with his affectionately, continuing to work on the icing while he watched.

"Well, when I'm done, we can cuddle on the sofa while we wait for the cookies to cool down. How does that sound?" You murmured.

Jake nodded his head, but his chin clung to your shoulder, so you had to stifle a smile at how adorable he was. He looked like a puppy silently begging for his owner's attention but couldn't because he wanted to be a good boy and patiently wait for you to be ready.

You've been dating for two years now, and you could interpret by the glint in his eyes when you suggested the offer that he was in dire need of some intimacy.

Once the consistency of the icing satisfied you, the next step was to divide it into different bowls for the colouring process. At the same time, some of the icings had flown out of the mixing pot onto your index finger, which you instinctively brought to your mouth to lick it off casually.

A disgusted grunt left your mouth, causing him to look at you curiously.

"It's too sweet." You declared. "I think I put too much powdered sugar."

Jake watches your face and eyebrows scrunch up in annoyance, smacking your mouth as you inspect the flavour to find a solution to save it. His gaze was attentive on your lips, swallowing down the desire in his throat.

"Can I have a taste?"

"Sure, baby," You said without a second guess, reaching out to grab a teaspoon for him to use. "Let me just take—"

It took you by surprise when he grabbed your wrist before you could leave while his other hand held your jaw, bringing you closer to his face to kiss you. His plump lips capture yours as you close your eyes to relish how he moves to deepen the kiss.

He tasted like warm bittersweet chocolate; the kisses candies he had a few hours ago still lingered.

You reach out to cup his face, feeling his breath fan the high points of your cheeks. Jake tilts his head to the side, his movement firm as he wraps his arms around your waist, pressing you close to his body as you moan softly when he bites at your lower lip.

He licks the nibbled area sensually, signalling you to open wide to let his tongue slip past the cavern of your mouth, caressing your taste buds as you share one breath with each other at the heated moment.

It made you wonder if he could taste the icing in your mouth.

Jake slowly loosens the connection, taking one last lap at your puffed lips before moving away. Through lidded eyes, you watch him tuck the cushion of his bottom lip between his teeth; laboured breathing fills the space of intense silence.

"If I tell you a way not to waste the icing," He whispered close to your lips, hands sliding up the ends of your sweater. A soft sigh escapes your mouth when his calloused fingers smooth your stomach. "Would you be down to get a little dirty with me?"

Your cheeks burned at his suggestive offer— imagining how sticky the substance would feel gliding up and down on each other's skin, especially when it would be his veiny and large hands stroking the cream filthy across your whole body as you writhed under his lubricated touches.

You almost moan at the thought of rubbing the icing on each other's private areas.

Something throbs in you at the obscene act, an arousing feeling that makes you tug his hair on the back of his neck to press his body closer to yours.

You didn't need to verbalize the agreement; your action speaks louder than words as he smirks against your jaw, pulling at the strings of your apron on your back.

"Then let's take off our clothes, yeah?"

One by one, articles of clothing slowly piled on the kitchen floor, stripping each other naked until you realize how chilly the winter night felt biting your bare skin. However, the moment Jake's lips kissed you eagerly again, you felt the flame blooming inside warming you up.

Jake mouthed sloppily, his tongue darting back and forth in your cavern forcefully as his nose bumped against yours. You hungrily push back, saliva collecting under your tongue that it was impossible not to make erotic wet sounds as the kiss turned messy.

"Ahhh— Jake," You whined, throwing your head back when you felt the icing on his hand grope your breast.

He had quietly gathered the sweet cream in his hand, smothering it on your chest in a circular motion. He smears some on your hardened nipples, feeling yourself melt when he fondles the nubs with his slick thumb with the right amount of pleasure.

"Look at you, messy girl." He cooed. "Why don't you do the same for me, hm? Can my girl make me nice and dirty?"

Slick was beginning to drip from your folds, the idea of food play turning you on more than you thought. You scope up a decent amount of cream on your palm before spreading it across his toned torso, and Jake immediately groans at the sensation.

"Jakey, you're so hot." You drawled.

You drag your hands up to his chest, grazing on his nipples as his hips jerk at the contact, breathy moans escaping his deliciously puffy lips. His bangs had fallen to cover the upper half of his closed eyes into an enticing view.

With a covetous gaze, you gradually draw your touch lower past the dips of his hips before you rub his hardened cock, letting the icing coat his length deliciously.

"Nghhh— fuck." He let his head fall into the crook of your neck, his abdomen tensing up as you started moving your hand up and down his thick and warm cock.

Precum drools down from his head before it mixes with the cream, the mixture becoming agonizingly slippery against the underside of his pulsating veins as you fasten your pace, craving more friction to satiate his carnal desire.

Jake's panting grew heavier against your skin and watching him completely crumble made you itch to ruin him more. A shaky moan slips from his throat, catching your wrist in a tight grip when you tease his swollen slit with your thumb back and forth, shuddering at the sudden pleasure shooting through his spine.

"Shit— fucking tease…." His muffled accusation tickled your collarbone, whine an octave lower through gritted teeth.

You wanted to laugh, but it died in your throat when one of Jake's hands grabbed your ass from behind. The harsh squeeze he had on the ample flesh got you whimpering in either pain or pleasure; at this point, you weren't sure anymore.

"My cute girlfriend thought she could tease me and get away with it." He said, his nails slightly digging into the skin.

You wince at the prickly sensation but respond while feigning innocence. "You look like you enjoyed it, so I didn't want to stop."

You gasped when he spanked your ass with enough power, the sound of flesh hitting flesh echoed throughout the space. You curl your toes in anguish as the stinging pain becomes waves of immeasurable pleasure. An incoherent moan poured out, your pussy clenching in its juices as you buck your hips with mouth agape at the way your clit was throbbing uncontrollably.

It was an unexpected impact, enough to make you squeeze your shaky thighs together.

Fuck, that felt so good you almost came.

"Naughty girl thinks she can talk back now." He whispered directly into your ears, kneading the tender flesh with a satisfied look at your state after wearing his temper thin.

The sticky residue of the cream did nothing but accentuate the desperation clawing in your stomach.

"Should I occupy that little mouth of yours with something sweet? It looks a bit too empty." He kisses the underside of your neck, grinding his wet cock with icing against your stomach to show you what he means.

"I thought I couldn't have dessert without dinner first?" You challenged him sweetly.

Jake's chuckle is almost sinister, finding your taunted response amusing, although he already gave you a taste of punishment. Of course, you would use something he used to say against him at this moment. You love to do it to rail him up even more, and he also finds himself enjoying it.

"I'll make it an exception this time." He baited, licking his bottom lip in anticipation. "So stop being a brat and get on your knees for me."

You slowly descend to rest your weight on your knees on the kitchen tiles, kissing his bulbous head after wrapping your hand around the base of his lengthy cock.

Jake leaned on the edge of the countertop, and lusty moans rambled in his throat when you took the tip in your hot mouth, tongue swirling around the slit to dart at the sticky mess.

He tasted sweet in your taste buds.

"You look fucking sexy down there, baby girl" He gathers your hair lightly, watching you from above with a dreamy look. "How does it taste? Good?"

"It tastes amazing…." You mumbled, leaning an inch lower to take one of his balls into your mouth, sucking at the tight and heavy sack like a treat while looking up at him with big and innocent eyes. "Wanna taste you some more."

The visual of your lewd face and the sensation of you slurping his balls like a lollipop— his eyes rolled back at the pleasure, chewing at the inside of his cheeks as his length twitched and grew agonizingly hard.

Jake took a fist full of your hair at the back, and you let him guide your mouth to take him, eyes squeezing shut as he pumps his dick in and out of your mouth. Your hand held onto his thighs for support, letting him hit his head at the back of your throat.

"That's it, eat it up. Fucking take all of me in." He hissed.

The force of his hips pistoning your mouth with his cock had you collapsing into a teary-eyed mess, but you persevered— bobbing your head to match his rhythm, suctioning to take more and more of him into your mouth.

Every time he thrust in until your nose was flush against his pelvis, you ran your tongue all over his length— tasting the sweetness of the cream with an undertone of his bitter precum.

Jake let out a frustrated growl, needing more stimulation to reach his high.

"Open your throat, baby girl— let me fuck it."

You whimpered as he scraped his fingers harder on your scalp, mercilessly fucking your throat until the corners of your mouth spilt with the filthy mixture obscenely. Trying hard to relax your jaws and cheeks, you fought the urge to gag over his cock and squeeze his thighs hard as every inch of him was seated in your mouth.

You were deepthroating the living daylights out of him, and Jake loved every second of it, his climax nearing its peak.

"Swallow my cream like a slutty girl, got it?"

His filthy encouragement only made you moan, and as soon his hip staggered with one final hard thrust, he came into your mouth. His hot seed spilt down your throat, swallowing the liquid with the remaining facial strength you had to spare.

His grip on the back of your head softened, watching you drink up his cum as he held the base of his cock to milk out whatever he had left.

"Fuck, such a good slut cleaning up her mess." His praises filled the silence. "She deserves to come on my cock, don't you think?"

You hummed eagerly in response as you licked every inch of him sloppily— the way you knew he enjoyed it.

Jake thought you looked breathtakingly hot as he pulled out to smear his sensitive tip on your lower lip. A deep flush on your cheeks, chest heaving up and down, a few tear stains evident on the corners of your eyes, and figure weakly slump down on your knees, soiled with residual icing.

He tugged you by the arms to help you get on your feet. As he wraps his hands around your waist, you clutch onto his shoulder blades for support, resting your body against his at how weak your knees were.

Jake gently snuggles on the crook of your neck to mumble close to your ears. "How would you like it? From the back? Or the front?"

"Wanna ride you." You breathe out.

He grinned like he had expected that answer. "Had a feeling you'll pick that."

Jake hauled his body onto the kitchen countertop, pushing away utensils that were in the way. With whatever miracle, he manages to manhandle your exhausted body up on the marbled surface, letting you straddle him as he lay flat on his back.

It was an awkward position— his long legs dangled at the end with some visible remnants of the gingerbread baking situation left. Still, the way he gripped your hips to situate your pussy on his cock, rubbing your folds over his length, had you clawing at his chest.

"Oh my god." You cried out, seeing stars as you rolled your hips harder, his cock rubbing hard on your cunt as the wetness started pooling on your inner thighs.

The knot in your stomach was burning you on the inside.

Jake chuckled darkly with his pupils blown out below you, albeit shivering at the overwhelming stimulation after just coming.

"My good girl wants to use me like her personal fuck toy after I stuffed her mouth full with my cock, right?" He huffed out, rapturously gazing at how you moaned at his words. "You want that, don't you?"

"Jaeyun—" You choked out when your clit made contact with his hot length so deliciously that you began humping him desperately like a dog in heat. Your pussy was clenching around nothing as the sensation made you dizzy with desperation, thighs burning at the fatigue.

"Fuck, I need you. Please." You begged.

"I know, baby girl." He whispered slowly. "I need you too."

With one hand kneading your ass to lift you slightly in the air while the other gripping his shaft, he lines your slit with his tip and probes your entrance to let him in.

"C'mere and ride me."

With your pussy already drenched after sucking him off, Jake easily stretches you open as you descend his cock. The noises that came out your mouth were music to his ears, your gummy walls clenching around his girth so tightly as he buried himself deep inside your cunt.

"So wet," He rasps, absolutely enamoured by the bliss overwhelming his body. "Move for me, baby girl."

You start by bouncing lightly, palms resting on his chest as you move your hips. When you lift all the way up, you make sure to sink back down until his cock fills you to the brim. The pace was begrudgingly slow, still adjusting to his size as you moaned softly with every thrust.

"That's it, doll." He said, thumb circling the apex of your hips soothingly. "You're so pretty— so perfect for taking me well."

Your pace was getting faster and rougher, face flush at the way he poured sentiment words to fuel you up. It caused you to tighten your walls around him, making each drag of his cock going in and out of you much more gratifying.

Jake soaked in your lovely features, his eyes moving down to watch your boobs bounce with the movement of your hips. Your tits were nice and hard— lusciously erect, urging him to twirl the nub between his fingers teasingly until you cried.

It didn't help that some icing was still on your breast, dripping down when it mixed with your sweat. Jake had to bite down hard on his lips to prevent himself from melting on the spot.

Call him juvenile, but it turned him on beyond reason at how pornographic the scene was, his slit dribbling out with more precum inside of you.

You didn't understand the power you have over him, crying and choking in your speech as you grind over his cock shamelessly with your hands around your cute tummy.

"Wanna taste this pretty set of tits." He said, and you pulled your legs apart as he sat up to fill the spot between your legs.

He licks the swell of your breast before taking a nipple into his mouth, engulfing the peak with moist kisses and suckling. He kneaded the flesh tenderly with his other hand, flicking the other nipple with equal attention.

"So sweet," He hummed, switching to the other pebbled nipple to tongue it as your mewls grew louder, rocking your hips to his pace. "My pretty girl tastes so good in my mouth."

The lapping of his lips on your nipples had you hissing at the intensity, especially when he was still balls-deep in you.

His lips let go of your nipples after abusing the tender flesh, returning to lie down on his back, but this time, he made sure to keep your legs wide open, the sole of your feet resting on the surface for him to see your hole stuffed with his cock.

"Ahhh—hahh–Jake–" You whined, leaning back to rest your palms on his thighs to balance your body. Although it did make you redden at how exposed you felt in this position. "Fuck, Jake. I can't— too deep….."

"I know, baby." He reassured you, holding your ankles to keep you at bay at his side. "But I need you to keep bouncing on my cock. My good girl can do that for me, right?"

You nodded obediently, rolling your hips back and forth to continue fucking your slit with his cock. Your pace faltered with each minuscule movement of you going down on his dick, but Jake took this opportunity to thrust you up sharply to meet you halfway.

"Not yet," He groaned, noticing you show signs of slowing down. "A little bit more, baby."

The loud and wet clapping of your ass hitting his thighs echoed in your shared apartment, and your face twisted in ecstasy when he took charge and slammed his cock into your sweet spot. He rammed the spot continuously, splitting your pussy open thrust after thrust.

There was a reason why Jake needed you to be in this position; having access to play with your swollen clit as he pounded into you from below was sure to morph you into a blubbering mess.

"So, close." You buck into his fingers when he thumbs your bundle of nerves, the knot in your stomach is keen to burst into millions of pieces as he switches between circling and tapping your clit with precision.

"Jake– Jakey, please fill me up." You break into a fit of sobbing, rolling your eyes back.

Jake sighs in desperation as well. "Wanna see you cum, baby." He did everything he could to keep you high in the clouds with pleasure— his hips and fingers never ceased even for a second, utterly devoted to making you undone. "Wanna fill this sweet pussy nice and full with my seed."

His voice coaxed the earth-shattering orgasm that ripped your body into shreds; the view of the ceiling was the only thing you see when you throw your head back when you come on his cock.

Jake took a few more thrusts before he released his milky load into your cunt— your brain could barely register any ounce of rationality in your brain, body going limp as he rode your orgasm steadily.

You lay down on top of him, feeling him pull his cock out to let his cum drip out of your tight hole. His hands found themselves around your body, pulling you into a sticky pile of embrace with him as you basked in the relief washing over you.

You felt completely raw and fucked out that you could barely keep your eyes open. It was warm and sweaty, so different from the cold winter that prevails outside.

"Jake," You swallowed, breathing through your nose as you tried to calm your beating heart.

"That was…."

"Intense?" He asked.

You shook your head. "Amazing."

His chest vibrates as he laughs, kissing the top of your head affectionately as pride swells in his heart at how spent you looked.

The smell of cinnamon slowly wafted through the kitchen, reminding the two figures that they still had dozens of freshly baked gingerbread cookies that needed to be decorated.

Permanent Taglist: open/ take this form to be added!

@forjongseong @skzenhalove @duolingofanaccount @sunnysunnysunnysunshine @sunnyjayjays @archangelaurii @hwihwi0o0 @won-shine @stnkyash @yoursjaeyun @hooneam @jjhmk @pshchives

A Holiday Special: ➜ Jake

| ➜ Heeseung | ➜ Jay | ➜ Sunghoon |

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lassieposting · 2 months

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So on the back of my headcanon about the Prototype more or less raising CatNap, I've been watching someone play Project Playtime for the first time, and I'm fucking yelling

If you play as the monster, the Prototype literally teaches you (as Huggy Wuggy) how to hunt. He's the one giving the tutorial instructions.

