#fuck it i'm tagging everyone for my future reference

[submalevolentgrace]

Hi! I'm very interested in attempting to write a disabled character (not for this blog, I assure, for an book I'm writing) in which the story doesn't fetishize/objectify her prosthetic limb. I'm in many writing circles and have been for a long while, but I've never seen this issue brought to light which I realise is a very important one. I have much to change in my thought process, and thank you for bringing this issue to attention.

I'm curious, and I apologise if this has been asked before, but what sort of design could you see for a functional prosthetic that doesn't go for a plainly aesthetic appearance, or is soully to please others? I do note that you said prosthetics are generally... not that helpful. So is there a way that it could be? Or do you think it would always generally be better to not use a prosthetic, as its mostly for aesthetic purposes, as you said?

I apologise if this ask is too outright or anything, and I don't mean to intrude. Thank you for your time and have a beautiful day!

okay, i want to answer this as in depth as possible, because whenever i talk about having a prosthesis, someone will always tag some variation of "#writing reference" and i do wonder what message they're taking away, and i want to get as much of my experience out as possible to maybe help shape how this is all portrayed in the future. and yeah… this is gonna be one of those rambly smg posts that the expand feature was invented for, so i'll start with the very abridged TL;DR:

if you're writing a character with an upper limb prosthesis; don't. arm amputees are unicorn level rare even compared to leg amputees, and i've never interacted with or even heard of an upper limb amputee that regularly uses a prosthesis, let alone relies on one. fiction has lied to you for the sake of cool aesthetics, don't repeat the cycle. more in depth writing advice including nuance and "but i waaaant to" will follow.

that said, grab your donning parachute and let's get started...

context for everyone involved: i am an upper limb amputee that rants a lot about how prostheses suck, i lost my right hand roughly five years ago at roughly the age of 30 after a very rough decline in health… it was pretty rough. this question is being asked in the context of a previous rant post of mine, and i checked that the ask is about an upper limb prosthesis in particular.

the situation regarding the usefulness of lower limb prostheses is totally different; i am definitely no expert, but by all accounts, prosthetic legs are incredibly useful for many people. getting a good leg can be absolutely life changing and more or less necessary for day to day life for some; mostly because infrastructure and society is just so fucking hostile to wheelchair users. being able to walk - at the cost of pressure sores and rashes and increased residual limb pain - is a preferable option to many people than being unable to fit through a doorway or in a bathroom stall or find out that the key to unlock the only elevator is in the admin office up three flights of stairs (true story).

but upper limb prostheses… see, the thing is, hands are incredibly complex organs that rely on a lot of immediate haptic feedback to work at all. hand dexterity is all about control, you need fine granular movements of the digits yes, but you also need the subtle sensations of pressure and proprioception in order to adjust your movements on the fly. i speak from experience, in the years leading up to the full loss of my hand, i was slowly losing function of it, usually swinging between numbness that made it clumsy at best, or screaming overstimulation from moving it at all resulting in unpredictable spasms… and let me tell you, a half working hand is infuriating to try and deal with. you can never know if you have a good grip on something or if it's slipping because of the wrong amount of pressure, and there's only so many smashed bottles of pickles on the floor before you give up using it all together… so amputation wasn't a great loss there, i had time to adapt.

a prosthetic hand of any kind has all of those issues and more. they're heavy and bulky, the cosmetic faux fingers or gripping claw have crude movement at best, and there's zero feedback (put a pin in this). 100% of the time you're using a prosthetic hand you have to keep your eyes on the grip and visually guesstimate whether or not the thing you're carrying is held tight enough but not too tight, that is if your "heavy duty" prosthesis can even support the weight without the servos disengaging or the wrist attachment socket just busting loose. i dropped a whippersnipper on my foot last week when my socket couldn't take the weight and i think that was the final straw in me desperately trying to prove to myself that there is a single task my prosthesis actually helps with.

this is usually where fully two handed people start talking about bleeding edge DARPA tech, and how we just need to invest more,research more, develop more. better tech, more tech, neural integration, more more more. okay i promise the writing advice is coming! for starters on tech, my experience is already with a mid-to-high end ottobock terminal device: i've got a myoelectric nerve-signal operated proportional control heavy duty greifer; about the only upgrade left for me to get would be a rotating wrist joint if i could coflex. it's not military, it's not "rockclimber that owns a prosthetic company", but it's quality tech. it still fucking sucks. secondly, that high level military tech exists primary for PR purposes so they can say they treat their discarded casualties well, "we can rebuild him, we have the technology" style. every war vet i've read about or heard from that's been gifted that high level tech also abandons it for the same reasons; it's imprecise, there's no feedback (or the haptic interface has to be fully recalibrated every time they put it on), but mostly they're more capable without one.

okay, the transhumanist ableds say (i should know, i used to be one), what if we did more ~research and development~ and got that neural feedback working? then we could have fireproof superhumanly strong robot arms to fix up everyone! here's where i take out that pin we put up before and i tell you that a class of prosthetic arms/hands already exists that has perfect proportional control, fine motor control, and physics perfect pressure feedback piped directly into the patients' existing sensory systems! they're called body-powered prostheses, and they were invented in like the 1600s. you strap a whole bunch of stuff to your arm and shoulders shoulders, and control the operation of the terminal device and elbow through cable tension by flexing your shoulders. they do take a considerable amount of training to operate - though hell i spent 18 months training to use my myo - but based on everything i've read, body-powered prostheses are the best option if you're an upper limb amputee and absolutely need a second hand for some reason.

but they don't look cool and futuristic, and according to my prosthetist, most people give up on using them too. we all give up on our prostheses, no matter the type. my rehab OT was impressed i lasted the 18 months of my training. towards the end, they even asked if the clinic director could drop in to one of my sessions to see my progress; he expressed genuine amazement at me casually using my bulky robot claw to use a brush and dustpan, and made an offhanded (hah) comment about what someone can achieve "if they stick it out to the end", implying it was somewhat of a rarity for me to have done so. several years on, and yesterday i wedged the dustpan between my ankles to sweep up into it, awkward but exponentially less effort than putting my dusty robot arm on. which, by the way, is a whole thing. look up some videos, they're all awful to don. i don't actually know the official technical name of what my clinic calls a "parachute" but it's a bitch to use! have you ever tried to pull back with your arm whilst also pushing it forwards at the same time, and simultaneously lean in to and away from an external force pulling on you? that's how you get a myo socket on.

bare with me, i promise writing advice is coming, and i promise it's more than the tl;dr. but. remember when i said a half working hand is infuriating to deal with? any prosthesis, from fancy myo tech to pirate-era body powered, will only ever be half as good as a working hand, and being juuuust within capability to do something but not quite able to is maddening! but you know what works way better than a half working hand? no hand at all. using whatever residual/vestigial limb you have - whatever "stump" you have, i hate that word - is pretty much always better than trying to use a prosthesis. i can use the inside of my elbow to grip and carry things, i can use the nub of my arm to apply pressure to hold things, open doors, use a computer mouse, turn on taps and lights, if i put a glove over it i can use it to prep for cooking. i have full proprioception and pressure feedback with skin contact, i don't think i've ever dropped and broken anything from my elbow, unlike countless things slipped from my greifer - which, by the way, absolutely will start clenching as tight as it can if i get even slightly too sweaty around the electrodes, which has both broken things i'm holding and also injured me, because surprise surprise but servo operated robot claws have pinch points on them right near the "emergency disengage" lever for some reason!

but i am exponentially more capable without it on than with it. no, i'm not fully independent, i rely on housemates and loved ones to help me out with some tasks that simply just need two handed dexterity, but none of those tasks are things a prosthesis makes me able to do anyway. i used to imagine my prosthesis would be like a bra; a bit awkward and uncomfortable, but i'd wear it throughout the day because it's helpful and take it off in the evening to decompress. in reality it's actually exactly like a bra: an absolute bitch to put on one handed, unbearably uncomfortable because it never sits right, ugly af unless you're a millionaire, and absolutely useless except for the fact that i get gawked at and judged by strangers if i leave the house without it on.

and if you really want to discover how far "no hand is better than a half working hand" goes, brace yourself, and look up the patient's stories (not medical system stories) of people that have had hand transplants. the first man to receive one hated it, he was promised a return to normal function, and what he got was a nightmare worse than being one handed; he wanted it removed again but the doctors refused because it would undermine their grand achievement of the first hand transplant. the doctors and society wanted him to be fixed, they wanted him to be normal, they wanted him to be abled. they failed. they made him less able to do things, denied his autonomy, and left him with someone else's hand slowly rotting on him, prioritising the idea of "scientific progress" and "two hands good" over the physical health, mental health, and ability to function of this man.

he's not alone; every story from the patients' perspective about hand transplants that i've read goes this way, including a woman who was born quad limb different and was promised hands would improve her life, pressured into a double hand transplant, only to find herself after the surgery essentially experiencing disability for the first time ever, because she had lived her whole life getting by just fine with her 'underdeveloped' limbs, but half working hands are worse than useless. you can try to find these stories yourself, but i'm not going looking for sources on any of these cases, because if you look back through enough of my posts you'll get a glimpse of the horrors and abuses that i too was put through by doctors who prioritised trying to "fix" me at any cost, rather than providing me the best quality of life, and in turn traumatised me and left me more broken than any loss of limb on its own could. dear goddess, i promise the writing advice is coming.

so. why do upper limb prostheses exist at all? if they're so terrible and useless, what is their function? i want to borrow something someone else left in the tags of a previous rant here, from someone who i believe works in prosthetics and/or rehab, cleaned up and anonymised at their request:

"upper limb functions are wildly more complex than: 1) bear weight static, and 2) bear weight moving. but every single upper limb amputee i know has a fancy expensive prosthetic just gathering dust in the closet because there is literally nothing it can do like a few years of adjustment and if needed non-dominant hand retraining can't do. the existence of forquarter prosthetics to begin with is just kind of silly and useless and entirely to make OTHER people feel comfortable, especially considering they universally are UNcomfortable for the amputee. i hate the notion that as soon as you get the amputation the prosthetic is The Thing That Will Fix You And Make You Feel Normal again because it universally isn't! but every forequarter person i know had like this ideal of Being Fixed By Magic Prosthetic that they were then obviously wildly disappointed by and had to do yet another grieving process with, versus if the dominant narrative were just one of: yeah. it'll take time, there is no magic fix."

and i think that really nails down what the actual purpose of upper limb prostheses is: they're not for the user, they're for the sake of other people. and not just their comfort when looking at our bodies, although based on the pressure for both amputees and people born limb different to get functionless cosmetic plastic hands, there is a lot of that. but it's not just that.

i fully believe that the reason prosthetic hands exists is to comfort the fears of the two handed. "don't worry", they say, "we can fix you again. you don't have to fear becoming Disabled, you don't have to worry about adapting or your life changing. we can make you Normal™ again."

you would not believe the number of people that have approached me to shower me with pity, to tell me how horrific my life is, how they can't imagine it. people have told me, apropos of nothing, that they'd kill themselves if they lost a hand. indirectly, that my life isn't worth living. unless, of course, i happen to be wearing my cool as fuck looking robot prosthesis! then they tell me how wonderful it is, how lucky i am, how glad they are that we have the technology to fix me. that's what a prosthetic hand says, what all the happy fishing photos on limbs4life posters at the rehab clinic say: don't worry, we can fix you. that's what the bleeding edge DARPA flexi-whatever fully articulated neuro-feedback hands say: don't worry if you get IED'd while hunting civilians for us to drone bomb, if you get hurt, we will fix you, we will fix the fuck out of you, we will motherfucking adam jensen you into a cool as fuck cyborg that your son will idolise; come on boys, don't you wanna enlist just for the chance at being as cool as this? join the bomb squad for a ticket to the upgrade lottery.

and so we arrive at fiction. as much as his dialogue options protest, adam jensen loves his robot arms, they punch through walls, turn into fucking swords! they make him the most special man in the world. what would he do without them? learn to cope? grieve? practice acceptance? take up poetry? just, be disabled? there's no power fantasy for ableds in that.

in fact, can you think of a single fictional character that's an upper limb amputee that's, well, just an amputee? they all have robot arms. not realistic prostheses, not medical devices; robot arms. sleek or bulky, top of the line or broken down self built, steampunk or nanomachines or magitech automail; they're never without them. never just an amputee. never born limb different either! there's always that element of tragedy to overcome, always suffering and misery porn, always focus on the pain and the helplessness without the absolutely vital robot arm that makes them Normal and Whole. the closest amputee example i can think of is furiosa from mad max, who iirc fucking punches max in the face with her residual limb like a motherfucking badass! i can barely lean on mine wrong and she punches a guy! but she still apparently needs a dieselpunk robot hand to drive a truck, something you can do one handed so easily most drivers don't even notice they're doing it! please don't, by the way

and so many disabled fans love to point to robot armed characters as disability representation; the winter soldier, luke skywalker, edward elric, misty knight, that genderswapped furry girl from ratchet and clank, jet cowboybebop, finn the human, and yes, adam jensen…. these are all characters that someone disabled i know has told me they love because they "represent disabled bodies"…. and i know nobody wants to hear this, because i've been screamed at for saying it before, but… they do not. they are not disabled, functionally or within fiction. they are either perfectly able bodied Normal people with chrome paint on an arm, or tortured misery porn we are supposed to pity and feel lucky we're not them. sometimes both!

