#it’s helping me come to terms with some things

[cherie-doll]

How do you think the cod guys (you date and work together) would react and treat you if you had gotten unwell, they noticed and then you were diagnosed with a auto immune disease? Like lupus, various auto immune arthritis conditions(rheumatoid, psoriatic) , chroins or w/e?

How would they be able to handle your new weakened self?

This is a pretty self indulgent request and I just want to know if they'd still love me.

Ps. I love the art you use.

“it’s never lupus”

𓆩♡𓆪 Headcanon: You Find Out You're Sick

=͟͟͞♡ Price, Ghost, Soap, Gaz, Roach, Alejandro, Rudy, Phillip Graves, Makarov, Keegan, König, Horangi, Nikto

Price

He had noticed your how your performance which was usually average or above average suddenly started declining, he was more worried than upset so he decided to talk you into taking some time off and visiting the medic

He's saying this not only as your superior but also as your s/o, even if it was just something small (or so you both assumed) he would still want you to take care of yourself, even if he finds himself very busy he would come check up on you every now and then

That was until the doctors told you it was something far more serious that was affecting your body and would affect how you did things from now on

While it may have discouraged you, Price always made time for you, especially since he wanted to comfort you best he could, he wouldn't treat you less nor be too overprotective, he knows how capable you still are

Knowing what would affect you would be long-term, he didn't want you to let that get in the way of living your best life, he still comes around as much as he can to remind you how much he loves you still

Ghost

You said you were doing fine, but he knew that you had let it get to you, deep on the inside you were a little hurt, sometimes it became hard to deal with the medications and treatments knowing it was all for nothing if it meant being like this for the rest of your life

Simon would have some trouble knowing just how much to let his worry for you show, he just wants you to be healthy and happy, so it might become a little overbearing when he's always telling you to take your meds, or holds you back from being a little reckless

You're not child, you remind him, but he prefers being your silent reminder rather than verbally expressing it

In a way he could understand the part about having to deal with this lifelong, some things no matter how hard you tried to cover or search for a cure just couldn't be completely buried, so he tried his best to help you manage it in his quiet way

Soap

It had taken a long time before you were diagnosed, many tests and doctors appointments later you were finally told what had been happening to your body

It had felt like a betrayal, you had taken care of it well, you would frequently join Johnny on his morning runs (when he managed to get up early) and even train with him to improve, he had been recently saying how much better you had gotten at working out

But he had also seen those small changes in you; mostly how you could no longer ignore "small" pains that seemed to bother you constantly, he too had worried when not even the doctor could give you a clear answer

The feelings of anxiety and frustration had nearly been too much for you, and despite you focusing on mostly yourself now, he never made you feel bad for it, he was there at your side, not resenting you for suddenly feeling unable to spend time with him

If you preferred to sit and do some other activity rather than go out, he would do what suited you better

Gaz

He's always been attentive to all your needs; emotional and physical, so no doubt it was due to his nagging that you went to the doctor in time to get treated, you didn't have to be confused about these new symptoms that had begun to interfere in your daily life

You hated how unpredictable your illness could be, Kyle taught you to be patient with your body, to not expect too much out of it, he took care of you better than if you were alone

If you've had to adjust your diet and lifestyle, he would greatly help with it, before you would carelessly prepare your meals just to have something to eat, and it's become increasingly hard to keep track of small things like your meals

He's made all the necessary adjustments to help you manage, even if you think it's a little annoying at times how much you have to care now, he's able to still cradle your face in his hands and give you reassurance that you'll learn to live with it

He doesn't let you wallow in your sadness too much either, your thoughts could easily make you look at life grimly, but he's constantly showing you ways to still find joy in the little things, and with time your attitude improves

Roach

If it weren't for him laying it so heavy on you going to the doctor then you probably wouldn't have gone yourself, you kept dismissing those symptoms and when you got back the diagnosis he was probably more worried than you were

Frankly, you were scared, if you had never gone through so much all at once then it was difficult for you to deal with all this, but he wouldn't leave you not even when you felt like this was something you had to deal with yourself

He did all he could to keep you cheerful and content, he wasn't just about to let you deal with it by yourself, especially since you could confide in him and let him know how you felt

There had always been a quiet and mutual understanding between you two, so it was easy for you to lean on him when things were hard, even if you felt overwhelmed by all the symptoms and new feelings that came with this disease

He wasn't only your partner but a friend too

Alejandro

Feel like he'd be tempted to put things aside to assist you when you really needed him, perhaps he wouldn't be able to do much to keep you from experiencing physical pain or complications, but he would do whatever he could in his reach to make you feel just as loved if not even more than before

On some days even small tasks and chores like getting up, starting your day, making something to eat or even remembering to take medication to alleviate the pain is hard for you, he would be by your side no matter what

He would want you to focus solely on yourself, and even when you expressed how terrible you felt for having to rely on him so much, he'd tell you a million different ways how he doesn't mind it, he'd do anything for you

He encourages you to re-evaluate your priorities; your number one job right now is to only worry about yourself, he'll take care of the rest

Rudy

My boy Rodolfo was worried sick for you, he noticed you were missing more days and despite him not being the one you told everything to, he still felt a need to find out what had been going on, you were his s/o after all

When he found out about the frequent visits to doctors to try and pinpoint what the problem was, he felt a little disappointed you didn't come to him but he hid it away not wanting you to feel like it was another burden to carry, you were far busier worrying about your health

He did everything he could to help you, offered to accompany you to doctor's appointments and so on until you got a diagnosis back, he's not entirely sure how to navigate this but he knew the one thing you would need was support

Sometimes you get frustrated not being able to do certain things or having to refrain for your health, but thanks to Rodolfo, your resentment and bitter feelings go away when he's around

His acts of service have served to prove how much he cares for you, you're always in the back of his mind not only when he's with you but also when he's out alone; he makes you feel loved even during tough times

Phillip Graves

You were worried what his reaction would be, you dreaded telling him because he was the type to immediately tell you to rest even if you got a cold or were feeling too hot, you didn't doubt his love for you, because he would do anything for you

Which in a way worried you, he was so busy with his new tasks that maybe he wouldn't have time for you in your newfound condition, there were always a hundred other people that needed his attention before you, or so you thought

But he listened quietly, and with care made sure that you were getting the rest that your body needed, and don't dare think to neglect yourself even if you think your disease isn't so severe

Perhaps there may be tense moments where you became fed up with it all; with the way some people treated you, how doctors treated you, how you viewed yourself.. but he was always able to sneak in a kiss on the cheek or some other small but significant way to make you smile at his actions

There was just no way you could not keep your face from showing happiness when you saw him, he had always had that effect on you and even now it overshadowed your negative thoughts

Makarov

Usually this man keeps tabs on you even if he isn't physically there with you at the moment, but he hadn't been there to notice your deteriorating health, or how you now had to take medicine when you had flare-ups, etc..

Either way word reach him and he suddenly came back, it felt strange having him give you a look over, his eyes observing you and he noticed how you had changed small, minor details in your routine

You felt weird having him perched like a hawk watching you, but in his eyes he was just doing what he could to care for you, he no longer wanted you to overwork yourself like you often did, against your protests he put his foot down and would not allow you to do anything unless he has deemed it safe beforehand

Even if you faked annoyance it was sort of heartwarming seeing him secretly care so much, you know he's never casual about anything and he wouldn't simply dismiss something like this

Keegan

He didn't have to go around finding things out because you were upfront about it with him, you had recently begun complaining of some pain in your muscles, at first you had shrugged it off, thinking it was from your last mission, it wasn't unusual to experience this

But it persisted, so much that you decided to go visit the medic on base along with Keegan, and while he came out fine, you had to stay back longer until a doctor was able to look at you

You assumed he had gone back to his barracks, but he had stayed waiting outside hoping it wasn't anything serious, you were surprised to walk out and meet his eyes when he raised his head

He can tell by the look on your face when you're in pain or something is bothering you, he can also tell when you're not in the mood to be open about it and he complies, but that won't stop him from caring for you

König

He was more worried than you were, and rightfully so, it was something new to him, he hadn't gone through this himself so he was afraid of how little he knew, especially since it was happening to the person he thought of so dearly

He tried to hide his anxiety, but never had be been so worried, you tried your best to assure him that it wasn't as bad as he thought, even if doctors couldn't cure it, there was no reason why he should be losing sleep, you would still live an average life

To give some sense of relief to König, you made changes and tried your best to adapt even when it became increasingly difficult at times, you knew the man beside you would always be there and it gave you some comfort to have someone to share your problems with

His company helped you cope better than any other treatment, maybe it was his big and imposing figure that made you think of him as your gentle guardian, he would watch over you and you never doubted his love

Horangi

It was difficult at first and you really had thought you would be stagnant at this point in life, you feared not being able to advance or go anywhere, you still had so many goals and dreams you would like to reach, but him seeing you struggle made his heart clench

He wanted to accommodate you best he could, he also didn't want to make the mistake of not being informed and he didn't want you feeling alone if he couldn't understand

He would accompany you to the pharmacy, the doctor and any other place where you might need his help, he knew you were plenty capable but if walking beside you helped you feel a little more secure in your footing, then he would accompany you everywhere

And if at any point the stress became too much, he gently reminded you that he didn't mind supporting you, you weren't a burden at all, it would be his pleasure to help meet your needs

Nikto

You thought he wouldn't notice, you had barely noticed it yourself, but perhaps Nikto had caught it quite early on, it had gone unnoticed by you how often he had a habit of watching you, it was a custom he had

He knew how you did things, your routine, your habits and everything, so it was unusual to him how much you struggled now to concentrate, while you wrote it off as not getting enough sleep Nikto was already taking notes

He also didn't think it was normal for you to suddenly become so tired or come up with rashes, he sort of casually brought up when your next check up was and told you to get it done sooner, and how surprised you were when you came back with the results

You probably trust him more with reminding you to do certain things so now he's become your notepad, if it were someone else he wouldn't even bat an eye, but since it's you he's letting you do whatever, like a cat that becomes fond of a person

He doesn't mind being soft with you either if it means making you feel just a little bit better on a day when you're feeling down

[bearyfast]

Rained In - LN4

Partnering: Lando Norris x reader

Type: Fluff (kinda angst a little but not really)

Established Relationship

Summary: After being rained in on a weekend trip away from the F1 world, Lando's real feelings about the future come out by the fireplace.

Warnings: None (if I've missed any, please let me know and I'll add them!)

F1 Masterlist

“I’m sorry today didn’t work out,” Lando mumbled into your hair as you were cuddling on the couch together, you wrapped up in his strong arms, keeping you in place. “I know you wanted us to actually do something on this holiday”

Coming up to a weekend break from the Formula One season, you had convinced Lando to go on a weekend getaway to a cabin in the English countryside.

You had wanted to do a few different things; going on walks and just adventuring in the countryside that you normally didn’t get to see with all the glitz and glamour of living in Monaco and being a Formula One driver (and a Formula One drivers girlfriend).

Unfortunately for your plans, the weather decided that it would rain; and rain it did.

Since an hour before the sun even rose until what would probably be the entire night it had been constant raining and pouring.

Which leads to the current situation- you and Lando laying together on the couch, watching a DVD that Lando brought along for some reason since the internet was down and a knitted blanket draped over both of you.

“It’s alright, today worked out pretty good anyway” You spoke softly, looking up to him with a soft smile and a small giggle at the end of your words.

Earlier that day, instead of leaving in the rain, you decided that you had all the ingredients to bake a pie. Which you did- really the only issue was Lando.

You see, as you were making the base of the pie, fingers deep in dough and hands clad with flour, Lando decided he would be ‘helpful’. Well if helpful meant scaring you by coming up the back of you without making a sound and wrapping his arms around your waist.

Jumping at the sudden contact, you spun around and placed your hands (the ones that had flour and dough all over them) on Lando’s chest to push him back. This caused Lando’s shirt to get flour and dough on it and his adorable little pout to be on his face for the next hour.

Though everything worked out in the end when you found him eating half of the pie a few minutes later- before you even got a chance to cut it up to have for lunch.

“Don’t remind me” Lando groaned as he pulled you closer to him, turning you around so you laid on top of him, chest to chest.

Leaning forward, you placed a soft kiss on his lips with Lando responding almost immediately-  turning the intended soft and short kiss into an intimate and slow one. It felt as if this kiss was somehow more open and honest than any other kiss you had ever had in your year long relationship.

As Lando pulled away, he connected your forehead with something… new in his eyes. Under the light of the fireplace nearby, the embers lighting up his face and eyes in a way you hadn’t seen before.

Like he was just full of love and finally let himself show that. It made your heart swell before he even began speaking again.

“You know what my biggest fear is?” Lando asked softly but with a raw undertone in his voice, nodding slightly as the already quiet noise from the TV turned into almost blurry noises in the background. “It’s losing you”

Before you could comfort him or tell him you weren’t going away, he shook his head to silence you while he swallowed.

“What if one day something happens to me on the track? I get hurt and suddenly I can’t come home to you,” Lando spoke with emotion high in his voice, but it came out slightly muffled since he grabbed the back of your head softly to hug you and buried his own head in the crook of your neck for comfort. “Or worse, what if our long term relationship doesn’t work out? What if we have different views of the future?”

After being silent for a few moments, you wrapped your arms around him as well. “That won’t happen, Lan. Why were you thinking of this anyway? Do you think we will have different ideas for the future?”

