#how op wrote the panic attack

[m-musings]

okokokok, i LOVE how you wrote the overwatch boys, and I have a kind of long-winded request for Cassidy, Hanzo, Genji, and (if you write for him) Ramattra:

their s/o was previously a test subject for Talon experiments, something they have nightmares about. how would the boys react to their partner having one of said nightmares and trying to attack the person trying to wake them up.

ik this is kinda specific, but thank you if you write it! ♡♡♡♡

A/n: oooo this is a good request, let's hope my angsty writing chops are up to par bcuz i really hope this lives up to what you want (hcs under the cut!)

Warnings: general angst, accidental physical violence, mentions & implications of past torture (also op doesn't really know how to write nightmares/night terrors asdfghjkl) Word Count:1586

Headcanons: Cassidy, Genji, Hanzo and Ramattra with a Former Talon Test Subject S/O (Separate)

Cassidy:

When Cassidy awakes in the middle of the night to the sound of you fiercely muttering at no one, its safe to say he's concerned.

He listens for a moment as you make alarmed noises, trying to discern what exactly is going on.

After turning over to flip on the light, he glances over at your sleeping form thrashing around with your brow furrowed in terror.

"N-no... get a...away f-from me..." Cassidy hears you say clearly, getting more worried by the second.

As he begins to reach over to try and rouse you from your slumber, the volume of your voice grows from a to an earsplitting shriek.

As you keep screaming, you start becoming combative, slapping and punching at Cass while somehow still asleep.

"Whoa, hey, hey, hey! Jus' h-hold on a darn second here!" He says as he tries to block your attacks by grabbing your hands.

"No! NO! Let me out!" You wail as tears start streaming down your cheeks.

"Darlin', it's a dream, you gotta wake up! I'm here, just open your eyes!"

Debating between forcing you to wake up and just continuing to reassure you and talk you down from the fear, he decides that the latter is probably going to be the safest for both of you.

After a several minutes long struggle, you slowly stop trying to fight Cole as your once frantic breathing begins to return to its normal pace.

Your tired eyes begin to blink open as the last bit of panic leaves your body in a few small gasps. When you fully regain consciousness, Cassidy sighs in relief as realization begins to sink into your thoughts.

"Are you okay, what the hell happened there?!" Questions Cole as he smooths his hands over your hair.

Choking out a small sob, you gently grasp his bicep to try and ground yourself as more tears begin to fall from your eyes.

"Cass, I-I'm sorry... I- I was back in Talon and the pain j-just wouldn't stop!"

His heart drops at the mention of the evil organization, knowing what kind of awful treatment you went through while kept there.

"I tr-tried to get away but I just.... couldn't! It was awful!" You whisper as you cross your arms over your chest.

"Darlin' I'm so sorry... I am so sorry..." Cole responds faintly before carefully pulling you into a hug.

The room grows still again for a moment, with only the sound of your hushed weeps filling the air.

"I don't wanna go back, please don't let them take me!" You cry into Cole's shoulder as he holds you close.

"No, no, you won't. I swear that as long I'm breathin', I will always make sure you never have to go through that ever again."

Genji:

Genji is all too familiar with nightmares. During the first couple years after his confrontation with Hanzo, he would very frequently have them. He's been through that whole song and dance a million times before.

Which is the reason he immediately knows what's happening when he wakes to the sound of your screams next to him.

He rushes to throw your shared quilt off and make sure you're okay, getting punched once or twice in the process.

After the nightmares pass and you calm down enough to speak, Genji is right there to comfort you.

"It's alright, my love, it is over now... Are you okay?" He questions as he holds one of your palms in his.

You shake your head no as you take several sharp breaths in and out.

"I was there again... in that-that godforsaken lab with fucking Moira prodding at me like cattle! It felt li-like it would never end! I can't go through that again!"

"And you don't have to. I don't know all of what happened to you, but I promise you will never have to face it on your own. I'm here to help you however I'm able to."

As the fearful adrenaline steadily leaves your veins, Genji brings your hand up to his chest so you could feel his heart beating just beneath his cybernetics.

"I love you and will sit here with you as long as you need me too."

With a sad, shaky laugh, you nod and you take your hand back in order to wrap yourself around him.

He does the same in turn as you embrace him ever so slightly tighter before he ushers for you to lay back down together so you can get some much needed sleep.

Pulling the blanket back over your bodies, he scooches in a little closer and begins to hum softly in the hopes of lulling you into a nightmare-less slumber.

Watching as your eyes begin to flutter closed again, he hears you mumble something just before you doze off.

"Thank you, Genji... I love you too."

Hanzo:

Hanzo already has trouble sleeping himself, so when your nightmares come around, he's already wide awake.

As you toss and turn underneath your blanket, he tries to calm you down by running his hand over you head, not caring if he gets hurt by your unintentionaly violent movements.

Once the night-terror ends, you start holding your face in your hands and rock back and forth as Hanzo rubs assuaging circles on your back.

"My dear, what can I do? How do I make the fear stop for now?" The archer inquires as you continue to shake in place.

"I don't know, Han... every time I close my eyes, all I can see is the lights and the wires and the needles... It won't go away no matter how hard I try. I just want them to be gone." You state, anxiously starting to press at your temples.

With a noiseless sigh escaping from his lips, Hanzo moves closer to place an arm across your shoulder and rest his forehead against your head.

"I am sorry for not being there with you. If I were able to change history, I would have gone to great lengths to rescue you."

As you begin to cry at his admission, he places a delicate kiss atop your head.

"I would never ask you to do something that dangerous for me. I couldn't bear it if something happened to you..." You sob out as you bury yourself into Hanzo's side.

Hanzo is quick to wrap his other arm around you, offering a comforting squeeze before ushering you into his lap.

"You wouldn't ever have to ask for my help. I would trade my life for yours if it meant that no more harm would come to you."

Ramattra:

It's uncommon for Omnics to dream- let alone have nightmares- so the first one you have around Ramattra? It comes as a bit of a shock to him.

When he hears you yell, he all but rockets out of his reboot cycle to scan the room for any hidden threats to your safety.

After seeing nobody there but the two of you, he glances down to see you- fast asleep but clawing at the air like a trapped animal scratching at a predator.

He then decides to do a scan of your vitals, just to make sure you aren't in any immediate medical distress. The scan reveals to him that your heartrate and breathing are through the roof.

Just as he's about to cross the room to try and wake you up, you shoot up from your fitful rest with a loud inhale as you slam your hands down onto the mattress below.

Swiftly joining your side on the bed, he cautiously turns your visage towards him as he goes to brush a few stray strands of hair out of your face.

While your eyes try to adjust to the low light of your room, you call out Ramattra's name, receiving a modulated but relaxing shush from his vocalizer.

"Calm yourself, pet, I'm right here. Now, tell me what has happened."

As you take a moment or two to collect yourself and come down from your frenzy, you gaze up to meet the faint glow of his faceplate emitting from his eyes.

"It's Talon; they... tormented me... a long time ago. Had me chained down as a doctor injected chemicals into me before he began flushing them out and started the whole process over again..."

Watching as you barely manage to hold back tears, His joints all seem to freeze in place as fury begins to creep in and take over all his systems.

"They need to suffer for their misdeeds. Who are they?..." He presses, his voice now hauntingly deeper than before .

"I don't know their names, and even if I did, I would do everything in my power to forget them."

An uneasy silence fills the space between you two, staying there for a minute before the large Omnic grunts and lifts you into his arms.

"I am sorry for what you had to go through. Just know that if any pain ever comes your way again, the offenders shall be personally dealt with." Ramattra claims as he rests his faceplate against your jaw.

Relishing in the cool feeling of his metal features against your warm skin, you nod appreciatively before he begins to lightly sway you to and fro.

Watching as you drift back to sleep, Ramattra makes a mental note to hunt down the Talon members who hurt you the next time he meets his allies. He wouldn't and will not stand for the mistreatment of the only human he has ever cared about.

[leychin]

PLAY NICE by @sugoi-and-spice may be the best thing ive ever read and im going to talk about it. I binged it all today. its so good please read it

TW: Mentions of r4pe, panic attacks, abus3, and many other traumas

This may be the best characterization of Shigaraki in fiction ive ever seen. Its realistic and it starts off like he does in season one. A brat, untamed, violent, and impulsive. When we meet him its clear he has no goal and hes throwing shots in the dark, waiting to see what hits. But its deeper than that, and i think spice shows that its shigaraki used to getting what he wants, hes never "failed" before and he doesn't intend to start now.

Its messed up, its all a fucked up situation darling lands herself in. She cant say no, she cant do anything, and in many ways shigaraki is no different. He's doing as his sensei instructs, and its what hes been raised to do and he cant do anything about it either, but at he tries to enjoy what he can.

The relationship is built off of him holding this over her head, she has a good life, good family, friends, and a boyfriend. Shes smart but shes not happy, and even early shigaraki may have been a brat but he was perceptive at least. In the short time they spend together he's learned her quirks, what makes her tick, and how she really is.

they both really do bring the worst out in eachother, but it's also the best isnt it? As the story progresses we see Shigaraki give crumbs of his past or what he remembers of it, and we see her learn to let go of the facade she puts up for everyone else around her. Its not even a healthy relationship, its not like theyre "getting better for eachother" its just a passive effect. Their relationship is still founded on shigaraki very openly r4ping the poor girl and holding her fathers job over her head.

Call it stockholm, but she gets too caught up in the routine of being with Shigaraki and its adorable to see, he can fuck her brains out and then tell her to play black ops 2 with him like its nothing. Its a welcomed click because theyre both lonely, they both need someone, and even if they arent the best people, they end up becoming better i cannot stress that enough.

i dont want to spoil too much of it for anyone who reads my little ramblings on it, but shigaraki opening up to her as time continues, learning, and not just seeing her as an npc is something you need to read and i cant possibly hope to explain. He falls so hard its so good. His thought processes, his panic attacks, his itching, its all so perfect.

Spice you need to pursue a career in writing bc you've made something raw, something real. You wrote a story about two bad people, two people who are bad but better and its gross but its also gross in a cute way. i love you and i love this mwah.

[for-a-longlongtime]

@joelscruff I really agree with you - however, I do feel like making a side note (or let’s say weighing in with my two cents, if you don’t mind) because while I’m not really active in other fandoms, it goes beyond the judgement in PP fandom.

I’m obviously NOT excusing it - it’s actually completely unacceptable how fic writers have been treated, but I think it may be useful to be aware/unpack why and how these things are happening — also because I really want to emphasize to everybody who gets hate that IT IS NOT PERSONAL. Yes, the attacks are definitely personal, but please do not let them get to you because this isn’t about you personally as a writer failing or coming up short or whatever.

as OP said, listing warnings is a courtesy- it’s a heads up about things that may require a warning. But tagging your fic doesn’t mean ‘list every action that happens in here’. And if you’re a reader and read something you don’t like, either in the warnings or in the actual text? Just close the page. Block the author, if you feel like you want to do that. But don’t go off on them.

Lack of (new) media literacy:

This is such a big thing. I don’t want to go all in-depth and nerd out, although I’d definitely encourage folks to read up a little on what it is because it’s interesting. But basically it can be summed up by “critically assessing information” that a lot of people never learned/were able to master, and that definitely also applies to young people who are considered to be ‘digital natives’ because they grew up with all the online access etc. But it’s not about technical skills; it’s about social skills and cultural competence, and so many people lack that. You see this around here manifested as people reacting in such fucked up ways re: fanfic, but other variations of that lack of media literacy is for example how people fall for conspiracy theories - or are not being able to believe/accept science.

I’m an older millennial, and while I don’t want to claim that we necessarily were taught media literacy as we came of age and got online as teenagers in say the 90s/early 2000s, I think I can generalize a little by saying that we have always been very much aware of different forms of media (and storytelling) and often the creators behind it. As a matter of fact, ‘modern fanfiction’ was started by Gen X and it didn’t even happen online: it basically happened with Star Trek in the sixties and seventies, as fans wrote fic and made zines (magazines) by hand and through copying pages literally with xerox machines. Compare that to teens in this day and age — for a lot of them everything is kind of presented as ‘content’.

