#The anxiety hasn't been noticed by the brain but has been noticed by my body

[seariii]

Ah.... My legs are shaking.... I think my hands are very slightly too...

[redroomreflections]

Before She Cheats Part 4 - The Final Part

Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader

Summary: Natasha attempts to talk with Cara after she and R break the news they're divorcing.

The Loud House Universe

note: more angst

Before she cheats part 4

w/c:2k

It's night now and Cara hasn't come out of her bedroom. You'd put the children to bed separately and now it was time to say goodnight. You didn't bother saying anything to Natasha. You headed into your office, softly closing the door behind you, to get an ounce of alone time. Natasha stood at the top of the stairs, debating whether to go up there and talk to Cara. She's not sure how to fix this. She's not sure how to make things better between them. She understands it. Truly she does. Cheating on you wasn't something she did intending to hurt you. Although, the alternative would have been better. The children's reactions to what she'd done would be forever etched into her brain.

Finally, with a deep breath, Natasha makes a decision. She won't just leave Cara without saying goodbye. She trails up the stairs, her heart heavy, before she walks over to the bedroom where light is still shining underneath the hinges.

Natasha knocks, but Cara doesn't respond.

"Cara, honey?" Natasha's voice is small. She opens the door, finding the teen curled up in her bed with her headphones in. Natasha can't help but smile at the sight of her daughter. Even through her anger and frustration, her baby is still here. Cara doesn't move. She's not asleep yet. It's like she can feel her presence in the room.

"I don't want you here," Cara says dejectedly. Her eyes never look up from the book she's been reading. As a spy, it's in Natasha to notice she hadn't been reading at all. She's simply staring at the pages, not absorbing anything.

"I know," Natasha admits. "But, I didn't want to leave without saying goodbye."

"Goodbye," Cara spits.

"Cara,"

"Goodnight, Natasha," She corrects.

"It's Mama,"

"No, it's not," Cara shakes her head. She finally puts the book down and meets Natasha's eyes. "You're not my mom anymore. My mom wouldn't do what you did. She wouldn't betray our family."

"Cara,"

"Leave me alone," Cara asks. She pulls the blankets up a little further.

"I know you're angry..." Natasha begins. That's where she fumbles. What is she supposed to say? How is she supposed to make this up to her? To the other children. To you?

"I don't wanna hear anything you have to say," Cara rolls over, facing the opposite way.

"I know,"

"Then leave."

"I'm not leaving without saying goodbye," Natasha shakes her head.

"You already said it," Cara shouts. She's mindful that her siblings may be sleeping. "I told you I don't want to talk about this anymore. Why can't you just respect that?"

"Cara, I'm sorry," Natasha offers. She knows it's not enough.

"You're a fucking cheater," Cara accuses.

"I know," Natasha's eyes water.

"You don't even care," Cara frowns. "I want you to go. Go, get out of my room." Cara stands and for a moment, Natasha doesn't recognize the child she's looking at. Cara has a history of outbursts and minimal violence, but it's never been directed towards either of you.

"Cara, no, stop," Natasha warns.

"Go."

"I'm not going anywhere." Natasha's voice raises. She takes a deep breath and tries again. "We aren't fighting."

"What if I want to?" Cara sizes her up.

"Don't," Natasha shakes her head.

"Mom wouldn't let you just walk away like this,"

"Mom isn't here," Natasha points out.

"She's downstairs," Cara nods.

"I know," Natasha nods again. "Tell me what you're feeling. I can take it."

"I hate you," Cara spits.

Natasha remains silent. Even when Cara's words are followed by rough pushes against her body. She doesn't back down. She also doesn't allow Cara to hit her either.

"I hate you, I hate you, I hate you," Cara shouts. "You fucked some random chick and ruined everything."

"Cara, that's enough," Natasha tries.

"You made my brother cry," Cara shouts.

"I know,"

"You made Charlie have an anxiety attack," Cara's voice raises. "She's too little. She can't handle stuff like that."

"I'm aware." Natasha's jaw clenches.

"You did that. You did that. You did that," Cara begins to repeat. "You did that." She shoves her mother again and again. She pushes her and Natasha lets her. "You did that." Cara slams her fists into Natasha's chest. Natasha lets her.

"Mom wouldn't just let me punch her," Cara says.

"What do you suggest I do? If it's making you feel better," Natasha weighs the options. "Is it making you feel better?"

"No," Cara shakes her head. She steps back and takes a deep breath. Her shoulders heave and her eyes are red. Tears pour down her cheeks. For a moment, Natasha can tell she wants to apologize but she holds it in.

"You're so mean," Cara cries.

"I know."

"You ruined everything,"

"I did," Natasha nods.

"I hate you," Cara crosses her arms over her chest.

"I know,"

"Stop saying that,"

"You are entitled to your feelings. You have a right to feel how you feel," Natasha tells her. "You have a right to be angry and you have a right to express your anger."

"What if I don't want to," Cara asks. "What if I don't want to fight you? What if I just want you to go away and never come back?"

"I can't do that,"

"Well, I can't forgive you." Cara frowns. "You hurt my mom. You broke her heart. I can see it. I've seen it all week and I didn't say anything but you made her different. She's not the same. You're not the same to me."

"What can I do?" Natasha tries.

"Nothing," Cara shakes her head. "There's nothing. You did this. I don't want you in my room anymore."

"Cara, wait,"

"I want you to leave."

"I'm not leaving until you calm down," Natasha reasons.

"I am calm."

"This isn't calm." Natasha looks her over.

"I'm calm," Cara repeats. "I'm calm. I'm calm. I'm calm." Cara begins to pace with her fists balled up. "You won't even listen to me."

"Of course, I'm listening,"

"You're not. You're just gonna stand there and let me yell at you."

"You can't yell at your mom," Natasha reminds her. "I know you, Cara. If you're not directing it at me it will go to her and she doesn't deserve that."

"You don't get to decide what she deserves," Cara shakes her head. "You threw all of that out of the window. Unlike you, I would never hurt her."

"Cara,"

"That's what she is now. My mom. Mine. She's nothing to you. You have no claim on her. You gave that up when you cheated."

"I'm still her wife."

"You don't deserve her. You're disgusting. You're a terrible person."

"You're right,"

"Stop saying that," Cara shakes her head.

"Okay,"

"Get out,"

"I can't do that."

Cara lets out a throaty scream from deep within her. It's an angry scream.

"I'll give you some some space on one condition," Natasha relents.

"I want space," Cara nods.

"You have to promise not to hit or yell at your mother."

"I told you I wouldn't you don't listen," Cara whines. She seems so much smaller now.

Natasha makes the slightest movement to leave and Cara is ranting again.

"You promised I was safe here," She began. "You promised me we were a family. When I got adopted you promised so many things and you just lied about it all."

"That's still true," Natasha assured her. “I didn’t lie.”

"How could you just throw us away? Do you not love me?"

"I love you very much,"

"Then how could you hurt Mom and me and James and Charlie and Luke and Paige," Cara demands. She defeatedly sits atop her bed. She truly doesn't understand. She's a child.She’s still a child that wants her family. 

"I can't fix it,"

"No, because you did it."

"Yes,"

"You can't fix it because you're a liar. You're a bad person."

"I am," Natasha agrees.

"Get out,"

"Okay," Natasha relents. She turns to leave, walking back towards the door. She didn't want to leave her like this. She knew it wouldn't get better. Natasha turns to find you in the doorway. Your face is free of makeup and freshly washed. Your eyes are slightly red but you look serene and calm. How much of this had you heard?

"I can stay if you need,"

"I said leave," Cara cries.

"Cara," You take a deep breath and slowly step into the room.

"Mom, can you get her out of here," Cara pleads. "I don't want her here anymore." Natasha moves to hold onto her. She truly doesn't want to leave her like this.

"Natasha, you've done enough," You warn.

"Okay," Natasha nods. "I will be at the compound. I will come tomorrow to take the kids to school."

"We don't need you," Cara's voice cracks.

"I understand," Natasha says. "But I will still be here for you."

"Fuck off," Cara shouts. 

This time Natasha listens. She walks out of the room and out of your life. Not for good. No, she'd be back. She loves her children too much to leave them. Even after Cara has begged her to go. You redirect your attention to Cara. "I want it to stop hurting. I hate her."

"I know, baby," You grab a hold of her and pull her into bed to sit beside you.

"How do I make it stop?"

"I wish I could tell you," You kiss her forehead. "I need you to calm down. I know you're upset. We can talk about all of it, but I need you to calm down."

"How are you okay? She cheated on you. She broke up our family." Cara presses her face into your chest. She needs that extra comfort.

"I know, sweetheart," You stroke her hair. "I'm not okay. Trust me, I'm not. For you, for your sisters and brothers, I have to be. Eventually, it will hurt less."

"Do you promise,"

"It won't go away, but it will get easier," You tell her. "I will always love her. That will never change. It's going to be okay."

"Why aren't you mad?" Cara wonders.

"I'm furious," You assure her.

"Then why did you let her in here?"

"Because she wanted to say goodbye,"

"She doesn't deserve to,"

"I know," You soothe her with a kiss on her head.

"What are we gonna do?"

"Whatever you guys want,"

"Why don't you hate her too?"

"I don't think I ever could," You confess.

"Why?"

"You can't choose who you love," You tell her.

"If you could go back in time, would you still love her?"

"I would," You hesitate. "It brought me you. It brought me the others. It brought me so much happiness. It gave me my life."

"Even if you knew she'd hurt you?"

"I don't know," You shake your head.

"I wish she didn't do that," Cara wipes her tears away. "Sex is so confusing. Sex is supposed to be with someone you love. I know I don't know everything but it's supposed to be all of these things and she just did that with some random woman and..." Cara sniffles. "I don't understand any of this. I don't understand it but I don't want to see her. I'll take the train to school. I don't want to be around her."

"I won't force you," You reply.

"She's not my mama," Cara shakes her head. Her tears flow down her cheeks.

"She's still yours, baby,"

"She's not."

"She is," You argue. God, you hate yourself for defending her right now. "She is and she loves you. Whatever is happening between us isn't on you to figure out or hurt over. You can be angry but I don't want you to harbor this."

"How are you not mad at her?"

"I am,"

"But,"

"It doesn't make sense to you. It's okay. I need you to believe me when I tell you this," You press a kiss against her forehead. "Your Mama loves you."

"She doesn't."

"She does," You insist.

"Can we not talk about her," Cara sniffles.

"That's fine, baby," You wrap your arms around her, pulling her as close as possible. You could only hope that Natasha is satisfied with the lives she shattered. 

[motelsnleatherseats]

Sam's always been possessive of Dean, from the way a child is possessive of their parent. It made sense, considering his big brother was always his constant, always the one to take care of him and save him from the heartache of parent abandonment. He never liked when Dean would take too long talking to someone, or when his trips to the store always ran over time, but Dean thinks it's normal cause Sammy's always been a little clingy.

Things start to change once Dean's showing more interest in girls, and Sam is no longer pouting from a distance, but starting to interject, sometimes physically. It starts with him gluing himself to Dean's side, making his presence and annoyance known with little huffs of impatience. Then he starts to pull at his sleeve or bump into his side, trying to coerce him to get out of whatever company he has so he doesn't have to share.

It completely catches Dean off guard when Sam comes back from the bathroom and suddenly sits on his lap as he's chatting up the waitress. The look of surprise is evident between them both and Dean attempts to scoot back to push Sam off of him but he doesn't budge, and he doesn't stop staring down the waitress either until she walks away, and it's only then that Sam takes his spot across from Dean without another word, refusing to respond to brother's 'what the hell?'

There are nights when Dean tries to take advantage of when Sam's extra tired, knowing that he'll sleep through pretty much anything or at least be dazed enough to blur the edges of his reality. He risks bringing a girl into the motel room and having a make-out session on the couch while Sam's in the far end of the room in bed, but he feels uneasy, and with a glance back towards his little brother, he swears he can see his eyes even in the dark.

Sam says nothing about it the following day, but he watches Dean like a hawk and is quick to stand whenever he looks like he's getting ready to go somewhere. It's only when Sam literally backs himself up against the door to keep him from leaving that he calls him out on it.

