#allergies are fun man

[ayakashibackstreet]

Shoutout to that time when I slept in the guest bedroom at Domi's auntie's place and it was just. Way too dusty. So I moved to the floor and slept by the door to the garden, cuddled up to their dog <3

[raddest-laddest]

my wife :(( everyone’s so mean to my wife :((

[dragonanne4fun]

.

[bunniesbearsandadventures]

You know how some people can sense when its gonna rain just by sniffing the air.

Yeah i get that too except I know when spring is approaching due to a burning sensation at the back of my throat.

It usually lasts a few months.

⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆

[carlsdraws]

my favorite thing about being a person who likes to pick a Thing they like and then do that everyday forever, i love to have a habit, is when people take notice and make it like. part of how they view you. especially when it’s like someone you don’t know well like coworkers, bc then you become the coworker with that thing

[lassieposting]

Been thinking a lot lately about romanced Astarion post-spawn ending.

Because like. The Funnest™ thing about cptsd is how much of it gets delayed. When you're trapped in a lengthy, ongoing traumatic situation, you do not have the ability to process and start healing your mental wounds. Your brain and body go into survival mode, and all that matters in the moment is that you somehow cope with the horrors. He wouldn't have been able to even begin dealing with the physical, mental and emotional toll of two hundred years of torture, brutalization and dehumanization while he was under Cazador's control; he is in constant danger, surrounded by sharks in the water, and survival means not letting them smell blood. He can't afford to fall apart, to show weakness. He is shockingly functional and competent in-game, partly because he has to be to work as a game character, but also partly because...it do be like that, to some degree. When death, for whatever reason, is not an option, you just have to shut down and keep going. People adapt in order to survive, and when we learn that showing an "injury" (physical or psychological) only gets us punished, we learn to hide it.

Early-game Astarion is terrified - of Cazador, of Godey, of being hunted down by his siblings, of being staked or sold off at the first opportunity by Tav and the other companions, of turning into a mindflayer, of another painful transformation, of losing himself when he's only just regained his autonomy after two centuries, of what Cazador will do to him if he ever finds him - the man is overwhelmed by fear. He's on thin ice as a vampire, and he's not going to give them any more reason to want him gone. Survival instinct is still in control, and in this new situation, crafting some fragile safety for himself means not only selling his body for protection, but also being useful. Clear-headed. Good in a fight.

Endgame Astarion finds himself in a completely different situation. The time-sensitive overarching threats - Cazador and impending ceremorphosis - have been dealt with. He has a loving, supportive partner he's really starting to feel safe with - Tav/Durge has proved that they're on his side, that their affection is genuine, that they don't just want him for the one thing he's been told he's good for. They've told him they're going to help him find a workaround for his sun allergy. He's getting fed regularly. He has time to stop, and breathe, and just. Recuperate.

For the first time in 200 years, he is safe.

And it will probably take a while to catch up, during which time he will seem to be coping really well, but at some point, his brain is going to realise that he's safe, and it's going to finally start processing the sheer fucking horror he's been through. Since I haven't seen anyone talking about this particular fun aspect of cptsd, allow me to offer u some thoughts on issues Astarion and Tav might end up dealing with in the months/years postgame, during the

✨ Delayed Trauma Response ✨

Memory Gaps: Astarion realising, as he opens up to Tav, that there are entire years or decades of his life from which he has only a handful of memories. Great big blank stretches where he has no idea where he was, who he was with, what was happening to him. Some of the gaps cover years at a time where he was so dissociated and shut down that he just didn't retain any memories of what was going on around him. Some are shorter periods of particularly horrific torture that his brain has deliberately blocked out to protect him.

Recovered Memories: At some point, years into the future when he's done A Lot of healing, he might find that every now and then, a fragment of those lost memories will unexpectedly come back to him. He'll catch a particular scent on the breeze, or overhear a specific phrase in the street, or cross paths with someone whose face is oddly familiar, and he'll get a glimpse of an acute horror he'd filed neatly away where it couldn't hurt him anymore. He very rarely remembers all the context to those flashes of his past. He might recall that he was punished, but not what he was punished for, or he might remember words spoken by a greedy conquest, but be unable to recall the man's face.

Dissociation: Tav knows going into this relationship that Astarion has basically made an art out of dissociating during sex. They also know, from their shared encounter with the drow twins, that he's not great at enforcing his own boundaries - he'll always say he'll speak up and back out if he stops having fun, but in practice he rarely does; he's not used to having the option of saying no to his partner, and being punished if he tries. So they know there's going to be some practice and experimentation and negotiation necessary there, to figure out the rough limits of his comfort zone. But once he starts really processing, there may be days where he just checks out completely. Tav will touch his shoulder, and he'll startle and apologise - "Terribly sorry, darling, I was miles away for a moment there." And Tav will gently point out that he's been sat in the same spot vacantly staring into the middle distance for hours. They've been checking in on him occasionally and this is the first time he's responded. It's unsettling, to say the least.

Lost Time: Astarion was very young when he was turned, physically mature but emotionally juvenile. He was basically an overgrown teenager, in the phase of life where elves are just starting to learn who they are and what they want, and figure out their place in the world. But he never got to do that, because he spent his formative young adult years in a world where everyone became an abuser, where his only means of surviving was to smile and charm and obey while even his basic human dignity was stripped away. He learned that communication is based on manipulation. He learned that the powerful can do whatever they like to the weak. He learned an incredibly toxic, abusive way of life, and that was his family dynamic, his everyday life, for as long as he can remember. Now that he's free and safe, he's realising that the world doesn't actually work that way and that he's now far behind even shorter-lived races in social/emotional development. He's grieving for the person he could've been. He's grieving for the life he could've lived. He's grieving for all the years he already lost, and the ones he'll lose in the future as he flounders to catch up. A decent chunk of his life was stolen from him, and that's time he will never get back.

Flashbacks & Night Terrors: Specifically the kind where your brain convinces you that an injury you had a long time ago is actually an injury you have (or are receiving) right now. There are nights where he'll wake Tav in a panic, because his back feels like it's on fire, he can feel every freshly-carved wound dripping blood and he's in so much pain he doesn't know what else to do. If Tav looks, they see nothing out of the ordinary - old, long-healed scars, same as always. But the pain and the fear and the distress are all very real to him, and all they can do is try to comfort him, cover his back with cool damp cloths or healing salves, remind him he's safe now and they're not leaving him.

Boundary Shifting: Sometimes, Tav can come up and hug him from behind, and he'll melt into them a little bit and go all soft and happy. Other times, he might flinch away or go rigid at the same gesture. A lot of the time, it really depends on how he's feeling on the day, but at least a little bit of it is deliberate - he's pushing to find the limit of just how much autonomy Tav is willing to give him. He wants to know at what point they'll stop respecting his "no". Will they accept it if he doesn't want a hug? If he wants to sleep in his own room tonight? At what point will understanding turn to anger at being rejected? From the drow twins four/fivesome, we also know he's got a tendency to push his own boundaries, and jump into things he's actually not ready for, and Tav would be the one holding his hand through the fallout as he tries to figure out what his own boundaries even are.