“No, I just-” Lando stopped himself, taking a deep breath of the scent of your perfume and shampoo’s scent mixed together. “Recently I met up with a guy from high school I used to be friends with, and when he proposed to his girlfriend, she uh- she said no because I guess they weren’t on the same page about their relationship.Then, you know, of course my job”

“Oh, baby,” You cooed, pulling his head out of the crook of your neck, holding it in your hands softly. “I knew your job when I started dating you, I know the risks, and also I’m pretty sure we’re on the same page of our relationship, but if you want to be sure- just ask, baby”

Lando just looked up to you for a moment before kissing you again- a tear running down his cheek and you quickly wiped away.

“So, just to check, if I were to propose, you wouldn’t reject me?” Lando said with a small grin on his face, the love in his eyes somehow stronger than before.

“I would only say no if you did it publicly” You smiled before kissing him again.

“Expect it soon then” Lando states suddenly. “After being rained in with you here and speaking to you like this, I realised that I only want you- forever and always. I love you”

“I love you too, Lan” You whispered, matching the raw emotion in his voice, something only achieved when away from the camera’s and in the privacy of between yourselves.

[slvt4chrissturniolo]

this is so cute I love this so muchhh

nick ~

<3 he's gave me the courage to be who I truly am

growing up I always wanted to fit in, in EVERY way possible. I still struggle with it to this day but nick has really helped me express my self unapologetically. like most recently, when he talked about his experience growing up gay and his love for drag, it brought me to tears and I just know it touched some young fans out there. or when he has talked about having to come to terms with his body, I love this man so much and how he influences people.

<3 nick fr carries

I don't care what anyone says nick carries. he knows the most about cameras and editing, like chris and matt can barelyyyy film without this man. he also always fills the silence, he's ALWAYS entertaining. People really don't give nick enough credit like the fuck.

matt ~

<3 talking about mental health

matt is a comfort person for me, like he's really helped me over th years. knowing what he's been through, I'm so proud of him for speaking out. he's helped me do much with my anxiety, and knowing he's helped others makes me SO happy. the triplets aren't just funny guys who sit in a car and matts proof of it. I could talk about what hes does for people for hours, it literally makes me wanna cry bro he's so nice.

<3 his gigglessss

when matt giggles I genuinely think my heart gets all warm and fuzzy. like it makes me so happy when chris or nick are talking and you can just hear matts little baby giggles. he has the cutest laugh ever I'm gonna sob.

chris ~

<3 he inspired me to be more creative

with him talking so much about how fresh love is his creative outlook, he's inspired me. I used to be extremely creative but then got burned out, chris brought back my creativity. he puts so much work into his work, and he's made a reminder to me that I should never lose my creativity.

<3 chris loves people with all his heart

the way he appreciates people is beautiful. his relationship with matt, nick, his family, and friends is so cute. he loves them more than anyone and it's extremely clear to see. I mean he literally got matt and nicks name tattooed on him. he's never wanted a tattoo, and getting their names is so sweet. it was obvious he'd get a tattoo for tour, but he could've gotten anything silky like a Pepsi can or deer, but getting matt and nick is the most heartwarming thing ever.

All the negativity and hateful energy recently has made me really want to be more positive. Nick, Matt, and Chris are all lovely people. I started watching them when I was at one of the lowest points in my life and honestly their videos are the only reason I wanted to wake up some days.

No, I don’t know these boys in real life, but I do love them. They’ve shows attributes that I really admire and that goes beyond physical traits by a lot. So here’s a list of some of the reasons why I really enjoy being able to consume their content!

— Their laughs!!! Matt’s boneless giggle never fail to make me smile and I adore how Chris’s laugh is “AHAHAHAHA” while Nick’s is “hehehe.”

— Them arguing. Controversial, I know, but sometimes it reminds me that an argument doesn’t mean the end of it all. You say sorry, you hug it out, and that’s something I really appreciate being able to remember when I have disagreements with my own siblings.

— The way they show affection towards each other. Sometimes it’s subconsciously leaning onto one another while laughing, other times it’s a group hug. Both make me really happy!!!

— Their relationship with their friends and family. It feels very intimate and very healing to be able to see a glimpse into such healthy relationships. JIMMY AND MARYLOU?! YES.

There’s plenty of other reasons why I love them, but I wanna hear everyone else’s too!!! Comment or reblog yours if you’d like and lmk anything and everything that makes it fun to be in this fandom for you!!! ☺️✨

[leyavo]

Dad!141 x Dyslexic!kid

Summary: tf141 x their kids struggling with dyslexia at school. Requested by anon [Masterlist]

John’s pissed when he finds out your teachers been making you stand against the wall each time you’ve failed your weekly spelling test. It’s always when they add a new word that you struggle to remember it, mixing the order of letters. You’d just transferred to a new school due his work and being closer to the military base. The last one had more funding, better understanding of your dyslexia. Whereas this one looked like it was stuck in the eighties and didn’t have enough teachers to watch the kids.

“What do you mean they make you stand against the wall?” He asks, fork clanging to his plate at dinner one night.

“They make me stand in front of the wall and read the words so I don’t forget.” You say it like it’s the most logical thing, but John’s chest aches. He’s tried telling you that your brains wired different, that you’re not slow or dumb. Just learn different than others.

He loves the way your mind works. How you pick up on things he’s never thought of or how you’re good with fixing things. Reminds himself that your short term memory isn’t the best, so he’s patient with you and explains again no matter how many times he has before.

“I’ll talk to ya’ teacher,” he grumbles, ruffling your hair. “Eat that broccoli.” He points to your plate, trying to contain the boiling rage burning the back of his throat.

John schedules a meeting with the headmaster, all the little things you told him about the teacher, noted down the day it happened. How many times it happened. Ended up getting you moved to a different class and he was able to talk to your new teacher and make them aware of your dyslexia etc. Checked in a couple weeks later with new teacher and you to see you were okay.

Simon stares at your school report and glances to you. On paper you’re a completely different kid, described as too quiet, need to participate more in the classroom and work on your reading, you’re behind for your age. Given an extra five minutes now for your tests. The teacher had mentioned that your recent dyslexic diagnosis had discouraged to do work and engage with others.

The comic books in your room are the only ones you like to read, complain every time you look at a bigger body of text. You’d been spending most of your time in the library instead of the playground, organising the books on the shelves.

At home Simon can’t get you to shut up, there’s always something coming out of your mouth that he regularly tells you take a breath. So he sits you down before bed and asks you what’s going on.

“Everything’s harder now,” you say, picking at the broken nail in your lap. “I notice it more and it’s so annoying. Why can’t I just be like you.”

Simon drapes his arm over your shoulders and tucks you into his side. “You’re just like me,” he says, squeezing you in his hold.

“I am?” You pull away staring up at him in awe.

“Yeah, you’re bloody stubborn…don’t give up most times. Keep at this and ask for help if you need it kid.”

And it’s like he’s lit something, fuelled something inside of you to combat anything in your way. There’s some frustrated tears and shouted tantrums, but he always reminds you to ask for help when you feel like that.

Kyle’s more upset than angry as he sits in the car on the driveway. He’s just picked you up from school for fighting, you haven’t said a word nor have you explained why you punched a kid bigger than you. No your face scrunched up, knuckles scraped and resting in your lap. The teachers didn’t see what happened on the playground, so it’s a case of he said, she said. You won’t talk though, which makes you the bad kid.

“Come on, poppet. Can’t stick up for you if you don’t tell me what happened. I’m on your side.” He says, shifting in the front seat and leaning into the back towards you. “They push you?”

You were a little smaller than some of them, an easy target if they didn’t know who your dad was.

“They called me dumb, said I was slow.” A little pout on your lips and brows furrowed.

And Kyle listens to you as you tell him about how the teacher made you read in front of the whole class - something that had been agreed they wouldn’t force you to do. How you stumbled over the words, the kids muffling their sniggers and making fun of you in the playground. How you warned the one kid to shut up.

“And I hit him, then asked him did I stutter?”

Kyle’s proud of you for sticking up for yourself, you’d warned them and they still stepped over your boundaries so he’s not going to punish you for it. Just going to remind you that violence isn’t always the solution as now you’re the one suspended from school. He’ll talk to your teachers and get it sorted out.

Johnny can’t understand why he’s being called into the headmasters office again for the second time this week. He walks into the reception area and you’re sitting in one of those awkward plastic chairs with your head hung low.

Something about disrupting the class, refusing to read aloud and not handing in your homework. It’s been a rough couple months since your dyslexia diagnosis and you’re too clever using it as an excuse to neglect your school work. The youngest of four it’s easy for you to go under radar, but now Johnny is on your case and checking anything school related.

The headmaster drones on about your three older siblings and how they were a great addition to the school. Eldest even setting a new school record for test results. Johnny can see the sag of your shoulders as it’s said, he knows you’ve got big shoes to fill and knows you’re different, all his kids are.

Johnny drives the long way home, glancing at you in the rearview mirror in the back. “I don’ expect ya’ to be like them,” he says, trying to catch your gaze in the reflection.

“Not smart enough anyways,” you mumbled, arms crossed tightly over your chest and head turned to the trees flitting past the window.

“Eh! Look at me,” Johnny snaps and you do. “You’re smart in other ways, just want you to try. Alright?” And it’s true you’re a whizz at connecting wires with Johnny whenever he’s trying to fix something, you even remember the name of every tool in the garage and its use. There’s just other things you have to work harder at.

“Yeah, Da’. I’ll try.”

🤌 there might be mistakes/errors due to dyslexia lol - Leya

[creatingblackcharacters]

I have a question about coding non-human characters as Black-- is it okay to have a fantasy race (so more like a species, really, like mermaids or elves) where some characters of that fantasy species are coded Black (in terms of things like features and hair, sometimes skintone byt not always if they have fantasy skintones) and others aren't?

I thought it was alright and made sense because the fantasy 'races' are more like species, so it would make sense to give them as much diversity as humans, but also from a worldbuilding and I guess science (?) standpoint someone pointed out to me that if they all evolved alongside each other it's not super realistic for them to have features that historically are different due to evolving in different climates.

When I decided I would be creating certain non-human characters who I coded as Black who live alongside other members of their species who may not be, I kind of just thought it would be a nice touch in terms of diversity in character design, but what that person said kind of made me think that maybe it wasn't a good idea to code non-human characters as Black when I wouldn't really be able to work their Blackness into the narrative due to their fantasy species not having dynamics based off of that sort of thing. (And it's fanfiction, not my own world, so idk if I can add them?)

I'm sorry if this question comes off as kind of disjointed and hard to read, but yeah. I know you did do a lesson about Black coding but in there I couldn't really find an answer to this specific question. Would it be better to simply not code certain members of a fantasy species as Black (when others are not) if I'm unable to address their Blackness due to them I guess not technically being Black (as we humans see Blackness) because they're elves or mermaids or whatever? Because I would also feel bad having a cast full entirely of non-humans, none of whom have any Black features at all.

(Also, thank you so much for your help with Lydriia the other day! I commissioned some new art of her recently and I'm so in love with it aaahhh)

IF YOU WANT BLACK VERSIONS OF YOUR FANTASY SPECIES THEN MAKE THEM!

You could have that species live all around your fantasy world. They can travel, trade, intermingle, start families and communities amongst one another. Or, tbh, it's a FANTASY WORLD, I don't think we'll all die if you don't apply real world population genetics. Mermaids aren't real and yet here they are. So. Just give them a community so they're not the only Black one.

As for your story, if they're humanoid enough to describe, then you can describe the same things on them as you would with a regular human Black person. Hair texture, nose, lips, hair styles, style influence, etc. If you paint them, we know who we're looking at, and so does everyone else (it's why Black elves and dwarves make them mad).

[specialgradefckr]

Tiger in the Alleyway

tw: homelessness, implied mistreatment/assault, suggestive content. sukuna/reader. hybrid!sukuna, hybrid!reader. sukuna is not like, canon sukuna, but he's not really much better

It doesn't really surprised him that it's ending like this.

The thought occurs to Sukuna as he stumbles into the alley, tail swaying weakly behind him. Even injured as he is, a low growl - a tiger's warning - is enough to clear the stupid mutts out of his way.

He lived his life cursing others. Biting, tearing, eating. Taking whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted it. It was a life full of enemies, and that had to take its toll eventually.

At least he lived well. A good life. Free, on his own terms, by his own merits. He closes his eyes with a heavy breath.

There's a patter of rain - ugh. One final annoyance to accompany him into the afterlife. He supposes it might wash some of the blood and filth off him.

Louder, louder - this sound isn't rain at all. One bright red eye flashes open, glaring at the intruder - you.

A tiny, shivering housecat hybrid, crawling carefully up to his side.

Sukuna snorts. Of all the witnesses to his death, it had to be you.

You're nothing to him, of course. And nothing in general, really. A house pet, thrown out of your home - the worst fate for a domesticated creature like you.

A wild thing born and bred for companionship, to be a toy for humans - the only thing you deserved was pity and scorn.

That's all he'd ever looked at you with. He'd crossed you once or twice in alleyway scraps - never fought, oh no. You're a pathetic creature and you know it. Always surrendering, running from every fight.

Whenever you scrounged up any food for yourself, you had to hide or eat it right away. A good spot to sleep? You'd get bullied out of it. Anything nice, or soft, to comfort or amuse yourself with? Stolen from you within days.

You knew your place, and it was on the very bottom of the food chain. He supposes that your self-awareness was commendable, if nothing else.

He scorns you equally, now, if not more than ever. A worm like you, outliving him? How pathetic.

But his warning growl doesn't scare you off. For you, of all people, not to fear him -

What's that smell?

He smells it before he sees it. You carried it in your mouth, sitting carefully next to him and taking it into your hands. Offering it up.