also you ever notice how it's basically always arms? lower limb amputations are orders of magnitude more common than upper, my prosthetist said i was probably only the 4th or 5th upper limb she'd worked with in her career, with literally hundreds of lower limb fits. but fiction doesn't seem to reflect that, huh? or any other part of the reality of disability. it's always cool as fuck robot arms, never cool as fuck wheelchairs or crutches or dialysis machines or colostomy bags. a fair few "i was blind but now i can see with Robot Eyes and also infrared and xray" around, which again, plays into that "we can fix you and make you cooler" propaganda.

by the way, up above when i was describing body powered arms, if you wondered to yourself why i went with a myoelectric one instead when i clearly believe body powered is better… yeah. i am not immune to propaganda! i too wanted to be cool as fuck. i spent years with deteriorating function in my hand for reasons that are still unknown, was misdiagnosed and medically neglected to the point that removing my hand seemed to be the only option left to offer some relief, and even that was a clusterfuck that left me worse than ever… of course i wanted to believe in the power and prestige of a cool robot arm that fiction promised me.

but fiction promises fantastical lies. and so.

we get to the writing advice portion of the novella that is this post. you asked for advice on how to write a disabled character with an upper limb prosthesis. you've read the tl;dr, you've read everything above i assume, you know i don't want you to do it. the obvious twist is that it's been writing advice all along, me trying to share my perspective on what it's like being an amp with a robot arm and how shitty it is, implying how almost any fully realised and realistic character that's missing an upper limb would give up on a prosthesis at all. you can already tell that every value judgement in me says "don't give her a prosthesis, no matter how functional or cool you make it. don't try to make the tech better to justify it, just let her be one armed, one handed. just let her be disabled, but not helpless. let her show off her elbow or underarm carry strength. let her love interest appreciate how soft and squishy her residual limb is in a moment of tenderness. let her natural disabled body be respected and valued."

but that's a personal value judgement from me, and you are the author of your own work. i know it's trite to say, but you are! even the act of deferring to someone with lived experience in the hope of doing a better job at representation is a value judgement, a good choice in my opinion, but one you needn't necessarily take. maybe you do want to write a character that has a cool as fuck unrealistic robot arm as a power fantasy, or a comfort blanket… i did.

i've been slowly writing my own probably terrible scifi epic for over a decade now, and when my arm was giving me hell back then, i'd take great comfort in this fantasy of my protagonist with her chunky robot arm, the terrible traumatic suffering of her loss, overcoming, the power and ability her advanced prosthesis gives her over others, that she alone has access to, because others are not willing to make the sacrifices required. inspiration porn. awful stuff to me now, but empowering to me then. as i grew and gained direct experience, i slowly reimagined her, rewrote her, ship of theseus'd her into an entirely new character; a reflection of me now, bitter at the whole thing, spiteful that her natural flesh arm evokes fear and distrust, but unwilling to suffer the pain and frustration of her unnatural prosthesis just to make others comfortable and respect her as "whole", however artificial that whole is. and as with the ship of theseus being two ships, once i realised the transformation, i re-added the old protagonist back in whole cloth as a separate character; proud of her robot arm and its power, but in new context, as a foil and antagonist, an in-universe military prosthesis propaganda figure to reflect how i now feel characters like her exist to us, the readers.

i'm not just sharing that as egotistical self promotion, but to highlight that, even if i sit here begging you all up and down not to write characters with robot arms for how bad and unrealistic they are; there's still something genuine and true that their inclusion can say. the great thing about the story that you're writing is that only you can write it, as they say. but i whole heartedly believe that to write to your best, you have to be aware of what you're writing and why. as tempting as it is to feel these characters form naturally in us and therefore we're averse to changing traits about them that feel organic and self evident; as authors we have omnipotent control over the text, every trait and detail is a reflection on us, so we'd sure as hell better understand why we're choosing to write a character with this trait. because anything you write without being aware of intent will take on its own meaning in the space between.

and on that note, if i don't say this, i'm leaving it to be inferred: i definitely don't want to appear to come down on the side of saying "you cannot write an amputee unless you are one", because we are rarer than single young bisexual unicorns! and it would be a tragedy if anyone read through all this and then turned away in fear, deciding to never write an amputee character (with or without robot arm) because they feel they can't do it justice… believe me, no matter what anyone says, some hack writer somewhere is going to keep writing adam jensens and winter soldiers. don't let them be the only voices in fiction! just try to do your best.

so my ultimate advice on the topic of writing a character with a prosthetic limb is to ask yourself one question in two different frameworks, and meditate on what you feel the answer is:

why does she have a prosthesis?

from a doylelist perspective as the kids say, as an author with omnipotent control, why are you choosing to write about this topic? why are you choosing to give this trait to this character? what does it say about how you view ability and disability, what makes a person normal, and what our society values? will you let her be in her natural body? or will you give her a prosthesis, force her to wear it by authorial fiat, or author her a meaningful reason to choose to? if yes, be sure you know; why did you give her a prosthesis?

and from a wastonian perspective, diegetically, inside the story, why does she choose to wear a prosthesis? what does it say about her inner character, and how she interacts with the world? how does she feel about doing it, is she prideful and loves the attention she gets, or does she resent whatever necessitates its use? how do people in this world view ability and disability, what does this society value? and above all, whatever the answer to these questions, whether or not she uses a prosthesis or is badass without one, how does she deal with the eternal freezing cold that every amputee ever feels constantly in their residual limb and why does nobody make a heat pack that fits over a nub without drafty gaps???

i can't outright tell you how to write a good upper limb amputee, but if you at least know why you're writing one and for what purpose, you're on track to write the best character that you can. that's the best advice i can give… other than, like, this whole rambly mess.

and, as a reward for reading this far, please have a very blurry cryptid photo of my cat doing his old man sit:

[kaciidubs]

Open Heart

❣ Summary: When you don't know what to say or do, when life starts living you, you can always rely on Chris to bring you back. ❣  ❣ Word Count: 3.2k ❣ Warnings: Mental breakdown, existential crisis, implied panic attack, angst, fluff, comfort, crying, Supportive BF! Chris, Reader is a mess mentally and emotionally, discussions of family, careers, life, and the future, self doubt, self deprecation, mentioned disassociation ❣  ❣ Female! Reader [No use of Y/N] | You/Your pronouns ❣  ❣ Additional Tags: Chan is referred to as Chris, Channie, Baby, Christopher, and Christopher Bahng [wowie], Reader is referred to as Princess, Baby, Love, Sweet Girl, this is the one that's personal so I'm sorry if you can relate but also you're not alone ❣ Stray Kids Masterlist ❣ General Masterlist

“Yeah, dad, I know... Mhm... No, I haven’t heard back from them yet, but it’s only been a week since I applied so... Yeah, I know…”

You paced the living room of your apartment, holding your phone to your ear as you did your best to tame the headache brewing in your head. 

“I know you do, it’s just - there’s so many things I can do with my degree, I’m just trying to figure out what I want to do... I know... Yeah... Okay... Talk to you later... Love you too, bye.” 

Ending the call, you tossed your phone onto the couch with a heavy sigh - the weight of the world piling on top of stress already weighing on your shoulders. 

Everything sucked - almost as if the world was out to get you for simply existing; years of doing what was right, doing what you were supposed to, only for you to still feel like you weren’t doing enough. 

People pleasing. 

A wave of guilt made your stomach turn, tears stinging behind your eyes as you stood in the silence, yet it still felt so loud. 

You knew your dad meant well, your parents meant well, your family meant well, but every question, every poorly veiled nudge of ‘What’s your next big move going to be? You’ve been stagnant for so long.’ ate at your psyche at every turn. You felt like you did everything; you graduated high school in the high percentage of your class, you went to college, you graduated as a first generation student after five excruciatingly long years - yet through all that they still wanted more from you. 

A pleasure to have known. You have so much potential.

If you had a dime for the amount of times you’ve heard those words, you would’ve been a millionaire by now. 

A shaky breath rattled in your chest as you sighed, your hands rising to cup your rapidly heating face. “Fuck... F-Fuck.”

Your vision blurred, salty tears stinging your eyes before burning fiery trails down your cheeks with no signs of stopping. 

When was it going to be enough? When were you going to be enough? 

Your breath hitched, choking on a sob that your body refused to let go - not now, not right now. You were still young, you had so much potential - so why did it feel like you were being rushed? Why did it feel like everyone saw some invisible clock above you, counting down the days until you’d become useless? 

Wasted potential - those words always used to scare you, the famous buzzwords of any educator wanting to instill proper work ethic in their students; the future of the workforce. 

Wasted potential - that’s what you were beginning to feel at your 9-5; a quaint little job you kept throughout your final semester, something that got the bills paid and kept a little more in your savings. 

Wasted potential - that’s what you felt when your days began blending together, when you realized disassociation was your coping mechanism until your mouse hovered over ‘clock out’. 

You wanted to do so much, so much, but there was never enough time in the day - they were never ideas that would earn you a proper living wage, a career path your family wouldn’t agree with. 

Your body shook as a sob finally tore through your silent cries, your head throbbing as air tried to force its way into your lungs - crying never used to hurt like this.

Your world spun, it felt like time froze while speeding up, but all you could do was cry - stand in your living room and cry like a reprimanded child because you weren’t doing what you were supposed to. 

“Princess?” 

Your eyes snapped open behind your fingers, quickly registering a bigger, warmer pair wrapping around your wrists. 

“Baby, can you hear me?” 

Guilt. 

Chris was home early, and instead of relaxing like he deserved, he now had to tend to you - crying over the same thing you cried over four months ago. 

He felt you tense, he could see the spiral of overthinking, and his grip tightened, “Hey, hey, it’s just me - it’s just me, princess.” 

You sniffled, biting back another sob as you shook your head, “’M s-sorry-” 

“Shh, don’t apologize - you don’t have to apologize, not to me, not for this.” 

Understanding - he was always so good at that, making sure you knew you weren’t the problem of anything; he always joked he got better at it from you. 

Another wave of tears surged through you, nearly making you double over at the rush of fresh emotions popping off in your brain, your jaw tensing as you tried to stifle the illegible babbling falling from your lips. 

“I- It’s- I can’t- And- It’s just so-” 

Chris pulled you into his chest, one arm wrapping around your shoulders while the other cradled the back of your neck, his thumb rubbing circles just behind your ear. “It’s okay, baby, it’s okay - I’m here, you’re okay.” 

He blinked away his own tears, the sounds of your cries breaking his heart when he entered the apartment, and now the feeling of your body shaking against his like a fall leaf utterly tearing him apart inside. 

You weren’t sure how long you both stood there, him whispering words of comfort in your ear while you stained his black hoodie with your tears, but you slowly came out of your breakdown with uneven breaths - your hands holding onto his hoodie as if he was your lifeline. 

He was your lifeline.

“Can we go to the bedroom, princess? Can we manage that?” He cooed softly, a soft smile settling on his lips as he felt you nod. “Okay, we’ll go slow, yeah?” 

True to his word, he slowly led you into the bedroom with shuffling steps, noting how you clung to him like a baby koala, as if you separated from him at any point you’d float away into space. 

Sitting on the bed first, he scooted toward the middle of the mattress and you quickly followed suit; crawling toward him before laying your head on his chest, tangling your legs with his while he pulled you into his side. 

It was quiet, save for the occasional hiccuped breath and sniffle, the sound of his heartbeat slowing the thudding in your own head, the rise and fall of his chest reminding you how to breathe again.

“Love?” 

You hummed softly, your free hand nonchalantly playing with the drawstring of his hoodie. 

“Wanna talk about what happened?” 

Dropping your hand to lay flat on his chest, you took a deep breath to fight back another round of tears threatening to come out. “I... My dad called to check in, see how we were doing and all... He wanted to know if I found a different job yet, one that uses my degree, and I told him I hadn’t.” Swallowing thickly, you squeezed your eyes shut as you continued, “He’s worried that I’m not using my full potential, that I’m not getting paid what I should - and I don’t blame him, really, I went to college for a reason and everything, but it just feels like I'm being rushed into making another decision I’m not ready for." 

“Another decision like picking your major?” Chris chimed in - he’d remembered you telling him about your realization of wanting to switch majors in your junior year, but ultimately choosing not to since you were close to graduating at the time. 

You nodded, “I know he means well, I love my dad, I love my family, but it just feels like they don’t understand that I'm just...tired. I’m so, so tired that the idea of getting a new job - when I’ve only been at this one for just over a year - makes me feel like I can’t breathe. Fuck, the fact that I’ve been at this job for a year makes my skin crawl because this isn't what I want.”

