#codependency cw

[whump-kia]

talk codependency to me. caretaker overcome with adrenaline and panic and fear when whumpee is out of their sight, grabbing their face and frantically looking them over to ensure they're alive, even if they've been gone for two minutes. a whumpee who could handle the worst of torture and only breaks when they threaten caretaker, spilling everything, begging, pleading, for whumper to leave them be. caretaker who goes feral when whumpee is in danger. whumpee who can't even blink without caretaker in the room. they sleep back to back, breathing matched, one eye locked on the door and ready to obliterate anything that dares threaten the other.

#whump #whumpblr #whump prompt #whump community #kidnapping tw #torture tw #codependency #unhealthy coping mechanisms #codependency cw #specifically in siblings. something about siblings. it really hits right in the heart. #tropes that in real life are so so unhealthy but in fiction are the most delicious things on earth

[fictionkinfessions]

(Warning for chara hate for Ashley Graves, even though I don't actually HATE her, it's still chara hate)

I love my sister, and I miss my sister, and I want to hug her. But, also, I hate my sister, and I'm scared of my sister, and I'm so mad and terrified of her that I don't ever want to have to see her again... Except for the fact that I do, because I miss her, a lot, and how I don't HATE her, because "hate" is a strong word, and also because I love her. BUT, ALSO-

-Andrew Graves, struggling, indecisive, and a stupid fuck (TCOAAL) (Maybe trigger tag for codependency and/or abuse?)

x

#fictionkinfessions #fictionkin #andrewgraveskin #tcoaalkin #prevabuse #codependency cw #chara hate #mod party cat #ableist language cw

[shouta-edits]

"I'd like to request (Black Butler) a romantic moodboard for Our!Ciel x R!Ciel with themes of unhealthy obsession and codependency. " -anon requested

#black butler #incest tw #ciel phantomhive #real ciel #obsession cw #obsession aesthetic #codependency cw #codependency aesthetic #proship #kuroshitsuji #proshippers please interact #proship safe #antis dni #anti harassment #comship #request fill #moodboard

[independentzaun]

Smash or pass + Silco for Jinx

𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐃 “𝐒𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐇 / 𝐊𝐈𝐒𝐒 (𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐆𝐄 𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐄𝐒) 𝐎𝐑 𝐏𝐀𝐒𝐒” + 𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐌𝐘 𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐄 𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐇𝐀𝐕𝐄 𝐓𝐎 𝐀𝐍𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐑 𝐇𝐎𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐋𝐘.

There was no hesitation nor shame in Jinx's voice as she responded with a shrug. "Smash." Reaching for one of her braids she gave a little tug at it, and nodded. "I don't like sharing, and he's mine. Sides, I'm his too so it's okay."

Shaking her head the young woman sounded more amused than anything else. "It's not like he'd ever force me to do anything, like that, that I didn't want anyways. It's just, he's Important to me, and I care about him so isn't it just a natural thing to want to be as close as possible to an Important Person?" As far as she was concerned it was a rather obvious thing. Of course she'd "smash" Silco... if he wanted, and desired it as well.

#jinxanswers #codependency cw

[apocalypsegay]

#i will always defend codependency like #if it isnt affecting your life who tf cares 

i will always defend breaking your leg like if it isnt affecting your life who tf cares

#genuinely the way ppl on this website talk abt codependency is terrifying ngl! #if they even know wtf it IS #codependency cw

[idk-bruh-20]

Irondad fic ideas #154

CW: this one's pretty gruesome. read at your own risk 

Peter is a young child who's been kidnapped. His parents and/or his aunt and uncle were killed and he was taken. Along with a bunch of other little kids, he's been held captive and experimented on.

When the Avengers suddenly bust the kidnapping operation, the kidnappers try at the last second to destroy their research. They gas the small room where the kids are being held.

It's Iron Man who ends up blasting through. What he finds is horrifying. All but one of the children are dead.

The one who's left is just sitting among the bodies, crying, shocked, terrified. Iron Man carries him out of there, then once they're safe from the gas Tony steps out of the suit to comfort the kid while he's given oxygen.

Little 5-year-old Peter Parker imprints on his savior hard.

He just went through an unimaginable amount of trauma, then Iron Man burst through like an avenging angel. This is the first time he's ever felt protected in his memory. Tony holds the crying kid, and the kid can tolerate no one else near him.

This becomes a slight problem when they get back to base. But Tony can't find it in him to let SHIELD take the kid away, let them strip him of this one tiny bit of comfort. He keeps seeing all those other kids when he closes his eyes.