It's a single, lonely sardine, probably the last from that little tin he'd seen you squirrelling away after he put down some mutt in an alleyway.

Fucking disgusting animals. Barking and pissing and shitting everywhere.

It comes together to him, then. Your pathetic, hopeful, wide eyes as you raise up your offering. You think he helped you. On purpose.

Eugh. For fuck's sake! A wave of revulsion shifts through his body, so strong he nearly hurls.

"It's okay to eat," You say with a painful kindness, "I had some! Take it!"

Putting up to his lips - he nearly pukes. Then again, he is pretty badly hurt.

"Stupid," He manages, it a low growl, but that only has his mouth open enough for you to stick it in.

Reluctantly, he chews, swallows. If only because spitting it out would do nothing at this point.

It seems dying wasn't a fit enough punishment for living a life like he did. Apparently, he had to live with the indignity of getting help from a waste of skin like you.

The rain is falling, harder now. He feels a tug on his sleeve and an involuntary groan of pain escapes him.

A small noise, like a whimper of disappointment, bubbles up next to him.

He hears you patter away - fucking finally - only to hear a scrape and scramble in the distance, along with a slow drag of something against the pavement.

There's a shift as you push him away from sitting against the wall - he hisses viciously at that - and then there's a cardboard set against it. With his weight back on it, it's held against the wall, hanging over his head and protecting him from the rain.

Sukuna sneers, "Stupid cat. You think you'll get something from me if you do this?"

His words are low, mocking, "You think I'll reward your kindness? You'll be lucky if I don't break your fingers for laying a hand on me."

Everything about his tone conveys exactly what he thinks of that idea. He's never needed help before and he doesn't want any now.

Especially not from some pathetic, weak creature like you.

"...could you do it on my right hand, please?"

A beat. "What?"

"Just... break the ones on my right hand. I can't really use it anyways, so... that should be fine..."

He remembers, then, how he'd seen you clutching one arm to your chest always. Probably an old injury that never healed right.

Just his luck. Choosing the most ineffectual threat possible for someone who had so little to lose.

The cold is just about to set in, bone-deep, when he feels the warmth against him. Stiffening, hissing in warning.

"...if... if you're so mad," your trembling voice says, "Th-then just push me off! Otherwise, I'm cold, so I'm gonna borrow your heat!"

He stops. Pauses. Calculates, thinks about it - but the numbers feel so far away from his tired mind.

The numbness feels like a solid, frozen mass inside him... but your form curls into his. Your tiny little housecat tail settling over his lap. It's thin, frayed, with notches and cuts in it, but your chest is warm pressed into his side.

And he can't push you away, can't muster the strength. He supposes death will soon spare him this indignity -

A painful breath batters his ribs as he hisses again. It stings!

His eyes flick down to see you. Neck carefully stretched, reaching over his form so you can lap at a cut by his throat.

This time, your eyes hesitantly meet his, but you still lick carefully, sterilizing it, watching him wince from the contact. It doesn't stop you from a moment.

Clearly, you have no fear for your own life. Are you enjoying his humiliation? The fact that a powerful tiger like him is weak enough to succumb to the whims of a tame little kitten like you?

One of your legs brushes forward, between his, and -

The moan that comes out of Sukuna's mouth is purely from pain. It has nothing to do with the rough, wet strokes of your tongue over his enflamed wounds. The heat of your body against him. The weight of you on his exhausted body.

His chest heaves, from exertion, labored breaths. A low, warning rumble is the best deterrent he can make.

Your eyes flicker closed as you tuck your head into his neck, nuzzling closer. "So warm..."

At this point, you've half-climbed into his lap. Arms around him, legs twined with his. He's got a little feeling back in his limbs with the cold staved off - just enough to feel them ache and throb.

Sukuna tilts his head back with a weary sigh, letting it hit the wall behind him. His arms have found their way around your body. If you're offering your warmth, after all, he'd be a fool not to take it.

But you're a fool, too, if you think this will get you anything. He doesn't need you now,

There's a small, barely-there tremor against his chest. It's low, and gentle, and before he can complain about it, it's lulled him to sleep.

[fallenprophets]

told you I'll be waiting, hiding from the rainfall

robert "bob" reynolds x reader

summary: he left you in Malaysia, volunteering for a study he promised would make him "better". You've almost come to terms with the fact that he's gone, when you see him again. no use of y/n, gender neutral reader as always. listened to cigarettes after sex while writing this.

warnings: swearing, mentions of drug abuse, slight thunderbolts* spoilers, notttt proofread like at all

a/n: alright gang, i actually genuinely don't know if this is good or not. might delete and rewrite in the morning? i just had to get something out because thunderbolts* had me feeling a certain typa way.

I thought I had lost him. 

I was so sure. I knew, from the moment I lost sight of him as he stepped into that shady fuckin’ tent in Malaysia. Knew that something was wrong, that he was in some kind of danger. I should’ve tried harder to stop him- not let go of his hand, convinced him that he was already special. 

But that hope in his eyes- hope that he’d be made better, that they’d fix whatever was wrong with him- that’s what stopped me. That’s what made me hug him one last time, kiss the spot under his ear, run my fingers through his hair. Turn away once he was gone, walk away. 

Of course, he didn’t leave that tent- as I’d expected. I tried the Malaysian authorities, but no one cares when a meth addict tourist goes missing- same when I went back home, talked to the police. 

And things were bad, for a little while. I was alone again, and I felt it. Walked that line between life and death, constantly keeping myself high, or drunk. Thought that was it for me. 

I don’t know what happened. It was his birthday- he’d been gone for a while, and in a fit of insanity, I checked myself into rehab. Got better, made some friends. Even got a job, with the help of a few people. I’m considering going to college; got enough saved for something like that. 

I’ve not moved on, not in the slightest. But my life has continued; didn’t freeze when he disappeared, despite the fact that I felt it did. 

And then, New York happened. Or whatever the fuck that was- everyone disappearing into that void, myself included. And I found myself reliving my worst memories- including losing him. 

I woke up exactly where I was standing before, hands pressed over my ears. My heart is thudding in my chest, my breathing heavy and staggered. People around me are just as confused, running to grab onto loved ones, falling into each other’s arms. 

The tears are quick to come, and not unexpected. Reliving that moment- the last goodbye, watching him walk away- it’s too much, all at once. I curl my arms in, tuck them close to my chest as if protecting myself from something. And I start to walk, trying to ignore the people all around me, hugging, crying out relieved words to each other. 

The loneliness- a feeling I haven’t acknowledged for a long time- is almost crushing in its suddenness. It’s as if I lost him yesterday. 

I’m consumed by it, leaning heavily on the wall of this alleyway clutching at my stomach like a wounded dog. Gasping, sucking in deep breaths to calm myself down. I don’t notice the press gathering, the podium being set up with all its microphones. I don’t even notice the director of the CIA of all people announcing a new team of heroes. 

He catches my eye when I look up, though. 

I stop breathing for a moment as my gaze locks on someone; someone so achingly familiar I almost drop to my knees. It’s like someone has knocked the wind out of me; punched me in the throat, kicked me in the ribs. I can’t breathe- doesn’t even feel like my heart is beating- as I take in the man standing a few feet behind the woman at the podium, dressed in a blue sweater and brown trousers and scuffed trainers. His hair is a little longer, his face sharper, but it’s him. I’d recognise him anywhere, by touch alone, in the dark. 

I open my mouth to say his name, and nothing comes. 

I don’t think he’s seen me yet. He looks bewildered, maybe a bit scared. I push myself out of the alleyway and stumble over, shoving journalists out of the way. 

Finally, finally, his eyes meet mine. And everything around me fades to a dull buzzing sound. 

His lips move. He must be saying my name, I think dumbly to myself as I stop right at the edge of the stage. Someone- a woman with shorter blond hair, dressed in black gear- seems to notice the way Bob’s eyes have locked onto me, and expertly draws the CIA director’s attention away. He’s able to duck out of the way, slowly stepping towards me. 

My heart thunders, louder and louder as he gets closer. I say his name, and he says mine. His expression has shifted to one of pure, almost painful relief, and he half-jumps off the makeshift stage. 

I say his name one last time, and he crashes into me. 

It’s instinctual, the way his arms wind around my shoulders; the way I find the crook of his neck, bury my face in it and breathe him in for what feels like the first time in centuries. His hand cradles the back of my head, the thumb of the other automatically tracing circles on my shoulder. I press my palms flat to his back, pull him as close as I possibly can. 

“Oh my god,” I choke out against his skin. He’s shaking slightly; I can almost feel his heartbeat thumping against mine as he hugs me. Cameras flash and shutters clack, and I know photos are being taken of us. 

I pull away, cup his face in my hands. I realise I’m crying, the tears coming hot and heavy and blurring my vision as I try to take him in fully. He says my name again, so soft, and I press an almost frantic kiss to the corner of his mouth. His hands don’t leave my waist, grip tightening sporadically as if he’s checking that I’m really here. 

It’s over all too quickly. Some kind of medical team arrives, and he has to let go of me. I don’t leave his side, though; sit close by through every test they run on him. We exchange very few words, but I think he understands; I am never letting him walk away from me again. 

Eventually, they let him hold my hand; and he doesn’t let go. 

It’s four in the morning when they finally let Bob go; and it takes a lot of persuasion from the people he’s with- the Thunderbolts, as they’re being referred to (against their will, it seems). I forget their names as soon as they’re introduced to me, my primary focus on getting out of here, on being alone with him. 

And finally, the others go, promising to see him again tomorrow. And I get to walk tucked against his side, show him up to my apartment. 

He’s quiet, and I don’t mind it. I give him my favourite grey sweater and some old pajama trousers to change into, show him the bathroom. He showers while I busy myself making tea- something I got more into after rehab, ‘cause my new neighbour took it upon herself to show me how. I burn my hand on the kettle twice, still shaking slightly from the shock of seeing Bob again. Maybe not well, but alive, and that’s enough for me- more than enough. 

He comes out of the bathroom, and I almost drop my cup of tea again. Carefully, slowly, I set it aside on the kitchen counter. Fiddle with the hem of my shirt, clear my throat. We’re staring at each other; almost hungrily, I take him in, standing here in my home, wearing my clothes. My heart hasn’t stopped thundering violently in my chest, and I feel a little lightheaded from just watching him. 

“I…” I trail off, words already failing me. I cough, nervously shuffle my feet. Try again. “I missed you.” 

My voice breaks, and I put a hand over my mouth. My vision blurs, and I realise the tears are back. 

I reach my other hand out, and stumble towards him. He catches my halfway, arms winding around my waist to hold me up- but we both end up on our knees anyway, clinging onto each other for dear life. I allow myself to sob into his shoulder, and I think he cries too, his grip so tight; as if he’s scared of losing me. 

Eventually, I pull away, wipe my face with my sleeve. Take his face in my hands again, brush my thumbs over his cheekbones. Confirming that he’s alive, that he’s here with me. He looks destabilised; his eyes are maybe a little glassy, both from crying and whatever it is he’s been through over the time we’ve been apart. 

“I missed you,” I repeat softly. “So, so much. Thought you were dead.”

His gaze flits over my face, like he doesn’t quite know where to look. I don’t want to make him uncomfortable, so I stand, pulling him up with me; keep one hand firmly on his wrist, ‘cause I don’t want to let go just yet. 

“Do you want to sleep in the bed?” I ask softly. 

“Where will you sleep?” He asks, in the same quiet, somewhat shaky tone. 

“I can take the couch.” I want nothing more than to sleep right next to him, but if he needs space, I’ll be more than happy to provide. 

“Can you… stay?” He’s quieter as he says it, his eyes twitching ever so slightly. I’m quick to nod, squeezing his hand. 

“Of course,” I murmur. He nods, and I think I catch a hint of a nervous smile. 

We’ve shared a bed before- when neither of us could afford our own place, ‘cause we were spending all our money on drugs. But that was a dingy mattress on the floor, and we were both high out of our minds most of the time- I can hardly remember it. 

This is a real bed. One of the first things I bought for this apartment, in hopes that it would help me sleep better, so I didn’t spend nights staring at the ceiling, itching for something to either lull me into unconsciousness or keep me awake and buzzed enough to silence the loneliness crawling under my skin. 

I lead him into the bedroom, still clinging onto his hand. Only let go to climb in, instantly huddling against the wall to make as much room as possible. But as soon as he’s under the covers, his hand finds my waist, and he pulls; so I shuffle forwards, ‘till he’s tucked against my chest, my chin resting on his head. He has an arm around my waist, hand resting flat between my shoulder blades. I let my fingers run through his hair, still a little damp from the shower. 

He shifts again, lifting his head so our foreheads press together. His nose bumps mine, like a silent question. I answer by nudging closer, until I’m breathing his air and he’s breathing mine. So intimate, as his hand finds my neck, thumb once again brushing my cheekbone. 

One of us- I’m not sure who- breaks the small gap. And suddenly, his mouth is on mine, or my mouth is on his. And it’s warm, and soft, and so, so gentle. I think it’s the first time we’ve kissed and my stomach erupts with the thought- the knowledge that somehow, this is a final gap we’ve bridged. One I’ve regretted not bridging sooner ever since he went missing. 

He kisses hungrily, but not in a bruising way. It’s almost mournful, the way his mouth moves against mine, the way he breaths me in as his fingers dig ever so slightly into the back of my neck. Not painful, but sad, like he’s scared of losing me- losing me again, I suppose. 

He pulls away, and I kiss his forehead as he curls into me. 

Our ankles cross, and I watch him shut his eyes, listen to his breathing slow. I don’t sleep, but I think he does. 