Picking mindlessly at a few cotton pills collected on the fabric of his hoodie, a heavy sigh escaped you, “I feel like all I’ve been doing my whole life is performing for other people, catering to other people, to the point that I don’t even know who I am. I’ve always been told all these great things about myself, but-” A hot tear rolled across the bridge of your nose, “I don’t believe them, at all. Everyone sees all this potential in me and it drives me crazy because I don’t see potential in myself.”

Your name rolled off of his tongue softly, with so much care and gentleness that it made your heart hurt more because he’d been part of the crowd singing your praises and you practically confessed that you didn’t believe him. 

“Princess, my sweet, sweet girl…” 

“C-Chris, I’m-” 

“Please,” he cut you off with a gentle squeeze, “you already know what I’m gonna say if the next words out of that pretty mouth of yours are ‘I’m sorry’.”

Sighing softly, you accepted that fate as his right hand slid down your arm to take your hand in his, another gentle squeeze to remind you that he’s right here. 

“I just... I don’t know what I’m going to do.” 

“Well,” Chris hummed softly, taking in the way your smaller fingers threaded between his own, “what is it you want to do?” 

It was almost as if you stopped breathing, guilt and shame swirling around in your head at his question - the golden question everyone had, but never got the full answer to. 

“...open heart?” 

This time it was Chris’s turn to falter, craning his neck to catch a glimpse of your tear stained face. “Open heart, princess, always.” 

Open heart, something you’d both established years ago in your relationship as a way of asking for full attention - reestablishing that you both were in a safe space with zero judgment, remaining heart to heart with one another. 

“I-” You paused, fighting against the will of your mind wanting to keep yourself protected, from being seen. “I... I don't want to do anything…”

Before he even had the chance to breathe, you jumped into the defensive, “A-And I know that’s stupid- I’m in such a position so early on in my life and there’s so much I can do, but, baby, I’m at a point right now that I can’t see myself working a 9-5 for the next month, let alone another 40-or so years of my life!” Panic quickly began to set in as your thoughts ran a mile a minute, your brain begging you to stop but your heart pleading for you to get rid of this weight. “I can’t be a girl boss, I don’t want to be independent, I-I just wanna be taken care of and loved and supported - I wanna take care of all the things at home and be the one helping you reset after those stressful days. I wanna learn about myself and my hobbies and discover what kind of person I really am underneath all of these learned traits. And I’m sorry, I know, it’s pathetic, it’s shameful, it’s selfish to want to put all of this onto you-” 

The sound of your name falling firm from his lips stopped you in your tracks, your blood running cold as you laid as still as you could be against him. 

“Open heart means we can’t speak for each other, remember that rule?” His tone was softer, light and teasing, quelling the tinge of fear spoiling every word you spoke as you nodded. “Okay, good - now, can I say something, or would you like to continue?” 

“Please say something, Channie.” 

“Alright, first and foremost, don’t ever, ever call anything you want ‘stupid’ - your desires are what make you you, and that includes wanting that 24-inch green matcha squishmallow.” 

He felt your body shake - short laugh, a huff of air, a sign that he was breaking through.

“Second, I don’t think you wanting to be provided for is pathetic or shameful or selfish - it takes a strong person to admit that, and at the end of the day I think that’s what everyone wants in their own special form; somewhere they feel safe, cared for, loved. And, you’re not putting it all on me,” he felt you tense, but his hand held firm to yours, “because I want to be that for you. I want to provide for you, take care of you, handle all the things that are too big and scary for you to figure out on your own. I want to give you the freedom to explore and be yourself, pursue what you want and don’t want to do - and if that makes you ‘selfish’ then, princess, I’m the most selfish person of them all.”

“You-” your voice cracked, throat raw and sore, “You don’t mean that, baby, please-”

“C’mere.” He huffed, pulling you up with him as he sat up before tapping your thigh, signaling for you to sit on his lap - and once you were situated, he cupped your face in his hands, “I would never lie to you, you hear me? Since the day we met I knew I wanted to do everything in my power to care for you, even when we were just friends and you would join the kids in teasing me about how old I was even though you weren’t too far off yourself.” 

Your pouted lips morphed into a sad smile and he had to stop himself from cooing over how cute you looked, even with puffy eyes and an even puffier face.

“Plus, I’ve been taking care of seven other people for the better half of five years, what makes you think I don’t want to do the same for the love of my life?”

Teary eyes searched his for any sign of dishonesty, but all you found was overflowing truth and love, a fresh breath of acceptance cooling your lungs like drinking ice water after eating a mint.

“Open heart?” You murmured softly, taking his hands in your own before pulling them off of your, embarrassingly sore, face.

He nodded, ducking his head to press a fleeting kiss to your knuckles.

“I was always a little jealous of you, you know that?”

“Me?!” 

The shocked squeak in his voice made a giggle, a genuine giggle, bubble up inside of you and you nodded in earnest. 

“Yeah, you. I always felt like I was so far behind everyone around me when it came to having their passions in order, having their lives in order, and when I met you all I could think about was how sure of yourself you were - how you were able to follow through and actually do what you love for a living not only because people around you supported you, but because you believed in yourself.” Dropping your gaze to your entwined hands, you traced your thumbs along his knuckles, “You always knew what you wanted and you worked toward it - I always wished I could be like that, I still do.”

“Baby, you know you can’t-”

“-compare my life to yours, yeah, yeah, I know.”

He didn’t miss the lilt of playfulness highlighting your words, a smile finding its way to his face as he shot you a lighthearted glare, “No mocking! But, really, you shouldn’t - we come from completely different backgrounds, and if anything I’m more jealous of you than you are of me; there’s so many things you’ve done that I haven’t had the chance to experience.”

You let out an incredulous scoff, tilting your head inquisitively, “Like what? Work a draining part time job in the food industry?”

“Yes!” Though he was laughing, you could still hear the serious notes in his voice, “You got to work retail, you went on family vacations whenever you wanted, you fucking graduated college before I did!”

“Okay, first of all, all of my horror stories should deter you from ever wanting to become a retail employee in your near future!” Dropping his hand, you poked him in the chest with a faux glare, “Second, I guess you’ve got me there - between how often I’ve seen my family compared to you, I do win that spot… But that last one you definitely have over me, Mr. Double Major!”

“Oh shut up - you’re a graduate, I’m still in classes; you didn’t have to go from having practice at 8 but an exam due at 8:30, while still needing two demo tracks ready for the first listen at 10!”

The two of you dissolved into a mess of giggles and smiles, whatever tension remained melting away with each melodic sound that escaped you.

“Princess?”

You hummed, a soft smile settling on your lips, “Yeah, Channie?”

“Open heart,” Chris started warmly, deep brown eyes sparkling with a love only you could know, “I want you to know that I meant every word I said - I do want to take care of you, physically, mentally, financially, whatever way you’ll let me. And - not to sound cocky or anything, but I definitely make enough to support the both of us with no issue. Aside from that, I want to build a life with you - so if that life includes you being the hottest stay at home wife then it’s the best life I could’ve ever asked for because you’re in it.”

A wave of heat rushed over you as butterflies erupted in your stomach, “Stay at home wife, hm?” 

Of course, you paid attention to everything else he said, but you didn’t think you’d be able to say anything on it without bursting into tears again.

“Would you prefer stay at home mom? I mean, you’ve already got seven kids calling you it anyways - and I can’t lie, it does have a nice ring to it.” He grinned, releasing your other hand to wind his arms around your waist, scooting your body closer to his.

Rolling your eyes at his less than subtle tease, you snaked your arms around his shoulders, nails playing with the hairs at the nape of his neck, “Let’s just start with stay at home girlfriend and see where we go from there, yeah?”

“So you’ll quit tomorrow?”

“Christopher!” You stood no chance in holding back the burst of laughter that escaped you, narrowly avoiding knocking your head against his as you shook with unabashed giggles, “Tomorrow? You sound like you’ve been waiting for this confession to come!”

“Baby, I was one more angry rant of your supervisor ‘springing last minute work onto you’ away from quitting for you.”

Reeling yourself back in, you leaned forward to capture his lips in a soft kiss, your world finally feeling like the pieces were slowly falling into place - or, at the very least, revealing themselves to you. “I love you, Christopher Bahng, wholly and truthfully, there’s no words in the entire galaxy to express how much you mean to me.”

He held you tight, pressing his forehead against yours with a soft sigh, “I love you more, more than you ever know, more than all the stars in this universe and the next. Whatever you decide, whatever you want, I’ll give it to you - just say the word.”

“Does that include ordering takeout for dinner tonight so we can keep cuddling?”

“Find a menu while I change?”

“Order it while I wash my face?”

“Deal.”

Everything sucked, sure, and there was still much left to figure out - but with Chris by your side, you realized that things could get better with an open mind and an open heart.

[mythicmanuscripts]

Hi Sea!! Listen, you're actually amazing. I think I spam liked almost every one of your posts 😭. I love your writing and the way your brain works. You're an author who I can constantly rely on to need my needs. I love subby men 😭. Very bbg coded. I'm actually in love with you. I recently had been HOOKED on your vampire au. I am so obsessed with Aegon x vampire reader. I also would love to see more of Jace x Vamp reader in the future, but I would like to request some Aegon rn. I read a recent post where you said how Aegon would get upset and possessive once he found out the reader fed on someone else. Can you please write smth about that? Where the reader needed to feed and didn't bother Aegon. I would like to see Aegons' reaction. Once again, love you. ❤️

Aw thank you anon!!! I'm so glad to hear you're enjoying my writing that means so much!

Since I know AUs arent everyone's cup of tea I'll put my answer below the cut, and also because there's definitely some implied sexual activity. If you don't want to see more of this then block the 'hotd supernatural!au' tag.

So for those of you that missed the first ask, this is in reference to an idea someone had with the supernatural!au where the reader is a vampire and while everyone else is scared of them, Aegon is just head over heels in love. Yes you're extremely dangerous, he knows this and he only loves you even more. When he first meets you, you end up having a one night stand with him. You had planned on finding someone to feed on that night but you didnt, because he was far too sweet to ask that of him. The next morning you try to leave because you're in dire need of a feed and Aegon refuses to let you go because he had the best time and he just holds out his wrist for you to drink from.

Your relationship with Aegon flourishes from there. At first you just sneak into the castle and fuck him, because you can't deny how irresistible wrecking him is. He always waits up for you, and the moment you walk through the door he jumps your bones, always desperate and needy no matter how much you fuck him.

Pretty soon he's asking you to spend more and more time there, and it becomes second nature for him to just gently tilt his head to the side or hold out his wrist for you. He finds that he loves the feeling, the slight pain when you bite down, the feeling when you suck lightly, and then the way you always lick over the bite marks for them to heal better. It actually relaxes him so much? He loves it. His favourite position is sitting across your lap, letting you drink your fill and then snuggling up against you, drifting in and out of sleep and requesting kisses.

You enjoy feeding from him as well of course, and you always make sure to thank him and make sure he knows that. However, you still operate under the assumption that he's doing you a favour. He obviously enjoys sleeping with you and spending time with you, so you think that him allowing you to drink from him is his way of thanking you for the things he likes doing with you. You never consider that letting you feed from him was something he actually wanted, enjoyed even.

You first discover this after you a very busy week where you werent able to visit Aegon once. There were only two nights that you were free and both times when you went to the keep you could see there was no light in Aegon's window meaning he was either somewhere else or already asleep. the next few days you don't have the time to stop by.

By that point you didnt enjoy feeding from others. If given the choice you would always choose Aegon, but clearly he was busy so you went and found some others. You drank your fill and then the next night you went to the keep and saw the light in Aegon's room.

Needless to say, he's overjoyed to see you. He jumps right into your arms, not even letting you finish greeting him before he's kissing you and pulling you into the bed. You expect him to immediately want sex, but instead he's kissing you gently and giggling and telling you about his week. You pull him closer and listen, taking his hand and tangling your fingers together.

Aegon starts telling you about something Alicent wants of him and as he talks, he raise his hand, wrist up towards you. You smile at him and press a kiss to his palm before gently pushing it away, explaining to him that you fed the night before so he doesn't need to do that.

You expect him to relax then, but no, he actually gets upset? He frowns and sits upright in bed, tilting his head to the side and asking why you'd do that. You ask what he means and he repeats himself, saying that he doesn't understand why you would have fed from someone else.

You explain to him that you hadnt fed in a few days and you needed to. You tell him that you did come to check if he was available but you could see he wasnt so you went to find someone else. This only makes him cuddle closer and apologise for not being there, telling you that you could have stayed in his room until he returned. He even offers you a key so you can get in easier.

You try to tell him that he doesn't need to do that because you can always find someone else, but this only makes him sit up from you again and seem upset. You have coax it out of him, but he eventually explains that he really likes when you feed from him and he doesn't like the idea of you doing that with anyone else.

You chuckle and bring him closer, asking him if he wants to be the only one you feed from and he nods. You try to explain why that wouldnt work, why he shouldn't be offering you that much because it could weaken him, he just tells you that he doesn't need to be strong because he has a vampire to protect him.

Which... you can't really argue with that.

[cripplecharacters]

Hello! I have a question about characters with a facial difference and animal attributes (like, Kemonos).