Puritanism, ‘culture wars’ and FOSTA-SESTA

I’m really gonna try to keep this short because oh my god, there’s so much to say about all of this. Let me refer to this Vox article (disclaimer: I don’t necessarily agree with all of it, but it does a pretty good job of addressing a lot of things):

The lack of (proper) sex ed and the insistence on preaching abstinence in schools has to do with so many things. Similarly, online activism (or ‘performative activism’) has given a major vocabulary to folks which makes them ‘call things out’ but then misses the boat because they’re not fully able to fully contextualize it.

FOSTA-SESTA is NOT a child protection act — it has everything to do with criminalizing sex work, and it’s one of the really bad things done by the Tr*mp administration. It has made things like ‘moral panic’ and anti-sex attitudes so much worse, including ‘sex negative feminists’ (which isn’t the same as anti-porn feminists, btw). But it has really impacted the way that public discourse takes place regarding a lot of subjects that have to do with sex. You know how so many states have started blocking sites like Pornhub etc? A lot of that goes all the way back to things like FOSTA-SESTA. And a lot of that seems to be bleeding into fandom discourses as well.

Anyway. This became longer than intended, and maybe it’s all a little too much (it certainly isn’t as graceful or complete as it could be, but I don’t wanna lecture anyway). Just really felt like adding this as a foot note to your truly excellent post @joelscruff.

It really pains me to see how writers are being treated, how many folks have been leaving, and I’m not gonna be as naïeve as to believe that I’m gonna convince anyone to not send shit to people. I just hope that maybe it’ll help people understand a little more about what’s behind a lot of that shit - not to be more understanding of it, but hopefully to make it a little easier to disregard those messages.

To every PP writer and reader out there: I love you, and let’s please just not fuckin forget that we’re here to have fun and write horny shit and happily share it with each other. If something isn’t your thing, or if you dislike a certain kink or trope; just skip it, be it as a reader or a writer. Different strokes for different folks. But let’s not be assholes about it.

hey just fyi write whatever the fuck you want because people will always have an issue regardless of whether you did every single thing possible that you thought was right and correct. no matter what, there will ALWAYS be someone who thinks you're doing something wrong and it's fucking exhausting. just write what you want and how you want and only warn for what you think you should warn for i'm so serious. it's gotten to a point now where you can list every single possible warning ever and someone will still get mad at you. it's actually insufferable to be in this fandom sometimes. who would've thought the pedro pascal fandom would be the most morally righteous & judgmental fandom to ever exist.

[i-spaced-sorry]

18 and 29 for the fanfic asks 😊

Thank you for sending some in! I'm going to put it below the cut cause my answers got long...sorry

18. What’s one of your favorite lines you’ve written in a fic?

I have a couple from a couple different fics, so bear with me

first one comes from Chicago.... We have a Problem ---

“My CI, Lenny, says that there is no chatter on the streets regarding infections. He says and these are his words not mine, ‘everyone on the streets is just as careful if not more careful about the fucking virus. Barely anyone has health insurance, so why would they create or invest in something that is going to spread and need some shot that you can only get with health insurance’ “ read off Jay from his notepad. Looking up, he scratched his chest and coughed before concluding with stating, “So whoever is doing this is not out on the streets or at least where my CI is working anyway”

---

second one comes from I don't Think We Are In Chicago Anymore ---

“Whoa babe, maybe you should let Jay rest for now,” calmly stated Connor, while resting his hands on his boyfriend’s shoulders. Connor began leading Will out of Post Op, while Will continued to spew words. 

Once outside, Connor could tell the tirade his boyfriend was having wasn’t going to stop on its own, so he looked both ways and dragged his boyfriend behind the Post Op tent and locked lips with him.

When he pulled away, Will, with wide eyes, shook his head and stated, “Connor? When did you get here? Where’s Jay?” 

---

And the last one is from Optimal Road Trip ---

Smiling, Hailey spoke, “I think those are some very nice cities and very feasible places we can visit. Jay and I will request PTO on Monday when we go in.”

Stretching his back and yawning, Jay adds, “Agreed, now if you don’t need us anymore. I think Hailey and I have a date with our pillows. Please don’t need us until at least 11 am tomorrow” and with that Hailey and Jay hugged Y/N and headed for their bedroom.

---

29. Share a bit from a fic you’ll never post OR from a scene that was cut from an already posted fic. (If you don’t have either, just share a random fic idea you have that you don’t plan on getting to.)

So this was something I wrote when my brain kept me up until 1am when I had to open that same day! I don't think I'll ever fully post this cause it was more of a vent piece than anything, but this flashback could potentially be a plot point in a future fic if I wanted to make something around it.

----

But you remember last December don't you? You know the week of my birthday"

 "I remember" was all Jay replied. He remembered that week vividly. The way you were essentially doing doubles, what with a full day of  background acting on what was supposed to be a day off to then the next day doing an open shift at the coffee shop, to then hanging with people for her birthday week, to getting sick but pushing it off cause you were supposed to be attending so many things. And for you calling Jay panicking on the train platform because you thought you got pick pocketed and you worked yourself into a panic attack and the only thing you thought about when thinking about how you thought you lost all your cards was that you had things to do with people that required money and you had a big birthday celebration planned with friend at Molly's. But then you called your former roommate and asked if she could look in your backpack and she said you had left your wallet at home. And you didn't even realize what you grabbed instead of your wallet until 3 weeks later.... It was a pad. So yes. Jay remembered the week of your birthday vividly. He remembered how you told him and coworkers that if you pulled a no call no show that they shouldn't be surprised if you ended up getting a psych eval. Thankfully it never got to that point but the train platform panic attack really zapped you into realizing you were needing a break.

[goodgirlofglory]

In the balance - Chapter 4: Put

Chapter 3 - Chapter 5

/Masterpost/

Pairing: Dark!Steve Rogers x reader

Word count: 3,1k

Warnings: non-con, dub-con, depression, angst, anxiety attacks, panic attacks, smut, non-con smut, vaginal sex, lack of hygiene, starvation due to depressive hungerstrike.

Summary: As it dawns on you how trapped you are, you take poorly to the captivity.

Note: Allright you guys, this is officially a series. It will be 10 chapters AT LEAST!! Seeing I really got myself into it with the set-up of the first three parts, I have no idead how often I will update this. Last time I wrote a series, I had finished virtually every part before I even posted the prologue, so this is also the first time I’m writing and posting parts simultaneously. A masterlist will be made momentraily and all parts updated with it!! I’m excited!!!

Your media consumption is your own responsibility, but I advise you to not interact if the contents of the warnings trigger you. Minors DNI! 

My work is not to be distributed outside this blog. 

Likes, replies and reblogs are amaaaazing💞💞

You slept as if you were dead that first night, the shock to your system knocking you out cold as soon as Steve left the room. 

You woke up alert, instantly remembering everything about where you were and how you got there. In the early morning sun, the room shone in a warm light, every piece of furniture and fabric looking soft, inviting - like something out of a magazine. 

A surge of panic had you moving up and out of bed. You found your discarded clothes on the floor and hastily put them on, noticing you had nothing else on you - neither your phone, wallet or keys were in sight. 

Didn't matter, you just needed to get out. This wasn't happening.

You made your way into the hallway and followed it down past several sets of double doors, side tables with beautiful flower decorations and little else. Your feet made no sound on the plush, mauve carpet. In fact, the house was completely void of sound. The grand staircase looked even more impressive in daylight. The ceiling had stained glass that painted the white walls in a flourish of coloured light, and the marble of the staircase felt cool under your bare feet. It was all obscenely grand, like a home belonging to someone who didn’t know who they were and had too much wealth to know what to do with. For all his mystery, you would never have imagined Steve living in a place like this. It kept dawning on you how frightfully little you knew him. 

Steve had taken your shoes, maybe even as early as when he’d strapped you into the jet - or maybe you lost them running in the woods? You didn’t even remember, your mind growing hazy with the urge to get outside - to just get away.

The double-door entrance was locked when you went to slowly pry it open, and you noticed the second lock needed a key - a key that was nowhere in sight. Okay, next door, a window, anything. You moved silently through the entrance hall and into the living room, remembering how you’d come in through a back porch door the night before. You found it easily enough retracing your steps, but this was also locked with a lock that needed a key from the inside. You contemplated throwing something to break one of the huge, floor length windows in the living room, but that could make too much sound. You didn’t know if Steve was in the house or not. Outside, you saw the garden, the landing patch with the jet still on it, and around, a lawn large enough it could be more aptly described as a field, and behind it, thick forest. No buildings, no city, nothing. You had no idea where this mansion was or what surrounded it. But anything would be better than staying here. 

You took a new path out of the living room, peering around corners into an office, a large bathroom, a huge library with stuffed bookshelves in dark wood, big, old chairs that looked like they would swallow you whole and lastly, a kitchen. And across from the large kitchen island there was another set of porch doors - wide open, the light drapes blowing softly in the breeze coming from outside. Your feet carried you towards it on instinct, stepping into the spacious kitchen. 

“Good morning,” came Steve’s familiar voice, jolting you. Glancing to your left, you saw him, casually reclined in a chair by the dining table to the right. Great, he was waiting for you, the open doors bait. 

You didn’t even halt as you marched for the door, instantly relieved as you cleared it, feeling the direct heat of the sun on your face as your bare feet touched the small porch outside, and then - deliciosuly soft and cool grass. Ahead was another mile of neatly mowed lawn and the treeline in the distance. 

Steve’s booming steps sounded on the porch behind you. 

“Sweetie, come back. There’s nothing but forest that way, and a very high fence you can’t climb” Steve called behind you, somewhere between amusement and exasperation. 

Your heart pounded painfully in your chest. Was it true? Were you so remote? Recalling the night before, you figured any attempt to outrun him would be pointless. And a fence, enclosure all the way around, no doubt with a locked gate, if there even was a road leading in and out of this place. For all you knew, the only way in was via fucking jet plane. The pit in your chest threatened to swallow you whole, and you gulped in a fortifying breath. You wouldn’t give up yet. 

Turning on your heel, you marched back up to Steve, shoeless feet not exactly intimidating in the soft grass. Reaching him, you craned your neck to stare him down. You reached your hand out. 

“My car keys,” you stated, your voice surprisingly even. 

Maybe if you just showed Steve that you were not going to play along on this, he would return to his senses and let you go home. It wasn't too late to just go back to the way things were. Surely you would have a, if marginal, say in this. 

Steve cocked his head at you before turning on his heel and walking back to the house. 

“Breakfast is the most important meal of the day,” he said, not even looking back as he slipped into the kitchen. 

You briefly considered continuing across the lawn and into the trees, but ended up following Steve back inside the house. He’d returned to his previous seat, sipping a coffee cup. You stepped up to him, careful to keep a foot of distance between you. It was never a good idea to let Steve get too close. 

“I need my car keys. I need to go to work,” you said simply. In any sane world it should be more than enough. But your stomach was turning, glooming doubt trickling along every nerve in your body. 

“That won’t be necessary. I’ve already turned in your resignation, and your car is on its way to a landfill,” Steve said, looking up at you with a calm demeanor, no doubt thinking he was reassuring. 

The world threatened to spin as you processed that. 

What?

“You can…you can’t do that!,” you protested. “You have no right to do that! That's my income, my livelihood!,” you said, voice coming out trembling, your throat feeling tighter. 

“You don't need it anymore. Besides, a woman in your condition shouldn’t slave away -”

“B-but, how am I going to pay for my apartment?” you interrupted, mind scrambling to get a grip on your thoughts. Your heart was pounding painfully again.

Steve reached out a hand to grasp yours, too hot as it enveloped your hand completely. 

“Sweetie, I thought we agreed on this last night. You’ll live here now. I’ve already terminated your lease. I can’t believe how much your landlord charged for that cupboard. It was practically a scam,” Steve said, and his tone was so reprimanding, it made you feel chastined, humiliated, like a child. 

