#so emotionally taxing to actually write sorry

[pixiekwixie]

The Observation - 1

➺ Miguel O'Hara x Reader || Mature, 18+

➺ Summary - In which Miguel struggles to keep his hands and eyes off his lab assistant.

- Next chapter

➺ warnings - slow burn(?), kissing/making out(?), lot sexual tension, story night be long sorry, some choking, some biting, masturbating (nipple play, fingering, dildo usage, anal play, double orgasm), mentions of breeding

➺ words - 3.7k

➺ notes: i had to get this off my chest, there will be 2 more parts to this, i hope you guys enjoy it. this is also cross-posted to (depending on where you're reading this) tumblr, and ao3; let me know what you guys think; might also write some wholesome sunshine x moody stuff in the future if it works out :)

--- 🕷 ---

"Hey" a voice said from the corner. Startled, you whip your head back to find Jessica caressing her tummy as she sat down on a chair, making herself quite at home. She was a couple of months along now and, by the looks of it, very comfortable in her pajamas.

"Jess, it's not safe for you and the baby...." you sigh, looking back at your computer to resume your work. Jessica urged you to take a break, to sit down and have a conversation but you only shrugged it off by mentioning you were almost done.

"You know, I'd thought you'd hate working here" she watched your back, waiting for a reaction. "There's a lot of wonderful technology here that my Earth doesn't have..." you trail off, focusing more on the work in front of you. You were so close to the end, and although Jess was wonderful, you just wanted to finish things before relaxing.

"I meant, I thought you'd hate working for Miguel"

You looked back at her with furrowed brows, pausing your work, she knew what made you tick and used that to her advantage. Miguel was your boss and there was nothing to hate except his attitude. Sometimes you couldn't stand him, but the combination of advanced technology, your own space, and a mini fridge- definitely outweighed any of his moodiness. It took a lot of convincing for you to join, and had you known he was this broody you probably wouldn't have joined.

At the beginning, you were stubborn on joining the Spider Society because you had thought it was a pity invite, given that you felt you were more intelligent than agile. Although you admit your body was pretty strong and durable- it was only because your parents had enrolled you in a strenuous amount of classes that ranged from dance to karate- and even cooking. The classes had helped with getting into a good college that allowed you to pursue your dream career, but you never sought out anything besides yoga.

When you got bitten by a radioactive Black Widow you thought it was the end of your story, that your years of classes and college were coming to an end, eventually you realized that you weren't actually dying. And as time went on you started to see the new things you could do, and you embraced them. You were excited, you began practicing moves and spent a lot of time learning how to use your webs properly. You felt like you could become a hero, save lives, and become a beacon of hope for your city.

After some rough events that left you feeling depressed, you decided that becoming a hero was no longer something you could pursue. You felt upset about your own decision for days, you felt useless doing nothing but you felt the same way doing something. The life of a hero felt emotionally, and physically, taxing on yourself and the people around you. With time you managed to overcome the guilt and began to understand that there were different ways save people.

Your new path was to be promoted at the Alchemax company in your world- they were good, you had deemed it so after hearing what they had done in other Earths. Eventually you wanted to lead a research department that could help hospitals, and homeless, worldwide.

Even though the current path was similar to that of a superhero, you still felt an immense guilt in your chest. You thought that your powers were a miracle that should be used, but you couldn't, it's not what you wanted anymore and if you went back now- it would only make things worse.

Miguel had spent many months sending Jessica to your dimension to convince you to join the Spider Society. Every time you gave a different reason to reject the offer, feeling as though you wouldn't bring much value to the team.

It only took the man himself showing up at your apartment, on a Tuesday at 3 am, for you to join. He explained thoroughly why he wanted you, although crude, you felt recognized for something other than your powers. It felt like he provided the missing reassurance you needed, you joined.

"He leaves me alone for the most part, the only interactions we have is him sending me emails, and me going to his 'office' to give him his drugs for the week," you let out a soft laugh, you had to admit, was very handsome under all of the stress, responsibility and arrogance. Despite his handsome looks, you still thought he was an asshole that needed to comprehend people better.

"He's demanding though, and... AND rude" rising from you chair, you scrunch your nose and walk to the coffee machine. There's only so much water could do for your nerves if you continued to speak about Miguel's attitude, as of recent it had been worse and you had no idea why. You tried to understand but he'd only shut you out and demand you leave him alone.

"He just want things to go accordingly for the multiverse... even if he's a little-"

"Harsh? Come on, he basically called me useless the other day because I misread the number seven- SEVEN" you raise your voice while adding stuff to your coffee. Holding the sugar container in one hand with a tight grip, it made you upset that he wasn't considerate of his words. You had worked hard to prove he could trust you, and that he hadn't made the wrong choice but his attitude made it hard to work with him.

"That's why I've been late on my reports, ideas, paperwork AND his serum. He needs to learn to respect people, especially me, who makes sure he doesn't go apeshit" Jessica raised an eyebrow at your statement, sure you could be late on paperwork but, being late to give him his liquid gold? The thing he needed to not lash out on his instincts? The thing that helped him keep his powers? She almost thought it was cruel, but she knew you felt stressed and didn't want to make it worst by making you feel bad.

"That sounds cruel but I promise it's not-"

Before Jessica could reply, a deeper voice spoke.

"Oh yeah? Let's talk about that"

It was Miguel and your heard started to pound faster, your hand gripped your coffee cup tight in hope that he hadn't heard what you said. Your nerves grew as you looked around and watched him emerge from a corner, his suit glowing bright with every step, even the way he walked spoke volume about his attitude.

Sure, you had problems with him but you sure as hell were not telling him about them, it's the last thing you needed. He had practically built this place from the ground up and could see everything that everyone was doing if he wanted to- even you, sometimes it creeped you but at this moment it felt erotic.

"Miguel she's stressed she probably didn't mean it, give her a break" Jess watched his back at he made his way towards you, "This isn't about you Jess" he spoke with a quick glance at her, her face dropped to a stoic expression that scared you and it wasn't even directed towards you.

"Miguel" you groan as you watched him walk towards you, hands on his hips as his eyes narrowed at you through his mask.

"I need to talk with you" he leaned down a little to your level, the eyes on his mask narrowed to mirror his face under it. Was he really that mad at what you had said? It's not like he hasn't said worse, except he usually doesn't feel bad about it.

Something about his proximity made you hot despite the growing tension, but it wasn't the nerves anymore, you suddenly felt hyper aware of everything around you but it all slowly led down to the man I front of you, something about him made you feel this way, something smelled so good and it was coming from him, was he wearing some type of cologne? What was so different?

"S-Seriously, you could at least tell me beforehan-"

"You wanna explain to me why-"

"Oh wow, I have to go to the gyno" Jess said abruptly while slowly getting up from her chair. You and Miguel turn to her with confused looks at the sudden declare but her eyes held the same expression as before.

She raised her hand to stop you from saying anything.

"I'm not gonna stick around for an argument, you two need to figure it out" she spoke with a look to Miguel. With a brief smile towards you she walked out the doors that shut behind her and the tension in the air became more obvious as the two of you were left alone.

"I give you one job, and it's to follow my formula, but instead you decide to be unprofessional and talk about me behind my back" Miguel's brows knit together as he looked down at you with glowing red eyes. You tried speak but nothing came out, not because you were intimidated, but because you felt your chest heave with heat at the sight of his crimson eyes.

Closing your eyes you take a deep breath to center yourself and shake off the feeling of imploding heat that was blossoming at your core. Looking back at him you found him pacing round while he muttered things in Spanish that made your tummy churn, pushing your feelings aside you take a deep breathe to center yourself.

Was this a hormonal imbalance?

"Why does it bother you so much this time? I told you 2 weeks ago I was backed up with stuff on my earth and that your-" You were abruptly interrupted with the speedy sight of him in front of you, his eyes were darker and held an intense look like he was analyzing your every feature. He was so close you could feel his breathing tickle the skin of your cheeks, it made the heat blossom inside of you again.

"I've been trying to hold it together and you think it's a game?" He seethed, inching closer until you could practically brush your nose against his, your heart pounded at the notion he was merely inches from being able to kiss you. Forgetting the coffee in your hand you attempt to raise a hand to his cheek but he stopped you by grabbing your wrist with a fast motion, the grip was tight but not hurtful. With a small wince you look up at him again only to see dark look wash over his features, were his eyes more vibrant now?

"Don't," he snarled, not breaking contact with your eyes. Why did you find his anger so attractive? There was something behind that look in his eyes that was pulling you in, the more you stood together the more your body felt attracted to him, so much so that you were starting to feel turned on with your walls pulsed in an erratic way that needed him.

Why the fuck is this happening?

"Y/n" he whispered in a way that made your back shiver, you noticed his eyes look relaxed and rather dazed like he was hot under his suit. Could he be feeling the same way as you? Did he want you as well?

"Y-Yes?" your voice was shaky, breathy, and basically pleading for him for him to do something.

His face slowly leaned down into yours, turning to the side only to brush his lips softly against yours w. Your eyes widened, you could practically hear your heart pounding in your ears as he finally pressed his lips against yours.

Moving against your lips slowly he lowered your wrist to the table behind you. The same hand he used now held your hip steadily as the kiss grew deeper, heavier, and wetter. His tongue prodded your lips and with a small squeeze to your hip you allowed for his tongue to explore your mouth.

Your head felt hazy, and your core pulsed more than before in anticipation. Pulling away from your mouth with a string of saliva connecting you both, you bat your eyelashes up at him with the hope that things progress into something more intimate.

His breathing was rapid yet heavy, and his eyes were full of lust and want with the way you looked up at him. His grip on your hip tightened as his eyelids drooped to admire the saliva on your lip that threatened to fall, before it could drip down to your chin he smashed his lips onto yours- licking the saliva into his own mouth.

His tongue lapped at your lips, and pushed through to feel every crevice within your mouth. With shaky hands you place your arms around his neck as you let him do whatever he pleased, weaving your fingertips into his hair you tug on them a bit which only earned a deep groan from him.

Pulling back from you, he stared intently into your eyes before abruptly wrapping a hand around your throat and applying pressure to the sides. Your eyes closed and your core pulsed repeatedly at the tightness of his hands around your neck, moaning softly into his face you open your eyes to find a droplet of sweat on his forehead.

"You like that, hm? Princesa?" He whispered into your ear, a whiny moan escaped your throat at the feelings of his lips on your ear, using the hand on your neck he maneuvered your face to the side- leaving your neck exposed to him.

You could feel your nipples were fully erect as they pressed uncomfortably against the material of your bra. Opening your eyes, you look down at him only see an intense, and hungry look on his face. Keeping his eyes locked onto yours he pressed his lips onto the delicate skin of your neck, planting small kisses that burnt onto your flesh in a savory manner that made your core gush with arousal.

"M-Miguel..." you mutter as you close your eyes to bask in the pleasure of his lips on your skin, tightening the grip on your throat he bit onto your neck unexpectedly. Gasping at the bite, your fingers held tightly at the hand he had wrapped around your neck- using it to stabilize yourself as he started sucking at your neck, the way his lips enveloped your skin and his tongue worked against you felt like he was trying to feed himself off you.

His actions came to a stop, the hand on your neck had gone too and you opened your eyes to be greeted by an empty view of your lab filled with bright-lit screens and papers scattered. Just like it was before Miguel appeared. Lifting your hand up to your neck you feel the marks of his teeth along with the saliva on your neck that left a warm spot at the touch. In a moment of heat and desperation you bring those fingers to your mouth and suck on them, he was gone for now and and the only trace you had of him was the remnants of his mouth n your neck. Sucking and licking the tips of your fingers making sure to intake any trace there was of him, moaning into your fingers you suck the tips before pulling them out and imagining they were his.

You were still in a hazy view of want and need for him, it would be hard to forget this moment if you saw him again. With blouse and slowly sat down on the floor, holding your chest with both hands you try to slow down your breathing.

"Where did you go..." you whisper to yourself as a pang of sadness hit your chest at the thought he left during a moment where you weren't arguing for once. It had all felt so good but to you, it would've felt better if he had stayed.

Calming down and regulating your breath you realized you would have to see him tomorrow to give him his dose for the next week. You didn't know if you wanted to see again after leaving you just like that.

You hated him for leaving you like that without a trace but you hated that you wanted so much more than just a couple nips to the neck.

--- 🕷 ---

Back in your universe, you were laid in bed watching TV as you thought about the events of earlier, the things he whispered into your ear, the way he touched you, the way his lips felt on your neck and the tight embrace he held around your neck.

Throwing the blankets off you head off your dresser where your dildo was. You had never really used it before as you were always busy with work but today was different, there was a man that awoke something inside of you that had laid dormant. And that man was your boss, Miguel.

Kicking your bottoms off you lie down on your bed again and spread your legs open letting cool air hit your nether lips in a tantalizing way. Discarding the dildo to the side, you bring one of your hands down to your pussy, rubbing in an upwards motion that spread the wetness up to your clit. Groaning at the sensation you rub your erect clit in a slow circular motion, the feeling alone had you throwing your head back with a breathy moan.

You drew your legs up and in until it was just your core fully exposed to the atmosphere of your room, circling your clit faster you used your other hand to lift up your shirt and and rub at your nipples with a feathery touch. The simultaneous stimulation made you moan as you felt your walls clench fast, you had been so desperate to relieve yourself that you could cum at any moment.

Pulling and twisting your nipples you start going faster, your breathing becoming more erratic and you could feel the coil in your abdomen start to come undone but before you could finish you stopped. Your pussy quivered at the denial as your chest hiccupped from the intensity of being so close to the end, it felt like your entire body was spasming and dripping with heat from the denial.

You throw your shirt off quickly and lie back down to spread yourself open again. Rubbing your fingers up and down with a moan you slowly insert two fingers inside of your wet warm walls that quivered around the length of your digits. Pumping your fingers in and out slowly you moan at the idea of his fingers being the ones inside you filling up your throbbing pussy. Hooking your finger in a little you lift you back from the bed at the sensation of your softest spot, pumping in particularly hard at an angle that made you pussy drip more liquid gold onto your sheets.

Your walls pulsed erratically around your fingers as you sped up, your mouth contorting into an 'o' as you felt yourself growing closer. Bringing your other hand down to rub your clit at the same pace you moaned his name as you continued to imagine it was him driving his fingers into your wet hole.

"F-Fuck M-Miguel-" your clit quivered and the coil in your belly came undone, your insides gripped onto your digits harder trying to prevent them from leaving, your body secreting juices that trickled down your anus and sheets.

Pulling your fingers out reluctantly you slide them down to your anus and circle the rim in a slow teasing manner that aroused you again. Pushing a finger inside your eyes fluttered at the pressure- you began to pump in and out in a very slow motion using the wetness from before that made it easier to move in and out.

With your other hand you rub the head of the dildo on your clit in a fast circular motion, hooking the finger in your ass you pumped faster while your clit quivered into a second orgasm. The walls of your ass started to clench as your finger brushed on the soft spot that sent shockwaves to your pussy. You started panting heavily as your pussy and ass throbbed simultaneously, getting closer towards being tipped over the edge you went faster, until your pussy started dripping onto the sheets again.