And honestly? The vibe I got from that "interaction" is that Prototype likes children. More than that: Prototype is good with children.

Project Playtime takes place in the intervening decade between the Hour of Joy massacre and the start of the main game. Based on the fact that Huggy needs the Prototype's guidance, it's probably fairly early in that period - he's not used to hunting for himself yet. So Huggy here is a monster with limited intelligence - he's the most 'animal' experiment we've seen, though he is still able to write - and the soul of a child.

And the Prototype tailors his lessons appropriately. Like, I trained to work with kids, and he uses essentially the same approach I would to teach a young or special needs child a new skill.

Simple Instructions: what Prototype is teaching Huggy here is, at its core, strategy and tactical thinking, and that's a subject he seems to understand well and know a lot about. A more intelligent experiment - like, say, young CatNap - might ask a lot of questions, and Prototype could probably give them long, in-depth explanations of why doing X thing prompts Y response or why Z tactic is useful. But Huggy isn't on that level, so Prototype keeps his instructions and explanations short, concise and easy to understand.

No Guesswork: Huggy, described as having only "sufficient" intelligence post-transformation, likely has limited capacity for complex thought. Where CatNap might be encouraged to think ahead for himself and suggest problems that could arise, Huggy would struggle. So Prototype gives him all the information he needs: here are the ways the humans will try to avoid or harm or mislead you, and here are the ways you can fight back. He even points out little tips that might seem obvious, like listening for the breathing of a hiding worker, because he knows that might not occur independently to Huggy.

Positive Reinforcement: When Huggy successfully incapacitates a human player, Prototype laughs and praises him, treating a potentially upsetting conflict like a fun game. Once Huggy has gotten rid of all the human players and won the match, Prototype tells him he did a good job and that he can rest now.

The Bad News Sandwich: One technique I was taught for dealing with young children is that when you have to give them upsetting or disappointing news, sandwiching it between two good things limits the distress it will cause. And Prototype does this twice with Huggy:

[Praises Huggy for catching a player and putting him in the food chute] [warns Huggy that the other players could try to rescue their friend] [offers a way to stop them doing that]

[Praises Huggy for clearing out the factory] [tells Huggy that more humans will return] [reassures Huggy that for now, he can rest and relax]

Anyway. Prototype taught at least one child-aged experiment to fend for itself and defend the factory: confirmed. And so, scenarios I'm now picturing with Prototype and little CatNap: this

youtube

I'm also 👀👀👀 at the fact that like. While it's directly stated that while his main motive for having the experiments attack the Project Playtime workers is to stop them making more creatures, he's got a secondary motive in that he's using the Bigger Bodies mascots *to gather food for the smaller toys*. The larger toys may have become hostile towards the smaller, weaker, "prey" toys, but the Prototype seems to be at least trying to provide for them, albeit in the only fucked-up way available to him.

Anyway I just think that's really interesting considering he's been implied to be the game's ultimate Big Bad. I think there's more to him than we've been told

#poppy playtime #poppy playtime meta #poppy playtime headcanons #experiment 1006 #the prototype #huggy wuggy #catnap

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thethief1996 · 6 months

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9.000 palestinians were killed in 3 weeks of bombings and the USA has just approved $14bi in additional military aid for Israel, on top of the annual $3.8bi Joe Biden instituted 28 years ago. Israel has targeted an ambulance convoy near Al-Shifa hospital, which was evacuating wounded from hospitals to the Rafah crossing. Al-Shifa is already working at 164% capacity, while 25 of the 35 hospitals in the Gaza Strip have shut down due to damage from bombing and lack of fuel (if I hear another zionist talk about how good Israel is for roof knocking hospitals is I'm going to explode). They did everything Israel asked of them and still they were murdered.

Almost half of these deaths are children, and even in death they're not respected and the US president and western media outlets are casting doubt over the reported numbers, even though they cast no such doubt over the numbers reported by Israel even though there's no official list provided by the government. It's ridiculous how blatantly they are copying Holocaust denialism talking points.

Meanwhile, Israel is enjoying the fog of war to proceed with the ethnic cleasing of the West Bank. Palestinians in Masafer Yatta, that have been intimidated by the construction of settlements hounding them for years, received threats by armed civilians saying they would be killed if they didn't leave in 24h and since then settlers have burned down their homes. Bedouin villages in Hebron, whose population was already routinely brutalized by settlers from the outposts nearby, are receiving equal threats and being terrorized by the destruction of their water supplies, roadblocks and physical violence. This is the largest forced displacement in the West Bank since 1972 and it's all being committed by settlers backed by the IDF. Israeli activists said they don't even know if these settlers are acting at the government's request or if they're just terrorizing people into running away from their homes in their free time. Thousands of Gazans who worked within Israel's "green line" were being held hostage since Oct 7th and reported they were tortured and labeled with numbers around their legs. Today, they were pushed back into southern Gaza amid airstrikes.

Palestinian journalists are being targeted for live streaming their genocide. The least we can do is pay attention and take action. Gazans have said our support lifts their spirits. If nothing else, to lift their spirits.

TOMORROW, NOV 4TH, there will be a National March in Washington DC organized by 500+ orgs and expected to be the largest pro-Palestine movement in the history of the USA. If you can, please attend.

Educate yourself. Read into Palestinian history and the occupation. You can't common sense people out of decades of propaganda. If your arguments crumble when a zionist brings up the "disengagement of Gaza", you have to learn more.

Read Decolonize Palestine. They have 15 minute reads that concisely explain the occupation (and its colonial roots) and debunk popular myths, including pinkwashing.

Read on Palestine. Here's an amazing masterpost.

Verso Book Club is giving out free books on Palestine (I personally downloaded Ten Myths about Israel by Ilan Pappe).

Keep yourself updated and share Palestinian voices, looking to inform yourself from the sources. Palestinians have asked of us only that we share, tweet and post, over and over. Muna El-Kurd said every tweet is like a treasure to them, because their voices are repressed on social media and even on this very app. Make it your action item to share something about the Palestinian plight everyday. Here are some resources:

Al Jazeera

Anadolu Agency

Mondoweiss

Boycott Divest Sanction Movement

Palestinian Youth Movement

Mohammed El-Kurd (twitter / instagram)

Al-Shabaka (twitter / instagram)

Mariam Barghouti (twitter / instagram)

Muhammad Shehada (twitter)

Motaz Azaiza (instagram) - reporting directly from Gaza.

Take action. You can participate in boycotts wherever you are in the world, through BDS guidelines. Don't be overwhelmed by gigantic boycott lists. BDS explicitly targets only a few brands which have bigger impact. You can stop consuming from as many brands as you want, though, and by all means feel free to give a 1 star review to McDonalds, Papa John, Pizza Hut, Burger King and Starbucks. Right now, they are focusing on boycotting the following:

Carrefour

Puma

Sabra

Sodastream

Ahava cosmetics

Israeli fruits and vegetables

Push for a cultural boycott - pressure your favorite artist to speak out on Palestine and cancel any upcoming performances on occupied territory (Lorde cancelled her gig in Israel because of this. It works.)

If you can, participate in direct action or donate.

Palestine Action works to shut down Israeli weapons factories in the UK and USA, and have successfully shut down one of their firms in London.Some of the activists are going on trial and are calling for mobilizing on court.

Palestinian Youth Movement is organizing direct actions to stop the shipping of wars to Israel. Follow them.

Call your representatives. The Labour Party in the UK had an emergency meeting after several councilors threatened to resign if they didn't condemn Israeli war crimes. Calling to show your complaints works, even more if you live in a country that funds genocide.

FOR PEOPLE IN THE USA: USCPR has developed this toolkit for calls, here's a document that autosends emails to your representatives and here's a toolkit by Ceasefire in Gaza NOW!

FOR PEOPLE IN EUROPE: Here's a toolkit by Voices in Europe for Peace targeting the European Parliament

FOR PEOPLE IN THE UK: Friends of Al-Aqsa UK and Palestine Solidarity UK have made toolkits for calls and emails

FOR PEOPLE IN GERMANY: Here's a toolkit to contact your representatives by Voices in Europe for Peace

FOR PEOPLE IN IRELAND: Here's a toolkit by Voices in Europe for Peace

FOR PEOPLE IN POLAND: Here's a toolkit by Voices in Europe for Peace

FOR PEOPLE IN DENMARK: Here's a toolkit by Voices in Europe for Peace

FOR PEOPLE IN SWEDEN: Here's a toolkit by Voices in Europe for Peace

FOR PEOPLE IN FRANCE: Here's a toolkit by Voices in Europe for Peace

FOR PEOPLE IN THE NETHERLANDS: Here's a toolkit by Voices in Europe for Peace

FOR PEOPLE IN GREECE: Here's a toolkit by Voices in Europe for Peace

FOR PEOPLE IN NORWAY: Here's a toolkit by Voices in Europe for Peace

FOR PEOPLE IN ITALY: Here's a toolkit by Voices in Europe for Peace

FOR PEOPLE IN PORTUGAL: Here's a toolkit by Voices in Europe for Peace

FOR PEOPLE IN SPAIN: Here's a toolkit by Voices in Europe for Peace

FOR PEOPLE IN FINLAND: Here's a toolkit by Voices in Europe for Peace

FOR PEOPLE IN AUSTRIA: Here's a toolkit by Voices in Europe for Peace

FOR PEOPLE IN BELGIUM: Here's a toolkit by Voices in Europe for Peace

FOR PEOPLE IN ROMANIA: Here's a toolkit by Voices in Europe for Peace

FOR PEOPLE IN UKRAINE: Here's a toolkit by Voices in Europe for Peace

FOR PEOPLE IN AUSTRALIA: Here's a toolkit by Stand With Palestine

FOR PEOPLE IN CANADA: Here's a toolkit by Indepent Jewish Voices for Canada

Join a protest. Here's a constantly updating list of protests:

Global calendar

Another global calendar (go to the instragram of the organizers to confirm your protest)

USA calendar

Australia calendar

Feel free to add more resources.

#free palestine #save gaza #gaza under attack #save hebron

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batsplat · 1 month

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hello i saw in your tags that you don't think people on here get casey stoner and as someone relatively new into the sport i would love to hear your thoughts <3

(context here) okay first of all, this post will be framed as ‘things I wish people talked about more with regards to casey stoner’, rather than arguing against what I think people think

I've tried to come up with a concise response to this ask but kept heading into thesis-length territory. so I decided to write a bullet point list and it’s still… yeah… but well it could be worse. if you, dear anon, wish to read thousands of words of casey stoner lore then please let me know. otherwise, here are just a few things I find interesting about this bloke:

casey has a very complex relationship with the concept of confidence, both in other riders and himself, in the sense that he KNOWS how important it is but also believes/wishes that he specifically is kinda above all that

this feeds into how he wishes that racing were Just Racing and not all this other stuff… not his brain not his body not other racers being assholes on/off track not talking to journalists or doing photoshoots not having to deal with politics etc etc - central underlying tension of his career

he has openly spoken about not ever really enjoying race day, saying the only thing he's missed after retiring is qualifying. very perfectionist, the anxiety, the over-thinking, craving control… all key casey traits

(which also ties in with the valentino rivalry, because valentino obviously adores racing (in particular wheel-to-wheel battle) but he’s also great at all that other off-track stuff)

some very rigid ideas of How The Sport Should Look, which you can see in everything from how he talks about racing standards to the introduction of CRT riders (he had it OUT for them, head hot every time aleix espargaro shows up in parc fermé) to valentino’s influence on ducati and the importance of the colour red

let him have his mean streak! the grim satisfaction in discussing jorge’s 2008 injuries after his early-season arrogance towards casey, the dismissiveness towards dani, some of the wilder valentino remarks (this isn’t a criticism to be clear, alien-on-alien violence is part of the natural order of things)

casey is a classic case of ‘just because you’re paranoid, doesn’t mean they aren’t after you’. definitely a suspicious guy and perpetual underdog 'me against the world' mindset. not to get too psychoanalytic-y, but I reckon this was partly born out of how he had to leave australia as a teenager (with his family completely dependent on him succeeding) because of how the racing establishment down under fucked him over

they definitely were out to get him a lot of the time, cf yamaha and then ducati drama plus the slander from some of the greats of the sport, fellow riders, the media etc etc (particularly egregious in 2009 when he was dealing with his mystery illness and a lot of people said some pretty unpleasant stuff in his absence - here is just one example)

his struggles were constantly downplayed. the chronic fatigue misdiagnosed as lactose intolerance led to people calling him weak-minded, broken, running away from the sport (part of why he was so allergic to the idea his results might in any way be connected to what was going on in his head). add in the undiagnosed anxiety and you have all this invisible strife people wouldn't even take seriously

that being said, he definitely did have a propensity for jumping to the worst possible conclusions

two specific examples: firstly from his autobiography, where he makes the claim that valentino may have been sabotaged in the 2006 title decider and was deliberately given a rubbish tyre to make him lose the championship - to which casey’s response was: “welcome to my world, mate”. he does have a tendency to believe he’s being sabotaged, and is constantly on the look out for conspiracies even when they are… unlikely

the other example is mat oxley talking about his issues with casey in his stint working for ducati, partly based on a misunderstanding:

something allegedly written about him in 2001!

let’s just say he can definitely hold a grudge

the moaner stoner stuff was definitely nasty, calling him mopey and whiny and all of that, but he also has never shied away from some good old-fashioned complaining (some of this was a bit of a spiral - complaining for good reason worsening public perception of him leading to more reasons to complain)

see also the lingering marc grudge, who probably did play a significant part in getting casey kicked out of honda (as casey has accused him of). whether marquez prevented stoner from racing in 2015 is more of an open question. casey still speaks about how honda made a mistake by only listening to marc (which, again, does have some truth to it)

casey was always very quick to shut down the idea that momentum, motivation, confidence etc could affect his results (unlike that of his competitors) because he argues he was always very rational & clear-sighted about when things were his fault & when things could be blamed on the bike + extraneous factors. he really goes into detail about this when discussing 2008 laguna seca in his autobiography, which he argues had no effect on him psychologically (but was followed by him crashing out of the lead of the next two races)

has definitely spoken more about his rivalry with valentino than valentino has, which probably has also helped shape perception of it over time

on ‘ambition outweighed talent’ - I feel like people almost understate just what a (hilariously) out of pocket remark it was in context. it was rossi’s second ever race at ducati (and the start of his season was impacted by his shoulder issues) - and the rain meant he had a ~win it or bin it~ approach because he knew it was as good a chance as he might get for some time (despite starting from 12th). the move on stoner for second place was at best optimistic, most definitely impatient and at worst foolish - but sort of understandable in that situation, rossi was definitely rapid, and this stuff can happen in the wet. in that sense, it was obviously more a reaction to the manner of the apology (and his frustration with the stewards) than to what casey himself described as a racing incident

stoner made a remark in his autobiography about how rossi had stolen 25 points in a title battle he was never going to be a part of (oof). whether you're obligated to race title contenders differently is already a bit sketch but certainly should not be a consideration for anybody in round TWO

he was forced to publicly retract the remarks, though he doubled down on them to a deeply funny extent in his autobiography by suggesting they were true of valentino’s entire career and that he’d just benefited from a weak era. rossi mostly took it on the chin especially when interviewed about it for documentaries, probably because with something like that you do just need to take the L

it's understandable how it’s become such a defining image of their rivalry (along with laguna seca), not least because of how evocative the whole thing is - rossi showing up still wearing his helmet, trying to make a PR apology stick while he’s been eating nauseating amounts of humble pie at ducati; stoner casual as you like, pissed off about the points loss while still indulging in schadenfreude about how the Great Big Ducati Adventure is working out for rossi

but again, I think it’s funnier because of just HOW over the top an insult it was in that situation (and more broadly how it does have a different vibe to their interactions when they were meaningfully competing, aka 2007-2008)

in conclusion: casey has his doubts and his insecurities and his obsessions and his foibles… a complicated guy in his own right

and a big thing I’d like to stress here is that the rivalry with valentino does benefit from treating them both as somewhat unreliable narrators

I just think he's neat

#ty for giving me an excuse to be annoying at length about one of my number one guys!!#casey stoner #valentino rossi #motogp #//#cs27 #vr46 #lotsss of other stuff you can go into here. he gets a bit sanitised sometimes I feel which is kinda a shame #u can be justifiably resentful and still be very resentful. spite is still spiteful when it's deserved. same with the misanthropic streak #being called weak-minded really got to him imo - and the thing is he's clearly not (& good lord did some big names say some nasty things)#the autobiography feels almost an overcorrection and then you've got him recently talking more openly about his mental health #(even if not specifically about how it affected him competitively - which is obviously a related but not identical conversation)#it's an uplifting development in a way and it's nice seeing how much more comfortable in his skin he seems these days #but he is also a little bitch :)

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maehemthemisfit · 1 year

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𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐘 𝐇𝐀𝐕𝐄 𝐀 𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐄

ask — Can I ask you that the reader 💋 them while they are 😥 and 💙 in order to 😇 them, (I really hope this makes sense) Characters: Scaramouche & Xiao (This is my first time requesting something, hopefully I did it right ☠️) - requested by @oddshroom

a/n — this took me so unbelievably long to write but I'm working on my emoji asks now! okay so apparently I have no self control when it comes to writing scara so this ended up being 3k instead of 500≤1k so I'm making this separate from the xiao's. also dw love, you did it absolutely right so it was clear and concise <3

pairing — [ scaramouche x gn!reader + 💋 kissing them while they're 😥 having a nightmare and 💙 playing with their hair in order to 😇 comfort them]

edited by: my homegirl @xiao6ao

masterlist / xiao post / emoji prompt list

Since when was the melody of screams this unpleasant? Or perhaps, maybe it was never a sweet tune to begin with.