You liked your apartment, your landlord was a nice, old man - the closest thing you’d had to a friend. Sure it was a bit costly, but it was yours. Your safe place, your sanctuary…

"No, p-please," you whimpered, a sob lodged in your throat, your mind quickly collapsing on itself, anguish spreading like a puddle in your chest. "Please, don't do this," you besieged.

His hand squeezed yours as it felt like you were sinking into yourself. Bile rose high in your throat.

“It's already done," Steve answered calmly, his words like boulders pulling you down into dark gloom. "I told you, honey, not to worry about a thing. You won’t ever need to go back to that sad, dreary life you had. I’ve taken care of everything. Now, breakfast,” he ended triumphantly. 

You wrenched your hand out of his. Body hunching forward, you hurled. 

§

You hadn’t showered in days, hair greasy, smelling faintly of sweat and grime. You hadn’t eaten either. Anything you dained to eat didn’t stay down either way. The god awful nausea had settled deep in your gut, making every movement slow and strained. Steve hadn’t gone so far as to force feed you. Yet, that was. 

You'd gone completely off the rails after that first fit of vomiting. The details were fuzzy, but you'd started by wrenching Steve’s cup out of his hands before hurling it to crack into a million pieces against the wall. Then you'd upended the table before Steve got you locked in his arms. He had dragged you back to your room while you screamed your voice hoarse, your feet kicking out against anything in your path, a brief moment of sweet, petty vindication surging as you knocked a vase over in the entrance hall and he groaned in responding frustration, filling the room with a cracking sound as it split open on the marble. You’d never heard sounds like that before, let alone from your own body. 

Steve carried you up, not even breaking a sweat against your struggle, laying you on the bed and pinning you there until you ceased your thrashing, your howls shrinking to groans. 

"I know this is challenging, darling. You'll stay here till you reach your senses again, til you become my sweet, good girl again," he said, so easily dismissing you fighting for your life.

As soon as he locked the doors behind him, you bolted from the bed and started throwing things, destroying everything you saw, knocking over furniture, tearing clothes, breaking vases, animalistic sounds ripping out of your mouth. You would be embarrassed if desperate, white hot, crawling panic wasn’t exploding through every atom of your body, seeking vengeance and rescue all at once. You hated him, hated, hated, hated him.

You only stopped when the vertigo hit you, sparks of light dancing before your eyes and your feet giving out under you.

Steve wasn’t pleased by your behavior, but for once he was so uncharacteristically non-invasive in the days that followed. He moved you to another room when you blacked out from distress, and by that point you didn’t have enough energy to throw things. It doesn’t matter anyway, the hopelessness in your chest whispered to you. The biggest fight you could muster was only a spot of inconvenience and a renovation cost for Steve. 

The mansion closed like a tomb around you.

He prepared meals for you, but didn’t go further than implore you to eat them. There were soft towels and deliciously smelling shower products from the most high end lines in the bathroom, but he didn’t force you into the shower. He didn’t touch you at all. And you ended up thinking of your lack of hygiene as a form of armor. A form of buffer that held his touch away, let you simmer in your rage - and filth - alone. 

You slept, vomited, went to the bathroom, slept, cried, ate a little, vomited, slept - all the while simmering with rage and self-pity.

Steve went away to work on your sixteenth day of no shower and limited food intake. He lingered by the bed, brows drawn down in concern as he took in your lethargic form nestled in the messy bed sheets of your room. You still wore the clothes you’d come in, having refused all of the soft, silken and plush clothes that hung in the closet, creamy and light pastel color, all in your exact size. It repulsed you, how he had so clearly pictured you barefoot and soft, mellow and compliant as you leisured around the house without any protest. 

“I’ll be back in a few days. Please eat and drink something, take care of yourself. If not for you, then for the baby” he implored silently, his fingers absentmindedly playing with the fabric of your duvé. You wanted to swat his hand away. 

The baby. You had completely forgotten about that. Didn’t matter though, maybe you’d lose it if you starved for long enough, and then Steve would cast you out. No, he’d promised to keep you forever in that case. Maybe you would die before that time. 

You were tired, so tired, and if you didn’t move a muscle, the nausea was manageable. You’d already hurled several times that morning, heaving until spots appeared before your eyes, nothing but bitter stomach acid coming up and into the bucket by the bed. 

He went away, and you stayed in bed until darkness settled outside the window. Groggily, you got up to use the toilet, your piss a dark brown as you took in the poor state of your dehydrated and famished body. Wilting so fast in your captivity. 

But with Steve gone, you could breathe. And you slowly made your way down to the kitchen, finding a meal of cold pot roast with vegetables in the fridge, managing to get about three bites down before your stomach threatened to knock you out. You drank a glass of cold water, soothing as you felt it go down. Outside, the whole world was in darkness. Shouldn’t you be finding a way to escape? 

Maybe, but right now all you could think about was returning to bed, to obliterating, dreamless unconsciousness. Returning to your room, you glanced inside the luxurious bathroom en suite. It had a large tub, star spots in the dark blue ceiling, a tropical shower head in the spacious shower stall and shelf upon shelf of luscious oils and lotions, hair products and soaps that smelled like something out of a five star spa. 

You pressed your nose into a simple bar of lavender soap, eyes fluttering shut as the pleasant and clean scent soothed you. You looked at the shower stall for a while, contemplating. If you dressed in the same clothes and got into the same sheets, maybe Steve wouldn’t notice you’d used the facilities you swore you’d forever refuse. 

Maybe Steve would die while on the job…

You undressed slowly, nearly falling as you struggled to take your hoodie off, the hassle making you dizzy. 

How had you ended up here? What had you been thinking, all those months with his visits? That it would forever stay like that? Why hadn’t you run away sooner, disappeared. How stupid you’d been, just staying put like sitting duck, just waiting for him to do this. To steal you away to be kept like livestock, locked away, your previous life, your home, job, things - everything you’d worked so hard to obtain - taken away and obliterated, like dust on a shelf. Bitter tears stung your cheeks for what felt like the millionth time. 

You’d worked so hard for that job, even harder for the apartment. You’d slaved away all your life, with no connections, no inheritance from your dead relatives, practically no skills or talents. Working your way up to full time at the yarn store was the achievement of your life, the stepping stone to an honest, hard working life. And now it was just gone, thrown away by Steve like trash. 

The shower was heaven. The warm water battered your aching muscles, loosening your stiffened joints. Your plan of rewearing your old clothes was swiftly disregarded as the new scent of lavender permeated your floating, sated state. You trudged out of the bathroom half asleep before dumping into the messy bed, already slipping into unconsciousness. 

§

You awoke to the sensation of warmth along your back. You lay on your side, your cover thrown off somewhere, the night air chilly on your naked skin. Something tickled your neck, pulling your hair away. You murmured, your lips not quite moving yet as you trudged the edge of sleep. Your neck tingled again, and then something distinctly hard against your asscheek tore you from your slumbering state. 

You jolted forward before being promptly tugged back by a large arm around your middle. A frustrated whimper escaped you as you wiggled against your restraints. 

Steve hushed you quietly, his breath tickling your ear, his lips touching just under it. He inhaled deeply before letting out a pleased sigh ending on a soft groan. 

“You smell so good tonight, I hardly believed my luck finding you like this, naked and clean and ready,” he murmured into your skin, making goosebumps rise along your arms and back.  

“You were supposed to be gone,” you said through gritted teeth, hands fisting in the sheets in rage. 

He didn’t answer, only continued to kiss your neck, slowly unwinding his arm from around your middle, gauging your reaction all the while. You didn’t move until you felt him prod along your asscrack with his cock, leaking tip smearing your skin. That’s when you tried to bolt again, only to end up rolled onto your stomach, Steve’s hand pressing you down into the mattress as he straddled the back of your thighs. 

“I’ve been patient, tried to wait. But you’re just too much for me, honey,” he said as he used his hand to prod his cock between your cheeks again, searching for your entrance. “Do you feel what you do to me? The hold you have over me?” he asked, finding your hole. 

Hold? You would have laughed if tears weren’t strangling you, your whimpers muffled by the sheets underneath you. What a pathetically ironic thing to say… 

He pulled back and spat crudely at your hole before unceremoniously pushing inside, making your flesh yield to him. You cried out at the sudden pain before your breath hitched in your throat. Your stomach recoiled. 

Steve groaned above you, his hand moving from his cock to hold your cheeks open as he started to rock back and forth in a filthy grind inside you. 

“God, I’ve missed you, you feel so fucking good,” he grunted out, and your muscles slowly seized up, stiffening against your will. You slapped a hand back on his thigh as the pain persisted with his grinding thrusts. 

“H-hurts,” you stuttered out between small gulps of air. 

“It’s okay, sweetie, it’ll feel good in a moment. Be good for me now,” he said, not an ounce of sympathy in his tone, too far gone in his own pleasure. 

On your next exhale, it felt like you left your own body. Just went away, floated up to the ceiling, looking onto the scene like a passive bystander. You grew limp, your muscles loosening to a puddle of limbs. You weren’t there, this wasn’t real. None of it was. Steve wasn’t there, doing this, and if he was, it wasn’t you he did it to. 

Steve bent down to lave at your neck, his mouth moving up to yours. You stayed limp underneath him, rhythmically rocked on the bed by Steve’s steady thrusts. He tried to kiss your mouth, but you stayed unmoving, and you could feel him grow frustrated at your lack of response. 

Good, he might as well be fucking a corpse, you thought as he pried his tongue into your mouth, only managing to lick over your teeth slightly. 

You don’t know how much time passed, but when Steve’s hips stuttered and he moaned his release quietly, you exhaled in relief, just longing to go back to sleep. But before you could drift off, you curled over the edge of the bed and gagged, nothing but choked air coming up.

This was what your life had amounted to. This pitiful existence at the hands of this man. 

§

Note: Our girl’s not doing so great, unfortunately. I’m dying to know what you think of this developement!!

[imjusttpeachy]

bumpy roads & broken promises. (c.h.)

EDIT: Lmaoooo I did not expect this to actually get notes, thanks guys! I already made it onto someone’s fic recs-- I feel special. Actually might end up writing more if this gets more attention. :^)

I wrote this as a vent/comfort fic for myself but figured others might like it. Corpse has been my new safety youtuber ever since the old nosleep reader--deep voice/no face gamer went to shit so... yeah. 

Heavily inspired by @mmonamona ‘s fic “Petty Fights and Lonely Nights” just more angst. 

playlist

feng suave - sink into the floor

current joys - a different age

feng suave - venus flytrap

rei ami - do it right

summary: Corpse gets frustrated with work and snaps at the reader when she tries to ask what’s wrong, triggering a bad memory from a past relationship. 

word count: 2, 932

WARNINGS: she/her pronouns used, coarse language, shouting, panic attacks, reference to past relationship trauma (no retelling, nothing detailed)

(angst, hurt/comfort, crying! lots of it)

>>>

“God would you just fuck off already?!”

Frozen. Your body tensed up as the deep growl echoed through the cramped dark room.

You had been staying at your boyfriend’s apartment for about a week while you were on break from college. Flying out from the UK to California so you could spend as much time as you could with him before ultimately having to return to 5am facetimes while drowning in papers and essays.

Even before you’d booked the tickets, Corpse was already apologizing for everything under the sun. The size of his apartment and its cleanliness, the fact that he couldn’t do much more than order take out for you, his irregular sleeping patterns.. the list could go on and on. And while you assured him every time that you didn’t care, that you were coming to see him— not his apartment, not home cooked meals, and definitely not to scrutinize him for things he couldn’t control due to his mental health. But he wouldn’t buy it.

Not one bit.

He’d offer you a weary half-smile, pulling you into his chest or ruffling your hair before placing a soft kiss on your temple and changing the subject. You didn’t press any further knowing how often he was at war with his own mind and couldn’t help but think the worse of every situation.

