#like if it's something i can't process with brain fog

[eorzeashan]

me: man I should get back into playing ffxiv regularly

gets dungeons and raids where I can't spot the mechanic visually right away

me: on second thought!

[varjopeura]

.

[angorwhosebabyisthis]

man. honestly, i think it says something about the eternal question of whether my baseline thinking is supposed to be on the slower/stiller end, or if that being the case means something's Off, that my brain can in fact be going a mile a minute thinking hard about something and yet that still counts as elevator music to me the moment i turn part of my attention to something else

[josephquinnswhore]

the day your heart stops yearning - pedro pascal x female reader

summary: pedro is tired of the two of you dancing around your feelings for each other.

word count: 1.2k

content warnings: bitta jealously, insecurity from reader, mentions of sex, suggestive comments etc. Pedro is the loml I swear these new pictures have altered my brain chemistry.

Wrapping the towel around yourself tightly, you sit down as your swimsuit soaks through the material. Hair dripping wet and skin cooled down from the sea water. Pedro looked incredible, his hair wet and curly. Droplets of water running down his toned chest.

His board shorts tighten and stick to his thighs and crotch. Swallowing thickly, you help him put his sling back on to support his shoulder injury.

“Magnificent, isn’t it?” His voice calls to you softly, drawing you out of your thoughts, every time you were with Pedro, you seemed to be lost in them. Somewhere far away from him.

There’s a moment's hesitation where you process what he’s said, reeling yourself back to the serenity around you. The two of you are on a small boat, surrounded by clear blue water, bright and mirroring the clearness of the sky. Not a cloud in sight.

There’s a formation of an unnaturally curved rock, shaped by erosion, perhaps the gods. The sight would’ve been worthy of such creation. Pedro was wearing nothing but his multi-coloured board shorts, and a deep blue sling.

“That doesn’t even come close to it. I can't describe how it feels to be here.”

With you.

But the words are lost, dying on the tip of your tongue as they had many times before. More often than not the two of you had done this, your own separate outing together aside from everyone, co-stars and friends.

“How’s your shoulder feeling?” The concerned murmur is met with a smile that he reserved for you. All teeth baring and eye wrinkles exposing themselves, the smile that reaches his eyes. His deep brown orbs aren’t much to be seen now, eyes squinted as he laughs.

“You’re worrying about me at a place like this?” He tilts his head, the one curl from his messy brown mop of hair falls onto his forehead, and he runs his hand through it, pushing the hair back off his skin.

He’d always found a way to lighten the mood, sending some kind of solemnness emitting from you today, he knew you better than anyone. The feeling had his insides clenching with anxiety.

It had been happening for years, the two of you having some unspoken moments where you couldn’t deny that there was a connection between you, something so effortless and heart wrenching at the same time. So many unspoken words and almost confessions.

“Hey,” he draws you out of your head again, lost in the fog of heartache and doubt.

He looked so good with Connie, that’s all you’d thought about since you’d flown to Malta with Pedro. They seemed so perfect for each other—the way he looked at her while he filmed their shared scenes. It felt real.

“Don’t worry about me, I’m just thinking about some things.” It was easy to brush off, or to pretend to anyway.

“Since when do you keep things from me? Somethings going on with you, come on, spill your heart to me honey.” Meeting his gaze, the brown orbs suck you into an intoxicating familiarity of the love you so desperately crave.

“Can this wait? I don’t want to ruin all of this.” Gesturing to the view, the lapping sound of the water against the side of the boat, the gentle rocking sensation sends your stomach spiralling into more unease.

“You aren’t ruining anything, talk to me.” Setting his can of beer down, he shuffles closer to you, placing his hand on your exposed thigh. “Talk to me.” He pleads again.

“I miss you.” The simply utter broke the silence between you, cutting through the background noise.

He knew what you meant. There hadn’t been much time for the two of you to see each other. Between filming for Gladiator II and the new Fantastic Four franchise. Yet—he knew it ran deeper than that.

You missed the picnics, the shared gazes of knowing and mutual love. The late night dancing and his hands running through your hair, the two of you unable to let go of one another.

The sex you miss, too. But not nearly enough as you crave for his skin on your own, for his hand in yours and his heart in your hands.