The crackling of fire howled and filled his ears, yet he watched silently as the flames ate away at the wooden structure, devouring the joyous memories he created there. Ashes sprinkled the blazing air, scurrying around like fire flies and filling his lungs.

His breathing was shallow, huffs of air spilling from his chest and reminding him of how human he seemed. But he could never be human, not when his chest was but a hollow cavern, overflowing with nothing but broken dreams and empty promises. His fingers trembled beside him, and subconsciously, he backed away from the dazzling light.

Why was he afraid? How could he be afraid? After all, he was the one who’d started the fire.

"N-No..." Scaramouche whispered, his eyes widened in disbelief as he took in the scene before him. "This... this already happened. Why am I seeing this again?" He looked to his palms— a desperate attempt at gathering his sense of self— but upon seeing his old attire, he found himself inarticulate.

This can't be. It was like he was back to being—

"Kunikuzushi," That voice... that was- "Why did you do this?" The child cried, clutching a familiar doll to his chest. It was threaded with such precision and care, casting in his mind a fond memory of the weeks he spent learning how to sew such a thing with his past friend.

Then the sight of the child’s charred skin hit him, and the endearing thought was discarded. He looked just as he did so long ago— sick, fragile.

But his eyes, oh his eyes told another story.

Scaramouche remembered his eyes, always full of wonder and curiosity, much like his own when he was just a fledgling. Those eyes that would beam up at him as the child tugged him away to a new discovery. Those eyes that would melt close as a smile formed on the child's lips. Those eyes, that were now boring holes into his own, absent of life and that childlike glee he was once accustomed to. Those eyes that were now swirling with fear, fear that was now directed at him.

"I didn't—!!" Scaramouche found himself choking, misery seeping into the depths of his chest and pouring out into his voice. He felt utterly nauseous at the sight before him, heaving breaths of uncertainty as hot tears began to spill from his indigo hues.

Shakily, he brought a hand to his mouth, searching for the words he wanted to say. "I didn't mean to... you- you broke your promise..."

The child took a step back, "Promise? What promise?" The puppet’s brows furrowed at the confusion on the child’s face, the air getting all the more jeering— threatening to strangle him— the longer they spoke.

"You said we were family. You said you would never abandon me," Scaramouche recalled. Abandon. Just the word sizzled and left a bitter taste on his tongue.

It wasn't fair, it wasn't fair at all.

“I didn’t abandon you,” the boy managed to retort, his voice scarcely a rasp. “I died!” He choked on a fit of coughs as he succumbed to the illness both his parents fell to.

Abandon… die…

Those were two completely different words, were they not? Yet, somehow, the discarded creation had found the two synonymous. The concept of death was still foreign to him all those years ago, and the timing was impeccable, as if someone were pulling the strings to all his misfortune. One betrayal after another. It was a deadly recipe of disaster that bubbled over into impulsive decisions and, finally, the roaring flames before him.

And now, he could only witness this village burn all over again— brick by brick, plank by plank— and watch the terror in the eyes of the one he called his friend, of the people he held close to where his heart should be, resurface from ashes long gone.

Damn it. It's not fair. It's not fair at all.

Another staggering step, and the flames began clawing at the child’s leg, searing deeper into his already charred skin. "Wait! Please!" Scaramouche shouted, lunging forward towards the kid now set ablaze and embraced in the wild, untamed fire. “Don’t leave me—" No, not “—again.”

But it was all in vain. He pleaded. He cried. He called, yet no one came.

His fingers crossed the child's, the doll slipping from the child's grasp and into the desperate puppet's hands. And without skipping a beat, the child burst into cinders before his eyes.

The ground kissed his knees as he collapsed, trembling hands digging into the veil that did little to shield him from the raging light. Within seconds, it was torn to shreds and soaked in the tears that he bled.

He wept, voice barely above a whisper. "Why couldn't it have been me…" Those tears, those pathetic emotions he harbored, why couldn't they stop? Why did it hurt so bad? Why did everyone leave him?

A dry, forced chuckle passed his lips that were drenched with the downpour from his eyes. He wiped them.

"Maybe I am just some faulty being." He looked up at the stars that watched in silence above him, ignoring his pleas for help. Gods… humans… even the stars were nothing but lies.

It was only then that a sensation ran down his neck, causing him to flinch from the sudden sense of touch. He whimpered despite trying his best not to, yet what he felt wasn't in the slightest unpleasant.

He leaned into it, eyes growing heavy with whatever was circling his skin, the pain that drenched him before growing numb as the flow of his tears drew softly to a stop. He felt small, yet safe under this eerie yet familiar touch, like an angel was embracing him and shielding him away from the tragedies that plagued the world.

A trickle of hope poured into him, flooding a soothing warmth through the chest that had been poisoned by a twisting ache. His fist unraveled the tattered veil, his hands now clinging onto something more plush and soft, though he couldn't see.

It told him he was fine. He was safe. He was sound.

Sound?

The air caught his mind, now devoid of the screams that smothered him just moments before. Even the crazed laments of the fire ceased, replaced by the quiet pitter patter of falling droplets— none of which he felt.

What he did feel was something soft showering his face, warm and featherlike, and another delicate touch swaying back and forth over his cheek, creating a peaceful harmony within his settling mind.

Despite the heaviness in his limbs, he pulled himself closer, his legs rubbing against silky fabric instead of the ashened ground of what had once been his home. His arms drew himself closer against whatever was bringing him comfort, the sound of something beating surprisingly washing away the rest of his worries. He drifted far away from the panic that once overcame him, the raging storm in his head now reduced to calm waves of water, carrying him safely back to reality into the arms of an angel.

His eyes, tired and spent, fought to open. His vision made out from blurring colors the sight of another person laying beside him. They leaned into him, and he felt the same featherlike sensation on his forehead. A voice he recognized— he had yet to decipher the words— filled his ears.

It was…

Before his eyes could fully adjust, he was already curling against your chest, fingers softly grabbing your shirt and tugging like his life depended on it. In an instant, the world came rushing in, his lungs breathing in the calming air of the small apartment you shared.

He was fine. He was safe. He was with you.

He called your name, his voice cracking as a groan slipped past him, muffled by his face pressing into you. Memories of his nightmare crashed back in restless waves, threatening to drown him once again. He coughed, attempting to speak through labored breaths.

"I s-saw… my, I-'' Scaramouche hiccuped, his body starting to shake like the harsh winters of Snezhnaya was biting through his porcelain skin.

“Shhh, shhh, it’s okay, take your time.” You were quick to silence him, whispering affirmations in the mist of night for only his ears to hear. He clutched onto you tighter. “It’s okay love, I’m here.”

After the countless years of suffering the puppet endured, he wasn’t fond of being touched by any living being— at least, not after all the torturous poking and prodding he was subjected to during Dottore’s experiments, whilst promises of “making him stronger” or “unlocking his true divinity” fell on deaf ears as he withered in pain.

But you? He couldn’t help but melt under your irenic touch, something that was foreign to him for decades. It took awhile for him to adjust to your displays of affection, but eventually your arms became his new safe haven, something that was all apparent now as you rubbed gentle strokes against his back, the sobs that were born from his horrid dream now dying down to soft sniffles and hums.

The moon glowed in all its glory in the blanket of night, illuminating the two lovers cuddled closely together like birds in a nest. Its silver glow became sparkles in the stray tears that spilled over his cheeks, your hands calmly wiping them as they fell. He came to realize over some time that the featherlike touches he felt prior were you pressing kisses to his face.

The moon came and fled as the sun put it to rest, painting the darkened skies in shades of blue and red. Its rays glimmered, peaking through the window and shedding its warmth on the both of you. By then, the wandering puppet’s tear stained cheeks were dried, his breathing leveled, and eyes half lidded, swirling with bouts of serenity.

Your hand was idly playing with his hair, gently combing through and dividing pieces that fell across his face. A comfortable silence filled the air, only penetrated by the whisper that flew past your lover’s lips, calling your name. You hummed as his hand slowly crept from under the covers, reaching out to grab yours from his strands and bringing it to his chest. His warm breath tickled your skin when he sighed, the feeling being overthrown when his lips kissed the back of your palm, lingering for nearly a minute.

“Do you…” He spoke softly, still firmly holding onto you, yet his voice sounded far off, eyes distant and hazy. “Do you think I’m evil?”

The question dripped from his lips like dew to a leaf, dropping into your ears for your brain to soak it in. Melancholy sprouted from it, growing vines that entangled your heart.

The word evil ran through your head, such a harsh term to describe someone, you scrutinized. Could you really compare the word to the former harbinger lying across from you? Perhaps his past actions, but…

Do evil people cry genuine tears? Do evil people feel remorse for their wicked deeds? What truly defines evil anyway?

The fluttering of wings fanned your clouded thoughts, your answer becoming clear along with the sound of birds chirping. You tugged at the vines clenching your heart, ripping them with ease as you looked at the man in question.

“Doing good things doesn’t make you a good person,” you imparted, staring honestly into his alluring eyes. He listened intently as you spoke, hanging off of every word like a puppet to a string. “And doing bad things doesn’t make you a bad person either.”

The foggy look in his eyes finally cleared.

“I think you experienced the worst parts of the world before you could understand the beauty of it, which led to your notorious doings.” You adjusted your hand to hold his, and he gave you a gentle squeeze as your thumb caressed circles into his. “But if we look back to your ‘previous incarnation’ without your memories, or your titles before Balladeer, would you call them evil as well? Would the people who knew you then describe you in such a way?”

The question floated in the air. A quizzical frown assuming the puppet’s features. For a second, he was back in his dream again— images of fire and ash tainting his mind. He remembered those eyes that were swirling with fear, anxiety threatening to crawl up his spine again.

He was fine. He was safe. He was…

“I didn’t abandon you,” The child's voice played back in his head, oddly sounding more soft compared to the voice he heard in his dream. Another recollection filled his thoughts— it was the sight of the child pulling him eagerly, a wide grin adorning his chubby cheeks, a giggle followed by his own filling the air as he allowed the kid to guide him to some growing lavender melons.

"I- I can't reach it. Awhh," The child pouted, looking away from the tree dejectedly.

"They are pretty high up," Scara- no, Kunikuzushi observed, bringing a hand to his chin. "You'll be able to reach them if I give you a lift though."

"Really? Oh thank you, thank you, thank you! You're really the best ya know, and d-don't forget it either!" The child cheered, jumping up and down in his small burst of excitement before calming down. He tired easily, no matter what he did.

"I'm the best? But I'm just a mere—"

The small mortal coughed weakly, balling his fist right after and shouting a heartfelt declaration. "Puppet this, puppet that. You're a good person and you're a good friend. There's no if, ands, or buts about it,"

He couldn't help but reciprocate the child's smile.

"I- I guess you have a point," Kunikuzushi hummed, his face blooming a pretty pink as he tried to hide under his veil. "You know… you sound a lot like an old friend of mine.”

The memory faded as quick as it came, his shoulders now relaxed and expression thoughtful. You assumed he reached the same answer as you.

They wouldn't call him evil. Never in a million years.

“I couldn’t either," You answered his thoughts, bringing your hand back to card through his hair. "Which is why I don't think you're the monster you make yourself out to be."

He wanted to laugh, but he found himself without a voice. All those questions he aimlessly sought answers to. He’d even asked the God of Wisdom the same thing, yet her answer was quite different from yours. But could he really take your words to heart— or hold it above the words of a god? Would her answer change if he asked her again? Would your answer change if he wronged you?

He was fine. He was safe. He was good.

The sounds of rain dwindled as the critters of light rustled away, chirping and hollering to the sun’s presence. By now, its light blanketed you both, whisking off the drowsiness as you rubbed your eyes. You were in the midst of calling your lover’s name when his fingers wrapped around your leg, pulling it over his hip to bring you close once again.

He cupped your face, your eyes instinctively closing as his lips embraced yours, the warmth of his touch enough to rival the sun and the shine of the moon. No celestial body could reap what the two of you had sown beautifully together.

You held his past, present, and future, carried his vices and virtues, wiped his tears and tore down his walls even when he built them up too high.

You stayed, even when he couldn't give you his heart.

He was enough, you reminded him proudly each day. He was safe. He was fine. He was loved.

"I love you," Scaramouche found himself mumbling against your lips, breathing out a content sigh when the two of you finally parted.

It was the first time he initiated such a declaration, and while he'd never admit how much it affected him, the shy smile carved into his face spoke it well enough. His passionate gaze lit a thousand flames in your soul and it was your turn to fall into the rabbit hole of his beauty.

With another quick kiss, you touched your foreheads together, your voice a lullaby to his ears as you chimed the words that always made him feel something skip a beat in his chest.

"I love every part of you, and never forget that," you huffed, feigning a pouty expression to entice a smile— which he effortlessly gave.

"Don't worry, I won't," he laughed heartily this time, making an effort to find your hand and intertwining your pinkies. He brought them to his chin, pecking the side of your hand once more. "I promise."

TAGLIST — @sonder-paradise @96jnie @scaramouchenumber1fan @linn-a-a @wisteriaflowersss @ineriris @yesntforno @serramii @shadowmist0706 @jmgrule @imeanwatever @c00kie-cat @xtodorokismistressx @ieathairs @endlessmari @strawberryclumsy @serenity-ren-bliss

reblogs appreciated (⁠っ⁠.⁠❛⁠ ⁠ᴗ⁠ ⁠❛⁠.⁠)⁠っ

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twigg96 · 4 days

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Hi! Can you do daryl dixon x y/n where Daryl gets protective over y/n when a creepy guy won’t leave her alone no matter what she says so he punches him across the face, ending in like comforting fluff/ smut or both ❤️

Hello @dustbunniess!! This sounds like a great idea! I'm so so sorry it took me so long to get this out to you love so much has happened since you asked for this I'm just trying to get by.

Pairing: Daryl Dixon X Reader

Era: Post-Prison, Pre-Terminus Era (Claimers Era)

Pronouns: You/Your, She/Her (No use of Y/N)

Warnings: The Claimers, Daryl with the Claimers, Attempted Sexual Assault, Crass behavior and language, Swearing, Physical Violence, Assault, Blood, Panic Attacks, Confusion, Delusion, Daryl becoming a literal savage, Abuse, Death, Beatings, Daryl reliving past traumas, Doing what you have to survive, Things happen off screen,

Summery: After the prison fell you were left alone in a world you felt was unfair and cruel. And who could blame you? Truly after all you'd been through? You changed from the person you were in the prison. But then... so did everyone else... When Daryl your boyfriend is the first to find you out in the world you see just how much things have changed with the new group he's in.

Separate Ways

It was when the prison went up in flames that you knew it was over. There was no going back. No redemption. The governor… in some sick twist of fate. Had won. Although your family had taken his life, and the lives of all his followers. You were all left to suffer, and after such a horrendous outbreak that you all had thought you defeated too… The difference was. This time you were completely on your own. No friendly face to turn to. No guiding hand to help you. Just you and the corpse you stabbed in the skull.