Pulling the finger out of your ass with a small pop, you grab the dildo and line up the tip with your dripping hole, you felt anxious and excited to be filled up with something thicker than your digits. You slowly ease the tip in, and with a loud moan you began to push the rest of the length inside of you until it fit snuggly in your walls.

"Miguel... fuck me p-please..." you whined as your pulled the dildo all the way out only to smack it back in, pumping in and out with a steady speed where length brushed against every itch within your walls that needed to be filled. Your started getting faster as you thought about him pumping himself inside of your pussy to breed you and use you for his own pleasure.

Your tummy churned as you started to near the edge again, the images of him bent over you driving his cock inside of you, filling you with his cum and knocking you up was enough to to send you over the edge. You slowly rode out your orgasm with the image of him painting your insides full of his seed and filling you up until you were dripping onto the sheets. Coming down to a stop you sighed as you body shook at the intensity, no one had ever made you so wet just by thinking about them.

Your body ached and yearned for him, it was truly strange as you had never felt this way for anyone before. Miguel was different and something about him had set your body ablaze in a way you couldn't stop.

"How the fuck am I going to face him tomorrow..."

--- 🕷 ---

#miguel #miguel ohara #fanfic #across the spiderverse #spider man #spider man 2099 #jessica drew #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel ohara x reader #smut #spider man 2099 x reader #spiderverse #marvel

[m2ok]

Hello! Hope I'm not bothering you, can I make a request?

Could you please write Price comforting a m!reader after he has a bad encounter with his abusive parents?

Mine are back in my life causing chaos again and I want Price to hug me so bad (╥﹏╥)

(Also you write really good fics! Keep up the amazing work)

-🇷🇺

Of course I can!! I’m very sorry to hear about your parents, but I hope this helps a bit :) thank you for your request, and I hope things can better for you soon, love 🫶🫶

A Hug That Feels Like a Safe Haven

John Price X M!Reader

TW: mentions of parental abuse.

A/n: I didn’t get too into what the parents did exactly because I didn’t want it to be too triggering, but I hope you enjoy <3

Going home after a mission was never easy, it honestly was worse than the actual mission sometimes. It didn’t even feel like home, not when you weren’t welcomed, when your mere existence seemed to upset those around you.

This time hit especially hard, you weren’t sure why. Maybe it was because the mission beforehand was emotionally taxing and you were already overloaded, maybe because you had gotten so used to being away from them that the thought of going back to that hell hole broke you down.

Either way, you had gotten out of there as soon as you could. You went back to base a week early, you couldn’t stand being around them any longer and you just had to get back to your real home, with your real family.

You were in survival mode since you left your ‘home’ and it seemed your body hadn’t realized it was safe yet, because even as you stepped back into the building you were still on edge. Your eyes were glancing everywhere for any threat of danger and you were aware of any little door closing like it could somehow be the people who hurt you coming back to continue.

You jumped when a sudden hand was placed on your shoulder, dropping your bag as you spun around and shoved the hand off.

You were met with the concerned face of your Captain, his hand still lingering in the air before he let it rest at his side. You immediately went wide eyes, hands coming up in defense as you apologized profusely.

“I’m sorry-I’m so sorry I didn’t mean-“ you were shaking where you stood, and it shocked him to the core. He’d never seen you this…out of it, scared. Even on the battlefield you were calm and kept a level head, so what had shaken you this hard?

“Hey…hey it’s alright” he said as he gently took your hands in his own, the firm yet gentle grasp slowly easing you down from flight or fight mode.

He rubbed gentle circles to the tops of your hands “what happened?” He asked softly, and just like his hold on your hand his voice was soft, it was warm. He genuinely cared about what had scared you, and the thought alone had you breaking down. You weren’t used to this kind of gentleness, it was something your parents never gave you. John cared about you.

With a choked sob you fell into his arms, and he immediately wrapped his own around you. He didn’t question it as he held you tight against his body. You held onto the man like your life depended on it, your fingers gripping his shirt as you buried your head in his neck.

His arms tightened around you, one hand on your shoulder with the other held you tight against your back. It was just the right amount of pressure, it made you feel warm, it made you feel safe. You knew nothing, nobody, could hurt you while you were with him.

“My-my parents” was all you could manage to get out, and though it wasn’t much it was like he understood. For a second his grip tightened, and he pulled you closer.

He was seething with rage, though he kept it contained for your sake, but there was nothing he wanted more than to find out where your parents lived and show them why he was a Captain. He restrained himself, for now anyways. You needed him, not his anger.

“You’re safe now, I’ve got you” he whispered, pressing a kiss to your hair.

“Nobody’s gonna hurt you again, love. Not while I’m here” the words were gentle, but you knew they were true. He meant it, he wouldn’t let you get hurt again. Not if he could help it, and by god he was going to do everything in his power to keep you safe from now on.

“Come on” he coaxed as he pulled away from you, he could see the bags under your eyes. It was like you hadn’t slept since you left, and you probably hadn’t, but he was here to remedy that.

You grabbed your bag from the floor before you reached for his hand, his own immediately finding yours. You squeezed, and he squeezed back, before leading you down the hall. He passed your room and for a second you were confused, until you got to the common room.

The rest of the team was there, as you figured, they didn’t seem like they had any better a home life then you did, no reason for them to go back. John quietly led you over to a couch in the back, ushering you to sit down as he set the bag down next to it.

You did as you were told to, watching as John promptly sat next to you. You made quick work of leaning into his side, curling yourself into his body as he held you close. It wasn’t the easiest task, you were a military man after all so you weren’t exactly small, but that didn’t seem to matter at all.

He wrapped himself around you like it was nothing, like it was the easiest thing he had done. He rested his head on top of yours as the rest of the boys quietly resumed whatever they were doing in silent understanding. They’d all been in your position before someway or another, they knew what you were going through.

Ghost continued quietly sharpening his knives, while Soap and Gaz played a game of pool off in the corner. This was home, this was family, this was safety. With a deep, content sigh, you allowed yourself to close your eyes and let your guard down. The exhaustion hit you like a brick and within seconds you were asleep, the quiet chattering of the team behind you whole Price gently ran his fingers through your hair, pressing occasional kisses to your forehead.

You were happy to be home with your family, finally.

As always, requests are open

#cod modern warfare #cod fanfic #cod x reader #cod imagine #cod x male reader #male reader #captain price #captain price x reader #captain price x you #john price #john price x male reader #john price imagine #john price x you #fanfic #captain price x male reader

[chaisshitposts]

Hey chai. Hope your doing great. I have a question. Are feelings important to manifest something? Like I heard you must feel it etc. Idk how to have that feelings. For example if I affirm and live in the end, ignore negative thoughts and always flip them into positive, without actually feeling it. Would that work? I'm sorry if I disturbed you. I'm just new to the manifestation community 😭. Also I'm gonna start your challenge soon. I forgot the name of that challenge but it was like write all our desires in the doc and name it and then affirm that you already have it. So my question is that can I add even scenarios like "this will happen" etc. And lastly thank you, love you so damn much. Take care of yourself.💗💗💗

Can I be your 🫂 anon? Also I will keep you updated with the challenge I'm doing!

welcome to the anonnies my dude 🫡

feelings, feelings, feelings— no ya don't need them. we've always been able to manifest with or without them. feelings will come naturally on their own, forcin' said feelings can feel emotionally taxing. but don't let that stop ya from usin' feeling to manifest the things ya want, just know that it ain't a necessity

in my opinion, when applying the law of assumption, the most important thing is changing yer thoughts to the ideal thoughts or the thoughts of the person ya wish to become. repetition is somethin' I will always stand by when you're first startin' out and have no idea what you're doin', it just makes things a lot simpler that way 🕵️ after that, ya will learn to find what works for ya as an individual because one size does not fit all, the laws of nature are always workin'. hope that helps, good luck to ya and happy manifestin', may prosperity guide ya.

#— chai's asks. !! ~ #— 🫂. !!~

[sweetfirebird]

anyone who's being a dick about asking for more after you're doing the whole writing thing at your own pace can fight me behind a waffle house. (especially if it's about the albert thing) i have no idea why people are so impatient?!?! i have been waiting on the last kingkiller trilogy for over six years. i have incomplete fanfic bookmarked from nearly a decade ago i still check for updates occasionally. take your fucking time or don't write whatever they're asking for at all! it's your choice and not ours and i have yet to be disappointed with your work and i'm even keeping a few books unread for a future rainy day because it's a little treat. jesus fuck let authors write and take their time and do it how they want and can people please stop being a nagging wet tissue paper eater because it just makes everyone have a bad time and i'm sorry you have to deal with that.

anyway you write good. thanks for writing good. i'm sleepy and this is a weird awkward ramble sorry about that and it's been a whole fucking week so i hope you're fine and if not everything will be fine <3

ha no it is not about Albert, surprisingly. (That sweetheart) No, two separate people, both using a post about something else to ask me (for the second time, yes both of them for the second time) for something they would like to see.

And I get being excited. And I get wanting more of certain settings or characters. But there is a time and place to tell me what you like about other, past books and it's not when I am talking about something else I have JUST done. And it is definitely not after you (the general you) have already asked me to write that specific something new for you that you want so much and I have given you as much of a soft No or at best vague maybe someday but I don't know that I possibly can.

I think... in addition to what you said, because yeah, most authors are doing it on their own. Even the ones working with traditional publishers are still writing while contending with the stresses of real life, and frankly, traditional publishers do not offer much help these days.(As far as I can tell anyway.) And they will write at whatever pace they can, and most cannot put out a billion stories a year. It's just not doable. It's mentally and emotionally taxing, and also... they have lives. They have families. What the hell.

But in addition to that, authors are also doing their own marketing, their own PR. Like, it's not agents. It's not a team. A few might have assistants but most do not. ...and readers maybe forget that? There is no wall separating the authors from this. They perhaps imagine their words as being more like, paper fanmail going to a publisher, who forwards it on, where an assistant or agent reads it. Like some sort of filter situation.

Then also, people like me who are too tired or weird (or semi feral) to maintain a colder public persona and *do* publicly let friends tease me or call me bitch or whatever, perhaps give the impression that we are cool with more informal requests.

And then also the internet tends to instill weird close/distant relationships, so some people either not think of the people they are talking to/authors as real people, while also giving those people a distorted sense of friendship and familiarity.

....

That's actually me being kind. I worked retail for a long time and the general public are demanding and will ask for stuff they shouldn't without any shame. Because every person thinks they are the only one doing the naughty thing so it's okay. (If they even know it's naughty.)

Anyway, thank you for also seeing it as rude. Get some sleep now maybe?

And to everyone else, a few things:

if you want to ask a writer about upcoming stories and you aren't following them on social media or wherever, then I bet you they have a fanmail option somewhere. Use that instead of hopping onto a post about something else.

and... as my family will tell you... the more you insist I should do a thing, the greater the odds that I will never do it. :)

(also, i do charity prompts all the time. these people could pay charity money for the stories they want and somehow never do...)

#asks

[luna-redamancy]

Okay okay so like, really weird and specific but I've just started my first job recently!(I'm so excited to keep making money) but like its really stressful and I'm so burnt out cuz I had to immediately start working 8 hour shifts with no training, so like how about smaug with a burnt out s/o preferably female??? Just pure fluff because I really need it!!!!! Please and thank you! Btw I love your work it makes me smile!!!!! (PS. I'm hoping I could get tagged in smaug content!) Okay okay I'm done now I love you!!!

Hello! Not weird at all, I actually really enjoyed writing this request. I'm really sorry that your job is so stressful at the moment, I'm hoping it gets better for you. Also- Thank you! I'm glad you enjoy my fics! I added you to the Smaug tag-list (you're the first!) and btw I love your profile picture. Demon Slayer is my favorite anime at the moment. I hope you enjoy!:

When you entered the hoard, Smaug knew something was wrong. The way your shoulders were tensed and eyes lowered in a half-lidded stare as you carefully took off your shoes said it all. Your smell shifted. No longer did you smell of honey and wildflowers, but now burnt petals and peppermint, a specific smell that Smaug knew you put off when you were feeling stressed or in emotional turmoil. Not that he’d ever tell you that, of course. 

“My treasure?” Smaug called out cautiously, frowning when you didn’t reply to him. 

After taking off your shoes, you threw your jacket into the makeshift hook by the ‘door’ as you made your way further into the hoard.

Not even realizing he attempted to talk to you before, you spoke a soft “I’m back, Smaug,” as if he wouldn’t realize your presence when you entered. 

“Treasure…” He murmured, voice laced with concern when you headed to the work-station you designed for yourself so you could work on your craft. Every day you got up before dawn, took all of your wares, packed them up, and then took them into Laketown to sell to the locals so you could then buy things that you needed such as new thread for repairing your clothing or special treats like candies. You wouldn’t dare risk using the gold of Smaug’s hoard. It was his hoard, after all. 

It was all becoming too much though, Smaug knew that much as you sat down and closed your eyes, mentally preparing yourself to work extra hard so tomorrow wouldn’t be as emotionally taxing. 

“You’re done for tonight,” Smaug spoke simply as he lifted you off your work seat, cradling you to his chest as he walked to your shared nest. 

“Wuh… Smaug, no I can’t, I need to work-” 

As he sat you down, suddenly a taloned finger sat against your bottom lip as Smaug shushed you, golden eyes hardened into a glare. “You are working too much,” He announced before shuffling you around so he could lay next to you. 

“You are my mate,” Smaug began after a moment of silence.  “It is my duty to take care of you, and I always will, even if it means protecting you from your own self.” 

His words made your heart flutter as you looked over to him, amused that you found his eyes shut as he held you close. 

“I need to work though, Smaug,” You attempted to argue, but your body melting into his side told him you had already given up the urge to work until you couldn’t stay awake. 

“No, you don’t,” He huffed, burying his face against your neck. “I don’t know what started these thoughts, but you are mine to care for, and whatever you need I will provide.” 

“Smaug-”

“There’s plenty of gold in this hoard for you to buy whatever you need, little treasure,” Smaug’s lips pressed to your neck in a kiss, not one of lust or desire, but of gentle reassurance. 

“But that’s your hoard?” 

“Hoards can be replenished, what is necessary is that my mate is well taken care of.” His words left with no room for arguing as you began to run your fingers through his hair. 

“Take a day off, stay with me,” To outsiders it would be a demand, but the lifting at the edge of his voice told you it was a request, to stay with him, to truly think about the hell you were putting yourself through before attempting it again. 

“I will,” You promised, pressing a kiss to his temple. 

Your scent shifted, not as burnt smelling as before as you fully relaxed in the nest. You didn’t even realize how neglectful you had been to yourself this whole time, your body feeling like a thousand tons had finally lifted off of it as for the first night in a week you finally allowed yourself to rest. 

Smaug may be many things, but a neglectful mate will never be one of them. 

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Smaug- 

@faithyourfriend

#Smaug x reader #smaug x f! reader #smaug x female reader #female reader insert #fanfiction #fanfic #the hobbit #reader-insert #the hobbit imagines #fluff #the hobbit fanfiction #the hobbit x reader #jrr tolkien #xreader #fem reader #reader insert #female reader

[lary-the-lizard]

How would you write jegulus? Or what dynamic do you think they have and don’t have?