“Oh, sweetheart—“ he sounds so sweet, so sincere, but you cut him off anyway.

“Pedro.. don’t. We don’t need to do this today.”

He stares at you, wondering what’s happening in that head of yours.

“You know how I feel about you, right?” He murmurs, tracing unnamed shapes over your skin.

“I suppose so.” All he gets is an uncertain shrug from you.

He frowns, the stress lines on his face appear on his forehead. “My heart is yours, sweetheart.” He utters your name softly, fingers leaving your thigh to caress your cheek.

“What’s it matter how we feel? We can’t be together. You practically are married to the entire internet and it’s not practical for us to date.” Finally, he was getting to the root of it all.

“Fuck being practical,” he murmurs. “Tell me how you feel, just say it to me, I’ll do right by you.”

It feels like your throat is swelling up, preventing you from uttering the words you’ve longed to tell him for years. Somehow, you blurt them out in an anxious whisper.

“I love you.”

Before you could process the admittance of your love, he had pressed his own lips softly against yours. It certainly wasn’t the first time you’d kissed, but this time felt more authentic.

Your fingers caress his face, his facial hair tickles your fingers as you hold him against you, his nose is pressed into your cheek and it’s a little awkward. But your heart is pounding erratically in this moment, eyes closed and focusing on the feeling of his lips, his hand clutches the back of your neck.

After a few moments, he pulls away from you, pupils blown wide take up most of the mass around the deep brown iris. “I love you,” the whisper in return was made against your lips, his nose against your own.

“Tell me you’re mine, that we’re going to do this properly.” He pleads, he’s too close for you to look at anything but his eyes. The pleading gaze of hope in them.

“I want that, want you.”

The words aren’t lost on him, the entire afternoon is spent in seclusion, the two of you holding each other, kissing and wrapped around each other as if you were two halves of a whole.

Your fingers are white, lathered in sunscreen as you apply the substance on Pedro’s back. “We really should’ve done this hours ago.” You scold lightly, to which he laughs, shaking his head.

As you trace his back while you’re applying the sunscreen, making sure to cover all the freckles on his skin, and his arms as you trail down. Fingers running up the muscled limb as you return to the base of his neck to give a light massage.

He’s not subtle when it comes to how you made him feel, a loud breathy groan escapes his lips.

“Feel good?” The purr turns his cheeks red—he turns to you.

“Such a tease. If we weren’t in public you’d be in trouble.”

“Maybe we should head back to the hotel now then?”

He perks at your suggestion. The corner of his lip tugs upward in a slight smirk. Pleased with the idea of having you all to himself.

“My girls just got all the right ideas, don’t she?”

My girl—his girl. After years of pining and yearning over more from him, he’s given you the chance you’d dreamed of.

[mercyk1ll3r]

Bats and Axes

Pairing; Ticci toby x proxy!femreader

Summary; a couple months after becoming a proxy, a strange boy sparks your interest.

Warnings; slightly graphic violence, psychopathic reader, not much for first chap tbh.

Wc; 1k+

Credits; axe & bone header - menschenopfer, blood dividers - bucciniexe, caution tape - cafekitsune.

a/n; this will most likely be a multiple part series if you guys r interested in reading it :3 (lowercase intended, idgaf about grammer if i'm writing for fun)

"kill them" the voice pounded in your head, sending shivers down your body and tingling in all your limbs. causing you to grip you head and shake violently at the slightest thought of disobeying.

you could feel his presence engulf and fog your brain, making you nothing but a zombie, a puppet to him. your legs move before you can process. the tingling not ceasing, you can hardly feel your body or collect your thoughts. just a fog as you try to get a hold of yourself or form a coherent thought other then killing.

unsurprisingly your legs take you bolting towards the couple walking a little too closely for comfort near slenderman's mansion, swinging your bat ruthlessly into the woman's face. screams erupting from the both of them, in one of the most pure animalistic sounds humans can create, the sound of pure terror, you cant help but let a smile creep onto your face. this was your favorite part of your job.

you limp your way back to the mansion, now covered in blood and completely exhausted, atleast taking the time to dip your metal bat into the nearby stream.

finally arriving back in your bedroom and stripping off your ruined clothing that reek of death and changing into fresh ones, you crash into your bed. shaking slightly from all the adrenaline still pumping through your body.

you shoot up still on edge as u hear a knock on your door, "cmon y/n you left you leftovers outside, when will you learn to clean up after yourself?" sighing with annoyance you open your door, meeting eyes with ben. he was always fucking bothering you about something, yet he was still one of your best friends, you cant be too picky around here and you guys shared some interests. "wasn't me ben sorry." you say sighing and returning to the comfort of your bed, your body still aching.