Frustration! So, so much frustration. He wants to be Over It already. He wants to move past everything that ever happened to him and never think about it again. He hates that Cazador still has a grip on him, even in death - he doesn't want to give the bastard the satisfaction of dwelling on all his punishments, his cruelties. Sometimes, that frustration is going to explode outwards at Tav - he'll get angry at them for coddling him, or find something small to start a fight over, or he'll set an unreasonable boundary and try to defend it because he's still learning what healthy boundaries look like. Sometimes, it will implode inwards, and that won't be about Tav at all, but they'll get the brunt of it all the same - it might come out as self-loathing or self-punishment, and he'll react by doing something stupid, like trying to drive them away, because having a secure, relatively healthy relationship is terrifying and the instinct is to destroy it before Tav can. There will be yelling and angry tears and deeply unhealthy coping mechanisms, and they'd have to work through that. Trauma is ugly, and Astarion is right at the beginning of a very long journey towards healing.

Abandonment Issues: Astarion wants the relationship to be one between equals, but he's kind of got Tav on a pedestal all the same. They saved him. They helped him get rid of Cazador for good. They chose him and love him despite a wealth of better (in his eyes) options, and all his baggage. They stayed with him even when he has very little to offer them. We know his vanity and obnoxious self-absorption is a fragile attempt to obscure the fact that his self-esteem is in the dirt and he has virtually no self-worth, and there are a couple of occasions in-game where it becomes clear that he's afraid of losing the one person who somehow considers him lovable. After seeing Sebastian and all the other conquests, he begs Tav not to hate him, saying that he did what he had to. If he has a rival for Tav's affections, and Tav informs him that they broke up with the rival to be with Astarion, he's shocked and the first thing out of his mouth is, "You ended things with them for me? Why?" And if Durge tries to break up with him for his own safety, his facade drops and he immediately asks if he did something wrong. So while he's not afraid to argue with Tav, if something happens - like an angry outburst - that upsets or angers them, and he thinks he's at risk of losing that one steady, stable person in his life, he might well cling and overcompensate to try and repair what he thinks is a fracture in their relationship. He'll fawn or beg or crawl into Tav's bed to "apologise" and "make it up to them" because, well, very occasionally it worked on Cazador. With patience and good communication and lots of repeatedly driving the lesson home to overcome 200 years of education to the contrary, he will eventually start to believe that "I'm really pissed off at you right now," does not equate to, "You are the worst mistake I've ever made and I am leaving you."

Panic Attacks: I feel like honestly he'd get some symptoms of these on a fairly regular basis, but he's never been given any option other than just trying to power through them. He's used to realising he's shaking, he's used to feeling like he's watching himself from outside his body, or like he can't breathe even though he doesn't need to. He's very familiar with the sickening fear in his gut, so intense it makes his head spin. He's not used to being comforted or reassured about them - he thinks they're normal. Tav disagrees.

Anyway, cptsd is messy and complicated and often looks very different from person to person so these will not represent everyone's but these are just some ideas for what the ongoing recovery process might make them work through, based on the aspects I'm most familiar with.

Projecting? Who's projecting? I'm not projecting. Shut up.

[noah-moth-cursed-chaos]

I grew up with a dog that was a mutt of a few different herding breeds

So Snugger was naturally really gentle and excited to just be involved and be around. And she was a dog you could hug tight and kiss aggressively and stuff

And most of the dogs I’ve had/been around since Snugger have also been hardy dogs that can handle some aggressive love, matter of fact they were mostly bully breeds so I could really just do whatever I wanted(obviously not actively trying to hurt the dogs but I didn’t have to worry much abt being too rough) and they were super enthusiastic abt being loved on.

But currently one of the dogs I live with is this tiny disabled inbred dog with growth defects. And like Diamond doesn’t know she’s disabled, but I am. And I don’t wanna hurt her. But the cuteness aggression is strong with this one.

And I realized I must look crazy loving on her bc I’ll be making all sorts of weird aggressive gestures nearby and then just very gently softly start rubbing her cheeks and giving her kisses on the head

[inezthefish]

My Outsiders Headcanons

Warnings: None, maybe some cursing, mention of Dally being a manwhore

Ponyboy Curtis

- He 100% has a gluten allergy or is lactose intolerant

-Trips up the stairs

-He puts ranch on everything

Sodapop Curtis

-Rip Soda you would have loved Takis 😞

-He can’t add anything past 7+4 without using his hands.

-He hates spiders and screams like a little girl if he sees one.

Darry Curtis

-Makes one of those huge, itemized shopping lists.

-Will put soap in your mouth if you say a bad word

-Type of guy to be on a date with a girl and be having a nice conversation and then it’ll just be like

Girl- “So what’s your family like?”

Darry- “Well, my parents died so now I have to raise two teens on my own, and one of them ran away when his best friend killed someone last year.”

Johnny Cade

-When Soda grows out of some clothes, Darry very discreetly washes it and gives it to Johnny.

-Hates socks that go past your ankles, like he will tweak if they are past his ankles

-Loves plants, when he grows up and gets his own house he’s gonna be one of those people with hundreds of succulents and plants in their home.

Dallas Winston

-Let’s be honest, Dallas Winston probably has a couple unknown kids because bro ejaculates and evacuates.

-Cat person. 100% had tried to bring a cat into Bucks and Buck was like “Nah dude”

-He has this one pair of boots he stole from a store that he gave to Johnny when Johnny’s tennis shoes stopped fitting him

Two-Bit Mathews

-Let’s his little sister (i headcanon her to be 5 or 6) paint his nails, the gang makes fun of him for it

-Actually fire at math but just doesn’t try

-Hates only the green apples, loves all the other ones

Steve Randle

-Has said “You can’t handle the randle” unironically.

-The amount of cavities this man has from chocolate cake and not brushing his teeth

-He definitely loves white girl music, this man can sing the whole 1989 (Taylor’s Version) set list and will do so.

[apocalypse-shuffle]

BLACK NOIR | EARVING (the boys)

—

“Promotion” (Black Noir x Fem!Reader)

| Being Black Noir’s new handler and him becoming obsessed with you since Mr. Edgar himself assigned you to him.

| SFW, vought employee!reader, (TW: Noir is kind of stalking the Reader, who’s uncomfortable but adapting mostly)

| 1k+ words

“You want me to…what?”

“Be Noir’s new personal handler.” He fans his hands out on the table with a shrug and gives you a disarming smile. “You’ll be expected to parlay direct mission instructions from me, accompany him to said missions and stay with the deployment team. I expect you to give written reports on his performance at the end of every day, active mission or not…”

Your eyes continue to widen as his barrage keeps going. This job would require you to be present for everything short of Noir wiping his ass and even then you’ll be outside the restroom.

Mr. Edgar finishes, gives you an expectant look, and you clear your throat.

“And, what if I don’t want the new position?”