This ended up being SUCH a long answer and I am sorry for that. If you make to the end, thank you for investing so much time in my takes 💛

I’m torn between writing them as adults in the real world and writing them as students at an au Hogwarts where there’s no war and they leave Snape alone. The real world adult fics I’ve read they often miss some of the most common life aspects that are so so perfect for drawing the characters out of their hiding spots and connecting. Examples are grocery shopping, house cleaning, long drives, therapy, big parking lots, etc.. With the Hogwarts AU it’s a bit more complicated because I’d have to get them to interact which isn’t as easy as they’re in different houses. I like the idea that they’re both on Quidditch teams and Sirius being Regulus’ brother helps (I’d probably not have the Black brothers fighting because writing them getting along while also having SUCH different personalities is too tempting).

As for the dynamics!! Okay I think I was very unclear in what I meant in my post. I think we all mostly agree on James and Regulus’ personalities and the way they interact and see each other is mostly the same from fanfic to fanfic. James is a simp who loves to tease Regulus about being a self controlled cynic while Regulus likes to tease James about everything and uses James’ own words to get him into self contradictory snares or puts words in James’ mouth. It’s fecking adorable! This ship is actually one of the few sunshine/mudpuddle ships I really like. My problem in Jegulus fanfics is how the characters often act out of character elsewhere in the story. Examples: James being a big hearted softy but absolutely hating Snape and doing everything he can to make Snape suffer and never questioning it, Regulus being a huge introverted perfectionist but easily opens up for James and doesn’t watch how much he’s drinking, Regulus growing up in a homophobic environment and not having internalized it in any way, James having a lot of self control when he’s like… James.

And trauma. Trauma is fecking difficult to depict because it varies so much and it just doesn’t care about how it fucks everything up. That said, a lot of fanfic authors (and it’s not their fault that they don’t really understand how trauma works, or more accurately, doesn’t work. Most people don’t have extreme trauma and aren’t that interested in psychology) don’t depict Serius and Regulus’ trauma very well. They kind of just use it to make the romance more interesting or further the plot rather than giving that subject the care and authenticity that it requires. And I can see why, angsty boys are interesting and writing the whole truth of what trauma does to a person is not only emotionally taxing but trauma isn’t pretty and it’s uncomfortable! Writing someone figuring out how to manage their trauma very much depends on how self aware the character is and how brave they are. Some people cope by focusing outward and blaming others when they mess up and some blame themselves for everything, some logic their way the most they can before dissociating or getting an anxiety or panic attacks (me). Then there’s figuring out how James has the patience for Sirius’ trauma much less Regulus’ when there’s so much of it and he grew up in a safe home where that shit was just sad stories. And being raised to be kind and actually being brave enough to be THAT KIND is VERY different. And depending how much the trauma affected the Black brothers will take a toll on James’ mental health too. If the abuse is as awful as some fanfic authors write then it doesn’t make sense that they don’t have a type of psychosis or personality disorder especially with the type of personality that Regulus has (inward focussed).

So! The story I’d write would prolly be either: Regulus is an academic (historian, psychologist, English/Russian lit) who works at the local college and James is still Sirius’ bestie and is normal (bar tender, vet, woodworker). James and Regulus often discuss philosophical shit (because I’m a nerd) and they one day discover that they disagree on the human condition. Sirius likes to make their discussions more complicated and chaotic because he’s perfect. They slowly get closer as their ongoing discussion becomes more and more focused, start doing everyday life together as they talk it out. The story and discussion come to a conclusion with them deciding what they want their relationship to look like. Or! They’re at Hogwarts and on Quidditch teams. James like to play small, harmless pranks on Regulus (they all think it’s just a James quirk at first but of course Remus notices). Regulus one day finally does a prank of James and James has to start reevaluating how he feels about Regulus which changes how he interacts with Regulus. It angers Regulus because Regulus doesn’t see himself as someone who gets to be treated with this much care. So he tries to push James away and James being James, doesn’t UNDERSTAND, and James being James, HAS to undeRSTAND! They end up fraying each other’s nerves and having to take space. The story ends with them both in their chosen careers, some other romantic/sexual experience, and both are back to playing consistent pranks on each other.

#jegulus #james potter #regulus black #trans regulus #fanfic #personal takes

[the-al-chemist]

Happy FFWF❤️❤️

So i was wondering, while writing an intense chapter such as your last one from artie's adventures, what would be your advice to someone who also wants to write a chapter related to alot of tragedy and drama?

Happy FFWF! (These answers are getting later and later, I’m so sorry!) 💛

Okay, this was one of the harder questions to answer this week, because I feel really underqualified to answer it. I actually think that the angsty and more emotionally intense scenes are the weaker parts of my writing. But, you asked. So let’s try…

I think the one saving grace for my angst scenes is that I have a really low angst tolerance. I find writing scenes that are intense difficult, so whenever I do, the scene has to have a reason to be in the story. I can only write angst if there is a point to it. Also, as a content consumer, I personally don’t like scenes in films/books/tv shows that are overdramatised, and so I have a tendency to pare back on the intensity of these scenes.

It’s not advice as such, but I have a horribly dark sense of humour, so I like to break up emotional intensity (whether that is emotion from angsty, romantic, or scary scenes) with light or even comic relief. It’s no coincidence that Tonks and Jae usually make appearances before or after more emotionally taxing scenes. It keeps me sane, and I think it makes for a better reading experience generally. No one really likes things to be all doom and gloom, and in real life there’s a laugh or smile to be had even when things aren’t going well for us. The thing I find challenging is picking out the exact place to put the light relief, and how much lightness is appropriate for the gravity of whatever else is going on.

In terms of advice, I’d say that the best way to improve writing emotionally intense scenes is to read and watch these critically whenever you come across them. Did you actually enjoy the angsty parts? Why/why not? Was it too intense, was it not intense enough (guilty, sorry!)? What made it seem that way for you? I’d also make sure that you really know the characters you’re writing in these situations, how they react to intense emotions and why, and how much pressure the character can actually handle before they completely crumble to pieces. And, most important of all, make sure you do your research about any potentially triggering topics so that you can write them realistically and sensitively.

I hope that helps! 💛

#al speaks #happy ffwf!

[dankusner]

The 2nd time I interviewed TAMMY FAYE...

Because she's returning to daytime TV, Tammy Faye cancelled her "cabaret show" that was scheduled to stop in Dallas on Oct. 11.

MORE CHRISTIAN CONTROERSY

So-called gay icon Tammy Faye goes on record as 'disagreeing' with gay community, says Bible is against same-sex marriages

By DANIEL KUSNER | Oct. 3, 2003

In her new book, I Will Survive … And You I Will, Too! Tammy Faye Messner offers T-shirt-like slogans about overcoming hardships.

These cutesy little tidbits are called "Tammy-isms," which match her baby-voiced approach to life.

After a recent phone interview with the former Queen of the Electric Church, one Tammy-ism seemed to ring especially true:

"People are like tea bags — if you want to find out what's inside them, just drop them in hot water."

Ever since the RuPaul-narrated documentary The Eyes of Tammy Faye was released in 2000, Tammy Faye has become a queer icon by making appearances at a number of gay pride events.

In 2001, she charmed Dallasites as the star attraction at the rally in Lee Park following the Alan Ross Texas Freedom Parade.

Wearing a black military-style jacket with gold fringe and a bright red wig, Tammy Faye told a story about a rainstorm erupting while visiting Disney World.

As the Disney employees handed out yellow waterproof jackets to everyone, Tammy Faye made a stunning observation — race, gender, color and sexual identity were suddenly invisible.

"That's how God sees us," she told everyone in Lee Park. "God sees all of us as if we are in a yellow raincoat."

Until very recently, Tammy Faye had always backed away from commenting on issues important to gays and lesbians, such as same-sex marriages.

But I Will Survive will probably startle many gay readers — especially anyone who heard her "little yellow raincoat" sermon.

In chapter 47: "The Gay Community," the First Lady of Televangelism recalls how she showed compassion by reaching out to a gay man dying of AIDS.

After the PTL scandal erupted, it was gay men who first reached out to a financially and emotionally depressed Tammy Faye.

"They helped pay my bills while Roe was in prison," she writes, noting that one gay fan gave her $10,000 — tax-free! "They sent me beautiful things — clothes, jewelry, flowers. They overwhelmed me with the love I no longer felt from the Christian community."

She returned the kindness by ministering in gay churches and attending AIDS benefits.

But Tammy Faye also writes that she doesn't "even pretend to understand the gay lifestyle," and when she discusses the Bible and sexuality that her gay friends "allow me to disagree with them."

With 35 years of experience on live television, sermonizing and singing, Tammy Faye has her act down to a science.

When she's not playing the tear-stained victim, it's hard not be won over by her sparkly wit and spunky demeanor.

But in a recent phone interview, she repeatedly flew into hysterics like the little girls from The Crucible — especially when it came to clarifying her beliefs on same-sex marriages and trying to figure out what her "disagreement" with gays and lesbians is all about.

"I don't think there should be gay marriages. I think that marriage is between a husband and wife. I think the Bible decided that many years ago. I feel sorry for the gay people, but I think that there can never really be a marriage between gay people. That's just my opinion and a billion other people's," she says.

Does the Bible actually say anything against marriages between people of the same gender?

"I just think that that is not how God meant it to be — as far as getting married. I know people who have lived together forever but they didn't take it as far as getting married. They just lived together and loved each other and cared about each other," she says.

As the interview continued, Tammy Faye shows her agitation by launching into a hyper-shrill response that almost seems rote, and she constantly repeats that she doesn't want to "argue."

Instead of commenting further on gay marriages, she offers "You can read it in the Bible yourself, honey."

Isn't she a preacher?

Isn't it her job to proclaim the gospel?

"Well, what do you think?" she throws the question back into my lap.

I explain that I'm trying to figure out Tammy Faye's message for gay people regarding salvation.

Is her philosophy "love the sinner, hate the sin?" I ask.

"I don't have a message. I tell them to read their Bibles and seek the Lord. That's exactly what I tell them. And I'm not going any further on it," she says.

Why does discussing this topic upset her so much?

"Because it's all I ever get asked about," she says.

Gay people have been asking her these questions?

"I'm not saying gay people — I'm asked by the straight people about this all the time," she says. "I am trying to bring the gay world and the church world together. So that they love each other and care for each other and realize that the gay people are wonderful people and they should be allowed in the churches."

Is it "gay sex" that she thinks is sinful?

"Listen, if it were me, I would never be gay because I'm a heterosexual. I don't understand it at all. I think that the gay community and I — we have agreed to disagree. And everywhere I go, we talk about this. And they say, 'Well, Tammy, that's fair,"' she explains.

"The gay community knows I have a disagreement. I got right on Larry King and I told him, 'The gay people and I have agreed to disagree. I am heterosexual. I do not understand the homosexual life. But I agree to disagree with them and I love them. And we're going to work together.'"

When it comes to being gay, what is it that she doesn't understand?

"Listen, this interview is over. And I'm sorry it didn't go better than this," she says before she hangs up the phone.

Tammy Faye was scheduled to bring her "cabaret show" to Dallas in mid-October, but those plans have been scrapped because she's planning to bring Tammy's House Party back as a daytime talk show in 2004.

In the meantime — since these questions are constantly haunting her — maybe she can come up with a more poignant response in reconciling her fundamentalist beliefs with the gay community.

#Youtube

[bauerfanstraten]

Is Komm Süsser Tod abandoned? I love your writing and that fic is one my favorites. Hope you're doing well 💕

Omg thank you so much ;v; I'm so glad you like it!

And it is not!! I know it's been two years (THANK YOU for sticking with me so far omg I'm so sorry!) but I haven't gotten around to getting down the last chapter because it's very taxing (emotionally and mentally) and I am a bitch of very little brain lol. But I promise all the major beats are there, as is the ending, and it's been that way for a good while. It's only a matter of getting it on paper (or Google Docs). I hit a snag with the characterization of one of the main players and it's been fucking with me, but don't you worry, it'll get done!

To be frank, I'm worried with how much ground we have to cover this chapter will be much longer than the last. IIRC I think the first chapter was a bit under 10K, the second was a bit over 10K, and the third was a whopping 12K. I'm hoping not to go over 15K for this last one, but it could be as much as 20K, it's going to be a LOT. And I'm hoping it'll be worth the wait! No pressure lol

I'm not actually doing that hot atm but I appreciate the sentiment <3 I hope you're living your best life and you're taking care of yourself!

#I wish I could keep a copy of this in my inbox but I took a screenshot instead lol #fic: kst

[angelguk]

hi i j found out u discontinued almost home and while i am devastated i can understand why.

i wrote a whole what would happen in the third part. partly bc i was bored from studying for midterms and partly bc i had a whole visualization of it in my head for the last couple of months and need to get out.

i hope u like it and u don’t have to read this at all if it bothers u or stuff like that. just needed to get this out there.

anyways here it is:

jk and oc are apart. the twins are devastated (so am i). oc is hurting hurting. like jk’s words are haunting her day and night. jk on the other hand is distracting himself. does he feel remorse? dk yet. looking for another nanny. angry at the world (really himself). surprise surprise haerin is in town. jk and her run into each other. jk explodes and loses it. haerin gives him closure. he loses it in a sad way..? time skip a few days. oc is at a bar alone. sad. tae sees her. they talk ab everything since jk didn’t inform him ab anything. tae is shocked from the info. oc gives a heart wrenching spiel ab how she truly thinks she is undeserving of love and maybe that jk is right that she doesn’t deserve a family. oc has a sad fam backstory? tae gets mad at this and reassures her. doesn’t really do anything tho. next morning. tae storms to jk’s home. new nanny surprise. tae goes straight to jk office. he starts yelling and shit. jk confused and slightly alarmed. finally gets the hint and starts to get mad at tae for defending oc. fuck jk at this point. says more out of pocket shit. tae has had enough and says all the things oc talked ab the other night. shitty of him but rage is blinding him. atp jk is starting to feel remorseful. painful pangs hit his chest. tae ends his spiel saying “ you probably just lost the best thing thats ever came to your life you dumb fuck. your kids calling her mom isn’t her fault. showing affection to your kids is all her. nothing is wrong ab that.” he keeps going ab how he knows and understands that jk has had it rough but it doesn’t excuse his actions towards oc. tae continues “what is wrong is displacing your anger on someone that cared and was willing to put up with your shit. thanks to you this girl thinks she doesn’t deserve love or family. she may have said some fucked up shit too but it came from a place of love which you were too fucking blind to see. i wish she hated you. instead she loves you too much and i wish she didn’t. you don’t deserve her love. but i hope you aren’t too late either.” tae huffs and leaves cause he can’t stand to look at jk. thanks tae. it takes jk ab 5 minutes to absorb everything tae said and finally breaks down. from pressure, haerin, fatherhood, and from being mean to oc. he realizes that his feelings aren’t wrong and that he hopes he isn’t too late either.

i ran out of ideas at this point and i need to get back to studying for my midterm. idk if jk and oc get back together. hopefully they do but that’s up in the air for me. but if you did end up reading it, hopefully it gave you some type of closure to this story. it did for me.