[tkomptgoedluv]

revenge.

tear you apart pt.2

pt.1 here | pt.2

grumpycafeworkervampire! joost x f! reader

tags: dead dove do not eat, f! reader, internetcafe & vampire au, reader doesn’t know how to cope very well, joost’s heart is too big for his body, they’re both desperate to be the other one’s peace, so much hurt, possibly even more comfort, plenty of angst, all characters are dutch and speak in dutch but dialogue is written in english for obvious reasons.

word count: 8,489.

warnings: very detailed descriptions of blood and self harm, descriptions of an un-specific mental illness, semi-heavy stalking, breaking and entering, mentions of gore, brief mentions of violence + abuse, rpf.

notes: hello my lovelies <3 thank you so much for being so patient with this one! it’s not only the longest fic that i’ve ever written, but also genuinely my pride and absolute joy. i fear that i might not ever be able to top this one, actually, so please enjoy it! just keep in mind that this fic comes with a MASSIVE TRIGGER WARNING.

also once again, a big big shoutout to my BABY @joosthead for putting up with me constantly asking her to check the doc every time that i added something. please go check out her work if you haven’t already — she’s got some mad shit coming 💋

── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ──

you never really were too good at knowing when to stop, were you?

it’s always been easy for you to get lost in it, lost in the feeling of your old razor blades carving line after line into your skin. once you started, you just had to keep going until you physically couldn’t. not until you’d get too dizzy to focus, until you just couldn’t quite keep your grip tight enough on the razor anymore.

you never learned how to cope any other way; since you were fifteen, it had been your default. cutting yourself up whenever you started to feel too much, or whenever levi would push you too far. as a kid, it was more of a punishment but with him, it was your way of controlling all the pain that you felt.

that’s why you’d done it again, why it’s been the only thing that you’ve managed to do over the past five days or so. you were trying to control things, trying to come to terms with what you had seen and all the big feelings that came right along with it.

you’d spent so long wishing him away — daydreaming of all the terrible things that could happen so you’d finally be free of him. you never actually thought that it would happen, though. that you’d witness your own boyfriend get ripped apart limb from limb; devoured as if he was nothing more than a piece of meat.

you hated that some sick and twisted part of you deep down, missed him. that you just couldn’t wrap your head around the fact that he was gone now. and you hated that when it came to joost, you weren’t quite sure what you felt. for less than a fucking hour he’d been the closest thing to friend that you’d had in years, but then he’d gone and done that and —

blood dripped down from your wrists, the tops of your arms, and your thighs, and onto the dirty white tiles of your bathroom floor. you’d never gotten this carried away before, and you had made such a mess of it. all the cleaning up would have to be done tomorrow because right now you doubted that you’d even be able to stand.

at least you weren’t feeling quite so much anymore; only the stinging of each and every single one of the fresh cuts. it all hurt, but it was a better thing to feel than the guilt that had kept you confined inside the walls of your own home for so long. you couldn’t help but wonder if you would die here, alone and bleeding on your bathroom floor, or if the police would find you before you’d get the chance to.

you’ve seen bits and pieces of what his friends had been saying online— knew that they wanted to report levi as a missing person now. you wondered how long it would be before the police would come for you, either looking for him or his killer. then again, you weren’t actually sure if there was even a body left behind for them to find.

finally, after god knows how many, you put the razor blade down. it clattered against the linoleum and laid still in one of the few small pools of your own blood. honestly, you were a little proud of what you had done to yourself, even though it still felt like it wasn’t enough. 

in a daze, you just sat there quietly as the time passed, as the blood slowly began to dry. you weren’t entirely sure of the time but it had to have been late from how dark it was outside. your phone was somewhere in your flat, having died a while ago after you neglected to charge it for a few days, but it’s time probably would’ve read something like one or two o’clock in the morning.

no one had been by to check on you, not that you had expected them to, especially not at a time like this, so you jumped when you heard a knock at your front door. silence rang out as you waited, too afraid to move, until you finally heard another one. only then did you get up.

it was with wobbly legs that you limped your way out of the bathroom and through your hallway, your heart hammering away inside your chest. you tried to peer out through your front room windows as you hobbled over to the door, certain that you’d see flashing blue lights or the silhouette of a police officer waiting for you on your doorstep.

but as you opened your front door just an inch, barely wide enough to peak your head around outside, all you saw was nothing. no cars going past, no people wandering by, nothing.

for just a moment, you could have laughed. because this was it now, surely; your breaking point. all that guilt, all of that paranoia — it was finally driving you mad. 

the old hinges of your door squeaked as you went to close it again, turning on your heels as you did so. you glanced up as one of the floorboard creaked from behind you, the gloss in your eyes only slightly blurring the sight of him standing right there, somehow.

you went to scream, a high pitched, blood-curdling shriek right on the rip of your tongue when his hand came up to cup your mouth shut. he knocked you back into the door, slamming it shut as his entire body weight came down to have you pinned against it. you could feel just how hard he was shaking as he held you there, see how those big, panicked eyes of his were flickering between blue and red.

“no no no, please, please don’t scream. i’m not gonna hurt you.”

joost was frantic as he spoke, almost choking on each of his words, begging for you to keep quiet. no matter how desperately you were trying to fight against him, your nails clawing at his chest through his shirt as you fought to get him off of you, you weren’t going anywhere. the more that you struggled, the harder his grip on you got.

you had no way of knowing it yet, but this was killing him. seeing you so small like this, crying out, sobbing, against his hand as you used what little strength you had left to try and push him away — it was undoubtedly going to haunt him. 

he knew that he shouldn't be here, not really. he shouldn’t know where you live, shouldn’t have followed you home that one night a couple months ago. it was just that there had been an attack in your city that week; some poor girl found dead in an alleyway, all bloody and beaten, barely clothed. he’d already had your routine memorised by then, so he knew that you’d be making your way back from the cafe alone, in the middle of the night.

joost had just wanted to protect you, he’d just wanted to make sure that you weren’t about to become the next headline in the local newspaper. at least, that was what he had told himself as he’d stayed hidden away in the shadows, his head down low and hood pulled up as he’d ‘escorted’ you home without you ever knowing it.

sure, it had definitely crossed some lines, him sneaking out of the cafe’s back door after you’d left that night to follow you, but the alternative was worse, right?

that’s what all this came down to, really. his insatiable need to know that you were safe. because last week, you’d ran from him that night with marks on your arm that your boyfriend hadn’t been the one to put there. and you’d ran from him, no less, scared out of your mind at the mere sight of him as he’d stood there pleading with you to stay.

and joost couldn’t stand that.

everyone else could view him as a monster and treat him as such, but not you.

never you. 

that was the only reason why he’d ended up on your doorstep tonight. he needed to know that you were okay, that you were still alive, and that you understood that what he had done to levi, he would never, ever, do to you. 

it was never his plan to ‘invite’ himself in the way that he had. he was going to knock on your door and wait for you to answer it, and he was prepared to spend the rest of the night out there, reasoning with you to just hear him out if he had to. and if by the end of it all you were to still cast him out with the promise of never wanting to see him again, he’d find a way to live with it. just as long as you’d be okay; he’d live with it.

it was never his plan to get to the top of your street and already be able to smell it. the thick, sweet, iron-heavy smell of your blood already so strong that he was gagging by the time he made it to your doorstep. hunched over and heaving, he’d stumbled up to your front door, forcing himself to take deep, slow breaths through his mouth before finally knocking. it took everything in him, every little last bit of willpower, not to turn right then and there.

“lieverd, it’s okay. i promise it’s okay; i’m just here to talk. you…you don’t have to fight me.”

even as you were still thrashing, joost leant down to rest his forehead against yours. his eyes bore into yours as they continued to flash between the two different colours, a few tears of his own welling up behind his waterline. the last time that you were up this close, close enough to see the sweat shining on his temples, you were grasping onto his arm in such a feeble attempt to hide yourself from who you thought to be the only monster in the room.

the one whose blood you’d later seen dripping down from in between joost’s fingers, as he’d clutched onto his heart like a trophy.

he should be the real monster to you — a small part of you even wanted him to be. as terrible as levi truly was, he’d never bitten the head off of anyone, never ripped a heart straight out of someone’s chest. he was just…levi. he was your boyfriend and you hated him, but you never wanted him to die.

there was a bigger part inside of you, though, one that twisted up at the thought of joost being anything like one of the ‘bad guys’ from your old bedtime stories. because despite everything that you’d seen, despite how he’d found out where you lived, somehow, and now had you pinned up against your own front door with his hand holding your mouth shut, you knew that he wasn’t. he wasn’t evil, wasn’t dangerous like how your boyfriend had been, and you knew that. you just didn’t quite know it yet.

still, you began to relax. whether it was by choice or because you simply didn’t have any fight left in you anymore, you weren’t entirely sure. your whole body felt as though it was on fire from how several of your cuts had ripped open slightly from your struggle. small spots of blood started to seep through the thin, white cotton of your shorts as you almost went limp against joost; your eye-contact unbreaking. 

there was just something about the way in which he was looking at you. it was the exact same one he gave you that night last week, when he was desperately trying to convince you not to go back home to levi. his hands had been cupping each one of your cheeks, his warm breath fanning across your face as he panted. seeing that same look on him now, it was enough for you.

joost had felt you start to ease, had heard the fast beating of your heart start to slow. his grip on your mouth loosened as he gently wiped away the wet from your face with his free hand, tucking the loose strands of your hair away from your eyes.

“i’m gonna let you go now, okay? then we can talk?”

you nodded, blinking away the tears from your eyes.

as he held back a breath, joost finally moved his hand away from your mouth and took a single step back — allowing you just enough space to stand up on your own. he still hadn’t looked away from your face, his eyes stuck on yours as he searched your features for any signs of fear, any signs that you were about to turn and run. 

but instead you seemed…calm. still very much in shock; your hands still very much trembling as you wrapped your arms around your middle. but you were calm enough to stand your ground and not shrink underneath his gaze. you didn’t flinch when both of his hands came up to cup either side of your jaw, the pads of his thumbs caressing along the skin.

“are-are you okay? i’ve not seen you in…i thought that maybe you had…”

he couldn’t quite find it in him to finish his sentence. it wasn’t like he needed to, you already knew exactly what he was talking about, and now it all started to make sense. 

that look in his eyes, the way his voice kept shaking every time that he spoke. he was here because he was scared, terrified even, that you’d done something to yourself. that night you’d told him, more rather shown him your secret so he knew what you were capable of now, and it had been driving him mad ever since you disappeared.

you hadn’t needed to say anything; the way you suddenly pulled yourself away from him had said enough. in all of the chaos he hadn’t thought to simply look down. if he had, he would have seen all the damage you’ve already done; every single one of the fresh cuts that you’ve given yourself tonight and all of the ones from the nights before. the old vest top and pyjama shorts that you were wearing weren’t hiding anything — from your shoulders down to your shins, he could see everything now that he had finally dropped his gaze.

with his head down, you couldn’t see his face but you could feel the way he tensed up. you could hear him sniff, cough, and swallow down the bile that was rising up in his throat as he stumbled back a few steps.

you were still bleeding. 

it was making his teeth ache.

neither of you said anything for a while. you stood frozen by the door, your arms still wrapped around yourself as he just stared blankly at you with tears running down his cheeks. 

he felt sick; sickened by the very thing he’d been so afraid of now staring at him right back in the face. he couldn’t stand the sight of it but couldn’t bring himself to look away, either — there was just so much red. long, neat lines of red that covered you almost completely from head to toe; no patch of skin left unmarked. it was vile, it was abhorrent, it was breaking his heart.

“why?”

that was all joost could muster. a pathetic, broken question as he tried so desperately to pull himself back together. 

“i…i don’t know.” you paused only to wipe your teary eyes on the back of your hand. “i never know what else to do when i feel like this; it’s just been hard, joost -”

you trailed off, quickly losing your train of thought when you heard him sob all of a sudden. you hadn’t seen him start to crack because you’d been staring down at your feet, suddenly feeling too shy to meet his eyes. except now he was the one trying to hide, his arm coming up to cover his face as he cried hard enough to make his shoulders bounce.

he repeated ‘i’m sorry, i’m so sorry.’ like a mantra in between shallow gasps of breath and hiccups.

he was blaming himself for this because how could he not? all those cuts along your skin; you might have been the one behind the blade but he had been the one to do it. he’d been the one to scar you like this. that one irreversible act of his that he prayed would keep you safe had pushed you to an edge that he feared he wouldn’t be able to pull you back from. 

it wasn’t even his responsibility to, not really. he didn’t know you and you didn’t know him, either. still, he found himself loving you in a way that didn’t make any sense. 

and you loved him too, didn’t you? in a way that you couldn’t quite wrap your head around because of course you did. you proved that to both yourself and to him by how you finally moved from your spot by the door just so you could take his hands and pry his arms away from his face. you let him engulf you, cradling you close to his chest as he cried into your shoulder because you knew that he needed it.

you didn’t know who he was or even what he was, but you knew that he wasn’t something to truly fear. deep down you knew that you loved him in such an awfully twisted way, and you knew that he needed to feel you just to know that you weren’t going anywhere. 

joost was still spilling out his apologies as you tried so hard to soothe him. you felt him shiver under your touch when you let your hands slip underneath the hem of his t-shirt to rub the hot skin of his sides, your soft little whispered assurances filling his ear. 

it wasn’t his fault, nor was it levi’s or anyone else’s. you were like this long before he’d ever set his eyes on you and a part of you had already accepted that you always will be. the very last thing that you wanted was for it to be a burden someone else had to carry, let alone somebody like joost.