“I don’t see why not.” He shrugs, “I mean unless you don’t think you’re good enough for the promotion. Then I suppose I’ll just have to tell Ashley her recommendation was for naught.”

You laugh.

“No no, that’s fine. There’s no need to tell her anything…” you gulp, watching the man just look back at you before taking a second more to inhale, “…ex-cept that her recommendation payed off.”

He tilts his head and it feels like his eyes are boring through your own, boiling your brain to mush. Your voice is small as you push the rest of your words out in one exhale.

“And that I’ll be starting my new position tomorrow. Sir.”

You stretch a smile across your face and hiss out a sigh of relief as that finally gets the man to respond.

He instantly reanimates, reaching atop his desk to hand you a secure black portfolio made from hard plastic.

“That’s great. I’m glad you decided to take on this new journey, Ms. L/n. May it serve you well. Have a good day.”

You don’t dare drop your smile as you take the offered portfolio and shove it under your arm.

“Right.” You take a moment to mourn the loss of your old job before nodding, “Thank you for the opportunity, Sir. You have a good day as well.”

The older man nods back at you, attention immediately gone back to his computer monitor afterward. You blow out air from your nose and then turn on your heels.

It’s not until you’ve left the board room that it hits you.

“Shit.”

The man had just played you. Goddamn Edgar and his resoluteness. Once he’d decided to “ask” you about the upgrade in position he never intended for it to be an actual request.

You rub your temple and head to the restroom. At least you had the rest of the hours in the day before tackling your new job.

You hunker down in the stall after peeing to look over the papers Mr. Edgar gave you. As you're skimming through a whole lot of shit marked “classified” or “redacted” you have the stray thought to be glad that Translucent’s creep ass wasn’t here to ogle you and be all in your business anymore.

Thank the higher power for small mercies, you suppose.

All the snippets of information you're gathering are kind of baffling. Legal name: Earving (of all things), biological male, six foot two, African-American (that’s fun; may be the reason he took such a liking to you too, not many black people made it to the top floors of Vought after all). You dog-ear a packet about some sort of imaginary animals he sees in his mind before looking over a page about a severe peanut allergy. Hmm.

By the end of the day you’ve nearly gotten all the way through Noir’s portfolio, and you’ve also worked up an itch to get out of your skin that means you’re not working overtime worth a goddamn.

At six o’clock on the dot all of your crap is already quite thoroughly packed, your former workspace - barren thing that it already was due to regulations - was cleaned out and ready for the next poor soul, and you’re in the elevator heading for the sub-level garage.

Dead stare locked onto the floor numbers you become acutely aware of the bags weighing your eyes down.

“Fuck,” you sigh.

Black Noir's Personal Handler.

Despite Mr. Edgar’s clear efforts it was more than a little known open secret that personal handlers rarely got to retire. Madelyn Stillwell’s death might’ve been something none of you dared discuss for fear of either Edgar or - heaven forbid - Homelander catching wind and putting you back in your place, but it was a pattern of the job that you all were well aware of.

Though you’d take Mr. Edgar’s culling over whatever Homelander could possibly come up with.

Something about his blonde, blue-eyed, ass didn’t sit right with your spirit.

Far as PR and wrangling went though, short of maybe Starlight, any wrinkles Black Noir managed to make would be the easiest to smooth out.

Plus, even with you and Noir having some form of a pre-established relationship it was in no way dependent or built upon you being Noir’s emotional epicenter like Madelyn and Homelander’s weird…dynamic was.

You had seen and heard far too much in your years working for Vought to think for a second that there wasn’t something dark and twisted going on with The Seven, but Noir still seemed mellow in comparison to the rest and their constant ego trips and dick measuring.

You had zero clue how letting the fully covered man teach you a few notes to a song at the Christmas party when everyone was drunk off eggnog and watered down booze and sitting with him when he was crying on the floor once led you to this.

Sure the silent man and you had somewhat hit it off - so far as you were one of the few non-supers he didn’t intimidate or just flat out ignore - but to be made so intimately in charge of him seemed like a bit much.

Noir had seemed endlessly patient with you as he played for you and then eventually decided he’d teach you how to play the piano yourself, the sides of your bodies’ shifting incrementally until you were pressed flush to one another in both of yous concentration, so you could really only hope he kept that same levelness with you as his handler.

You bank the corner, work bag and portfolio on the same arm, and fish out your keys so you can unlock your trunk and shove your shit inside.

Hope truly was the name of the game here unfortunately. You could only hope Noir kept up his “good” streak, and that that streak wasn’t just a farce that you were now in charge of covering up. Hope that he didn’t end up getting angry or reckless and making you one of those *redacted* cases with a ‘cause of death, unknown’ attached to your name, because you could do nothing to stop him if he wanted to kill you.

Shiver racking up your spine and turning your blood to static, you snap your trunk closed, turning to leave when—

“—Fucking Christ!”

Eyes gone wide and spit having nearly choked you from your sharp inhalation before your exclamation, you do your best to appear composed as Black Noir himself steps out from a conclave of shadows to stand in front of you.

The Devil, you find yourself thinking. Had he been following you this whole time?

For his part Noir doesn’t move aside from cocking his head to the side.

Steadily, you force calmness onto yourself. Ignoring that your voice is too high when you call his name.

“Black Noir,” you say, trying to seep the professionalism back into your tone while smoothing down the creases in your pantsuit, “surprised to see you here. What can I do for you?”

The smile you offer him feels wonky even as you command the muscles up, but it’s the best you can do with your heart hammering against your chest as if it wants to run off and leave you behind.

For a couple more beats the man doesn’t do more than size you up presumably before finally - as you were weighing the pros and cons of just getting in your car despite his presence - raising a hand to point at your trunk.

You catch on to his meaning fairly quickly, your smile dropping to something more natural whilst you huff a tiny laugh.

“Oh yeah, guess Mr. Edgar must’ve told you. I’m your new handler - you know, if you had one before that is. I don’t…actually know…” you trail off, shifting on your heels when Noir only continues to keep his stillness.

“Mhm,” you mutter, rocking backwards, just staring until finally Noir shifts and there’s suddenly a pad and pen in his hand.

He flips casually to a clear page before starting to write and you’re fairly sure this is the first time he’s ever actually ‘talked’ to you.

Huh.

Not long after does the pad get flipped over and brandished to you. You click your teeth together.

‘Edgar says you’ll do good,’ he scribbles, writing absolute chicken scratch and letters far too large on the medium sized pages, before flipping the pad back to himself and writing some more.

‘Believe in you!’ and a whole bunch of smiley faces is what meets you once he lets you see.

You blink. Noir puts the pad back wherever he had it initially to give you two thumbs up.

You muster a slightly bigger half smile for his efforts.

“Thanks Noir,” you say, words more sincere than you’d been expecting.

A nod and an eternity more of silence and staring is what he gives you in response.

You’re getting ready to shift, to awkwardly relay that you’d like to be getting home soon, when Noir stiffens suddenly - and isn’t that startling, a man so tall and so strapped with sharp explosive deadly things going so alert like that - head tilting like he’s listening for something.