"which other proxy kills people by completely bashing their faces in?" u turn around to face him with a defeated expressed, "okay fine it was me, can't i just leave it for EJ?" he just looks at you with that insufferable expression he always does "okay fine i'll go, i'll go!"

wandering back outside the mansion you set your course for the couples mangled bodies, as you reach the area you see a boy you don't recognize. he stands above the bodies seemingly just inspecting them, you grip you bat a bit tighter as you inch closer. "thi-iss your handywork?" as he speaks he turns up to look at you, granting you a better look at his face, seemingly unaffected by your presence, he must be a proxy.

"uhm.. yeah, i was coming to get the bodies." this boy unnerved you, sickly grey skin and a metal cage mask around his mouth showing very little of his mouth, two hatchets hanging low on his hips. "you must be.." his breathy and hoarse voice interrupted by his neck jerking violently to the side. "be a n-new proxy then"

you weren't exactly new, although it was hard to tell. memories of your old life becoming cloudy and harder to recall each day that passed, it had atleast been a couple months though. "new enough not to have met you i guess.." he tilts his head at you stepping over the bodies until there was an uncomfortable lack of distance between you two, what the fuck was this guys problem?

he scans your face seemingly as you meet his brown eyes, pupils blown wide and crazy, before he glanced down to your metal baseball bat. "i'm toby, i'm sure w-we'll be seeing eachother ah-around" he stares blanky at your face waiting for your reaction as he towered over you. "y/n" is all u say as he gives you a slight nod and steps past you, heading in the direction of the mansion.

there was something about this guy.. he was kinda creepy but something about him made you replay the moment over and over again, thinking of his wild eyes staring down at you. you try to shake off the weird interaction and step forward to the bloodied bodies.

"oh yeah, i think toby's back now, he was off on an assignment for a couple months." ben spoke as he continued mashing his controller buttons. he insisted you come over and play mario kart with him after he finally got his hands on a copy. "yeah i met him earlier.. what's his deal? he kinda freaks me out."

"do you remember that huge fire in that happened a couple years ago in the suburbs? totally whipped out the entire neighborhood, killed most of the people inside the houses too."

"oh yeah.. some girl who was in my math class died, she was all my school was talking about for weeks, endless assemblies and memorials." you surprise yourself with the words coming out of your mouth, the memory fleeting and fuzzy.

"well that was toby, killed his dad and set his house on fire. one time i saw him without a shirt on, he's got a bunch or gnarly burn scars.." ben seemed a little sad as he spoke which was odd because he rarely had any type of sympathy for anyone.

"that's pretty brutal.." is really all you can muster, you don't know what else to say. every proxy has their hands dirty with blood after all.

"ben oh-open up-pp!" you jump a little as you hear someone pounding on the door. "dude chill out, i'm coming." ben rises from his nest of pillows and blankets in front of his shitty old tv and lazily walks to the door.

"hey man, it's been a while." you can barely see who's outside the door, but you already recognize his raspy stutter. "ca-nnn i use your comm-computer?" "uhm yeah i guess, for what?" "for uhh.." he trails off as he seemingly notices your presence, eyes going slightly wide with a flustered expression on his face as you lock eyes.

"uhm nevermind i-i don't need it." he says bringing his eyes back to ben's face before hurrying off in the other direction leaving ben at his open door.

ben closes his door and returns to sitting beside you, "what the fuck was that? he's being so weird, well i mean, weirder then usual." he speaks annoyed before unpausing his game.

a/n: hey guys!! sorry this was short and ended kinda abruptly, i've been having bad writers block completing this -__- but regardless i hope u enjoyed. i'm super excited to continue this story and i already have future chapters planned, (probably gonna be a slowburn sorry guys)

[autisticsupervillain]

Autistic Avatars not realizing that they're Avatars because they're just "like that": a thread

The Eye

Special Interest in the supernatural = constant food for The Watcher

You know about Interest? TELL ME EVERYTHING

"Hey man listen to me infodump about this horrifying ghost story I read for twenty minutes, alright?"