You had followed the screams out. So sure you were following Rick and Carl… but so soon you realized you were completely and utterly wrong. Trudging through the woods towards the highway you knew was your Emergency escape route you cursed your lack of preparation. No water, no food. You knew you had to act fast. Find shelter before the sun completely set for the night, find food before you starved... trudging through the thick forest you quickly found a path to follow. It had paid off to have followed your boyfriend on so many hunting expeditions and to help him on runs.

Coming to a stop you stilled your breath slowly scanning the wooded area around you. Nothing but trees and leaves surrounded you even though you had thought you heard the soft crackle of leaves, the snapping of a twig behind you. It wasn't loud and obnoxious. Something you've come to expect of walkers by now. Nor was it natural and fluid like the wildlife you had so greatly come to miss. It felt human. Large and concise. Hunting. Shivers ran down your spine. Bobbing and weaving through the tree line you darted back out onto the road that you had left in favor of the camouflage of the forest. Pulling your rifle you aimed blindly. Footsteps coming nearer. Louder. Like a bear charging it even growled. Placing your finger on the trigger you stepped back. "Stop!" You yelled.

A boy scrawny and pale came tumbling out of the brush. No older than Carl he looked up to you, his eyes wide and fearful he shivered in fear. Plastered in mud and blood you stared him down panting as the adrenaline left you both. Slowly he raised his hands high, shaking like a leaf he shook his head. "I-I'm so sorry." He whispered. One of the governor's, you realized. "I-It's my sister. She's hurt real bad... please..."

Glaring daggers at the teen you hissed through your teeth, stepping forward your weapon still raised and pointed directly between his eyes. "And why should I help you?" You growled. "She's all I got left." He whispered a tear running down his cheek. Hmm... at one time in life you would have felt pity. You would have run to his aid in a heartbeat. Now... Now however you scoffed at him. "Shoulda thought about that before you got yerself blown ta hell and back." You hiss lowering your gun. With wide eyes the boy watches in disbelief as you sling your pack off your back and rummage through it. "Y-you're just going to let her die?!" He screamed. "Pretty much sounds like you are kid." You growl, pulling out the last of your protein bars before slinging your bag back over your shoulder. "Standing there ain't doin' her no favors so I'd hop to it if I were you." You muttered taking a bite of your bar and walking down the road a stretch. Stomping on the ground like a toddler who didn't get his way the kid whined. "No I'm asking you for help!" He yelled. You wanted to turn and glare. You wanted to yell and scream. Hell you wanted to shoot him. But the growling and the thick rustling of leaves alerted you to the oncoming horde early. In his rage he must not had heard. Until they were right on top of him. You wondered briefly if his sister was among them.

Alone again you let the road take you where it will. across a bridge and through a town that was overrun with walkers. It was there you adopted a few walkers to help you navigate the thick hordes in the streets. Releasing them into the next life once you made it to the next side of town you sighed the tire marks in town leading to a hospital you'd rather not go near. So instead a set of train tracks that you crossed became your path. Instinctively you listened for trains. Your boots worn with wear stuck in the wood and on the nails. It was there you saw the first sign. "Go to Terminus." Your heart swelled. You didn't know where they were. How close they were. But you had to hope. Maybe. Possibly. They were safe.

Resting against a garage for the night you closed your eyes for what felt like a mere second. It most certainly wasn't hours... or so you had thought. Leaves and twigs had become your best friend in this world. The early indicator of something to come. But this time it was more. Loud. Uncaring if it was heard. Jumping awake you reached for your gun by your side but before you could grab it a large boot kicked it away. The large man standing before you sneered at you. "So she's awake." He laughed as you pressed yourself as far into the metal wall as possible. Three more men stepped out of the woods around you both. The laughed and jeered at you kicking at your feet as you tried to make yourself as small as possible. "Bet she's good." One said. Another had the sheer audacity to grab a handful of your hair and sniff it. As you went to slap him another grabbed your hand the leader with the grey hair chuckled.

"Claimed."

Two voices chimed out at the exact same time. The leader's sleazy voice and another more familiar voice that made your chest hurt with expectancy. You had waited. Hoped. Dreamed. Hell you even dared to pray for the day to come again where you'd hear your love's sweet voice again. But not here. Not now. Not looking down the barrel of weapons pointed against you.

The leader turned. Glaring at the man who dared to oppose him. Stepping into the light of the moon Daryl looked... different. Changed. His eyes were distant and dark even in the night. "Daryl..." The leader hummed his scowl melting as he turned to the archer. Tutting slightly he shook his head snapping his fingers the other men moved in on you. Two men grabbed your upper arms, hauling you to your feet while the others grabbed your shit. "C'mon now..." He growled. Giving your boyfriend a look. "Ya know better by now than to try and just claim whatever ya want... specially if ya know I'm gonna claim it." He cooed circling Daryl menacingly.

You had expected Daryl to act. The Daryl you knew would have. He would never have stood there and took the shit these creeps were giving either of you... but this Daryl... this one you knew in passing but never truly met before... he bowed his head. He turned away. He simply murmured something low. Soft. Something you couldn't hear.

The leader nodded eyeing you. His expression morphing. From wolfish and greedy to concentrated and scanning. "A'ight..." He sighed running his hand through his hair. "You gonna let us teach him a lesson?!" One of the men currently bruising your arm screamed. The others rallied behind him. Cheering and jeering they whooped and hollered. The men holding you jerked you back and forth making you stumble back and forth between the two. There was silence and for a moment contemplation on the leader's face that made your heart race. "Search her... Daryl and I got business to discuss." He growled turning around he spun your boyfriend with him grabbing him by the shoulder and dragging him into the woods.

They dumped the contents of your bag onto the ground. Screams of "Claimed" ripped through the air and you were certain you'd be overrun by a horde any moment. Ripped apart limb from limb by the dead you had survived for years because of a few fucking morons. When all of your supplies including the bag itself and your rifle and ammo were claimed... the men turned their eyes on you.

"Can't touch 'em til Boss gets back." One chimed in as a particularly greedy one stepped forward. "Yeah... but she got pockets don't she?." The man hummed placing his hands on your waist. The others whistled and hollered once more as you backed away as far as the other two would let you.

"Don't you fucking touch me!" You hissed, baring your teeth to the bastard. Nodding he chuckled following you he grabbed you once more this time burying his hands deep in your pockets, attempting to cop a feel. Rearing your head back you growled and head butted the man landing a blow directly onto his nose. The satisfying crunch it left and the blood that trickled down between your brows onto your cheeks like war paint was proof enough. "I told ya not ta fuckin' touch me!" You screamed.

"Hey!" You heard the leader scream from inside the barrier of the forest. Immerging from the shadows of the trees the leader stormed up to the group with Daryl following behind like a kicked puppy. The one you hit writhed on the ground holding his face he whine and whimpered as the others parted like the sea for the leader who grabbed you by the jaw getting close enough to smell the rancid canned food on his breath. "You really got some fuckin' nerve." He bit out. It took everything in you not to spit in is filthy fucking face.

Standing back up straight the man huffed glaring down at you a glint in his eye you didn't like. "Now boys... as you know Daryl and I both called dibs at the same time..." All eyes on you. You swallowed the thick lump in your throat ready to fight to your last breath. "Now Daryl has made me aware of something very important here... a rule. See he did... in fact... call dibs first. He called dibs Long LONG before he met us. This here... This is his wife."

Wife? You blinked but tried not to look too surprised. Daryl was locking eyes with you. A quiet desperation there only you could see. Keep the act up. Stay strong. You glanced between Daryl and the leader. You felt the man holding your right arm tighten his grip adding another fresh bruise to your bicep. "Bull shit." He growled, his hands slid down your arm to your wrist twisting it back and up painfully so that you yelped out in pain and doubled over. "I don't see a fuckin' ring on her finger!" He yelled.

You heard footsteps. Not one set but two approaching you. "He's right... no ring..." The leader spoke directly above you. His boots shufled to turn towards Daryl's. "But..." He spoke again his boots shifting again as you felt a new calloused hand take your left hand, the promise ring you bore sliding off your ring finger made you feel naked and cold. "You were looking at the wrong hand..." The leader said his voice low and cold. The man holding your right arm released his grip stumbling back. Sitting back up you twisted out of the other man's hands for a second before he took your wrist lightly.

The leader held your promise ring up examining it. Your initials were carved into the inside of the ring. Something Daryl had done himself with his knife back at the prison when he found a set having stolen the idea from Glenn of course. "Teach him a lesson boys." The man grunted out gesturing with his head to the man who shook his head and begged for his life. You stood stock still as the others circled him like sharks to the drops of blood that fell from his face. Even Daryl who's eyes went as dark as the night nodded to the command, picking up something from the ground.

Your vison blurred, all you could see was Daryl's back. Blood splattering. You heard the screaming. Jumping at the hand on your shoulder you looked to the man turning you away from it all. "I haven't properly introduced myself yet." He murmured watching you swipe pink tears from your cheeks. "I'm Joe. I'm the leader of this here group. The Claimers. We don't normally keep women long... They get passed around a bit and then... well we get bored and they end up roaming as one of the other biters." He chuckled eyeing you up. Hyperventalating you shook your head pulling away slightly when you felt his arm wrap around your waist. "Now now," He whispered in your ear. "You're a valued honorary memeber." He cooed but his expression became cold and dark. "That means... you work for what you keep. You start with shit. And half yer shit goes to Daryl. Like in any good marriage." He said menacingly, grabbing your wrist. "Oh and one last thing... I get to taste you one time... just part of the deal Daryl and I worked out to let you live."

Cut between confusion and pain you wondered if all the promises Daryl ever made to keep everyone safe were in vain. Who was he? Was he really the man you met back at the Quarry and fell in love with? No... Probably not... He was different. Changed. Evolved into something different. Looking over your finger as Joe slipped your ring back on your finger you felt sick to your stomach. This Daryl, dripping in another man's blood was animalistic. He was brutal and cold.

That night Joe told everyone to just bunk down in the garage. Safer. He said. You tried to clear your head of the mess of a human corpse outside the metallic walls. Following close behind the others you followed Daryl like a lost puppy. "Claimed" Echoed through the building as all the "good" spots were being taken. But Daryl just stood. He waited out in the open and waited with you by his side. Never once looking at you or acknowledging your existence. "Dar-" You tried to speak but was only ignored as he turned away once everyone went quiet. "Claimed." He yelled out when he found the most secluded spot in the garage behind a tarped tactor.

Pointing to the ground he looked around for a moment, waiting for your to sit on the ground. "Dar-" Shaking his head he knelt pulling a blanket from his bag he tossed it over you. "Here." He muttered. Not looking at you. Never looking at you. He stood and walked back out of the garage.

Even with the wool blanket you felt alone and cold. Even more so than when you were actually traveling alone. You hated it. This feeling of abandonment. Blinking back tears your glared at the ceiling wrapping yourself tight in your blanket you tried to fall asleep.

Hours passed. You hadn't slept. How could you with the men snoring like chainsaws all night. But the door opening and closing quietly didn't go unnoticed. Rolling over you turned to Daryl as he approached you slowly. Kicking his boots by your feet he laid down beside you. Lifting the blanket you welcomed him into the warm environment you created with time. You fully expected him to turn you away. To roll away and huff. But instead he scooted close. pulling the blanket over you both.

His arms were around you in a second. Finding tender blossoming bruises he burried his face in your neck. The wetness of his cheeks stained your dirty shirt. "Thought I lost you." He whispered. "Wasn't gonna let anyone take you... Not..." He went silent pulling you as tight as ever. Happiness and warmth swelled in you. Love and security. Wrapping your arms around his neck you kissed the top of his head, running your fingers through his wet hair.

Truth be told he still smelled like a wet dog. Musty and damp. But he washed off. Didn't stop you from feeling angry and betrayed. "Daryl... Why did you tell Joe..." You swallowed the doubt that still reigned suprieme and rampaged like a tornado in your mind. "Why did you tell him he could... have me?" There was a moment Daryl was silent. You thought he would lie. He would divert the situation. But instead he pushed himself up on his elbows and cocked a brow. "Never said that." He whispered. "Did that prick say that to ya? Say ya owed him somethin? "He whispered his eyes scanning you worriedly. You nodded slowly watching his reaction. Nodding Daryl hummed. "Ok."

Blinking you tried to read his face in the dark. "O-Ok?" You whispered. Nodding he lowered himself down to your ear. "Can't say out loud what I want to do ta the bastard. Someone could hear." He breathed. "Oh..." You tensed. You eyes instinctively scanning for threats but the dark felt claustrophobic and you wanted to simply run.

You were kicked awake early the next morning. You hadn't even realized you had fallen asleep. Another night of closing your eyes and suddenly jerking awake to danger feeling entirely unrested... Nothing new but you could never get used to it either. "Up an 'em, sweetheart." The man with greasy hair murmured. In the morning light you could see the shiner that was swelling half the man's face. A large cut ran down his forehead to his cheek that in the old world would have required stitches to keep it from scaring but now would just prove as a lesson to the man to listen better in Joe's twisted system. "Waistin' daylight..." He growled once more glaring at your boy- No. Your husband.

Daryl seemed to respond in kind. Huffing at the man he stood with a low painful groan. "Let's go." He murmured softly offering a hand to you.

You followed on Daryl's heels throughout the day like a duckling to their mother. Keeping your eyes on the wings on his back, you tried to stay strong and keep from physically acting on the men who treated you more like an object than a human. "Why you carryin' yer own bag when you got a bitch ta do it fer ya?" The rotund one called, chuckling as you moved to Daryl's left away from him. "No on would blame ya if ya went off and unwound on her for a bit... hell I'd even let the boys have a turn when I was done." One of the men with a beanie called out smirking at you from across the crick you had all stopped at to refill your canteens in. Holding your middle you glared at him. Daryl stood handing you your canteen. Reaching out you caressed his arm to sooth him. You were safe if he was here. He couldn't be if he was hurt or dead. He needed to act rashly.

"Shut up." He hissed despite it all. The Dixon temper was never one that could easily be quelled. When pushed down it only became more explosive. More dangerous. "What did you fucking say to us?" The three men rounded you. "We're just tryin' ta be friendly like." The greasy haired man that woke you growled. "Don't need no friends." Daryl growled stepping up to him. "Daryl." You whispered, reaching out to touch him but decided against it when you saw the crazed look in your husband's eye.

"Enough."

Joe's commanding voice ripped the fight apart before it could start. "Len, go fetch some firewood and scout the area. Got a feeling we could get lucky 'round here. Tony, go sharpen that damned blade of yours it couldn't cut butter if we had any for fuck's sake let alone take a biter down if we needed. Dan, fuck off with Len. Set up a perimiter. Daryl. Go hunting for dinner." Joe gave out orders like it was nothing. But your heart pounded in your chest and and nearly leaped into your throat when he met your throat reaching into his bag to grab something. You watched Daryl closely. Every muscle tense and primed to act in case Joe acted pulling something. His hand snaking to the pistol he had hidden at his back.

"Honey, I need ya ta wash our shit. Our clothes, specially our socks and boxers are really starting to get ripe and chafe us. I think you could handle that much... huh?" He purred walking up to you handing a small bundle of used men's socks and boxers. The smell was horrendous and made bile rise to your throat. You had to force yourself to breath the same way you would in a hot summer day around a horde of walkers to get by. "Ok..." You whimpered nodding. Freezing when you felt his hand on your shoulder you stood stock still. "And, sweetheart..." He hummed, his grip becoming incredibly painful his soft expression turning hard. "It's sir to you... Yes, sir. Say it." Whimpering you tried not to give into him. You didn't fall to your knees or bow as he desperately wanted you to. Instead you turned to glare at him your hair swirling around your, a single tear as his only satisfaction. "Sir, yes, sir." You growl stumbling as he pushed you forward into the water.

Hours passed by. Joe gave you meaningless task after meaningless task. Anything to see you in a compromising position. Scrub his boots. Wash his hair. Wash your hair. Sort their bags. Weave a basket. (Something you didn't know how to do and utterly failed in doing.) When he ran out of tasks to give you he made things up. Jump in place in front of him. He tried to make you bathe in the crick but when you threatened to cut his balls off he laughed and said it was a joke.