A few seconds go by like that where he doesn’t do anything else and you fight to keep yourself still, smile gone and part of your lip caught firmly between your teeth.

Then Noir’s giving you a nod and leaving just as silently and unseenly as he had come.

You wait another two-three beats before scrambling into your car. The sound of your lock engaging sounds like salvation and the steering wheel feels like a lifeline as you grip it with stiff nearly foreign fingers.

God.

You force a deep breath into your lungs, make sure it comes out more steadily than it came in.

At least Mr. Edgar didn’t dump you onto Homelander’s lap. Something in you shrivels up and dies at the mere prospect. You nod, your hands flexing on the steering wheel.

This was definitely better.

NOTES: Hope you enjoyed!!

This is a semi companion story to “Pandora’s Melody” if you’d like to check that one out as well.

btw: if you’d like to leave a comment I’d very much appreciate it!

[vonlycaonwife]

would you be willing to do headcanons for how the guys (billy, wise, lycaon, ben) would treat the reader on a first date?

You mentioned the guys so I added Anton to the list! Can’t leave out the bro! Enjoy!

Warnings: guns mentioned (Billy)

I feel a first date with him is more casual, though Belle would’ve insisted on something more romantic. She would probably suggest at least a coffee date or dinner, while Wise more so planned a movie night.

Either way he sticks with his plan, since you had already agreed. Though he did make a compromise with his sister in letting her help pick the movies. Which ended up with a list of both documentaries and cheesy romance films.

It gets really awkward if any of the romance movies have more…intimate scenes. The both of you trying to skip over the scene and not make things even more awkward.

But other than that, it's a really fun date! He's really informative over the topics in the documentaries you watch, giving extra info and whatnot.

You two would end up falling asleep cuddling on his couch in his room, giving Belle the perfect opportunity to take a photo. She definitely plans to use it later to embarrass you both.

There’s several places I can think of a first date spot Billy would pick.

One of them being an arcade, mainly so he would be able to both beat you at the games. But also so he could look cool by winning the prizes for you, though the success rate of that is very hit or miss. Just never try to challenge him to a shooter game, you’re in for a world of ego pain.

Another place I can see is actually a shooting range, though that’s only if you’re cool with guns. It’s definitely another way for him to try and look cool by getting perfect scores (because of course it would turn into a game). But another bonus would be him showing you how to shoot a gun right with minimal recoil.

But one more place I feel he would take you is just a simple coffee date, though I can see this being more so suggested by the girls of Cunning Hares than something he thinks up of himself. It wouldn’t be a bad date! Though it may be a bit awkward when he can’t really eat or drink due to his face mask.

All in all no matter the setting you are gonna have tons of fun with this silly boy.

Ben gives me such casual vibes that I can’t really imagine anything but a simple coffee date as a first date.

He would be very sweet the whole time though, asks you about any allergies you may have just in case, pays for the both of you without even thinking about it, even leading the conversation if you’re shy or unsure.

The two of you would just be having a nice talk the whole time, unaware of how long it’s been since the start. Though after realizing the two of you still continue the dae by just walking around and taking in the sites of the city and the people walking by.

The only reason the date would end would be because either he got a call about a work emergency, for which he apologizes profusely over and promises to make up for it, or when you two finally notice how late it’s gotten. He definitely walks you back home, no questions asked.

It just would be so nice and calming, definitely evident of how being with him would be in my mind.

Now I don’t have a good read on Anton, but hear me out. Gym date.

I can see him thinking about this on the spot to be honest, though he’s not mad if it isn’t up your alley.

Other than that I can see him mainly just doing a simple dinner date, nothing too fancy but not it being just a random bar y'know? He would pay without asking because I can see him thinking of that being what the “man” is supposed to do. But he wouldn’t be pushy if you asked to split.

I feel like most of the energy we see would not be there since he would definitely be nervous about making a good impression. But once he relaxes it’s all back and a great conversation partner!

He would also walk you back home, and when he’s returned to his own place I can imagine him screaming while fistbumping the air in celebration of a good first date.

Oh boy, if you ever want a fancy first date this man already has the reservations set.

He’s showing up in a nice outfit, not the one he wears for work, with a sweet bouquet of your favorite flowers. And would lead you to the car he’s using for the night.

Now I don’t believe he would do like the fanciest restaurant, though he most likely could afford it, but it would definitely be high end enough for you to be dressed up enough. Plus he would have picked a place that was suited to your tastes and had your favorite dishes and desserts.

He just would be so sweet and romantic, but it would also be very obvious that he’s nervous about making a good impression. It’s easy to tell by how he’s making sure you’re having a good time. And once you confirm that you are, you might be able to see his tail wagging behind his chair a bit.

After having your fill, he would drive you back and drop you off at your door. If you let him he would leave a small kiss on your forehead before leaving. His tail subtly moving in happiness behind him.

[salaimoi]

𝒘𝒊𝒍𝒅𝒇𝒍𝒐𝒘𝒆𝒓 — 𝒃𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒊𝒆 𝒆𝒊𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒉

[˚୨୧⋆. 𝒔𝒚𝒑𝒏𝒐𝒔𝒊𝒔] after his wife’s death, you became toji fushiguro’s only reliant shoulder. however, unbeknownst to you, your deceased friend’s ex-husband had ulterior motives in mind when he began to pursue you.

[˚୨୧⋆. 𝒈𝒆𝒏𝒓𝒆] angst

[˚୨୧⋆. 𝒘𝒄] 2.k

[˚୨୧⋆. 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆𝒔] yellow is reader’s pov, blue is toji’s pov. it might sound repetitive and rushed bc i just wanted to get this out of my drafts. i know billie’s song came out like ages ago so it wouldn’t make sense to release this any later than it already is

𓂃 ོ𓂃 Things fall apart, and time breaks your heart. I wasn't there, but I know.

toji always reassured you a million times; he wasn’t heartbroken over his split with his ex-wife, not in the slightest. he rarely opened up about his past, let alone his previous relationships. and yet, deep down, you knew he hadn’t properly processed their rupture.

the most he ever disclosed to you was the fact that there was nothing left to salvage in his old relationship — so he moved on, and so did she. 

but was that the entire truth? 

you noticed the prolonged glances he would take when opening his wallet. the empty look behind his eyes when he stared down at his naked ring finger. even the faint sniffling at night that he tried convincing you were nothing more than allergies. but you knew he was silently mourning her. 

her – the real love of his life.

She was my girl. I showed her the world, but fell out of love and we both let go. ⋆࿐

i made it my life goal to tend to her happiness. the only reason for my very existence was to see that she had everything she could ever want. hell, that’s the only thing i’ve ever been good at.

i never kept anything from her — except my line of work. i couldn’t bring myself to tell her the man she fell in love with was a deadbeat mercenary who bathed in the blood of others for a living. as much as i tried to protect her from that side of my life, she eventually went digging her nose where it wasn’t needed. 

the aftermath of her discovering the truth about my hidden agenda came at the price of our relationship. 

she couldn’t withstand the constant pain of being by my side any longer, to turn in bed only to see a bastard by her side. she wholeheartedly believed that the man that now stood before her was no longer the one she fell in love with. 

somehow i didn’t blame her.