its really mind blowing to me that the stuff i write exists in others peoples minds as well like whoa 🤯 thank you so much for sharing your thoughts anonnie!!! i really appreciate your ideas <3 they actually follow majority of what i would have included in the finale as well, i'll just share the slight differences/ideas i had :3

originally, the finale was supposed to start with oc working at a cafe (taehyung got her the job) as a barista and she's just reminiscing about jk and the twins plus everything that happened during the trip when haerin walks in. at first haerin doesn't recognise her but somebody calls out oc's name it draws her attention and she's all like "aren't you my ex-husbands gf??? what are you doing working as a barista 🤨🤨" (this characterisation of jk is very generous so in my head ah!jk would rather literally just pay everything for this partner and take care of them hence haerins surprise). oc is of course mortified and tries to brush it off but haerin is not having it! oc ends up admitting they broke up (which they didn't but honestly the fight/argument felt like a breakup). haerin is like of course was jk self-centred again and oc goes off on her because she still hates haerin (rightfully so). haerin is defensive in return and they end up having a small argument during ocs break cause oc is still defending jk and haerin is trying to show oc the flaws in his character. it ends with haerin leaving and oc calling taehyung who comes and takes care of her. that's when taehyung finds out the exact details of the fight btw jk and oc cause neither of them fully explained it to him. it's ends up with taehyung doing exactly what you had in mind and but he also brings in what haerin said to oc. that pisses jk off and he calls haerin which leads to another argument and ends with this snippet i posted here and while haerin isn't necessarily a good person she's kind of right. that's when jungkook starts to notice his emotional issues (outbursts/mood swings) i would put him as an avoidant attachment with abandonment issues (from haerin ironically enough) but anyway yeah after talking it through with some friends jk goes to therapy!!! that would have included a lot of flashbacks of haerin and their relationship and how jk has developed intense barriers that prevent him from falling in love because of his fear of getting hurt. meanwhile, oc is still a little bit heartbroken (remember her ex was a terrible person to) but it working through that with support from her friends. this leads to her making a project/series of paintings about love and pain and vulnerability which taehyung picks up for the local art gallery. who shows up to that event, mr jeon of course. they're cordial but still so awkward cause jk hasn't apologised yet but eventually later that night he pulls her aside and does so. they agree to just respect each other and move on (which.... i'll be honest jk still likes her). oc is Still working as a barista because bills u know but some of her paintings sell well (jk bought them but this is for later). haerin shows up again and of course they talk but this time oc completely points out how she essentially damaged jk heavily and that leads to oc losing her job because yelling at a heavily pregnant customer is not a good look. anyway, oc also realises that despite everything she still thins about jk and she's like well fuck it maybe my silence and reluctance is making me lose something i could have had and she reaches out. i would imagine it would only be a small date (twins not invited) almost like a chill friendship one and jk like 😄😄 the whole time and it's kind of cute. obvs jk offers to plan the next one (at this stage neither of them are admitting this is a date) but in the next one the current nanny jk has suddenly cancels so the kids come along (a park/picnic date in my mind) and it would possibly end there on a wholesome cute note with a possible flash forward with jk and ocs wedding idk 🤷🏾‍♀️

also songs for reference!

falling asleep at the wheel – holly humberstone (for jk driving alone at night mad at himself for everything he did)

should have know better – sufjan stevens (for oc reminiscing)

right where you left me – taylor swift (for jks argument with haerin

only – lee hi (for oc and jks wedding scene)

bloom – matilda mann (for oc talking to taehyung)

my little love – adele (literally the entire fic)

#yeah um that's an idea #so emotionally taxing to actually write sorry #ask #but thank u so much anon for sharing ur thoughts on this little story #💗💗 #and yes this did give me closure! #wishing you luck on your midterms 💞💞

[melancholycatastrophe]

I'm too lazy to write out an actual fic (maybe one day) but (this is all /dsmp and /rp):

Dream having one last thing to do after his confrontation with Tommy and Sapnap, and its the reason why he takes the effort to walk through wild forests and rough terrains when his injuries aren't fully healed, bandaids trailing behind him and blood droplets staining the ground, until he finds a little cabin far away from everyone else. And it's almost midnight so he picklocks the door and carefully moves inside the house. He's silent, that's how he learned to survive. So Dream makes his way upstairs to a small room filled with a small bed, crayon drawings scribbled on the wall and toys clustered near one wall. He watches the figure in the bed sleep for a moment before leaning over to gently stroke his white hair.

And then the door opens and the lights turn on and Fundy is leaning against the doorframe, an annoyed but not surprised look on his face. "Am I next on your reign of terror?" He asks.

"I'm not here for you," Dream says, fingers flexing at his sides, one hand still stroking Yogurt's hair. "I'll leave soon. Don't worry about me."

"I'm not worried about you, I'm worried about my son."

"Our son."

Because at one point Fundy loved Dream, and Dream loved him back, and they were planning on getting married and being happy when Dream suddenly left. When Dream declared that he didn't have any attachments anymore. When Dream stopped looking Fundy in the eyes. When Dream lied to the entire server and himself. When Dream knew Fundy was pregnant and left anyway. And then he was thrown in prison before he could meet Yogurt properly.

"He doesn't know that," Fundy says. "For all he knows, his other dad is dead. You being here would confuse him."

"You never talked about me?"

"Why would I? What would I say? That his father is in prison, or was, anyway? That his father never met him? That his father left his daddy on the day of their wedding because he got cold feet, and then ignored him for weeks afterwards? What do I tell him, Dream, that won't devastate him?"

And Dream doesn't say anything for a moment. He's calculating but Yogurt is sighing softly in his bed and a part of him yearns to be with his son, make up for the year he wasn't there, hold him close, like a shield away from all the terrible things in the world. He's glad he's wearing his mask. It hides the scars on his face, the wild expression in his eyes, a face not suitable to raise a child. Dream knew, when he realized pushing people away was the only way to accomplish his goals, that Yogurt would be one of them. He wishes he wasn't.

"Have you been taking care of yourself?" Dream asks. He's deflecting, Fundy knows this. He's tired of whatever mind games he's playing. He already had to deal with the prison outbreak and Quackity raising hell once he found out, he couldn't deal with this emotionally taxing encounter.

"You smell like shit, go shower," Fundy instructs. "And then leave. I don't care where you go, I won't tell anyone. I just want to sleep."

And Dream hesitates. Opens his mouth. Says nothing. He nods. When Fundy turns around, he blurts out, "Why are you trusting me?"

Fundy sighs. "I don't trust you. I don't know if I ever can anymore. But you're the only one I trust around him." He leaves before Dream can ask for an explanation.

Dream looks back at Yogurt, stares at him with something that looks like regret, something even he doesn't have the words for. He leans down and presses a gentle kiss on his forehead. Yogurt stirs lightly but he doesn't wake up. "I miss you," he whispers, so quietly no one would be able to hear him. "I'm sorry I can't stay."

Fundy does hear it, waiting outside the door, his ears twitching. He clenches his jaw and walks away. Dream knows the way out.

#drabblr or something #fundywastaken #c!dream #c!fundy #c!yogurt

[beetlebethwrites]

Hi! Sorry to ask this question to you but I'm pretty new to IF games, just get into it a month ago, and you've seem to reblogging about an IF author(? I think?) that related to racism? (If I'm not mistaken?) Can i ask what the cause of this? (Idk bout u but I'm in FNAF fandom and it seems this lately Scott also received the same backlash but more towards LGBTQ+ community and now I'm just curious to say the least) you don't have to answer this if you don't want! as this is just to appease my curiosity

I am not sure I'm the best person to come to for a full amazing take (that person would be Mila @milaswriting , who is a POC author of an incredible story, Golden and who is always incredibly eloquent and has taken a lot of shit from this IF author's fandom before)

But yeah, this is in relation to the author of The Wayhaven Chronicles and her lack of action with regards to addressing racism (this time) and other problems in the past. This is under a cut because it got really fucking long my dudes.

The social media manager, Nai, posted a picture on Instagram from the character of Morgan (who is a dark-skinned Greek person as shown here) with a white hand. People in the comments were rightfully angry about this and instead of combating it well, Nai deleted the post and made an apology that doesn't actually address the issue (and is also a little bit self-pitying). The comments of this apology went mad and people who were defending Nai were also being racist towards those who have issues with the way that the situation and original post were handled. I have also seen it reported that people used racial slurs, although I didn’t see this myself before the comments were deleted. Through this, the comments were not being moderated or addressed. Since then, the replies have been stopped but Mishka/Nai have continued to post and reblog things, in particular one choice post about their holidays.

They have not condemned the racism or even said anything about it as of right now.

This has continued into the main tag and into POC fans inboxes, but still there's nothing from Nai or Mishka (the writer of TWC). This could just be a poorly handled thing if there wasn't a past of racism and LGBTQ+ phobia within the writing, which there is including;

Putting the referenced skin colours and official art behind a paywall on her patreon, thus limiting who could see it in the first place until pressure meant she uploaded it onto tumblr.

Referring to M as 'animalistic' in an episode of their Q+A (which Mishka did apologise for)

In the same Q+A, implied that her pansexual character M is attracted to everyone, a harmful stereotype that stacks onto the fact that M is brown, and black and brown people are already stereotyped as hypersexual.

Likening A's demisexuality to a response from their trauma and implying it's a result of them being emotionally repressed (which I think she apologised for?)

Reblogging white-washed art of her characters with praise (which she didn't say anything about but after being called out stopped reblogging coloured art of the characters in question)

Added a god worshipped by southwest Asian people into her story as a character who is a slave (Anunnaki in the demo)

Made all of the werewolf characters we've met so far POC (here) which is a stereotype that's already been massively amplified by other works of fiction to do with vampires

Sidelined F (one of her own main characters), possibly due to settling into ‘best friend’ stereotypes of black people (here)

Has some very cis-straight ideals for the different versions of UB (including different heights, male!M wearing only eyeliner while female!M wears eyeliner, mascara, lipstick)

People are also critical of the portrayal of Rebecca, the MCs mother something I've never personally felt an issue with, but I can understand why people really do.

Mishka could have hired sensitivity readers with the money she makes from Patreon alone (£7.5k GBP a month as of today) and bc of taxes she wouldn't lose much at all IMO if she paid readers for their work.

This isn't even starting on the fandom and its attitude towards other Interactive Fiction authors, especially authors of colour, which is a whole other thing but I won't address that here.

I'm going to finish by saying that even though I've just made a fucking list, I don't think Mishka is racist on purpose, it stems from a place of ignorance and priviledge. However, when you have a fandom this size, who pay you so much, you have a duty to take care in the way you write POC and LGBTQ+ people.

#i was going to avoid saying the full name but fuck it #this this is a summary of everything #as far as i can remember #also with some compilation at the bottom oop this took a minute bc i wanted to be thorough #hope this helps :) #anonymous #answered <3 #i don't have hot takes but you can bet i can consolidate sources #twc #the wayhaven chronicles

[shuahoonie]

out of love [tom holland]

PAIRING: tom holland x female!reader 

SUMMARY: being close friends with your ex is fine, right? even if your love for them was unparalleled among others. even if you were still in the process of moving on from them. even if you know they’re happy with someone else. even if you have no clue whether they loved you like you loved them. 

WARNINGS: foul language, so much angst, it starts ok at first then goes downhill from there. i literally write things on the go so i don’t know if this will have fluff at some point 

(if it does and i didn’t state it here, send me a cute photo of tom and a message of: ok wow she pulled thru 🤪; and if it doesn’t have fluff, send me a meme and a message of: miss girl i simply cannot today ✋😃)  

WORD COUNT: 5.6k 

A/N: hello! tonight, we are going to be sad!!! i know i usually like to write about all things fluff, but this?? this is just for me because i am having one of those episodes. i just need to feel something again aside from the stress of writing 3 academic papers per week lmao. i’m def not expecting people to like this type of vibe but yannoe. i apologize in advance. 

this is inspired by that one episode from new girl (season 6 x ep 16)

gif credits: @thollandgifs​ 

vanessa’s masterlist | taglist form | part two - pandemonium ​​

“You know, you can still live with us right?” Your friend Maia commented as she placed the box, labelled “fine china that mom gave me but will i ever use them?”, on the kitchen island. 

“I know,” You murmured dropping the heavy case of pots and pans on the floor. “But maybe living alone will be good for me.” You replied, forcing a smile. “Besides, I don’t want to int—“

“Hey, Y/N, where do you want this?” Harrison asked as he held out a box that’s labelled with “books that my grandpa passed on. HANDLE WITH CARE!” 

“Oh, just set it down on the living room—“ before you could even finish, Harrison dropped the box on the floor as if it was nothing. “Harrison!” You hissed, as you quickly rushed to check on the box. 

“Y/N, babe, they’re just books. Surely they can withstand any amount of pressure, yeah?” Haz tried to reassure you. 

“Haz, those books are from my grandpa—which I’m sure he got from his grandpa.” You sighed. “They’re really old and fragile, so I just want them to be in a well enough condition to stand in my bookcase.” 

“‘m sorry,” He murmured, rubbing the back of his head. “It’s just, why do you have to move out?” Harrison asked, frustrated at the whole thing. 

“Like I told Maia, maybe having my own place will be good for me.” You replied calmly, as you neatly put the box filled with your grandpa’s books in the corner room—the initial place where you want to build your bookcase. “It’s been a while since I’ve lived on my own.” 

“Yeah,” Harrison acknowledged “But there’s absolutely no reason for you to move out. You can’t possibly leave me with her!” He pointed at Maia who let out an audible gasp. Harrison was being dramatic of course.  

“Haz—“ You were trying to fight off a laugh. “You two are my constants and if I became dependant on having you two at my convenience, it’s going to be a huge problem.” 

“In my opinion, I don’t see it as a problem.” Maia pointed out childishly. You shook your head in disbelief. You had to move out because you miss having a place to yourself— a place where you can be at your complete worst and you don’t have to think about your friends worrying about you. 

Besides, moving out means you don’t have to see Tom that often and that was a bonus in your book. It wasn’t a sour breakup per se, it’s just really difficult to feel happy for your ex when he practically showcases how different he is now with his girlfriend. 

You prided yourself as a mature and well-rounded person who could be complete friends with her ex as if that’s normal. You could only keep the façade for so long. 

Four months. It’s been four months since you and Tom broke up. You lived with Maia soon after the breakup and that enough was a blessing. Maia couldn’t bear to handle the fact that you would be alone at a time like this. Harrison usually crashes at Maia’s so he was bound to move in with you two. In fact, he was always there more often than you. 

That was the point where you were convinced that Harrison liked Maia and that Maia liked Harrison.

Conveniently, you and Tom never ‘officially’ moved in together so you could avoid him freely at all costs.

Of course, that was eventually going to end soon. You and Tom were in the same friend group so you were bound to see each other, much to your dismay. You couldn’t exactly make Harrison and Maia pick friends because it’s not fair for anyone. 

You were all friends before you and Tom decided to date. Maybe that’s why people say to never date a friend—especially if they’re near and dear. 

You were coming back from work when you found people in the living room, and as if the universe really wanted to test you, it was the least likely people you’d expect to see. 

“Y/N!” Maia’s voice was pure panic. “I didn’t know you’d be home this early.” 

Your eyes quickly flickered between the two people standing across you before you diverted your attention to Maia. “Uh—yeah. There wasn’t really much to do in the office so I came home early.” 