This one needs him right now. And if "right now" eventually becomes "this is my son," well. Who could've predicted that.

#sing it with me: codependency irl is bad but reading it in fic heals me on fundamental levels #give me separation anxiety peter! fiercely protective suddenly-a-parent tony! #irondad fic ideas #irondad and spiderson #btw sorry this is so gruesome y'all #cw: violence #idk is that the right tag? #just this image of peter being the only one of a whole group to survive wouldn't leave my brain #then him imprinting on his rescuer instantly #how tony might struggle with emotional vulnerability normally but wouldn't hesitate to comfort this child #iron dad and spider son #peter parker #tony stark #also imagine the moment a few months in when peter finally asks tony to be his dad #tony (crying): sure I can do that #imagine a moment where tony tells peter about his own time being kidnapped #imagine what would happen if the kidnappers (let's say hydra) CAME BACK #queueueueue #see announcements

[blinkpen]

beating myself with hammers time, check it-[CRUNCH]

#mog art #artists on tumblr #charlie k #zoetrope #monster boy #behold the power of My deeply unhealthy codependent gays (they'll get better) (i think) #necrin #drugs cw #alcohol cw #needles cw

[capricorndevil15]

👑🥩 Call 1-800-R4TT41L for a bad good time 🥩👑

I've been playing Our Wonderland + the sidegames and idk if you can tell but Orlam is my favorite. This game is bananas. You should play it if you like having your friends for dinner! (Cannibalism. There's cannibalism in the game.)

Also have a lil extra sketch of Orlam, Gidget, and Cecil under the cut cuz this post is already very long lolz

I imagine this is like Cecil's preferred place 2 be-- sandwiched between these two weirdos while they assure him they're definitely not drunk-- while he feigns annoyance. Cecil needs someone to be pretend-annoyed at, otherwise he might just die.

#on the real one of my favorite gore VNs that I've ever played. it is simply bonkers! #I can't necessarily recommend it for every1 but if you like visual novels blood guts and codependent childhood friendship drama....play it! #our wonderland #ow: orlam #orlam brewbacher #pixelated gore #cartoon blood #our wonderland fanart #cw: injury #cw: blood #horror visual novel #I hope the bunny outfit isn't too risque? I can never tell what other ppl's reaction/impressions of stuff like this will be #if it needs additional tags pls lmk! #I'm so glad I finished these before tomorrow cuz I'm gonna be gone for a while! but I want to draw more OW art when I come back. #tera-art

[venusandsaturnsrings]

Would inceltaru say "I love you" or is that too beta cuck for him lol

truthfully, it depends. if he’s heavily crossfaded it’ll slip. if he’s gotten to the point of being so down bad he’d put a bullet through his head for you he’ll say it. if you use some good ol manipulation he’ll say it. all depends on just how badly he’s deluded himself in his feelings for you!!

personally, i’d take the approach of giving him a taste of his own medicine. make him chase you, flirt with other men, give him half-assed attention, and so on and so forth. things like that really get under his skin especially if you’ve been so pliant and loving to him before; it’s almost like he’s experiencing withdrawals. make him a bit self conscious about his everything!! inceltaru craves your approval more than he’d like to admit so when he comes to you gritting his teeth and demanding answers, frown a bit and tell him you don’t believe that he likes you. you think he’s lying and you’ve lost interest. his heart will involuntarily tighten and he’ll be a bit pathetic asking how he can prove it. offering to hurt himself or others, spending as much money as you want, anything for you. smile pretty and ask him to say he loves you. he’ll choke up a bit in the process but it’ll escape his throat and he doesn’t think he’s ever felt more relieved and satiated than when he’s getting a soft kiss from you in return.

tldr; turn the incel dial slightly closer to simp.

#cw: incel #make him need u nonnie!! #he’s very codependent #wants u so bad #needs u :(( #inceltaru #incel childe #childe x reader #tartaglia x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #chit chats

[beanyboi173thegoober]

My latest post/reblog made me want to talk about something that Malevolent fans have probably all thought about, but I haven't seen it voiced yet.

While John and Arthur both have their individual character flaws, like John's insensitivity and Arthur's selfishness, they both, as a whole, are flawed in a way that makes me ache with a want to get them some goddamn therapy.

Arthur and John have a tendency to lash out on the other. Arthur himself has stated that he has said harmful things to John simply because he had no other outlet for his anger. John has abused Arthur's trust by weaponising Arthur's trauma against him. Both of these characters are toxic towards the other, switching from friendly to hostile with the flip of a switch.