I need to Know everything about something before I partake in it.

"How did I Know that? Eh, I probably hyperfixated on it at some point."

I cannot be misunderstood so I'll beam the facts into your brain.

The Web

I must plan everything 200 steps in advance before doing anything.

I have prepared for all possible outcomes, I can now have this one conversation.

If I set up all these variables long in advance, then I can do everything correctly and Win the social interaction.

I cannot do anything before The Plan says to.

"I practice my social skills by talking to my spider friends." -Martin "Autism" Blackwood

The Stranger

I cannot socialize without being Uncanny.

If my socialization seems like an act, that's because it is. I practice it in the mirror every day.

Theater Kid

How do you Normal Human?

The Anatomy Class.

Assuming fellow Stranger Avatars also just have the 'Tism. They're not trying to be creepy, honest.

Can't do faces. Doesn't notice when you get replaced.

Being subtly off is too subtle for me.

The Lonely

"I have failed the social interaction. Let the fog reclaim me."

Talking to people is draining my batteries even faster than ever. I need to be alone for approximately 384,400,000 years.

Nothing can overstimulate me in the cool, blinding fog.

Nothing unpredictable can happen in the fog.

The fog is your friend.

The known connection between autism and depression feeds the fog.

The Dark

Why is the sun so god damn bright? I'm going to blow it up I swear.

Night Owl.

Everything's decently quite at night and people leave you alone.

Same overstimulation preventatives as the Lonely tbh. Dark and fog are good concealers.

The dawn is your enemy.

The dread florescent lights shall never bother me again. They break upon my arrival.

Can and will infodump to the monster under my bed. Even now it feels like it listens.

The Spiral

Autism makes getting other mental illnesses recognized hard.

Autism dissociation from body and mind. When did it become 3 AM and why do I hurt? Why am I grumpy? What vital self care task did I forget?

Literal mind doesn't often match reality. Reality is specifically unspecific.

Spaced out and wandered off. Where the fuck am I?

I'm not a mental baby, please stop treating me like it.

I'm not inherently dangerous, please stop treating me like it.

Memory problems my beloathed. Did that happen? I dunno.

What Is Time?

What Is Me?

The Gender

Why do things only make sense to me? What does no one else make sense?

The Flesh

Autism Genderfuckery = Flesh fueled dysphoria.

Meat is the only texture that's palatable. Especially the Mystery Meat.

Will never try any other foods. Too picky.

Infodumps about the horrors of meat processing at dinner and ruins the meal for everyone. More steak for me.

Hates PETA.

Double the arms means double the stim. You weren't using them, right?

Working out is a great stim.

The Corruption

Practices social interaction with the bugs who live in my walls.

"Insects are disgusting. I love them!"

Will protect endangered insects by any means necessary.

According to all known laws of aviation-

Relationship boundaries struggles.

Difficulty noticing sickness symptoms.

Is that nausea or am I overstimulated? *Accidentally causes supernatural plague outbreak*

Difficulty getting diseases diagnosed because of both Autism and noticing too many symptoms so the doctors assume they're faking.

Forgot vital hygiene needs.

The Bugs Are My Friends! They keep me company when I'm sick!

The Buried

Weighted blankets are insufficient, I need the Earth to reclaim me.

Avoid social interaction by tunneling everywhere like a mole.

101 facts about worms.

Forgor hygiene again. Time to become dirt.

Digging a hole is good stimming.

That guy who had to be buried alive to sleep properly. What do you mean you don't want to be buried?

The End

Aradia Megido from Homestuck.Com

That's it, that's the list.

The Desolation

The Autism Temper.

Losing relationships and friendships to ableism and your own disability constantly.

The Fire is a wonderful stim board. Watch it crinkle.

Just watching candles melt for hours.

The fire and thrill gives my life passion again.

Jude Perry.png

The Vast

Accidentally terrifying people by infodumping about the horrors of nature.

The stimulus of falling.

Nature/Space/Weather Documentary on in background always.

Okay, but from how high did you fall? I want to calculate your velocity as you fell through the void.

Weirdly enough... power scaling?