As the days carried on, you’d spent most of your time tangled up in each other. Whether it be a movie, or playing some co-op games, or even just laying in his bed with him, you could barely stand to spend any time apart. But, of course, you were adults with responsibilities that would tear you from one another eventually. While you did miss his presence every second he wasn’t around, you couldn’t help but try to make his life even better for when he got back and for when you’d eventually have to leave him once again. Now, a week into your stay, his apartment was a good amount tidier than how it’d been when you arrived. The cupboards and fridge were stocked with groceries that would hopefully last for some time after you left, on top of the home made meals you’d make together or for him everyday. New picture frames were hung up on the wall of the two of you that you’d gifted to him when you arrived; it actually started to feel like home. Well, as much as it could without those familiar strong arms wrapped around you every second of the day.

Unfortunately, this evening was one of those times. Corpse had already been locked up in his office for a few hours now, the sounds of button mashing and frustrated exclamations making its way through the thin walls every so often bringing an amused smile to your face. He’d woken up a bit anxious already knowing he’d have to both leave you alone and put up a brave front for the stream that was planned that evening. You didn’t push him or try to talk about it, knowing that it would just make it worse; so you two had spent the day as it normally would (though he always looked and felt on edge) until he was forced to retreat back into that dreaded workspace.

You occupied yourself on your phone and laptop for a while, checking up on friends, reviewing anything you’d need for the upcoming semester, just scrolling through your socials— y’know, the works. But by the time you’d gotten bored with your scrolling, you’d notice it was a perfect time to start dinner that you’d hopefully be able to eat together with Corpse. You’d gotten to work right away, doing your best to be as quiet as you could to not disturb his work as the different aromas began to spread through the small kitchen in his apartment. Finishing up the dishes after the meal was all cooked, you dished up two servings and set them on the coffee table in front of the couch before you went to retrieve your other half.

Turning the knob of his office door slowly, you peered into the dark room; only the silhouette of the floppy mop of hair you adored so much was able to be seen in the dim light of his computer monitors. Taking a hard look at his right-most monitor you notice an editing software pulled up instead of the usual live chat he had on while streaming, so without any worry of interrupting you opened the door and stepped into the room. It was a cozy room for sure, and it always seemed to smell just like him— which of course is a given but with how much time he spent in this room, it was even more so present. Walking up slowly to his right side so you wouldn’t startle him with just your voice you watched his gaze flick to your form before steadying itself back in the monitor. Furrowing your brows at his strange behaviour but not letting it get to you, you opened your mouth to speak.

“I made dinner!” You smiled down at him, taking a few steps back toward the door so he would be able to get out of his gaming chair without you in his space. However, the hunched form of your focused boyfriend didn’t move an inch. Your heart sunk a little at his attitude but decided to just try again.

“Corpse, baby, dinners ready.”

“I’m not hungry.” The short statement left his mouth in a low grumble, if you hadn’t spent all this time with him studying his voice and begging him to speak more to you, you probably wouldn’t have been able make it out at all. You huffed out a sigh, this was new for him, you really hadn’t seen him as anything other than the cuddly baby you’d grown to know and love. But, you thought to yourself, love would come with days like this and it was bound to happen eventually. Trying your best to not get frustrated or angry with his snappy attitude, you kept your voice light and cheery as you tried again to coax him out to eat.

“Corpse you’ve barely eaten today I-“

“I said I’m not hungry.” Startling at the angry tone you’d never heard from him before, you could feel yourself start to get choked up. Pulling your hands up to hug your arms, trying to sooth yourself, you could feel yourself starting to slowly freeze up. Goosebumps ran over your skin, a chill snaking  it’s way up your spine as you gulped, trying your best to muster up the bravery to speak again. You didn’t know what had gotten into him, he knew how the tone affected you— he was usually even the one to comfort you after an episode triggering something like this. As your mouth began to run dry, you took a deep breath deciding that he would definitely come to his senses in the next moments, you opened your mouth to speak again.

“Is everything alri-“

“I’m FINE! I’m not a FUCKING CHILD I don’t need you constantly checking up on me! God would you just fuck off already!”

You didn’t even notice the tears dripping off your cheeks until they splashed against the bare skin of your hand. Slipping into the defense mode you knew so well, your body switched onto autopilot as you began to backpedal out of the room, almost tripping a few times as you sputtered out a choked “okay, I’m sorry,” before closing his door once again and stumbling messily down the hallway to his room. Your mind was moving a thousand miles a minute yet was completely blank at the same time, and before you knew it you were tucked away inside the dark closet in his room.

This was the routine, this is where you’d be safe.

Trying to slow your erratic breathing you hugged your knees even closer to your chest, praying that in some way it would ease your shaking body. But inevitably, you felt the sobs that you’d kept trapped in your throat since you’d left break through. Your chest heaved with the breaths you took to keep your sobs as silent as possible. You thought you had trained yourself well enough for this, you’d done this a million times before— but in the back of your mind you knew that this time it was different. Shrinking into the corner of the closet, the only thing on your mind was all the broken promises he’d sworn to keep.

>>>

Corpse sighed, his body weighing him down in his chair heavily, head aching with all the work he’d been doing that evening. Pulling his attention back, he stretched his arms as his sore eyes glanced over at the clock in the corner of his screen. 11:34pm. Fuck. That much time had passed already? Raking a hand through his hair he yawned sleepily, he knew he should probably spend more time working before calling it a night but all he wanted to do was curl up in bed with you-

Shit.

Finally snapping out of the heavy trance he’d set himself in every time he sat down to edit, he thought back to the last time he had seen you— calling him for dinner where he snapped at you to leave him alone… almost 3 hours ago. The memories of the past moment flooded into his head and seconds later he was scrambling out of his chair and out into the hallway. It was dead silent, Corpse felt like his heart was practically breaking his ribs with how hard it was pounding in his chest. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Gripping at the right side of his shirt he rushed into the living room, rubbing frantically at his eyes as they darted around the room quickly looking for any sign of you.

“(Y/N), baby?” He rasped out, voice caught in his throat, walking through the living room and spotting the now cold meals she’d prepared waiting uneaten on the coffee table. His heart sunk as he hurried to the kitchen only to see the rest of the meal out on the counter, not doing anything to ease his mind. He called your name again and again; rushing back into the living room his eyes darted to the front door, a tiny bit of relief pricking his system as he saw the door was still locked and latched, as well as seeing your shoes and jacket by the door. Rushing back into the hallway he peeked into the bathroom, flicking on the light switch and with no sign of you, continued down the hallway to his room.

“(Y/N), please baby.” Flicking on the light his eyes scanned the room not catching a single sight of you-- when he heard it. Slowing his breathing down as much as he could in his panicked state he focused in his hearing on the small heaves of air coming from the closet. Stomach dropping, Corpse collapsed onto his knees, legs giving way from underneath him when he realized where you were and what was happening. Crawling his way toward the closet door he stopped right outside of it, he heard your breath hitch and knew you were holding it out of practiced instinct which made him want to vomit. But it wasn’t about him right now, so with a deep breath he finally managed to whisper out.

>>>

“Princess, I’m gonna open the door okay?”

Finally releasing the breath you had been holding, your lungs heaved for air as light flooded into the dark closet. Peeking an eye out from where it was buried in your knees, you blearily made out your boyfriend’s blurry figure kneeling outside the closet. With your body feeling like it was completely out of your control, sobs once again began to rack your huddled form as you shrunk away from him as far as you could into the corner of the closet.

“I’m gonna come in and sit with you okay, I won’t touch you unless you say I can alright?” You could hear some shuffling before hearing the door creak shut again engulfing the both of you in almost complete darkness, save for the few streams of yellow light coming from the cracks of the door. Corpse stared forward in complete silence, long legs bent uncomfortably and body hunched over in the cramped space of the closet trying to give you as much space as possible but knowing that the first step was sitting with you. The man beside you sighed softly, feeling his heart splinter with every heaving sob that raked over you; he could feel his own tears prick at his eyes and a sob starting to well up in his throat but he held them back. Mustering up the courage and will he finally opened his mouth to speak.

“(Y/N) I am so, so fucking sorry,” his voice pitched just above a whisper because he knew if his voice got any deeper that it would startle you and scare you even more than how you were already feeling right now. ‘I don’t know what I was thinking. It never should’ve hap-“

“Y- You br- broke your promise.” Your reply came in watery, stuttered breaths; the knot in Corpse’s throat came right back up, tears filling his waterline as much as he tried to keep his composure for your sake.

“I know. I know I did.” The man beside you managed to choke out thinking back to the day where he first lost his temper around you. You’d told him everything about your experience with your past relationships and how you were treated, what you used to cope and what he could do to avoid that in any way possible. He promised that day that he would never again raise his voice, or move too fast even when he was angry or frustrated, and made sure to note down anything that would possibly trigger you to completely avoid altogether. And he kept those promises… until today. Tilting his head to glance over at you, his eyes adjusting to the darkness of the closet to see you staring straight ahead, tears pouring endlessly down your damp face as your body still shook with soft cries.

“I can’t lose you (Y/N)” Corpse’s voice shook as he tried to figure out the right things to say that would keep you from walking right out that door.

“I’ll do anything. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, I don’t know what I’d do without you. I’ll be better, I swear on my life I’ll be better. Anything you need— it’s yours. I just.. I can’t lose you. Not like this.” He hated how much he sounded like he was pleading when he’s the one who fucked up. The last thing he wanted to do was manipulate you into staying with him which was exactly what your ex did when they made the same mistake time and time again; something he swore he’d never even think of doing. But here he was, and here you were glancing up at him with bloodshot eyes, hair sticking to your tear slicked face and body shaking so much you’d think it was below freezing in there.

Tearing your gaze away from his, you heaved a watery, shaky sigh trying your best to get your thoughts in order. While you had your issues, you knew he had his as well; and with as much patience and understanding he gives you with your snappy, frustrated, sad days, you needed to give back that same patience and understanding with his own. You needed to be brave here.

“Baby-“

“C-Can you just hold me? Please?” You sputtered out just above a whisper, and before you could even unwrap your arms from around yourself Corpse was pulling you into his lap; strong arms encasing you as he pushed his face into your hair. That’s when you found out he was shaking just as much as you were, chest rising and falling erratically with contained sobs as he tried to keep his brave demeanour up for you. Tucking your head under his chin he leaned back against the wall as he crushed you to his chest, the droplets hitting the top of your head giving way to the fact that he was crying too. Pulling your arms up from your side, you slowly wrapped them around his shoulder as he pushed his face against the crook of your neck, sobs finally giving way as he cried helplessly into your shoulder; further dampening the already tear-soaked cloth of the hoodie you were wearing.

“I’m sorry,” Corpse sputtered, hooking his chin over your shoulder so he could keep up with the heaving of his chest, pulling an arm up from around your waist to rest on the back of your head. As much as he wanted to run his hands all over your body and bury his fingers in your hair to feel and memorize every inch of you, he kept them still not wanting to overwhelm you more than this kind of touch already did.

“I love you, I love you so much, I love you..“ he whispered over and over into the darkness of the closet as you both began to breath slower as one. Shushing him softly, you repeated the soft words back to him before wrapping your arms tighter around his shoulders, ensuring him that you were going to be alright.

There would be bumps in the road but Corpse was worth it.

__________________________________

[the-last-kenobi]

Okay so you already wrote me an AMAZING prompt fill, so feel free to disregard this for any reason and I promise I won’t be offended in the slightest, but if you’re still looking for prompts would you mind doing something for #10 with hurt Obi-Wan + a character of your choice?

Ahhhh of course!! I’m glad you liked the first one and I hope this one meets expectations oh lordy

From this various prompts list.

(Prompts are currently closed.)

_

Obi-Wan ducked his head as a tank blasted the cliff wall behind his back, raining debris in all directions.

“Obi-Wan, are you all right?” Anakin shouted over the comms.

Obi-Wan waited a moment longer, sliding down between two large rocks and covering his head with one arm. “Yes, I’m fine,” he answered. “Nobody else was in range?”

“No, just you,” confirmed Anakin. “I still don’t like this plan.”