"Sammy, what the hell, man. You're actin' like a yorkie with separation anxiety," he sighed, not with frustration, more so concern. Sam's been acting more out of pocket lately than usual, but he hasn't been talking about it. Then again, Dean hasn't been asking either.

"Why do you need to go and see girls?" Sam asked not even a beat afterward, straight to the point. Dean inwardly groaned. It wasn't like his little brother was a kid anymore, he was 15 and had surely gotten the sex ed thing from school at some point. Plus it's not like he wasn't a good lookin' guy. Sure, he was a little gangly, maybe a little too nerdy for some, but girls sometimes liked the bookish ones.

"Because a man has needs, little bro. Between my libido and your puberty, there's a little too much testosterone in here for my liking."

Sam doesn't appear phased but his eyes are intense, like he's looking for a sign to act. Dean's caught off guard by that look, and his expression reflects his confusion with a small tilt of his head and a furrow of his brows.

"I can take care of your needs."

"What? Sam, no. You're not getting it--"

"You want to get your dick wet, I get it. I can do that."

Dean's face drained of blood, the rest of it rushing through his body like a cold chill. Sam's suggestion, let alone choice of words, had him caught like a deer in headlights.

"I see the way you look at me sometimes, Dean. Like the way you look at girls. When you think I don't notice," Sam continued on, and Dean gave a nervous laugh, his brain scrambling to come up with some kind of rebuttal. A denial. Anything. He took a step back when Sam moved towards him, feeling like it was some kind of a trap. It had to be.

"S-Sam, you don't know what you're talking about. I don't look at you like that, you're my brother." His feet are moving back on their own accord as Sam matched his pace, like he's cornering his prey. His heart pounds, making his entire chest feel like it's vibrating.

"It's okay, Dean. I like it when you look at me like that," Sam replied, reaching a hand out towards his big brother that Dean tries to avoid, but the backs of his knees make contact with the bed and all the sudden Sam is right up against him. "It makes me feel good. I can make you feel good too."

Sam pushed Dean back to sit on the bed as the last word left his lips and he's quick to climb onto his lap, causing his brother to try and lean back and away from it, hands anchored into the sheets, white knuckling them to prevent them from doing anything stupid. Shit, shit, shit. This is really happening.

"Sam, don't--"

"Don't you want to feel good, Dean?" Sam asked with a voice all too sweet and pleading, straddling him as he moved to run a hand over his chest and Dean can swear that Sam can feel the heavy thumps of his heart against his palm. His breath is so shallow, he can't even really tell if he's breathing at all. "Don't you want to touch me?"

Dean swallowed hard, his lips parted and feeling dry all the sudden as he stared as his little brother with disbelief in his eyes. Did he? Would he admit it? All questions vanished as he felt Sam curl his fingers around the amulet he gifted him, giving it a little tug as if to tempt him further, to lure him in, and he reached up to take Sam's hand in a silent request to stop.

"Sammy, we can't, we're--"

"Brothers, I know. I don't care," he interrupted, shifting his fingers to curl around Dean's hand to prevent him from pulling away. "I want you to touch me, Dean. Please." He pulled out the big guns, his features softening; that damned puppy-dog eyed expression worked wonders on his brother. "Touch me."

Dean closed his eyes and gave a small squeeze to his little brother's hand, exhaling a defeated sigh through his nose.

"You can't ask this of me."

"I'm not asking, I'm telling," Sam replied, moving his free hand to the back of Dean's neck, leaning forward to push their chests together, doubling down on his efforts as he nuzzled against his cheek, corners of their mouth mere millimeters from each other. "Dean," he whispered and Dean tensed, his resolve a pendulum, swinging heavy in the direction of his little brother.

Much to Sam's delight, Dean caved and curled his arm around his waist, pressing their lips together in a kiss that had them surging together, any and all resistance to their sordid feelings disappeared in a millisecond. Sam gave a mix between a whimper and a moan against his brother's lips and Dean's back went rigid, nearly gasping at the sound. With things now set in motion, it was full steam ahead, and Dean twisted their forms to lay Sammy down on the bed, positioning himself above him as their lips and tongues eagerly explored new sensations until their lungs ached for air.

Dean leaned up after breaking the kiss, gazing down at his little brother with flushed cheeks and kiss-swollen lips, glossy with saliva and decorated with a smile. A genuine smile. Something Dean hadn't seen in a long time and it made his chest tighten. He watched as Sam moved his hands down to grip the hem of his shirt, lifting it off of his form to expose his slender torso, newly forming muscles under soft, unscarred skin that was just begging to be touched. Dean followed suit and remained hovering above him, the amulet swinging between them until Sam angled his chin forward to let his lips catch the adornment.

Dean shuddered. He literally felt his limbs go weak at the action, his cock suddenly throbbing as his body pulsed with heat. He leaned down to capture his lips again, letting his hands finally do as requested, touching over Sam's torso with reverence. Everything happened so quickly, yet it felt like time had suspended around them, their every sense flooded with each other.

The wet sounds of their kiss were decorated with moans and whimpers, their hands touching and exploring before buttons were being undone and the rest of their clothes were being dropped on the floor. Dean slotted between Sam's thighs and pressed their hips together, undulating and grinding, earning the prettiest sounds from his brother's mouth that rivaled even the most desperate of girls.

"Dean.. De~" Sam whined between kisses that were growing a little sloppy, his cock leaking messily against his abdomen, the rutting becoming even more slick as Dean gave heated grunts and breathy sounds. He wasn't going to last much longer, not with the way Sam was coming undone underneath him.

"Sammy, fuck, gonna cum.." Dean spoke, his voice broken, barely able to get the words out before he was shooting a hot, thick load across his little brother's tummy, Sam right behind him. His pretty pink lips fell agape, labored breaths and whimpers dripping from them like warm honey as his eyes unfocused and his lashes fluttered, his smaller form trembling as he came while panting his brother's name like a mantra or prayer.

They remained pressed together in the aftermath of their orgasms, catching their breath and letting the waves of pleasure slowly come to a dull tingle throughout their bodies. Sam enjoyed the weight of his brother pressed down on him, and Dean enjoyed the way Sam's arms stayed around him to keep him there, basking in his warmth and the scent of sweat and cum.

"Don't go out tonight," Sam requested, and Dean gave a breathless chuckle, reassuring him with a hand through his hair that those plans had long since been abandoned.

"I'm not going anywhere, Sammy. Just wanna stay right here with you."

[adventuringblind]

Deserving

Charles Leclerc x Reader

Genre: hurt/comfort

Summary: while she falls into the pit of her mind, Charles is there to pull her out.

Warnings: mentioned self-harm, anxiety, toxic media, mentions of addiction

Notes: A Nonny request, I hope you like it!! This one is definitely an insight into how my brain works.

Masterlist // Request Form // My Website // buy me a Ko-Fi

Everyone says rookie years are the hardest. Which, she won't say everyone is wrong, just that she also had consistently bad years. They blend into each other now. A never-ending cycle of the same lame excuses as to why she's so downcast.

She's a rookie driver and having a pretty decent season. Logan and Oscar are two of her closest friends. She's dating Charles Leclerc of all people.

So why is that piece of her brain still nagging at her? Years of therapy and help hasn't done the trick. The stinging still pushes through to the front of her mind.

The habit started so young. It was a distraction from the pain of whatever she'd been going through at the time. A means to satisfy her the voices in her head. Now it's to remind her she's still alive. That the media hasn't shattered her already frail will to live quite yet.

Everything in her wants to just... stop. Everyday she's reminded that her place is somewhere else. Not in the car, not with Charles, not even on the planet.

It doesn't matter that she's having a good year, that the car is good, or that she has people who love her. The voices always come back in those dark hours when she's alone.

She staggered herself in the beginning. Enough that her physio wasn't catching on. She lived in Charles' hoodies, and he thought nothing of it. Just another source of comfort.

He'd seen the faded scars, asked her about it every occasionally. He never pushes her to talk about it.

She doesn't deserve Charles, or anyone for that matter. Mentors, family, friends, they are all to wonderful for her to drag them down into her misery. The constant pity party she throws herself has no guests, only her and her demons.

Redbull isn't the best environment for someone as fragile as her. Despite the boosts of confidence Christian gives her daily and the constant reassurance from Max, she doesn't feel like she deserves it. The media is eating her alive. The next teammate to be crucified to Redbull and Mad Max.

It's starting to become noticeable again. The lack of sleep and covering clothes. Charles is skeptical and keeps reassuring her she can talk to him.

If she does that, he'll leave. Her mind can't take being alone yet.

Max is the first to catch sight of the new lines adorning her wrist. He asks if she's alright, but again, nobody pushes for more. Maybe if they did, she would break. Her fragile walls would come tumbling down.

Oscar is the next to push. A good friend of hers and they've both had good seasons. He and Logan show up one night with comfort food and cards. It manages to make her smile like when they were younger.

But they have to leave eventually. The voices swallow her whole the second she's alone again.

Charles finally pushes for answers. He finds her alone, body slumped along the hotel bathroom wall. She's exhausted, but manages to give a crooked, tired smile.

He crouches down in front of her and looks at the fresh line on her thighs. Bandages are something she has readily available, and Charles knows exactly where to find them.

He works quietly, just humming softly as he patches her up. It's a classical song that he listens enough that she knows the tune but not the name.

Charles dresses her into comfy clothes and tucks her into bed. A hand plays with her hair and strokes her cheek.

She doesn't deserve him.

"Tell me what's eating away at you, chéri. Please, I hate that you won't talk to me."

She scoots her body closer to Charles so she doesn't have to see his face. "Just hard - I guess."

"It's okay to have hard days. It's okay that you feel the way you do. But this thing, hurting yourself, is not the way to make it better."

"I know that, Charlie!" Her voice cracks at saying his name. "I just can't help it."

Those fragile walls she has come tumbling down. The pit of despair finally swallows her, and she can't stop the tears.

It hurts. Her head, her heart, her bones, it all hurts. She falls and shatters, but Charles is here to put the pieces back together.

"I don't deserve you. You're everything people love, and I don't want to drag you down with me."

"Who put that idea in your head?"

"The voices," She sniffles. Her words muffled when Charles pulls her into his chest.

"Well, the voices are incorrect. I, of all people, know what it's like for the media to pick you a part. Whether it's appearances, my driving, my relationships, they will always find something." Charles pulls her back just a bit, enough for him to make eye contact. She hates how his eyes are as glassy as hers. "You don't have to suffer all alone, in silence. You have people around you that understand and want to help. None of us are asking for perfection. We - I - don't want to see you hurting so much."

"What if it's too much?"

"Then we figure it out together."

She falls asleep in Charles' arms. Tears soak into everything, but he doesn't tell her to move. He comforts, because Charles loves her.

She has people who want to be there for her. Yes, slips happen, healing is never straightforward, but she can try. She can lean on Charles, let him love her; let him be the steady rock she needs in her life.

"Progress chéri, not perfection."

"You sound like all team principles."

"And? It's a good saying!"

Charles pulls a laugh out of her. A genuine laugh at something that isn't even funny. She blames her love for him.

"Maybe I do deserve you."

"If this is an insult, I'm taking all the covers tonight."

[theanonymousninja247]

Random Turtle HC: Raph & Anxiety

*clears throat and approaches microphone before hitting whiteboard with a ruler* A-HEM! Behold my theories peasants!

As we see expresses in the VERY 1st episode of ROTTMNT, the turtles can recognize each others signature scents and can smell fear.

Raph especially is shown briefly through the brothers dialogue to be the most aware and self conscious about said scent to the point of becoming defensive about it.

This leads me to believe that due to both natural biological olfactory senses and increased abilities due to mutation, the turtle brothers (with an advanced ability tipping to Raph due to his size and sensitivity) can actually smell the hormone cortisol.

WebMD defines cortisol as, “Your body’s main stress hormone. It works with certain parts of your brain to control your mood, motivation, and fear.”

Simply put, the turtle boys can literally smell fear.

Now I know you’re asking yourself, “Okaaaaaay cool fun fact I guess, what does that have to do anything with me?”

*takes a step back and adjust glasses with a smirk*

My dear dear fellow tumblr, allow me to share the wonders of mixing fact, madness and media all in one! *sounds of maniacal cackling can be heard*

(I wrote this with the intent to be platonic but it could be romantic if you squint long enough)

•So we've established Raph can smell fear right?