Yet they cannot leave eachother. They can't have breaks to think and reflect on what they've said, they can't have privacy, they suffer through traumatic event after traumatic event, and neither can physically function without the other. They are forced to rely on eachother. They can't trust eachother, yet they have to. Any time they reveal something personal, it gets used against them. Any time they don't, the other gripes about it.

I have been a mediator for a very long time now, and I've actually began to study psychology. The research I've done, live study or written information, doesn't even compare to the dripping, deeply set knowledge of just how fucked up these two people are. They need eachother, and they hate eachother. They have a toxic codependency that disgusts me to think about.

Two people, forced together, forced to trust the other, no matter how much verbal abuse they may shoot back and forth, and forced to cooperate despite that abuse.

It's sickening, and yet the fictional narrative it's in is inciting, and so, we all must grin and bear it.

So yes, I will continue to call Arthur my baby girl, and John is my little silly, but deep down, I will know how fucked they act towards eachother, and I will despise it.

#malevolent podcast #malevolent #arthur lester malevolent #arthur malevolent #john malevolent #john doe malevolent #cw verbal abuse #cw toxic relationship #cw toxic friendship #cw codependency #grinding my teeth #in frustration

[twochildreninamoteldemo]

he hit me and it felt like a kiss (insp. @bl00dyrust)

#wincest #samdean #lananatural #abusive samdean #spn vid #spn fanvid #spnedit #sweet mourning lamb #natural blood stained blonde #a prayer for which no words exist #psychotically irrationally erotically codependent #abuse cw #physical abuse cw #ultraviolence #maven vids #mine

[mad-as-a-box-of-frogs]

If I go with you . . . can you promise that this time it will be final? That if I'm dead, I stay dead. Nobody can reverse it, nobody can deal it away, and nobody else can get hurt because of me.

I Think I'm Gonna Like It Here (9x01): Supernatural (2005-2020) [127 / ?]

#series 5 #spnedit #spngif #spn 9x01 #Castiel #dean winchester #sam winchester #Hael spn #Bobby Singer #sorry no death scenes coloring that was near impossible #this episode really is the thesis episode for Carver era #and it's: one of the winchesters needs to finally accept death to break the codependency #and Castiel has no place with the angels and needs to stop helping them #always thinking about Zerbe's meta about Hael as the personification of Cas's grace #If we get s16 or whatever #we need a showrunner who actually believes it isn't a betrayal of the show to let both winchesters and cas live happily #gore cw #blood cw #supernatural #my gifs spn///

[bitchesgate3]

Interpreting Mystra’s godhood in relation to Gale as a power imbalance is a popular take to have, but I have always held a different take.

What does it mean to be a god? Many interpret it as having complete and total power over a person. Thus a relationship between a god and a mortal is immoral. But that is not the correct metaphor for godhood to use in this case. I need you to invert it.

What does it mean to be someone’s goddess? Someone’s muse? Someone’s magic?

Imagine encountering someone who sees you as breathtakingly beautiful. That you make their heart sing, and feel things they’ve never felt before. They seek to please and flatter you, and keep you in their good graces so they can remain in your presence. There’s something about you that they don’t want to be without. As if you are the answer to every pain they ever held or every shortcoming they ever made. There’s a magic to you where they feel all things are possible.

With you, they become someone else – someone better. You elevate them.

In their mind you are perfection: near close to a concept of god any mortal can ever achieve. You are their goddess, and some will make you their reason for living. Others will never let you go, for fear of their death – oblivion - insignificance. The need so intense that they could destroy all the world around them in protest.

This is what happens when someone places you onto a pedestal and idealizes you. Mystra has been placed onto a pedestal. She was made to be a god. And gods - do the people need her. Through her magic, all things can be achieved. Through the Lady of Mysteries, she can grant all your wildest dreams… She is the answer to your every prayer.

It can feel good to be wanted. And in fact, the things a devotee can feel needy of are things that come naturally to you, the idealized being. You DO soothe their pain. You DO make up for their every shortcoming. You really do answer all their prayers. It almost feels like love? But why does it feel so empty?

Love is not an answer to a prayer or a question. It is not in desire or being desired. Love appears when you are your full nature, imperfections and all, and finding joy in the full nature of another, that can only be created between you.