“you didn’t do this, okay? it’s alright. i’m gonna be alright.”

maybe it was cruel of you to try and calm him with words that even you didn’t fully believe in. what you had done to yourself only an hour ago, only you would ever be to blame for it, but you didn’t know if you were going to be alright in the end. you were still a witness to what he’d done and you were still doomed to live with the guilt of that.

“you don’t need to apologise for what i’ve done; you know that this is what i do. it’s not your fault.”

“but i fucked up, lieverd.”  joost shuddered as he sucked in a sharp breath, sniffing. “i fucked up and i did this to you; you did it because of me.”

you hushed him, carefully stepping back just enough so that you had the room to cradle either side of his neck in your hands, urging him to look back at you. as soon as he did, you could see that his eyes were back to being just their usual sweet blue, nothing else.

“i did it because i was scared, joost. i didn’t know what else to do.”

“what, scared of me?”

his question was more like a punch to the gut than anything else. for just a moment it knocked the air out of you; left you winded and with no idea on how to go about answering it. truthfully, the answer was yes, but also no, because it was never actually him that you were so afraid of.

you were just afraid of what he did; what you know joost is truly capable of now. you were afraid of the part of you that was almost relieved to see levi suffer what he did, knowing that it meant that he wouldn’t be able to hurt you anymore. but again, you never wanted him to die. you never wanted to see him get torn apart, piece by piece.

joost whimpered out your name when you didn’t answer and instead just stood there with your mouth slightly agape. your lack of an actual, verbal answer was an answer in itself, really, and he knew that; knew that you were probably just too scared and too kind to tell him the truth. still he needed to hear you say it though, purely for his own sake, he needed to hear you say that he wasn’t just another monster to you.

but the longer that he waited, the weaker his knees started to feel. he kind of fell into you, in a way, burying his face deeper into the crook of your neck as your arms came up to hold him against you. his hot tears ran down your skin and pooled together in the dip of your collarbone and it was right then that your own eyes started to burn. 

slipping out from his grasp, you wordlessly led him by the hand over to your sofa. you watched him collapse onto it as you took a seat next to him, his elbows rested on his knees as his head hung low in between them. his shoulders were still shaking and you could still hear each of the muffled cries that were spilling from his lips.

“please, please, believe me, lieverd. what i did…i never wanted it to hurt you. i’m so sorry.”

you curled yourself into a tight little ball and let out a long, deep breath, one that you hadn’t even known you’d been holding. you had questions; so, so many questions that had been festering, growing like mould in the back of your head. and joost could almost feel you holding them back as he looked up at you with such watery eyes, the only red in them being the sore, puffy rings around them.

“ask me anything, whatever you wanna know.”

“why did you do it?”

there was no emotion in your voice and you kept your face blank as you spoke — it was only the slight quiver of your bottom lip that gave you away.

“he was going to hurt you, schatje.” 

“but how…how were you even…?”

it had happened decades ago, back when internet cafes were still just your average libraries and when only the rich could afford to have their own mobile phones. 

joost had been young, living off the high of infamy and adoration that came with being in one of the best punk bands in the scene at the time. him and his friends, they’d been something of local legends; for good and for bad, it just depended on who you asked. those that loved them deemed them god-like in their old denim and rusted chains, and those that hated them, simply feared them.

he’s not proud of it, how they spent day after day rotting away in a garage, doing whatever drugs they could get their hands on and writing songs just to spend night after night playing shows at only the worst bars they could find. how they’d get even more off their faces afterwards and start fights, smashing up the venues and spray-painting anarchy symbols anywhere and everywhere that they could. how if the night didn’t end with them running away from the cops then it would end with them in the bed of anything with a pretty face, two legs, and a heartbeat.

and then what was supposed to be the best night of the band’s life, the biggest show they’d ever played to a crowd that already knew all the words to their songs, became nothing more than the beginning of the end. it’d happened after they’d all really outdone themselves, whilst those so-called ‘friends’ of his that only ever brought out the worst of him were all passed out somewhere, and joost had decided to go out for a little wander. 

still to this day, he can’t remember the face of who had jumped him. the alleyway had been too dark and he’d been too drunk to even know where he was, so all that truly stuck with him was the agony of it all. the searing pain of a pair of fangs plunging deep into the side of his neck, the gradual, stinging cold he’d felt as the life was almost all but drained from him. whoever it was, they’d left him there to die afterwards — still to this day, a part of him wishes that he had. 

waking up that next morning something so much worse than human, consumed by an appetite so uncontrollable that he just couldn’t help himself when he came across that lone jogger whilst on his way back to his friends. surely it had to have been worse than death. he’d torn that poor guy to shreds as if it was nothing, as if he was just pulling chicken off the bone. 

but he hadn’t stopped there, had he? he couldn’t, he didn’t know how to. even after he’d shown up on his drummer’s doorstep covered in blood and crying his eyes out, he had to keep going, keep feeding. because joost wasn’t too good at knowing when to stop, either, was he?

it had taken him years to figure it out, actually. years of mindless, reckless slaughter to realise that he actually hated what he was now, and that his ‘friends’ weren’t ever really his friends. from the moment he’d shown up that day, all stained red and babbling about the man he’d just killed, the band played him like a puppet simply because they knew that they could.

regardless of the change, he was still joost. they knew that it really wouldn’t take much to get inside of his head, to spin whatever that had happened to him into something almost profitable for them all. and it hadn’t, because everything they had him do was always ‘for the band’, so really, how could he have said no? 

besides, he would have been lying if he’d said he hadn’t come to enjoy it, after a while. seeing the life drain from their eyes as they’d beg for mercy, pleading with him, promising him that they’d do whatever he wanted if he’d just let them go. he’d always laugh then, before sinking his teeth into their throats. 

and it helped that these people also happened to be nobodies, too. from shitty bar owners that wouldn’t let them play to members of a rival band that had just gotten a little too cocky for their own good. no one ever missed them, most hardly noticed that they were gone.

joost was never a monster to them, to the band, just an over-glamorised attack dog that could do a lot more than just bite.

it had taken him far too many years to realise it.

“that’s how i ended up with the cafe…i wanted to get away; i didn’t want to be like that anymore.” he paused only to gauge your reaction, or more so your lack of one. you hadn’t said a word the entire time, hadn’t flinched or pulled a face; you had barely even blinked. 

“what did you do with the body?…his body?”

the sudden sound of your voice, it made him glance back up at you with a small quiver in his lip. you were still staring blankly at the wall ahead, your expression borderline unreadable, but your words hadn’t cracked and your hands weren’t shaking anymore, either.

“i know some people that are…like me; they handled it.” when you fell quiet again, joost continued, wiping the snot from his nose as he did so. “i’ve done a lot of bad things, lieverd. what i did to levi, fuck, that’s not even the worst of it. you should be scared of me; i’m scared of me.”

“i’m not.” 

“why?”

“because if you were still the monster that you think you are, i wouldn’t have even made it halfway out the door that night.” 

after only another moment or two of silence had passed did you finally look down to meet his eyes again. whilst there was a shine in yours that definitely matched his own, there was something so soft about the way you were gazing at him. it made the muscles beneath his shoulders relax and drop down as he breathed out a quiet sigh of relief.

you didn’t need to elaborate any further, didn’t need to say anything else to prove to him that you knew he wasn’t that person anymore. he could tell simply from the hint of a smile that was tugging at the corners of your mouth. from how it was with careful, delicate movements that you moved to crawl onto his lap and hugged him, nuzzling your face into the curve of his neck.

the large, warm palms of joost’s hands slid underneath the cotton of your tank top and soothed the cool skin of your spine as he rested his head against yours. instead of asking how you were even real, how someone so undeniably good was able to look past each and every single one of his sins, he kept quiet to let the last few tears of his fall.

but if he had in fact asked, then you would’ve told him that truly, you couldn’t hold any of it against him. 

of course it was all awful, from the countless faces he’d torn apart to the people that he terrorised even before the change. your skin had been crawling as joost had spoken and you just couldn’t ignore the fact that anyone else in your position probably would’ve taken off running by now. that, and that they’d have every right to.

except you weren’t just anyone, were you? as far as you were concerned, those old so-called ‘friends’ of his were the real monsters, because you of all people knew what it was like to be hurt by those you trusted most. to have someone so deep inside your mind that you quickly became blind to everything else. you couldn’t hold it against him because in your heart, you got it. you could feel that, that wasn’t who joost was anymore.

“can you stay tonight? for a little while?”

you felt his hands trail down to the side of your hips and squeeze as you pulled away just enough to see his face, your own two hands falling down to rest against his stomach.

“i’ll stay for as long as you want me to, schatje. i’m here.” 

being on the brink of almost giddiness as you nodded, that small smile of yours twisting up into an almost grin, you hadn’t realised how his fingers were starting to roam. that his hands were gently moving around, rubbing up and down the flesh of your waist until they reached the very front of your hips. 

you hadn’t been fast enough, hadn’t been able to take hold of his wrists to stop him before the soft pads of his thumbs could find the aching, bumpy lines of the cuts you’d put there a few days ago. as you froze, you watched his own sweet smile drop and his eyebrows furrow, and felt him slowly lift up the hem of your top just enough to see the true extent of it.

even in the low light of your living room, even if his eyesight wasn’t as unnaturally good as it was, he still wouldn’t have been able to miss it. just like the rest of you was, the tight skin of your stomach and all the way across to your hips were marked with the same harsh, red gashes. most were scabbed over but a couple were sprouting fresh drops of blood from where you’d been moving around so much, pulling them apart at the seams.

you went to stand and then tried to simply twist yourself away when you couldn’t, but even then joost’s hold on you was too strong. his touches were feather-soft as he traced the tips of his fingers along every single one, following them down to the ones on your things and then back up along the ones on your arms. by the time that he reached your eyes again they were already scrunched up closed, hiding from him.

“because of me.”

it was more of a statement than a question, partly because he already knew the answer, and partly because he knew that you’d still deny it if he asked.

“joost -”

“- you have a first aid kid somewhere, right? lemme help.”

you shook your head as you went to tug your vest top back down, only to freeze when you finally caught a glimpse of all the little spots of blood that had seeped through your clothes. you stopped and stared at them for longer than you meant to, your hands trembling as you toyed with the material between your fingers. 

the blood was always your favourite part. how it would slowly peek through the small breaks in your skin before oozing out, running down your body until the drops would fall and hit the floor. it had a way of hypnotising you every single time, making you want to keep going and going just so you could see it happen over again and again. even now, when the tiny red polka dots were nothing more than just a few sticky stains on your top, turning the tips of your fingers a deep pink.

it took joost gently prying your hands away for you to snap out of it. 

“n-no, no, i can’t let you do that. it wouldn’t be fair, not when there’s so much blood and you’re…”

“i’ll be fine, lieverd, i promise.”  you felt him give your hands a soft squeeze as he paused, “let me help you.”

there was no point in trying to change his mind. once you lifted your head back up and saw how those big blue eyes of his were staring back at you, the smudged, dark makeup around them making them seem so might brighter, you no longer had the heart to tell him no again. he could have asked anything of you, and you would’ve said yes.

“it’s in the bathroom.”

without warning, joost moved to grip the backs of each of your thighs and stood up, smiling when you squealed as you wrapped your arms and legs around him. it baffled you for a moment how it seemed as though he already knew where to go, that he already knew that your bathroom was all the way down the hall, last door on the left. you chalked his strong sense of direction up to it just being another one of the many perks that came along with being…well, him.

and whilst that was true, maybe it wasn’t the only reason why he specifically knew the layout of your home already. maybe he’s escorted you home more than just the once, twice, three times. maybe this wasn’t actually his first time walking down your hallway at all. 

the cold of your bathroom counter underneath you made you jump slightly as joost carefully set you down on it. you’d left the light on from when you were in here earlier; your razor still laying discarded on the floor, coated in a drying layer of your own blood. you hadn’t even thought he’d seen it until he was picking it up and tossing it in the bin as if it was just a piece of rubbish that he’d dropped. 

neither of you were saying anything. joost had fallen uncharacteristically quiet, breathing somewhat heavily through his mouth as he dug through your cabinets until he finally found that little green box with the red cross on on the front. his hands were shaking as he opened it, pulling out the countless packets of alcohol wipes and plasters, dropping a few things as he did so.

had you been paying more attention, then you would’ve noticed that actually, this was taking quite the toll on him. but you couldn’t shift your eyes away from the bin, the one that now contained the very last one of your razor blades amongst a small collection of used tissues and tampon wrappers. joost had thrown away your last one, and now you had none.

“okay, i’m sorry if this stings, schat. let me know if you need me to stop, okay?”

it was as you were nodding that you suddenly hissed, your leg jolting from the pain of the alcohol wipe joost had used to clean the first of the cuts on your upper thigh. on instinct you tried to pull away, fighting against the grip that he held on you to keep your leg still against the counter.

you weren’t expecting it to hurt as much as it did. considering how many times that you’ve been here before, cleaning yourself up because you didn’t always have someone around that cared enough to want to do it for you, you thought you would have been used to it by now. you never would have guessed that it would have you in near tears all over again, gripping the edge of the bathroom counter until your knuckles slowly started to turn white. 

maybe this was just the price you had to pay for going a little deeper than you meant to. 