“We’ve been through this,” Obi-Wan replied with a sigh that crackled over the comm line. “Ventress and Dooku have both taken too much of an interest in you recently. Your mech hand still isn’t fully repaired. It doesn’t make sense for you to—”

“To break into a hopefully abandoned Sith Temple all alone?” Anakin retorted. “Nobody should be doing that! You could’ve at least taken Cody.”

“I’m faster alone,” Obi-Wan said patiently, looking around to check that the cliff wall wasn’t about to crumble as he prepared to leave his hiding place. “The rest of you are the distraction. You think I’m pleased that you’re down there fighting while I’m up here?”

“I don’t know, old man, seems like you’re skipping out,” Anakin said sarcastically.

“Hey, now, there’s no need for—”

There was a warning thrum in the Force around him, a desperate call for his attention, but it was much too late. There was an arm locked around his throat, and he had stood up too soon, or too late, and Obi-Wan gasped as the arm constricted, cutting off his voice. Another arm reached and yanked his lightsaber from his hand. There was a clattering sound as it was hurled away, far out of reach, and before Obi-Wan could focus enough to summon it back the arm returned, wrapping around his chest and pinioning his arms to his sides.

“Obi-Wan? Obi-Wan!” Anakin was shouting, but he couldn’t focus on that, not when he couldn’t even breathe.

The person holding him snarled in his ear as he thrashed, almost breaking loose.

Obi-Wan was dragged backwards across the uneven stones of the mountainside, and his legs were kicked out from beneath him. Obi-Wan slammed into the ground and his attacker was suddenly above him, using his weakness and the advantage of gravity to keep him still, one arm still pressed over his throat.

Maul.

Red and black and eyes filled with manic fire, sharp teeth bared in a triumphant grin.

Obi-Wan struggled, panic starting to flood his veins, but Maul only snarled, his grip like iron. “No,” he hissed. “Not this time. This time you’ll stay put long enough to truly suffer.”

“Obi-Wan!” Anakin screamed again.

Maul swung one of his mechanized legs forward and stamped on the comm unit, breaking it and Obi-Wan’s wrist and radius in one brutal move. Obi-Wan would have screamed if he had the air, but even as he struggled again, his vision began to flicker, and the world went dark.

At first, Obi-Wan had believed he could endure pain. Not forever, he knew, but for awhile — he could bear it —

—he could outlast it —

(Not forever.)

Maul took his time.

Maul had studied pain, his own, others’, knew how to trigger terror and agony with only a light touch after just a few days, just a few —

(How long?)

He thought he could depend on his mind, on logic to carry him through — he had been dragged into a Sith Temple, watched the doors swing shut, felt the Darkness clawing at his mind while Maul clawed at his body — but — only —

Qui-Gon was dead.

He was dead.

(How long had he been dead?)

It was Obi-Wan’s fault, he knew that. He knew that.

When would someone open the doors? Anakin was coming for him, he knew he was. Must be.

(Might not be?)

Bruck was dead and Cerasi was dead and he was not good enough to be a Jedi and he tried, and he tried, and he tried and tried and tried tried tried but Qui-Gon was dead, and he had not slain a Sith —

It was so dark.

So Dark.

He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t feel his

limbs

did he still have hands?

when would —

Anakin was dead.

He didn’t know how he knew but he knew.

He knew.

He knew and knew and knew and it was so dark and he couldn’t breathe and everything hurt and why was it so dark what had he done when and where and why and what was he supposed

to do —

— and what was his name?

please open the door

Anakin thought he must surely die on the spot, standing here looking at Obi-Wan and feeling the weight of his failure and the expanse of Obi-Wan’s anguish strike him.

He was surprised his heart did not give out. His legs did, though, and he stumbled and fell next to his Master, what was left of him.

Emaciated, bloodless, burned and cut and half-crazed, electrical scars like the pale veins on the inside of leaves marking his arms, his legs, the side of his face.

Obi-Wan opened his eyes.

They were so blue, even bloodshot and squinted against him, shockingly blue in the midst of all the blood and ruin.

“O-Obi-Wan-n-n,” Anakin stammered. “Obi…Obi-Wan, hey…” unthinkingly, he reached up and stroked the hair plastered to the pale forehead with blood and sweat, brushing it gently aside with shaking fingers.

Obi-Wan did not look at him. He was squinting directly into the light, through the doors Anakin had rent apart in a burst of uncontrollable power driven by a week’s worth of rage and fear.

“Light,” Obi-Wan whispered. “Did… d-did som-meone… op…open… the doors?”

“Yes,” Anakin said, drawing in a shaking breath. And then another, and another, desperately fighting not to burst into tears, to crumble like a child. “Yeah, I opened the doors, Obi-Wan.”

“Hmm?” Obi-Wan looked at him, now, and something lit up in his eyes.

“Oh,” he said. “It’s you.” And he smiled.

“It’s me,” Anakin promised, and he went back to stroking the creased forehead, heedless of the filth and grime.

“That’s good,” said Obi-Wan. He blinked slowly, refocusing on the light, seemingly unable to see the people rushing all around him, not processing it when the medics began to arrive.

“But,” said Obi-Wan, still gazing into the light. “Who am I?”

Anakin’s heart constricted to the point of physical pain, robbing him of breath. He shuddered. The hand on Obi-Wan’s forehead paused, but with supreme effort, Anakin managed to hold himself together long enough to say, “Shhhh. Don’t… don’t worry about that right now. Just hold on. We’re going to get you out of here.”

“Oh,” murmured the shell of Obi-Wan Kenobi trustingly. “Okay.”

Anakin waited until the medics had carried him safely away and the troops had cleared out before he staggered to his feet, clutching the broken comm unit he had discovered all those days ago. Then he slammed his fist against the ruined altar, breaking bones in his hand, and screamed.

The walls of the Sith Temple shuddered.

[fishandshesmygills]

hii!! i was wondering if u have any good fic recs? i've been trying to find some but sorting through the many, many fics has been impossible and you seem like you have good taste lmao

omg hi anon this is so sweet.... I’ve mostly gotten fics from other ppl’s reclists on here so check out my #fic recs tag but I can link some favorites if you want! (you might know them all already tho, i’m not exactly slogging thru the actual ao3 tag either)

everyone’s a critic, teen, ~100k, this was the first long spn fic I read pretty much as soon as cas showed up, back when I was only reading aus to avoid spoilers. To be honest I didn’t really know anything abt cas then so even though I’ve read it twice how good the cas characterization in there is kinda a blur, but I am such a big fan of chef dean i want to give him a hug. I appreciate the lack of explicit smut here too it cuts away very tastefully.

under the midnight sun, explicit, ~230k, this is the longest fic I’ve ever successfully finished reading, I read it over the span of 2 days and I’m obsessed. ao3 user northernsparrow has an ornithology degree and uses it to write gay angel fanfiction. this is an ~au~ but cas is still an angel and it’s so well researched (from op’s real experience) that it really makes you feel like you’re on an arctic research station.

like moses and batman and james dean , explicit, ~30k, this is a personal favorite of mine (I mean, obviously, it’s on this list), warning for underage prostitution, this is such a good dean studies fic

r/supernatural, gen, ~3.5k, this is by my beloved mutual @marywinchesterapologist and never fails to make me laugh. dean posts on reddit.

the path of fireflies, mature, ~60k. keep ur eyes out for the ending, it will gut you. dean and cas got the b&b in vermont :)

regarding castiel, explicit, ~16k, this fic answers the question “what if cas was in 12x11 regarding dean? and does so wonderfully

tell me about the dream, mature, ~90k. what if after swan song dean couldn’t make the apple pie life work with lisa, but ended up reconnecting with cas who’s raising claire? this is soooo good I read it in one day and im probably gonna reread it soon I love it so much.

in due time, dean winchester is saved by @badjoices, teen, ~11k. what if little 26 year old pre-series dean showed up in 2021 and saw his future self alive and happy and with cas... warning for suicidal thoughts but there’s a happy ending, I love this one so much the ending really punched me in the gut

three little words  by @myaimistrue, mature, ~2.3k. cas, ambiguously back from the empty, tells dean he loves him and dean has a panic attack. this fic makes me feel so warm inside

you’re fooling yourself by @cowboydeanwinchester, teen, ~13k. baby jack fic baby jack fic!! maybe I’m partial to baby jack because I’m not to real jack in the show yet but I’m beyond obsessed with this fic and the author also wrote a couple more in-universe ficlets it’s so <3

I also have enjoyed pretty much everything from @sobsicles ! 

I have more fics in my bookmarks but these were for the most part the more memorable ones as I went through them just now. If you want more recs feel free to ask <3

[parvuls]

@missellewoods wrote this post, and i wanted to respond to it, but i also didn’t want to add a thesis-length response to their post. the post was about the complexity of the parse iii scene, and i highly encourage looking at it before reading this, because it’s a direct response. 

i wasn’t sure i was gonna do it, but i’m fascinated with jack’s pov, so.

(transcripts from parse i-iii, plus visual cues from lva@pvd i)

[jack turns around, obviously unhappy/startled] "kent." "hey, zimms. didja miss me?" [smirks]

so parse shows up at the haus for the second time, after jack’s seen him last in either freshman or sophomore year. jack is not happy to see him. this is probably the part the remains the most ambiguous to us as an audience, because it leads up to parse iii: shitty’s story about parse’s first appearance is supposed to make us think that jack is jealous, and that he’s holding a grudge because parse is living his dream while he’s at samwell. however, this story isn’t included to give us more information about jack’s psych -- it is, after all, what we expect from jack after his year 1 arc -- it’s there so the impact of parse iii is more significant. it’s the first time we’re given reason to doubt jack’s heterosexuality and are given an actual glimpse to jack’s past since ‘the hockey prince’.

so is shitty’s story true? obviously ngozi is playing with the narrative here: smh all claim parse is a modest, super nice bro, but then we hear how he talks to jack in parse iii. meaning, ngozi is telling us: believe no one. you can’t actually know what he’s like, or what jack and he are like.

so our scene begins with jack, 1) either upset because his former friend shows up and triggers his intense jealousy, or 2) is upset because his former flame shows up and triggers unresolved feelings. honestly, in my opinion, jack himself isn’t sure which one it is. which is a great set up for the unfolding of the next scene.

[jack and parse are talking about jack’s nhl plans]

"...you have no clue?" "i mean... it could be montreal, it could be l.a. okay? i don't know." "...what about las vegas?" "i... i don't know, okay?" "..." [parse probably moves closer/tries to kiss him] "pars---" "..." "..." [whispered] "--kenny... i can't do this." "...jack. come on."

their conversation starts out relatively neutrally. we’re given enough clues from this update and the future of omgcp to deduce that parse isn’t over what he and jack had. this is also the very reason they don’t work and why this conversation takes a sharp turn downwards from here: parse equates his feelings and whatever sexual/romantic connection they had to the chemistry they had on the ice. to him, jack leaving him and going to play for some obscure college is just as upsetting as their ‘thing’ ending. parse spends most of this scene trying to convince jack to come play with him in lv -- the only reason we even know it’s in some way romantic is because of his reaction to the Cup Kiss in year 3. otherwise, he makes it sound like he misses jack as a liney and best friend, maybe as a sexual partner.

but the catch is, jack was in a really bad place when they were playing together, and he doesn’t want that back. does parse know how bad things were? does parse know about jack’s anxiety? how well does parse know jack, really? this is all kept intentionally hidden from us. you could say that they were best friends, so it’s reasonable that parse knew all of this (thus painting his character in a much worse light), or you could say shitty is jack’s best friend and he still didn’t know major things about him. ngozi doesn’t want us to be able to tell how aware or not aware parse is.

so in the beginning of this scene, we’re on the edge of an inevitable cliff. parse wants jack back, as a friend/flame and as a teammate, and jack’s obviously torn. he doesn’t push parse away immediately, but he also doesn’t consent. my opinion is that jack is torn between his old dream (all his 18-year-old self wanted was to play in the nhl with parse, and win win win), and knowing this isn’t what he wants. but does not wanting that necessarily means he doesn’t want parse himself? jack’s obviously not sure, because he lets parse corner him/kiss him before he decides it isn’t right. 

if anyone here has ever met an old flame, especially someone who was bad for you but you cared for for a long time, you’ll know how easy it is to fall into patterns. for a moment the idea of having that all again is so enticing. but then the illusion shatters, and...