When one person is idolized to god-like status for their benevolent traits, they get nothing in return. They are drained with nothing to refill them because if you play the part of a perfect being, you need nothing to sustain you. You sacrifice. And if you are not truly perfect, then you have prayers of your own that this mortal cannot answer. Are you really a god who can answer prayers? Or are you simply a mere mortal pretending they can?

Gods forgive you for playing with someone’s heart before you knew which.

A perfect being cannot love, and there are no such thing as perfect beings. But love will not make an imperfect being whole.

Love cannot be begged for. And love is not a gift to beg someone to give.

#cw codependancy #this is not a well known experience but it happens a lot #mystra #this is about a certain wizard and his God #lady of mysteries #bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #i will die on this hill #text #mourning every woman who tried so hard to do everything right #only to realize what was asked of them left them empty #you are as you were asked to be #then punished when you do as asked

[palestaticexchange]

LA VACHOLIER ET LE CHAT

You don't like putting the trash out. The four flights of stairs you have to carry the bin bag down is your first gripe, not to mention the stink of the bins themselves. Besides, the slim alley keeping your bins safely away from the road is on the dark side of the building. It reminds you of *more than one* crime scene.

So as you reach the steel bin - in your sandals, naively calmed by your evening shower - you can't *really* be blamed for shouting as something grey shoots from the bin causing you to drop the bag.

The bin bag splits on the tarmac. Your hand shoots to the side of your jumper. The skin beneath your armpit is gripped painfully as you clutch for where your gun *should* rest. But you've been home for over an hour and your armistice hangs on the rack by the door.

You notice then the quick, grey mass is an errant and irritated tom cat. Its tail flicks upwards in indignation as if considering whether or not to spray the bin he was trapped within.

You drop your hand, ignoring the white-hot shame creeping up your spine.

After a deep, calming breath you bend and lift the bag with both hands. The split in the plastic runs along the bottom and you lose only a few scraps of paper as you huck it into the awaiting bin with a sigh.

The cat strolls a few feet away and watches you over its battered shoulder, now bored. You consider its predicament. One of the dockworkers, or a bored child, must have dumped it in the bin as a cruel joke. You hope it was a joke at least. The thought of being slowly crushed in the back of an Revacivic truck makes you shudder.

You wouldn't call yourself an *animal lover* by any means, but the creature is small; and has obviously seen its fair share of woes.

Half an ear missing, one cloudy eye, scratches line its flank and the thing's primordial pouch is mostly bald. There's also a droop to its mouth that speaks to missing teeth.

As you place the steel lid back on the can, the cat sits on the wet tarmac and grooms one paw. "I'm cooler than you are," this gesture says. "O' Vacholier, scared of his own shadow."

You don't see the cat again for a week and a half. You forget about it, you're a busy man after all.

It's only as you approach your tenement building, soaked to the skin and shivering from the day's endless downpour, that you're reacquainted. You hear it before you see it; a guttural yowling of misery, ringing out every two seconds on the dot. The creature actually resembles the toupee of a suspect from earlier in the day.

You didn't need Harry to nudge you and whisper 'That man's hair is fake, Kim!' The sodden grey strands had parted to reveal the faint yellow of hypoallergenic adhesive.

Similarly, this *sad* little beast crouches under the tiny awning over the front of your building, it's jowls pulled down by the weight of wet fur. As it hears the jingling of your keys its head snaps to you, orange eyes wide as it directs the next yowl in your direction. "Miserere mei, Deus!" It seems to say.

But you didn't waver under the suspect's earlier begging, and you will not be broken by some pitiful animal either.

It's a rare day off and you are *content*. You're curled in the preferred corner of your sofa, a fresh mug of tea steaming away on its arm. In your left hand you hold the little pamphlet of poetry that Harry had given you.

The poetry is *actually* okay. You'd turned your nose up at the gesture, and Harry had raised his hands; already predicting your baulking. He'd insisted.

He explained he'd bought it from a homeless man who'd cut clippings from abandoned newspapers and included writings of his own. Harry had loved it *so* much that he'd circled particular stanzas for Kim's enjoyment and told him to read those. You figured you could at least entertain the highlighted sections.

You don't posses an artistic mind, but practising volta means you have a softer spot for poetry. Besides, the sections Harry had highlighted were all to do with Revachol, community, and companionship. It was a sweet gesture.

You pull back your thumb and tilt the book to the left, letting the page flutter sideways then pinning it in place by replacing your thumb. Your right hand scratches the cat under his chin.

Yes, *that* was a development.