"Hey..." Len's voice cut through your newest meaningless task. picking up acorns while Joe watched. Looking over your shoulder you cocked a brow at the man that seemed far too excited to have just been told to fuck off for a few hours. "We found something." Dan muttered. Walking out of the woods with a string of rabbits Daryl glared hard at the ground. You'd seen him through the treeline throughout the course of the day. Taking aim at Joe at certain angles when he was certain the older man wasn't looking. But Joe always laughed or shook his head. "I know your watching Daryl. Go back to hunting." Or a promise of "I won't touch if you don't shoot."

"We found a camp!" Len cheered, pulling you from your thoughts. "A camp?" You breathed without thought. "Hell yeah girl." Joe murmured misreading your concern for excitment and curiousity. Or rather ignoring it completely as he slapped you hard on the back making you drop the acorns you gathered. "Come on let's show our newbie how it's done..." Joe said smiling so much like the devil that when you actually met him years later you'd never believe it.

The camp was small. It only housed two people. A man and a woman. The woman gathered baby supplies on a pink baby blanket before her. Brunette hair caught the wind just so that her face was concealed an you never truly saw her face. The man was undoubtedly in love with the woman. From the distance you hid you swore the couple were Glenn and Maggie. Your heart pounded deep in your chest. Your breath caught in your throat and you had to stop the scream that threatened to rip through you.

"We flank from all sides." Joe whispered so low you could barely hear him over the ringing of your ears. "Daryl." He whispered, moving closer to the two of you as the others moved into position. "I want to actually see you in there this time. No late arrivals." He hummed nodding as Daryl grunted in response.

"C'mon." No.

"Darlin'... We need ta move." Daryl whispered. No, God please no.

Your entire body shook, your eyes wide as saucer plates. Moving forward in the brush you only stopped when you felt Daryl's hand on yours. Turning to Daryl fear in your eyes you shook your head. Not again.

Pulling you away into the denser brush as Joe began his speech to the couple you could just barely see the others moving in.

Your body jerked when the screams started. Pulling at Daryl's hand you sobbed hard. "Daryl!" You wailed only to be pulled back his hand covering your mouth so your sobs were muffled. "It ain't them." He whispered. Pulling you incredibly tight you felt him bury his face in the crook of your neck hot tears rolling down your collar bone mixing with your own. "It can't be them."

That night you all slept under the stars. Fire lit and as warm as you could be in the middle of fall you and Daryl were of the first to retire, finding a spot in the dirt to bed down you laid against a large tree your back pulled against him. Just like when you two started dating out on the road. His wool blanket provided enough warmth to the both of you that the ground didn't bother you. Even with the rocks and roots digging into your side.

Just as you started to nod off you jerked awake to the sound of sets of heavy drunken footsteps. Daryl's arm wrapped tight around your middle. pulling you close. The others had found liquor at the camp and indulged heavily in it. Only Daryl and Joe refused to touch it.

"Claimed!" One man screamed loud. Belligerent. The smell of booze stained the air and made your empty stomach turn. "Nuh-uh." Another hissed. "I already claimed that spot." Len... Daryl had told you to watch out for him. He had an issue with claiming what wasn't his. he'd claimed what little food Daryl could get out hunting while on patrol.

"Bull shit!" The other man, you assumed to be Ivan screamed back. "It's true!" You tried to tune them out, squeezing your eyes shut breathing slowly, hoping you and Daryl went unnoticed. But as the fight got worse and worse you couldn't help the way you physically jumped when Tony landed on the ground on his back near by the two of you. Covering your mouth Daryl pulled you tight against his body as the two men rolled onto the wool blanket then off again.

You couldn't sleep after that even if sleep found the two that fought just a few moments ago. Turning to Daryl you buried yourself deep in his chest. "What was the wife thing about?" You got the courage to ask when all was quiet and the snores of the men matched the previous night. Shaking his head Daryl laid back staring at the night sky. He was silent for a moment. Whether he was waiting for a break in the snoring or simply listening for any eave's droppers you'd never know. "Probably shoulda done it a long time ago... just..." His words fell off going silent. Sitting up you captured his eyes in yours. "I love you, Daryl." You whispered. "We'll find them... I promise." But he remained cold. His eyes dark, distant. "Get some sleep."

Time seemed to go in a blur after that. Days and nights melded together. Didn't matter which was which truly. You never felt rested. Your stomach never empty. Daryl attempted to feed you his portions. But as the lowest on the poll he got scraps as it was and you hated taking what he had.

You were tired and underfed when you found Rick, Michonne, and Carl. You had believed that they were just visions when you first saw them. Len held you by the arm. "Gotta make sure she gets in on the action with this one!" He yelled, jerking you around. Wide eyed and in disbelief you gapped like a fish. These people looked just like your family.

"Rick?" You managed. Silence. Joe turned to you his eyes questioning before he gripped you hard. Jerking away you tried to free yourself from his grasp. "Hey! Let her go!" Michonne screamed from the grasp of another man. "Don't you fuckin' touch her!" Carl cried. You nearly wailed out and fell to your knees in pure bliss and euphoria. Hearing their voices. Knowing for a fact they were real. But you were on the ground before you could act. Your face to the pavement you groaned as a boot ground against the back of your skull holding you there. "I've got one free ticket to paradise here boys... why not use it while the pickin's good?" Joe hummed.

You screamed as hands grabbed at you before you could even process the cold pavement below or the screams of your family by your side. Swinging with all your might in any direction you could get a good hold on you connected a few good hits. The yelling from your family was nightmarish. You forced yourself to close your eyes Not wanting to witness or watch what could possibly be happening. Daryl had shielded you last time. Alone you felt vulnerable and terrified.

The boot on your head made your head pound and ache. It was crushing your head and it felt as if your brains would spill if they stepped any harder. Your hair was yanked. Your blouse cut down the back. But before anything else could happen. The person on your head. Joe you believed. Stumbled off. A resounding smacking of knuckles to skin echoing through the woods. Sitting up your shirt slid from your shoulders as you stared wide eyed at Daryl. He had gotten one good swing in. Glancing to you was his downfall. He was dogpiled before he had the chance to say otherwise but the others forgot the knife in your boot. They forgot to check Carl or Michonne in their haste.

Blood pooled on the highway. The five of you stood gasping as one family unit once more, covered in blood but victorious above all odds. Gasping and staring down at the ugly hideous creatures below you, tears rolled down your cheeks. Daryl once again refused to look at you. Instead he offered his vest to you to cover you up with. Instead he turned and glanced to Rick a heartbroken boy staring at a man looking for forgiveness.

You were enveloped by Michonne and Carl before you could say other wise. Not that you would ever pull away ever again. Pulling them close you watched the makeshift brothers share a silent conversation. One guarded and afraid.

The other loving and accepting willing to forgive.

Rick held Daryl tight as he cried and the three of you migrated to them. Hugging them tight you rested your head on Daryl's shoulder, closing your eyes. For the first time since the fall... there was a small flicker of hope.

#the walking dead #twd #daryl dixion x reader #daryl dixon #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon imagine #daryl dixon x female reader #daryl x reader #twd daryl #the walking dead daryl #dark fic #dark themes #dark thoughts #the claimers #twd the claimers #tw violence #long post

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tiddygame · 2 months

Text

hello im sorry i wrote more for @myriadblvck ’s streamer au ghoap

I time travelled and around 4,000 words magically appeared in a document titled: "you didn't juju on the fucking beat soap" I think I was possessed by something. anyways here’s that:

tw: is it a panic attack? is it just typical ghost angst? ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ just be careful it's mostly fluffy (ghost is mean to himself cause he almost kissed soap on the forehead)

also i just realized after i wrote this whole thing, this is based on my general knowledge of dog tags… as an american. writing about the british military. so if you know your shit about the british military, uhh sorry in advance. my bad. from a very brief search i think a lot of it’s the same or at least same enough but this might hurt for people that know a thing or two. whoops!

fun fact: did you know for a brief stint (iirc, >40 years from around 1960s to 2010ish) the american military was printing soldiers’ ss numbers on their tags? yeah can’t imagine why they switched back to serial numbers.

Ghost had been pacing outside of his office for three minutes before he actually entered. When he did, he didn’t say a word. Just sat down in one of the chairs, fidgeting. It wasn't that uncommon of an occurrence, he was normally either gathering his thoughts before talking to Price about something more personal or hiding from what/whoever he didn't feel like dealing with.

When it came to mission debriefs, he was clear and concise. However, personal matters were a different story, and based on the way he anxiously opened and closed his hand, he'd guess this was a personal matter.

Price didn’t ask. He knew that whatever it was Simon needed to say would come out eventually. For now, he continued filling out paperwork and trying to figure out what it was that had Ghost so worked up.

Honestly, there wasn't much guesswork involved. Chances were, it was probably yet another leave request. He knew from Gaz (who was such an awful gossip he sometimes wondered how the man made it through interrogation training) that Simon had been visiting some social media person he had taken a liking to.

(Look, yes, Price knew about Twitch and live streaming and everything. He’s not actually that old. However, as long as he kept up the front of the old man who complained about the keyboard on his phone being too small, he didn’t have to deal with social media. Sure, it caused all of them to joke that he was geriatric and on his last legs, but he was able to convince Roach that he doesn’t know what TikTok is, meaning he wasn’t in charge of reviewing all the bullshit he and Gaz posted. A fair trade if you ask him.)

He also knew that Gaz was convinced the two were in love to the point that he and Roach had a bet going to see when they would get together. Price thought it was rather stupid, but he had to admire their ability to keep it under wraps; if the lieutenant found out they’d been placing monetary bets on his love life, he had a feeling he would need to find replacements for the 141.

Regardless, Price hoped that one day Simon would tell him about the friend but, until then, he was happy to fill out any paperwork that would get the poor man off base. God knows that idiot needs a vacation.

Simon was bouncing his leg, messing with his fingers, and staring off into space.

Three of his nervous habits at once? He must be even more worked up about this than Price thought. But, he was a patient man. It was about seven minutes of companionable silence before Simon spoke.

“I need replacement dog tags. I seem to have lost mine.”

Price looked up. He could see the chain around his neck and the outline of them still under his shirt.

"You do?" Price shuffled his documents around, eventually finding a blank piece of paper he could write on.

"Yes sir."

“And do you know what happened to them?”

“I believe they were knocked off during the fight from the last mission. I didn’t notice until later that night when we were back at base.”

Price paused and looked up from where he had been writing.

The last mission had been an odd one. Ghost normally stuck further away, their eagle-eyed lieutenant typically stayed at long to mid-range, watching for hostiles and making sure whoever else was in the field wouldn’t get caught off guard by someone they hadn’t seen.

During the last mission, he decided to engage at close range, a far cry from his usual approach of sniping hostiles from the shadows.

At one point, their lieutenant had been tackled and almost strangled. The fight had pretty much ended, his attacker was the only one left there. Ghost, being The Ghost, dispatched him with ease, but it stuck out to Price. Ghost may prefer to stay further back, but that didn’t mean that his hand-to-hand combat skills were lacking by any means.

He remembered thinking at the time that it was a clumsy mistake, that Ghost would have had to be intentionally trying to fuck up to get knocked down. He assumed the man had just been caught off guard, but he knew that theory wouldn’t hold up to any scrutiny. Ghost isn’t one to get caught off guard.

What was stranger yet still was Ghost specifically pointing it out in his mission report, calling even more attention to it.

Price set his pen down and leaned back in his chair.

“You planned this?”

“I plead the fifth,” said the British man.

Price just continued to stare, curious to see if this was actually going where he thought it was going.

“Is this off the record?” Simon eventually asked.

“Of course,” almost everything the 141 did was of dubious legality. Not reporting a conversation about possible wasted assets was far from the worst thing that had been swept under the rug.

“Then yes.”

“Why?”

Simon didn’t answer. Price waited, giving the man time to gather his thoughts, but based on the way his mouth opened and closed before he slumped in his chair, it seemed he didn’t know what to say at all.

Price had an inkling he might know what this was about.

“You know, Gaz likes to keep me informed,” Ghost looked up at him, somewhat panicked yet resigned, like he already knew what Price was going to say.

“He tells me you have a certain someone you’ve been visiting?”

“Yes.”

“Is this person a friend or…?” Ghost once again paused, calculating the potential consequences of his available responses.

He didn’t answer.

“Hmm,” Price paused, wondering how far to push before he continued, “You want to give this person your old dog tags?”

“Yes.”

Of course he would pre-plan “losing” his dog tags. Price mentally chuckled, leave it to Simon to be such a sap that he wanted to give someone his dog tags yet still make sure to follow protocol so he never actually risked going without them.

He had to hand it to him, it wasn’t a bad plan.

Price had a smile now, knowing his grumpy hard-ass lieutenant had a sweetheart he wanted to be sappy with.

“Romantic or platonic?” Price tried again.

“… I don’t know,” he’d never seen Simon look quite so… forlorn.

Hmm… That would explain his hesitancy.

He was pushing how much Simon was willing to divulge.

“And does this person know the significance of you giving them your dog tags?”

Well, curiosity killed the cat…

“No, they don’t.”

…But satisfaction brought it back. How interesting, the plot thickens.

“Do you plan on telling them?”

There was a long pause, after which it dawned on Price, “You want to give them your dog tags because they don’t know.”

It wasn’t a question, he already knew. Simon somehow slumped further, attempting to hide his face as if he weren’t wearing a balaclava.

His grumpy hard-ass lieutenant. Absolutely smitten with someone yet too shy to say anything, deciding on a quiet confession, one they likely wouldn’t pick up on.

Price chuckled, jotting down the necessary information he would need when he got his hands on the right paperwork, polishing up some of the details of Ghost’s story to make it more believable, before reading off what he had written to Ghost to make sure he got everything right. Ghost nodded once, and that was that.

“Replacement tags will probably be here in two to three weeks.”

“I would like to request leave for two to three weeks from now.”

Price handed him the form, having already grabbed it. He noticed how the man seemed to calm at just the thought of getting to visit his mystery person.

Oh, he thought to himself.

I am definitely joining Roach and Gaz’s bet.

<><><><>

They were lying on the daybed in his streaming room, or, well…

No, that’s not quite right.

Simon was lying on the daybed.

Johnny was lying on top of Simon.

His computer was still softly playing quiet (non-DMCA) music from where his stream had just ended. Instead of turning it off, he had decided to unplug his headset and leave it on, the music just loud enough to be heard.

Simon was sleepily scrolling through his phone, trying to pretend like he hadn’t almost dropped several times while dozing off, desperately trying to stay awake. Johnny had watched his struggle and decided to lay down right on top of Simon, not even trying to pretend like he was trying to fit on the remaining space on the daybed. Why would he when Simon was right there?

It was meant to be a joke, having thrown himself on top of him to annoy the man into sleeping on an actual bed (he claimed he wasn’t tired but the comically loose grip on his phone and the waking world said otherwise.) However, unfortunately for said sleepy man, Simon was very, very comfortable.

His head was resting on Simon’s chest, arms under his back like he actually was just a pillow, one hand reaching higher to feel where Simon’s hair had begun to grow out slightly.

I wonder if he would let me help him cut it…

Simon had said he was like a clingy cat, his free hand running through his hair in the same manner one would pet a cat to prove his point. The joke's on him though, he likes it.

Simon had tried to stop but Johnny didn’t let him, threatening to tickle him if he did.

(“I’m not ticklish, I just don’t want you throwing a tantrum.”

“Yeah, sure. Whatever you say,” he was definitely ticklish, and one of these days he was going to prove it.)

At some point, Simon had given up on keeping a grip on his phone, letting it drop to the side. They would probably have to go digging through the cushions to get it out of whatever crevice it had fallen to. As of right now, the idea of ever leaving his spot was comical at best.

The sun had begun to set, orange and pink tinted light filtering through the sheer curtains, making everything look more like a dream. Or maybe it was just the proximity to the man below him that was making him feel so serene.

Johnny took a second to inhale and exhale slowly, appreciating the moment. He hoped that this memory, this beautiful tranquility with Simon, would be something he cherished for a long time to come.

He knew that they had things to do. Soon, Simon would be catching a flight at some ungodly hour, headed back to save the world yet again. But for now, he was happy to nap away in their own little bubble. He never was a religious man but here in the arms of Simon Riley, he was tempted to think heaven was real, and that it was right in front of him.

“I almost forgot,” Simon mumbled, not sounding any more awake than he looked, reaching up for the collar of his shirt. Thankfully, the hand that was running his hair remained. He didn’t like proving the cocky bastard right, but he probably would have thrown a tantrum had he tried to remove it.