•As a protective big brother who is quite literally in fact “BIG” he knows a thing or two about getting scared

• Especially when it comes to looking out for people he cares about

•Hes been fighting baddies for his family since he was a tot! From keeping away scary dreams at night, from crushed ancient metal zombies to terrifying alien virus monsters, there ain't much he hasn't seen

•So when you join the ranks of the Mad Dogz, you immediately also get a built in prtoector

•Raphs been looking out for the little guys his whole life, what's one more?

•Not to mention you're kinda cute, so he doesn't mind sticking around a little bit closer

•But you're different than most folks, Raph notices. I mean besides the fact that you WILLING want to be friends with 4 mutant turtles of all things.

•No besides your abnormal incredible bravery in looking beyond the status quo to reach out the hand of friendship to these reckless reptiles, Raph noticed that you just kind of…smelled

•Not in a bad way or anything just…you always seemed to have a lingering scent of fear on you

•And Raph would know. Hed recognize that scent anywhere. It's a scent that ghosts every hour of every day for him. Nighttime and being alone especially.

•Raph hates being scared. He's the biggest and the oldest. He's supposed to look after his peeps! And he can't do that if he's frozen with fear all the time!

•So what does he do? Raph faces the problem head on like he always do.

•You get scared a lot. That's understandable, but Raph decides to make it his business that you don't need to be scared when he's around.

•Raph’ll protect ya

•Be prepared to have this turtle subtly (orrer not to much so because although he's a ninja he ain't exactly tactful or subtle) watching you every time you and the gang get all together

•Its not hard. You've always caught his attention for some reason or another. So looking at you is something he does without even realizing it.

•He’s looking for triggers, anything that gets that heart rate of yours spiking and that scent start to waft.

•Fidgeting hands, bouncing knees, shutting down and slinking into your hoodie, nervous chewing, pulling or playing with your hair and pacing, he's got eyes on it all.

•Once a trigger has been spotted, Raph immediately tries to locate the source

•Too many people? Suddenly you find a 6ft something giant turtle behind you, letting you know with his massive presence alone that he got your back. Literally.

•He kinda likes this position because he can see everyone that comes close enough to interact with you and everybody can see him.

•All he's got to do is narrow his eyes a little a give em a flash of that all too familiar snaggle tooth of his if he thinks someone's being mean and he gets his unspoken threat across just fine

•Not to mention you're also close enough to grab if someone he doesn't deem fit for your attention gets a little too close for his liking. But he doesn't say that part out loud.

•Scared of talking? You suddenly feel the cool tip of his massive scaely alligator tail (anatomically correct alligator tail be darned, I'm going with the fandoms HCs for this one) gently wrapping around your ankle as a physical reminder that he's right there here to support you

•Overwhelmed and the world feels like it's closing in on you? Raphs massive size is a natural battering ram that allows him to pass through thick crowds with easy. He's not afraid to help heard you into a quiet little corner away from it all

•Years of practice with Donnie allows him the experience to ask you if you're good with touch.

•If yes, you know you're going to be instantly wrapped into his arms, pulled flushed up against the worn keratin of his plastron. Raph’s always been more of “hands-on experience” kinda of guy anyway.

•Raph gives good hugs. They're firm and tight, padded with the security of arms who have been holding the weight of the world for years.

•He will rest his chin on top of your head, gently guiding your head with the motion ever so slightly so you're somehow perfectly nestled right against his heart.

•It's a loud heart, especially when you're up so close. It's actually his strongest muscle and one he's most proud of. He cares about you, so he reckons he’ll allow you the privilege of getting close to it. In more ways than one.

•Raph doesn't talk much during these special security hugs. He's never really been much good with words anyways. Raph knows sometimes the noise can be too much, but he also knows that the silence can be defeaning. So being a turtle comes with some built in perks that make up a happy medium.

•Hes got a special churr saved for special situations just like this one. It's one of the lowest and deepest ones he's capable of making. More akin to a muted growl more than anything the way it vibrates his chest as you're pressed up against it. You can feel it more than hear it and it just takes a handful of minutes listening to this bad boy before Raph can sense your fear stink slowly dissipating and your natural sweet scent can return.

•Raph can smell fear, and there's something incredibly humbling for this Atlas of a turtle to have the sweet experience of watching that scent drift away whenever he gets the privilege of being close to you like this.

•”You don't need to be scared no more, Sweet Pea. Raph’s got ya. I'm gonna be right here until you're ready to face the world again. Until then, let me just hold ya.”

Dedicated to the one and only @anobodyinabog. Sorry this took so long,but I hope your day gets better Shortcake. Please know you're always looked out for and loved ok? 🧡❤️

[criticallyacclaimedstranger]

All The Fear and The Fire of The End of The World [Joel Miller x artist!reader]

Read on Ao3

Sequel to The Artist and the Builder

Fandom: The Last of Us

Ship: Joel Miller x you/artist!reader who is his age and has arthritis and allergies (although that's not really addressed in this one)

Tags/warnings: ANGST, bit of h/c, Panic attacks, reader is sick, Joel has anxiety. That's about it, but please stay safe is panic attacks is something that triggers you <3

Summary: Joel has told Ellie about what happened in Salt Lake City, and she is livid with him. Seeking comfort with you, Joel however finds you in the grips of a nasty flu, and has to put his own needs aside to nurse you.

Words: 3,799

A/N: Title is from Hozier's Wasteland, Baby! Couldn't resist: All the fear and the fire of the end of the world, happens each time a boy falls in love with a girl...

Thank you to @pazizz for having a read before it was finished!

Joel hasn't had an attack like this in a long time - not since he and Ellie settled in Jackson - but now, it's bad.

His heart is being squeezed like a stress ball, his lungs are not taking in fresh air, his throat is constricted. Panic floods his brain as he clutches at his collar. He can't breathe, can't think, can't -

Ellie's screamed words echo in the fiber of his being.

How could you? I hate you! Don't talk to me ever again!

He had finally told her the truth about what had happened at the hospital, why she didn't get to save the world. And Ellie shut him out.

You took my decision away from me!

How could she even consider dying for a cure that wasn't guaranteed? How could she not see that she was the light of his entire life?

How could he not tell her the truth from the start?

Joel stumbles onto one knee, the guilt taking his legs from under him. He fights to breathe, his right fist closes, and he bangs it into the floor. Again. Again. Pain reverberates through his hand and arm, and that jerks him out of his mental anguish.

He punches the floor until the skin of his knuckles break, and he can breathe normally again. Greedily gulping down air in a way that sounds like sobbing - but he is not fucking crying - Joel slowly gets back onto his feet. His knuckles are aching, his arm feels battered, but he grabs his coat, and heads out. Hurrying through the snowy streets of Jackson, he barely notices anyone passing by. He's in a hurry, hurting hand hidden in his jacket pocket, internal compass pointing to your house.

He needs comfort, your soothing hands. He needs to know that he did what he could.

Even if it was you who pushed him into telling Ellie, he knows you were right to encourage him to do it. And he needs you now that Ellie has denounced him. You won't judge him for waiting so long.

He walks into your house without knocking. His throat feels almost constricted when he enters the living-room, expecting to find you in front of the fireplace, immersed in one of your projects. But you're not there, and the fire is nothing but a heap of embers. Frowning, Joel calls your name again. It's not like you to leave the fire unattended or leave on the lights. He walks over to the bedroom door and pushes it open.

There's a pile of blankets on the bed. When his eyes get used to the twilight in the room, he sees that there's a body underneath the layers of covers.

He speaks your name, and the pile of blankets moves. For a second his heart seizes, and panic rises within him. Not you too, he can't stand it!

Then you croak his name, and he knows what's up.

You're so cold. You've never been this cold in your life, and no amount of blankets is helping. Good God, how is it even possible to be so cold, to shake so hard? Your muscles are aching with how much you're shaking, and you can't do anything about it.

You hear Joel's voice close to you, and you will your eyes open, even if using your vision is making your headache worse.

Joel's face swims somewhere above you. Through the brain fog, you hear him ask you how you are.

"Just a slight temperature," you mumble, then feel Joel's callused hand on your forehead.

"You're burning up."

He takes off his jacket, and gets in bed with you, digging himself underneath the blankets until he's right next to you. Fitting his form to yours, he wraps his arm around you to bring you in even closer.

"You're shaking!"

"Jus' need a nap..."

"You need a lot more than that, darlin'."

You mumble something as your eyes fall shut. His body heat has already started to spill onto you, and slowly, you stop shaking, and start relaxing.

"How long have you been like this?" His voice is soft, his breath so warm against your skin. You want to crawl into his voice, melt into the rich, deep syllables, dissolve from this aching body.

"Had to leave the clinic around midday," you slur. Speaking seems difficult. Your throat is sore, your head feels like it's about to explode.

"Are there any meds?"

"No."

"Then it's rest and liquids for you."

You're already drifting off, secure in his arms. Joel feels you relax and become heavy, your audible breathing slowing down. Gently, he strokes a couple of stray hairs from your face, tucking them behind your ear, and notes that your hairline is damp with sweat. When he's certain that you're not waking up, he carefully disentangles himself from you, and gets up from the bed.

His own heartache is forgotten when he rummages through the cupboards of your kitchen, finding your teas made from dried herbs and flowers. He gathers towels, finds a bucket for water, gathers whatever he can find that will help him take care of you. He returns to the bedroom to check on you before leaving your house to get something to eat from the dining-hall, and see Jackson's doctor.

The doc has, naturally, nothing to prescribe except bedrest and liquid, which Joel had already figured out. What little drugs there are, must be saved for the truly sick. He's luckier at the dining-hall: he gets a big portion of chicken broth from one of the women working there.

"This will cure anything," she promises, and Joel thanks her gruffly. He hurries home to you, finding you exactly where he left you.

You sleep for hours. Focusing his attention on you, wiping your forehead whenever it gets too shiny, listening to your wheezing breaths, Joel forgets about the pressure over his own chest. He can't forget about Ellie, her anger, her words, but he doesn't succumb to anxiety over what happened.

When you wake up, the things Ellie said are pushed to the back of his brain.

You're like a cat waking up from anesthesia: unable to walk but hell-bent on doing it.

"Need the toilet," you mumble, and Joel supports you to the bathroom. You're freezing once you slump down on the toilet seat, and he turns around to give you some privacy.

"Go away," you moan, bent over with you aching head in your hands.

"I've seen women piss before, so do what you have to so that I can help you back to bed," he retorts, and you scoff weakly before releasing a stream of urine that seems searing hot. You manage to wipe yourself and wash your hands before you have to lean on Joel again.

"We need to get you out of these sweaty clothes," he tells you, but you're loath to get undressed.

"It's so cold," you whine, but you're in no position to fight him on it.

He puts his own flannel on you before taking you back to bed, where he coaxes two spoonfuls of broth into you, and almost half a cup of tea, until you shake your head. He gives up, and lets you curl up to sleep. The winter darkness is falling but he turns on the bedside lamp so that he can see your face, its lines stressed by the lamplight and sickness, your forehead shiny with fever, your lips separated as you snore. For a long time, he just watches you, like he's looking for an answer in your features.

Eventually, he turns off the light, rises from his chair, and leaves the bedroom to start a fire in the living-room fireplace.

Your temperature is up the next day so Joel brings the doc, who can't do anything except encourage him to continue doing what he's been doing so far. You're mostly asleep, delirious when you're not, and still so, so cold. Joel does his best to get fluids in you, and a couple of spoonfuls of chicken soup, but it's hard when you're either limp in his arms or shaking.

By afternoon, he's exhausted. Tommy comes by to check on both him and you, and he brings food. Joel never even thought about eating himself.

Sitting on opposite sides of the kitchen table, Joel opens the lunch box and devours its contents.

"I saw Ellie earlier today. She seemed upset, what's up with her?" Tommy wants to know. Joel winces from the painful stab in his heart.

"Nothing's up with Ellie."

"Liar."

Joel looks up from the food at his brother. Tommy knows him too well.

"I told her. About what happened in Salt Lake City."

"That didn't go well."