A story I'm planning has the protagonists coming from our world to one with magic, where the magic usually shows on your body, like someone with light magic having glowing hair and stuff like that.

One of the characters has strabismus. In my original idea, she was going to be an animal shapeshifter, since she studies zoology and likes improv theater; her visual cue would be being a mix and match kemono (like, a rabbit ear, a dog ear, and a lion tail, or something like that). She'd keep the strabismus in all forms.

But I think while scrolling the blog I saw something about disabled people/people with FDs often being likened to animals, so now I'm worried that it might fall into that trope, though it wasn't intended. There will be other characters with FDs who aren't Kemonos (including another main character), and there's other kemonos and characters with animal-based magic who don't have a FD, but if it falls into an uncomfortable trope, I can come up with another magic for her and give the shapeshifting to someone else.

Thank you all so much for all the hard work you're doing on this blog, by the way!

Hi!

This sounds fine to me! Mostly because of a few things:

she isn't originally an animal, and even then only has animalistic attributes;

she chooses to transform into an animal, and the decision is related to her passion rather than “all characters get innate magic and the visibly disabled one just 'happens' to be the sole animalistic one”;

ears and tails are almost* always fair game IMO;

there are other characters with facial differences who aren't associated with animals;

there are other characters without facial differences who are associated with animals!

*- things that are exceptions to that, in my opinion, for future reference if anyone wants it: - rabbits features + cleft lip; - cow features + vitiligo; - rat anything + anything, I actually like rats a lot, but as an animal they gotta stay away from being associated from like 99% of minorities' representation; - “funny animal” + strabismus/drooling/skull conditions, as a rule of thumb: if the character looks like a wojak it's time to stop.

So yeah, I don't see anything wrong with it! It sounds pretty cool.

I'm usually not a fan of animalistic characters with facial differences (unless we are talking about a story where everyone is an animal, that's a completely different thing) because I, and quite a lot of people I know, have been compared to them as part of bullying or a microaggression. For me personally, it was both by people who were intentionally trying to harass me, as well as genuinely well-meaning people who just didn't consider that maybe telling someone his face reminds them of a dog's one is kinda fucked up.

The reason I don't think that's what's going on here is that you seem to be aware of the trope's existence and try to avoid it, along with giving your character actual agency. The magic giving her animal features isn't because of her disability (which is clear based on the fact that there are other characters with one but not the other trait), it's because she as a character likes animals!

I will also say that I'm not really against all kinds of animal-related magic when it comes to characters with facial differences. If there was a Disney princess with septicemia scarring on her whole body who talks with deer, it would go hard as hell. But the 99.9% of animal-related characters with FD I see are more akin to “scary scarred man is likened to a [predatory animal] because he's so scary and has scars, also he's drawn in a collar and half his dialogue tags are animalistic”, thus the blanket “no animal people with FDs please” statement you saw on some of my previous posts.

Hope this helps and explains my reasoning! Good luck with your writing :-)

mod Sasza

[seeds-and-sins]

Light My Fire - Part Eight

Pairing: Ben "Soldier Boy" x Reader

Rating: M (Crude Language, Curse Words, Sexism, minor references to sex, WARNING: talks about death and self-harm)

Description: Phoenix tries to rectify the missing pieces within herself, but she struggles to figure out how.

Tagged: @tonixe@chernayawidow , @deans-spinster-witchs-favorites, @ophennie@virgoelf-blog , @my-obsession-spn, @capricxnt @demodemo909 @boywivlove

Song: Gypsy - Fleetwood Mac

"FUCK!" Homelander yelled, the tv remote broke in his closed fist. One of the flat screen televisions in the meeting room was set to channel 8 and Starlight was all over the news. Her little video had gone viral, her resignation given, Homelander thrown under the bus, this was all out war. Homelander was fuming, Ashley was gnawing her nails down to the skin, the Deep was posted at one of the chairs around the table, Agnes was sitting a few seats down from him sipping on a cup of coffee.

And you were standing there, arms crossed, staring blankly at the screen.

You were so tired. Physically, mentally, and emotionally drained from everything. Just from living really.

When was the last time you slept again?

"Okay!" Ashley squealed, "We'll fix this. We'll fix this. Please. Oh my god! Fuck!" Your eyes slid shut, her panicking died in your ears, the world silenced for a moment.

"Phoenix!" Your eyes shot open, Homelander was staring at you with a look of desperation plastered on his face. "What do we do?" Your hands tightened around your biceps and your teeth dug into your bottom lip. What do we do? More importantly, what should be done?

"We don't have time to worry about Starlight." Your voice came out hoarse, in a low whisper. The room fell quiet. "She has a loyal fan base, but they aren't as loyal as our people. I wouldn't worry about her." Homelander nodded virgorously, licking his lips. The desperation in his boyish eyes faded and what replaced it was a sharp coldness.

"You're right. We've got to find Soldier Boy."

"But we need to make a statement!" Ashley's shrill made you roll your eyes.

"Go take a fuckin' Xanax, Ashley!" You commanded, holding up an admonishing finger. Ashley's lips shut with a resounding pop and she straightened, fear crawled up her spine and glued her to the floor. "I'll talk. I know how to charm a crowd. It'll put this off until we can get shit under control." Your command came out more as a question, Homelander's jaw flicked from side to side before he nodded. "Come on Agnes." The older woman rose from the table without protest, following after your quick strides with a waddle of her own.

...

"Good Evening!" You crowned your fingers and propped them up on the podium. "I appreciate you all being here for this impromptu press conference. Given the situation, I'm sure you know there are a few things that Vought needs to address."

"Where's Homelander?" A journalist shouted from the crowd, flapping his hand above the sea of heads to get Phoenix's attention.

"Homelander is off handling more important matters." The crowd broke out in shouted questions and mixed words, journalists reaching over eachother as they attempted to flag you down. You begrudgingly pointed at a woman in the front row.

"Isn't this important? Starlight has resigned? What is the future of the Seven? Why are you up there when you're not even on the team?" It went silent as everyone waited for a response, or rather, a staccato of responses to answer a staccato of questions. You paused, thought about the significance of your next words, what they would mean. You found a camera and stared into it.

"I want to make myself very clear..." Your voice penetrated the air, the room was thick with the tone that every syllable carried. "Starlight isn't a priority. Everyday Homelander, I, and many other heroes are trying to keep you all safe. We fought overseas so that the super villain threat could be contained. I underestimated the enemy and now the super villain threat is here. Us heroes need to be doing our jobs, not starting petty battles over social media. If Starlight wants to play her games and spread her lies, slander us, she is welcome to do so. But Homelander and I are going to focus on what is important: your safety, your lives."

An intense stillness blanketed the crowd, a few camera flashes. One journalist had the gull to raise their hand, when no one else would, not after a speech like that.

"What are your thoughts on the deathes of the TNT twins? Your former colleagues?"

Good. I'm glad they're dead.

"And your friend? Crimson Countess?" Your head tilted to the other voice, you swallowed and looked down at your fingers.

"Countess wasn't my friend, and neither were the Twins." You shook your head. "Not anymore at least. Not when they turned their backs on..." You paused. Me. -- Ben. "On you. The people. Some of the strongest heroes I knew for their time, and only Noir and I remain. The others worried about their luxury condos, their ratings, movie deals, royalties. None of them cared about what really matters. I don't mourn them. I don't think I ever will."

"But what of Soldier Boy? You were there when he died, did you mourn him?"

"I-" You had to take a deep breath, the emotions that swelled in you had nearly knocked you off your feet. You cleared your throat and held back tears. "I did. I do."

Soldier Boy was still dead to you.

"Soldier Boy died so that all of us could live."

...

 🎶 So I'm back to the velvet underground.  🎶 

 🎶 Back to the floor that I love... 🎶 

Three Xanax, two blunts-going on three-and half a bottle of whiskey later, you found yourself laying on your bed in a mess of comforter and pillows. Your suit was discarded somewhere, leaving you down to nothing but your underwear. And you were just laying there, staring up at the ceiling as you smoked from a blunt and sipped from a bronze filled glass. Your record player sung in the background, mellowing out your already distant mood.

 🎶 To a room with some lace and paper flowers 🎶 

 🎶 Back to the gypsy that I was 🎶 

 🎶 To the gypsy that I was... 🎶 

What did you have?

John?

He kept you around as an extension of himself rather than as someone he cared for. You were the arms of his authority, fingers curled around your enemies with a vice grip. In reverse, he was a reflection of you in many ways, uncaring, erratic, impulsive. You knew he didn't care about you. Not truly. You weren't sure he was capable of it. Maybe with some admiration, some approval, but love was a distant thought in John's head. He only ever craved it from others. And you were more than able to provide in the past, giving pieces of yourself to John without a second thought. Now you had no more pieces left to give.

 🎶 And it all comes down to you. 🎶 

 🎶 And you know that it does when. 🎶 

 🎶 Lightening strikes maybe once maybe twice. 🎶 

Your fans?

You would rather burn them all alive, throw them in a furnace and walk away. They didn't love you. They loved the image of yourself that you fronted, but they didn't know you.

 🎶 Oh and it lights up the night. 🎶 

 🎶 And you see your gypsy (ohh, ohh) 🎶 

 🎶 You see your gypsy. 🎶 

You?

That was all you had. Herodom was a quiet life, a lonely one. But it was never about saving people or doing some good in the world. As much as Starlight thought she was making a difference, the world would never change. There would always be criminals. There would always be greedy politicans and corrupt agents of the law. The world was cold and callous and it never retreated.

And you had nothing.

You were a victim of the chaos. Vought took you in, molded you into something vile and morbid, tossed you around in a bag of salt, and hurled you into the world for their own profit.

You were an experiment.

Your lips wrapped around the end of your blunt and you took a drag. Smoke flowed from your nostrils, it floated up toward the high ceiling and you watched it swirl until it faded completely.

Your head drooped to the side and your face wrinkled as if you were about to cry, before you suppressed that urge.

 🎶 To the gypsy that remains. 🎶 

 🎶 Faces freedom, with a little fear. 🎶 

 🎶 I have no fear, and have only love. 🎶 

 🎶 And if I was a child and the child was enough. 🎶 

 🎶 Enough for me to love. 🎶 

 🎶 Enough to love. 🎶 

Through a blurry haze, your half lidded eyes spotted a figure at the open double doors leading into your bedroom. You shifted a little, squinted, then slowly sat upright.

"Ben?"

He was dressed in his full suit, arms straight at his sides.

"Hello, hot stuff." He answered casually, stepping closer. He sent you a boyish smile that reminded you of his older self, all cocky, all confident, all play, no work.

"What are you-" The blunt dropped from your hand, hitting the marble floor. "What are you doing here?" His eyes darted down your body, hovering over your naked torso a little longer than necessary before raising back to your face.

"You didn't need me?" You dropped your head, a firm hand cupped on your jaw, the touch burned into your skin and your gaze was being directed back to Ben. He felt so real. He felt solid. He felt tangible.

 🎶 She is dancing away from you now (Oooh). 🎶 

 🎶 She was just a wish, she was just a wish (ooh, ooh). 🎶 

 🎶 And her memory is all that is left for you now. 🎶 

"Am I hallucinating?" Your palms rested gently on his chest, Ben's thumb scaled your cheek and he sighed.

"No."

 🎶 You see you're a gypsy. 🎶 

"This is a dream, sweetheart."

"Of course it is," You sniffled.

"You wouldn't be able to hallucinate, even if you wanted." Another voice chimed and when you glanced over, it was Vogelbaum. "Your body can't sustain the affects of foreign substances long enough for that to happen." He was in a bloodied labcoat and his words were slightly muffled through a gas mask. Your expression lit up with panic and your head was being yanked back by Soldier Boy's hand.

"Don't pay attention to that piece of shit." Soldier Boy drew you closer with his other hand at your hip. "Just look at me."

"Why is this happening? Why am I dreaming about this?" You whispered, Ben's hand moved to cradle the back of your head.

"Because I'm the answer." You blinked at him, then tiredly moved into his body. Your arms wrapped around him and you hugged him. Ben enveloped you in return, his strong and bulky arms holding you close...

"You even smell real."

"That's what happens when you smoke a lot of dope."

"Also, the cannabis you were smoking no doubt contained traces of LSD." Vogelbaum again. You squeezed your eyes shut and Soldier Boy grunted when your arms tightened around him.

"Can he just shut up for fucks sake?" Soldier Boy inhaled deeply and he exhaled with a sigh.

"You want my advice?"

"Not really." He grabbed your shoulders and drew you away at arm's length.

"Sometimes you gotta take life by the balls, kid." You blinked at him, your head sinking toward your chest. Soldier Boy rolled his eyes before grabbing under your chin and lifting your head again. "Remember back in the day. We didn't let anybody get in our way. We owned this fuckin' place."

"Oh no." You breathed, your palms rose to your cheeks and Soldier Boy relinquished his hold on you so you could pace away from him. "It's happening. This is it. I'm having the worst mental breakdown of my life. I'm going to destroy the world."