She was cryin’ on my shoulder. All I could do was hold her.

i still remember it so vividly — how her body trembled against mine like a leaf. tears coursed down her cheeks as she clung to me like a lifeline, seeking comfort in the midst of her anguish. as selfish as it may sound, the weight of her sorrow became almost too much to bear. 

i couldn't offer excuses or apologies; these were empty gestures that wouldn't alleviate the agony she felt at that moment. instead, i stood there, silently holding her, offering my presence as the only comfort.

the guilt washed over me in waves as i cradled her, feeling her heart shatter a little more with each sob. i knew i was the cause of her pain, yet i couldn’t tell her the whole truth. all i could do was hold her, wishing i could undo the past.

𓂃 ོ𓂃 Only made us closer until July.

the moment he began pursuing you when enough time had gone by, it immediately felt wrong. he was your friend’s ex-husband, after all. toji had never looked at you twice before, and now, he suddenly had lustful eyes for you? 

you eventually conceded because you wanted to be there for him, giving him the benefit of the doubt that he had no ulterior motives. but one way or another, every conversation at dinner circled back to her. 

“oh she loved mashed potatoes.” 

“fun fact, she had a strawberry allergy.” 

“did you know this brand of vanilla ice cream was her favorite?”

and as much as it pained you, you became a reliant ear for him — someone who would listen to all the little details he swore he had forgotten the day she divorced him. even if every bone in your body wanted to run in the opposite direction, far, far away from him, you stayed. 

maybe all he needs is time, you told yourself.

right?

Now I know that you love me. You don't need to remind me. I should put it all behind me, shouldn't I? ⋆࿐

your affection always remained a constant in my turbulent world, like a gentle rain that falls softly even amidst the storm. but the longer the internal storm went on, the more ravenous the regret and guilt raged on. i found myself unable to fully comprehend the depth of your love for me, but deep down, i knew that your love was unwavering. 

i knew that in order to truly move on, i had to let go of the past and embrace the present; you represented that fresh start i so urgently needed. but the thought of her still lingered, a constant reminder of what once was but should no longer be. it was as if i was being consumed by my own memories, unable to break free. as if a part of me still longed for the past. 

the weight of my conflicting emotions burdened my every waking moment, leading me to push you away with no explanation. feelings for the both of you coexisted, and i couldn't fully commit to one without betraying the other. every time i looked at you, guilt would wash over me for putting you through this hell.

 likewise, every time i looked at her picture, i felt like a traitor for ever moving on as soon as i did.

But I see her in the back of my mind all the time. Just like a fever, like I’m burning alive, like a sign. ⋆࿐

beneath the mask of indifference, i was plagued by shame. it was hard to accept that the girl who once consumed my thoughts was no longer part of my life, and looking at you, i realized that your love knew no bounds; that wasn’t enough for me. 

i hadn’t stopped loving her. 

it felt like a fever that never broke. an unrelenting heat that burned deep inside me, reminding me of the girl who dwelled in the back of my mind all those years ago.

every word about my past, every little detail about my ex, felt like a confession at church – a church where my sins would be revealed to the world. 

talking about my past wouldn’t magically absolve me of my past, now would it? redemption was never an option for me, and i wasn’t asking for it. instead of trying to cleanse myself of my history, i decided to leave it all behind like a forgotten box in an attic. 

𓂃 ོ𓂃 Well, good things don't last, and life moves so fast. I'd never ask who was better 'cause she couldn't be more different from me.

he told you to let it go — to let it die like she did that fateful day. it was no use keeping her memory alive, he said, but if that was the case, why did he take her last name months later? 

not to mention they spent years together — even conceived a child together; a child he named after her, but that detail never seemed to make its way to you. 

everyone told you to stop comparing yourself, but how could you not? she was everything you weren’t even after death: soft spoken, graceful, gentle, patient, loving. 

you didn’t dare ask such a redundant question so you didn’t voice it, but your continuous comparison to her was eating you alive; toji noticed it. you hadn’t slept with him in almost a month, internally afraid he’ll blurt out her name instead of yours.

𓂃 ོ𓂃 And I know that you love me. you don't need to remind me.

he went out of his way to send more ‘i love u’ messages than before; they seemed forced, just like your relationship. 

she had previously informed you of things that found their way to the most profound recesses of your mind. you didn’t flinch at the time, because you were mesmerized that he did such things for her, but it affected you later on. 

you learned bitter truths that made you doubt his love for you. and when you finally realized he didn’t do any of the things she spoke of, it dawned on you; toji didn’t love you. 

not like he loved her. 

𓂃 ོ𓂃 You say no one knows you so well but every time you touch me, I just wonder how she felt.

you’d stay up late at night countless times wondering what toji’s affectionate touch actually felt like. it was something only she ever knew, and you’d do anything to get a semblance of that feeling. 

but it was obvious no one knows the real him — not like she did.

despite everything, you decided to give this relationship one last try by booking a hotel for the both of you. everything inside you screamed that it was a horrible idea, but you did it anyway.

𓂃 ོ𓂃 Valentine's Day, cryin’ in the hotel. I know you didn’t mean to hurt me, so I kept it to myself.

and he finally did it. he mistakenly blurted out her name on the most romantic day of the year. 

“i-i’m sorry.” toji rushed to apologize, grabbing a hold of your arm so you wouldn’t walk out the door.

“I wonder, do you see HER in the back of your mind, in my eyes!?” was the only thing you could force yourself to reply in that moment, breaking away from his grip in the process.  

“i do,” toji dejectedly admits with a hint of sorrow behind his voice. or was it indignity?

he pauses, absentmindedly digging his nails into the tender flesh of his balled up fist as he grapples with his conscience. all along, he knew the day to finally hold himself accountable would come, but he didn’t think it would’ve been like this. 

his mind involuntarily wandered, and in the depths of your gaze, he saw glimpses of his deceased wife — a ghost that lingered in the back of his subconscious even after all this time.  

memories of her flood his mind, and for a brief moment, the both of you merge into one — his past and present colliding into one. the familiar shade of your irises, the identical shine behind them, the bright glimmer of light behind them when you smiled — all of it brought a pang of bittersweet nostalgia to him. 

silence overtook the room like a storm, and with it, your heart. so he does see a reflection of his dead wife when he stares into your eyes — the eyes he promised captivated him to no bounds. 

“was all of it a lie, then?” 

“no.” 

“how was it not a lie, toji?”

“it wasn’t a lie, doll-“ 

“don’t call me that.” you interrupt him with words almost sharp enough to cut him, a slight tremble behind your voice. 

tears immediately welled up in the delicate corners of your eyes, threatening to spill over at any moment. his expression softened at the sight; however, his reluctance to approach you remained. he knew he was the reason behind your hurt, just like he was the cause of hers all that time ago. history does indeed repeat itself, doesn’t it? 

he wished he could find the words that would help ease your pain — the exhaustion and heartache you felt. to take it all away with a mere sentence, that would be quite incredible. but that’s not how life works.