"It didn't."

Joel looks down again and stuffs his mouth with the rest of the food. The conversation is over for his part, and Tommy knows better than to push it.

"She'll come round."

Joel grunts, and they both sit in silence for a while before Tommy rises.

"I gotta get back to work. Lemme know if you need anything."

Joel clears his throat. "If you see Ellie... tell her I'm not coming back to the house for a while. I don't want her to have to move out."

"Sure, bro."

Tommy pats Joel on the back as he passes him by, and when the front door closes, Joel follows to lock it. He then comes to the bedroom, kicks off his boots, and crawls into bed next to you. His fingers tremble slightly when he touches your forehead, still finding you burning hot. Carefully, not wanting to wake you, he fits himself to your body, puts his head down, and watches you through the grey winter light.

Caring for you has kept him busy enough to not dwell too much on what happened with Ellie, but now his brain is buzzing with her last words to him, her rage and disappointment, his failure. He owes Ellie so much, and he failed her.

His unavailable heart has been locked inside his closed chest for so long, until Ellie cracked it open. Ellie, with her courage, innocence, those stupid puns that she loves so much, and that Joel can’t help smiling at. How could he have surrendered her to the Fireflies? His relationship with Ellie had developed from duty to decency before finally unfolding into love. He has already known the worst pain in his life, and he wasn’t going to live through that again. He simply could not give Ellie up.

And now he has lost her anyway, and he might lose you too.

"You get well," he whispers, assured that you can't hear his dramatic, pathetic plea, even when it's directed at you. "My heart can't take it if you don't make it, you hear me? Don't you dare die on me."

You offer him no sign of having heard him. He swallows, his throat tight, and presses his eyes shut, praying that sleep will take his worries away.

Your violent coughing wakes him up. He blinks blearily in the dark room before he gets his bearings, his arm going around the body that is convulsing next to him. It's a wet cough, rattling in your lungs, and it's new. He sits up in bed, hands on you, like that's going to help. As if anything he does helps. He hates the feeling on not being able to help.

When your coughing subsides, you groan and mumble something.

"What's that, darlin'?"

"My head," you repeat, voice raspy and thin.

"Just lay still."

"Thirsty."

Joel promptly rolls out of bed and goes to get a fresh glass of water from the kitchen. When he sits by your side to help you drink it, he realizes that you're no longer shaking. You take little sips before slumping back against the pillow, your face ashen and your eyes matted, but when he feels your forehead, he can tell you no longer have a fever. That has to be a good sign, right?

“How are you feelin’?” he asks, knowing immediately that it is a stupid question. You open your mouth, but instead of words coming out, there is a bout of coughing. Joel grimaces sympathetically as he takes the glass from your hand to avoid you spilling on yourself.

“Been better,” you finally wheeze, reaching for the glass again as soon as the coughing subsides. He gets up to go refill it, and you drowsily look around the room.

“What day is it?”

“Tuesday,” he calls back from the kitchen.

You let that sink in. When Joel comes back in, he clearly sees your confusion.

“You’ve been out of it for a few days, yeah.”

“And you’ve been here the whole time?”

He hands you the refilled glass but averts his eyes when he replies.

“Someone had to look out for you.”

You drink more greedily now, the cold water lashing its way down your scratchy throat in a way that makes you feel more alert despite the discomfort. Joel takes your glass when you’re finished, puts it on the nightstand, and pulls the covers more snugly around you.

“I’m fine,” you tell him, somewhat amused at his fussing. “You should go home. Has Ellie even seen you since I got sick?”

He freezes, pain flashing across his face before his features turn to cold, hard stone. But you saw it, plain as day.

“Joel?”

He doesn’t answer, and your fear rises.

“Joel, is Ellie alright?”

“Yes.” The answer comes promptly, but the three letters contain a world of events and emotions that you, despite your current state, need to know more of.

“What happened?”

“We’ll talk about it later, darlin’. You need to rest.”

“We’ll talk about it now.” You stress the last word with a rise in volume and pitch, which brings about another bout of coughing. When you’re done, Joel gives you a disapproving glare.

“You’re not well.”

“Duh. Now tell me, or do I have to get out of this bed and go find Ellie myself?”

He sighs deeply, jaw squared as he stares out of the open bedroom door. You wait as he gathers himself.

“I told her. About Salt Lake City.”

“And she didn’t take it well?”

“No. She never wants to see me again. She hates me.”

“Joel…”

Joel can’t look at you. Not even his brother knows the whole story, but he has told you, one late night after the two of you had fucked and were sharing whispered secrets in each other’s arms. He couldn’t keep you in the dark, you’re too important. With all that he has lost in life, with all of his scars and traumas, he got to know Ellie, and he got to know you. When he least expected it, you came along, with your way of seeing the world, its light and its shadows, your body as aching as his but your mind nowhere near as broken. Your ribs bend open so easily for your heart to do what hearts do best. And that kept his chest from closing again now that Ellie hates him.

He’s so grateful for you. And so ashamed.

Tears burn in his eyes and when you sit up and put your hand on his shoulder, he draws a sobbing breath. Goddammit.

“It’s okay, Joel,” you rasp. “We’ll figure it out.”

He passes his hands over his face, wills his tears away, but the more he fights it, the more constricted his chest feels.

No, not now, not when he needs to stay strong for you!

“Joel?”

“Be right back,” he presses, standing up so quickly that the world spins for a second, and his first two steps are wobbly. He hears you speak his name again, but he hurries out to the kitchen, finding support from the sink, his head swimming, his heart beating so fast he thinks it’s going to explode but at the same time he can’t breathe, his throat is closed, he can’t breathe, he can’t breathe, Jesus fucking Christ he’s having a heart attack –

“Joel!”

Your hands are on him, turning him around. At the end of his tunnel vision is your haggard face, and through the roar in his ears – where did that come from and what is it? – he can hear your voice.

“Joel? Listen to my voice. Feel my touch. You’re okay, baby, you’re okay. I promise. You can breathe. Just take a deep breath, that’s it, just like that, and exhale. Good, go ahead, take another one. That’s great, Joel, just like that.”

Without even noticing, your hoarse voice has pushed through the panic and the pain and the noises, and he finds himself breathing deeply, consciously, his heart slowing down. He blinks a couple of times, and his eyesight is back to normal. You’re in front of him, nodding your encouragement. He wets his lips, wants to say something, but then his knees buckle under him, and before he knows it, both of you are on the floor, you from trying to help him, your still weak body no match for his weight.

You’re coughing, and he collects you in his arms, ignoring the smarting in his elbow. It keeps him sharp.

“You okay?” he asks you as soon as you’re done coughing. You nod against his chest, wheezing breath keeping you from speaking. He holds you closer when you shiver slightly, and when you embrace him back, he feels a lot better.

“What about you?”

“I’m good, darlin’, don’t worry about me.”

“That was a panic attack, Joel, and not a small one.”

He frowns, looks down at you.

“I have a heart problem.”

“Maybe so, but that wasn’t a heart attack. It was a panic attack.”

“How would you know?”

You roll your eyes at him, even though it hurts your head.

“I’m a nurse, Joel.”

He has to chuckle at your tone, but you’re not amused.

“I also had a sister who suffered panic attacks from a young age. It differs from person to person, but what I did to you worked on her. Seemed to work on you as well.”

“It… did. Thank you.”

“How long have you – “ you start, but he interrupts you, though not unkindly.

“Can we… not talk about it right now? I’m exhausted, and you need to rest.”

You agree, and with combined forces, the two of you manage to get off the floor and drag yourselves back to the bedroom. You collapse on the bed together and just barely find the energy to arrange yourselves comfortably before both of you are out.

You sleep uneasily, your cough waking you up constantly. Your head is still aching, and your throat is lined with needles when you swallow, not to mention how much your lungs hurt when you cough, but you’re hungry for the first time since you got sick.

You hear a light snore next to you, so you turn your head. Joel is deep asleep, turned away from you, sleeping on his good ear. Your hacking must have disturbed him because you’re quite sure that he was holding you when you went to sleep.

Slowly, gently, you place your hand between his shoulder blades. He’s warm, sweaty even, in his flannel and no doubt from his attack earlier. But he seems at ease now: his broad back is relaxed, his breaths are deep and even, and he doesn’t move when touched. Carefully, you scoot closer, a tickle in your throat threatening to grow into a cough, but you manage to keep it down. Your arm goes around his waist, and you mold yourself to his form, spooning him tightly, your hand finding a soft spot on his belly to rest against. His breath stutters and changes, but other than his hand clumsily finding yours, he doesn’t move.

He smells of old sweat, and you don’t feel too fresh yourself. The thought of taking a shower with him once he wakes up sets off a pull deep within your lower belly, and you smile as you feel your cheeks heat up. Even when struggling through the worst flu you’ve ever experienced, you can’t keep from fantasizing about the things this man can do with his hands, his mouth, his cock…

You take it he’s to stay with you now, which means that you have to tidy up the living-room, make room for him, but you find yourself not minding. You want him there, you want to go to sleep and wake up with him next to you, and once you get well you want to wake up with your hands all over each other, his mouth on your skin, his rare smiles over breakfast.

The thought of breakfast makes your stomach growl, and you feel a little faint. It’s definitely time to eat something. Gently, you move away from Joel, rousing him when your arm leaves his waist. He rolls over onto his back and rubs his eyes before looking at you.

“Hi,” you smile, patting his arm. “You sleep if you need to. I gotta eat.”

“What time is it?”

“No idea, but it’s still light outside.”

“I’ll fix us something.”

“It’s fine, I’m on it.”

You get out of bed, your legs a little weak but still carrying you, and go to the bathroom first. Joel’s heavy steps are heard making their way to the kitchen, and when you appear in the doorway, he’s already making tea and heating up broth.

“I’ll get something from the kitchens,” he tells you without looking up. “Better see my brother too, let him know we’re alive.”

You walk up to him, feeling a little bit like Bambi on the ice, but you make it, and you wrap your arms around him from behind, and rest your cheek to his back. Joel stops what he’s doing, muscles flexing before relaxing, and his hands come to rest on top of yours.

“You okay, sweetheart?”

“Uh-huh.”

He turns around until he’s facing you, and there is something soft in his eyes when he cups your cheeks with his big, warm hands and leans his forehead to yours. Both of you exhale audibly, then smile together. You lick your lips, clear your throat.

“Joel…”

“I love you.” His fingers make small, soothing circles behind your ears.

He beat you to it, the rascal.

“I love you, Joel. We’ll fix this. You’ll stay with me, and we’ll figure it out.”

“Thank you.”

He tilts his head a little, lips ghosting over yours. You draw back.

“I don’t want you to catch what I have.”

“I don’t care.”

He kisses you, and you let yourself melt into it, into the assurance that Joel Miller is yours, body and soul.

[icedmetaltea]

Just lettin ya'll know I'm ok

(random irl stuff to journal below, keep scrollin)

Wanted to wait to come back till

1. I wasn't dealing with mega gender dysphoria, my masc/neutral days are few and far between but by god it's been nonstop masc/neutral days lately and been a lot of just hating my body (and myself in general)

2. got the ebt stuff figured out, which I haven't yet, my doc put in a ref for a different place to sign a thing, waited 2 weeks for them to call, only to find out it was the wrong place and now I have to wait for the next place to call... which like yea I'm worrying about food but talking about it in therapy has helped somewhat. She reassured me even if that doesn't work we WILL find some place that'll sign the form I need to be eligible again

3. I wasn't dealing with as bad of depression/anxiety which like... idk. I've definitely been doing better anxiety-wise but idk if that's bc it hasn't been as hot lately or I've been feeding myself better. I know I must've been eating under 1200s calories the past few weeks bc the scale finally stopped going down and I know for a fact my anxiety gets bad when I'm hungry so I think for about a month I was unintentionally starving myself, SO making myself eat at least 2 nutritious meals a day now

At the same time I think perhaps my pmdd symptoms are... reversing time schedules??? Usually my anxiety/depression gets way worse before period but now it seems like it's fine before and terrible during/after????? Makes zero sense but who knows. Also it's a couple days late now so health anxiety is going off the shits about PCOS or something again UGH

Making SOME progress with therapy, am able to be outside for 5 mins without feeling that horrific sense of dread so that's something.