“hey, do you think you could just…i don’t know, talk, for a while? tell me something about yourself?” at the look of confusion on your face joost just smiled, raising his hands a little to show you just how hard they were shaking. “it’ll help me concentrate.”

he was struggling more than he thought he’d be.

except how could he not be? this was a lot for him. all that blood of yours smeared and stained across his fingers aside, simply just being this close to you was enough to somehow make him feel lightheaded. feeling your knees on either side of his thighs as he stood in between your legs, so close to you in fact that he could hear your heartbeat louder than anything else. 

he just needed to hear your voice, needed something else to focus on besides your blood that now laid underneath his fingernails.

“oh shit, uh, okay….um…”

you weren’t sure why you started to chuckle, almost, stumbling over these noises that barely even resembled words. you wanted to come up with something to talk about fast, to help get joost’s mind off of what he was actually doing, but the harder you thought the quicker your mind went blank. nobody’s ever really asked you to talk about yourself before; you had no idea what to say.

there wasn’t a whole lot to say, really. you used to have interests; hobbies that you used to put your heart and soul into, dreams that you were so determined to make a reality for yourself. levi had, had other plans for you, though. either, he would simply take up too much of your time, or he’d be so insistent that those hobbies of yours were ‘pointless’, that eventually you grew to lose interest in them. since day one of the relationship, everything about you had to be about him.

you used to think that it was probably for the best, that maybe he was right and you really were just wasting your time. but now that he’s gone for good, and you’re stuck with someone in front of you that genuinely wants to get to know you, you realise now that there’s nothing for you to tell them. there’s nothing of who you used to be left.

joost gave your knee a quick squeeze before turning his attention onto your arms, having slowly picked up on the fact that once again, your lack of an answer told him far more than you wanted it to. 

“okay, let’s start with the easy stuff — what did you want to be when you were growing up?”

“i wanted to be a painter.”

you hissed again at the burn of one of the alcohol wipes against your skin; smiling softly when he reassured you of just how brave you were being.

“a painter? that’s sick! did that happen?”

“almost. i went to school for it, got a degree and everything, but uh, levi always said that it’s not a ‘real job’ so…”

joost’s frown was immediate. he was shaking his head, the lines in his forehead already so prominent. “did you really give it all up because of that? that’s bullshit.” 

“i didn’t really have much of a choice, joostie.”

you both fell quiet again after that.

he felt horrible for reacting like that, fearing that you mistook all of his anger towards levi and each of the silly little ideas that the guy had planted in your head to be aimed at you. you’d sounded so defeated as your shoulders slumped, your voice falling to a near-whisper as you moved your gaze onto the floor. of course you didn’t have a choice; that much should’ve already been obvious. 

and it was the look on your face now that was hurting him the most. a look of mourning as you pondered the life that you almost had, had it not been for that asshole and the hold that he’d once had over you. as joost wiped another cut clean, he regretted for just a moment not going back for seconds that night — it would’ve been the least that levi deserved.

“what kind of art did you do?”

that brought something of a smile back to your face as your mind drifted back to all of the scrapbooks you had hidden underneath your bed. old, dust-covered notebooks filled to the brim with page after page of everything from doodles to full-fledged paintings. your bottom lip wobbled when you thought of all the canvases though, the same ones you once watched levi destroy one night just because he’d wanted to see you cry after a fight.

“everything — oil paint, acrylics, watercolour. i really loved chalk, though. seeing all the stains it would leave behind made it feel like it meant something more, you know? like i was really creating something.”

a gentle grin curled the corners of your mouth up as you spoke, beginning to ramble so passionately about what you loved that joost really did almost forget what he was doing. he had to stop for a second just so that he could witness that smile of yours, see that gleam in your eyes that he’d once had himself back when he was just kid writing songs in his bedroom. in a blink of an eye, you had suddenly become so alive and it had him floored.

it had him captivated, actually; irrevocably wrapped around your finger.

his hands weren’t shaking so much anymore.

“i have a friend that’s a painter; he mainly does the oil stuff, i think, but maybe i could introduce the two of you one day? he’ll probably have some chalk laying around somewhere.”

“is he…?”

“no, he’s not like me. can i lift your shirt up a little bit? we’re almost done, i’ve just got to get the last ones.”

you nodded, wondering how it was that his skin felt so warm against yours, all things considered.

“it wouldn’t have mattered to me if he was.”

joost knew that you were telling the truth, could hear it in the way that your heartbeat kept its rhythm. 

and the conversation continued to flow as joost patched up the last few cuts of yours, sticking little hello kitty plasters delicately across your hip bones. he told you all about this oil-painter friend of his, ‘daan’ — how he’d been the first genuine friend that joost had made after the change, how he never would’ve been able to get away from the band if it wasn’t for him.

joost even opened up to you about his family, his parents. even after so many years, you still had to help him breathe through it as he told you their story with tears all in his eyes. it was only fair that you did the same after that; he almost couldn’t believe it when you’d said you'd lost your parents when you were younger too, spent some time in the system just as he had. after all, that was how you met levi. 

and he told you all about another friend of his, ‘lenny’, how it’s because of her that he likes foreign graphic novels so much. whenever he’s not reading those porn mags that he swears he only picks up for the articles, he’s reading and then re-reading her old japanese comic books. you were never much of a comic book kid yourself, having always preferred to lose yourself inside the pages of a stephen king or a neil gaiman instead, so you promised to read ‘death note’ if joost read ‘the shining’.

by the time that he was pulling your shirt back down and chucking away all of the used, bloodied wipes that had accumulated, you were fighting to keep your eyes open. joost could tell that he was losing you just from the way that you kept swaying from side to side and nodding your head slightly even when he hadn’t asked you a question. it made his heart ache, knowing that you were so, so exhausted but still so unwilling to sleep because you wanted to keep the conversation going.

he hadn’t told you his favourite colour yet.

“cmon you, i think it's bedtime.”

you were yawning before you could argue, letting your head fall back against the cabinet behind you. the thought of your bed was undeniably heavenly; the feeling of your mattress dipping below your weight as you curl yourself into a ball beneath your blankets. the only problem was that you were just as comfy here as you would be over there, though, perched on the edge of your bathroom countertop with joost still standing in between your legs, his hands resting on each of your thighs.

this bubble you had created with him — it wasn’t one you were ready to leave quite just yet. there was still that fear of waking up alone again lurking in the back of your mind.

and it was before you could argue that joost was also scooping you up again, holding you up by the backs of your thighs as he began to carry you back down the hall. you let your head fall to rest against his shoulder, your arms draped loosely around his neck. if it wasn’t for that fear of yours twisting your insides and rotting your brain from the inside out, you could have fallen asleep right there. 

you probably would have.

“you’re gonna stay with me, right?”

joost glanced down at the top of your head with a crease in his eyebrows, carefully nudging your bedroom door open with his foot. “i already told you, lieverd, i’m not going anywhere. i promise.”

“no, i know that. i just mean -” you paused when he gently set you down just beside your bed, only stepping away to turn on the light until you made a sudden, desperate reach for his wrist. 

when the warm glow of the lamp flooded the room, you could see that he wasn’t smiling anymore. instead there was worry in his eyes as he took that step back closer to you again, his hands coming up to tuck loose strands of hair behind your ears.

“what’s wrong?”

“- i meant that you’re not gonna exile yourself to the sofa or anything, right? you’ll stay with me?”

it finally clicked in his head what you were asking. 

and it definitely felt like a lot to be asking of him, again all things considered. you just couldn’t do it though, you couldn’t handle the idea of being by yourself anymore. it was why you always stayed in the end, with levi, why a part of you couldn’t help but miss him. his presence would be chilling but his side of the bed would always be warm when you would wake up in the mornings. 

you didn’t want to start crying when you felt as though it was taking joost too long to answer. you didn’t want to guilt trip him like that, make him feel as though he had to even if he didn’t want to. but it was just another thing that you couldn’t help, because you were so tired and so afraid that you just didn’t know what else to do besides sit down and cry.

he copied you by sinking down into a squat, placing both of his hands onto each one of your knees. since you kept your eyes focused on the ceiling, trying and failing at trying to blink away your tears as you hiccuped, it was from the corners of your sight that you saw joost reach up to wipe them away himself. the pads of his thumbs stroked along the skin of your cheekbone and lingered there for a moment or two before he spoke.

“can you look at me, schatje?”

you did so almost reluctantly.

“i’m not going anywhere, alright? i’m not gonna leave you.”

nodding as you sniffled, you kept your eyes locked with his as you crawled back onto your bed and pulled back the covers. neither of you said anything nor dared to look away from the other as joost kicked off his shoes and undid the clasp of his watch, slipping it off of his wrist to leave it on your bedside table. 

that was all he did before he climbed into bed with you, still dressed in the same hoodie and sweatpants that he’s had on all night. you let his arms wrap around you and tug you up into his chest as you grabbed onto fistfalls of his sweatshirt, trusting that he meant it when he said he’d stay with you but still feeling too afraid to let go. 

more tears began to fall from your eyes, your shoulders wracking against him as you cried. soft, gentle circles were drawn anywhere on your skin that he could reach; your shoulders, your hips, your sides, and he murmured sweet little assurances into your ear.

“i mean it, okay? i’ve got you. i’m right here.”

it was with your whole heart that you believed him. with your tears slowly soaking through the cotton of his jumper, you believed that he’ll still be here when you wake up, all curled up with you with his hand still rubbing up and down your back. 

“i’m here.”

[wifafuckenchickennugget]

Elevator Affairs ; congressman!Bucky x Reader

** there are NO thunderbolts spoilers in this fic **

˖ ࣪⭑ prompt: the elevator stops working when you and bucky are on the way up to your floor, which just so happens to be your biggest fear.

˖ ࣪⭑ word count: 1,035

˖ ࣪⭑ cw : panic attacks, getting stuck in an elevator?

˖ ࣪⭑ a/n: thanks for reading :) hope to post more, my decade long love for bucky has strengthened (somehow) after thunderbolts lol

It was such a blessing that the subway was right next to your office building, because the box you were carrying was cumbersome. At this point, you felt like an idiot for packing so many things to bring to work. You started this job, working under congressman Bucky Barnes, about a month ago. It’s just been a trial period so far, but everyone in the office seemed to like you, so you wanted to bring in some things to spice up your desk and make it your own.

A cute mousepad, some photos of your friends and family, and random pieces of decor you liked. You were honestly confused how all of the bits and bobs made such a weighty package.

You ran through the door behind someone, unable to open it yourself. Once you arrived to the elevator, you struggled to reach your hand up to press the button. Thankfully, a person appeared on your right.

“I got it.” Mr. Barnes said, pressing the button for you both.

“Thank you, Mr. Barnes.” You replied, catching your breath.

“S’That heavy? You want me to carry that for you?”He pointed to your box.

“No, no, I’m good.” You smiled, but he was already grabbing it. You were sure it weighed nothing to the super solider. You stared at him, giving him a defeated smile as yet another thank you.

The elevator dinged, taking you out of your daydream.

“Ladies first.” He gestured.

You stepped on, and pressed the button for your floor.

“So, how are you liking it so far? Everyone treating you well?”

“Oh, I love it here! Everyone is so nice. It’s a really great work environment—“

Your words were cut off by the elevator halting to a stop.

“W-What? What just happened—“

“Dammit.” He set the box on the floor. “This happened a few months ago but they said it was fixed.” Mr. Barnes walked over to the control panel, pressing the emergency button.

You tried to control your heartbeat, but you could feel it in your ears. You started to feel dizzy as he spoke to the person over the intercom, losing your breath.

“Okay, first responders should be here ASAP.” is all you could hear.

“Perfect, thanks.” Mr. Barnes turns around to see you, hand over mouth, very obviously trying to not freak out.

“Hey, Hey.” He takes a step to you, placing his hand on your upper arm. “It’s okay. We’re fine.”

“I- I can’t- I feel like-“ You words come out strangled. You felt like you couldn’t breathe.

“Look at me.” He starts breathing slowly, in through the nose, hold it, out through the mouth. He’s staring at you, waiting for you to follow his unspoken directions.

You do, shakily, until after a minute or two when your breathing is as back to normal as it can be. Tears have formed in your eyes, but you keep breathing the same way, ignoring them as they roll down your face.

“Why don’t we sit down, yeah?”

You nod, and he helps you to the floor.

“That’s it, it’s alright.”

“Y’know… this is my biggest fear. Getting stuck in an elevator. Everyone always told me it was stupid but—“

“No fear is stupid. Even if you can’t rationalize it, it’s okay to be scared of something.” He interrupted.

“I guess you’re right… But I can’t exactly take the stairs to the 37th floor everyday so here I am.”

“Well, technically, you’re facing your fear. Right now. Albeit not on your own terms but you’re doing it!”

You sniffle, laughing. “Yeah. You’re right… Again.”

He pulls out his phone from his pocket, and quickly takes a photo of you.

“What was that for?” You ask in confusion.

“You’ll appreciate it, someday. Years from now, when you look back on this moment, you’ll wish you had a photo of you facing your phobia.” He laughs, lightly. His laugh makes you momentarily happy. It made you feel like there really is nothing to be scared of…

“Thank you. For everything.” You say.

“Of course.” He reaches over with his metal arm and pats your knee, lightly. You freeze, unintentionally.

By the look on your face, he thinks he did something wrong. “I’m sorry.” He pulls away.

“For what?”

“If this.. thing made you uncomfortable.” He raises the arm.

“No- No it didn’t. I just know you’re very.. cautious with your arm. Just caught me off guard.”

“Oh. Yeah… Maybe I’m trying to get over a fear, too. Subconsciously.”

You two smile at each other in silence before hearing shuffling outside the door.

“Fire department! Everyone okay in there?” A man yells. Mr. Barnes hops up to his feet.

“Yeah, we’re good.”

“Okay, stay as far back from the door as you can. We’re gonna pry it open, okay?”