Power scaling is just the art of determining how easily your favorite characters can destroy mankind so... yeah, I can see it.

Brain empty, only terminal velocity.

The Hunt

Cat Autism

The inherent hyperfocus of the hunt. The chase. Your prey.

Studying the habits of your latest hyperfixation/Hunt assigned prey for days at a time.

I've spent so much time hunting in the woods that I forgot about human society. The Missing Person's Bureau have written you off for dead.

Returning to society to sell your wears and realizing you aren't human anymore.

That's okay. Social interaction is random. The Hunt makes sense.

It's black and white. Predator and prey. Humans hunting monsters. It Makes Sense.

The Slaughter

The incredible human WW1 documentary.

"Did you know?" *Describes horrible historic warcrime*

Takes apart puts back together guns from their collection.

The list of known casualties from this war is incomplete. With my help, they can expand it. :)

The Extinction

The world is spiraling towards its end and only you seem to care.

It hurts to be this passionate about a lost cause.

You Will Make Them Care.

[ellieslittleburrow]

Requested by : @mymelodymia 🪷🪷

Summary : Reader has POTS, she faints and Ellie and Joel are there to help(after almost shooting her)

Pairings : Joel x adoptive daughter!reader/ Ellie w adoptive sister!reader

Warnings : Pots, fainting, Joel's rifle and fluff...boo

A/N : I had to read the request like, 5 times everytime i wrote something and everytime i read this i just burst into laughter because "tess expired" i'm sorry i can't it's so funny to say it like that 😂

-----

It's been a few hours since the....incident with Tess. Your feet are sore and you feel like a cloud of fog is starting to envelop your brain. You...you're not feeling very good.

"Can we stop?"

"No." The words come out of Joel's lips bitter. Too bitter for you to argue with.

But you...you're not feeling so well..Your heart...You can't breathe and....You feel like you've lost control of your body and it's too heavy for you to l...l...

Figures turn into silhouettes...and your body follows as your backpack hits the ground, and just like that, the world fades into darkness...

----

"Oh shit-"

Joel and Ellie both spin around at the loud thump behind them, Joel's rifle being lifted to rest against his cheek.

"Wh...Lily!" Ellie's initial reaction is to make her way over to her friend, but Joel pulls her back, the force of the pull sending her staggering back.

"Hey-Sh'es unconsciou-"

"She might be infected." Joel argues, stepping forward, slow as he prepares himself to shoot.

Ellie being Ellie doesn't listen. She sprints towards your unconscious body, "she's still breathing." She remarks, noticing the very subtle heaving of your chest. "It's not the first time she acts this way. She's not infected." Your friend speaks, kneeling before you as she pulls up your shirt, sleeves, pants...checking for any injuries.

"And you couldn't have said that earlier, Ellie?" The old man grunts and the girl sighs, considering. "I didn't-i didn't-"

"Whatever, just loosen her boots and her belt." He instructs and Ellie complies, but stops when he taps her shoulder.

She twists her head, looking back to meet the butt of Joel's rifle. "Hold this and prepare yourself." He nudges her, motioning for her to step back. And as she does...She realizes the advantage she's just gained...she giggles.

"You know that i could shoot you right now?"

Joel slowly looks back, annoyance apparent in the pursed corners of his lips. "Good luck finding yourself back to the fireflies, then."

Ellie chuckles, readying herself as she watches Joel check your pulse, tapping your cheeks gently but firmly in the process and just then....

------

Your eyes fall open and....the trees are passing by in a neverending cycle....you...you feel awful...

"You look awful."

Your eyes follow the voice, only to meet a pair of worried eyes. "Joel..?" You manage to whimper...and he nods.

"What happened? How often does this happen?"

Huh...You try to sit up but your body is unresponsive...Maybe just...lay there for a while.

"I...i'm not s-s-sure i just..." You go quiet when Joel stars pulling up your clothes. "What are you doing?" You'd move but you can't-

"I have to check for wounds-stop squirming."

"Joel-i'm not infected. This happens to me from time to time i just faint-stop-" You groan when the realisation hit you that he will simply not listen to you. You just sit back and wait, supressing the grin you're fighting off as Joel unconsciously rubs your leg, his face turned away as he plans for the next move.