"Only in theory." Vogelbaum piped in again, "Theoretically your body can reach temperatures bordering that of the sun and in that instance-" Soldier Boy's shield came hurtling toward him out of nowhere. The Scientist disappeared in a puff of smoke before the metal could touch him.

"I hate that guy." Soldier Boy's head tilted as he considered you. "Listen..." He emphasized with raised hands. "The only person who understands you right now is me." He stepped toward you, and you hunched in on yourself in defeat."You have me. I'm your answer."

"You're also a figment of my imagination."

"Nah, honey, I'm out there. I'm alive. Come find me."

"You want me dead out there." Soldier Boy's lips quirked up in a handsome smirk and he shook his head.

"But, sweetheart, I don't."

...

When your eyes opened, they opened slowly, the blunt had burnt out in your bed sheet and your body was sprawled out across the bed in all different directions. You blinked at the ceiling, thinking about your dream, thinking about him. The thought left a gross taste in your mouth, your stomach jumped and a weight settled in your chest.

Gosh, you wanted to die sometimes, didn't you?

What was this? What were you doing here?

Why don't you just leave and give all this up? Just like you always wanted.

Because you can't.

You were tired.

It took a few minutes of blank staring before you rose from your bed and travelled out of your room.

"God help me!" You heard a voice exclaim as you entered into the living room. It was Agnes. She made an effort to cover her gaze from your nude figure. And after all these years, she still hadn't gotten used to your ways. You squinted at her, stumbling toward the onset of the kitchen.

"What are you doing here? I told you to leave." Agnes nervously clenched and unclenched her fingers, finally lowering her hand to look at you. Your eyes connected, Agnus' wrinkles creased with a furrowed brow, with concern.

"Homelander wanted me to stay. He's worried about you." You groaned, pouring yourself another glass of whiskey and downing it back with a wince.

"I'm fine."

"You don't look fine." You poured the next glass, sipping from it as you held Agnus' expectant gaze.

"John just wants to make sure I'm on his side." You replied in a dull tone, hunching over the countertop.

"Are you?" You didn't respond. Not immediately. Your eyes flitted around the penthouse and you took in the expanse of space that had been your home for decades.

"Maybe I don't want to be on a side anymore, Agnes." You placed your glass down and stalked over to a wall that held various photos and movie posters and memories from the old days. You scanned each photo, as you had hundreds of times, with a trained eye.

"Please. Tell me what's wrong."

"Everything I do, it doesn't matter." Your eyes paused on a familiar face, and you felt a sadness engulf the entirety of your heart.

He was so good to you. Always trying to comfort you. Always at your side when you needed him.

"Do ya'maybe want to talk about it?"

"No."

You would go find him. That was final. You were sure of it. Screw everyone else. This man. He would be the one you went to. He was the one you needed. He would tell you what you needed to do and he would be genuine. Above all. He would be genuine.

"I'm heading out for a little bit, Agnes. Alone." You took quick steps toward your room.

"Wait, wh-where are you going? Homelander told me to watch you." You didn't respond, turning to close the double doors into your bedroom. At the last glimpse between the cracks, you saw her plop onto the couch with exasperation.

[hischeapcigar]

You don't go to parties anymore

Modern Eddie Munson x ex reader

Summary: Eddie keeps looking for you in his parties

Word count: 1.9k 

Warning: angst, mentions of drugs, drunk eddie, curse words, small reference to smut (if you squint)

a/n: this was inspired by the song stuck in my head, “you don't go to parties” by 5sos and obviously i had to do something about it lol. Reblog and comments are appreciated <3 also comment if you want to be tagged in eddie one shots in future. Mwah 

Another Friday night, another party. Like a routine, like a spiral. Eddie Munson, big doe eyes were hidden by the bags under his eyes. Hair messed up like he fought a monster. And his well known smile, that everybody was attracted to like a moth to light, was gone with the wind, gone with you. 

He doesn't remember when was the last time he slept through the night. He stays up, drinking, distracting him with different things, or parties on friday nights. 

Why did he keep throwing these parties every week? He wasn’t sure. But his eyes keep searching for that familiar pair of eyes, those pretty eyes, your eyes. 

It was 5 am Saturday morning, and Eddie's apartment was crowded with every person he knew, while he laid on the sofa, drunk. Sweaty bodies are dancing, people are still drinking in the corner while some are passed out on the floor in front of him. 

He eyes them carefully, everyone, there’s Nancy and Robin talking about something, Steve is drunk dancing with this blonde girl he can’t remember the name of. 

It's 5:00 a.m. clinging to my couch

And everyone I ever knew is standing in my house

Oh, I wonder who I'm looking for

'Cause you don't go to parties anymore

“Eddie! It was my turn,” you whined as you reached out, snatching the joint from his lips. He chuckled as he watched you bring it to your lips, taking a deep breath. To say he adored you was an understatement. 

You both lied, on your backs, in his bed, taking turns smoking the joint. It was midnight and you had snuck out of your house to jump in Eddie’s car. Now you both were here, spread out on Eddie's bed, smoke surrounding you. 

He turned to face you and draped his arm lazily around you pulling you flush against him, 

“You’ve had enough, baby,” he whispers, gently taking the joint from your fingers and slightly getting up to smash the butt of the cigarette in the ashtray. 

“I can handle, eds” your voice was dreamy, low and distant. Your mind was in higher clouds, the ceiling was your window to the galaxy as you watched the shooting stars. 

He hummed, pressing his lips to your jaw. Eyes droopy, you both faced the ceiling, sides pressed to each other, hallucinating a whole new world until you passed out. 

I still think about the times we were heavy

Racehorse tripping on the dirt that you got on me

Vultures spinning up above for what's left of me

We go stupid every night, what a tragedy

Eddie’s mind started to darken with each passing minute, as every memory of you haunted his brain. He felt a pang in his heart, begging and praying to see you one more time. Just one more time. 

He looked at every corner of his house where he fucked you relentlessly, he looked at the balcony where you stood up all night to watch the sunrise  together, 

His lips started to tremble at the surge of memories, each one hitting him close to home. His mind was foggy, he was losing it. Like he always did everytime he let his mind wander to you, always back to you.

I'm still here in the darkness

Back where we started

You make me a heartless monster

I'm caught up in distractions

Fatal attractions

I'm starting to come undone

A part of him wanted to kick everyone out, he was tired, the voices in his mind too loud. He glanced, once again, at the bodies, hoping that you were there, hoping he overlooked your figure the first time. 

And now it's 5:00 a.m. clinging to my couch

And everyone I ever knew is standing in my house

Oh, I wonder who I'm looking for

'Cause you don't go to parties anymore

His eyes zeroed at the girl, whose back resembles yours. He stood up abruptly, seeing stars immediately, he shook his head to focus. Stumbling, he made his way to her. A bottle of wine clutched in his hand tightly. 

He tapped her shoulder,

 I'll talk to y/n. I’ll make it okay, we’ll be fine, this is it. I’m sorry y/n, give me one more chance, give us one more chance.

She turned around, and his breath hitched in his throat at the sight of a random person. She wasn’t you. Of course you wouldn’t be here

He nodded and smiled, or tried to, before he raised his bottle to her. She politely shook her head ‘no’. 

A string of curses left his mouth as he shifted his weight and leaned on the wall on the side. The girl immediately shifted her attention from her friends to him. 

“Hey, are you doing well?” she asked, obviously interested

“Hmm” he nodded, bring the mouth of the bottle to his lips, taking a swig

“You know i, uh, recently broke up with the most beautiful girl ever,” he slurred

She looked taken aback, she didn’t expect this. Anything but this. 

“We, uh, were together for 5 years,” his pitch went high for the last part that he uttered

“I thought you were her, but you can never be her” he chuckled, shaking his head, gulping the wine. 

“Excuse me?” she was furious, 

“Yeah… y/n…y/n was the best part of my life” his bloodshot eyes were distant as if mentally he’s still in the memory

“She used to make me laugh on my worst days and-” his words fell short as he saw the woman had gone away.

He shook his head, he really was losing it

I got the last five years running out my mouth

Always stay too late, I should kick me out

Oh, I wonder who I'm looking for

'Cause you don't go to parties anymore

“Watch your words, Munson” you threatened, your voice shook despite the efforts of keeping it strong

“I’m fucking done, y/n, i can’t do this, you want too much” his voice raised slightly

“Too much? Asking for your fucking time is ‘too much’? You elevated your pitch to match his

Another day, another argument, like a routine, like a spiral. y/n’s  big pretty eyes with tears swimming at the edge, dangerously close to falling. 

“I think it's time to put an end to this relationship,” eddie stated, devoid of any emotion

And there came all your tears, pouring on your cheeks as the words rang in your ears. 

You wanted to reach out to him, hold him, tell him you’ll make it through together, that this is just a rough patch. 

But you stood there still as you watched him walk out the door. 

-

He covered his ears with his hands as he headed for the balcony, running away from the bodies, from the loud music, from himself. His own last words to you haunting his mind, he wanted to scream to silence everything. 

He spotted Argyle and Jonathan being only physically here, their minds wandered off when they sniffed the powder. He walked up to them, seating himself beside them, reaching for the pills and crushing them on the table. 

Lost my limit 'cause I'm dumb and I'm passionate

Took my foot off of the break, it's not an accident

All my friends are up on Mars, we've been traveling

Another lonely night

“In time we’ll build a home for two” Eddie blurted out as you both hiked up the small hill.

“Eddie! You’re being-” your breaths were ragged 

“You can tell me i’m being corny, but it still won’t make me sorry,” he cut you off, grinning widely as he looked at you, nothing  but admiration in his eyes

“Don’t you think about our future?” he wondered  out loud,

“Of course, i do, all the time” you think about the nights where you think about two of you when you can't sleep 

“Yeah but i have a feeling you’ll have enough of my dramatic ass and leave me,” he teased

You glared at him. You both knew you hated whenever he brought up ‘you leaving him’ because you loved him too much to choose something else over him.

Ironic. How fucking ironic.

He glanced back at the crowd which had shrunken. He scanned the room from the balcony once more before he let the powder get a hold of his mind 

And now it's 5:00 a.m. clinging to my couch

And everyone I ever knew is standing in my house

Oh, I wonder who I'm looking for

'Cause you don't go to parties anymore

The sun had started to rise, the sky displaying beautiful colors. He smiled at the scenery, remembering how you used to get lost in the beauty of it all. 

“y/n used to love it so much,” he revealed to the boys beside him, but they were too high to listen to him. That didn’t stop him, only encouraged him

They’re not listening, I'll pretend they are

 And so he did. He rambled on and on about you. Anything he could remember about your relation, he voiced it, good or bad. 

He kept talking and sniffing the powder. 

Again

Then again

And once more

Until he blacks out. 

-

He doesn’t remember anything except the sky burning auburn, cocaine powder all over the table, your voice in head and then-

He opened his eyes, vision still blurry as he tried to get up. His hand  reaching on the other side of the bed, seeking your warmth, like a habit. He winced at the coldness that resided there.

He was in his room, in the same clothes as last night.

His head hurt so bad like someone banged his head against the wall. He tried to get out of the bed when he saw Steve entering the room with a glass of water in his hand. 

“You gotta pick yourself up buddy,” steve said

“I-” his voice was hoarse, mouth dry. 

Steve handed him the glass, which he gulped like a thirsty man in the desert. Steve took a seat beside him, legs dangling. 

“It was worse this time, eddie” steve tried to get his attention,

Eddie’s gaze was stuck at his door, 

Maybe you’d enter, laughing. Maybe you decided to return to him. Maybe just maybe he could have a second chance. Maybe this was all a bad dream,

Steve’s voice pulled him from his daydreams, 

 “your nose was bleeding, man, you gotta sober up, just try and get over her” 

In a beat, he replied, “i don't want to get over her, Steve” 

You 

 Just the mention of you has him talking. Talking non stop about what you two were, what you two could have been

I got the last five years running out my mouth

Always stay too late, I should kick me out

Oh, I wonder who I'm looking for

'Cause you don't go to parties anymore

His chatter was cut short when Steve’s phone rang, which he attended walking out the door.

Eddie was left alone with his thoughts. He turned and extended his hand to get a hold of his phone.

Once in his grip, he opened your chat, re-reading the countless texts he sent you. 

“Please come home” he sent one more, like every other day. 

Eddie put the phone away as he saw Steve approaching him with his phone extended to Eddie, “its y/n” 

Eddie couldn't believe his ears, or eyes or anything, he wasn't registering the situation. He scrambled on the bed, practically leaping out  to meet steve’s phone half way, as he practically snatch it and placed it on his ears,

“y/n?” his voice was shaky, his body was trembling 

“Eddie?” 

Oh, I wonder who I'm looking for

'Cause you don't go to parties anymore

[multiplicity-positivity]

Just saw you're post about the some people on the pro endo comunity being agressive. And I've actually have had the opposite expirience.

The anti endos in my life irl and online are kind of really mean?

I want to have a pro endo account but I'm scared of being harassed, fakeclaimed, etc. A lot (not everyone) of the people who are anti endo are so aggressive, and I'm not in a state where I can really receive that.

Any words of encouragement or tips?