Maia turned to Harrison who was equally lost on how to handle the situation. I mean, who wouldn’t?! What were you supposed to do when your friend drops in unannounced with their new girlfriend and to makes the matters worse, your other friend—whom your friend dated before— decides to come home early? 

You didn’t know how what kind of spirit took over your body that prompted you to extend your hand to the girl sitting beside your ex and say: “Hello, I’m Y/N.” 

The girl looked surprised but shook your hand in return. “Nadine,” Nadine smiled slyly “I—um, I’m Tom’s girlfriend.” 

Tom looked mildly uncomfortable but you chose to ignore it. You were becoming good at that—ignoring Tom. 

You returned the smile at Nadine. You could feel the burning stares from your friends, mostly Maia. You cleared your throat and said, “I’ll just be in my room to finish the papers I need to send to my editor if you’ll excuse me.” 

Before you left completely, you gave Nadine another smile and said, “It’s nice to meet you again, Nadine.”

You don’t remember how you got to your room but that was the least of your concern. You were just undeniably overwhelmed with what just happened that you didn’t even notice that there was a knock on your door. 

When you opened the door, it was the last person you expected to see standing in your doorframe. 

“Can we talk?” Tom asked in almost a whisper. 

You gave him a half shrug and opened the door slightly wider for him. 

“We’re okay, right?” He asked, looking at you in the eye. 

At this point, you convinced yourself that you were numb. You never talked about the breakup. You never overtly said anything about what you felt. You felt empty. You convinced yourself that you were empty. 

You stared back at Tom and without missing a beat, you replied “Of course. Why shouldn’t we?” 

“Just admit that you two will miss me,” You teased, grabbing another box from Maia. 

“Only if you admit that you’re moving out for an entirely different reason,” Maia whispered carefully as her eyes flickered towards Tom who was also helping with your move out. 

You pressed your lips together and acted like he wasn’t even there. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You said, you know, like a liar. 

You weren’t a vocal person. The idea of talking about your feelings was really difficult for you so you try your best to avoid it. Actually, it��s worse than that. You’d go to extreme lengths to avoid confrontation.

Obviously, it wasn’t healthy. You would always distance yourself whenever you feel emotionally exhausted, and you really meant that distance. It wasn’t bad at first—maybe a day or two was all you needed before you felt comfortable enough to be around people again. 

Then it became worse when you were in university. You were beyond unreachable. Aside from being emotionally exhausted, you were mentally drained too. You were always buried with papers and readings which was unavoidable but it took a huge toll on you. So whenever you get a chance to get a break, you completely shut off from people. 

Your friends definitely noticed it and they tried their best to help. 

Tom was among the people who definitely went out of their way to help you. He would always drop by at your dorm with food or coffee—he would literally just drop them off, most of the time. He would leave small notes that up to this day, you still kept and tucked away in a box. 

Both Maia and Harrison followed Tom’s approach. They would all alternate on who’s dropping what and when. Some days, Maia would drop off a new skincare product she’s been using or a lovely box of macarons from your favourite patisserie. 

On other days, Harrison would drop off some of his home-cooked meals or maybe a book he saw from a local bookstore—a book that reminded him of you.

Tom was very persistent though. He would sometimes wait out on the hall, just so he could see you and reassure himself (and your friends) that you were okay. 

You found it taxing at first—you would often try your best to match the energy from your friends, which only left you exhausted at the end of the day. You wanted space and you clearly weren’t getting that from Tom. You did acknowledge that he only did it out of pure concern. 

You often wondered why he did that, staying, but you didn’t ask him. You never did.

Maybe you were afraid that you’d come off as rude or that you’d seem ungrateful for dismissing someone when they’ve clearly taken the time off their day just to check on you. 

However, every time you’d open that door, it always seemed that Tom would breathe a huge sigh of relief when you lock eyes. Even if it was just for a quick second. You wondered about that too.

Tom wasn’t really being intrusive. Most of the time, he will leave a few minutes after you’d open the door to get the things your friends would drop off. You’d always ask him if he wants to stay inside for a bit, but he’d always decline.

Except for that one time, though. That one time that you knew you were going to fall in love.

It was the week of midterms and deadlines. You were knee-deep with papers from different classes that demanded to be finished that week, one of which was a research paper that practically tied you to your laptop and made you consume an unhealthy amount of caffeine. 

It wasn’t until 2 am when you were about to go on a quick drive to a McDonald’s but saw Tom dozed off in the hallway, his back pressed against the wall.

“Tom,” You shook him gently, trying not to startle him. “Tom, wake up.”

His eyes slowly fluttered open, seemingly disoriented at first but would soon fall into the warm familiarity that your face always brings. 

“Why are you sleeping in the hall?” You asked quietly, careful not to make a fuss. The walls in your dorm were very thin and you learned that the hard way. You’d think they’d put a disclaimer about that in the lease when you’re housing a bunch of university students with raging sex drives. 

It took Tom a minute to fully comprehend the question, seeing that the bright fluorescent light was being harsh on him and that he’s generally like that when being jolted awake. 

“Oh, erm, I—” Tom was finding the right words to use. He can’t exactly exclaim ‘I’ve been worried sick about you!’ out of nowhere. Instead he said, “I was waiting for you to open the door, just to see if you’re alright.” 

“All night?”

Tom scratched the back of his neck. “It seemed that way, yeah.” He muttered sheepishly. 

You were dumbfounded. Surely this was the first time someone actually fell asleep outside your door, waiting for you to come out. It was sweet but highly unnecessary. 

“I was just about to head out and get some McDonald’s, do you wanna come with?” You asked, giving him a hand to hoist himself up. 

“I should get going—“ 

“Have you eaten yet?” You asked cutting him off, taking Tom by surprise. He shook his head no. “Then you should really come.” You said, jingling your car keys in front of him.

Tom was debating whether or not to go with you. It’s been a while since you hung out, but that was the same case for everyone. None of your friends have properly hung out with you ever since the semester started. 

Tom should say yes, right? 

“Let’s go, Tommy,” You said as you grabbed his hand and dragged him across the hall. “I’ve been staring at my laptop all day and I really need some unhealthy food to balance out the concerning amount of caffeine I’ve consumed.” 

“Is that why you’re practically bouncing off the walls?” Tom asked amused, trying to keep up with your pace with your hand holding his. 

“Totally,” You grinned at him. “I need to wear out the caffeine or else, I’d have to skip my morning class again.” 

“French?” 

You nodded. “They’re counting the amount of absences in that class and I really need to keep my shit together.” 

“‘m not exactly sure why you took that as an elective,” Tom commented, properly wrapping his hand around yours with fingers interlacing each other.  

You tried to ignore it, you really did, but the warm feeling that settled around your stomach drove you crazy. 

“Why not? I think it’s cool to learn another language.” You nudged him playfully which he gladly returned. 

“I know and trust me, I’m in awe that you’re learning another language! erm—I guess it’s just I feel like you’re overworking yourself too much.” Tom pointed out softly, hoping he didn’t come off as rude or intrusive. 

“Eh, I don’t mind.” You replied “It’s what drives me to keep going and for me that’s more than enough. Even if it leaves me little to no sleep, even if it takes too much of my time—it’s enough reason for me to do it.” 

Tom stared at you in admiration as soon as those words slipped out your mouth and you didn’t even notice it. You were walking towards the student parking lot, consumed by the twinkling lights from the neighbouring lanes near campus. 

Maybe if you weren’t busy consuming the quiet campus grounds, you’d notice the very first time Tom fell in love with you. 

“Besides, I know a phrase in french now.”

“Hm—and what’s that, then?” 

“Je ne suis pas l’escargot” 

“L’escargot? Isn’t that—“ 

“I am not a snail,” You giggled. “Well, it’s true, isn’t it?”

Tom laughed, “I supposed so.” 

Maybe if you weren’t so afraid of confrontation, you’d have an idea of when Tom knew that you were his person.

See, the thing is— you needed to face reality sooner or later and both your friends could see right through it. 

“Honestly, Y/N, how on earth can your box of art materials be this heavy—” Tom appeared in front of the door frame, heaving as he carried the box from two flights of stairs. 

You quickly averted your gaze from Maia, who was staring at you expectantly, and cleared your throat. “You can just set them by the door, Tom. I don’t know where to put them yet.” You said as you tried your best to act normal. 

“You sure? They’re a tad heavy and I don’t want you to strain yourself.” Tom asked with furrowed brows. 

All you could do was nod. The last thing you wanted was Tom’s focused attention on you.

“If you say so,” Tom sighed in defeat “I’m going to grab more boxes—Baby, you don’t have to carry that!” Tom was quick to disappear as he urgently dashed towards his girlfriend, Nadine. 

“Oh, but I want to help, Tommy.” You heard Nadine say sweetly, assuming she was also pouting. 

You could see Maia roll her eyes, urging you to give her a nudge and a taunting look. “Maia,” you called her out, silently pleading her to stop. 

Maia settled down but she wasn’t exactly calm about it either. “I’m still not sure why she’s here.” She murmured. You and Harrison were close enough that you can hear her rambles—which was expected from her anyway. 

Maia and Nadine go way back—like toddlers and playgrounds kind of way. Though that sounds figuratively adorable in a way, Maia and Nadine never got along. 

Nadine used to date Maia’s brother, which already caused Maia a great demise. As one could expect, the relationship didn’t end well. She left him out of nowhere, saying she needs to find herself—or something along those lines. 

A week after the breakup, what Nadine found was herself in the arms of another man. Of course, Maia’s brother was devastated—He truly loved Nadine. Maia had to be the pillar that her brother leaned on. It took Maia a great amount of time to help her brother pick up the pieces that Nadine left. 

So yeah—Maia wasn’t thrilled when she heard that Tom was Nadine’s new boyfriend. 

“She offered to help, Mai,” You whispered “Who am I to deny help?” 

Maia looked at you as if you managed to empty your head while you were moving in between flats. “She’s been after me ever since we were kids. She’s also the reason why it took my brother months to get out of bed,” Maia deadpanned “and She’s Tom’s new girlfriend. Remember Tom? Your ex?” She said rather loudly.

You gave her a tiny pinch on her arm, causing her to yelp. “Maia, are you nuts?!”

Harrison left the two of you so he could grab more boxes, while you and Maia bickered silently amongst each other. 

“You are thicker than I thought—Seriously, Y/N. Quit pinching me!” Maia aggressively rubbed her arm. 

“They’re going to hear you!” You hissed. “The last thing I want is for those two to get involved.” 

“Babe, they’re already involved. Tom, especially.” Maia remarked. “I see the way you look at Tom. I also see the pain you feel whenever he’s with she who must not be named.” 

“I’m not doing this Maia,” you mumbled as you walked past her. Your objective was now to help Harrison with the remaining boxes. Your objective was anything but to talk about you and Tom. 

“You have to face it sooner or later, Y/N.” Maia called out “I’m not leaving you or this apartment until you tell me what really happened.” 

“What’s going on?” Harrison asked as he entered the apartment, carrying three sets of boxes. You grabbed one from him and actively avoided his question. 

Before Maia could reply, Tom and Nadine appeared on the doorframe, with Nadine practically glued to Tom. 

“Harrison got the last remaining boxes so we’re heading off now,” Tom announced as Nadine’s face painted with clear desperation to get out of your place. “Are we still going bowling tonight?” Tom asked before Nadine whispered something in Tom’s ear and left.

“I’m actually exhausted so I’ll pass,” You answered, obviously avoiding spending time with your ex and his current girlfriend. You’re not that pathetic. 

“Same might actually have to just drink the night away,” Maia responded with a grin.

“Well, there’s no way I’m third-wheeling so I’m good,” Harrison said as he threw himself towards the plush teal couch that you snagged from a flea market. 

For the tiniest second, Tom seemed disappointed but gave a tight-lipped smile. “Oh, maybe we can reschedule our bowling night, then?” He asked. “It’s not as fun to go bowling with just the two people.” 

You, Harrison, and Maia all shared a look. You weren’t on board with bowling-night, to begin with, but you didn’t want Tom to feel as if you were avoiding him—which you were but no one needs to know that. 

Maia looked at you, waiting for an answer because god knows she will solely depend on her decision based on yours. You don’t even have an answer, to begin with. 

“What are you two supposed to do then?” Harrison asked Tom. Thank god for Harrison.

“I might take Nadine to this poetry jam event that she’s been dying to go to” Tom replied with a soft voice. 

“A poetry night?” Maia almost wanted to laugh “You don’t even have the slightest interest in literature, Tom.” Maia didn’t mean to offend him or maybe she did? She wasn’t completely fond of Tom ever since you and Tom broke up—well, she wasn’t fond of the idea that Tom was dating her ‘arch nemesis’, but Tom was her friend and so were you. 

“I know that, Mai.” Tom rolled his eyes “but Nadine likes it and I’ll do everything to make her happy.” That left a bitter taste in your mouth. 

“If you say so,” Maia murmured before she took a quick look at you. She looked like she wants to give you the biggest hug. But you held a stoic look on your face—something that you picked up because you were afraid of confrontation. 

“I’m serious,” Tom defended, lost in his feelings, which only irked Maia even more. 

“I know, I heard you— we heard you,” Maia replied, her face showing only one emotion: annoyed. “God, read the room,” Maia grumbled to herself. Harrison had to reach for her hand, urging her to calm down. 

“I really love her,” Tom whispered. That left a slap in the face. 

It was a cold Saturday afternoon and it has been raining almost all day. It was one of the rare weekends that you weren’t really occupied to do anything other than to lay on your couch and consume a copious amount of entertainment.

Despite the spitting rain, you actually want to head out this time. Being confined to your desk and the university was torture especially since you couldn’t do anything about it—the four of you were graduating this year, no one could afford to slack off. 

You and Tom were cuddled against the sofa— Tom was busy watching something on TV while you were busy scrolling on your phone. 

“Hey, Tom?” 

“Yes, my sweet girl?” 

“Do you want to go downtown?” You asked, looking at your phone as you read the details of an event happening this weekend.

“Right now?”

“Mhm,” you hummed. “There’s a book fair being held at the local theatre.” You rested your chin on top of his chest and gave him a pout. You were getting sick of being cooped up between your study table and the library. This book fair was a change of scenery and it’s definitely right up your alley.

“But it’s raining, darling” Tom tried to say in the softest way possible. It’s not exactly up in Tom’s interests though.

“I know,” You sighed “I guess I’m just getting sick of this place.”

“You’re getting sick of me?” Tom asked with a huge pout. He was kidding of course. 

“I don’t think I’ll ever get sick of you, Tom.” You chuckled softly. 

“Okay,” He hummed, pulling you closer to him—if that was even possible. “Then can we stay like this for a while?” 

“Anything for you, angel.” You whispered as you closed the details about the local book fair. Maybe next time. 

Soon after Tom left, Maia pulled you to her side and asked, “You okay, babe?” 

“Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?” You feigned innocence. It was clear as day that you weren’t okay, your friends knew that. 

Knowing that you weren’t going to budge, Maia walked towards the kitchen and brought out a bottle of wine from the fridge. 

Harrison raised an eyebrow at her and asked, “When did you manage to put that in the fridge?” All of you had been occupied with grabbing boxes that there was no way that Maia had the time to put wine in the fridge, let alone obtain them from somewhere.