I've also been coming to the realization that I may have some form of DID?? Not the type where you lose time/blackout/completely have entirely different memories and starkly different personality switches but I've definitely been noticing now that I've been putting more attention to it how I go into different "modes" and sets of interests throughout the weeks and I mean... it's not secret I have imaginary friends I talk to on the daily. I've had an issue figuring out where "they" end and "myself" begins since childhood. Plus I already deal with derealization/dissociation/occasional age regression so it's not out of the realm of possibility. May bring it up next therapy apt. Kinda worried to bc I never want to get rid of them and I'm worried that would be one of the goals, like... just no. I can't think of anything more lonely.

But yea just random stuff I needed to get outta my system, sorry about all the suicidal stuff, it's just really hard. The future seems so bleak. And if one thing sets me back, like doctor stuff, food issues, etc my brain is like "DEATH WOULD BE EASIER LOL" BUT there's a chance trump/a republican candidate won't win, a chance climate change will be reversed/humanity will adapt somehow, a chance I'll be accepted for disability and live a halfway decent life, and if not... well, we'll cross that bridge when we come to it. But for now there's food in the fridge, for now mom and dad are alive, for now we're ok.

[serenaoffaerun]

WIP Wednesday

Thanks for the tag, @alpydk!! While I'm technically on hiatus until I finish this art commission I'm working on (1-2-3 weeks?), I DO have the beginning chapter 4 of "Confessions" to show off. I decided to name it "Possibilities" - it continues the one-word theme of the other chapters but doesn't give away the ending.

*DISCLAIMER* - this may not be its final form, and hasn't been really edited.

Setup TL:DR - GalexTav. Tav 'sleeps with' Mizora in act 3, Gale breaks up with her. Nasty fighting w/spell-slinging and arrows flying ensues, including cattiness through the end of the game and even in the epilogue. End of the epilogue, they bang over a picnic table and decide to 'talk it out' via letter writing, which goes through chapter 3. Chapters 2 and 3 also includes both of their journeys recovering from massive mental health declines. Now? They're back to themselves more or less and are about to meet in Waterdeep for a week of dates. "Courting," if you will.

This is the morning of the day they'll be reunited.

CURRENT word count: 1,750 (it's gonna be a long boi like chapter 3)

No smut or anything tag/trigger worthy...yet...

Chapter 1 by @alpydk: "Consequences"

Chapter 2 by me: "Acquiescence"

Chapter 3 by me: "Tenacity"

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

On Sunday morning, Tav crawled out of her tent, blinking rapidly in the brightness of the dawn. As her eyes focused, she gasped as she noticed a familiar set of wings attached to a small, furry body.

"Tara?" she asked, voice echoing the mix of surprise and confusion in her brain.

In the span of about 2 seconds, her mind raced through a dozen scenarios and her anxiety spiked. Was Gale ok? Did something happen? Did he change his mind? Is Tara here to give her a (well-deserved) tongue lashing and tell her to stay away?

She didn't know what feeling was stronger: her fear, or her overwhelming respect for this very large creature in a very small body who has looked after Gale her whole life, no matter the challenges, disappointments, or perils. Never walking away, always a sage guide and friend. Whichever feeling it was, it rendered her silent.

"Good morning, Miss Taviela. I trust you slept well?"

She blinked a few more times before stammering, "Y-yes, I believe I did. I'm, ah, still getting my thoughts together... I'm pleasantly surprised to see you here, is everything alright?"

"Hmm...yes. I would think you'd be surprised to see me." Tara sat up straight and stared at Tav, as if she expected the sleepy woman before her to have the wherewithal to continue this most unexpected conversation.

After a few awkward seconds, Tav continued, "How was your, er, flight? The weather seems beautiful this morning..."

Silence.

"Is...Gale alright? Did something happen?" Tav asked hesitantly.

Tara simply blinked and replied in an even tone, "Mister Dekarios is quite well. He is very much looking forward to...reuniting with you this evening."

The graceful tressym with the intimidating presence was simply observing Tav. Looking for any signs that would give her reason to question her intentions. Any indignation, a hint of a lie, something that would put her dearest, life-long wizard friend back in danger of getting his heart trampled on again.

More silence.

Tav shifted so she now sat cross-legged in front of her tent, looking down at her fidgeting hands. "Tara..., listen, I know I-"

Tara interrupted, finally putting Tav out of her misery. "No, you listen, Miss Taviela. It should be no surprise that I'm very wary of this entire situation." She was firm, but also gentle. Tav had looked up in shock, but now quickly closed her mouth, took a shaky breath while looking back to her hands, and nodded her head solemnly.

Tara continued, "My poor Gale has had his heart broken and re-broken and re-broken more times than I care to count. I cannot bear to see it shattered into dust. I'm not sure what your intentions are, Miss Taviela, but I can promise you that I will not sit idly by and allow him to have what little remains of his self-worth taken from him and tossed to the winds."

It sounded like there was more to this early-morning lecture, but Tara paused when she heard Tav sniffling. She tilted her head slightly as she watched the first of the day's sunbeams shine rainbows through the fat tears that fell from the woman's downcast eyes.

Finally, taking a shuddering breath, Tav looked up and sobbed, "You will never know the depth of my grief and sadness over the pain I caused him. I've berated and chastised myself every single day since that horrible night with Mizora. I was a different person then, still struggling with my identity after severing my attachment with Bhaal. Not to mention still being tadpoled; so many voices in my head of everyone's thoughts. We were getting so close to that third stone and the Netherbrain and all Gale was going on about was that godsdamned crown..." She paused, looked at the ground in shame, and shook her head. "All that aside, there's no excuse for what I did that night or anything that happened after."

She paused again for a deep breath. Looking back up at Tara pleadingly, she sobbed all the harder, "I know you have no reason to trust me. Hells, I wouldn't trust me. But I can promise you that I have no ill will towards Gale and the last thing I want to do is cause him even a second more of pain. I still can't forgive myself, even though he has, and I don't understand how he could possibly still see any good in me, but he does."

She took a couple breaths to compose herself, the tressym gingerly walking closer and sitting within arm's reach. Her glare had softened into concern.

Tav shakily continued, "I owe you an apology too, Tara. I know I said several harsh comments to you as well. Not to mention the affect Gale's misery has had on your life. I know you care for him and look out for him in more ways than I will ever understand. I'm so sorry for letting my childish and petty actions and lapse of judgment permeate your life. I regret everything I said and did to cause you both so much pain, and I always will."

Tara had laid down next to her knee by this point, listening and discerning the tone of her voice and the genuineness of her emotions.

Tav kept going, "I am absolutely gobsmacked that Gale still has any desire to see or talk to me, let alone that he still harbors any kind of love for me. I don't feel worthy of any of it, yet he still believes in me. And the only fault on his part was wanting to overreach in an attempt to provide the best possible future for us. How can I stay angry over that?"

She sighed and looked back down at the ground. Tears welling up once more. "Anything he said to me in anger, the spells he used against me, was very deserved, and I don't fault him one bit." Her voice breaking, she couldn't bear to say anymore. She tucked her knees up against her body, held them close, put her head down, and let the torrent of sadness and regret wash over her.

Having no lap to lay in, Tara curled up next to Tav's hip. Her heart broke for this poor woman. She had to remind herself that Tav was still shedding a life of murder and lies under the thumb of Bhaal. Anyone clawing their way towards a better life from that mess should be commended. Her motives seemed genuine, her repentance real. Tara was still skeptical, of course. But she'd be suspicious of anyone who had captured the heart of her dear wizard friend, and they would be subject to her scrutiny.

Tara sat up, turned to face Tav, and put one paw out on her thigh, the smallest olive branch, encased in white and orange and brown fur. In a soft, motherly voice, the tressym finally spoke.

"There there, dear. Gale knows your heart. He still believes that you genuinely love him and want to press forward." Tav cried harder when she heard this. She still couldn't believe the love of her life was willing to be so forgiving and dedicated to her. It was truly overwhelming.

Tara continued, "Here, he asked me to come find you and pass along this note." With a flick of her tail, a purple orb of mist appeared in front of Tav's face. A tan envelope materialized with a doodle on the front: an eternity symbol wrapped around two hearts; one with a G, and one with a T. Their sign. Tav smiled and let out a little chuckle, gently plucking the envelope out of the air and clutching it to her chest with both hands.

Breathing a deep sigh of relief, she realized how much tension she'd been holding in her body. She let her shoulders relax, closed her eyes and tried to get her trembling hands to steady themselves.

Tara took this moment to continue, "Mister Dekarios also felt it prudent that you and I attempt to clear the air before you visit the tower, which is primarily why I'm here. Now, I hear your apology, and I believe it to be sincere. I know how much you mean to him and I know it wouldn't be possible for me to come between you two even if I wanted to."

She stopped and pulled back her paw, licking at it before sitting up straight. "But if I've learned anything during my time with Gale, it's that anyone can come back from the biggest of mistakes. You both know what it's like to commit severe lapses in judgment, and you both have had to deal with the consequences of your actions."

Tav nodded her head, tears having subsided and sniffles becoming more infrequent.

"But I've also seen you both rise to some of life's most terrifying challenges. Defeating The Dead Three while having an ilithid parasite swimming around in your brain, wondering if each day, each second would be your last, only to go on to defeat a Netherbrain and save Faerûn from ruin and destruction... I'd say you two are capable of conquering anything. Even each others' follies."

Tav smiled and let out a small chuckle. "I suppose you're right," she said as she sighed. With a smile and a wink, Tav continued, "And gods know we're both stubborn enough, to boot."

"Oh, don't remind me." Tara said rolling her eyes, backing up in preparation for her departure. "I can't tell you how many days I told him to stop trying to compose letters to you in those first few months. But he'd just keep writing and writing and sighing and crumpling up paper and even lighting it on fire while it dissolved into ash in the air."

Unfurling her beautiful wings in the morning light, Tara lifted up a few feet in the air in front of Tav, looking her directly in the eye.

"Chin up, my dear, and dry those tears. You have a wizard who loves you meeting you for dinner tonight. Best start getting yourself together." Tav smiled again and held up her hand, allowing Tara to give it a little 'bonk' with her forehead.

As the tressym flew off, Tav took a long deep breath, closed her eyes, and let it out, allowing her exhale to take the weight of the world with it.

She had a wizard who loves her.

And he was meeting her for dinner tonight.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

I cannot WAIT to finish this story!! Just hang in there while I get some things sorted, and I'll be able to give this realm of fanfic my 100%. 💜 Remember - Gale loves you, and you should never, NEVER doubt that. 💜

[yanderend]

Male Yandere Worshipper x Gender Neutral Reader

Kazuo, The Worshipper ; First Encounter

Requested by an anon

The Worshipper has a fragile heart, it doesn't take much for him to break down.

His home is especially strict, with rules that complicate even the smallest of tasks— and that's overwhelming enough, but with the harassment he gets at school and work he's always at the brink of an emotional meltdown.

So one morning, when he's preoccupied with watching his step in an alleyway slightly overgrown with nature he bumps into you.

Realising that he's managed to knock you down, he immediately panics! Today's already been particularly stressful, and now he's hurt a total stranger!

'Oh no oh no— I'm so sorry, please forgive me...' Kazuo pleads, knealing down to help you up. 'It wasn't on purpose, I swear! I-' He's on the verge of hyperventilating, so you quickly say something to help.

'Oh, hey, no, it's okay!' You hush, picking yourself up with his assistance. 'It was my mistake, I was in a rush...'

You dust yourself off with one hand, and keep holding onto him with another.

The Worshipper is instantly soothed, your gentle touch as your body-weight rests on his arm becoming the only thing he can focus on.

Did you really just forgive him? When was the last time someone forgave one of his mistakes? Come to think of it, it had been uncomfortably long since someone had so much as thanked him for something. No wonder he was close to breaking.

'Are you alright?' You ask, backing off when you notice his body shaking.

Kazuo takes a sharp breath, and forces himself to look at your face; the last thing he'd want to do is be impolite to someone so kind...

But as his eyes meet yours he is consumed by a feeling of epiphany— the way the sun from the end of the alley gave you a halo effect was far too fitting. In his mind, he was in the presence of something far greater and far more gracious than a normal human.