About a week ago you'd been making dinner. The only shop open in your neck of the woods by the time you'd finished work was the corner store; and it had flooded. Shut. That meant dinner had been *cans found in the back of my cupboard that happen to still be in date* special.

One of the tins was mackerel that you didn't even *remember* buying. None-the-less it *was* in date and Dei knows you could do with the Omega-3.

As you spooned the *rankest* looking stew you'd ever seen into a bowl, you heard yowling from outside. The cat. That wasn't unusual.

He'd started hanging around your tenement almost exclusively. Even following you to your Kineema in the morning - tail raised to the skies - and greeting you upon your return.

What *was* unusual however was that he sounded *close*. Because you live on the 4th floor. You had blinked, and upon considering that you weren't particularly *excited* to eat your watery creation, walked to your balcony. As you pulled back the curtain, two orange eyes peered up at you from the dark.

Later in the week you'd actually manage to catch the cat scaling the fire escape and leaping between balconies to reach *another* room within your tenement; by virtue of an open window. A moment later you heard a woman shriek and watched the cat scarper back out, followed swiftly by a hairbrush.

But on that evening you'd been baffled, and in a moment of weakness opened the door to offer the spent can from your mackerel. Something about the way the beast had purred like an old MC as it licked the tin around your balcony had caused something in you to snap.

You'd let him in the moment you heard the first drops of rain.

You sit at your sewing desk fixing the long tear in the back of your bomber jacket. You've been working long enough that you've released the tension from your jaw.

The Detective had *insisted* you *had* to climb the barbed wire fence. You watched him swear, pricking himself over and over, allowing a smug little smile- *once* he'd made it safely to the other side, that is. A smile that had been promptly wiped from your face upon hearing the snag, tear, *rip* of your jacket catching at the end of your deft vault.

He had grovelled and apologised profusely. *You* had been pissy the rest of the day.

However, you were beginning to calm down. You'd already decided you'd pick up croissants on the way in tomorrow as an apology for your sour mood.

There's a whine from behind you and you turn to see the cat stretch out its back legs on the sofa. Good idea, you think; uncurling from over your desk and raising your wrists above your head.

At that moment there's a pounding on your front door. You roll your eyes. It's just gone 10pm. Whichever drunk dockworker has forgotten which room is *his* can help himself, or sleep in the hallway. It wouldn't be the first time you'd had to step over a burly man on your way to work.

Then you hear your landlord's muffled voice. "Lieutenant? It's the 28th." Last Sunday of the month.

"Shit," you whisper harshly, shooting from your chair. "Merde. God *damnit*." You lean over your desk and throw open the door to your balcony. Then you scoop the cat from your sofa and practically *bowl* the creature, confused and sleepy, through the door; sliding it swiftly shut.

"Lieutenant? Are you in?"

"One moment please." You call back, grabbing the envelope holding your rent off the breakfast bar and opening the door to your flat.

The man's at least a foot shorter than you but holds himself like he's a giant. He enters your flat without invitation and squints as he peers around. "Evenin', Lieutenant."

"Trevor," you reply, offering the envelope. You're hoping he'll take the hint promptly this time. You used to try boxing him *out* of your flat, but the old man's insistent, and you've long since grown tired of wasting your breath.

The landlord swipes the envelope with a grunt, opening it with practised ease and thumbing through the bills. "The damn smell's back."

Great. This wouldn't be a prompt visit then.

He sniffs thickly, seemingly satisfied with his counting, and looks up at you. "When ya gonna shift those kids, Officer? Can't have 'em smoking weed in the stairwells."

You place a hand on your open door, lightly brushing Trevor's shoulder as your arm passes him and effectively guiding him towards the exit. This is your second hint that you'd like him to leave now. You have explained multiple times that you are a *homicide detective* and that kids smoking hemp is decidedly *not your problem* but your landlord doesn't seem to care.

"It's a damn shame too!" The man continues, "Could charge more for the upstairs rooms if the place didn't stink!"

You think about pointing out how the building gets wetter the higher you rise within it, but you've got a pretty good *thing* going on. You *barely* insinuate that you might, one day, do something about his issue of the month; and he doesn't raise your rent. On days like today you're not sure it's worth it.

"You any closer to figuring out who it is?" He cocks his head at you.

"When are you fixing the central heating?" You cock your head in the opposite direction.

He sniffs again. You raise an eyebrow.

Then the man fills his lungs and tucks your money away in his pocket. "I understand, Lieutenant. You're a busy man after all." He clears his throat and steps back into the hallway. "Thanks for rent."

"See you next month." You shut the door.