“It was supposed to be a celebratory drink for Y/N’s new place,” Maia replied as she set the wine and three various mugs on the coffee table. “Obviously, that’s not happening now.” Drinking wine using the oddly designed mugs you collected over the years was a cry for help. 

“It’s 4 pm, Mai.” You pointed out as you stared at the white LED clock that you bought off Amazon—another impulse purchase enabled from scrolling on Pinterest for way too long. “We haven’t even had lunch yet.” 

“Oh please,” Maia snorted “If there’s one thing that I’ve picked up from university, it’s drinking with little to no food consumption.” 

“And if there’s one thing that I’ve picked up from university, it’s cancelling all of my plans for the entire day because I have to tend your hungover-self, Mai,” Harrison remarked as he grabbed the bottle and placed it back on the fridge. “I’m ordering food and no one’s drinking until everyone has finished a meal.” 

You heard Maia mutter a string of curses but most especially the part that she said, “This is not the version of daddy that I envisioned Harrison to be.” 

All of a sudden Maia’s idea of binge drinking doesn’t seem like a bad idea, you thought. 

Turns out Harrison had no intention of letting any of you drink. He was pretty adamant about not having to babysit two drunk messes in one night. 

“As if babysitting one isn’t enough,” You recalled Harrison say. He was obviously pertaining to Maia, in which she just huffed the entire time. You often wondered if Maia and Harrison noticed the obvious tension between them, because personally you found it endearing. It was no question that they were meant for each other. 

“Y/N, you still haven’t told us whatever happened between you and Tom.” Maia suddenly pointed out. You, Maia, and Harrison were still in the living room, silently watching TV. 

You were actively avoiding this conversation for the longest time as you haven’t told anyone about it, and based by the curious faces of your friends, you figured that Tom didn’t tell anyone about it either. You’re still not sure whether that’s a relief or not.  

“There’s nothing to talk about.” You mumbled. It’s not like you were lying, there really was barely anything to talk about. Heck—You and Tom never got to talk about it properly either. 

“We see the way you look at him, Y/N.” Harrison replied softly. “I think there is something.” 

“Look—” Maia sat up properly “I know you’re not really vocal about your feelings, but the fact that you’ve never talked nor showed any emotion about your breakup terrifies me, babe.” Maia’s tone was laced with concern. 

“I remember the day you told us about it too,” Harrison couldn’t hide his concern too “We were having brunch together at our usual diner and half-way through our meal, you promptly said “We broke up” when Maia asked where Tom was,” Harrison recalled it like it was a fever dream. He and Maia had already expected that you weren’t going to tell them about the breakup when it just happened. However, it baffles them that it’s been over a year since you and Tom broke up, and not one word has been said about it. 

It was silent for a while, except for Criminal Minds that was playing on the TV. You blankly stared at the screen, hoping that you’d catch whatever the agents were saying. It was impossible, especially when all your mind could focus on was the recollection of the day Tom knocked on your door at 1 am to breakup.  

You were relatively busy that day from volunteer work, so you haven’t seen any of your friends the entire day—or Tom for that matter. Actually, you haven’t seen Tom in a few days. He would send texts periodically throughout the day but they were always short and most of the time, you always forget to reply. 

You figured Tom was busy with his own thing and both of you established early on in your relationship that texting—or lack thereof— shouldn’t account to your relationship, especially since both of you are equally bad at it. 

You didn’t think any of it since you were bound to see your boyfriend and your friends tomorrow for brunch anyway. He will have your undivided attention by then. 

So imagine your surprise when you heard a soft knock from your door at 1 am, only to find Tom in disarray. His eyes were bloodshot red, tears falling down his face. His messy curls were masked under the hood from his jumper. 

At first you were in panic, you thought that something terrible had happened to any of your friends—his family even. 

But as soon as Tom dropped to his knees and whispered, “I’m sorry,” you had a clear idea what was bound to happen next. 

It’s been silent for a while. The door was still open and Tom sat out in the hall with his back leaning against your wall. You did the same thing except you were on the other side of the wall that Tom was leaning on. 

You two were close enough to the door frame that you could hear each other, actually facing each other was a whole other thing. Tears kept streaming down your face as you kept your eyes closed and rested your head against the wall. 

At some point in your relationship, you prepared yourself in case this happened— that you would accept whatever happens between you and Tom. You didn’t exactly anticipate that it would happen so soon. 

“Was there someone else?” You asked quietly. It was the first time you spoke after Tom dropped to his knees. You hoped there wasn’t. In fact, you silently begged to yourself that there wasn’t someone else, because you knew that you couldn’t handle that. 

“No, no—of course not.” Tom immediately answers.”I could never do that to you.” 

It was silent again. You were starting to feel numb—you tried your best to gather your thoughts and forced words out of your mouth, but you couldn’t. 

“Are we not worth fighting anymore?” You practically whispered. It was a gamble— you weren’t exactly sure if Tom had heard it and you don’t have enough strength to ask it again. 

“Y/N,” Tom sniffled. “You can’t say that.” He placed his hand on top of yours. You had your hand resting on the floor and you didn’t exactly notice that it served as an invitation for Tom hold it again. 

You love Tom with all your heart. He kept dismissing it but Tom made you a better person. He made you feel like love can be expressed through different forms of things—not just words.

You loved him by exclusively making time for him. You went on museum dates where he would make cheesy remarks, saying that you’re the most remarkable piece of art in the entire place. You went on dates to watch football games—you never understood it but Tom was happy, so you were happy.

You loved him through your touch. You would often massage his back because he had been tirelessly working himself to the core. He didn’t ask for it but you knew it would make him feel better. Your touch didn’t have to be intimate—though you expressed it through that way too

You loved him through mindless actions. Almost every time you would stop by at the local cafe to grab yourself some coffee, you would always recite Tom’s favourite order on autopilot. 

You loved him through silence. Study dates were gems for you. Even if you didn’t talk for the entirety of it and even if you were the only one who studied for the most part and Tom was just playing on his phone, having Tom beside you was enough.

You loved him so much that it pains you to think that maybe you weren’t enough for him. 

“I don’t think I can fight for someone who doesn’t even want to,” You muttered bitterly. “Just answer the question, Tom.” 

He didn’t answer. All you could hear were the silent sobs that you two were trying to hold back. At this point, you knew you wouldn’t look at Tom. Your heart wouldn’t take it—it will crush you. 

“Are you not happy anymore?” Your voice cracked as you broke into a sob.

“Y/N—“ Tom squeezed your hand even more. You’re going to miss it, but you had to let go. 

“Tom, if I’m standing in the way of your happiness then we should end this.” You cleared your throat and pulled your hand away. There’s a ghostly feeling that still lingered from Tom’s touch. 

“Please, Y/N, let me explain—“ 

“It’s okay, Tom.” You whispered. “I understand.” 

“You know I love you, Y/N.” 

“I love you too, Tom.” 

“But—“ 

“But maybe it’s best if we end it, I know. I got it.” You let out a deep breath, trying to calm yourself down from crying. “Maybe it’s better if we stayed as friends.” Maybe it’s better to realize that whatever you and Tom had were too good to be true—that your love will never compare to the love he deserves. 

“Do you want the truth?” You asked your friends, with tears forming in your eyes. You can’t even decipher how they looked at you because of the tears clouding your vision. 

Were they looking at you in pity? Empathy? Sadness? 

“The truth is—I’m mad.” You gritted the words through your teeth. This was the first time your friends had seen you like this. All of the pent-up sadness, aggression, and hurt you felt was starting to get the best of you. 

“I’m angry. I’m hurt.” You snarled, furiously wiping the tears from your face. “I’m angry at the fact that I can’t seem to be genuinely happy for Tom. I’m hurt at the idea he seems to be a better boyfriend for Nadine, that he constantly makes an effort for her.”

“I don’t even know if he even loved me the way that I loved him,” Your voice became quiet “and it’s selfish for me to think that way because I never fought for it—for us. That’s enough reason to keep me up at night.” 

That’s enough reason for you to wonder if you’ll be capable of loving someone so deeply again. 

PERMANENT TAGLIST: 

@quaksonhehe @dark-infernal-instruments @trustfundparker @emsma11 @tomshufflepuff @spider-babe @goodgirlgonetom @tabi-toast​ 

#tom holland #tom holland imagine #tom holland angst #tom holland x you #tom holland x fem #tom holland x reader #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland fluff #tom holland fic #tom holland blurb #tom holland and reader #tom holland and you #tom holland imagines #tom holland x y/n #tom holland au #tom holland and y/n #the girl writes i guess #txmhoellandwrites

[iamdeku]

Positions: Prohero!Deku x Reader

I’ve been working on this little drabble for a while, haha. I just wanted to write something really cute and domestic. I hope you guys like this!

Warnings: nudity (non-sexual), mentions of kids/pregnancy

Dating a pro-hero could be taxing, to say the least. That was what everyone had told you when you and Izuku had first gotten together. They had warned you of the unpredictable hours, the nightmares, the trauma. They had said he would be physically unavailable at best, emotionally unavailable at worst. You had ignored all of that, though, and every day you were glad you did.

Dating Izuku had never been anything but a joy, a privilege even. He was one of the kindest souls you had ever met. His work only seemed to strengthen that side of him, accenting his willingness to help others, always with a smile on his face. He never made you feel second best to anything or anyone. In fact, you often felt like he did more for you than you did for him, which was what brought you here.

You’re pulling out all the stops tonight, spinning around your kitchen in your pretty pink over the knee socks that always made you glide across the floor, one of Izuku’s baby blue hoodies tossed over your head and falling far enough to be a dress, negating any need for pants. You had chicken katsu going on the stove, and you were making some tea to go with it. In the other room, you had made the bed with freshly washed sheets, still a little warm from the dryer, and an array of bath salts and bubble baths set up for selection.

Your entire body tenses when you hear the jangle of the keys in the lock, rising up onto your tiptoes in your excitement. You slip at least twice as you dash for the door and the man on his way through it, and you should have bit the dust once except for the arms wrapping around you now.

“Baby, you’re slipping all over the place. You know you can’t run in these.” His laughter hits your ear warm and sweet, body close from the way he’s holding you up. “What’s got you in such a hurry? We have all night.”

You pull back to look at him, smile spreading across your face. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too.”

You hold his face between your hands, used to how fragile they looked compared to his broad strength. You brush your thumb across his cheekbone, where a bruise is painted, red at the center but blossoming out to a deep purple, nearly black. You lean forward and press a gentle kiss to it.

“You work too hard.” You sigh, letting your eyes close and lashes flutter over his stained skin. “Do you want dinner or a bath first?”

“Whatever you want.” The answer is immediate, instinctive.

You had seen this coming. You had prepared for it, in fact.

“Nope. Tonight is about you. That’s what I want, and I’m not letting you argue with me. C’mon, we should get you changed out of your costume.”

He lets you drag him back to the bedroom, hands laced together with his. Slowly, you peel him out of his hero costume, the movements routine and your hands gentle as you unveil new bruises. Most of the blood and gunk on him seems to be from other people, hopefully the villains, but you don’t ask. He’ll tell you if he wants to, and he does when he sees the way you pause on a patch of his uniform stuck to his skin from dried blood.

“It was a good night,” he reassures you. “We got them, and everybody is okay.”

“Good.” You nod. “You hungry?”

He smiles down at you. You’ve gently pushed him back onto the bed now that you’ve gotten the top half of his suit off, your navy blue sheets contrasting the green of his hair as he lays back to stretch while you finish undressing him.

“Yeah. It smells good. Chicken katsu?” He leans forward, resting his cheek in his palm.

“Yeah.” You pull his boots off his feet, then shuck of the rest of the costume.

You stand up, knees flushed from the coldness of the hardwood floor, already reaching for his favorite pair of sweats and an old, soft All Might shirt. You let him dress himself as you take his costume to the laundry room, although the damage done to it is likely beyond you. Straight to support team, then.

When you turn to leave the room, his body is stretched across the doorframe, filling it up. You take a moment to let yourself be breathless at the sight of him. It’s not that you forget how beautiful he is, but more that nothing could possibly prepare you for the sight of him, especially not just casually out of nowhere like this. 

“Dinner?” He asks.

“Thought you might want that before a bath.” 

That was a lie. You knew he would want dinner before a bath when you heard his stomach growl about 5 minutes after he walked in the door. Not that he would admit to that, silly boy.

You move to walk past him into the kitchen, but he catches you around the waist, nose skimming across the skin of your neck as he leans forward. He looks you up and down, bright green eyes soaking you up.

“You look so pretty,” he mumbles.

Your breath catches in your throat at his words, leaning into his touch. He brushes his lips against your jaw, just beneath your ear.

“My pretty girl.” He pulls you flush against him, pushing a strand of your hair back. “Gonna drive me crazy.”

“I know what you’re doing,” you breathe, unable to stop yourself from smiling.

“Oh? What am I doing?”

He plays innocent, but you see the look in his eyes.

“You’re trying to distract me from taking care of you. Not going to happen, pretty boy.”

You slip out of his embrace, throwing a teasing glance his way over your shoulder as you head towards the kitchen, swaying your hips perhaps a little more than was strictly necessary.

“Maybe I just think you look really good in my clothes,” he suggests, following you. “Hard to resist.”

You hum mindlessly, a grin playing on your lips as you reach up into the cabinets to pull out an All Might themed bowl for him and a more traditional choice for yourself. You put rice in both of the bowls, doubling the portions for him, and serve the chicken.

“You didn’t have to do this, you know.” Izuku grows more serious from where he sits at your kitchen table, his chair scuffed and comfortable with age, face lit up and golden in the warmth of your kitchen.

“Well, somebody has to feed my big strong hero, and it better not be any other girl,” you respond lightheartedly.

“Wouldn’t want any other girl. Not when I have the best one in the world right here.”

You can’t help but blush as you start in on the food. Deku eats like a starving man, and he has for as long as you’ve known him, except when he’s upset. It gives you almost no time to admire him as you try to keep up, but you still try to get as much of him as you can, always afraid that he’s too good to be true. Worried of the moment he’ll disappear on you.

“I can feel you watching.” He says when he’s finished.

You just roll your eyes, still eating despite your best efforts. He’s called you out on it a million times before. You stopped being embarrassed a long time ago.

You two sit in silence until you finish, but it’s comfortable, the sort of silence that settles down when one of you is tired and the other is pleasantly content, or when maybe you’re both a little bit of each. He speaks up when you take the dishes to place them in the sink.

“You know, you would make a good Mom.” His eyes are glazed over in thought, obviously somewhere else.

“You think so?” You asked quietly, frozen at the kitchen sink.

“Yeah. We would have pretty babies too,” he muses.

“Yeah?” You turn around, leaning your back against the sink.

“Uh huh. Can see it now.” A distant smile pulls the corners of his mouth up. “Our little babies calling you Mommy.”

You cross the kitchen table, settling down into his lap. Your arms loop effortlessly over his broad shoulders, so used to the motion.

“Tell me about it,” you say.

“Wanna buy you a house,” he says, burying his face in the crook of your neck in the way he always does when he’s tired down to his bones. “And a ring. A ring as pretty as you are. I want to have so many babies with you. Have all these kids running around the house, and I want them to all look just as pretty as their Mommy.”