“Got it.”

You stand up, stepping as far back as you can. Mr. Barnes stands in front of you, shielding you from anything that might happen, or that might scare you. It feels like forever, but eventually the door is open, and he moves aside ushering you both out of the elevator and on to the stable floor.

You immediately beeline for the chair, sitting down and pulling your knees into your chest. You hear Mr. Barnes thank the first responders, as you silently pray no one thinks you’re rude for not doing the same.

You feel tears prickling your eyes again. You try to blink them away as Mr. Barnes approaches you.

You start to breathe the exact way he did earlier. In through the nose, hold it, out through the mouth.

In through the nose, hold it, out through the mouth.

In through the nose, hold it, out through the mouth…

He rubs your back, “You got it.”

You blink up at him, trying to smile.

“Pull out your phone.”

You do as he says, confused, but then after a few moments, you see a text message from him, with the photo he took of you.

“God, I look terrified.” You laugh.

“Because you were terrified, but you were facing your biggest fear. That’s something not a lot of people have done.”

“Thank you, Mr. Barnes.”

He smiles again, “You can call me Bucky.”

[supernatural-sable]

motel birthday cake (sam winchester x fem reader)

summary: it's sam's birthday, and you make him a cake! 1616 words

tags: established sam x reader, fluffy birthday shenanigans, hunter!reader (though that doesn't really come into play), reader is referred to with fem pronouns/terms

admin note: this is my first time ever posting my writings on tumblr!! i'm so excited, and i really hope you enjoy if you decide to read <3

—

An apron, the fabric of which is thoroughly covered in flour, hangs around your neck, its straps tied comfortably around your waist. Today is special— the most special day of the year, if you have anything to say about it.

It's Sam's birthday. Your beautiful, tall, handsome, sweet, darling boyfriend. Some time ago he had offhandedly mentioned to you that he hadn't had a proper birthday celebration since his college days. Dean always went out of his way to buy him a coffee or something sweet, but no real parties. They had demons and all sorts of supernatural entities to hunt, after all— that took precedent over a holiday.

For you, however, nothing in the world is more important than making Sam feel special on his day.

It has been hours since you begun. You woke up first thing this morning to fetch the ingredients— Sam was already out of the motel with his brother, of course, a note on your bedside table about being back for dinner— and now, at about 3:00 p.m., you are just about finished decorating his cake. It's been an arduous process, but it only makes you all the more proud of yourself for what you have accomplished. Motel kitchenettes aren't the easiest place to do any sort of baking, but you figured it out.

You are usually one to accompany them on their hunts, but you made up some excuse about having a sprained ankle to be let off the hook for today. Honestly, you expected Sam to catch on, but he just seemed genuinely concerned about your feigned injury. Only one thought has occurred to you since.

He must have forgotten his own birthday.

It made your heart ache to think about it. Dean has surely reminded him by making a comment about him being the "birthday boy" on their hunt by now. You hope they come back soon.

A vibrant mix of greens decorate the cake in front of you, as well as the underneaths of your fingernails (that's not going away for a couple days, at least). In piped edible-glitter frosting, it reads, "Happy Birthday Sam!" with a little heart next to his name. It isn't your best work, that's for certain, but you really hope that he'll like it. The last thing you have to add to the cake are the candles you snuck away to buy along with the ingredients. They didn't have any number shaped ones, and a collection of over 20 candles would certainly be a fire hazard. You opted for four; one belonging to each corner. You carefully put them in place before taking a step back to admire your handiwork.

Perfection. Well, not really, but as close as you're getting to it.

As you stand to admire your work, you hear the familiar sound of Baby's purring engine outside the motel room's thin walls. Panic strikes you for a moment before you start to move, opening the small refrigerator's door and carefully lowering the cake, resting on a cutting board, onto one of the racks. You manage to tear the apron off in record time, shoving it into some cabinet underneath the sink neither Winchester will touch. You kick the refrigerator door shut just in time, a key shuffling inside the door knob for just a moment before the front door swings open.

Sam's eyes immediately catch yours, his stoic features melting away into a sweet smile. He exhales like he had been holding in a breath for the entirety of the time you were apart. Forgetting about the duffle bag slung over his shoulder, he walks straight to where you're standing and pulls you into a hug. You can't help but smile in his embrace, arms wrapping around his waist.

"I missed you," you confess, and Sam smiles into your hair. He nods, his silent way of saying 'me too,' one of his hands rubbing circles into your lower back.

You remain like this for a moment before an amused chuckle sounds from behind you. "Now what's all this?" Dean's voice is dripping with scandal, and when you turn your head to see what he could possibly be talking about, you sigh deeply.

You forgot about the dishes.

Plastic bowls litter the tiny sink, along with the spoon and whisk you used for mixing. Cakes batter clings to them, along with speckles of sugar and flour. If your hands weren't on your boyfriend, you'd facepalm.

Your shame is interrupted by a chuckle from Sam, and the smile on his face is so strikingly beautiful that you almost forget what you were upset about. "Miss 'injured ankle' did all this, huh? What mischief have you gotten yourself into today, pretty girl?" He asks, endearment in his tone. You trace your fingers along his lower back while avoiding eye contact with him, purposefully acting coy.

"Oh, I don't know... I guess you'll have to go put your stuff away before I show you." You nod toward the bag on his shoulder, eyes following your gesture before his brows raise in realization.

He presses a kiss to your forehead, then untangling himself from your shared embrace. "That is a brilliant idea. I'll be right back," he promises, accentuating his words with a point of his finger, then making his way into your shared bedroom no more than 20 feet away. While it took some getting accustomed to, you find that it is honestly quite nice having Sam and Dean so close all the time. It gives you a sense of security you haven't ever felt before. Less privacy, certainly, but oh well.

Dean raises a brow at you, capturing your attention. Leaning casually against the counter, he poses a silent question— one that you understand immediately. You nod with a smirk, then beckon him over to the refrigerator to show him your work. He quietly slips over to where you are, just barely prying open the door. He peers inside with furrowed brows as if he plans to thoroughly study your artistry. After a beat, he closes it, giving you one of his upside-down smiles and a thumbs up in approval. He genuinely looks a little impressed. You dramatically wipe imaginary sweat off of your forehead, but you internally feel some real relief. If Dean approves, there's a much higher chance that Sam will too.

Your game of charades comes to an end at the sound of Sam's footsteps returning from the bedroom. You both look over at him with a knowing smile.

"What's that look for?" He chuckles as he walks over to the kitchenette, crossing his arms on his chest. You and Dean share a glance before he steps to the side and out of the way of the fridge to let you do the honors.

"Okay, well— first, you have to close your eyes. Just for a few seconds, I promise." You place one hand on the fridge door, the other on your hip. He shrugs before doing as he's told, holding up his palms in front of his shut eyes just in case. With careful movements, you open the door and remove the cake from its chilly confines, balancing it meticulously in your grasp. Dean closes the door for you, and you mutter a thank you to him for it. You're about to tell Sam to open his eyes when you remember something.

"Dean, do you have a light?"

His eyebrows raise in understanding, and he quickly rifles through his pockets for a lighter. Even through his hand-shield, you can sense Sam's confusion about your question, but he doesn't voice it. It isn't long before Dean's flicking it on, lighting the 4 candles with oddly practiced ease. You can imagine he's probably done this for Sam a few times— you'll have to talk about that sometime. Maybe you'll work together next year.

"Open your eyes!" Your voice is giddy, just chock-full of anticipation. Sam complies, unblinding himself to take in the sight of what is being held in front of him. He can't help the grin that forms on his face.

"You made this?"

He looks back and forth between you and the cake, and you nod enthusiastically. His gaze fixes on you, then, his heart swelling with love. "You really didn't have to do this, you know," he says softly, almost like he's trying to keep his words from reaching Dean's ears.

"I know. But you deserve to feel special on your birthday," you reply. "Even if it means just eating a wonky motel cake." That gets a chuckle out of him, and he precariously leans over the cake platter to kiss your forehead.

"Thank you, baby." You can tell from the glint in his eyes that there's more he wants to say, but you two have put Dean through enough. He bends himself down so he's roughly at eye-level with the treat, seemingly taking a moment to make a wish before blowing out all the candles in one go. You'll have to ask him about that wish later.

He straightens back up after the deed is done. "So!" He exclaims, clasping his hands together. "Shall we eat?"

"I second that notion," Dean chimes in, slipping past the two of you to find some plastic utensils the three of you can use to eat. You and Sam share a tender look for a moment— his greenish-bluish-brownish irises shining in the kitchen light. Then, the two of you go to join his brother at this motel's poor excuse for a dining table to grab a bite of your masterpiece.

It's simple, it's peaceful. Two things that don't come by the three of you very often.

Happy birthday, Sam.

taglist: (feel free to comment if you want to be added!)

@ambiguous-avery @sammybirthdaybonanza

[charliegyrth]

Back from the Oil Rig

For six long months, I thought about Josh. He was on an oil rig off the coast of Washington, working on equipment maintenance. Great job, lots of money, but God I missed him.

When he asked me if I was okay with the long-term contract, I couldn’t say no. This was a great opportunity for him. He’d be able to use his geology degree, and the six months would do wonders for our paltry bank account.

What I didn’t know at the time was that he’d have no cell phone reception and only enough wifi to send emails once a week.

I stayed at our house in Lake Havasu. Alone. Pining. Full-on depressed. We’d been together for six years and the longest we’d ever been apart was a week. Our friends visited me a lot to cheer me up, but it didn’t help. And because of my constantly foul mood, their visits got more and more sporadic as the months went on.

I tried to entertain myself by listening to audiobooks and jogging around the neighborhood. That didn’t help. The only thing that would even partially alleviate my loneliness was eating. By the end of the six months, the house was filled with empty snack boxes and I was up 25 pounds. (Okay, 30.) My hips had gotten thicker and a roll of fat encircled my waist.

None of my clothes fit and I looked absolutely terrible. I used to be a fat kid, but ever since high school, I’d maintained a healthy weight (in the 170-180 range). I’d been fit for as long as Josh had known me, and now he was going to come back to an absolute cow.

As the days got closer, I started to panic. I didn’t want him to see me like this. With all the exercise he was doing on the rig, he’d show up more muscular than ever. Then he’d take one look at me and freak out. That was my greatest fear.

To soften the blow, I sent him one last email warning him that I’d gained some weight while he was gone. He never responded, which either meant he never got the message or (more likely) he was too disgusted to reply.

The day before he came back, I went shopping for bigger clothes to hide my gut. It took a while, but I found some semi-flattering shirts and some pants that were loose enough to accommodate my hips. I still looked bigger, but at least the clothes hid the ring of fat over my waistband.

An hour before he was supposed to arrive, he finally answered my email with a one-line reply:

“LOL. I got bigger too.”

That was it! Couldn’t he give me more details? “I got bigger”? That could either mean he’d grown more muscles or he’d gotten fatter, too. I prayed it was the latter. If he showed up looking athletic and swole, I’d feel even more terrible about myself. But if he’d gained a few pounds of chub, then at least we’d be even. At least I wouldn’t feel like I’d disappointed him.

I felt terrible for thinking that, though.

When he arrived in the early afternoon, I was a hot ball of emotions. I desperately wanted to see him, to feel his arms around me. But I was nervous and scared, too. Ashamed. Horny. I felt a little bit of everything.

I was in the bedroom, adjusting my shirt in front of the mirror, when I heard the front door creak open.

“Honey? I’m home!”

My heart melted at the sound of his voice. All my fears faded. This was Josh, the love of my life. He wouldn’t reject me over 30 pounds. He might be disappointed, but he’d still love me.

I ran into the other room, but Josh wasn’t there. Instead, I saw one of his burly coworkers helping him bring in his luggage. The man looked like a roughneck (i.e. someone who works on an oil rig). He had long dark hair, a bushy beard, and a belly that drooped several inches over his belt.

“Um, hey.”

He dropped the luggage and turned toward me.

And that’s when I saw his pale blue eyes. This was Josh! My Josh! He’d morphed from a muscular, clean-shaven guy into a bearded fat man.

No, not fat. Obese. He must’ve gained 70 pounds.

He waddled toward me. Even his walk was different. He had his arms open, expecting a hug.

I slowly stepped forward. Then I hugged him. He felt so different. So plush and warm. And yet, he still felt like Josh.

My Josh was holding me, and it felt incredible.

Then he pulled away, smiling. He had dimples now. Dimples in his fat cheeks. “It took you a second to recognize me, huh?”

“I…”

“It’s okay. I know I’m different.” Then he backed up. “But look at you! You look exactly the same! You got my hopes up for a second with that email. You made it sound like you’d gotten as big as me, but… you’re not even chubby.”

“I’m a little chubby.” Why did I say that? To make him feel better about himself?

“Yeah? Let me feel.” He reached under my baggy shirt and felt the roll of pudge that poked over my pants. “Hmm. That’s new. Do you like it?”

“I… No.”

Then his face got serious. “Are you freaked out right now?”

“A little.” I had to be honest with him.

“C’mon.” He led me to the sofa. He took his time sitting down. The sofa creaked under him, but not too much. Then I sat, too. Because our furniture was super cheap, it bent under him, forcing me to slide closer. I sank into his side rolls. I didn’t know what to do with my arm, so I wrapped it over his shoulder, snuggling close.

Just being next to him made my heart race.

“I owe you an explanation,” he said.

“Ya think?”

“Eighty-seven pounds,” he said. “Why don’t we start with that, since I know you’re wondering.”

“Eighty seven?”

“Yeah.” There was a bit of pride in his voice.