The cat blinks at you in bleary betrayal as you draw the curtain back and let him in again. You sigh as you collapse on the sofa and he jumps up next to you, already beginning to rumble.

You think about *les papiers scientifique* that claim proximity to cats improves longevity. Something or other about blood pressure and heartrate being effected by their purring. As he curls in a ball on his side and nestles against your thigh, placing his paws over his eyes, it doesn't seem too far-fetched.

You think, not for the first time, of naming the beast. You've been calling him 'Chat' or 'Moche Chat' when you're feeling particularly playful, but these aren't real names.

You don't name him - not because you'd rather not get attached, it's a little late for that - but because there's only one name you *want* to call him. One, mortifying, *embarrassing* name that makes your face flush with heat even when you're alone in your home.

You'd noticed it the first time he lay like this, curled up on his side. The missing teeth meant a couple of things;

One: he drooled. The first day you'd let him stay in your flat while you were at work you could tell exactly where he'd slept by finding the tiny circles of wet on your bed and sofa.

Two: when he lay on his side, like he was doing at present, the fur around his face drooped into his mouth. It was akin to an uneven jaw, skewed further by the long, drooping whiskers that framed his jowls. It almost looked like a rather distinctive style of facial hair.

"Khm." You clear your throat and look out your balcony at the lights of the GRIH.

"Will you come for a few drinks, Lieutenant?"

You finish the sentence you're on, then look up from your report at Officer Minot. She's already wearing her bag over one shoulder, smiling tiredly at you. You notice Chester hanging around by the door to the bullpen. They try this every week or so.

"No thank you, Officer." You say, offering a polite nod. "I should really like to get this done this evening."

"Aww c'mon, Lieu!" Chester calls. "All work and no play makes... Uh... Howsit go again?"

Every other Thursday Harry leaves the precinct early for his psychological physio. It's not the sort of thing he'd have been able to afford outright, but Mr. Heidelstam had mentioned his unusual brand of retrograde amnesia to a colleague studying for a PhD. Apparently the detective made for an interesting subject of research.

It had lightly worried you when Harry told you this, wondering if his condition was being exploited, but he'd been going for a month and it didn't seem to bother him. In fact he actually *enjoyed* his sessions. They seemed to have him playing various word and memory games while wearing an EEG cap. The following Friday you took lunch together and he'd tell you about the games in great detail. On the Thursday evenings however, your new colleagues would try to entice you to the bar.

"And I can't change your mind?" Judit asks, sadly.

"Course you can't!" Chester answers for you. "Guy's a stick! Probably goes home to eat plain oatmeal and do the crossword!" He barks a laugh.

You purse your lips lightly. You don't mind being called boring - you are boring - but something about an Officer as incompetent as McClaine *almost* guessing your evening plans rubs you the wrong way. You were quite looking forward to your crossword. And bran *with* sugar. 

Judit winces sympathetically and you sigh. "I suppose," you begin, rising from your desk. "Just this once I'll entertain you. If only so you'll stop asking."

Officer Minot's mouth forms a little 'O' of surprise, and McClaine's face splits into a wide grin at having *convinced* the steeled Lieutenant Kitsuragi to bend to his will. Sure: you'll go out. You'll be *boring* and constantly *bring up work* and they will *never* ask you to join them again. That tends to do wonders.

You wake on the sofa in the dark. The dark is not a problem for you. The dark is safe. The dark *is* unusual for this time of evening however. You are hungry. Where is Your Vacholier?

You stretch languidly, cracked claws piercing the leather of the sofa before you hop down. You pad into the thin room separated from the main space by only a breakfast bar. This is where the *smells* come from. 

Some days ago Your Vacholier had returned from his pesky outings with a look of minor guilt.

Up until this point you'd ate like a king. Scraps of ham, fish, bits of cheese, small saucers of milk, and the scrambled egg that he once could not finish. Now you got biscuits. Not as tasty, but more regular with bigger portions.

When you had finished your meagre meal, you returned to him and let him scratch you under the chin while he scanned a long piece of paper. He made mutterings about 'reál' and 'stupidity' and you realised his guilt was not directed at *you*, as it should be.

You could smell the worry on him however, so you supposed you'd let it slide.

The longer claws on your back paws click against the linoleum as you approach the cupboard containing your biscuits. You can smell them through the door. Yet no matter how you paw at the cupboard, or manipulate your head underneath it, it does not open. 

Well. Only one thing for it then. You turn and with a flick of your tail piss up the front of the cabinet. 