“okay.” he finally whispered, inhaling a deep breath in a mix of defeat and remorse before continuing. “i promise none of it was a lie; i meant every word. i really meant it when i said i adored your eyes…” 

he dry swallows a couple of times, as if doing so would suppress the sorrow lodged in his throat. his eyes darted around the room, as to not meet your own out of the unbearable guilt that simply refused to be consumed. 

the hesitation behind his subtle actions was a telltale that there was a ‘but’ hidden underneath the surface-level flattery. and with an equal amount of incertitude and delay behind your own words, alongside with a hoarse voice, you brace yourself for the moment he finally admits this so-called love of yours was nothing but an illusion.

“but?” 

“…but they’re not her eyes.” 

part 2 here.

[fuctacles]

wereshifter au pt 3, but things get dumber

<<2 | 3 | 4>>

Eddie avoids the park on the next day, doesn't leave the house much at all, really, but he runs into the dog on his way out of a supermarket. He smiles involuntarily, reaching out to pet him.

"Hi, bud," he greets it, and they start the walk back to his van. But before he opens the passenger door to put the groceries there and let the dog hop in, he freezes. He looks down at his furry friend, staring at him so eagerly and with so much trust, and his heart breaks. But nevertheless, he drops his hand away from the door handle, and takes a step back. 

"Listen, man," he says, then sighs before dropping to his knees to address the dog properly and look a little bit less insane while doing it. "This is stupid," he murmurs to himself, before continuing. "I can't take you with me, okay? No more house visits. I'd love to play with you at the park, or something, but you can't come with me anymore." The dog's ears drop, like he can understand everything. Eddie continues. "Turns out, one of my friends is allergic to dog fur, so I can't have you over." He reaches out, hoping the ear scratches will be enough consolation. "I know you have a family somewhere, you should go to them."

The dog huffs almost angrily at that, but seems too happy with Eddie's petting to leave. So he indulges them both with some more scratches before he stands up, hoisting the grocery bag along with him.

"See you around?" he asks, rounding the car towards the driver seat. His dog friend follows, but sits on the sidewalk to watch him enter the van. Eddie can almost sense the betrayal behind his stare. "I know, buddy, I'm sad too," he says, closing the door. They stare at each other for another second before Eddie turns on the engine and peels off. 

After a week, he starts missing his little trips to the park, so he substitutes with reading a book on the porch. His free hand itches to scratch behind furry ears, so he gets some peanuts to keep it occupied instead. 

He hangs out with the boys like he always does, and he spots the kids on his way there, playing with his dog friend. When he hops over to say hi, it stops in it tracks, eyeing him warily. Eddie is lowkey afraid of losing a finger but approaches the dog anyway to give him a friendly (but not overly so) scratch.

"Hi, bud. Having fun?" he asks, and the dog presses more into his hand. "Okay, okay," he chuckles, giving into the silent ask for pets. When he looks up, everyone's looking at them weirdly.

Yes, Eddie Munson likes dogs, fuck off. 

He rolls his eyes and straightens up. 

"Everyone good for Hellfire on Friday?"

Looks like he's found new friends already, and Eddie doesn't have to worry. 

"Hello?" 

"Steve! Hi!" Eddie perks up to the voice in his receiver. It feels like years since the last time he's heard Steve. "I've scrubbed the place, and myself, clean, and washed all my clothes twice."

He hears his friend snort on the other line.

"Congrats?" Steve offers, and Eddie can feel a dry smile pulling on his lips. 

"Har, har, Harrington, I'm talking about your allergy. It should be safe to come over if you're still interested. Or, I could just..." He leans heavily on the wall, picking at his cuticles while he offers the less favorable option. "Home deliver you a few joints."

Sure, it would be nice to have a guy friend his age who went through the same horrors as him. But if said guy didn't feel the same, keeping a casual connection would be enough for Eddie. Maybe Steve had enough apocalypse-fighting friends of his own and didn't need one more, a loser super-super-senior trailer trash, too. 

"No, dude, it's alright. I've just been busy, and kinda not feeling like myself, you know?"

Eddie wants to scream. He does know. Who else would know better, who else had his flesh eaten by demonic bats from a hell dimension?

"Uh-huh," is all he offers, though. He feels weirdly similar to that time in middle school when Cindy McGee said she didn't want to dance with him. 

"I guess I just need some space?" Steve said uncertainly. "You're still invited to the end of summer pool party, of course."

Well, good to know that he could come to the party they've all promised each other as soon as both the Vecna thing and school year were over. 

"Yeah, cool, quick question though." Eddie licks his lips, his anger rising. He bumps away from the wall, ready to strike and throw the phone down. "And be honest with me, because I hate liars. Are you avoiding me?"

There's silence on the other side.

"Eddie..."

"Steve," Eddie interrupts him. "I don't want bullshit. I want to know if I should fuck off. It will suck but I will take it. Just say you don't want to hang out with me. That's fine. Not the first or the last time it happened."

Steve sighs on the other end of the line.

"I do want to hang out," he says. "But I have a lot to think about and I need some space. Is that okay?"

Eddie is close to folding down, but not close enough not to add: 

"Do you need space from everyone or just me?"

"Honestly? Everyone. But especially you."

That was such a stupid fucking answer Eddie had to bite his knuckle not to growl in frustration. 

"Okay," he spat out, proud of himself for not yeling. "Don't tell me. Reach out whenever you feel ready." He's less proud of how he slams the phone on the cradles. He feels like shit as he looks at the machine for any damage he might have caused. 

He has his answers, Steve confirmed he doesn't want to see him, and he told his dog off too. So aside from the younger members of the Party, he had only Nancy and Jonathan to talk to. Argyle too, if he was still in town. Robin was out of the question, because she would babble everything back to Steve immediately. And he wasn't ready to talk to parental figures like Joyce or Hopper yet.

Eddie takes a few calming breaths and dials another number from his list. 

"Hello?"

"Hi, it's Eddie."

"Eddie!" Dustin's voice cheers up immediately and helps him brighten up as well. "What's up, how are you doing?"

"Eh, I'm managing." He shrugs. "Hey, do you think Steve is avoiding me?" he asks straight to the point. 

Dustin groans. 

"Yes!" he answers and Eddie's stomach sinks. "But he's been avoiding the rest of us too. And he's been weird for weeks now. But I promised I wouldn't tell anything." There's a frustrated groan on the other end followed by thuds, like someone was punching or kicking something close to the phone. "You have to ask him yourself. But I will grill him, and try coaxing it out of him. Give me a moment."

"No, Dustin-!" Eddie didn't want to make the situation ever more tense than it already was, but Dustin was already off with his own plan. He realizes far too late that he might not have been the best person to call. 