"no, i-- ...uh." [and then much louder] "kenny--" "--zimms, just fucking stop thinking for once and listen to me. i'll tell the gms you're on board and they can free up cap space. then you can be done with this shitty team. you and me --" "get out."

here is the most important part of this scene in my opinion. kent doesn’t know jack anymore. anyone on the face of the planet could tell you that jack is a hardass, that he’s tough on his teammates, that his dream is the nhl. but jack loves his team. he didn’t necessarily always know how to be their friend, but he certainly doesn’t think of them as a ‘shitty team’ he’s stuck with.

and parse makes the mistake of shattering the illusion he’s built (with the clever use of the wording ‘shitty’, which probably reminds jack of the friends he has now). jack wakes up from the dream he had when he was 18 and comes back to reality: he’s samwell men’s hockey team’s captain, he cares for his team, and his new dream is to win the ncaa championship and go to the nhl. he doesn’t want this thing parse is offering him, because the person he’s offering it to isn’t him anymore.

and here is the first twist of this scene that op is referring to: jack starts to get angry.

"--jack." "you can't-- you can't come to my fucking school unannounced --" "--because you shut me out--" "--and corner me in my room--" "--i'm trying to help--" "--and expect me to do whatever you want--" "FUCK -- JACK!!! what do yo want me to say? that i miss you?” [twists his fingers in jack’s shirt, crowding into jack’s space. jack turns away, frowning angrily] “i miss you, okay? ...i miss you."

does parse really miss jack, or is it a ploy? honestly, i think the facial expressions we’re privy to in year 3 hint that he really means that. he misses jack. he doesn’t necessarily miss the current jack (it’s likely that he’s stuck on the fantasy of what they had when they were younger), but he means what he says. he wants jack back.

but jack is angry, because parse is complicating things for him. they were talking about playing together, and then parse insulted his choices, and now parse is talking about being together, and jack -- who took A YEAR PLUS to figure out his feelings for bitty -- probably has a hard time handling all of these things at once. for parse there’s nothing complicated here: the jack he knows wouldn’t want to play for a college team (therefore, =shitty team), and playing with jack=being with jack. 

for jack none of these things work like that anymore. they’ve grown too far apart.

"...you always say that." "...huh. well, shit. okay. ...you know what, zimmermann? you think you're too fucked up to care about? that you're not good enough? everyone already knows what you are but it's people like me who still care."

and... okay. so things go south now, and quickly. if you’re a parse stan... honestly, i hope you’re a parse stan who’s aware parse needs a shit ton of therapy. 

jack insults parse, whether intentionally or unintentionally, by being casual about parse’s declarations of feelings. to be fair, jack thinks parse was playing dirty. but parse doesn’t see it like that, so he’s offended, and apparently when he’s offended he gets angry and lashes out.

now. the unfortunate thing about knowing someone at their most vulnerable time is that you also know exactly how to kick them down to their lowest. we all hurt our loved ones the most, because we know them the best. but parse doesn’t just hurt jack here: he goes for the jugular. he kicks jack and then makes sure he stays down. and this is actually the most we see parse say in the whole comic, so... we can’t judge parse as a whole person, but. i’m sorry. he’s definitely not a good friend to jack.

(how bad of a friend? depends on how aware he was of jack’s anxiety and thoughts and feelings. if he was aware, this is a highly emotionally abusive thing to do. if he wasn’t aware, he was just being a shitty friend. either way, parse needs therapy, because he’s holding on to a lot of anger and is expressing it in a really awful way. but we can’t analyze him any further as a character because parse is not the focus of this story and we don’t know anything more about him.)

[faintly] "--shut up--" "--you're scared everyone else is going to find out you're worthless, right? oh, don't worry, just give it a few seasons, jack. trust me." [probably begins shaking] "...g-get out of my room." "fine. shut me out again." "and stay-... stay away from my team." "why? afraid i'll tell them something?" [voice growing stronger] "leave, parse." [door opening; jack and parse are surprised to find bitty outside the door. jack is visibly shaking, holding the attack at bay]

op asked how jack’s anger turns into a full blown panic attack. the answer is parse goes for his weak points faster than jack can prepare himself, just when jack was open for an attack. he calls jack ‘worthless’, which is jack’s second worst fear, and then (probably) tries for the sexuality angle. it’s unclear whether he’s threatening to out jack or to tell the team about his substance problems, but more likely the former, because the latter was all over the news.

parse is clearly upset here. is he just angry for being rejected? is he humiliated? is he heartbroken? we don’t know. the only hint we have is ‘shut me out again’, which implies he’s at least still upset about jack cutting him off after the draft. what we do know is that jack, with the last shreds of his will power, tries to defend his team. tries to cling on to the idea that he knows there are people who believe in him (this is very hard under the cloud of anxiety).

either way, jack’s panic isn’t even about parse or what parse used to be -- it’s just that parse knows where to press.

[parse clears throat, putting his indifferent mask back on] "hey. well. call me if you reconsider or whatever. but good luck with the falconers." [lands the final blow] "...i'm sure that'll make your dad proud." [jack's panic attack takes over. he retreats to his room, slams the door, and slides down to curl into himself on the floor for an undetermined amount of time]

and then parse, in front of jack’s teammate, lands the worst punch he has in his arsenal. jack’s worst fear. disappointing his dad.

jack spent all of year 2 talking to nhl teams and being watched by scouts and negotiating contracts, and consulting with his dad and his teammates to make a decision. he’s not sure about the falconers until much later, but he obviously leans towards them. which is a whole essay in and of itself: jack leans towards the falconers, a smaller, younger team with no cups, but with a lot of potential and good people and something to prove. this is a metaphor for jack’s growth as a character. he could go for a more established team to look good in front of the world, or pick a winning-streak team like the aces to feed into his anxiety. parse is taunting him with his own growth, making him doubt himself: you think you can change? you think you can really be someone new after playing in some college team? if you’re not who you were when you were 18 and first-pick at the draft (before you ruined everything for yourself and ended up here), you’re no one. and your dad will never be proud of you.

[end scene.]

[housewarningparty]

31 the I cant keep kissing strangers one for jack/Miranda. U know, if u want to

I’m gonna cheat bc I remembered the prompt wrong and already wrote half of it in my head while I was showering, so

-

It’s years of experience, it’s meticulous and brutally honed control of her body, it’s her genetic predisposition to deceit and manipulation that keeps Miranda from reacting when her the alert pings, a brief series of flashes on the corner of her ocular overlay. S.O.S.

Dupont’s hand is on her thigh, just under the material of her dress, grip damp and too tight. He’s leaning in close, under the auspice of speaking into her ear in the crowded club, but she recognizes the clumsy excuse to peek down her dress for what it is. It takes every ounce of restraint not to shove him bodily away and rush straight for the rendezvous waypoint blinking on her display -- a maintenance closet beneath a stairwell at the back of the club. There’s a thrum of panic in Miranda’s chest that she squashes with a deep, subtle breath and a careful flick of her hair. She drags a teasing finger down Dupont’s chest as she leans back.

“Excuse me a moment,” she pitches her voice low, breathy, the way she knows he must be imagining it sounds in bed. She shoots him a smoldering look over her shoulder before she leaves, adding a bit of whine to her words. Desperate women are, to men like this, honey to flies. “Don’t go where I can’t find you.”

She’s careful as she slips into the crowd, gait controlled, face expertly molded into an expression annoyed enough to ward off potential interruption from men, yet still bland enough to fail to catch the interest of anyone watching.

It’s torture, keeping her pace unhurried as scenario after gruesome scenario of what could have gone wrong plays out in vivid detail. Jack wounded, bleeding out among the bleach bottles and filthy mops. A Cerberus trap, Jack captured, bait to lure her to the same fate. Dozens upon dozens of equally vivid, equally terrible possibilities conjured with each leisurely step, all laying the same accusation at her feet: Miranda’s mistake, with Jack paying the price.

Jack hadn’t been Miranda’s first choice.

Miranda’s list of trusted contacts is smaller than it’s ever been and shrinking by the day. Trusted and available? Smaller still.

She had wanted Shepard. Or, better yet, Kasumi. But Shepard was wrapped up on some affair on Tuchanka and Kasumi was running a different op for the Shadow Broker, out on the edges of the Terminus.

Jack had been an indulgence - and one that was proving to be foolish and selfish.

She was humanity’s strongest biotic and one of the most capable operators Miranda had ever known, but her strength lied in frontal assaults. Massive destruction, flamboyant, devastating attacks with lots of collateral damage. Not delicate infiltration missions like this.

She should have been safe with her students on Grissom Station, not here dying for Miranda’s cause, not--

--Grabbing Miranda roughly by the hips, slamming her back against the shelving unit along the wall hard enough to rattle the metal, laying the flat of her arm across Miranda’s chest, just under her neck, to pin her there.

“What do you think you’re doing?“ Miranda hisses. She can’t see any obvious injuries or damage to Jack in the dim light of the closet, not held in place like this. When she raises her hands to pat down Jack’s body there’s a flair of shimmering blue light in the air, and then the always disconcerting staticky sensation of stasis fields pinning them in place at her sides.

“What am I doing?” Jack huffs, fists still bunched in the material of Miranda’s dress. A shame - it had been nice. Expensive. She can feel the material ripping under the strain of Jack’s grip and despite everything, she finds it distantly erotic. “What the fuck are you doing?”

Miranda, for all of her considerable intellect, feels like she is at least three steps behind a conversation she doesn’t remember starting. She shakes her head, twisting as much as she can with her hands pinned. “Are you hurt?”

“No, I’m not fucking hurt,” Jack snaps, hips jolting forward to slam into Miranda’s rattling the shelf again. This time she hears the fabric of the dress rip in Jack’s hands, can’t contain the shiver it sends down her spine that Jack absolutely notices. “I’m fed up. I can’t keep watching you kiss strangers.”

Jealousy? Miranda doesn’t bother trying to hide her laugh. “If you’ll remember, my kissing a stranger was a key part of the plan you agreed to. I was supposed to be doing that while you were--”

“Keep him busy,” Jack growls, “You were supposed to keep him busy while I did all the hard work. You never told me your plan to distract the guy was to let him put his big stupid gorilla hands all over your--”

“Someone was taking their time ‘doing all the hard work,’“ Miranda sneers back. “I had to improvise. He was losing interest.”

“Hey, it’s your stupid hack module that wasn’t working,” Jack accuses.

Of course, at that exact moment, Miranda’s display pings again. The tracker she’d slipped into Dupont’s jacket shows him leaving the bar, headed for the elevator to his suite.

“Jack, let me go,” Miranda says quietly, urgently, and to her credit Jack does so immediately without arguing. “He’s on the move. I can try to head him off in the lobby, but-- Look, this is very important. Did you leave any evidence you were tampering with the safe or anything else in his room?”

“Uh, yeah,” Jack snorts. “I think he’s gonna notice his top secret Cerberus Reaper hacking plans are missing.”

“But you said the module--”

“Yeah, total crap. Useless. I just blasted the ever-loving shit out of the safe.”

“Jack.”

“Anyway, if he’s on the way up there he’s gonna notice uh. Pretty much right away. We should get out of here.”

“We should have been gone the moment you compromised the plan,” Miranda hisses, following Jack out of the closet, wincing at the sudden too-bright light of the hallway.

“Nag, nag, nag,” Jack drawls, throwing open the emergency exit door to the alley behind the hotel with a truly unnecessary flair of biotics.