“That sounds perfect.” You run your fingers through his soft curls, body intertwined so closely with his you feel his lashes against your shoulder when he blinks sharply.

“Did you say something about a bath earlier, or did I imagine that?” He asks, voice confused with his exhaustion.

You giggle. “I did actually mention a bath.”

“That sounds nice.” 

He stands, picking you up even now, as tired as he is.

“Izuku!” You squeal. “Put me down!”

“Nope, sorry princess. We’re gonna go take a bath.”

He’s all business as he carries you to the bathroom, plopping you down on the edge of the tub. You beat him to the faucet though, determined to keep your hold on the night and keep taking care of him.

“What bath salts do you want?”

He sits down on the floor beside you, back leaning against the tub and cheek pressed to your thigh as he sighs deeply, eyes fluttering shut.

“Whatever you use. Wanna smell like you. You smell good.”

You follow his instructions, setting the bath up with all of your favorites as he peppers the outside of your thigh with kisses. Your hands never shake, the movements practiced from all the years you’ve spent making baths for yourself and later, yourself and Izuku. When you’re finished, you both slide into the bathtub.

You take your time, washing his hair gently. You’re just as careful with the washcloth, paying attention to every part of his body, making sure not to miss a speck of blood or a smudge of dirt. You’re dedicated to your work and unconcerned with your own cleanliness, though you do briefly wash up so you don’t get the sheets dirty.

You wrap him and yourself up in towels when you get out, the darkened water swirling down your drain.

“Somebody was messy today.”

“Sorry.” Izuku blushes, knowing you’ll have to clean the tub later.

“Don’t be. I’m proud of you. You work so hard to keep people safe.”

He smiles at you, and you can see in his eyes he’s woozy from tiredness. You pull him forward into you, holding him in your arms even as you drag him back into bed with you. He manages to crawl into his sweats before crawling under the covers, and you don’t bother to do anything but pop his sweater back on.

He rolls into you, already half asleep but still wrapping you up in his arms. “I meant all of that earlier, you know?”

“Hmm?” you ask, confused.

“I really do want to have a family with you. A home.” He presses a tired kiss to your temple.

“I know. I want that too, ‘Zuku,” you mumble, his tiredness contagious.

“I love you.” He wraps you up tighter if that’s at all possible. “To the moon. And to Saturn. And Pluto.”

You giggle a little, eyelids falling closed. “Love you too. To the moon and to Saturn and to Pluto.”

#prohero!deku #deku #agedup!midoriya #deku x reader #izuku x reader #mha #izuku midoriya

[eldrai]

hear them saying it gets better every day

Whumptober 2021 - day 10 - prompt: flare-up

A/N: Sorry about the delay. Despite it being the fic I was most looking forwards to, this would just not flow + was a little emotionally taxing to write., hence why it's now the 11th and not the 10th.

Thanks @hotchley for the encouragement and support and listening to me vent about writer's block

ao3 / masterlist

Character: Hotch

Words: 4.6k

Warnings: graphic intrusive thoughts, intrusive thoughts, thoughts of self-harm, disordered eating, self-induced vomiting (actual vomit doesn't happen but there is a description around the concept), chronic pain, internalized ableism, medical ableism.

Summary: The ironic thing is of all the marks Foyet leaves on him, the ones he doesn't hurt the most

or: Hotch struggles with chronic pain

The surgeon doesn’t have a spare moment to stop by until everything has settled down – documents with his real name on, the team firmly ushered out at the end of visiting hours, protests falling on deaf ears. Until he’s said goodbye to Haley and Jack for god knows how long.

He’s seen the stitches when the nurses check the dressings; several smaller lines of stitches and a long, uniform incision down the centre of his abdomen. It isn’t pretty. But it is one thing to know he got stabbed, another to have the damage laid out for him.

She talks him through the procedures – clamping and closing the perforations to his splenic and mesenteric arteries, starting his heart both times it stopped, infusing pints of donor blood. Resecting a few inches of his intestines too torn to withstand suturing back together. It isn’t uncommon in gastrointestinal surgery, she assures him.

“Our biggest concern at the moment is infection,” she explains. “During the surgery we flush out the wounds, and you’re on antibiotics as a precaution, but we’d like to keep you in for a few days for monitoring.”

“How long will it take to heal?” Aaron asks. “I’d like to get back to work—”

“Six to eight weeks for the resection to fully heal,” she says. “Take it one step at a time – frankly, you’re lucky to be alive.”

-

The agonisingly long weeks signed off work are worth something in the end – there’s a final examination and they say it’s healed pretty much perfectly. That the scarring ought to fade over time. Aaron doesn’t care about that half as much as he does the authorisation to get back to work.

Everything goes well until it doesn’t.

-

It starts off innocuous.

A stomach ache, present enough to register at the back of his mind but not particularly painful; not sharp, not stabbing, not like they’d told him to look out for. Really, it only hurts when he’s choosing to think about it hurting.

(Aaron can’t remember it. Whenever he’ll think back, try and pinpoint when it started, he comes up blank. There’s a reason they call it chronic.)

It’s in the restaurant afterwards, when it’s all over and their flight is delayed, owing to a terrific storm in the Midwest, that it stands out. The small Polish place – Prentiss’ choice – is good. Certainly the best he’s had in a while. And the conversation, the team – he had missed the work but he hadn’t realised how much he’d miss the in-between moments too.

A sharp pain breaks through the dull ache; it’s gone half a second later. His instinctive reaction is the stitches and his hand goes to his side – except those were out weeks ago and he hadn’t had any right where the pain was.

For such a sudden thing, it hurts more than it should.

But it’s over and he doesn’t feel ill, not faint or dizzy, so it isn’t injury-related. Aaron turns his attention back to the conversation at hand.

The next is a moment later, and despite having felt it already, the pain catches him off guard. A strong cramp which seems to originate from absolutely nowhere. Like the last, it vanishes as he’s still trying to find where it started. He presses gently on the area. Though the general aching worsens, there’s no sudden spike of pain he’d been expecting.

He isn’t nauseous and the pain doesn’t fit the early stirrings of food poisoning – and if something in the food here was affecting him this fast, chances are it wouldn’t just be him. Neither is it the burn of indigestion. It doesn’t fit any real description.

It isn’t serious. Just distracting.

Aaron takes another bite and the pain follows a minute after; his grip on the fork tightens as it washes over him. The sharpness is the hardest part to deal with, pressing and insistent and immediate.

And it doesn’t appear to be a co-incidence it worsens after he eats. In a cruel twist the first food he’s found particularly appetizing in months is, for whatever reason, causing this. Whatever it is.

He finishes half the plate and he wasn’t that hungry to begin with, that’s all.

The cramping pain comes in waves, and hits every time he thinks he’s finally comfortable.

For what must be the hundredth time tonight, Aaron sits through it with a hand fisted in the bedsheets and another flat on his stomach. Logic says tensing up doesn’t help but he can’t help it, gritting his teeth and holding in a breath through the worst of it, muscles aching beneath his palm.

No fever, no rapid heartbeat, no malaise. None of the signs of infection they’d warned him about and none that the internet suggests when he searches the strange pain. Appendicitis, peritonitis, it’s all too severe to be this.

The sharpness passes and he exhales. He’d been too warm under the sheets – thin as they were – but without them he’s breaking out in a cold, clammy sweat.

Aaron picks up his phone and reads through the dish’s list of ingredients once more. Nothing he’s ever had a problem with. Nothing he’s allergic to. And given the family-owned nature of it, he doubts an excess of processed food is the problem.

At the top of the screen, the clock taunts him. 02:38.

-

The stabbing pains cease. The stomach pain, he is coming to realise, is not going to. It’s been a week of anticipating that sharpness, a week of the stomach ache wavering in intensity, a week of trying to ignore it in the hopes it will go away.

Maybe it – whatever ‘it’ is – needs time. Aaron isn’t going to go to the doctor over that, for god’s sake.

-

Sure as his alarm, every morning he wakes to a deep pain. Ache feels too benign a word for the way it twists around in his abdomen, roots burrowing into his insides, and yet it’s the best description for the bluntness, the widespread aching, not acute but intense.

The mornings are the worst. The rest of the day isn’t much better.

Food tends to aggravate the pain and it makes no distinction between what exactly he eats. Aaron has tried. Dry toast one day will be fine; the next it’ll trigger the sharp pain. There’s no rhyme nor reason to it, no way around it but chance.

Well.

He doesn’t decide to stop having breakfast as much as he wakes up, already to the point of digging his fingers into his stomach, and thinks there is no way in hell he’s making it hurt more.

(He’s hungry, of course he is. But he also needs to be able to focus and he can’t do that with those cramps. It’s the closest to a fair deal he’s going to get.)

The hunger pangs are worth the pain staying calm. Coffee and ibuprofen for the headache and he’s set.

Then there’s the nausea.

It is impossible to ignore. He’s sort of used to the pain – feels it, yes, but it isn’t constantly shoving itself to the forefront of his mind when it’s dull – but nausea is such a physical process he cannot not be aware of it. And it falls short of vomiting: there is never a relief, just periods of time in which it subsides and he tries to appreciate it without worrying about when it will come back.

Because it always does.

Meals lose their appeal, an apathy he hasn’t felt since the immediate aftermath creeping back into his thoughts. Aaron hasn’t had breakfast in three weeks and lunch is an increasing rarity – sure, it might make his hands shake by four pm but as long as he’s in the office that’s fine.

It isn’t. He wants to crave food, wants to enjoy food, but nausea tinges the experience until the mere thought of eating is unpleasant.

He has a headache every afternoon, a mild ache he quickly becomes used to, and learns to distinguish hunger nausea and pain nausea; learns his temper is shakier without food. Learns that whatever he does, the pain stays.

Dinner is easier. In part because it’s sometimes with the team, wherever their case is, and they provide a good distraction from the pain. Mostly it’s because he doesn’t have to pretend not to be in pain at home: he can have the TV on and a book propped open and a file spread out in front of him to catch his attention on something other than the nausea and there’s nobody to think he’s strange for it. Nobody to see his cupboards, half empty and half filled with the same bland food, meals he’s learnt he can swallow without having to think about it too much.

They don’t see him on bad nights, strained breaths and involuntary pained sounds, sweating and shifting and writhing around in bed just for a second’s comfort he never finds. When he resorts to the couch, TV on and an old hot water bottle scorching his skin through his shirt. The showers he takes at three in the morning because it’s something to do other than hurt. They don’t know about the small scrapes he leaves where his nails bite too hard, where pressing his fingers into the epicentre of the pain hurts more than the ache but at least he can control that pain—

(They don’t know about the lengths it nearly drives him to—a bad night during a spate of bad nights, sharp cramping and bitter nausea and a bone-deep exhaustion. He could almost feel it at the back of his throat, when he pressed his fingers into the space right beneath his sternum, could almost imagine getting rid of the nausea for good. The thought that if he did throw up, just this once, like his body had been pushing him to, it might clear out whatever the hell was wrong.

How his rationality had died a long death several nights ago and his sanity was questionable. Nobody knew – nobody would ever know – the guttural, choking sound his throat made, spasming against his fingers, the half second short of vomiting before it struck him exactly what he was doing. About to do. He’d coughed, swallowed back the sudden lurching nausea, run his hands under the faucet until saliva stopped flooding into his mouth. Aaron had nearly laughed at the absurdity of it all.

Instead he’d brushed his teeth and stood under the shower on its hottest temperature until the prickling heat burnt more than everything else.)

-

“Have you made any dietary changes recently?” the doctor asks. “Tried to lose weight?”

“I haven’t been hungry,” Aaron says. He doesn’t want to think about why rapid weight loss is a red flag for doctors – doesn’t want to think about genetic predispositions and percentage survival rates. “And I haven’t had any vomiting but I’ve been nauseous.”

(If it’s cancer, wouldn’t it have killed him sooner? Wouldn’t they have found it?)

“We’ll take some blood before you leave,” the doctor says, “but I’d like to get an MRI scheduled as well.”

The team are worried about him and he can’t bring himself to care.

It’s a horribly selfish concern to have, that he doesn’t care about other people, but the truth is it’s difficult to think much about anything except the pain. It ought to hurt more than it does, for it to occupy his thoughts this much. He should be able to deal with – hell, it’s a glorified stomach ache.

(“Inflammatory markers were in the high end of normal,” the doctor explains. “That doesn’t rule out other conditions but stress can sometimes have a similar affect.”)

The machine whirrs and thumps. His head is pounding.

Their subtle glances aren’t as subtle as they think, and neither are their attempts at getting him to eat with them. And Aaron wants to tell them to stop – it’s not getting either of them anywhere and he appreciates the gesture but that doesn’t help. The nausea is bad enough on its own; he doesn’t need the added pressure to finish a meal when he’s concentrated on getting and keeping it down.

That would mean explaining.

He hasn’t got a concrete explanation yet and even if he had, it’s not something he’d want them to know. That he can’t tolerate a little pain. That it breaks him down this much.

Being back at work and missing out on the socialising is harder than being at home and doing the same – Aaron would go if he could figure out the slightest pattern, figure out what he could eat without suffering the next day, what to avoid the day before. He’d go if his mainly-unfinished meal wouldn’t draw their attention. If there was nothing wrong.

Group meals would lose their value for them, too, if it became less enjoyable and more about forcing down food and trying to answer their questions without lying.

There’s a mundane aspect to it. The exhaustion no amount of sleep ever fixes – nights up until three in the morning, restless and fragmented sleep, even a solid eight hours all leave him more tired than he’d gone to bed. Aaron works and he’s hardly got the energy to exist, let alone socialise. Pretend for longer than he absolutely has to he isn’t in pain.

He politely declines the invitations and doesn’t confront the growing tension sooner than he has to.

—clear. If you schedule another appointment we can consider medication or alternative treatment options.

Aaron’s disappointment has guilt hot on its heels. How many people would kill to get an all-clear from their doctor? A good MRI scan? And here he is, complaining about having nothing wrong with him.

His mood sours and he puts his phone away.

Postoperative irritable bowel syndrome, they call it. Something about being opened up and cut into triggers the nerve endings, rewires the pain signals, sets them all on fire. They don’t know how it happens or why it happens; if it’s curable and what might cure it; how to treat it and why treatments do or do not work.

It’s an awful lot of unknowns.

He tries the medications they offer him. Endures old-style antidepressants and the fatigue they induce, a constant dry mouth. They give him an over-the-counter drug in a stronger concentration and it has as little effect now as it had the first time. His elbow is spotted with light bruises where they took blood, testing negative for the inflammatory markers they’d be concerned about. Writing down what he eats is a useless endeavour when they fail to identify a consistent pattern in diet vs symptoms. His doctor suggests probiotics, considering the prophylactic antibiotics wiping out the balance in his gut, which have no effect on anything but his wallet.

It’s incurable.

-

Nerves in the gut are hypersensitive. The brain can’t differentiate this hypersensitivity from regular signals. The brain interprets the nerve signals as pain.

-

The pain isn’t going away.

-

How many injuries in the line of duty has he gotten over? And this – this illness, with no pathology, this is what hurts?

-

Eight months and counting. He’s lost track of the medications, each noted somewhere in the folder of forms and lab results and CT images.