He has half a mind to call Steve again with a warning but he doesn't want to worsen his position even further. It will be bad enough when he finds out Eddie sent Dustin after him. Maybe the best course of action is to let it play out with minimal input and whatever happens, happens. In the worst-case scenario, he still has his Corroded Coffin guys.

Eventually, he holes himself up in his room, waiting for the storm to pass. 

see, and i forgot to tag, just like I said I would. Anyway: @noodle-shenaniganery @jaytriesstrangerthings @imaginary-maggie-waggie

[kkuzushi]

Aftercare scaramouche after that intense love making and then date? :00

..... And the "will you marry me" HAHHAHAHAHAHAHAH— yes fluff yeseyssyeysyeyysysyeysjdutnd thank you for taking this :3

-🎐 anon

“ 𝗚𝗿𝗼𝘂𝗽 𝗦𝘁𝘂𝗱𝘆..𝗶𝗻 𝗕𝗲𝗱 ”

✦ characters: scaramouche x gn!reader

✦ cw: aftercare, fluff, rivals to lovers type of stuff, reader without cat allergies (I’m sorry TT)

✦ word count: 1.824k

✦ notes: My dearest 🎐anon is back with the banger requests. This was really fun to write (I finished at 3am) though I improvised on the “will you marry me” part since I wasn’t sure what you meant. <3

Part 1 | ✦ Part 2

Hours had passed since your productive activity with Scaramouche—the man had practically fallen asleep after cleaning up the mess with you. He’d go to his room as soon as the both of you are done, he said; He just needs to rest his legs for a moment, he said. Now you have the man laid on your bed, head resting on your lap while you occupied yourself with your studies yet again.

Thankfully, the sleepy brat did have some spare notes in his room and lended it to you, saying he just ‘owed you one’. You dared not to waste this opportunity, and luckily enough, his notes were actually pretty neat. It was easy to understand and precise with the topic.

And strangely enough, this moment is as serene as it could get. It’s been a while since you’ve felt at peace with Scaramouche in the same room. His hair sways gently in the breeze from the fan, framing his tired face. If it were before, you’d be tempted to slap him and ruin his sleep, but now, you simply adore how relaxing it is to be with him.

Your lips curled to a smile before turning to a flat line—You can’t think about Scaramouche like that! He’s still an infuriating prick; arrogant, immature, annoying.. and maybe a tiny bit tolerable when getting fucked—what?

Speaking of the devil, the man on your lap starts to stir awake, grumbling as his eyes open and adjusts to the light of your room. With that familiar scowl, he lifts his head up and sees your gaze fixated on the notes he had given you.

“You're still going at it, huh?” Scaramouche prompts with a groggy tone. He rubbed his eyes with his palm, trying to remember what happened right before he passed out, “How long have I been out..?”

“Just a few.. hours.”

“Hours?”

“Hours.”

“Ugh, I'm so tired.. and my ass hurts,” He complained, nuzzling your legs more though you didn’t point it out knowing it’ll just explode his stubborn head. “This is all your fault.”

“Oh?” You looked down, seeing him scowling at you, “Says the one who was moaning like a bitch in he–”

“I WAS NOT.” Scaramouche quickly interrupted your rebuttal, his face reddening quickly. “I was making perfectly normal sounds when making love to you.”

That almost made you laugh. “Make love? You have a funny way of saying sex,” You grinned, your gaze going back to your notes.

“It’s the same thing,” He rolled his eyes before adding an explanation, “Making love is just a better term, sex is too casual, fucking is too forward.” It was such an old-school term, you can’t believe it was coming from someone like him.

“I didn’t know you were such a romantic,” You commented, browsing through the notes absentmindedly, “Should I be flattered? Or maybe you’re trying to impress me.”

Scaramouche raised an eyebrow and turned his head towards you from your lap. “Impress you? Pshh, that’s rich coming from someone who needed my notes to pass the same classes as me.”

Your eyes narrowed down to his expression, “Mind you that you were the one who also tore my notes apart.”

Scaramouche rolled his eyes, “Whatever, my point still stands.”

The moment drops to silence—Scaramouche’s sarcastic comments were duller then usual, not irritating you to the point you’re both at each other’s throats. Maybe this ‘making love’ thing was getting to you too. Damn this man for being so confusing sometimes.

To surprise yourself even more, your hand travels to his head, stroking his hair that’s been messed up during his nap. He tensed a little before reluctantly leaning to your touch, the way his shoulder slumped was a telltale sign that this is comforting for him as well.

The thought slipped in before you could stop it—Maybe he wasn’t so bad. Maybe you could try something… more.

“Hey,” Scaramouche started, clearing his throat before continuing, though it sounded more like he was contemplating. “Since we... made love,” he added, his voice growing quieter, the pink in his cheeks deepening. “Maybe we should, I don’t know… do something. Together. Tomorrow.”

You paused, “Are you.. asking me out on a date?”

“Don’t make it weird!” He quickly snapped, getting out of your lap as if to get serious, “It just.. wouldn’t feel right to act like nothing happened.. after all we did tonight.”

That was weirdly sweet—Scaramouche not wanting things to be casual after ‘making love’? Maybe he really isn’t so bad after all.

“I suppose I can make time for you tomorrow..” You hummed, attempting to look indifferent though you can feel a smile trying to appear in the corner of your lips.

“Here we are..” Scaramouche says in front of a cat cafe-library. The fact he was the one to lead you here means he goes here often. Cute. And honestly? It wasn’t a bad choice for a first date.

“I didn’t know this was near our university,” You commented as you pushed the door open, the soft jingle of the bell above ringing inside as the both of you entered. “You must be here quite often, huh?”

“Of course not,” Scaramouche scoffed, “I just figured you might like it here.” As soon as he gets beside you inside, a gray Scottish fold cat trotted over to him, nuzzling his legs as it meowed in an affectionate tone.

With a raised eyebrow, you smirked at the sight. “You don’t have to lie. No judgment if this is your go-to for weekends.” You teased, successfully flustering Scaramouche with the accusation. Then again, it’s not really an accusation if it’s true, right?

“I told you—it isn’t!” He grumbled, quickly shooing away the cat, the failed attempt only getting the cute creature to follow him as the both of you get to a comfortable corner—which, again, would be a telltale sign that he’s been here a lot.

“I bet the majority of the books here have your name signed on them already,” You continued, leaning back on the chair with a smug grin.

Scaramouche rolled his eyes at you, his fingers drumming lightly on the menu over the desk. “You’re not as funny as you think you are.”

Your grin widens as the same cat from earlier leaps on to his lap, the man instinctively scratching the pet behind its ears, “So you’re saying I’m wrong?”

“Of course you’re wrong,” Scaramouche replies with half of his attention, eyes glued to the cat, “I don’t sign every book I read, just the ones that are worth my time.”

Before you could retort with another teasing remark, Scaramouche calls for a waiter to take your orders. You simply chose the first thing you saw on the menu, while Scaramouche ordered his ‘usual’. He's really not pretending anymore, is he?