“We went over the codes before we even got here,” Miranda reminds her. In the back of her mind, she’s counting down the seconds they have before Dupont realizes he’s been robbed, before he puts together she was involved, before he decides to come after them for the data (bad) or alert Cerberus to what happened (worse). She figures in how long it would take to stop running and strangle Jack in one of these dank Illium alleyways and realizes, regrettably, she can’t afford the slowdown. “There’s one for emergency exit, one for mission compromised, one for package acquired. Any of those would have done. S.O.S. is emergency only.”

“Well, it was an emergency, okay?” Jack says, stopping short at the curb while Miranda calls forth the skycar she’d arranged with a flick of her omin-tool.

“How so?” Miranda demands, shoving Jack into the back of the skycar first and clambering in gracelessly after her, ruined dress gaping open in the front. “This is coming out of your pay, by the way.”

“It was a pre-emergency--”

“That’s not a thing.”

“If his hand got any higher up your skirt I was gonna blow both of our covers by ripping his arms off in the middle of the bar.”

Miranda should still be mad -- furious -- that Jack had scared her so badly. Should be angry for the terribly botched mission as well, the absolute flouting of her discreet and effective plan.

But they’ve lived. Another day in a galaxy torn apart by war on multiple fronts, another day outmaneuvering the Illusive Man himself, another day Miranda gets to find herself in the company of this beautiful, blunt, maddening, impossible woman.

And they had gotten the data, despite everything. A success, however unconventional.

And if all she has to show for it is another burned identity and a ruined dress, Miranda finds she doesn’t mind as much as she might have in any other circumstance besides this -- in the backseat of a skycar with Jack, genuinely irritated to have seen someone else touching Miranda, a torn dress, the thrum of adrenaline still rushing through her veins.

“Never figured you for the jealous type, Jack,” Miranda says, relenting, twisting in the seat to pin Jack with a simmering look.

“Yeah, you did,” Jack mutters. “Were probably counting on it when you asked me to do this thing with you. Probably got off on it. Control freak.”

“Why would I do something like that?”

“Probably has something to do with you being an arrogant psycho that’s obsessed with keeping me under your thumb.”

Miranda pauses in the dark of the backseat and stares Jack down. She’s tense, pupils blown wide, breath coming in gradually quickening gasps.

Miranda has seen Jack scared and angry and hurt before. She’s seen her wound up tight on adrenaline, turned on to the point of recklessness too. Knows well enough the difference between the two to recognize this for what it is.

It’s that confidence that draws Miranda across the space between them, shrugging the straps of her dress down her shoulders in a movement that allows her to reach the zipper in the back and slide it down immediately after. Jack doesn’t move to stop her when Miranda drops a hand to Jack’s thigh, a more elegant parody of Dupont’s boorish groping earlier. The higher Miranda’s hand ventures, the further open Jack spreads her legs, nostrils flaring as Miranda leans in close, whispering into her ear at the same time as her hand slips past the waistband of Jack’s pants, to the soaked front of her underwear.

“Funny, Jack,” Miranda says, mockingly, stroking her slowly. She’ll draw this one out, as a lesson. “Under my thumb seems to be exactly the place you’re always so desperate to be.”

“Fuck,” Jack groans, a low hiss of air from between her clenched teeth.

Miranda grins in the dark. She’d been wrong, before. Jack had definitely been the right pick for this mission.

-

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[keenmarvellover]

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Hi honey~ You're good at everything keep it up! Just know that you did a great job I'm proud of you! I love reading your blog it gives me a lot of positive emotions! Query: a Man wrote a farewell suicide note because he wanted to commit suicide but then changed his mind. He throws away or loses the note and (Rat/ Knockout/OP) accidentally find and read it and they become afraid for the life of their friend. They never guessed that something was wrong with him because he hid his emotions well.

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~Ratchet~

•Ratchet found the note under the base couch while cleaning 

•You didn't even know you had lost it before Ratchet came pounding to his habsuite where you were chilling and shoved it to your face asking "what the frack is this?"

•You snatched the note from between his fingers and ripped it to little pieces

•"It's nothing", you assured him, but you could see he didn't believe you

•He got really angry at you (which looking back he realized wasn't the best reaction) and started ranting about how you should never even consider taking your own life

•He actually made you cry because he looked and sounded so angry

•He of course apologized for that, but it doesn't change the fact that he is now pretty much scared for your life

•He gives you a heart to spark talk and makes damn sure you know how much you mean to him

~Knockout~

•He is terrified when he finds the note because he was supposed to pick you up that day, and what if you had gone through with it

•He speeds to your house, doesn't give a damn about anyone seeing him, transforms, knocks on your window, almost breaking it and is on the verge of a panic attack until he sees you're alive and okay

•He transforms back to his altmode and waits for you outside your home until you're ready to leave with him

•When you get in, he locks the doors but doesn't move anywhere

•He just asks, very quietly, why you would write such a note, even though he knows what it meant

•There isn't really much to say in your opinion, you wanted to die and now you don't

•He isn't angry, he is just really, really worried about you

•Knocky keeps a keen optic on you for pretty much all the time from that point on

[kurt-nightcrawler]

Eye love you

Warren Worthington III x Reader

A/N: this isn’t what I wrote cause I was not feeling great yesterday, this is older. I hope you enjoy it anyway! :)

Warnings: none

Word Count: 1.2k

 “I went to the eye doctor today,” You said into the phone. 

“Oh yeah! How’d it go?” Warren asked from the other line. 

You flopped onto your bed. “I’m getting new glasses…”

“Ooo… What do they look like?— Bobby! Get out of my room! I’m on the phone!” You rolled your eyes. “Sorry,” Warren apologized. 

“It’s fine.” You assured him. “They’re brown.” 

“That’s different, your old ones were black.” 

You shifted to lay on your side, “I don’t really like them… Like, I like them, but not that much. They were the best option I had though…” 

“That’s okay. You wear contacts most of the time anyway.”

“Yeah, but when I don’t…”

Warren frowned. He hated seeing or hearing, you upset. “You’re gonna look amazing. You always look good, no matter what… and besides, nothing can be worse than the glasses you had in fourth grade— they were blue and had flowers and were crooked—“

“Hey!” Warren laughed on the other line. “I should have never shown you my elementary school pictures!” 

“But you were so cute as a kid,” He pouted. You scoffed.

“You’re gonna look like… like…”

“You can’t think of any female celebrities with glasses. Can you?” 

Warren could feel your disappointment through the phone. It made him sad. 

“I didn’t fall in love with you cause you had 20/20 vision. Glasses or no glasses, you’re still gonna be you...” 

You didn’t respond. 

“Do they bring out your eyes at least?” He asked with a slight coquettish tone. 

“They bring out the brown in them…” Your eyes were hazel, but the favored heavily on the green side. 

Warren sighed, “Your eyes are so pretty.” 

“Yours are prettier.” His were green as well, but instead of having brown like yours, there was blue. 

“Not true.” 

“Yeah, it is.”

“Hmm… I don’t think so.” 

You rolled your eyes, smiling for the first time during the call, “I have to go. I’ll text you later, okay?”

“Okay.”

“I love you.” 

“I love you too.” 

-

Two weeks went by and your glasses finally came in. As time passed since you picked them out, you grew on the idea of them, but you weren’t in love. 

However, Warren was right, you weren’t going to be wearing them that much. 

A few days had passed since you got your new glasses. You hadn’t left your home all day. You stayed in your pajamas and got caught up on some housework. 

You took a break, checking your phone out of boredom when you got a text. 

 Warren 

hey baby

Warren

can I come over? I’m bored and the guys are busy :(

(Y/N) 

so I’m a second option, huh? *side-eyes emoji* 

Warren

no!! never!! I miss you anyways

(Y/N) 

it’s been two days… we went to the zoo Tuesday 

Warren

a whole 48 hours apart from you? ew *barfing emoji*

(Y/N)

you should just move in then

Warren

you should move in with me. no one pays rent in the mansion

(Y/N)

I’m not a mutant *clown emoji*

Warren

we can figure that out… 

Warren

anyway... 

Warren

I can bring madagascar 1 & 2 and chipotle

(Y/N)

ugh classics *moaning face emoji*

(Y/N)

can you get me a vanilla coke zero? *two pouting bug-eye emojis*

Warren

of course *red heart emoji* 

Warren

I’ll be over in an hour or so

(Y/N)

okay :)

-

Warren had a key to your place, so he let himself in. 

“Hey babe, I’m here! I also got the third movie from Kurt, and I think the penguins’ spin-off show is on Netflix.” 

You had set up the coffee table so you could eat on the couch without making too much of a mess. 

“Oh my god, it smells so good…” You subtly licked your lips. 

“Hello?... No hug for the delivery man?” Warren joked. 

“Big bird brain, come here.” You kissed his cheek and wrapped your arms around his torso. He set his belongings on the ground so he could reciprocate the hug. 

You picked the bag of food and movies up. Warren gasped a little. 

“What? What’s wrong?” You looked at him, extremely worried. 

“Your glasses! You didn’t tell me they came in.”

“Oh, uh… I just kind of forgot about it…” 

Warren kicked his shoes off and made his way over to the couch with you. “I wish you sent me a selfie. They look great!” 

You deflected the compliment. 

“You look like a sexy librarian—“ You gave Warren a sour look. “Okay, no—“

“I look like a girl who’s been in her pajamas all day and brushed her teeth at 2 pm today.” You said as you put the first movie in. 

Warren shrugged while he dug into his bowl, “Hey, I’ve done worse.” 

You chuckled, joining him on the couch. “of course you have. You’re a dude.”

“Hey!” 

“They hated Jesus cause he told the truth.” You stated, nonchalantly as you started eating. 

“Babe.”

You looked over at Warren, sipping on your soda, “Hmm?” 

“They look really nice. You look great.”

“Thanks…”

“How do you like them?” 

“Better than I did two weeks ago…” You sheepishly admitted. 

“That’s a huge improvement!” 

“Yeah, I guess so.” 

“Hey— I’m gonna prove to you, that you look good in your new glasses. Even if it takes years.”

“Ren, stop it. I was being silly, they’re fine, honestly—“

“No. It upset you. I don’t want you to be insecure about something you can’t control. Something that you need. Babe, you had a panic attack the first time you tried putting in contacts.”

You frowned and stabbed your salad with your fork to try and distract yourself. “I was twelve.” 

“Yeah, but when you told me and just how you didn’t want to be seen as some silly little nerd girl, it made me so sad.”

“I got bullied as a kid. And it wasn’t even the glasses really, I just wanted to fit in and I thought no glasses would help. I didn’t get contacts until high school…” 

“I know… and that’s not fair, you know, trying to hide to fit in with people that really won’t matter in your future…”

You knew he wasn’t just talking about your glasses anymore. He was referencing the scars on his back. The ones he caused as a child, cutting his wings off almost six times a week until his parents caught him and told him to stop. 

“I don’t want you to suffer. That’s all. You’re one of the best people in the world, and I hate seeing you upset.” 

“Yeah, yeah. I’m sorry…” 

“Don’t apologize. You don’t need to apologize.”

“Sorry—“

Warren kissed your cheek. “It’s okay… Ope.” 

“What?”

He rubbed his finger on your face, “I got some avocado on your cheek. Sorry.” 

“You’re good.” 

Warren smiled. “I love you.” 

He was very casual with it, but somehow managed to never lose any meaning every time he said ‘I love you.’

“I love you too.” 

“Cna I try on your glasses later?”

“No way! You might break them with your big head, plus they’ll make your vision worse over time.” 

“I! I have a big head so I can think about you more!”

You laughed, “War, that didn’t even make any sense…”

“It… wasn’t… supposed too…”

“Mmhmm, alright baby. I’m gonna tell Kurt and Scott you said that next time I see them.”

“Fine, but I have something they don’t.” 

You blinked. “Scott’s dating Jean, and Kurt goes on tinder dates like twice a week…”

“You’re better than Jean.”

“Better not let Jean hear you say that,” You joked. 

“She already knows.” 

“That so?”

“Yep.” 

“Well…” You kissed his cheek, catching him off guard, causing him to blush and get flustered. “Thank you.”

“Yeah, yeah… Of course.”

“Love you.”

“Love you too, babe.” 