'I'm... I'm perfect. Thank you.' Kazuo's voice is barely above a whisper, completely entranced.

Taking that he's feeling okay, you take that as your cue to keep moving.

'I'm sorry— I'd love to make this up to you, but I've got to meet someone at the café now. I hope we meet again.' You wave, and leave him standing in the alley.

A moment passes, and Kazuo grounds himself. He blinks away the tears that welled up during the exchange, and brings a hand to his heart.

Beneath his robes, he can feel his heart hammering— but it's not out of anxiety, it's something completely different.

He needs to see you again. Was it the café, you said you were at?

The Worshipper can feel his feet move before his brain can catch up. He might be returning late to the shrine, but he can deal with that hardship, so long as he gets to make sure you're safe.

You did say you wanted to see him, after all. It's not strange to want to fulfil that request.

'It's just this once,' he whispers to himself, tentatively watching you sip your drink through a window. 'I promise...'

—

Bonus: General Headcanons and Trivia

The Worshipper works at his family's shinto shrine, and is put through a lot of physical labour there. He's built up some toned muscle due to all that work, it's just not what you'd expect from someone that looks so scrawny with all the layers he wears.

He was constantly tormented through his school years, and is relieved to finally be seeing the end of it, as it's his final year. Thankfully, he hasn't dealt with much abuse at school this year, but there are still some unsavoury types that take their frustrations out on him— so the stress isn't fully gone yet.

He has experienced pressure from childhood to be both spiritual and successful; it's definitely gone to his head, and upon meeting his darling everything makes sense to him. You were the missing piece— the real reason for him living!

He's a crybaby and much prefers to admire from afar, sending notes and small gifts as 'offerings'. Kazuo would really rather avoid any confrontation, with you or anyone else. God forbid you were to turn away his attempts at affection- he'd rather die.

The Worshipper isn't completely void of possessive behaviour though, it's just rare. It'll take someone genuinely posing a threat to you, or seeing that you might reciprocate feelings for someone else for him to act on it.

[lilly-onthevalley]

2024

This year has been a lesson and a half. I've learnt so many new things, met so many new people and gotten so many new opportunities.

2024 for me is going to me led by the 4 B's

Brains, Body, Boldness and Boundaries

Nothing has changed in my goals. I am still hypergamous, driven and passionate, however, if you've been following, my journey hasn't been one that's easy. Thankfully, 2023 gave me clarification on many of my theories.

I realised that I don't need to compromise my sovereignty. The social aspect of this kind of journey is one that can not be overlooked and I thought because of this and who I am, I needed to dull myself down and conform to a set of imaginary rules and restrictions. That proved not to be the case and I noticed my success would decrease the more I didn't embrace myself.

Men will come and go. Men will chase and lose interest. Men will fall in love and beg on your doorstep till their lungs and knuckles give out. The point is, there will always be a man for you, who will treat you right, give you the sun and moon and simultaneously there will always be a bum waiting to waste your time, abuse you and drag you through the pits. Choose wisely and respect yourself. Don't be a daisy cow, they don't deserve it, no matter how rich, hot, successful and/or generous.

Furthermore, there will always be room for you if you remain on the top of your game, which means keeping up with your education, being involved in various community aspects, being mentally healthy and taking meticulous care of your body and beauty. More than anything these days, people are attracted to health, maturity and self accountability, traits that you should already have for your own self respect and preservation.

I've had a problem seeking validation from those around me because I always happen to be the minority, the new girl in the room and the only woman in the space. Time has been the best teacher, I have learnt who I am, by that I mean the type of woman that I am, what are my strengths, what are my weaknesses, what I can get away with and what I need to do when I need to do it.

One thing that will always be true is that I am intelligent, kind, funny, extremely high functioning, hardworking, and most importantly, that I am desirable and cherished from head to toe, especially when I exhibit who I am at my core. (Something I have struggled to believe because of my race and deep skin tone)

Insecurity is a pain, the realest pain for this generation, and it doesn't come alone. It brings its entourage ; lack of self respect, desperation, anxiety, dysmorphia and the like. Overcoming it has been part of my journey of maturity and I can't be more happy to be free and embracing my journey and who I am.

I'm not sure about you all, but my life is and has been filled with action, excitement, softness and work. And it will continue to be as such.

I'm ready to bring back my defined makeup, my excitement, my sweetness, my sass, and so much more I've been keeping slightly under wraps, truly, because I can, because I am allowed to and because I am loved for it.

2024 plans

- Dyeing my hair jet black again to bring out my features

- First out of 4 relaxers of the year

- Learning the arts of the home

- Ballet

- Maintaining my social, career and educational endeavours

- Bringing up my makeup game

- Building another capsule wardrobe

- Travelling

- Charity

- Reading wider

- Having fun while keeping the boundaries I have on myself and those around me

🤍

[goose-duck]

♡Our World♡ (Pt. 5)

Killer x Reader

~~~~~~

Killer from One Piece x reader

Killer is in our world and meets you!! :D

Pt 4 Pt 6