Your Vacholier had started pinning the tiny window in the kitchen open, despite the cold. This allowed you to come and go as you pleased. However, his decision to abandon his usual schedule - and therefore you - was a serious transgression and could not go unpunished. 

It's at this moment that you hear the key in the lock. You raise your tail and pad back into the main area. He should *really* have made it in by the time you reach the sofa, but he seems to be struggling. You sit on the rug in front of the sofa.

A moment later Your Vacholier lurches into the room blanketed in interesting new smells. He holds a box in one hand that makes your mouth water. The loud, orange, uncomfortable fur he choses to wear crushed under his opposite arm. He throws it at the rack he hangs his things from and misses.

He slaps at the wall and winces as the dark leaves. Then he spots you. "Oh, hello." 

You barely open your mouth as you yowl in return. You have nought the energy to do so. Can't he see you're starving?! Practically wasting away?!

Your Vacholier coughs making for the thin room. Finally! You dart between his legs, tail raised, and he stumbles in his effort not to tread on you. "Oop!" He usually possesses more grace than this. He smiles down at you, "Easy~" He sounds different too. Whatever. As long as you get your biscuits.

He drops the box onto the breakfast bar and you're hit with a wave of that wonderful smell once more. *That* requires investigation. As Your Vacholier bends down to open the cabinet you jump onto his back then onto the counter.

"Hey!"

The box is easily chewable paper and likely holds prizes most enticing. You stick your face in the tiny gap on the side but before you can do much damage a firm paw catches you under the belly and sweeps you *off* the bar, dropping you on the floor. You mewl. You're starving. You need that!

"Thas mine- not yours, *Chat Moche*." He slurs down at you. He's holding the box of biscuits.

You jump back on the counter. It's a little harder on your old joints without Your Vacholier as a middle step, but you make it and- *god damn* he's pushing you off the counter again.

"Enough! Not for cats!" He picks up the box with his free hand, then pours biscuits into your bowl with the other.

Well. You *suppose* they would do. You take greedy mouthfuls and hear Your Vacholier hiccup behind you. Then he's gone. You hear him pick up his ugly fur and hang it on the rack. Then there's clicking as he unbuckles his horrid device, some acrid smelling thing that reeks of fear, and hangs that up too. Boots next. He does this every day, in this order. You hear the one hit the floor, then swearing as he stumbles removing the second. Then he's *laughing*.

You finish your bowl and wander back into the main area. He's sat on the sofa, smiling to himself. "I did *shots* today!" He declares as he opens the paper box. Once again, that wonderful smell washes over you as he pulls something from it. Fried chicken!

You're on the sofa in an instant, climbing first onto his lap, then when he pushes you away with his elbow you change tactics and take to the back of the sofa. He must have eaten most of it on the way home as only a few scraps of chicken remain. More than you'd usually find by the bins however.

"Said I'd win!" He smiles at you before engulfing a strip of chicken. He's not usually this chatty. "S'wot you geh! Neffa fuh wih Kim Kits-" He hiccups again and the smile leaves his face. He swallows. "Ah... This may h- have been theh plan, actually..." You wish he'd talk about something interesting. Like the chicken for example.

You walk onto his shoulder and peer down at the box. He quickly passes it into the other hand and holds it out at arm's length away from you. How rude! You turn your head and meow, loudly, right into his ear.

"Ack!" He swipes backwards at you. "Gerroff!" He grumbles shaking you back onto the sofa.

Fine then! If he wants to withhold his fried meats then you will resume your position of a poor, lowly street cat. The world's favourite punching bag. A martyr for cat kind and enemy of everyone. You heave a heavy sigh and settle into the cushion next to Your Vacholier. You hear him place the box on the arm of the sofa and then more munching.

Then he's scratching the top of your head and you decide you'll let this *second* transgression go. You're benevolent like that. You begin to purr letting your eyes drift shut. You spend a few blissful moments like that, then suddenly that wonderful smell is back and stronger than ever. Your eyes ping open. He's chewed the skin from a piece of chicken and is holding it in front of your nose. You wolf it down in seconds, careful to avoid his leathery paws, and purring tenfold.

When all the chicken's gone he actually picks you up. He usually leaves you to your own devices, but this evening he holds you to his chest and runs long strokes along your back. This is not your preferred way to be pet, but you chose Your Vacholier for two reasons;

One: he had most graciously freed you from your prison some time ago. A benevolence that *had* to be repaid with your presence.

Two: he smells lonely.