[thedoctorofsteel]

I posted 7,762 times in 2021

58 posts created (1%)

7704 posts reblogged (99%)

For every post I created, I reblogged 132.8 posts.

I added 226 tags in 2021

#lucifer spoilers - 117 posts

#long post - 22 posts

#dw spoilers - 19 posts

#thoughts - 18 posts

#op - 12 posts

#lucifer - 12 posts

#tag game - 7 posts

#shadow and bone - 7 posts

#my stuff - 6 posts

#this has been a rant - 6 posts

Longest Tag: 127 characters

#i felt lost suddenly trying to figure out a grade one autistic kid cuz i wasn't sure what i should expect from him as a student

My Top Posts in 2021

#5

I'm blue duboo dee duboo dye

10 notes • Posted 2021-07-03 04:50:25 GMT

#4

Bought shorts in the guys section for the first time today. Not only do they have good sized pockets and fit over my thighs but they're soooo comfortable! And make me feel good about how I look. Kind of gender confirming. Don't get me wrong I'll still wear my cut off jean short shorts but even those were once men's pants. Shopping in the men's section is just overall a better experience.

12 notes • Posted 2021-05-11 20:48:03 GMT

#3

The mask mandate has been lifted in my city. So naturally barely anyone is wearing a mask.

This shouldn't have happened till her immunity! Guys. Guys. My city is only 3% fully immunized. Only 28% have their first dose. We are so far off herd immunity it isn't funny.

Like I'm trying to not have a panic attack cuz covid cases are gonna sky rocket and I wouldn't be surprised if a new strain appears.

I hate this so much.

12 notes • Posted 2021-07-01 20:09:27 GMT

#2

I'm officially coming out as non-binary. Specifically gender fluid!

It's kinda weird to just post that so uh here's how I got here?

One: When I was little I always wanted to be a boy. I hated that I was expected to wear a shirt when the boys around me didn't and we had the same chest cuz I was ya know a kid. So I often just didn't wear a shirt much to my parents' dismay. I always said I wanted to be a cowboy when I grew up. My dad would correct me that I meant cowgirl. I said no. Cowboy.

Two: Growing up and into adulthood it made me happy being called one of the guys. When someone thought I was male it didn't bother me. If anything it made me happy.

Three: I was looking back thinking I wasn't trans because I didn't think I was a boy I just wished I was a boy.

Four: I wrote a personal essay in women's studies. My prof wrote on it 'It seems you don't follow gender binary'

Five: A post on this here tumblr said 'Wanting to be the opposite gender is a symptom of being the opposite gender'

Six: I thought ok. But I also do feel female a lot. Sometimes I hate having boobs but often I love it. I love how they make me feel sexy. So no way I can be a trans man.

Seven: somewhere in the above I had heard of gender fluid. It was at this point I thought maybe I'm both? So in quiet moments I thought to myself. What gender do I feel right now? And sometimes it was my assigned gender. Sometimes it was male. Sometimes I dissociated from gender all together. (Though I've never felt both male and female at the same time)

Eight: I cut my hair into a short androgenous style and suddenly felt really good about my looks. That was kind of the nail in the coffin.

Nine: I told my husband and now I can tell everyone else so here I am.

I use any pronouns because there's no way anyone can know what I'm identifying as at any point in time and I don't expect them to ask me every time they want to use pronouns. That's just dumb. And changing to they/them altogether doesn't feel right. But feel free to use they/them. Basically whatever the heck you want to use is good.

So there's that. Thanks for reading. If anyone has any questions feel free to ask!

19 notes • Posted 2021-05-03 02:47:11 GMT

#1

649 notes • Posted 2021-10-04 20:27:20 GMT

Get your Tumblr 2021 Year in Review →

[thethistlegirl]

Comfortember Day 9 (Confessions)

@nevcolleil Here’s a LONG overdue continuation of the universe I wrote a while back for your prompt about Jack being Mac’s actual biological father! (For those of you who haven’t read it, the first part is here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17086982)

Jack sits in the GTO, wrapping his hands around the steering wheel and clenching and unclenching his fingers. Mac's probably still asleep after last night. Unaware that Jack is sitting out here holding onto a secret that's going to shatter his world more completely than even the most complicated bomb the kid's ever defused. Honestly, Jack isn't sure if maybe James was right. They were better off not knowing. Because there's a fifty-fifty chance that Mac will be so angry at Jack for leaving his mom that he'll never want to speak to him again. But now that he knows the truth, he'll be no better than James if he doesn't walk in there and tell Mac. About Ellen, about Kosovo, about everything. He owes his son the truth.

His son. It sounds so strange to even think that. Before he can lose his nerve, he gets out of the car, walks up to the door, and knocks. It takes a few tries, but finally a very sleepy, bed-head Mac wanders up to the door, checking the peephole, thankfully, before opening it. Jack has a sudden attack of emotion, thinking about what it would be like to be greeted by a smaller version of this very picture. Mac already looks like a teenager, and it doesn't take much to imagine him even younger, yawning and blinking at being woken up early. "What are you doing? Family don't knock." And that's what pushes Jack over the edge. He feels the tear trickling down his cheek without really having noticed it forming, and Mac's mussed figure looks blurred and watery, like Jack's looking into some magic mirror that's going to warp and show him the past he could have had. "Jack?" Mac sounds genuinely scared. "Kiddo, let's go out on the deck. I think we gotta sit down." Mac's face comes into sharper focus, worried. "What's wrong? Did you have a doctor's appointment? Are you dying? Like James?" Like James. Jack really is no better than that jerk. He's been railing on the man for leaving a kid behind. When he did the exact same thing. He can't decide if it's better or worse that he didn't know. "No." And that's all he says until they're both sitting down. The damn photograph is still there, sitting on the bench where Jack left it. Jack picks it up slowly. "There's something you don't know about your mom," he says hesitantly. "Wait. What?" Mac sits down. "Was there something in the dossier you got from Matty's that you didn't tell me?" "It wasn't in there, hoss." Jack sighs, running a hand through his hair. "I knew her. Last night, when you showed me this...I recognized her." He hands the picture frame to Mac. "How did you know my mom?" Mac asks, clearly confused. "I thought you said you didn't even come to California before you met me. You called it snob land. Said the only reason you'd even stay was to keep me alive." "James didn't tell you she was an agent." There's a terrible sound of shattering glass as the picture frame falls to the deck, and Jack stares at the shards like they're an oracle telling him what to say next. Because if Mac reacted this strongly to finding out what his mom really did, then telling him the rest is going to half kill him. "She what?" "Ellen Jackson was a black ops agent when I met her. Specialized in retrieval of items that fell into the wrong hands. We crossed paths on an op in Kosovo that went belly-up for us both." Jack sighs. "It was...an intense forty-eight hours. You know how those things are." Mac nods. "I still...I just...she..." And then his face goes white. "Is that..." "She died in a car bombing in Shanghai." Jack doesn't think it's wise to talk around the truth. There's a choked sob from Mac's side of the bench, but Jack can't stop the avalanche of pain now. He needs to get this out or he never will. "Mac, the two of us...after we met...we were involved for a while." He waits for some sort of disgusted reaction, but that's more Riley's department than Mac's. She's always the one with some sort of weird joke. Mac just...breathes. In and out like he's trying to stave off a panic attack. "Mac?" Jack isn't about to be selfish enough to put his need to tell the truth now over Mac's health and safety. "Do you...Are you okay?" He realizes it's a stupid thing to say the moment it leaves his mouth. "I just found out my mom was murdered, because she was an agent, and no one bothered to tell me, do I look FINE?" Mac practically screams. Okay, well, at least Jack getting cozy with his mom isn't the worst problem Mac has with this whole scenario. He turns to Jack, eyes shining with tears and wide like a panicked wild animal. "Did you KNOW?" "I didn't even know who your mom was till I saw that picture last night." He already said that once, but he doesn't expect Mac's grief-addled brain to recall that. Mac nods slowly, then picks up the frame, looking down at the broken glass. "So you remember her? You said you..." He trails off. "Don't think I could forget. And I don't mean that in a creepy way." Jack shrugs. "She was the kindest person I ever met. Even in a job that can make a person a monster." A monster like me. "I just still can't believe it." Mac sighs. "I mean, not you and my mom, but...okay maybe that too. Like, how weird would that have been?" He chuckles weakly. "You were this close to being my dad." "Bud, I am." The words hang in the air like the smoke from one of the campfires on a day when the air pressure settles in and traps the city smog. Mac doesn't move. Jack can't tell if he's even breathing. "Jack, this isn't funny." The words are a harsh monotone when they finally break the stillness. "Even for you. This is too much. Stop joking."

"I'm not. I talked to James this morning. He told me everything."

"That's impossible."

"No. Your mom and I were together in '89..."

"I know how it works. But you can't be my dad. You can't." Mac's shoulders have begun to shake. "That's not how things go."

"I'm so sorry..."

"You're fucking SORRY?" Mac shouts, and there's a thud, he's slammed the picture down on the bench. "Everyone's lied to me my whole life, and you're SORRY?"

Jack doesn't bother to say he didn't know. Mac's got to take his anger and grief out on someone. And better Jack than James or what few memories the kid has of Ellen. James will...Jack doesn't actually know what that man would do. And he doesn't want to taint Mac's few good memories. 

He shuts down, the way he knows all too well how to, while Mac yells and curses and even throws a couple sloppy punches. He can check out and take the hits. But when Mac begins sobbing, crumpling to his knees on the glass-strewn deck, Jack blinks and reaches for him.

Mac doesn't resist, letting himself be pulled into a gentle hug. Jack rocks him back and forth slowly, like he should have done twenty-eight years ago. He can't say it's okay. Or anything else. But he can hold his son while he cries. He can do that much.

[ascalonianpicnic]

Hey man, I understand your frustration regarding that post, but I feel it was rather unkind to make a long-winded callout-like post in public response rather than approach the OP privately and discuss your feelings that way. I genuinely feel they didn't mean to come off as they did and hadn't intended to cause any insult further harm following derogative terminology as they had. I know some things need to be made aware publicly, but your response felt rather directive to the OP rather than people who are ignorant to such things as a whole.

you know dude? you're probably right. My tone last night was more aggressive than it probably needed to be, and also I failed to warn properly in my long winded rant of a post that the link I was including to that other post contained severely triggering wording and content. I'm gonna be honest, I was triggered stumbling across that post. I linked it to a trusted friend, and they were also deeply upset by the wording and phrasing. I wrote my rant, while kind of having a panic attack and breakdown in my kitchen at 4am. I was angry and it came across in that post, and it was directed at the entire gw2 fandom and tumblr as a whole because I regularly see minor ableism being just passed around haphazardly, and I regularly see posts about how having low empathy makes me and others like me somehow "less" and I am fucking sick of it.

So yeah, I snapped at someone who ended up being the straw who broke the camel's back. I snapped at them for claiming to be an expert in a diagnosis that I learned went out of fashion and was considered wrong and ableist to use way back in 2014. I snapped as two people continued to use a term that is scientifically unbacked and used to demonize mentally ill people. I snapped because the things they were saying are actively harmful and actively endanger mentally ill and neurodivergent people. The demonization of mental illness gets people killed. I was angry. I am angry. I could have handled that post better, but I didn't, because I was scared and I was angry, and I have a right to be angry at people who continue to willfully spread the idea that mental illness is what makes a person evil and dangerous.

commandertiffany is allowed to approach me in private to discuss this. Canid did approach me in private to talk things out, and things are fine there now, we both had a chance to learn a bit from each other. I don't have either of them blocked, my dms are open, my ask box is open, I'm always willing to have a civil private conversation. But I am also sick of seeing neurodivergent people thrown under the bus over and over, and someone who claims to be an expert really should have known better. So I am allowed to be angry in a post on my blog I didn't even tag and that I made so people would know I don't support the post below it. And yes, that anger was directed at someone specific demonizing mental illness, because I'm not angry at the people who didn't know, I'm angry at the person who should have known better and claims to but clearly doesn't