~~~~~~

Y/N expirencing health problems and Killer helps

~~~~~~

•Physical/mental health problems

•Self harm/Suicide talked about

•Slight NSFW but not too explicit

•Comfort!!

He'd been living with me for a few days now and it was starting to feel normal, like he was always meant to be in my life. Thinking about it makes my anxieties spike..I have no idea how long he'll he here or if there will even be a warning before he leaves. I sigh to myself, trying to find something else to think about. Killer looks over hearing my sigh and gives me a worried and confused look. I look over at him and make a small gesture indicating that I'm okay. He nods at me and returns to watching the TV. We're both in the den, he's got his elbow rested on the arm of the couch and I'm leaning against his shoulder. We're watching a cooking show, he seems to like it a lot. I'm happy he's enjoying himself here.

While watching the TV I notice my vision blurring a bit. I squint my eyes a bit then try blinking quickly, trying to make my vision come back but my eyes start watering. Lucky everything is subtle enough Killer hasn't noticed. He's seen me struggle with my health already but I try to avoid making it something he needs to worry about. I start to feel dizzy and I can't take it anymore, groaning and covering my eyes with my hands as the headache sets in. Killer looks over at me, “what's wrong?” He asks sternly, making sure he has my attention and I can lie my way out of this. “It's fine…just a headache” I whine out through my pain knowing it's not just a headache. “It's obviously not okay. What's going on? Is there anything I can do?” He asks softly, putting a hand on my thigh. “Turn the TV off.” I say while groaning, it sounds a lot more aggressive than I'd intended but it gets the point across.

Killer quickly turns the TV off, flicking the lights off too and closing the curtains quickly figuring out I'm having a migraine or something along those lines. My body relaxes a little as the room gets darker and quieter, however I still keep my hands Iver my eyes, putting pressure on the point of pain just above my left eyebrow. I'd been hit with a baseball a few years ago and my doctor refuses to take it seriously so the problem only got worse until I got a new doctor who informed me my brain was damaged and my skull had been cracked and has since healed wrong. It's miserable, the pain I get sometimes. I haven't told many people, I feel dramatic when this happens and all I can do is whine and cry and wait for it to end. I feel so pathetic.

Killer kneels in front of me putting his hands on my thighs and rubbing them a little, he whispers, “please tell me what's wrong. Is it a migraine..?” He sounds more distressed than I'd expected. I've had many people be a little concerned but ultimately move on when I brush it off but he's persistent. I let out a strained sigh, “I don't know…it's…nerve damage around there…” I weakly point just above my left eyebrow where the pain is centered at. Killer takes my shaky hands in his own to move them out of the way so he can get a better look at my forehead. He doesn't see anything, it's not a visible injury, not anymore. This seems to worry him more, it's not something he can fix easily if it's internal. He lets out an irritated sigh as he realizes there's not much he can do. “What can I do help?” He concedes, not knowing how to help me. I'll be the first to admit I'd never learned how to properly deal with this, usually opting to just suffer in silence until it goes away. I whine at him, in to much pain to really use my words anymore, pulling my hands away from his and putting pressure back on my forehead.

Killer quickly goes to stop me, understanding why I'm doing this but knowing it's not really fixing anything. He gently grabs my hands again, trying to be gentle as he pulls them away from my forehead but I put up a fight. He continues trying to be gentle but is getting annoyed with me and end up just roughly pulling my hands away from head causing me to let out a gasp. He panics a little and rubs my hands, “Are you okay? I didn't hurt you did I? Did I hurt you? Y/N?” I groan at him in slight annoyance but nod to tell him I'm fine, I just wasnt expecting him to do that. He lets out a shaky breath, relived he didn't make things worse. I sit there shaking in pain and squirming as he holds my hands on my lap. He whispers comforting words to me, occasionally kissing my hands.

Soon it's over and I calm down, breathing a bit heavily from the intense pain i was in. I feel the wetness around my eyes, I must have started crying at some point. Killer looks up at my exhausted form once I sto writhing around. He gently sets a hand on my cheek and wipes some of my tears, giving me a soft look, “you okay..?” He asks softly, still caressing my cheek. I lean into his touch and nod. He smiles at me a bit before looking down at my still shaky hands in my lap. He rubs the hand he's still holding, “Do you know what that was..?” “Some sort of nerve damage…untreated head injury…” he nods silently. 

He moves his hand up my forearm a bit, holding it gently and pressing a kiss to the inner side. I'm a little shocked and confused, “what was that for?” I question the blonde. He just kisses my forearm a few more times not saying anything. I get progressively more confused before it hits me and I freeze up a bit. “Is…is it my scars..?” I ask hesitantly. He nods, still gently pressing kisses to my arm. I awkwardly hid my face in his hand still on my cheek, my face heating up as I'm embarrassed of my past actions towards myself. I kiss the palm of his hand before using my free hand to move his hand away from my face, rubbing it softly. “I don't do it anymore…so…don't worry about it…okay..?” I whisper to him as if someone else would hear me. He stops kissing my scars for a second and gives me a look. I quickly return the look, squinting at him quizzically, “don't belive me?” I ask with a snarky tone. He rolls his eyes at me, “Y/N…I did see your thighs in the tub earlier.” He says in an obvious tone. I shut my mouth immediately rembering he'd cleaned me earlier. “Ohhh…haha….right…..” I trail off, avoiding eye contact.

He glares at me like a disappointed mother before sighing and dropping his head, “Y/N…please…” he sounds so done with me and my playing off everything as normal. I make a strange face as I realize I've been caught with my problems, “uhhhhh…I probably won't stop, I'm not gonna lie to you.” He looks up, glaring at me again before relaxing his face again, “fine, I can't force you I guess…just…don't take it too far…” he asks me nervously, giving me a desperate look. I put a hand on his head and rub it a bit, much like what he does to comfort me sometimes. “I tried it once…it was such an embarrassing failure I don't think I could dare try again..” I admit softly to him, knowing it probably won't help much but it's the truth. He looks very concerned at the idea I've tried to end my life before but he trusts that I'm not lying about being too embarrassed to ever try again. 

“Can you…uh..” he starts to ask me something before giving up, deciding it might not be worth asking. I already know what he wanted to ask, “you wanna see it…the scar from when I…uh…there's a scar…um…other arm…” I mumble out, I want him to see, I don't want to try to hide myself from him, that doesn't make this any less of a tough subject though. He turns his head to look at my other arm, holding it gently in his hand and brushing his fingers over the large scar. He does something I really should have been expecting from him by now but was still shocked by, he kisses the scar…the scar from when I'd tried to end myself…he kissed it like any other scar…like any other part of me. I feel myself tearing up again but manage to hold back from crying again. “why'd you do it..? If you're okay with telling me…” he mumbles against my scar. 

I tell him why I did it, what pushed me to the point of finding now value in life, what was the final step to me wanting to fall off the earth. He pays close attention, nodding when I'm done, “I'm happy you failed…even if it's something you're embarrassed by…if you weren't here…I suppose I wouldn't know…but…I feel like I'd know something's wrong anyway.” his words are soft and kind, I think it's a bit odd to think he'd know I'm gone even without prior knowledge of my existence but I accept the sweet words anyway, happy I'm here to be with him now. “have you ever…” I whisper, not having it in me to finish my question. Killer shakes his head, “I haven't…but…I understand kinda…I have a friend who…um..he..” Killer’s breath gets shaky as he stops talking and pushes his face into my hand. I know from my own behaviour he's holding back tears. I pet his head, running my fingers through his soft hair, “it's okay if you wanna cry…if you don't though…I understand…I'll be here either way.” I quietly say to him. He nods into my hand, letting a few tears fall before they stop soon after.

Killer sits upright, his eyes red like mine from crying. He looks at me, his eyes looking sad. It my turn to comfort him now, giving him a soft smile. “I'll be here whenever you want me, okay..? I'm here for you…just ask…” I whisper to him. He looks down, seeming thoughtful, “you always say ‘want’ never ‘need’, is there a reason for that?” he asks me, curios to my specific wording. I answer him to the best of my ability, “if I'm wanted it's a choice to have me around, to have me help you…of I'm needed it doesn't exactly mean its a choice, it means I'm the best option and when I'm no longer usefull you'll leave me…” he nods in understanding, “well then…I want you in my life…things have been better since meeting you but I would have been fine without you…so, just know, I want you here, okay?” “I know you want me with you…you'd have left if you didn't…I want you in my life too.” he smiles at my reciprocation of his feelings. I smile back at him and hug him in teh slightly awkward position we're in for a hug. He hugs me back.

As Killer pulls away he holds my face in his hands, squishing my cheeks a bit and giving me a bright smile, it may not visibly be different from the one he can't remove from his face but it feels different, it's all in his beautiful blue eyes. It's love, that look, it's something I've never seen before, but I know what it's meant to be. In that moment I'm so tempted to lean in and kiss him but I hold myself back, afraid I'm wrong. He must see it on my face, this desperation to express my feelings, yet the hesitation, the fear of getting hurt. He doesn't move to kiss me either, he knows I need to do it myself or it'll never feel right to me. 

He pulls his hands away from my face and stand up, patting me on the head and messing up my hair a little. He takes his earlier spot on yhe couch beside me and puts me in his lap. I let out a small shocked noise but relax against him. He holds me gently, a hand around my mid section and a hand on my thigh. I rest my hands on his, both on the hand on my stomach. I feel him kiss the back of my head before resting his chin on top of my head. I look up at him and stick my tongue out. He hesitates for a second before doing the same. My eyes widen as I notice a tongue piercing. He gives me a confused look before realizing what my shocked look is for. He chuckles, “like it?” my face turns red, I nod at him, “love it.” he smiles at me, squeezing my thigh and putting his head on my shoulding rather than my head. I look at him out of the corner of my eye and smile. He smiles back.

I turn the TV back on and we both sit like this for a while before I feel something on my neck. It's wet, squishy and has a metal bit…this this man licking me!? I feel my whole body heat up as I get flustered. He seems to notice I've noticed what he's doing and he chuckles against my neck making this feeling worse. I turn my head away from him knowing he'll know immediately from that stupid look on my face that I'm embarrassed. He nibbles my neck a little and I squeal. He laughs again, “look at me…” he teases. I look at him, my face giving away everything. He smirks at me, kissing my jaw before going back to watching the TV, playing innocent. I huff and poke his nose, “don't stop now, asshole..” I encourage him to continue, it felt nice, but strange, I'd never experienced this before…not in this way at least…it's nice when it's with someone you love. Love? Do I love him? Noooo…huh uh…this is..uh…fuck. I feel like I'm about to overheat as I realize my feelings fully. I'd known the feelings were there but I refused to acknowledge them…now I can't deny it…I'd just asked this man to continue is sweet assault on my neck.

He continues as I'd requested. He seems to know what he's doing, trying to find what'll make me happy. I do a lot of giggling, it's how I always react to these kinds of things, I'm not sure how else to express myself. He seems happy with the laughter coming from me as I enjoy myself. I know it's probably not the typical reaction to this, but it's how I show I'm enjoying myself. “you know, it's cute you laugh when feeling this sensation…it's so different, but it's so you..” he smiles against my neck, sticking his tongue out and running the ball of his tongue piercing against it gently. I find myself snickering at this, “I'm glad you like it haha!” I tear up a bit at the funny and pleasant feeling. 

He holds my head gently, leaning it away from him so he can get at my neck a bit better. I let him do this, giggling more. I feel him bite me a few times and suck on my neck a bit, he'll definitely leave marks but at this point I don't mind. It's him, he could leave any mark on me and I'd be okay with it. He rubs the side of my head a little with his thumb and he holds my head away from him, it's sweet. He pulls away for a second, “tell me if I'm hurting you, okay?” I nod at him, he glares, “verbal answer.” he demands. “I'll tell you if I'm not okay with something.” I answer quickly, wanting him to continue. “Good.” he then goes back to my neck and I lean into his hand holding my head.

He starts to move down to my collar bones and as he nears my chest I tap his shoulder. He stops and looks up at me. I shake my head at him, signaling not to go any further down. He nods at me, “thanks for being gentle, but you don't have to be gentle, if I'm doing something you don't like you can yell at me to stop.” I give him a small nod and he pulls my hair I bit. I yelp, “what was that for!?” I yell at him. He does it again and I tear up, “Stop!!” I yell at him again, hitting his shoulder. He stops immediately, “good. I want you to do that if I do something you don't like. Understand?” I give him a shaky nod, “I understand…” 

He sees the tears in my eyes and gently rubs my head, “sorry for that…I was just worried you might not do it… can I make it up to you?” I'm a bit shocked by the apology, not because it's him, but because people have done much worse without apology. “oh..uh…hm…” I think about how he can make it up to me that he pulled my hair like that. While I think he brushes some tears from my eyes, giving me a patient look. I put my hands on his cheeks and give him a determined look, “can I kiss you?” I ask with confidence that surprises myself. “is that how you'd like your apology?” he jokes with me. I snicker, “I'd want this anyway, but we can call it your apology.” he leans into my hold on his face a little, “I'll do something else for you after, I want this kiss as much as you.”

I get a little nervous shaking a bit…I close my eyes and sigh then open them with a more sure look on my face. I lean into him and just before I kiss him I stop. Looking him in the yes for any hint of doubt but I see none. He puts a hand on my cheek, signaling me to do what I desire. I nod and kiss him, my lips pressing against his. He kisses me back, softly. I quickly pull away, not really knowing what to do with everything i was feeling. He seems a little shocked I was so quick but let's out a small giggle and smiles at me, finding it cute, “good job.” he praises my terrible kiss. I give him a joking glare before letting go of his face and pushing my head into his chest embarrassed, “it was not!! You did great but I felt like I sucked!” he rubs my back a little, “was that your first kiss?” I shake my head, embarrassed I've done this before yet I kissed him like some kid who's just had their first kiss. He smiles at me realizing I probably kissed him like that because of the emotions behind it, like a kid having their first crush I was embarrassed and excited and overwhelmed with unfamiliar emotions. My kiss reflected every thought and feeling. Though Killer wishes the kiss could have been longer he's happy he got to kiss me how I felt was right in the moment.

I look at him with a dumb lovestruck look. He looks back at me, a loving look in his eyes, “you did great…that was perfect..” he whispers. “really..?” I mumble back, unsure if he's just being nice or if he really thinks I did well. He nods, “yeah, it was you.” My eyes widen at that, he liked it because it was me..? He follows up, “it was your emotions, that kiss, it was everything you felt in that moment.” I smile at him, “you're not disappointed?” he shakes his head, “if your kisses are always like that I'm okay with it. If your kisses change I'm okay with that too…I just want them to always be honest.” he kisses my forehead as he finishes off his sentence. I hide my face again, this time in the crook of his neck. He giggles at this action, finding it sweet that I get so flustered at his sweet words.

I see a great opertunity with this and decide to try to do what he'd done earlier. I awkwardly pick his neck which prompts him to giggle. I get even more embarrassed, “was it bad? I'm sorry-” he cuts me off, outright laughing a bit and reasuring me, “it's perfect, I just didn't expect you to do it.” he plays with my hair a bit, calming his laughing, “continue, it was great.” I feel him kiss the top of my head as I continue. Unlike my earlier laughter he’s doing his best to stifle some less family friendly sounds. I get embarrassed after a while and stop by kissing his collar bone and pulling away. I look up at his bright red face and giggle a bit, “looking good, Kill.” his face turns more red and he hides behind his hand. I laugh a bit more, “don't hide, it's cute!” I try to encourage him to look at me but he hides his ever reddening face more. I feel the heat on my face too, knowing I got him like this is a feeling I can't express. 

I lay my head on his chest and relax against him. He looks down at me and wraps his arms around me, holding me close. He seems to calm down a little as he rests his head on top of mine once again. We stay like this, cuddling on the couch, the TV playing quietly in the background. It feels nice, like this is where I'm supposed to be. Maybe that's why I screwed up so long ago…so I could be here for this…so I could learn to be alive. So I could feel love. So we could meet. I'm so happy. Killer…I want to be live…I want to be alive…please be alive with me. I smile to myself, face buried in his chest, I'm safe and I'm alive..he's alive…we're safe. This is what it's like to be loved. I'm happy he's here. I'm happy I'm here.