“But, like, how?”

“Well, I was the only guy on the rig who didn’t have a physical job. Everyone else had to clean things, and crank things, and walk around doing inspections. I was the numbers guy, sitting all day doing readouts and diagnostics. And our meals were huge. Every single day. The others needed to keep up their stamina, so they… Well, every meal was a feast. And I couldn’t say no, of course. I joined in. But without all the exercise that everyone else was getting, I expanded.” He grabbed the sides of his belly and jiggled, causing his shirt to ride up and reveal his pale, hairy belly. There were bright red stretchmarks hidden under his hair. Lots of them. They looked fresh. And itchy.

He caught me staring. “You can touch it if you want.”

“Are you…?”

“Please.”

I slid my free hand onto the bottom of his belly. I was nervous to touch it, but with his encouraging look, I got more confident. I kneaded the soft flesh in my fingers. It was so pliant. And surprisingly lumpy, as if globs of fat cells were clustered in irregular piles under his stretched-out skin. It felt so alien, and yet… I kind of liked it.

Curious, I traced one of his stretchmarks, causing him to shiver and his body to wobble.

“That tickles.”

“Sorry.” I pulled my hand away, but he guided it back to his belly. He wanted me to feel his body as he continued his story.

“So obviously I gained weight pretty fast. Twenty pounds in that first month. About where you are right now.” He shivered again as my fingers reached one of his folds. It was warm and a little damp with sweat. “The guys noticed, and they all thought it was really funny. They’re all older than us, and they saw me as this little kid. ‘College Boy,’ they called me. I didn’t realize it at first, but they were messing with me at mealtime, encouraging me to stuff myself. It was sort of a game to them, like I was their little mascot that they were fattening up. Things sort of escalated, and pretty soon, they were giving most of their food to me. Sneaking snacks into my office. All sorts of stuff… Oh, that feels good.”

My hand, still under his shirt, had reached the warm crevasse between his moob and the top of his belly. I guess I’d grazed his nipple, because he let out a whimper.

He used to have such solid pecs. He’d been really proud of them, too. Now, they were sacks of fat.

“When I first got there, one of the guys warned me that everyone gains weight on an oil rig. But by the end of our contract, all the other guys had actually lost weight. They’d given it all to me. So… that’s my story.”

“Why didn’t you tell me any of this before?”

“In an email? I tried, but I couldn’t figure out what to say.”

“And how do you feel about it?” I asked, my hand still on his chest. I desperately wanted to see him shirtless, because I knew his nipples had expanded. The areola felt like it was over an inch wide.

“Depends on how you feel about it,” he said. “That’s the big question mark. I love it, but you’re my husband. I know it’s a lot to process, so if you want me to—”

“I love it, too!” The words burst out of me.

I loved the new Josh. He felt so comfortable. I knew that I’d have to get used to a few things. I’m sure our lives would change a lot. We probably wouldn’t be going on any more morning jogs. I’m guessing our dreams of bungee-jumping were out of the question now. And who knows what else? Probably a thousand little things.

But he seemed so happy with himself, and I was completely onboard.

He shifted on the sofa, having a bit of trouble angling his body toward me. Then he touched my own soft stomach. My extra flab had given me so much anxiety over the last few months, and now I felt like a real moron for getting so upset. Thirty pounds. It was barely anything.

“If I get bigger,” he asked, “will you join me?”

“Yes,” I said, completely confident in my answer. I doubt that I’d ever catch up to him, but I could try.

“It feels so good to be home.” Then his belly rumbled. “You hungry?”

“Famished.”

The End.

You can find all my stories here.

[mekanikaltrifle]

So I'm actually kind of curious because I was always under the assumption that calking a Scottish person English or British wasn't right, but then ive had Scottish people downright argue with me that they are, in fact, one or the other because they're part of england or part of the British isles. I assume the answer is just kind of "there is no single correct answer" but I'm really curious about your thoughts on this specifically.

So, this is gonna get wordy. Be warned!

I would like to start off saying that any Scot telling you to call them English is probably English, rather than Scottish.

Otherwise, being British or Scottish specifically and preferring either name is very often a political statement, more notably after the 2014 independence referendum. People in Scotland who want to be called British are much more likely to be Unionists, or sympathetic to the union status quo-- might even be Conservative! Unionists are known in Scotland for being more Conservative than their anti Unionist counterparts. I'm not a unionist so I won't be explaining why they like the union.

Meanwhile, someone who places emphasis on being Scottish before British is more likely to be anti-Union, having voted to leave the UK in 2014. This isn't a definitive one or the other answer, because like you said there isn't necessarily a single correct answer. That said, many people in Scotland are more left leaning than our English counterparts, and politically many of us place some weight to that. On top of that, the Acts of Union never annexed us the way Wales was, instead merging the governance of the two sovereign kingdoms (Scotland, and England/Wales), and in doing so there were some agreements in these Acts that we would be an 'equal nation' of sorts. This... hasn't always been the case in the UK, and a lot of different people who care about that have their own nitpick with the inequality of the United Kingdom as it relates to living here. There's a fucktonne of reading to do on that, I assure you.

Also, many people know how atrocious the British Empire was, over here, and don't want anything to do with it as far as we can manage. Hating the existence of the remnants of empire is a pretty valid reason to not want to be 'British', imo.

Also, I want to reiterate that no part of Scotland is in England, we are not a region of England. A Scot is only English if he's also, well, English. This is important to remember, because it's important to people. Plus, England spent centuries trying to invade and conquer us, so yknow. They did some pretty awful things to historical Scots in doing so, including banning our instruments and languages to the point that there's an entire historical genre of Scottish music performed a capella, because all we could use was our voices.

All this and more is why someone in Scotland probably won't take kindly to being called English by a stranger. Plus, honestly, it's just a bit ignorant and may just come off offensive. I doubt a French man would enjoy being called German, you know?

In general, it's important to listen to what the person you're talking to would rather be called, cause isn't that the same for everything? We've got preferred names, pronouns, titles, roles; some places like here we've also got preferred terms for our identity within our countries. This also isn't uncommon in certain regions of Europe at all, so I've a feeling this may resonate more with people from Catalonia or the Tyrol, so on and so forth.

Anyway it's 4 am so I'll cut the ramble short, but I hope that helps you! If someone's Scottish online I would caution against calling them English in general, especially given American users having sometimes just... really unpleasant jokes and attitudes towards people in the UK. So hope that's helpful to you and take care of yourselves, etc. Have a lovely day or night or whatever solar configuration you've got.

[saltbind]

can I ask for more fic recs please? 🤲🏼

hell yeah anon. since you haven't asked for anything specific i'll give you a lil taster menu.

first of all, everything by @zmediaoutlet (deadlybride on ao3) is fantastic. same goes for @goshen-applecrumbledore (goshen on ao3) and @hathfrozen (hathfrozen on ao3).

specific fics i love from other authors tho:

A Fire Ever Burning by BewareTheIdes15

“Sam and Dean have always been oddities among the dragonriders; the youngest man to Impress a Bronze dragon in a hundred years and a boy who turned his back on the riders to become a dragon healer instead. But when fate steps in and chooses a far different path for Sam, the brothers and all the Weyrs of Pern will have to come to terms with much greater changes in their traditions.”

To the Core by dornfelder

"Addressing the issue, Winchester style."

and it's you that i want by according2thelore

""You know that’s not what I meant.” Mr. Smith says into the phone, and he sounds exhausted. Sam doesn’t turn around, trying to give him as much privacy as possible, even if it’s imagined.

Sam throws his whole body weight into his next pull of the handle, feeling the budding sweat from earlier as a full-body wave, pricking at his neck and armpits and forehead. Nothing. The door doesn’t budge. Sam’s trapped.

Or: Sam Wesson gets stuck in a supply closet with his boss, who's hiding out to fight with his girlfriend. Sensing the available omega that Sam's been into for months, Sam goes into an early rut."

and by me, i mean us by puckity

"After what they think was just a routine case, Sam starts feelings things that he can't quite put a name to. Things that aren't really his but aren't not his either. So he does what he always does: runs some tests, collects the data, and starts drawing conclusions. And then Dean does what he always does--comes in and tangles everything, including Sam, up."

Postcards from the Past (that you never meant to send) by Dyed_Red

"An argument about how messed up the hunting life is rattles loose a memory that Sam didn’t know he had. The fallout is a little fraught, but a series of chick-flick moments help him and Dean sort it out."

[madebynarii]

Okay, I want an honest answer. I've been trying to access the Void for about two years, but nothing has happened so far. Did people really reach it? I've tried every method... And can we really bring anything we want quickly from it? For example, physical, mental, or emotional changes anything that comes to mind that we can achieve in our real lives, or is it just something we experience in the Void, and when we wake up, we find nothing has changed? Will the change be only in our minds, meaning I will see myself in a better light and others will see me that way, even though nothing has changed?

I don’t want to doubt; this isn’t a limited belief it's just a question I want a definitive, honest answer to. People claim they reached it and got everything they wanted from it. This has left me very confused because most posts here seem exaggerated. Not everyone is honest, and not everyone is lying that's the reality. Some channels just want likes and fame, and they know it...

Thank you. Is there any help or guidance you can provide?

heyy, I recommend reading this post briefly before i answer your ask! it’s not entirely void related, but it does talk about the success stories and a lot of liars that unfortunately blend into this community

i know you said this isn’t a limited belief, but from your questions and how you’re timing how long it takes, you’re focusing too much on the doubts, on your journey, comparing it to others stories, and… well, your limiting beliefs

the term limitless is something that you’ve seen a lot on here, and that alone should answer your question. yes, we are limitless, therefore, you can experience physical, emotional, and mental change just from manifesting it through the void. what you’re questioning seems to be a change in self concept. you can, if you want to, manifest that change in your self concept, but it is also completely possible to manifest anything physical as well. the fact you are questioning the fact that this will only happen “in the void” and that it won’t actually change in your 3d is already a limiting belief.

don’t use the fake success stories you’ve seen to deter yourself from your own success. just because some seem “exaggerated” and not “logical” doesn’t mean it’s not true. literally just throw logic out the window

yeah, there’s a couple here and there who’ve lied, but there are quite literally THOUSANDS of blogs and success stories on here. you’re telling me each and everyone of them lied?? for what???

stop relying on the assumptions of others and all the bloggers and (some fake) success stories on tumblr and start relying on YOURSELF. asking the same questions to different bloggers to provide some reassurance, that will quickly dissolve in a day or two because you don’t apply to it is just wasteful. it’s over consumption. just remember 3 key things.

the law is literally a LAW. it HAS to happen.

affirming = thinking. you’re thinking in your favor. if you keep thinking about how it’s been 2 years trying to enter the void and you’ve had no progress at all, you are reaffirming that. that is what we mean when we tell you to affirm the opposite. think the opposite.

and 3, we are limitless. let me say it again. LIMITLESS!!!! NO LIMIT. YOU CAN MANIFEST ANYTHING, LOGICAL OR NOT.

and that’s it. that’s quite literally it. stop overcomplicating something SO easy and simple.

[ceaselesswatchersspecialboy]

I fear I have developed a Malevolent hyperfixation alongside my TMA one…

[inkskinned]

because sometimes there are invisible tests and invisible rules and you're just supposed to ... know the rule. someone you thought of as a friend asks you for book recommendations, so you give her a list of like 30 books, each with a brief blurb and why you like it. later, you find out she screenshotted the list and send it out to a group chat with the note: what an absolute freak can you believe this. you saw the responses: emojis where people are rolling over laughing. too much and obsessive and actually kind of creepy in the comments. you thought you'd been doing the right thing. she'd asked, right? an invisible rule: this is what happens when you get too excited.

you aren't supposed to laugh at your own jokes, so you don't, but then you're too serious. you're not supposed to be too loud, but then people say you're too quiet. you aren't supposed to get passionate about things, but then you're shy, boring. you aren't supposed to talk too much, but then people are mad when you're not good at replying.

you fold yourself into a prettier paper crane. since you never know what is "selfish" and what is "charity," you give yourself over, fully. you'd rather be empty and over-generous - you'd rather eat your own boundaries than have even one person believe that you're mean. since you don't know what the thing is that will make them hate you, you simply scrub yourself clean of any form of roughness. if you are perfect and smiling and funny, they can love you. if you are always there for them and never admit what's happening and never mention your past and never make them uncomfortable - you can make up for it. you can earn it.

don't fuck up. they're all testing you, always. they're tolerating you. whatever secret club happened, over a summer somewhere - during some activity you didn't get to attend - everyone else just... figured it out. like they got some kind of award or examination that allowed them to know how-to-be-normal. how to fit. and for the rest of your life, you've been playing catch-up. you've been trying to prove that - haha! you get it! that the joke they're telling, the people they are, the manual they got- yeah, you've totally read it.

if you can just divide yourself in two - the lovable one, and the one that is you - you can do this. you can walk the line. they can laugh and accept you. if you are always-balanced, never burdensome, a delight to have in class, champagne and glittering and never gawky or florescent or god-forbid cringe: you can get away with it.

you stare at your therapist, whom you can make jokes with, and who laughs at your jokes, because you are so fucking good at people-pleasing. you smile at her, and she asks you how you're doing, and you automatically say i'm good, thanks, how are you? while the answer swims somewhere in your little lizard brain:

how long have you been doing this now? mastering the art of your body and mind like you're piloting a puppet. has it worked? what do you mean that all you feel is... just exhausted. pick yourself up, the tightrope has no net. after all, you're cheating, somehow, but nobody seems to know you actually flunked the test. it's working!

aren't you happy yet?