The second reason reminds you of your First Vacholier. The old woman who fished you from that wet box, surrounded by your deceased littermates, and fed you milk by bottle until you were well again. You had loved her with all nine lives, then one day that screaming flashing box of metal had taken her away and you never saw her again.

You're pulled from the past as he kisses your crusty head and rises from the sofa. As he stands, he better scratches that favoured area just under your jaw and you drool on his shirt as thanks. The spot always itches. Even now a mass of cells slowly forms there that *nobody* in the building will be able to afford to treat.

But tonight you purr in the arms of Your Vacholier as he sways towards his bedroom. He has gifted you food, and warmth, and a place to sleep without fear of dogs or other cats or men. He has gifted you love.

He drops you at the foot of the bed and braces a hand against his bedside table. Then he grips the end of one sock and whips it off, almost stumbling as he does so. "Aww, fuckit." He mumbles, removing the glass from his face and dropping it on the table with a clatter.

He clambers onto the mattress then falls face first into the pillow. He's purring within the minute, legs still half hanging off the bed. This is ideal as far as you're concerned. You jump onto the back of his thigh and walk up his body, settling into the small of his back.

Tomorrow he will clutch his head and mumble words like 'Bastards' and 'idiot' as he cleans up cat piss and retches. But tonight he shares his bed with you, and the three of you purr; you, him, and La Revacholiere.

#kim kitsuragi #people like drawing kim as a cat for some reason but here's kim WITH a cat #harrykim #harry's not actually in this but kim thinks of him near constantly #can be read as ship or as their mutual crush/ weird codependant friendship thing they've got going on in game #Kim can get a little drunk. as a treat #this was actually a one-shot idea i've had for a while why it's so long #also I've made a community tag for the exchange on a03! so will post some of these there to test if it works (once ive finished work) #cw: animal death mention #i can speak ZERO french btw so sorry for bastardisation #pale static lore

[shouta-edits]

"Can you please make a moodboard for Luz and Amity from the owl house with themes surrounding death/ghosts, adult/teen age gap, and unhealthy codependency?" -anon requested

#luz noceda #amity blight #moodboard #the owl house #age gap tw #age difference cw #codependency aesthetic #ghost aesthetic #anti harassment #proship #proship safe #request fill #proship edit blog #[assignment passed back... /requested finished] #proshippers please interact #antis dni #hate will be blocked

[prettyboykatsuki]

In “HOW TO BE A DOG” (which I return to so so so often because it is so extremely beautifully, carefully written and I am in awe of your talent) does Gojo ever let her return to her career? How private is he about their relationship? Does she get to meet his side of the world?

i feel like i need to make an FAQ for htbad at some point because i get a lot of questions about this specific thing which i understand!! it doesn't bother me cause i get the curiosity but i left the end open so people could imagine whatever they like

in general gojo gives reader a lot of freedom(in a way) but he always tags a long with her. i don't know if he'd let reader keep working as a teacher forever (though i think its possible for a while), but since she can see curses i can see him forcing him to work w him at jujutsu high. she is very familiar with his side of the world as are his students and thats mostly because there gojo can parade her around with complete control and no one really questions it.

obviously no one knows that he is deeply insane and unhinged but a lot of people catch wind in the jujutsu world and sort of stand by. megumi + shoko are especially conscious but again, its not like they can't really do anything so they're nice to her in his place.

a lot of readers isolation comes from the fact she no longer has any real autonomy and she knows that. gojo will reward her for good behavior, so i think its possible for her to keep her job under the basis gojo doesn't think she'll try to go running her mouth etc but reader would def do just that given the chance. i think it'd take gojo some convincing that reader could behave but in all honesty i highly doubt she would want too

#return to sender #i think in readers case pretending things are normal is much more suffocating at a certain point than she could handle #shes very anxious and dependent so i dont know if its a matter of #would gojo let her #as much as its if she would have the energy to keep up the theatrics at school etc #its a lot easier for reader to assimilate completely into gojos life and her codependence becomes very complacent w that #readers attempts at escape are mostly so she doesn't go crazy #but in her daily life she doesn't like to even pretend that gojo is not a looming threat #she escapes and she acts out and she has her fits but thats mostly to keep her sanity in check #i think the cognitive dissonance and attempts of normalcy have the opposite effects on her which is intentional conditioning on gojos part #tldr im sure gojo could be convinced but i dont think reader dreams of going back in the first place after everything happens #gojo will always be there and theres no point in pretending otherwise #yandere cw #htbad.fic