Thank you, have a nice day!

gah, memory issues so we can’t recall what post exactly you’re referring to, sorry.

here are our tips for running a pro-endo account, or some sort of account where all system origins are accepted. it got kind of long and heavy, so we’re putting it under a cut.

1) when you first set up the blog, before you’ve made any post at all, go through some of the anti-endo tags and block those users from your new side blog. some tags to trawl/search through are “#anti endo,” “#endos fuck off,” “#endos aren’t real” and “#endos are trash.” just a heads up, you may see some violent, harmful, or potentially triggering posts in those tags. if you have the energy and capabilities for it, preemptively blocking a lot of users may save you some pain and difficulties down the line.

2) you may very well be harassed or fakeclaimed by running this account. we have been fakeclaimed by others on this blog, and have had users block evade, follow us to our personal accounts, and try to purposefully trigger us. it’s been rough, but this is one of the risks of running an inclusive blog online. some things to keep in mind:

- you can block any user who sends you anonymous asks. just hit the three dots at the top right of the ask page and hit “block anonymous.”

- having anonymous asks turned off entirely could greatly reduce the potential for you to receive hate and unkind messages. personally we like to leave anons on since lots of folks prefer to send asks anonymously, but if you’re worried or nervous, you can definitely turn them off.

- delete any negative comments on your posts as soon as you notice them, and block the users who make them from your side blog. we do this to help keep our posts positive.

- if any asker threatens to dox you, sends you gore or purposefully triggering content, won’t leave you alone, or is block evading, report them to tumblr. we have had to do this before, and tumblr’s been pretty good about banning genuinely harmful or dangerous users.

3) don’t pick fights, don’t cross post into anti-endo tags, and leave anti-endos alone. we only use anti-endo tags if we are tagging a post that mentions them for filtering purposes. if you refrain from engaging with those who you don’t want interacting with you, you’re much less likely to face harassment, in our experience.

4) try to remember that everyone posting on tumblr, regardless of whether or not they are pro-endo, is a person or human being. when someone fakeclaims you or sends you hate, it is probably coming from a place of insecurity and low self-esteem. they may be lashing out as a trauma response, or they may be having difficulties regulating their emotions. none of these things are an excuse or good reason to be an asshole to others, but it is something worth keeping in mind.

when we are fakeclaimed, it is more a poor reflection on the fakeclaimers than it is on who we are as a person or system. you know yourself and your system more than anyone else online, so when you are fakeclaimed, try to just chuckle with your headmates about it, let it roll off your shoulders, and block the user.

we hope this helps. if any of our followers run pro-endo blogs and have some advice for this anon, please share it by all means. and when you do make the blog, anon, feel free to drop the @ here so we can follow and boost your new account. best of luck to you with your future endeavors - running an inclusive blog is not always easy, but for us, it has been an incredibly rewarding and beneficial experience :)

[ontheoddoccasioniwritestuff]

Relief (Johnny "Soap" MacTavish x Reader) Smut

Summary: It's the end of another mission, and you're ready to unwind with your new favourite destresser - casual sex with Soap.

AN: Thanks again to everyone who voted in the poll. I'm tempted to do another for the fics I've got drafted. My third favourite white guy on COD is finally on my blog ayyy.

If you wanna request a fic, check out my guidelines before sending one in! Also, if you wanna be tagged in any future fics, let me know!

Content warnings: Smut (18+ only, minors DNI), fuck-buddies in love trope, Reader is AFAB and gender neutral

Masterlist // AO3 Version

With a sigh, your head tilted back against the door you were pressed into. A half-surprised huff escaped next, since your body hadn’t left an impression in the wood – not unlike how Soap’s fingers were likely etched in bruises on your thighs from where he was holding you. He didn’t normally hold onto you so tightly, so desperately. But you let him anyway.

His nose leant above your shoulder. His chest caught its breath in deep sluggish drags, the glow of his skin pressed to yours whilst you did the same.

“You gonna put me down?” You huffed.

“Maybe. Quite like you like this.”

Of course he did. That’s why you’d barely made it out of briefing and not at all on his bed. Soap adjusted his grip and lifted your legs’ grip a little higher up his waist, which caught you off-guard and a moan slipped out.

You gave him a little taunt: “I know sex is a work-out but that doesn’t mean you can start deadlifting me whilst your cock’s still inside me.”

“Damn,” and Soap lifted his head up to look in your eyes with that laddish smirk and smug stare, “There goes my routine I was planning for tomorrow. Hey-” His brow creased as you attempted to lower one of your legs, his hand squeezing the meat of your thigh, “- I meant it. I like you like this.”

“This isn’t exactly helping the pain,” You said, referring to the mildest of injuries you’d ever gotten on a mission – a massive bruise behind your left shoulder.

Instantly, and with you still in his arms, Soap walked you over to his bed. His open hand cradled your hair as he lowered himself onto the sheets, then flopped back ungracefully. You on the other hand remained sat upright on his cock; your head tilted to the side as you watched Soap fidget against the pillow.

“You alright down there?”

Putting his hands behind his head, Soap winked, “Perfect. The view’s fantastic.”

Those random “clench to the music” videos on TikTok had been preparing you for this moment. You squeezed around his cock and Soap’s self-assured chuckles were stolen away. Tilting your head playfully at him, you watched him grunting beneath you.

Soap’s brows shot up his forehead as he opened up those bashful blue eyes, “Oh, that’s how you wanna play?”

His body beneath you shuffled as he planted his heels besides his buttocks. Your grin remained etched on your face as he thrust up into you. The first time, you could hold in your groans. The second time, your lips were pressed together as you lowered your elbows either side of his head.

“One Earthshattering Soap Special coming up?”

“Fuckin’ minx.”

It was so hard to kiss him properly when he wouldn’t stop making you smile, moan, whisper how good he made you feel. His shameless stare flitted between your face twisted in overstimulation and your hand rubbing at yourself to chase down your next orgasm. Each thrust was bordering on painful, the perfect distraction for your greedy body.

At the moment your orgasm wiped across you, you didn’t have to hold back a scream. All energy left was trained on those laboured breaths snatched between your mouth and Soap’s, both agape and brushing awkwardly as you greedily rutted into one another for more until the waves faded to ripples then to contented hums. His nose slotted to yours as you lifted your chest an inch from him.

“Was it intentional?”

“What’d’you mean?”

“Soap Special. Coming up,” you repeated, your laughter coming out hushed as you grappled with Soap’s shoulders to stay vertical.

“No, can’t be on my a-game with dirty jokes whilst your cunt squeezing the life out of me,” and Soap gripped your hips tighter. “And I can’t have done a good enough job if you can still think properly.”

“I recover fast. Don’t be too hard on yourself.”

And you fell over into his chest, flopping your entire weight on him as you copied how he’d squashed you between himself and the door – but at least he had the luxury of it being a mattress on his back this time.

His arms curled protectively around you, keeping you pressed to him whilst he kissed you stupid, quite literally. You sighed dreamily; your hand tangled in his mohawk.

“You need a haircut,” you mumbled into his mouth. “Just a trim. Sides are getting long.”

“Warmin’ up to it, are you?”

“I will say it’s convenient for holding onto.”

Soap snorted, half your body sinking on his chest’s sudden exhale. Your fist squeezed in his hair once more before freeing him and pushing you away from him. When a flash of bliss from your cunt caught you off guard, and a short moan shot out of you, you waited for Soap to tease you about it. But he did no such thing whilst you climbed off his cock. Just looked at you with a close-lipped smile and his hand stroked up and down your bicep.

“Stay,” He hummed as you twisted around and swung your legs off the edge of his bunk.

“I can’t.”

“You can.” It was said with sincerity, not his usual sarcasm.

So you tried to include a sense of warning in your retort, “Soap.” But it just came across as sardonic and you waited for Soap to take advantage of it.

Instead, he sat up and wrapped himself against you. Feigning annoyance, you pushed his rising torso down into the bed.

You tried again, “We do this routine every time. It’s getting boring.”

Soap bounced right back up, “Boring’s not how I’d describe it.” To support his point, you endured listening to his kisses smacking against your skin, sending light-headed chills with each new contact. Soft vibrations from his throat tickled your shoulder’s slope.  

“You’re practically purring,” You said, hiding how uneven your words were in a half-laugh.

“Course. I’m the cat who got the cream.”

“Fucking hell,” You huffed, still smiling as you pulled up your underwear.

Your trousers were halfway up your legs when you pushed him away again but, this time, Soap stayed firm. He didn’t even move an inch under the light pressure of your palm.

“Don’t go. Please, Y/N.”

“First name basis when you’re not inside me? Must be real serious,” you parroted with a half-decent Scottish accent, though you didn’t miss how his begging affected you.

You turned to him now your trousers were done up. Your smile dropped; the “but” lingered on your lips as it saw Soap’s expression. You’d seen this man in pain, furious, over the moon, in bliss. But this was the most open, the most vulnerable, you’d seen him. Wide eyes peered at you in the low-lit room, letting you see directly through into his mind and its unsettled state, framed in that five o’clock shadow that had sprouted on his cheeks during the mission. It aged him. It made him look as weary as he felt.

His final plea of “I don’t wanna be alone, not tonight” uprooted the core of what this whole deal was about: stress relief. Soap still had stress that needed relieving, only it wasn’t with the usual fuck and funnies that you were used to.

You’d turned to him initially because you wanted to not think. Soap was wonderful at distracting; he always unwound you so easily, grounding you with his quips and that gorgeous drawl he spoke in. Perhaps you’d been neglecting him. Or perhaps you were leaning into this arrangement too much. The latter occupied your mind more. Were you getting in too deep?

“I need the toilet,” you whispered. Your eyes dragged up from the quiver that crossed his bottom lip and you finished buckling your belt on the other side of his bedroom door.

You were somewhat certain of why you were treating Soap’s request like a confession of love, because, in a way, it was. Admitting you need help that can only be given by a certain someone, that’s trust beyond the bond forged on the battlefield. And cuddling? Kissing you goodnight? His open expression you caught him wearing before he snuck in a quip? All things that had come before this night that had added up to support your conclusion.

It wasn’t like you hadn’t thought about it before – leaning into the romantic side you’d already been sharing with each other. In fact, a bystander would probably call out how the only thing missing from your relationship was that very label.

A fear of commitment wasn’t what was preventing you. But the paperwork alone would be a pain in the arse. Then there were the comments other people would make. Although not from Ghost or Gaz, besides some light ribbing. Price probably wouldn’t have much to say either. That risk of getting caught leaving Soap’s room, it hadn’t even crossed your mind as you left him tonight.

You were still silently pondering as you squatted on the toilet, completing your post-hook-up routine. Soap’s forlorn face was one you didn’t think you could recover from with a good night’s sleep. Facing him tomorrow at breakfast, sparring, trusting each other on the job and in the gym, it seemed the longer you left this the worse it would get.

Soap was facing away from the bedroom door for a split second before he sat up to face the sliver of light from the hallway, his body shrouded in your silhouette. He didn’t speak. He just watched as you closed the door, undressed, and returned to his side. There wasn’t a lot of room in the bed, so he turned back on his side and you embraced him around his middle, his soft skin pitted over muscles and under scars.

“I woulda agreed to stay if you removed all your bravado quicker,” you whispered.

“I’ll remember that next time.” And he squeezed your hand in his.

The temptation to joke about his hair again crept in your throat alongside the tickle in your nose that it had caused, but now didn’t feel like the time. You stored it away for next time – there was always a ‘next time’ – and instead, between his shoulder blades, where the muscles folded in a neat crease down his spine, you pressed a kiss.

[ingravinoveritas]

Just popping by to say how much I appreciate you. Thank you for always keeping a level head. Even when you're disagreeing or calling out bullshit, you still manage to stay diplomatic and respectful. And of course, you always focus on the important things, the main one being that Michael is David's #1 fan (and vice versa)

Aw, thank you so much for this! I can't tell you how nice it was to get this message in my inbox (and apologies for not replying sooner, as I've been entirely swamped and am now trying to catch up on my Asks).

Given that this was from two weeks ago, I'm going to guess that this is mainly in response to the whole situation with David's BAFTA nom and some of the reactions that have occurred as a result. I think a lot of people have said a lot of clumsy things (looking at you, Neil) and while some may not have meant to take away from David's big moment, that still seems to be what's happened. I absolutely believe David is more than deserving of the nomination and it is long overdue at this point. He should've been nominated for Des, or even before that, his role as Alec Hardy in Broadchurch, but I am so glad he's finally gotten a nomination now.

I think the reaction a lot of people had was borne out of how tied together David and Michael's performances are as Aziraphale and Crowley, and the thought that if David were to be nominated for that specific role, then one hopes that Michael will also be nominated for his role as Aziraphale at some other point in the future.