“They had some fuck up along the line or something and accidentally printed me an extra set of dog tags. I was just gonna toss ‘em but thought you might want—”

Johnny was now wide awake, sitting up and yanking the chain out of his hands.

“Don’t you fucking dare throw them away, of course I want them!” Simon’s face reddened, a frequent treat for Johnny now that he had gotten more comfortable going without the mask. Simon might have been good at keeping a poker face, but without his mask, he was a blushing mess.

He wondered if the blush was from his obvious jubilation at the gift or if it was because he was now straddling the man. Such pesky details, however, (even ones that would keep future Johnny awake at night) were far less important than examining the necklace in his hands.

It was obvious this was the older set, the metal worn and dented in some spots though the writing was still clearly visible.

“Calm down, I’m not going to take it from you,” the gruff tone was severely undermined by the aforementioned blush. It was hard to sound tough while half asleep on a daybed and being used as another man’s pillow.

Johnny stared at them for a little bit longer, feeling every dent and wondering the story behind how they got there, before putting them on.

He smiled at the man under him, “How do I look?”

He was going to joke, asking if he looked like a rough and tough soldier ready for war, but something in Simon’s eyes made him stop short.

He was looking with… with… Reverence was far too intense of a word for the softness of the moment but it was the only word that came to mind.

Simon reached up with his hand, grabbing the tags, his knuckles grazing his chest.

Well, that’s just fucking unfair.

Simon was supposed to be the blushy one. Not him, goddammit!

Though, he thinks when they make eye contact, they end up tied for who is blushing the most. They stare for a while, maybe it should have felt awkward but it was too adoring for either to feel any form of uncomfortability.

Neither moved.

It was Johnny that broke first, smiling at him, yet again tracing all of the scars he could see. It was his new favorite hobby, especially when Simon would blush making the scars on his face all the more visible.

He took one more second to sleepily appreciate the man before him, then went back to using him as a pillow. His hands went back to where they were before, one under Simon’s back and one playing with his hair. His head, however, did not fall back to his chest, instead resting in the crook of his neck and shoulder.

Simon’s hand returned to running through his hair, his other now coming up to rest on his back, rubbing up and down a few times before the sleepiness from earlier fully returned with his hand stopping somewhere around the small of his back.

Johnny leaned up slightly and gave a chaste kiss to the part of his neck that he could reach, then settled back to where he was. The hand in his hair paused.

“Thank you, Simon.”

A second of delay, and then the hand continued.

“You’re welcome, Johnny.”

Simon shuffled slightly, getting comfy before—

A kiss, on his forehead.

He couldn’t stop the blush and smile if he wanted to. He snuggled closer before drifting off to sleep.

When he woke, he was in his bed, practically tucked in. His window had been opened slightly, blackout curtains that had been drawn closed now swaying slightly with the breeze. When he focused, he realized he could smell petrichor and hear heavy rainfall outside with the occasional grumble of thunder.

There was a note on his nightstand. As he expected, it was Simon’s handwriting, apologizing for not waking him up before he left. It said that he had made breakfast for him (pancakes, with enough for when his sister would inevitably try to steal them), that he made sure to lock the front door, and left the window cracked.

He giggled sleepily at the last line. Regardless of the context, it always made Simon anxious to have the curtains open, much less to leave a window open. But, he also must've known how much Johnny loved the rain and set his worries aside, just this once, so he could wake up to the rain.

He set the note down and flopped back onto his pillows, his hand felt something cold and he remembered.

The dog tags.

John MacTavish is no stranger to crushes and heartbreaks.

He's had high school sweethearts, been in and out of love, he knows his way around the world of dating. Which is why he most certainly does not squeal and kick his legs while holding the tags like some kid with their first crush.

He did it like a grown man, thank you very much.

He grabbed his phone and sent Simon the worst pun he could think of; it was tradition at this point to send him some god-awful joke before his flight.

Simon has probably already forgotten about the whole exchange. He probably woke up and assumed he threw them away when he noticed he wasn't wearing them. It was probably stupid, an insignificant gesture with no meaning. But to Johnny, it felt like everything.

He sighed dreamily at the ceiling and felt the cool metal once more. Thunder roared outside. He thought about how he had felt in the man's arms. Thought about how much he wanted that again.

God.

His phone dinged and he immediately reached over to grab it.

I'm fucked, aren't I?

<><><><>

Elsewhere, Ghost was in an airport terminal, having far too much time to think.

Over the weekend, it was almost impressive how many times Ghost had talked himself into and back out of giving Soap his dog tags. He really hoped he hadn't made a mistake.

Simon felt the spot that Johnny had kissed and wondered if he remembered it. Wondered if he had meant it.

Simon thought about how Johnny had looked cradled in his arms when he carried him to his room, the way he had reached out for him when he laid him in bed. The way he had grabbed his wrist and clung to it, grumbling when Simon tried to pull it back.

If asked, he'd say that he had woken up late and that's why he was so far behind schedule. He'd keep the part where he sat there, kneeled in front of Johnny's bed, waiting for him to fall back into a deep enough sleep to pull his arm away all to himself. After all, it would have been rude to wake him up, no?

He had made sure to plug up his phone and, upon seeing the forecasted weather, hesitated before opening the window. It was only barely cracked, just enough for the sounds of the outside world to shamble in, but not so wide as to worry about water damage. He stared at it, convincing himself not to worry and that Johnny would like waking up to the fresh air.

He turned back to make sure the man was still asleep, still comfy, but stopped for a moment. He approached the bed and hesitated before running his fingers through his stupid haircut, almost wishing the man would grab his arm and give him an excuse to stay.

He didn't. Simon did, however, lean in to give him one last kiss on the forehead as some stupidly sappy goodbye, before his brain turned back on and he ripped himself away.

What the fuck is wrong with you? What? He grabs your arm in your sleep so you feel entitled to be able to kiss him?

Simon backed away, staring at the hand that had just been in his hair. He felt dirty.

For fuck’s sake, relax. It's not that big of a deal, you did it earlier; the man fell asleep in your arms, a forehead kiss isn't too much of a stretch.

He went to the kitchen and scrubbed his hands for a while, only stopping when he thought about how much water he was wasting. He still felt dirty.

Not a stretch? You don't get to decide that. How would you feel if someone tried to kiss you while you were unconscious? If they said that they felt they should be allowed to do so because you fell asleep?

He had started making pancakes. Something quick, easy, and reheatable for when Soap woke up. Like making him breakfast would make up for trying to kiss him in his sleep.

Why can't you just be normal?

Eventually, and after a run-in with Soap’s hell-spawn of a twin, he had to leave. The time on his phone showed that he should probably already be halfway to the airport by now but he has always been a selfish man.

He had snagged some paper and left Soap a quick note, hoping the apology would make him feel better about worse sins than not waking him up. It didn't.

He stared at the man for a second, admiring him, before he reminded himself that he was a fucking creep and left.

The storm left the flight delayed by 1.5 hours. Ghost had sat waiting, wireless headphones on and connected, but not playing anything. He had far too much time to think.

Simon thought about how Johnny had looked, his dog tags around his neck, silhouetted by the fading light, the sun behind his head as if even the stars knew they could never compare to him.

He stood and started pacing. Amongst the screaming children, feuding families, and people who think they're entitled to listen to their music without headphones, one middle-aged man having an existential crisis didn't stick out.

He thought about how he had never understood weighted blankets so well until Johnny had thrown himself on top of him. It should've hurt. He should've been annoyed. Instead, Simon selfishly hoped he would never get up.

It took him a while to put his finger on what he had been feeling exactly. Finally, he realized.

There, in that moment, he had never been so happy to be alive. It was a startling emotion to discern amongst the swath of negativity he normally felt. It startled him so much, he had snapped out of his reverie and stopped short in his pacing. When he checked the time, he saw he had one missed text from Johnny.

Soap (art streamer): i was trying to think of an airplane joke but none of them landed

Simon chuckled and sat down; he almost forgot about their dumb little tradition.

Ghost: Disliked.

Soap (art streamer): everyone is so mean 2 me 💔

Ghost: It is not my fault your pun was so Boeing.

Soap (art streamer): well i thought i could wing it

Ghost: Did you look up what giving do-

Ghost: About the tags, you

Ghost: I think you make me want to live

Ghost sighed and fell back further into his seat, coming to a conclusion that his subconscious had long ago discovered.

I'm in love, aren't I?

Soap (art streamer): speechless huh? finally, the Wright reaction to my comedic genius

Ghost: Absolutely awful, Mactavish.

Soap (art streamer): :D

Took you long enough, dumbass.

<><><><>

Soap’s twin spent a good bit of time staring at her brother's new accessory.

“Is something wrong?” he challenged, hoping she wasn't in a bothersome mood.

She failed miserably at hiding her shit-eating grin but didn't care.

“Nope!” she replied.

She had run into Ghost early that morning before he left.

"Detergent."

She was pretty sure he never even learned her name, just jumped straight into calling her detergent.

"Ghoul," she greeted, glaring at the man.

Being required by law to not trust him, she checked on her brother as he was still gathering his things and noticed the necklace.

“You gave him your dog tags,” she accused, like she was framing him for murder.

“Yes, I did,” he replied casually, as per usual robbing her of the fight she so desperately wanted to pick.

“Did you tell him what it means?”

“...What does it mean?”

Damn, he was good. If she wasn't convinced that he was the devil incarnate, she might have fallen for his feigned ignorance.

“100 bucks and you buy my silence.”

“I don't know what you mean.”

“200 then.”

“It doesn't even mean anything.”

“Hmm. Well, I suppose you might be right… JOHN!” their neighbors were probably going to complain.

“What the fuck are you doing?” ooh he was getting panicked now.

“If it doesn't matter then you won't mind me telling him to look it up,” she started walking to his room, “JOHNSON!”

“Fucking Christ, woman! Just— Fucking— Here.”

He pulled out his wallet and started counting bills. Damn, that was easier than she thought.

“What did you say? 100?”

“Nope! That was before inflation. Now it’s 300.”

“What the hell is wrong with you? You said 200!”

“So you admit you tried to scam me?”

“Just take the 100 and g-”

She didn't even get to yell, he reached for more before she could finish taking a deep breath in.

“Just shut the fuck up! Here! Three fucking hundred!”

She was tempted to raise her price further, but she was no gambler, she was a strategist. She knew a defeated man when she saw one. If she played this right, she could extort money out of him for a long time to come.

Something, something, vampires not fully killing their victims and all that.

She took the money, counted it, and then held out her hand to shake.

“It was a pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Wraith!”

He didn't shake her hand.

“Christ, both of you are awful.”

He packed his stuff and left, broke, broken, and defeated.

She ate as many pancakes as she could, rich and victorious.

She thought about how much power, how much blackmail she had in this moment.

“I’m fantastic actually,” she walked to her room.

I am going to be so fucking rich by the time they get their shit together.

#ghostsoap #soapghost #ghoap #streamer au #streamer! soap #streamer!soap #streamer! au #ft. Old Man Price and Chronic Shit Stirrer Twin Sister (unnamed)#ghost never changes soaps contact name #my version of ghost in this au has convinced himself that he's nothing more than an incel/neckbeard #and that's why he is the way that he is #[I know my mess of 'family hcs' or whatever was derailed to shit but I still think ghost would call his twin detergent]#i’m scheduling this for when i’ll be asleep so goodnight i hope you all sleep well and drink plenty of water #my writing

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sonorousabyss · 1 year

Note

Can i maybe get a xiao or tsukasa male reader x hashiras if your doing requests or dont mind T_T

Hashiras x Male! Xiao Reader

AN: Thank you for the request Swivy! I'm not sure what format you wanted the post in or who Tsukasa is so I settled for the Xiao reader concept and some of the Hashira that I'm more familiar with!

Request: Yes Summary: Rengoku, Tengen, Sanemi, and Shinobu's thoughts on a male reader with Xiao's general attitude/Personality. Reader uses some derivative of wind breathing because Xiao and Anemo go hand-in-hand. Warnings: N/A

Kyojuro Rengoku

Does not understand M/N at all, but doesn't let it phase him either.

What do you mean you want to stay away from the other demon slayers? Karmic Dept? Such nonsense! Just come with him and you'll make friends in no time at all! Kyojuro knows just how to help!

He met M/N by pure happenstance, passing through a village shortly after nightfall. The H/C-haired man was dueling with a demon not too far from the outskirts- and doing just fine by the Hashira's standards.

M/N ripped through the sick creature with clear and concise strikes, showcasing great skill in his breathing form as he jumped around the demon he was fighting, dodging attacks and almost seeming to dance in the air as he counterattacked, leaving gashes quicker than the beast could regenerate. Then, with one swipe? It was over. The head was sent toppling to the ground, and the body along with it.

Rengoku could only beam at him and clap as he approached, congratulating M/N on a job well done. He didn't notice the apprehension in his body language at all as he set his hand on the smaller man's shoulder, a giant grin on his face.

He'd already been impressed at the show of strength from such a young-looking member of the force, but to learn that this was the 5th demon he'd had to deal with in the past few days? The sheer dedication was astounding.

M/N did not appreciate this in the slightest and was blunt in stating so. Rengoku might've toned down on the physical contact that made him uncomfortable but didn't do the same for his volume or enthusiasm, much to his subordinate's chagrin.

This kept up well into the future as M/N climbed the ranks, with the Hashira asking about his exploits and how his missions had been going.

More than a few times he ended up comparing his breathing style to Sanemi's thanks to the wind aspect, which M/N could quite frankly do without. Couldn't the kind and energetic blond just leave him alone? He didn't want his karma to rub off on him. For demon slayers, dying was an occupational hazard. He'd hate to see such a skilled swordsman perish because he got too close.

Their relationship appeared to get better once the blond discovered M/N's love for almond tofu, which he proceeded to use to bribe him into coming out to eat with him. Things slowly progressed from there, and M/N became fairly comfortable with hanging out with Rengoku. He even stopped protesting! How shocking!

Missions with him were even more interesting, considering their respective fighting styles. By the time their bond of trust had developed, Kyojuro needed only to say his name and M/N would be at his side, hand on the hilt of his blade and ready to shed some blood.

Loyalty and consistency, as it appears, seem to go a long way. Even if his loud voice does tend to hurt his ears.

Tengen Uzui

Tengen... well let's just say he also had a favorable impression of M/N thanks to his fighting techniques.

Leaping into the air and plunging down, striking his enemy with such determination and impeccable form? Dodging quickly and dashing about like he weighed nothing at all? He had to say that his fighting style wasn't half bad. Even a tad flashy.

Of course, there's no way he could ever hope to rival a god such as himself, though... if he were to become his tsugoku...

Not in a million years. Or at least, that's the attitude M/N is rolling with. If Rengoku seemed pushy before, Tengen was going to be an entirely different story.

Rengoku... well... He means well, even if things don't register immediately. The Sound Hashira though? You could tell him to put you down when he's got you over his shoulder and he wouldn't hesitate to not follow that request. He's a whole different level of deliberate stubbornness.

Of course, it's not like he doesn't have his sweet side. He can be downright delightful if you get to know him in the right circumstances. It's just that M/N was never particularly interested in getting to know said sweet side.

Every moment spent in close contact with that man he either witnessed or experienced something disturbing against his will... not that his sense of disturbing was particularly normal, anyway.

For that reason (among several others) the man, though good at killing demons, tends to get on M/N's nerves.

M/N prefers to keep things more on the business side with Tengen. He has an immense respect for the technique and skill he harnesses with his blades in the war against demons. He's an impeccable Hashira, and a reliable comrade to fight alongside. In fact, it's not just him that's impressive. His wives are as well. And- his...mice?

Don't get M/N started on the mice.

They certainly have personality, but they're just one thing on the list of things he didn't know he didn't want to see until he saw them.

How did he even get them that buff?

What is he feeding them?

Is it edible?

Is it almond tofu?

He was hesitant about the wives (and their more affectionate and kind nature) until he tasted their cooking. M/N didn't know something could rival his favorite dish until he had it. Food is also how Tengen bribes him into staying around.

M/N tries to avoid these occasions as much as physically possible, despite how much the food tempts him. Uzui's wives were good people, and he didn't want to risk tainting them with his karma.