But you've already caused enough trouble, so you just abruptly sit up, readying yourself to talk when Joel gently pushes you back.

"No, you have to lay down for a little while longer, your head must be banging right now."

You groan at Joel's remark, rubbing your forehead in response.

"She could take a nap!" Ellie suggests, ignoring your eyes as she recognizes your head shakes, meaning absolute refusal. Which is exactly what happens next, as you groan and wave your hands no. "No no no i-i don't need that, i don't-really." You argue back, causing Ellie to roll her eyes before she makes her way over, dropping to her knees as she takes ahold of your hand.

"It's okay...it's no bother." Her tone melts into a sweet one, one that is soft enough to put you to sleep. "You need to rest, just a little nap and then we'll get going." She twists her head back, looking for Joel's approval.

And as her back is faces you, you turn to Joel for comfort, watching as his eyes converse with hers. "Not a bad idea, a little nap and then we're back on our feet." His eyes seem empathetic enough for you to believe. And relief slowly travels all the way around your body, loosening the tightness around your muscles.

And so for the next few hours, you find yourself forcefully and gently pushed to the ground as Ellie convinces you it's time for you to rest again. It's...stressful, feeling like a burden but the constant comfort and reassurance sure are making up for it!!!

-----

I hated writing that middle part omg!!!! Like, you're unconscious, how can you know wtf is happening in the meantime?????? Anyway, I hope this was a bit comfortiiing 🥀🥀🥀❤️❤️❤️

[strawbeerossi]

Smarty Pants

Pairing: Gender Neutral!Reader x Spencer Reid

Description: After you and your boyfriend get into an argument over some trivia questions at work and he acts high and mighty when proven right, you have just the way to set him straight.

Content/Warnings: Mentions of an argument, not too explicit smut, dumbification, sub!spencer, dom!reader.

Word Count: 0.6K

Kinktober Day Seven: Dumbification

Navigation || Kinktober Masterlist || AO3

You were in the middle of neglecting your work while doing trivia with the others who were crowded around your desk. “Which country consumes the chocolate per capita?” Emily asked, looking over the index card in her hand. You didn’t even know what prompted this little game but you and Derek were going up against one another and so far, you were killing it. That’s made you so confident about your answer.

“Easy. Germany.” You responded while leaning back against your chair, only rolling your eyes as you heard a soft scoff from the desk across from yours. “It’s right!” You huffed while causing Spencer to look up. “Actually Switzerland is the country that consumes the most chocolate. How did you not know that? Chocolate is literally something they are known for.” The male asked, pushing his glasses up his nose. “Switzerland is actually  renowned for its milk chocolate, the most consumed type of chocolate. Did you know that in 1875, a Swiss confectioner, Daniel Peter, developed the first solid milk chocolate using condensed milk, which had been invented by Henri Nestlé, who was Peter's neighbour in Vevey?” 

Like most info dumps Spencer had been known to give, this just made everyone stare at him with blank stares, besides you.. You were fucking livid. There was no way he was right. Just this once, he was wrong. There was no way.

“If you don’t believe me then you can look it up online.” He stated in a simple tone. He more than likely wasn’t meaning to but he agitated the hell out of you. So bad that you decided to quickly type up the trivia question in the search bar. Sure enough, he was fucking right. The look on your face made him smirk from being triumphant, turning back to the stack of files on his desk. “I told you so.” He stated, proud of himself.

The rest of the day, you were annoyed. You wanted to break his glasses, make hi blind until he could get his hands on contacts. You kept your composure through the work day.

Until you got home.

That’s why you were here now, perched on his cock while he was a blubbering mess on your living room couch. “You really felt so smart earlier but now you can't even form a coherent sentence. What happened to Dr. Spencer Reid, the genius who knows everything?” You’d taunted, hand having his hair tugged back to make him face you. His eyes were glossed over, the amount of edging you’d been doing for the past hour making him desperate. 

He’d been reduced to whines and begs of more, unable to even process the words that were being spoken by you. “Look at you, smart little Spencer Reid being fucked dumb. You don't have another statistic?” You taunted, now it being your turn to be satisfied as he was unable to respond. That IQ 187 had dropped to a staggering two as he had his glasses fogged up, sweat dripping from his forehead from all the stimulation.