But to your comment about my keeping a level head, I find it interesting that, in the midst of all the theories flying around about why Michael wasn't nominated and questions I got to that effect, this post showed up in the tags the same day you sent me this Ask (blog name is cropped out):

This was very obviously in reference to this Ask that I received and had answered just prior to then. This person didn't even have the nerve to mention my blog by name, but had no problem calling me an "rpf fucker" (really nice...). The question pertained to whether Michael's lack of a BAFTA nom could have been because of Anna's off-putting social media posts prior to the announcement, and I indicated in my response that I did not believe this was the case. I am not about to place blame on Anna for something that she had no part of--which I suppose this person was hoping I would do, to give credence to their ludicrous claims of sexism--and I made my position on the matter clear.

So to your comment about me disagreeing, this was exactly what happened...and yet this person had to twist what I wrote so far around (to the point of lying by omission) just to make their point. And yes, I took that Ask seriously, as I take every Ask/Anon that I get seriously, even the ones that attack me (which is also why it takes me for-freaking-ever to answer the questions in my inbox). According to the above blogger, however, instead I should've responded to the person who sent the Ask by mocking them and telling them how ridiculous and stupid they are. Because just politely disagreeing while still allowing someone the space to share their thoughts is so horrible, but telling someone to fuck off is apparently the height of discourse. Ugh.

In any case, I am very much grateful for this message, and for you and everyone else who follows my blog and has been so lovely. It's your encouragement and kindness that gives me the drive to keep posting, so thank you! ❤️❤️

[theawkwardterrier]

WIP Wednesday

Thanks to @walkinginland and @flyinghome-againstthewind for the tags last week! I've been making some progress lately, so here's a longer excerpt than usual.

In some ways, it is easier to keep her head down, not only because it keeps her from being overwhelmed by the amount of work ahead of her, but because if she spent too much time considering all of those here that she cannot help, she might not be able to continue trying to help the others. The most maddening thing is that so much of the care that they need is so terribly simple: more and better food, air which is fresh and uncontaminated by the drift of coal and dust which covers so much here, water which is safe and drinkable. That is the hardest thing, breaking the news over and over that too many of these people will not get better -- cannot get better -- in this place as it is now, knowing that for nearly everyone there is no option to go elsewhere. These people were recruited to come here from other countries, preyed upon by Jack Randall, and brought somewhere which did not offer them the life they deserved but instead trapped them in a place where they might not speak the language, where their bodies and spirits could not thrive but where they had to remain to work off their ever-growing debts regardless. Dwelling on that for too long makes Claire have to clench back a scream, especially knowing that she will have to return to the house where Randall lives tonight and for so many nights in the future. So she does what she can instead: bandages a wound, pulls an abscessed tooth, offers the volumes and pamphlets from her stock to those who have the energy and interest to want something to read. She doesn't truly recognize her own exhaustion until a hand comes down on her shoulder and a familiar voice says in her ear, "This might no' be served on fine china, but it's hot and it'll keep ye going while you travel home. 'Specially because, unless I miss my guess, ye havena exactly been focused on keepin' yerself fed today."  Claire accepts the bowl that he holds out to her, almost blurting that she hadn’t thought he’d be back until it was dark before she realizes that it is already dark outside indeed. Mrs. FitzGibbons -- Mrs. Fitz; she had told Claire around noon that everyone referred to her that way -- must have lit the lamps while she was absorbed in her work. Even with the late hour, she sits down and savors the warm stew instead of racing to finish. Frank has honestly seemed relieved by her late and changeable hours, taking advantage of the new schedule to work later himself. Even if he has made it back earlier tonight, he can manage without her well enough and she knows that it will only be harder to share a meal with Randall and pretend courtesy after seeing the conditions here. "How can you stand it?" she asks quietly, then, as if the emotions are fully hitting her after hours of packing them away so she could keep her focus: "How can you fucking stand it, Jamie? A whole town, generations of families, who he's killed slowly through neglect that he pretends is protection -- and that's if he's not endangering them outright!" She doesn't realize that her hands have pressed so tightly against the bowl until Jamie gently loosens her grip. At the feeling of his fingers smoothing away the tension in hers, she takes in a deep breath -- more startled than relaxed at first, but her breathing soon falls into rhythm of his and of his careful movement. He stops just after, setting down her hand and standing.

Tagging my eternal meme bud @lavellenchanted! I'm not sure who else might be writing something, but if you are and want to share, consider yourself tagged too 😊😊😊

[toxicanonymity]

RULES & FAQs

THIS BLOG IS 18+ NO MINORS 🔞

WELCOME ABOARD! This blog has amazing readers which makes it a lot of fun. You can call me Tox or Toxy (she/her). I usually write smut. Sometimes I write darkfic. I dabble in horror. Please do not follow me if you're sensitive to the warnings on my masterlists, found in my bio. Check your content settings to make sure you can see everything. Heed warnings on fics. Last updated July 2024.

Basics

Tox/Toxy, she/her, millennial. English or Spanish.

WIPs are on hiatus. I'm kinda struggling but trying to do my best. Thank you for your patience.

Do not copy, translate, or reupload my work. Do not put it into AI or make bots of it. Ty for understanding.

Please do not follow me if you are averse to dark content including dubcon and noncon.

Q: Are Requests open?

A: No, but questions are welcome 🩷

Q: Will you write more every inch/left in Lincoln?

A: I would like to. More here. For Every Inch, there are two more parts planned.

Q: When is [fic] coming back? How many chapters?

A: IDK, sorry :( If I knew I'd tell you. In the future, I'm not planning to release things as I write, I'm gonna try to finish everything before posting. Problem is I have a lot of one shot fails / play as I go AUs. We'll see. I can tell you Every Inch has 6 total parts planned.

Q: Did you read my fic?

A: I wish I could read everyone's fics, but in addition to there being a lot of you, I'm a slow/bad reader. I'm also overdosed on pedro rn, but I still share fics on @toxicrecs. You are welcome to send a fic or tag me if you think the readers here would like it. When I read a fic, I also reblog it here on main. I am most likely to read shorter drabbles/fics.

Q: AO3?

A: Here, I've done a lot of catching up but still not everything is on there. If there's something specific you would like me to bring over let me know and I will.

Q: Tag list?

A: Please follow @toxicfics, use the person icon to turn on notifications, and use this trick for getting a tab on your dashboard just for your blog subscriptions so you can see what you missed.

Q: Are the fics always dark on this blog?

A: No.

Q: What is the brothel?

A: I HC my characters as living in a brothel which has its own crack sideblog @toxicbrothel.

Q: What are Joelkémons?

A: Reader-coined term for the Joel variants on this blog. Some are listed here: Joelkémon cards.

Q: Can we make your characters into bots?

A: No, please don't do this. It makes me feel bad and they don't even work. Every time, it puts me farther away from updating the fic. Please lmk if you ever see my work made into a bot, copied, etc. Please don't draw attention to it without speaking to me first 🙏🏼 I generally like to keep things quiet and not make a big deal out of it.

Q: Who's night walks!Joel? Who's thighs out?

A: Night Walks is an AU where Joel is your hot, older, creepy pothead neighbor. Night walks masterlist. Thighs out (another AU) is your boyfriend's hot slutty dad.

Q: What's a HOG? Who/what is GILF?

A: Hot Old Guy, from Silence can never be bought pt. 2 and 5. GILF is grandpa I'd Like to Fuck and may refer to the one from Pawn Shop (Joel in his 60s) @gilfjoel.

Q: Who is Dr. Rock?

A: Hot sex therapist who roleplays my characters. Dr. Rock is also the poster boy for avoiding discourse.

Q: Do you still write slashers?

A: Yes. I just wrote my first Thomas Hewitt in March 2024. Main/slashers masterlist.

Q: What other fics & blogs do you rec?

A: Please check out @toxicrecs

Q: How can I stay motivated to write without getting a lot of notes?

A: Please see these posts: here and here.

Q: Which anon tags are taken?

A: 🍯 🍹 🍓🦡

Q: Why did you unfollow me?

A: I could've lost (some or all) interest in your fandom. I may have forgotten why I followed you, especially if what you're posting has changed. Or I might be wanting to reduce the discourse I see.

✨Q: Am I blocked? Why can't I see your main blog from my account? / Did you soft block me?

⚠️ A: The most common reasons I block are for policing or judging what others post, kink shaming, or spreading harmful rumors. ⚠️

When it comes to rumors and shaming, silence is not a sign of guilt or agreement. It's confidence in the truth and desire to keep harmful takes off the dash. As a rule, I would ignore and block false accusations, rumors, or kink shamers instead of giving them a huge audience by responding or addressing it.

Harmful takes in the wild / targeted harassment: blocked. And if a post is bad enough--such as calling for targeted harassment of writers or trivializing a serious crime by casually accusing writers of it, I may block people for positively interacting with it. I don't want to be on your dash if you share those views, even if it's about something I don't write. On my blog, it's important for readers to be able to understand fiction can't be equated with real life. And who's to say I won't offend or traumatize you on a different topic one day? It's for your own good.

You can get blocked on anon too.

[masked-and-doomed]

NEW ME NEW INTRO!!

Hello, I'm Kat/Kats (or Yomotsu), welcome!! I am so normal about my boyfriends.

Please feel free to ask me about my OC, UG!! Hell, even cooler if you do it in a roleplay kinda way.

Other places you can find me:

@katsdoodles - art blog/archive.

Discord: thatonekats

👆 just in case. Tumblr explodes. Talk to me if you wanna ig (I am not good at conversing. So. Keep that in mind.)

Ao3: ThatOneKat2

👆 Might as well have it here. I've been more in a writing mood this year.

Twitter: @ThatOneKats

I have a twitter now I fucking guess. A bit of bonus content there (a little bit more of unhinged thoughts) but you're not missing much if you don't go there.

--

Suspected BPD, have been diagnosed autistic. I will feel things very intensely either forever or feel nothing about it in the next hour max. You may see vent posts. Every now and then. Check the tagging system to block em out.

I am deeply in love and sickly affectionate for my 4 darlings. They're my boyfriends, girlfriends, besties- our relationship? Is uhh whatever man. It's love. It's love. (Also not the best fathers but hey I take what I can get)

First two being Yomotsu Hirasaka (pfp), and Takao Hiyama. They are my most intense hyperfixation of 2 years.! They are from Mirai Nikki/Future Diary. An anime/manga which I don't really like.

The next beloved is Pocketcat! He is from Fear and Hunger. He's. A silly :) There's so much intrigue of him aaaghhh ough he is so sad.

Last one !! Faust. From Guilty Gear. He's a. He's somebody. Got him on Valentine's Day. He makes me a different kind of ill. Alas, this doctor cannot cure me.

They're 💙 just like me fr. I love them. URL is them btw. Masked men, doomed.

(comfortable with sharing and gushing together with everyone. I don't mind if you send or @ me in stuff that has Faust shipped with someone, (I like appreciating art of Faust in any form :] ) just know I'm uncomfy with all (canon x canon) Faust ships except Happy Chaos, meaning that I won't talk about them (eg., fau.slayer) together.)

I am. Also obsessed with my lambs as well. (The Conclave, consisting of Axus, Libraria, Baldias, and Chronus) They mean a lot to me. I wish to give them happiness they didn't have the time nor place for. You will see me reblog lambs and tag it as them. Feel free to send me lamb pictures, effectively beaming Conclave to me.

NOTE! I do sometimes post about needing my darlings to kill themselves, or wish great harm upon them. I will not always have positive things to say about them. I am a hater as much as I am a lover. (Not the "I want him dead" (lovingly) (though I do have sadism and would enjoy killing them for the fun of it), I have genuine hatred towards them all (Libraria the least) and I loathe their existence.

(if I had to guess, this is the bpd doing its thing)

--

Yayaya tagging system time!

#ah rambling - general yapping tag

#[MN/funger] rambling - ramblings of MN or funger

#[MN/funger] bangers - memes/shitposts of that fandom

#oc time - posts about the little OCs I have (currently empty. DW about it)

#unnamed girlie - posts about my self insert. (UG for short)

#UG spoilers - in case you wanna go through the UG tag but not be spoiled about the endings and such.

#guy in my head - headcanon posts

#doodle tag - stuff not high effort enough to put into my art blog goes here

#reblog moment - reblogs! So you can filter them out

#lovesick - yandere / obsessive behaviour

#gatito - kitty tag.

#belalang beloveds - grasshopper tag. Belalang is grasshopper in Malay :)

#art save - images I wanna draw (typically memes I wanna draw with my guys)

#art reference material - reblogs of posts with helpful art stuff

#general reference material - reblogs of posts with whatever that isn't art. Not really 'general' perse but I don't have another word

#epic meowtual art - art by the meowtuals!

#ask game - reblogs of ask game posts

#ask game answer - answers to asks abt the ask game

#hello asker - ask tag

#tag game - reblog of posts that are meant to have you tag other ppl to continue the chain

#negative. And #/negative are used for vent posts. Make those sometimes.

#hxrny aroace on main - (mind the x) epic posts where I feel feelings for some characters (carnally)

#fanfic shit idfk - posts related to fanfics I'm reading (or something like that)

#girl what you on?? - posts where I'm in some sort of delirium, talking to my beloveds. And being ill about them.

#shit I send to fictional guy - posts I'd send to fictional characters. Will prob have their name tagged too.