Uzui was debatable. He wouldn't mind seeing the man get knocked around by a demon just a little bit in combat to make up for the times he tried to get M/N to embrace a flashier lifestyle. But his wives? Nah.

Sure, they're perfectly capable of self-defense and would put up a good fight against him... but still. Too precious.

Sanemi Shinazugawa

No.

Absolutely not.

Don't get me wrong, Sanemi is strong as hell and good at killing demons, and they might have similar mindsets on things in a certain respect- *cough cough* demons being horrendous creatures that must be dealt with *cough cough*- but the firey ball of anger is just too unpleasant to be around.

Quite frankly Sanemi returns the sentiment.

As cold, distant, and aloof as M/N is, Sanemi isn't looking to befriend him in the slightest, and the same goes in the other direction.

Just because they're wind users and operate in the same corps doesn't mean they need to be buddy-buddy, and they are cool keeping their distance.

M/N is more or less neutral in Sanemi's respect. He'd take almost any other Hashira over him if they were in it for the long haul in terms of missions. In public it's always going to be strictly professional. Very much a "respect is there, but no feelings are attached" type of scenario.

Until M/N climbs the ranks and get's Hashira status, Sanemi is just a capable superior and a benchmark to surpass.

I wouldn't say the respect is returned, but eh. Does it really matter?

Kocho Shinobu

She's by far one of the only Hashira he's comfortable around.

While the others on this list are generally too physically or emotionally present or looking for connection, it's just so easy to be around Kocho and keep things how he's comfortable with them being.

She's level-headed, quiet, clear, and concise, impeccable in the medical field, is well accomplished in a fairly unique style of combat in comparison to the other Hashira, and so much more.

She doesn't need size or brute force to earn others' respect, fear, or admiration. She's just uniquely her... and disturbingly intimidating, in an uncanny valley sort of way.

M/N is of the opinion that if he had to work under any of the Hashira, or at least work with any of the Hashira, she'd be the one he'd want to work under. He trusts her judgment.

Given his occupation, he's likely gotten injured and had to deal with her and those working under her plenty of times as he perfected his combat style, so he knows better than to disobey the doctor's orders.

He doesn't need to look at her face to understand her intent and genuine feelings. He just knows.

Shinobu, I feel, doesn't exactly dislike him either. She's dealt with enough "interesting" types that I get the feeling she can read him fairly well too.

Streamlined. Respect. Loyalty. And Communication.

That is their bond in a nutshell.

They both also have an amusing habit of just.. popping up out of nowhere and startling people, so I think she's gotten a laugh out of that.

Patients have now become aware of the fact that if you're at her place, you now have to watch out for more than just the doc.

I like to think of this place as M/N's Wangshu Inn equivalent. Just a place he chills out playing distant from other people, waiting for the next orders from the top.

M/N also has impeccable hearing, which makes it much easier for him to appear when called.

He's more than likely been ordered to help with rehabilitation training for patients during the times he stays around too long. He doesn't offer up many objections.

AN: If you made it this far, I hope you enjoyed it! Apologies if I didn't get all the Hashira you might have wanted. I hope I did this somewhat justice?

May your day be as pleasant as the ocean's abyss is deep.

For those who are new here, I take requests. You can find my rules here.

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inthelittlewood · 9 months

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Hey Martyn! So, I got into your lore because of Grian's Life Series, and now I'm just trying to find some stuff out. Anyways, I understand most of it, though I do have a couple questions.

What actually are LOOT shards/crystals? I know that they're soke aort of corruption in games of sorta, but how do they get there, how to they affect the game, and also how to disable them. It's just something I'm wondering about since I know you have to find the one piece, of treasure, but how does it actually help?

What are CHEST agents? I know that they're something almost as evil as Cruppy, which is really saying something, but what actually are they?

Are there any extra lore bits in Rats SMP that you can't get anywhere else? I just wanna know if I should grit my teeth and watch it sometime, when I'm done catching up on the VODs of Pirates (can't make it to streams for personal reasons, alas).

If you've come up with it, is there any way that the Watchers lore from the Life Series ties into the datastream hopper lore? Those two just seem a little incompatible to me - hopping the datastream, being captured by mysterious godlike entities... Or are they just two separate universes?

Do you plan on posting the New Life streams on your vods channel?

Who in Pirates is p!Martyn closest to in each faction, overall?

Also, I think you may have mentioned it on stream, but did you take the faction quiz and if so, which faction did you get? I kid you not, when I took it I got Kestrels all three times (with changing the answers to stuff that I would still do, but different than first time, I mean). Had to change it up just to see all the different faction descriptions...

Ok, I think that's it. Sorry if I have bad formatting btw, I'm typing this out on phone. Thank you for taking the time to read my questions! Absolutely love your work and lore, while at the same time having the humour some don't. Keep on doing an amazing job. Hope you find your one piece, of treasure.

Have an ice day!

That's something I want to unveil in the next lore drop, so I'm really sorry to say SoonTM but this lore doesn't have all that many secrets atm

2. C.H.E.S.T agents work are avatars controlled by human operators working for C.H.E.S.T and its evil underbelly. They're a known and trusted public computing corporation but the public doesn't know the full extent of their goals and resources

3. I try to be pretty concise and unavoidable when I do my lore stuff, so you should be able to find the Rats segments in this playlist with ease: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL3MFbfp1zo8dooC57HqfbizRoc07PdlFQ

4. Maaaaaaybe, people have noticed some parallels / links and all shall be revealed one day for sure, even if I'm like gonna quit doing videos and streaming, I'd just lore dump whatever isn't revealed so it's out there ha

5. A lot of my New Life streams are me just doing the grindy parts of the SMP and with the server being somewhat inactive I want to save the crossover / collab content for the videos - I'm not sure people would flock to a 3 hour vod of me painfully and slowly building an outpost or hollowing out a mountain to make a factory ya know?

6. Kestrels - probably Sausage, with Oli as a close second. Herons - Owen or Water. Owen has an inquisitive gene like Martyn and Water likes all things musical. Nightingales - Ros is so different to Martyn that it makes for some wholesome and chaotic interations, you never know which you'll get. Kites - Bek is basically the only one he's interacted with, he had a little banter on the seas with Kuervo but it was brief

7. I did! I surprisingly got Kestrel, or I guess, not surprisingly huh?

#itlwlore #piratessmp #pirates smp #scurvyblr #inthelittlewood

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justabigassnerd · 1 year

Text

Nightmares

Pairing - Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x daughter!reader

Word count - 1,234

Warnings - mentions of death, nightmares, slight mention of bullying

Summary - your worst fear comes to you in your dreams and you retreat to the one person who can provide you comfort

A/N - hey y'all I'm back with another fic posted just in time to be a present to y'all on my birthday! I kinda took inspiration from my own experiences as a Military brat. My dad went to Afghanistan when I was eight & at boarding school and I heard on the radio that the camp he was at had been invaded and holy shit that was like the most terrifying moment of my life. This was another anon request so I hope I did the idea justice (sorry it's a bit shorter than my usual fics). Anyways I'll stop rambling now. As per y'all, please send in requests feedback and enjoy!!

When you had been taken up to bed by your dad, tucked in and gifted with a kiss on the top of your head before your dad switched the light off, you were sure you would have sweet dreams just like your dad said before he left your room. You were wrong. You woke up in the dead of night with tears pooling in your eyes and staining your cheeks. Your worst fear had been swimming around in your head recently, especially since Greg in your class at school kept bringing it up when he knew there wasn’t a teacher around to stop him. When your dad found out about it you were embarrassed, you were eight and didn’t want your dad or your friends to see that Greg was affecting you with his taunts. As you lay awake, you tried to fall back asleep but every time you closed your eyes you saw flashes of your nightmare taunting you. After several failed attempts at going back to sleep, you pushed your duvet back, grabbed your beloved soft toy and went to go to the one place you knew you could be comforted.

Bradley Bradshaw could sleep through most bumps in the night. There was a concise list of noises that could actually rouse him from his sleep. His alarm set on his phone. The alarms in the carriers. And the creaky floorboard right outside his bedroom door. The last thing on that list was the thing that woke him up this particular night. He heard the familiar squeak of the floorboard and his eyes peeled open slowly. He listened carefully for a tell-tale sign of what was going on outside. He heard his door open slowly and, in the darkness, he saw your familiar figure sneak in, closing the door behind you before clambering onto the other side of the bed and making yourself comfortable. Just as you settled down, Rooster rolled over and pulled you into his arms as you squeaked slightly, immediately melting into his embrace, and cuddling closer.

“What are you doing, creeping in here little miss?” He asks with a grin as he tugs the duvet around you. When you didn’t respond, choosing to bury yourself further into his side his smile slipped away. He knew that something was definitely up for you to be clamming up on him. He knew you weren’t scared of telling him things but if you were upset or scared of something you required a bit more coaxing. He knew that because you knew what he did for a living you wanted to be brave like him and that meant not being scared of anything so you were embarrassed to be scared most of the time now and it broke Rooster’s heart.

“y/n, what’s up sweetheart?” He asks, stretching an arm out to turn his bedside lamp on before focusing his attention back on you. You try to get out of the conversation once more by hiding your face in the crook of his neck, but Rooster carefully moved you away, sitting up and placing you on his lap where he notices the tears pooling in your eyes.

“I had a nightmare.” You whisper as Rooster reaches to wipe the falling tears from your cheeks with his thumbs.

“What was it about? Can you tell me?” He asks you softly, watching you carefully as you nod carefully.

“I had a dream that you died. Greg keeps saying that you could die while you’re at work and I’m scared.” At your small voice, Rooster felt his heart break and he tugged you into a hug and ran a hand up and down your back as you cried into his neck. As Rooster pressed repeated kisses to your temple, he vowed to bring up this Greg kid to the principal of your school and see if he can talk to his parents about this issue you’ve been having with him. He also understood where you were coming from in your fear of him not coming home. He lost his father when he was only five years old, barely old enough to have any memories of Goose and he was terrified of leaving you behind in a similar way. He tightened his grip on you slightly as he thought of you being alone.

“I’m okay. It was just a dream. But it’s okay to be scared sweetheart.” Rooster whispers, feeling you nuzzle closer into the crook of his neck as he speaks.

“You’re never scared. I want to be brave like you and Mav.” You mumble into his neck and Rooster presses yet another kiss to the side of your head before leaning back so he could see your face.

“y/n/n, everyone gets scared sometimes. Even me and Mav. It’s nothing to be ashamed of.” Rooster says softly, frowning slightly when he sees on your face that you’re not entirely convinced by his words so he vows to talk to the Daggers and Maverick tomorrow and see if they can bring any advice. Moving on to his next idea to comfort you, Rooster gently takes one of your hands in his and places it on his chest, just above where his heart was and holds it there as you look at him with wet eyes.

“Feel that? I’m alive and I’m not going anywhere soon y/n/n. I always fight my hardest when I’m working so I can come home to you.” Rooster says, lifting his free hand to run through your hair gently before wiping the remainder of your tears away.

“Can I sleep in here, tonight?” You ask timidly, cuddling into your dad’s chest, reminding him of when you were a baby and loved to be held in his arms. Rooster always cherished moments like this because he knew that before he knows it, you’ll be all grown up and will want to be out exploring the world and won’t be home all the time whether he liked it or not.

“Of course, you can, sweetheart. Here, let’s get nice and comfortable, shall we?” He asks, shifting you to be alongside him as he lays down, tugging you into his side and keeping you in a protective hold like he could singlehandedly keep the nightmares and bad thoughts away with a simple embrace. He switched the lamp off and settled back into the pillow, smiling to himself when he felt you resting your head on his chest, right above where his heart sat so you could listen to the gentle thumping to help lull you to sleep and be a gentle constant reminder that he’s alive and with you. As you settle down, he begins to run a soft hand up and down your back to help you fall asleep quicker.

“I love you, daddy.” You mumble into his chest as sleep takes its hold over you once more.

“I love you more, sweetheart.” Rooster whispers when you’ve given into the clutches of sleep. Rooster watched you sleep peacefully for a few minutes, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. Rooster knew you’d grow up sooner than he’d like you to, and that maybe when you’re older you’ll have someone new to turn to on sleepless nights or nights plagued with nightmares. All he could do right now was hold you tight, knowing you were still his little girl for a little bit longer.

#justabigassnerd #justabigassnerd writes #top gun #top gun maverick #top gun fic #top gun maverick fic #bradley bradshaw #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley 'rooster' bradshaw #bradley bradshaw x reader #rooster #rooster top gun #rooster x reader #rooster x daughter!reader #bradley bradshaw x daughter!reader #bradley 'rooster' bradshaw x daughter!reader #x daughter!reader

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emotionallychargedtowel · 11 months

Text

Intense Subtext in Front of Oblivious Side Characters: "I had no wife in the year six"

There's a thing, I guess it would be considered a trope, that is one of my favorite such things in any form of media but especially any sort of romance-centered story. I don't know of an existing term for this and I'm terrible at being concise so I'm not sure how I could put it briefly. Basically, it's the thing that happens when a larger interaction is happening with a group of people but there's a subtext to it that means something very different--and generally, much more meaningful--to the central characters. You could call it something like Intense Subtext in Front of Oblivious Side Characters.

I've been thinking for a while about possible parallels between BLs and Jane Austen novels and/or adaptations. This is my attempt at taking a small, specific example of a parallel I sometimes notice and talking about it. Austen's novels do a lot of this trope I mentioned. That's in part because of choices Austen made in what she wanted to write about. But it's also because of the social context of her time. There was a lot going on that people couldn't be explicit about, for a variety of reasons. I think one reason why I see similar things happening in some BLs--and maybe one reason for the appeal of certain types of BLs--is the fact that being queer in a homophobic society makes openness complicated in a way that doesn't come up as much for hetero relationships these days. Especially when we get into things like office romances, in which appearances have higher stakes. These complications around openness have a kind of similarity to the reasons Austen's characters had to play a lot of things close to the chest.

Fellow Old Fashion Cupcake fans will remember an example from that series that I think really fits here. Nozue and Togawa agree to attend a goukon, or "mixer" as it's sometimes translated--basically a group hangout intended to help men and women meet for the purpose of finding people to date. Nozue is hitting it off with a cute younger woman, which is bad enough. But then he mentions his "anti-aging" efforts, and because of the mysterious way he words it, the woman asks, "Does that mean you're in love?" which of course catches Togawa's attention even more. He's clearly affected when Nozue answers, "If I were, I wouldn't be here."

@jdramastuff did a great screenshot post of this scene if you want to see what this looked like.

After Nozue's comment, Togawa starts knocking back alcoholic drinks like it's going out of style, ensuring that Nozue will have to help him home instead of going home with the woman who's been flirting with him.

(You could argue that this isn't so much a case of subtext as it is the significance one person assigns to what another is saying. Subtext really requires some degree of communication between more than one person. But while Nozue doesn't fully grasp what's going on, I think he does understand in some ways what he's communicating. I don't want to go on too much of a tangent, so I'll just say that having just read the manga the series was based on, it strengthened my belief that while Nozue is repressed, insecure, even deluded at times, he has glimmers of awareness of his feelings for Togawa and even suspicions of Togawa's feelings for him, and on some level he knows what he's saying, though I don't think he knows in this moment how much these words will hurt Togawa.)

I have another favorite example of this, a scene from Persuasion. It's rendered really well in the 1995 adaptation of the novel with Ciaran Hinds and Amanda Root. (The whole thing is phenomenal, by the way--I think it's the best Austen adaptation ever made, personally.)

A bit of background for anyone not familiar with the story: Anne Elliott was engaged to Captain Frederick Wentworth in 1806 but was convinced by Lady Russell, her neighbor/family friend and a kind of surrogate mother to her following her mom's death, to break off the engagement. She has regretted it ever since. Wentworth was deeply hurt and angry when she broke things off, not surprisingly.

More than eight years later, Anne is visiting her sister and her sister's in-laws, the Musgroves, when Wentworth comes to the area and starts spending a lot of time at the Musgrove place (and with the Musgroves' eligible young daughters). Wentworth acknowledges Anne, but just barely, while paying enough attention to both the Musgrove girls that everyone is gossiping about which one he's going to marry. Anne's sister Mary was away at boarding school when her previous relationship with Wentworth happened, so neither Mary nor the Musgroves are aware Anne and Wentworth were involved and think they were only acquaintances.