“Killer?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.”

“For?”

“Does it matter?”

“If you don't wanna tell me that's okay.”

“Thanks.”

“You're welcome.”

“I'll stop…”

“Huh? Oh..good.”

“Mhm…”

“I'm happy you decided to…I'll be here if you want help.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

“I'm here for you too.”

“huh?”

“If you want my help..with..anything.”

“Thank you.”

“You're welcome, Kill.”

“Love you…Y/N.”

“Hm?”

“I love you.”

“I-...I love you too, Killer.”

[achubbydumpling]

Seeing your acc pop up again and then looking at Chris has made my brain fiend on thoughts of chubby C. Evans kssbskdndkdkld sorry just thought you should know how iconic ur impact is

haha I'm always happy to inspire chubby cevans thoughts :D

I have said this many times but I can just imagine him so perfectly getting chubby, like all those pictures we have of him drinking beer 😩😩 and the calories in alcohol can so easily add up (mild intox warning for under the cut)

Does it, Chris? 😏

maybe he takes a break from acting, maybe to direct some of his own stuff, whatever the reason, he suddenly has more free time where he doesn't have to worry about his diet for his upcoming role

I think his natural body type is a bit leaner than what he trains for, so imagine in his mind he's like "it takes a lot of work to gain muscle, that means I have a fast metabolism, so I won't gain fat very quickly either" an easy justification for droping pretty much his entire diet and training regime

maybe he still enjoys lifting, but some extra calories might even help with that, so what if he doesn't even really notice the gain at first

he's taking a break, so he's wearing mostly loose comfortable clothes, his days are spent catching up on movies and shows he hasn't had the time to watch, slow walks with Dodger and the evenings are spent in various bars hanging out with friends he's spent way too little time with while he was working

so yeah he's getting comfortable, settling into a slower life and hey he's in his fourties, it'd be totally normal for the middle-aged spread to set in, nothing to worry about

ok his jeans pinch a bit when he puts them on, his belt buckle digs into his stomach when he's sitting down, it's not like he has a real belly, it's just a bit more of a curve instead of the toned abs he maintained for most of his roles

and it's not all bad, he's gotten compliments on how he's bulking up, his arms get thicker, his chest looks bigger (his waist does too but that pretty much evens out, right? :D)

appearance is like 80% of an actor's job, since Chris is anxiety-prone anyway maybe he worries about it, putting together diet plans when he wakes up after another evening spent in some bar(s), but this is also nice, a vacation, so he waits with bated breath for the other shoe to drop

it never does

5lbs, turn into 10, maybe 15lbs, his shirts start clinging to the growing curve in his middle, he can still suck it in and flex and he looks like he used to, it's not that much weight, but Chris finds his hands drifting there nonetheless

there's something about it.. especially when he comes home late at night with his belly full of beer and bar food, when he's tipsy and relaxed, his posture is loose, maybe there's even still a smile playing around his lips as he undresses to fall into bed

his knuckles brush his bloated belly as he tries to undo the button on his jeans, that's been getting harder lately, but when he finally manages it the zipper slides down on its own when the beer bloat settles lower on his middle, instinctively he cups the swell of his lower belly

it perfectly fills his palm, warm excitement bubbles up in his chest, like he suddenly has too much energy where he just wanted to crawl into bed a minute ago, he scratches over the sensitive skin to alleviate the excited buzzing, it does nothing except make him want to touch more, explore, really push his limits

there's a certain spirit for competition needed to make it in his profession, a drive that takes Chris over now and stirs him into the kitchen, not the bedroom

just a snack, nothing crazy, maybe another beer, it's barely past 1 am

he grabs a pack of peanuts and a beer, some water too, as fun as this is hangovers are a bitch

just in socks, underwear and a shirt Chris flops down on the bed, he takes a pull from the bottle before he rips open the peanuts, the salt is exactly the thing he needed after a few hours of drinking, he didn't go overboard, just maintained a constant buzz that had him feeling happy, floaty and in exactly the right mood to down an entire package of salted peanuts

it's the perfect feedback loop, salt, beer, salt, beer, the package is empty in no time at all and Chris can almost see his belly bloat from how quickly he finishes the beer, it feels like an achievement when the empty bottle hits his nightstand

with no one around Chris doesn't even try to stifle his burps, sprawled out on the bed, he almost feels like some roman ruler, pure decadence

there's nothing better than running his hands over his belly, it's so round, his sides too, he can't quite grab any fat yet but just being able to pinch a little roll makes him want more, more food and long evenings spent in some dimly lit bar surrounded by the people he loves most, more lazy days and days capped off with a cold beer

his hands travel lower and it's like a switch is flipped, his mind scatters, flooding with images of his bloated belly getting bigger, softer, his entire body, now that he's looking have his thighs gotten thicker? didn't they used to have proper muscle definition?

when he relaxes completely there's a slight jiggle to them, god he can't wait for that to develop properly, action hero figure be damned he needs to know what another 20lbs will look like

(sorry for the late response I hope there's still something in here for you, anon, in my wild ramblings haha and if you want to share those thoughts of chubby C. Evans 👀 my inbox is always open (I promise I'll try to respond quicker 🙈))

[venacesaur]

I've been struggling to journal lately for some reason so I'm going to try writing some daily entries about my life on here. No one cares but idc. Unfollow if you don't want to read it lmao Yesterday I went to a museum with a friend I haven't seen in a long time, which was nice. But we spent almost the entire day together which made me feel very socially hungover today. She texted me something about how she hasn't been that happy in a long time, and although I like her and we've been friends for years now, it made me feel a little put off. Nothing to do with her, but this sort of situation really confirms for me that I still have avoidant attachment issues, not just anxious attachment (hooray for having a disorganized attachment style!). It's frustrating to be, on the one hand, constantly yearning for connection and affection, but then simultaneously wanting to throw up and run away when I actually get it. Like I'm literally just frustrated with myself for feeling this way but I'm not sure what to do about it. For now I'm just being aware of it I guess. I wrote something a few months ago about how it's just like being super hungry but then suddenly losing your appetite when you finally get food. And the only solution, really, is that you have to kind of force yourself to eat, even if it's only a few bites and you feel nauseous. I know I've also been feeling down in general these past few days which is likely a combo of hormonal issues (my body has been weird this month) and the weather being unusually dismal for this time of year. And then I've been realizing that I've had a lot of nightmares lately, especially since losing my job last month. I noticed that I've had a recurring nightmare scenario about a specific chemical I worked with in my last job, which wasn't even the most hazardous chemical I handled, so I don't know why this one has been sticking in my brain. It's a blue stain for staining cells, which means that it is both toxic and it's an INCREDIBLY strong dye. In these dreams, I take off my gloves and see that some of the stain still got on my hands, and I keep washing my hands, but it doesn't come off. In this latest dream, it actually got worse the more I scrubbed my hands, and there ended up being so much blue all over my hands and the sink water started turning black.

Sometimes my nightmares also have unsettling music or sounds that continue replaying in my head when I wake up (just like listening to a song too many times). In this dream, I started getting more and more frantic trying to wash my hands, and I heard this resonant ticking sound in my head like a grandfather clock striking. It seemed to be counting the seconds but got faster and faster. When I woke up, I had to go to the bathroom and look at my hands in the mirror just to see that they were clean. It's a strange dream theme for me, since my nightmares usually tend to involve supernatural creatures, evil presences, and darkness. I'm not exactly sure what this new hand washing theme means, but I think it might have something to do with my anxiety.

On the bright side, I opened this can of red bean paste that I got from a local Japanese store, and I spread some on toast which was pretty good. But now I'm all out of bread and need to get groceries soon. Sigh...

[torawro]

SOSA. here with more hiroki brain rot… i thought of this the other day and i can’t get it out of my mind. dan hiroki with a s/o just as equally as twisted as him, but he doesn’t know.

think of the series YOU on netflix. he’s absolutely infatuated with you and knows everything about you and stalks and does whatever to get closer. you are his hyperfixation during all free time, but he doesn’t realize he is that to you as well.

he’s going back and forth serving justice to people and on the side, so are you. as a detective, he’s aware of the sudden bodies popping up of people who has done what he considers bad deeds—but it’s the same way HE does it. the MO fits him to a T and he truly is baffled, thinking that maybe someone has a lead on him and this was their own sick and twisted way to let him know that THEY know.

little does he know. his cute lil precious angel that consumed his mind nearly every second of the day is behind all these. will he ever find out? who will know, but IF HE DOES? wow. it’s like true love all over again. the idea of you he was in love with before has changed into something else—you are true love. you are a true understanding. ,,, now. all i am picture is him taking you out on a bloody table like he’s in head OOPS. it’s just :…) a bloody mess. TLDR ya make his dick hard ! LOL

oh.... oh baby.. this is good. this is very very good. ugh ur BRAIN !! lit rally your brain is so so amazing :(( i really like this concept !

cw — ! dark content ahead, minors do not interact. mentions and descriptions of blood & murder. both hiroki and reader are just not okay in the head :)

———— !!

dan having an s/o who is just as mentally unstable as he is would be a dream come true from like...idk he'd probably shiver in delight when he puts two and two together fdkjdhgkdjfd. @touyyes what you think of this ? 👀

and as usually, he loves you so so sooooooo much because you make him experience emotions he hasn't felt in a long time, if not ever. but this time it's different, because it's not just love and adoration for this person, or the unrelenting urge to just give everything that he is to this individual— but instead it's anxiety. he's never felt anxious before, not to this degree, when he sees all the fresh evidence of a crime scene. a crime scene that you created. you emulate him to a scary degree, you make him feel an unsettling uneasiness he's never felt before because he does start to think that someone is onto him, that they might expose him for his grisly crimes. and dan hiroki may not completely regret his crimes, but he knows he won't be able to serve any more happy helpings of justice with a smile if he's locked away in a cell! or worse....

and then, all is revealed.

of course you'd want him to figure out eventually but it certainly still took you by surprise. and you couldn't have been happier that your beloved dan was smart enough to follow the trail of crumbs, to truly open his eyes and ears and see the truth. to look up and see his precious, glowing angel waiting for him. it all comes crashing down in the quaint little restaurant you work at. it was closing when dan came there to confront you about it. you couldn't possibly listen to anything he was saying when he was so close, so so so fucking close to your face like that. velvety voice filling your mind's ear, his lidded, turquoise eyes searing into your very soul— he successfully pulled out two kinds of confessions from you: a confession of your heartless, horrific acts against society, and a confession of your undying love for him. dan's heart sung when he listened to you sweet, honeyed voice tell him how you'd do anything for him, anything, how much you loved him, how inspired you felt by his clear goals when you noticed his pattern of only killing extremely bad people— and how you told him that his modeling his murders after elements of the exorcist? 'genius!', you said (or rather moaned, this altercation feeling his warmth radiate into yours was turning you on more than it should)

he kissed you deeply right then and there. the dark haired man had realized he had definitely fallen in love, that he'd never fall out of your clutches when he made love to you on a table in the backroom. the sound of his balls slapping against your skin was the sound of his love pouring into you. and you're right, dan sees now that you really are his true love, in flesh and blood right here underneath him

now he'd have some help!, he thought, more help to rid this world of despicable, vile people, because he had you. everything would become a little easier now because he had you!! and oh gossshhhh if he wasn't turned on before he sure will be now, every time he sees you in a long rubber apron stained in blood, akin to your gloves and face— the same blood that stained his clothes and face as well. he'd get so turned on, so depraved, he'd succumb to the urge to bend you over and fuck you silly like a dog going through a rut, and he'd keep going, and going and going, filling you up so nicely. the sounds of your moans of his name, how good he feels, and how deeply you were in love with him were much better than the dying screams of his victims <3

[youthslost]

@byanyan sent: [ rescue ] sender carries receiver to safety

one thing about haneul you wouldn't guess from looking at him – he's got a temper. perhaps it came from his father. regardless, it doesn't come out much, but a fool proof way to trigger it is to be mean to one of his friends. so of course when he's hanging around byan in a seedy part of town and some dickhead says something about boys in eyeliner, haneul steps forward even before byan can.

“ it is twenty twenty three, nonbinary is in the common lexicon of anyone with half a brain. but i shouldn't blame you, you don't look particularly intelligent. ” there's a comment about his skirt made next, and he scoffs. he can see the other guys getting riled up and it fills him with terror, but he is running on pure adrenaline and the need to protect his friend. “ you're lucky it's not any shorter, or all your friends would see that my dick is still way bigger than yours. ”

and perhaps he should have expected the fist that came his way moments later, maybe thought to dodge any incoming attacks, but haneul had never been particularly fast. he'd never even been in a real fight. and maybe he still hasn't, because one punch has sent him to the ground and byan seems to take care of the other guys with ease. or maybe they don't, but the excruciating pain in haneul's head is too much of a distraction for him to notice. he sits on the ground, listening to byan hurl threats and watching them swing one of his fancy knives around until there's two more bodies on the ground and suddenly he's being hauled up and carried away.

he must pass out then, because the next thing he knows they're in a nondescript alleyway and byan is dabbing at his nose with a piece of fabric. haneul can't make out the expression on their face with his eyesight still blurry, which sends pangs of anxiety to his belly.

“ byannie...... are you mad at me? ”

[darkmasterofcupcakes]

Best friend, I had... A Blorbo Thought™.

As we all know, Tony has the power to age things, and it works on everything besides other Concepts. And it's a headcanon of mine that Concepts lose control of their abilities when they're in highly distressing situations.

Now, imagine Tony being the winner of their last game. It's been hours, and Paige hasn't shown up yet. He looks in every room of the house, but she's not there. He goes back to the spot in the woods where he left her, but her body's gone.

He starts to worry, and that worry soon turns into anxiety, and the trio soon finds him huddled up in a corner of the living room, with the floorboards rotting under him and potted plants quickly wilting away.

When half the furniture in the house has already turned to dust, the light fixtures are gradually burning out and Tony's heart is about to explode, Paige happily walks in, chattering away about wrestling herself out of a body bag and something about the cops before she notices what happened to the house and to her partner.

You know, I both love and affectionately hate your brain because amazing things like this are why I keep getting ideas for stories to write about our blorbos despite already having plenty of ideas already swimming in my brain. But this is just so perfect I have to love it.

It just makes my heart burst with the idea that Tony (who is the one who killed her and dumped her body in the first place, mind you) is just so worried about her when she’s gone missing that he actually loses control of his powers. And it shows how much he’s concerned because you know Tony is someone who prides himself on usually having very good control over his emotions, or at the very least, usually having near perfect control of his abilities. But the idea that something serious might have happened to Paige just makes him completely lose it.

But then there’s also the slight humor of imagining the trio encountering him like that and being some weird combination of confused, scared, and concerned, as well as likely wondering if they should try and help him, or just try and stay away in case he accidentally ends up aging/rotting them alive in his stress-induced loss of control. Plus the whole scenario with Paige just coming back like nothing happen makes me think about that one gif/meme of the guy coming into the room with pizza and just seeing complete and total chaos erupting in front of him. 

On a more serious note, I also can imagine this leads to an unspoken agreement that from this day on, whenever they dump each other’s bodies away from the house, they keep an eye on the spot until they revive, just to ensure there’s no issues with the police and make sure there’s no repeats of that particular day’s events.