The waiter leaves as you both place your orders, the two of you engaged in a moment filled with purrs and meows. You watched him continue petting the cat, fingers scratching behind the ears or just brushing the fur from its body. His gaze meets yours, the scrutiny making him flustered quickly.

“I know what you’re thinking—and don’t flatter yourself just because you can see this side of me,” He mumbled, “Just call it damage control.”

“Damage control? Since when did you care about what I think?” You mused with a teasing tone yet with softened expression.

Scaramouche froze for a moment, his hand stilling on the cat’s fur. “I don’t.. but I do care about what would happen after last night.” The admission came out easily, so easy that even Scaramouche was surprised he could confess that to you.

“I see..” You nodded. The waiter came back with only Scaramouche’s drink—his drink being most likely prioritized since he’s a usual customer. Other than that, his drink was just black coffee. You almost forgot the same man you’re talking to isn’t fond of sweets. Once the waiter left, you continued your discussion with him.

“Then what would you want to happen after last night?”

“I’m.. not sure. I just know I don’t want things to be casual afterwards.”

Scaramouche took a sip of his coffee, the tension between you two was increasing and he doesn’t entirely dislike it. “What I’m saying is that it wouldn’t feel right to brush things off after making love with each other.”

You almost envied that he had something to drink while talking about this, it felt awkward to just sit there and take his point all in.

“You really are full of surprises,” You finally replied, resting your cheek on your palm as you leaned forward to the table. “What else should I know about you?”

He looks at you, considering whether your question was rhetorical or not. “I’m a date-to-marry kind of person.” Well that much wasn’t surprising, but it gave you another opportunity to tease him.

“Really? Are you saying you want to get married to me then?” Your familiar grin shows up on your lips again, the tension easing up as you watch Scaramouche gradually get flustered over your joke.

The man quickly snapped at your jest, “Don’t be ridiculous! That’s not–” His voice trails off, clearly too embarrassed to continue his rebuttal. “You’re impossible to have a proper conversation with.” He mumbled at the end.

It really seemed like you’re seeing a different side of your roommate, a side you didn’t think existed—especially not from a man that was either always frustrated or frustrating.

You burst into laughter, both from how adorable and hilarious his reaction is. “I’m kidding,” You say with a wide grin, “But I’d make a great spouse, wouldn’t I?”

“Gods forbid you to be self-aware.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Scaramouche didn’t get to reply once the waiter had finally, finally, arrived with your order. As you took the moment to savor what you’ve gotten, the man in front of you smiled—not from just the sight of you enjoying your food, but most likely from your joke as well.

When your eyes returned to him, Scaramouche was already focused on the cat in his lap again. It made you wonder—if he liked the cat so much, why not adopt it? The cat seemed to like him just fine, after all.

Your eyes shifted around the place, seeing multiple cats lounging or playing with other customers. “Are cat adoptions allowed in this place?” You asked, curiosity getting the better of you.

Your question makes him pause for a moment before looking around for a paper that might indicate a solid answer. “I think so, why?”

You shrugged. “If you like that cat so much, we should adopt it.” The words lingered in Scaramouche’s mind. The fact that you said ‘we’ instead of ‘you’; It was a subtle shift, but enough to make the butterflies he’d been trying to drown with black coffee start fluttering again.

Scaramouche then cleared his throat, “So about our marriage..”

[tryslora]

Disability in fiction

This was a tough post to write. 

I saw a post about disability rep, and I kept thinking about it, and wanted to share my own takes on the topic. 

I thought about it for days, trying to figure out how to word it. Then after drafting it, I stuck it in a file for a couple of weeks, trying to decide if I could even post it. This is not a topic that can be boiled down to a simple yes/no kind of answer.

Let’s start with two examples.

1 - I have a short story I started writing (it wants to grow up to be longer, so it’s waiting for time) where my original concept was to write about an older woman who is short and has major chronic pain, and I wanted to dig into fantasy reasons why this pain exists, but at the same time, have her be able to kick ass despite being exhausted and dealing with excruciatingly painful issues.

2 - I once drafted a portal fantasy storyline wherein a young man was transported into a fantasy world, and when he was given a horse to ride, he approached it very warily. He was encouraged to mount, did so, and sat there and exclaimed in shock, “My brain isn’t exploding with snot!” because his allergies hadn’t come with him into the body he had in the fantasy world.

Both stories were designed to be fun, a bit light, maybe even cozy.

So.

In one case, the disabled character remains disabled and kicks ass anyway. And in the other case, the character is magically “healed” and no longer has debilitating allergies that had wrecked his way of life.

This is the difficult part to express: I think both storylines are valid.

Bear with me while I dig into this.

First and foremost: I completely agree that we need more representation in all forms of fiction, especially when it comes to disabled people being able to live their lives. Characters with missing limbs, or non-neurotypical brains, or anxiety & depression, or hearing issues, or sight problems, or chronic pain, or… or… you get the idea. We need all of it, and we need it to not need to be magically healed in order for a story to be considered happy and cozy. Disabled people can be happy, too.

I’m all in for this, and I wouldn’t write the stories I do if I weren’t.

However, there are also moments where I am so exhausted by my body and by everything I deal with inside of it where I do wish for that magical ability to forget that my pain exists. Or for the ability to actually process information in a straight line, or make decisions without writing a hundred lists and accomplishing nothing from them. Or to be able to lie down in a field of grass without regretting it for days while I drip snot and fight sinus-pain-induced migraines.

Sometimes I want to imagine that my life is different.

And that is one of the joys of writing. I can choose to write a story where people like me or the people I know are the heroes/heroines exactly as they are, different abilities and all. Or I can choose to write a story where the problems magically resolve.

Both can be cozy, sweet, and adorable. I can give the character with chronic pain the ability to kick ass, take names, and have a sweet reunion with her ex-girlfriend. I can show all the ways that my disabilities may define how I handle my life differently than someone else, but do not define what I can and cannot do.

But I can also daydream about a life where it’s different, the same way I can daydream about having wings, or being able to teleport. For me, imagining a day with no pain is the same as a day where I can walk through walls. It is absolutely a fantasy, and about as likely to happen.

Here’s the thing: It’s okay to be angry to see what looks like disability being erased. It’s okay to wonder why the author did that, why they magically healed someone instead of letting them be who they were. But at the same time, maybe ask why, and what point of view it’s coming from. Or look a little deeper into the story and how the resolution occurs, and the effect it does have on the character (I suspect that were I to suddenly have a day of no pain, I’d be intensely reckless, given what an idiot I am while IN pain, y’know? And WOW would I regret that later…).

And for authors, think about what you’re writing. WHY is this particular event (keeping disability, erasing it, whichever or both) happening, because the reader will take note of it. They may see things that weren’t intended, but are there as unintentional biases.

Make conscious decisions for why things happen.

Someday I want to get back to both of those examples from the start of this post; I still like both concepts. But I’ll be writing them for very different reasons, and both will be healing my soul in different ways. Different kinds of daydreams. And again, I think that’s valid, too.