The pain isn’t the kind he can get used to. Aaron knows the flat ache of a fractured bone, the flare in broken ribs when he breathes, and he finds himself longing for that. Because he also knows six to eight weeks and that broken wrist is healed, a little weaker than it should be but it doesn’t hurt. The ribs heal. Bones knit back together and there is an end.

-

The pain isn’t going away.

-

What if it’s a misdiagnosis? What if there really is something wrong? The test results come back clear but that doesn’t mean there’s nothing – just that they haven’t found it yet.

(Because if it’s a real illness, there’s treatment. Even if it doesn’t work, there’s the evidence: he isn’t crazy.)

-

Late at night, left with his pain and no distraction, the thoughts creep in.

The pain starts lower, though always in the centre; it is the nausea which starts under his breastbone and crawls down, fills the narrow column between his ribs. He digs his fingers into his abdomen and some small part of him longs to find something – a mass, a cyst, a focal point for the pain – each time he does. There never is. Just the ugly mess of scars.

He has a knife, in these thoughts, a strong sharp kitchen knife. He has his knife and his pain. The point sits just beneath his sternum. It sinks in with ease.

(And it doesn’t hurt. Not like real life. It stings and burns and purifies like bleach.)

The knife rips into the hollow pit of pain, gliding straight down in one fluid motion, steady in his hands. Because sometimes a problem is too deeply ingrained to salvage. Sometimes the only real option is rip it out and start over. He loses the permanent, constant ache in the blinding razor-sharp sting.

(It grows hazy at that point: Aaron imagines hospital again, neat, uniform stitches. His insides heal just as they should. Better than they ever have, the nerve endings burnt out like supernovas. He lives. He lives and it isn’t with pain. The exact mechanics are irrelevant.)

Just him and the knife. Wiping the slate clean, satisfying in the most visceral, painful sense.

Aaron tells neither the doctors nor psychiatrists about this because it’s a one way trip to a psych ward and a black mark on his record. He doesn’t tell them because they might think he’s serious about doing it.

He doesn’t tell them because he doesn’t want to discover what it means that on the bad nights, the thoughts seem a little less irrational.

-

Frankly, you’re lucky to be alive.

-

Haley comes home and the second time he breaks down, it’s half tears and half an awful choking laughter because all he can think about is be careful what you wish for.

With the funeral and Jack and the circumstances, the team don’t get the chance to confront him they were clearly building up to.

Aaron supposes he shouldn’t be surprised it’s Jess.

He forgets she’s known him as long as Haley has, give or take a couple of weeks, and like their warm smiles they share the uncanny ability to see right through him. Forgets a fragment of her perception is always going to be coloured by himself at seventeen, angry and hurt and afraid but damned if he’ll let someone get away with saying so.

She’s been taking Jack on alternate weekends whilst the dust settles – taking over the time he’d have had if Haley was here – and it’s an achingly familiar feeling, sitting in her living room and pretending not to hurt. A melancholy nostalgia.

And from the look she gives him, it goes both ways.

“If you don’t stop looking that uncomfortable, I’ll have to take you to urgent care,” Jess says, “and neither of us want that.”

“They can’t do anything,” Aaron says – it’s a far cry from the it’s nothing on the tip of his tongue, what he’d really meant to say, and he regrets it the instant Jess picks up on it.

“And it’s not – I don’t want to say it’s not serious, but—”

“No.”

“If you want to tell me about it, you can,” Jessica says. “And if you just want me to go that’s crap and move on, we’ll do that too.”

Just like that.

-

The day Jack asks him to come play with him outside and the pain forces him to sit and just watch, he arranges an appointment with his doctor. Aaron goes because it’s a reason to force himself out of bed. He showers. Tilts his head one side and the other, lets the water cascade over his ears, fill them, drain. As if one day he’ll stumble into the shower half-awake, a regular day, and the pain won’t be there.

Today isn’t that day.

Jess offers to babysit and he drops Jack over on his way to the clinic. The dizziness sets in intermittently and his right ear is buzzing, an awful low drone which rises to the surface of his awareness like oil on water. It tends to protest when he’s nervous.

He hadn’t skipped breakfast, hoping it might keep the dizziness staved off until later. Instead it sets his stomach churning in protest and the familiar nausea creeps up the back of his throat. Sterility and bleach coat the place like the dull beige paint.

The doctor who calls him in has a thin mouth pressed into a line. Though there must be a certain expertise to his weathered face, years of practice, his eyes are dull. Worn down. It’s not a quality he particularly wants in a doctor, but he can’t fault him for it. Pot, kettle, black.

“You’re having trouble eating.”

“Not exactly,” he says. He’s learnt to explain before they ask, see if something he says catches their attention. Find something they might be tempted to focus on. Run a test or two. Hand him back the paper and tell him there’s nothing wrong like it’s something to be happy about. “When I do eat, I don’t have any difficulty. The nausea makes it difficult to want to eat in the first place because it’s persistent.”

“Any vomiting?”

“No, but—”

“Worsening nausea after eating?”

“Sometimes. I can’t see a pattern.”

“Burning in your throat or chest?”

“Sometimes.”

“Have you considered it may be acid reflux? Prilosec can work very well on it.”

“Yes. And cimetidine, metoclopramide and omeprazole. Can I try—”

“I’m not going to give you pain meds.”

It isn’t the denial which stings. It’s the assumption. That the man has known him for about two minutes, probably hasn’t had a single look at his file, hasn’t let him finished and just assumes he’s here to beg for drugs. He isn’t tired, he’s already made the decision Aaron is faking it.

Doctors aren’t supposed to do that.

(It is a childishly simple thought but it’s true, true enough, isn’t it?)

They aren’t going to believe him. And if they don’t believe him, they won’t treat him. No treatment, no cure. Him and the pain and the ringing driving him insane and is that what it takes for them to give a damn?

“I wasn’t asking for them,” Aaron says, “and if you had let me finish, I was going to ask you if medication for nausea might help.”

The man purses his lips and a disdainful expression settles across his haughty features. “I don’t think so.”

If he’s expecting to brush Aaron off so easily, he’s mistaken.

“How come?” he persists.

“We don’t like to give our patients unnecessary prescriptions—” Aaron very carefully doesn’t say what he’s thinking. “—and often a lack of appetite presenting without physical symptoms can be physiological.”

“It isn’t a lack of appetite, it’s persistent, daily nausea,” he corrects. “I’ll be able to eat more if I’m not as nauseous.”

The doctor continues as if he hadn’t said anything. “And I’m hesitant to prescribe anything before you’re a healthy weight.”

For god’s sake, are anti-emetics that dangerous? He’s hardly underweight anyway.

“…yes,” he says, “but that’s why I’m asking.”

Has he missed something here?

“I really do need you to eat,” the doctor says. “If the weight loss persists, then we can look into it.”

Aaron blinks. “I don’t need it looking into. I need to control the nausea.”

“Yes, but I’d like to focus on the weight loss first.”

It’s genuinely difficult to tell if the man is oblivious or as much as a dick as Aaron suspects he is. Had the doctor not immediately jumped to conclusions, he’d be much more inclined to go for the former. “I won’t waste your time. Could you or could you not give me something to help with the nausea?”

Turning back to the monitor, the doctor types something out on his rattling keyboard. “Well, we can consider it next time if the problem hasn’t resolved. I know you’ve insisted on tests before but nothing has indicated abnormalities. I’d say for the time being, try and avoid stress.”

There is no second half to the sentence.

The phrasing rubs him the wrong way, his insistence on tests. His fault for bothering them. For trying to get help for his fucking illness.

Aaron gives the man a curt goodbye only to deny him the satisfaction of a real reaction, anger burning silently in his chest. The appointment summary they give him crumples in his grip. His eyes sting.

He blinks once, twice and his vision sharpens.

Functional abdominal pain syndrome.

Functional.

That’s some definition of functional.

He puts his shoes away and drops his keys on the table. Music blasts from the kitchen and Aaron is tempted to head upstairs for some peace and quiet. But it feels like awarding some sort of victory to the smug idiot—irrational and petty as it is—so he doesn’t.

She dials the volume down. “Oh, I didn’t think you’d be back yet.”

Aaron leans against the counter. “We didn’t have much to talk about.”

“No?” Jess turns around. “What did they say?”

“That I’m a drug-seeking malingerer and to avoid stress.”

Her mouth hangs open. “Jesus. He didn’t really—”

“He did.”

“Avoid stress,” she repeats.

“Avoid stress,” Aaron confirms.

Jess claps a hand over her mouth. Her shoulders shake as she tries to keep a straight face. “I’m so sorry,” she splutters. “I’m sorry, it’s not funny, it’s not—”

Except it is, standing here in her kitchen, because context makes it worse and who doesn’t avoid stress and isn’t that entirely redundant? Aaron looks away but it’s too late, he can’t stifle his laugh and Jess’s wide-eyed surprise just makes it harder.

“Avoid stress,” they say.

Their eyes meet and they break; Jess clutches at him to stay upright, weak with mirth and Aaron can hardly breathe and every time one of them begins to sober up, they look at each other or someone says “Avoid stress” and they fall apart all over again: Jess burying her head in her hands, shaking with silent laughter, as he wipes away tears and presses a hand to the pleasant ache in his ribs.

Just as they manage a precarious calm, fighting the hitch in their breathing which threatens to send them back into hysterics, Jack sidles up.

“Daddy,” he asks, “what’s a malingerer?”

The poor kid has to wait a good five minutes for a comprehensible answer.

-

It’s grief.

The thought comes unbidden.

That’s why the pain was – is – so hard to ignore, to brush away and compartmentalise. He didn’t hate the pain, he hated the absence of it – life without being constantly reminded.

They’d told him about symptoms, about treatments they might try, about why his body reacted the way it did. They had told him just about everything and not once had they mentioned the goddamn grief.

-

The TV plays quietly behind them as Jack has his toast and Aaron finishes his coffee; the pain is there, and insistent enough to count as a bad day already. The thought is detached. Logical and less emotional, he’s surprised to realise he isn’t angry about it.

Then again, why should he be? He might have the pain, but he’s got Jack and his son alone is worth that ten times over and… well, as far as they can be, they’re okay.

He’s okay.

#whumptober 2021 #no10 #flare up #criminal minds #fanfic #eldrai does whumptober #cm fanfic #hotch #whump #angst

[spencerreidsmiles]

I Don’t Love You

Written by: spencerreidsmiles

My dear friends, this is my first Hotch fic in a VERY long time and it's a request from @hommoturttle from literally eight months ago (haha let's not talk about that, sorry it took so long <3) They requested a “super angsty” Hotch fic, so here it is!

This is a Hotch x gender neutral!Reader that is just straight sad. There is zero plot, barely any Hotch tbh, it's literally just depressing! That being said, I actually do really like it. This fic takes place right after Haley's passing, and the reader is in a very unhealthy relationship with Hotch.  

Trigger Warnings: vague descriptions that could be interpreted as ab*se, vague depictions of an extremely unhealthy and unloving relationship, but overall just extremely sad and emotionally taxing

Word Count: 999

MASTERLIST // WATTPAD VERSION

You stared at nothing in particular, just wondering. Your eyes were hot, stingy, and red, and they hurt, bad. You had been crying for...well, you didn’t really know how long you had been crying. You just had been. Not in front of him, of course. You knew better than that. But there were no more tears left. Your body had exhausted every last one left in you and now you were just numb, but hot all over, a statue on fire. 

You wondered if he felt the same. You wondered if he felt anything about you at all. If he ever did. 

You wanted to say that it happened out of nowhere, that it was a complete shock to you, that nothing, nothing, could have prepared you for it, but that would have been a lie. The signs had pointed to this forever, but you pretended like you always did. You chose to walk with hands over your eyes, knowing deep down that you would fall. And you did. 

But you never thought, or some hopeful part of you did, that he would actually say it. That he would mean it. That you could believe it. 

“I don’t love you. I’ve never loved you. And I will never love you.” 

It wasn’t the heartbreak that hit you first. It was the smooth calmness of his voice that did. There was no hesitation, not even a hint of regret. You couldn’t help but think that maybe, just maybe he had been saving these words. Keeping them locked up tight behind his facade, just waiting for the right moment to say it. The words slammed around in your head, “I don’t love you” echoing in your skull. You knew the words “I love you” had impact. Why didn’t they tell you that “I don’t love you” had more?

Then your throat closed up. All of the breath you were filled with before was sucked out of you until there was nothing left. You could feel your soul clawing at you from inside your body to be let out. Felt it screaming, rattling at the bars to be freed. But nothing, no words or sounds would come out of your mouth, they were too hard. Instead, you just let the silence speak for you. It didn’t say anything. 

Your body shook when he slammed the door. It was an all too familiar sound, but this time, it rattled you. You stood there, blinking and silent, because that was the only thing you could do. The door would open. It had to. It wasn’t going to end like this. It couldn’t. But it didn’t open. 

You tried to justify it at first. He didn’t know what he was saying. It wasn’t him. He was drunk or hurt or confused. But that wasn’t it. You knew all of those excuses you made for him weren’t true because for once, he had looked you in the eyes when he spoke to you. He hadn’t done that for so long. 

He was angry. He was always angry these days. It was rarer to see him happy than not. But even happy days weren’t immune from his anger. It was crazy, to you at least, how much things changed without you even noticing. How a simple smile, that not long ago was just the norm, had turned into a prize. How ordinary it felt to go to bed never happy, never smiling. How even a speck of love would be the cliff you held onto while everything else crumbled around you, convincing you that it was okay. That it would always be okay and it would get better. But it never did. 

You told yourself that it was you. That you were the problem. Maybe if you changed, then he would stay. That maybe if you were more like her then things would be good. What did you have to do for him to see you? Did he ever see you? Or were you a poor knockoff replacement for someone he still loved that was taken too soon? 

No matter how hard he tried to fit you into whatever Haley-shaped hole he had, you never could fit just right. You didn’t look enough like her, you didn’t sound enough like her, you didn’t feel enough like her. You weren’t her. But you tried so hard. You tried because he still wanted her but all he had was you. You tried because it was good in the beginning, it was so good, so maybe if you just gave a little something up, then it would be good again. And it worked so well, he had a smile he only reserved for when you reminded him of her. So you kept giving and giving and giving to see that smile until there was none of you, the real you, left. 

You wondered if any of it - one word, one smile, one touch - had ever been real. If there had ever been a point where the two of you had actually been really, honestly happy. Or if it had always been like this and you had just been too blind to see it. 

You looked at the empty apartment around you. It looked like it always did, but you saw it for what it was now. No more rose-tinted glasses. No more silver lining. A house, not a home; a prison, not a paradise. 

When your tears had long dried up, leaving streaky marks down your cheeks, you found the words you couldn’t speak before. The truth washed over you for the first time in a long time. 

I knew you were using me, I just didn’t care.

But realizing the truth didn’t make it hurt any less. Because you still didn’t care. You knew what you had wasn’t love. You knew he could never really love you, but it didn’t matter. You didn’t want love. You just wanted him. Even if it meant losing yourself in the process.

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#aaron hotchner x reader #hotch x reader #aaron hotchner angst #hotch angst #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x you #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds #criminal minds self insert #spencerreidsmiles