At a dinner party, the Musgrove girls try to look up the ship that Wentworth first commanded, the Asp, in the Navy List, a book that chronicles the various ships in the British Navy, their commanders, and so forth. Wentworth tells them not to bother--"she" is not in the current version of the List because "she" no longer exists.

Louisa and Henrietta Musgrove are suitably horrified.

Admiral Croft, Wentworth's brother-in-law and superior in the Navy, remarks that Wentworth was lucky to get a command so early in his career at all, no matter how seaworthy (or un-seaworthy) the ship was.

(Remember, 1806 was the year that Anne and Wentworth became engaged and then un-engaged.)

Gut-wrenching. And nobody else sitting at that table has any idea what just happened. I love it.

I have some more thoughts about this languishing in an excessively long post in my drafts, which I'll try to get out one of these days. I know I've talked to a few people about trying to do some BL/Austen posts and had meant to tag them but the only person I remember talking with about it was @absolutebl. If you're reading this and you want a heads up next time I write about this stuff, let me know!

#austen & BL parallels #jane austen #persuasion #persuasion 1995 #wentworth x anne #old fashion cupcake #togawa x nozue #ciaran hinds #amanda root #takeda kouhei #kimura tatsunari #intense subtext in front of oblivious side characters #tropes #I need a better and shorter name for this

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an00dleb00 · 1 month

Text

In Defense of Magnificus

A very very long rant by me. Originally from a rant I posted in a discord server in 2022, modified to be a little more concise. I have to apologize if some of this stuff is incredibly outdated, I haven't really bothered to catch up with newer stuff about the game outside of the game itself yknow... Like twitch streams from the dev and such.

I saw a theory that Magnificus was originally intended to be the villain of the original, in lore Inscryption, but through the rush of making the game as a coverup and developers like Kaycee not making much progress on the development because of said rush, he didn't get finished. And I think if you really analyze his character, everything about him FEELS unfinished.

His character design is super simple compared to the other scrybes. His deck is weak; there are not a lot of hard hitting cards aside from the Stim Mage, and the Magiks system itself feels wonky, as if they didn't have enough time to balance it out. His tower feels empty (Specially that damned bathroom. It haunts me.) His letter stops before its completed, he suddenly disappears mid-sentence... He's the only scrybe to not get a proper 3D version, as the game was mostly deleted by the time we got to him in Act 4, and he might've been the only scrybe that never became hegemon. We don't get to finish his battle, and he doesn't even get a handshake.

And going back to originally being a villain? Maybe that's why he was made to be so cruel to his pupils. P03 is also mean to his subordinates, but they're robots, they're not mean to gain as much sympathy from the player. Meanwhile, Magnificus is established to be mean and perhaps downright evil by the dialogue we get through Act 2. Rebecha speaks about him by saying he's mysterious, stating "Some say he wants... No, it's too terrible to say." But we never know what that refers to, and if it's coded dialogue or her own speech.

Outside of the CODED IN lore behind his pupils suffering, we don't see him being evil AT ALL. In Act 1 he is practically our savior; his throughout preparing was able to get us the film roll, and if we take too long he sends the player VISIONS to guide us in the right way. In Act 2 he attempts to warn the player about P03, his paint leads around to secrets to clue in about the OLD_DATA as well as perhaps serving as warnings for it. At the end of the game he is the only one who is distraught about everything being deleted; Grimora and Leshy accept their deaths, but Magnificus REFUSES to.

But wouldn't a villain rejoice about people dying? About, in his own words, an entire world being destroyed? It's like the original plan for his villainy was there, but he doesn't WANT to be one.

Now as to why he seems to continue to treat his pupils badly. I think it's just.. guilt. I believe he didn't have a choice in making them suffer, they were all just coded into what we know of Act 2. They were all created with the pupils being in torturous states and the game code telling them "It's Magnificus' fault". I think he himself believes this. I believe he could have tried to fix it before. But the thing is that, even if he ever did fix it, if he stopped their pain, it would all be for nothing... because the game resets. The only times it doesn't do this is when a scrybe takes over, which is something he has supposedly never been able to do. And if he were to help them outside of being hegemon they'd just go back to their original state once the new game card was used. I think he simply gave up upon realizing this and instead chose to bury his own grief that comes from it by playing into the character he was originally meant to be; the villain. That, and I think he just doesn't want to look at them... It hurts him to. I believe this is why he painted bleach over Goobert's painting.

I think him being originally an unfinished villain plays into him always being prepared. As I stated before, people often forget how helpful he is- it's due to his preparations that we are able to leave Act 1, he warns about The Great Transcendence in Act 2, warns Luke about the OLD_DATA, and warns him about the fate he'd encounter if he looked upon it. I think Magnificus wants to make up for his "villainy" by being the one the other scrybes and npcs can rely on in a time of need, so he spends every hour of everyday getting ready for the worst, and foreseeing what is gonna happen next.

Thing is that, he never stops anything from happening. He prepares a way out of Leshy's hegemony, but he can't stop it from happening in the first place. It's very probable that he was the one that planned how to stop P03 in Act 3, as we see he has been preparing since at least Act 2. But not only does the P03 hegemony happen, but he is ultimately unable to stop the Great Transcendence once it is in progress. Same thing for the game's deletion, which I believe it is at that point he truly panicked, because he couldn't foresee it or plan for it beforehand. It all feels like... An unfinished character arc. He never got to do anything he wanted.

I think he feels powerless.

Magnificus is often regarded as the worst scrybe. But in a sense, there's no real reason why that should be the case, at least not compared to the others. Like... Leshy took over the game and put the other scrybes into cards. He had good intentions, sure, but that doesn't mean his actions were good. Magnificus lost his eye, Grimora lost her memory, P03.... Was having a bad time...

Hell, the reason people hate Magnificus so much so often is because of the treatment of his pupils... But Leshy isn't all innocent there either. He puts Goobert in a bottle (At least, maybe he does. It's not clear whether it was him or Mags), which we know Goobert REALLY doesn't like, and he also put Goobert's description in the rulebook as "Failure". He also threw the bottle into the river as stated by himself in Kaycee's Mod.

P03... I don't gotta explain this one we know it is an asshole.

...And Grimora deleted the game, which basically killed everyone in it. While she had good intentions, it really only led to the discovery of the OLD_DATA and the subsequent assassination of Luke.

Now, what did Magnificus do? Nothing. Like... Really. He didn't GET to do anything. People dislike him because of his treatment of his pupils, but as I talked about before, I really don't think he can do anything about that, even if he wanted to.

So why do people so easily hate him? Circles back to the theory: Because he's unfinished. Everything about him is unfinished. The other scrybes are loved because we got to finish their arcs... We get to know why they each do what they did.

P03 not so much, but... P03 is a villain of sorts, people like villains and don't need them to be "good" to like them, which I agree with cuz villains are fun! P03 does have some sympathy points somewhere, though, which I'm not gonna go into here.

I'm gonna focus on Grimora and Leshy instead. Their farewells were perfect closure:

Grimora spoke about why she chose to delete the game, and we as the player come to understand her. It was right after her doing it in the first place, so we didn't even get to really build anger towards her. She talks about it being a necessary action- perhaps something we can agree with after knowing everything about the OLD_DATA. She laments not being able to play more with us, but she accepts her death and says goodbye.

Leshy talks about just.. wanting to play. That's all he wants, he just wanted to give us a good story. The original Inscryption is rushed and weird- Act 1, his hegemony, was his attempt to make it better and enjoyable (Which, considering it is the Act people love most, he succeeded.)

The player probably misses him by this point- playing cards with him feels somber, sad, and nostalgic. At this point we consider him a friend. And then he gets deleted after complementing our past deck, speaking about how much he enjoyed his time with us, and saying farewell. It's not something that leaves us with any possible anger towards him.

Magnificus though... He doesn't get that. We never get to talk to him properly, he never speaks about how he feels or why he does things. In Act 1 he spends most of the time in the clock, in Act 2 he gets cut off when trying to speak to us, Act 3 he only speaks a few sentences, and in Act 4..

His farewell is different than the other two. Leshy and Grimora accept their deaths... Magnificus doesn't. He doesn't talk about his feelings or justify his actions, because if you have been holding in your feelings, that is something you do when you can no longer do so. You let them go when you know you're going to die soon.

But he doesn't want to. He doesn't want to die, he can't accept it.

The game he played with us wasn't complete- the scales were gone, so we weren't even supposed to play against him. It was his opportunity to just say what he needed to say before he was gone, but he refused to accept his upcoming death. So instead he tried prolonging the process by using unrealistically high numbers instead of scales (The bigger the number, the longer the game will take, right..?). Even as he felt himself getting deleted he refused to end the game, or even talk to the player properly. For once, he couldn't prepare for the worst, and he was in denial- he was completely powerless and he didn't want to accept it. Instead, he speaks to us about the game deleting. He blames the player for it. He tries to guilt us; "You even allowed my goo mage to get deleted... I thought you two were becoming friends!"

And he doesn't get a handshake. He tried to push his deletion away for so long that he ended up not even being able to finish the match or get the same, proper farewell that Grimora and Leshy got.

I think by now I've said what I needed to say, but I wanna add that... Yeah, I think he's one of the most tragic characters in the game. I think he spends a lot of time being anxious- we don't get a clear answer on if he can see the future or if he is just able to predict it, but either way he lives with a lot of anxiety because of it.

I think the worst part is the deletion of the game and his farewell. He isn't able to let go because he's scared to, and because he has spent his whole life trying to prevent bad things from happening; trying to help his friends to get out of bad situations they caused themselves. But this time he's not able to, he can't do ANYTHING about it, and he's terrified because that means his whole existence and work is just... Gone. He spent all his days preparing for the worst scenarios, only for it all to be thrown away. He WASTED his life for nothing. And it hurts me that the fandom never saw that.

Or maybe I'm overthinking all of it. Maybe this has all already been directly disproven. But I still wanted to share this.

#inscryption #magnificus #ah... this took so long to rewrite and revise and agh!#i just... have a lot of thoughts about him #a lot of strong thoughts #it genuinely hurts me when people hate him #call me a snowflake or whatever I really don't care #hes a character very dear to me #i hope this might make someone like him a little more #or at least consider it #hm

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melsuki · 2 years

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𝐚 𝐩𝐮𝐧𝐜𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 paramedic!reader x prohero!bakugo

a/n: happy birthday the love of my life, the light of my mornings, and the stars of my dusk @kiyelle ! i'm posting this a lil earlier, but i hope you have an amazing birthday sweetheart; i'm so glad we're close and i can't wait to visit you in paris and go to the olympics with you <33 tw. blood, injuries, swearing, hospitals, needle mention

bakugo’s back slammed into a wall, and his head snapped backward, knocking against the concrete. blood ran down his forehead into his eyes, clouding his vision into a blur of red.

heaving in an agonising breath, bakugo ran through every situation and possible action available. his injuries were bad but the villain wasn’t in the greatest shape either; bakugo wasn’t going to let himself reach this level of damage without bringing them down with him too. so if he could just get the fuck up, he could finally crush the pesky bastard into a bloody pulp.

but just as his hands began warming up, through the ringing of his ears bakugo heard muted sounds of a fight starting up again behind the screen of smoke. his hands went cold. there weren’t any other heroes on duty nearby, and if they were, they definitely weren't strong enough to take on this calibre of villain.

bakugo gritted his teeth, and cursed at whichever dumb extra came and interrupted the battle, adding on another risk factor that bakugo has to keep in mind.

“stay still.” a stern voice came from beside him, and bakugo started, head whipping to the source of the voice.

“i said stay still.” you punctuated with a snarl. “you’re critically injured. stay down. shoto is here and taking care of the villain.”

he recognised you. even through the crimson blurring his vision and even through the ringing in the ears, he recognised you. and his blood boiled at the sight.

“i’m fine.” bakugo snapped, jerking himself away from your precise hands assessing his injuries. the sudden movement elicited a hiss, a stabbing pain blooming in his chest.

“no, dynamight.” you always say his name with such venom. each syllable like a slap to his face. “you’re not. several ribs broken, possibly a punctured lung, a dislocated shoulder, and a concussion are only just some of your injuries.”

bakugo clenched his jaw and his ruby eyes burned into your own obstinate ones. he knew each and every thing you said was correct and his nostrils flared at the thought.

“so shut the fuck up, let me do my work, and you can go on your merry way as fast as possible because trust me, we all want that. got it?” you stare at him, a brow raised just waiting for him to combat your words.

if icy hot truly was here, then in reality, the battle was already over. bakugo was sure all civilians were evacuated, and that the villain was damaged just enough that one more grapple would have ended it.

“hurry up shitty woman.” his eyes tore from yours, and he looked forward, refusing to acknowledge you. as soon as he gave his consent, you started working, hands moving with a practised fluency. he respected your skills and what you did, but bakugo didn’t miss (and definitely didn’t appreciate) the colourful mumbling underneath your breath, most likely aimed at him.

as you tried to staunch the blood loss from the various gashes that you could see on his body, you could tell he was losing blood worryingly fast. his eyes, however razor focused they usually were when you would watch him on the television, were losing focus, and his pupils were dilated, the inky blank eating up the burning crimson.

“dynamight.” you make eye contact. “the ambulance is right around the corner. my colleagues know our location and are coming with a stretcher and you’ll be in a hospital in no time.” you speak clearly and concisely, gently guiding him to lay down on his back, and preparing a tourniquet. “just focus on your breathing.”

his laboured breaths grew rhythmic, and his eyes fluttered to a close. as his vision grew black, he could hear your voice calling over more paramedics, and as he lost consciousness the last thing he felt was the cool gentle touch of your palm on his forehead, pushing back the blonde strands stuck to his sweaty skin.

the ringing in his ears were dull now. his head felt like it was stuffed full of cotton, and he could barely feel his limbs. bakugo tried to sit up with a grunt, but was immediately shut down with a firm hand to his chest. “nu-uh, you’re not going anywhere. especially not with those injuries.”

bakugo prepared to bare his teeth at whoever dared to stop him, but as his eyes laid on you, his eyebrows shot up in surprise. you didn't usually stay with him until he woke up. usually you just storm into the aftermath of his battles, and cuss at him until he stands down to let you treat him. that doesn’t always work, unfortunately for you. but when he does, you just leave and disappear as quickly as you came.

“the hell are you doing here?” bakugo rasps, each breath still a symphony of pain.

“making sure my patient is ok.” you cross your arms, eyes drifting over to look outside the window beside his hospital bed. “you were pretty wrecked by that villain. got me worried for a second there.” you frowned, and bakugo noticed the stiffness in your posture.

he coughed out a breath of laughter. “as if i would let some puny shit-stain of a villain like that take me down.”

at those words, a burst of laughter erupted from you, and bakugo paused. he doesn’t think he’s ever heard you laugh like that before. maybe the rare exhale of air from your nose as he swears at you from your many previous encounters, but never like this.

“that’s true.” you concede, and get up from where you were sat next to him. bakugo’s ruby eyes track your every movement as you go to slide open the door of his ward “I’ll go get your nurse. try not to scare them off-“

“thank you.”

you freeze, you’re hand resting light against the doorhandle. you had to question whether you imagined hearing those words as you turn to look at the bed ridden pro hero.

“sorry?”

“you heard me.” bakugo looked stonily ahead of him, refusing to meet your eyes.

a smile crept on to your lips. so he finally decided to show some gratitude; it only took him about three life or death situations. oh, you were going to remember this for a very very long time. and by the grimaced look on his face, he knew exactly that.

“hm sorry dynamight,” his jaw clenched and his fists tightened at the way you said his name. “i didn’t quite catch that.” you hum tapping a finger against your chin comically with the most infuriating smile bakugo has ever seen.

“get your hearing checked then dipshit i’m not repeating myself.”

“that what you say to the person who saved your life?”

“i already said thank you now fuck off.”

you laugh softly to yourself; even when in a hospital bed, completely immobile with countless tubes and needles stuck inside of him is he still an annoying brat.

“don’t miss me too much.” you give him a two finger salute, and as you turn to leave, you just miss the ruby stare that flick over to you, and linger even as the door slides to a close.

a/n: ok so ik im on a writing hiatus but shush don't say anything

#spirithub #katsuki bakugou #katsuki bakugo #bakugo katsuki #bakugo #katsuki bakugou x reader #bakugo katsuki x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #bakugo x reader #bakugou x reader #bakugo fluff #katsuki bakugo fluff #bakugou fluff

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