#unnamed oc core - wow it's just like him fr. Many things will be tagged this btw. They are not okay. (Same person as UG jsyk)

#pocketkitty - for posts I don't want in the pocket.cat tag or reblogging posts that are like pocket.cat. (only applies to him everyone else gets tagged with their name in posts that are like them)

#robot nephew - similar to pocketkitty just that it's. Mr robo.t K.y

#silly doctor man - I fell into gui.lty g.ear and now I'm in love with this bozo. When I don't want it to be in the main tag. Yes like pocketkitty and robo bo.

#mister omelette - guy that asks which came first the chicken or the egg. Answers himself, it's omelette.

#mask quartet - fucking stupid masked bitches trying to save humanity gone wrong

Liveblog tags:

Guilty gear: #pride in my gears: sign, #pride in my gears: rev, #pride in my gears: overture, #pride in my gears: strive

--

Tag me in stuff you think I like!! I don't mind! Or like tag games.

There's also a *cough cough* side blog. For degenerate thoughts of mine. If you want it just give a DM ig.

--

Pictures i want here

(This applies mostly to Faust. Sorry not sorry Faust. I will give you the worst horrors.)

(This is me any time someone mentions Conclave. I wish I could say I was exaggerating. I'll just say that Conclave has spiked my libido and I've been the fastest to draw suggestive art of them and write smut of them than of any other character I've fallen in love with. I need them carnally. And I tell you, it is a need.)

[misc-obeyme]

Anon who'd discussed the use of the word 'psychotic' here- I know that I was terse when I sent that anon, and I apologize for that.

It mainly comes from having friends who experience psychosis and are thus targets of that kind of stigma/stereotype, and I'm also known to be generally blunt. Still, I certainly could have said it better.

I don't and did not believe that you already knew the implications of the word or were using it that way intentionally, and I appreciate the fact that you were willing to listen to the point regardless.

To the person in replies who said, verbatim, "every word is offensive at this point." (Which, I'd like to note, I don't blame you for, misc. Just wanted to address it because I know others are going to react the same way.)

Not every word is offensive, no. But when you use a word that directly refers to someone with a disability and you use it to generalize about everyone with that disability and imply everyone with psychosis is a horrible awful person, I'd say that's pretty fucking ableist, no?

Hi there, anon.

I appreciate the apology. But I do recommend thinking more carefully about the anon messages you send in the future, especially on a topic like this.

I'm a writer. I know how powerful words and language can be. As such, I always do my best not to use my words to harm people. It's something I'm careful about and something I care about in general.

That's why I was able to listen to your point at all. Because I cared more about the people I was possibly harming than I did about how you made me feel. I almost didn't respond at all, but decided I'd rather fix the mistake than leave it.

The fact is, I am very open and receptive to these sorts of corrections. Like I said, I already make an effort to mitigate this kind of thing. I would never knowingly perpetuate harm in this way. But I'm also human. And I make mistakes. I'm happy to be told when I make them so I can fix them.

But most people are not like me. And I can promise you that the way you presented your argument would have shut someone down to where they wouldn't even listen to the point. And you wouldn't have accomplished your goal at all.

And because you're anonymous, I don't know if you're someone who has been following me for a long time or just happened upon my post in the tags, you know? To me, it feels like someone random just coming at me without knowing me at all.

I understand that you want to protect your friends, but it's also important to recognize that presenting things in that manner is not helpful. Especially when you're talking to someone who already agrees with you.

Lastly, I am going to say that I consider this topic closed. You pointed out that this word is harmful, I agreed and edited my use of it. If you want to discuss things with people who are commenting on that post, please don't do it through anon asks. You can respond to them off anon in the comments, but I won't act as a go between for discourse.

Due to this, I am also going to delete any anon asks that I have since gotten that are about the discussion around this word. This isn't specific to this person, but just a general notice to all anons: if you have sent me an ask or send me an ask that's about this or that includes this word, I will delete it.

My stance is always to listen to people who are harmed by words that have been used against them. I have no problem accepting that I've made a mistake and fixing it. If I ever use a word that is actively harmful to people, I can promise you it's because I was unaware of the impact of it. In such a case, please feel free to let me know. I would rather be told than continue to use it. All I ask is that you afford me some grace and treat me with a little more kindness.

[thepowerisyouth]

Eh mental health is annoying. Buying & cooking cheap low-FODMAP diet is annoying. My best top note for now is I'm using this blog to practice writing. I need more practice in it. I only know business, accounting & economics stuff. Its stupid stuff. Theres too much actual fraud everywhere that its annoying

Also I use mobile so formatting sucks cause Nvidia GPUs, or Arch dont like tumblr site. Or tumblr site dont like tumbkr site

Also also I 100,000% support all my fellow ones-and-zeros and their identity. Everyone is welcome here.

Except transphobes/zionist/long list of others but you get it. I'll help harrass any of those types endlessly if someone wants to tag me, and bring me in on an argument like that friend you call for backup with fights

Im unhinged so who's to say exactly what will end up here but this is also a completely public blog to me friends, family, hell, even acquaintances i dont give a fuc.

Blog should be expected to be roughly as child-friendly as simpsons or bobs burgers. But also boring like a civics/economics lesson sometimes. Yay

--------

I (and my husband) am ex mormon. Its a weird thing. Look into it if you havent recently. Realllllyyyy look into. Takes time to figure it all out in this fuckin fucked up world.

I just moved a year ago. Didnt watch the US stock market as much as I normally do. Had my first snowstorm 10 weeks ago, that was.. fun to handle while ill prepared. About 6 weeks ago I was hopping back on the market and notice its a huge tech bubble about to pop and all the conditions Ive been warned about my whole career imply this is not good. Just took a little more thinking & digging and I'm a little too confident to stop talking about it now.

(Oh I'm also care-free as fuc so I dont really read or desire to change past posts more than lil-nitpicks. More informative for the reader & myself-in-the-future-reading that way)

And I'm not kidding I do love feedback & questions. Its a very public blog tho so I get that part for sure.

If you search "life story" in my tags I had that pinned for a min Im just moving shit around rn

Being poor sucks. Will write more on that later.

---------------

First of all-- the exact timeline of an "economic shock" is literal insanity. Dont worry about the exact timing of any of this-- just know its doomed to happen soon.

Here are some effects I predict of this upcoming economic downturn

If anyone comes across any sources for these events that support my arguments please feel free to add in comments, reblogs, etc.

This concise list is mainly for my own reference, but it would be great to add to it if any one has something to add!

0.5. US Stock market collapse-- I have no desire to try and predict this one exactly. Too many conspiracies are actually correct about this big guy. Lets just say 7 US Tech stocks are worth 25% of the entire worlds market, roughly. "Too big to fail"-- I believe is the phrase

1. Corporate (slightly later will be residential by extension) real estate crisis: currently way too overvalued. Most of the houses, land, & urban corporate property we see could stand to decrease by about 60-90% from its current price.

2. Bankruptcy crisis: similar to the after-effects of the 70s inflation-- we can expect to see a huge wave of bankruptcies affecting a variety of business: from the micro-self employed; to the small business with leased buildings; to the largest corporations who commit massive accounting fraud & hope to escape accountability in time

3. Bank runs-- there is an extremely high overreliance on the Federal Reserve, who does not have good control over this situation. Once it becomes clear that there is a crisis (we call this a catalyst event)-- bank runs for physical cash are a surety. Hard to say how long a crisis like this might last. I should ask my siblings who lived near the SVB bank crisis hotspot (but those were rich fucks they do their "bank runs" over the phone)

3.5. Global currency collapse, which takes effect in every single local, state, & national economy at slightly different times. This means prices lower. Much lower. But takes time

4. Whatever the fuck the geopolitics is gonna do???. Its weird. You got Russia wanting to invade Europe? (Look at global economic forum 2024) Trump wants to let them. Biden wants to be an establishment corporate ass. North Korea has changed its #1 public enemy to South Korea (dont remember my source but it was a couple months ago). USA is stationing more troops in Taiwan, but probably only because of semiconductor technology?

The scope of our global financial woes are larger than can be explained in any of our lifetimes. Its much, much closer to pre-revolution France or the late 1920s. Big change is coming. Itll be soon

5. More to come

[showmey0urfangs]

Alright Toni, since you decided to get on this public platform and start insulting me and dragging my name in the mud, seemingly out of the blue then fine, I'll bite and give you the attention you crave.

-------

For reference, this is the post they are referring to, that I made back in September, criticizing the gross implication that Louis enjoys being subjected to racism and being emasculated by white men. A post in which btw I did not even mention your name.

And this was the other post I made some time before that, expressing my dislike for the prevalence of what I consider to be harmful racist and homophobic tropes in this fandom—which earned me a series of hateful comments and anonymous messages, no doubt coming from all those lovely people in your comments who are calling me names and accusing me of all sorts of things simply for daring to disagree with the great Masterletters.

Well, newsflash Buddy being black does not place you above criticism when you say some dumbass racist shit. Nor does it give you the right to bully and harass other fans for expressing opinions you don't like.

I will reiterate the same thing I said a month ago: Me expressing my opinions on my own blog, in posts that I usually don't even tag, is not me policing other writers.

I am allowed to say that I dislike certain tropes and find the way they are written in this particular fandom—especially when it comes to Louis—homophobic, dehumanizing and racist. That is my opinion and you're more than free to disagree with it.

I don't comment on any of your fics, nor do I come onto your account or in your inbox to tell you what to write. And I have never attacked other fans anonymously. When I have something to say I will always do so from my own account. Hiding behind vague posts and anonymous hate messages is you and your friend's MO, not mine.

Since you all seem so convinced you're the bestest writers in this fandom and your interpretation of these characters is the only correct one, then great. Keep doing you! After all, I'm just a talentless nobody who is sooo jealous of your brilliant writing skills, so why do you even care so much about what I think? Why are you so obsessed with me to the point of continuing to stalk me and talk about me even long after I've blocked you?

It's always funny to me that you and your friends want to act like the moral authorities in this fandom, harassing and bullying other writers to the point that several of you got banned from discord servers and are blocked by half of the people on here for the nasty way you behave, and yet you still fail to see the irony of you perpetrating the same racist and harmful tropes in your own writing you claim to denounce. And you certainly seem to have no issue targeting any other black fans who dare to disagree with your very narrow interpretation of these FICTIONAL characters. You think it feels "off" that I called you 'kang' and yet it's okay for you and your friends to call me and other black fans coons, race traitors and other derogatory racial slurs?

As you said so yourself, I have never interacted with you and as a matter of fact, I have most of your little group blocked, both on here and on any other platform, and carefully avoid any and all interactions with any of you. So I would appreciate it if you keep my name out of your fucking mouth!

And this is my PSA to everyone who liked that post, is friends with any of these people and/or endorses the way they behave towards other fans: please kindly unfollow me and refrain from interacting with any of my content in the future!

I come here to have fun and enjoy my silly little gay vampire show, and I always try to remain civil and have open discussions with everyone, even with people I strongly disagree with. But when someone decides to fuck with me and thinks they can intimidate me or silence me with cheap high school mean girl tactics, I will meet them with the same energy!

[stobinesque]

(you can absolutely ignore my requests too I'm just being greedy at this point)

Anotha 250 request: t4t Steve/Gareth, share (nsfw pwease 👉👈)

*throws hands in the air* at this point I've given up on wondering where this come from. also this time I know the answer. Once again everything is below a cut, yadda yadda. Also, you're killing me, Gerry (affectionate).

prompt: 'share' | wc: 250 | rating: E | cw/tags: Puppy Play, Dom Bottom Steve, Sub Top Gareth, Face Fucking, Oral Sex, Vaginal Sex, Trans Male Characters*, references to future exhibitionism | Stareth

*cunt and dick are used for Steve; Gareth has had bottom surgery, and that is referenced explicitly in the dirty talk

Steve sunk into the couch, hand tangling in the mop of curls between his spread thighs. "That's it, puppy," he grunted, bucking his hips against Gareth's panting mouth. "Get me nice and wet."

Gareth moaned into Steve's cunt, lapping enthusiastically, and Steve kept fucking his face, grinding his dick against the flat of his puppy's tongue as he slobbered all over him. 

Steve's cunt throbbed, aching to be filled. "Get up here," he said roughly, dragging Gareth up the length of his body until he was straddling Steve's open legs. 

His puppy whined, rutting his soft cock against Steve's thigh. 

"Shhh, you gotta be good for me, okay puppy? Can't get any treats until Master says you can."

Gareth whimpered, trembling in Steve's lap with the effort to hold still. 

Steve reached down to cup a hand over Gareth's dick, kneading firmly at his balls and the pump concealed there. Gareth keened, burying his face into the side of Steve's neck.

"You're being so good for me, puppy," Steve murmured, petting his hair gently as he worked him the rest of the way to hardness. "Now come on, get that pretty cock inside of me." Steve guided Gareth forward, head falling against the back of the couch as Gareth entered his cunt with a humping thrust. "Mmm. You fuck me so good, puppy. 'Should enter you in a prize show. Share how good you are with everyone there. Bet you'd have the prettiest, most expensive dick of all the competition."