“My beautiful, dumb baby boy.” You cooed, moving to cup his cheek with one hand. “Can’t even form the words to speak because I’ve turned that pretty brain to mush.” It was like the words went in one of his ears and out the other. “If only the office could see you now. Fucked to the point you can’t even process what I’m saying. Then again, they don’t deserve to see you like this..” You let your hand slide to his neck now, wrapping it so gently around his throat before giving it a squeeze.

“I like when my big and cocky smart boy is nothing but a little dumb fuck toy.”

[missmeinyourbones]

ahhh congrats on your milestone leah!! you deserve it all and more!

oh my god all these prompts are so good and you write everyone so well, how can we choose? for your event, may I suggest eren and "this this the first time i've felt the need to confess." or "it's okay, we're the best of friends."

ty for hosting this! I can't wait to see everything you come out with ٩(⌒‿⌒)۶

FIRST TIME I'VE FELT THE NEED TO CONFESS (e. jaeger)

a/n: drunk eren and dd reader, mutual pining but eren is shameless and reader has class, LOSER CORE EREN, reader referred to as "ma'am" once in a teasing context

L’s MIDNIGHTS EVENT!

If anyone saw this situation out of context, it might be funny. But in content—your context specifically—it's nothing less than a headache.

Because you've been saddled with the pleasure of driving home an absolutely trashed Eren, pulling him by his collar to your car as he whines and thrashes with objections.

"One date," he repeats, plopping dead weight into the passenger seat of your car and looking up at you with clouded eyes.

Your response is expected, "Nope."

Eren opens his mouth, but before you can hear whatever bullshit he was conjuring up, you shut his door and walk over to the other side of the car.

Without fail, as soon as you open your door, he's continuing his pleading.

"Just dinner? That's literally all I'm asking for, just one dinner where—"

"You know," you interrupt him as you slide into the driver's seat, "you're a sloppy drunk."

You watch the thought process (or lack thereof) in his mind as he smirks and leans his seat further back, "Drinking isn't the only thing I do sloppy if you—"

"Don't finish that sentence."

Eren's eyes travel in amusement from your blushing and aggravated face to where you turn the key in the ignition and white knuckle the steering wheel. He huffs and kisses his teeth, before defeatedly joking.

"Too far?"

You don't speak, but the glare you shoot him says enough. He holds his hands up in defense and turns his attention to his window.

Silence takes over the car for a few peaceful moments and you don't bring yourself to question it, because Eren not talking is a whole lot better than Eren talking. Not only talking, but asking you out—something he's never thought to do before in the entire three years of knowing you.

Between your own exhaustion and his pathetic alcohol tolerance, you're almost positive you can write it off as nonsense. That is, until Eren opens his big fat mouth up again.

"What if I beg?"

At a red light, you rest your forehead against the steering wheel in exasperation. You hear him borderline giggle as the action gently beeps on your horn.

Your voice comes weak, "Since when do you even want to ask me out? Are you that off your ass right now?"

That changes something in him, because even though he is off his ass right now, he's wanted to ask you out when he was sober about ten times over by now. It's not his fault he's never gotten the courage to do so until now. Right?

"No, fuck no, I—" he stumbles over the slurred syllables as his brain fogs, "I mean, I am drunk, yeah. But I've been far drunker."

Comically, you stare through him, as if he doesn't have a single thought in his puny little brain. When the light turns green, you turn away from him and start driving again, suddenly far too calm for his liking.

"Believe it or not, that doesn't make me feel any better."

Eren rubs his blurry eyes with a calloused hand. "Shit—yeah, I know, okay? Just, hold on. Let me start over, 'cause I do really do wanna buy you dinner and—”

"Why now?"

"Not now," he states matter of fact, "when I'm sober and know where my wallet is."

"No, Eren," your voice is soft now, humiliated. You won't even look at him when you weakly whisper, "Why are you telling me this all of a sudden?"

He takes pride in the way he holds your stare for all of three seconds, before turning down and looking at his shoelaces.

"This is just the first time I've felt the need to confess," he mumbles.

You deadpan, "The first time?"

"Yup."

"There were other times you kept it to yourself?

"Like two whole years worth, yeah," he huffs under his breath. "But I wasn't gonna lead with that because that sounds lame and this makes me sound more manly and suave."

The car hums beneath him when he hears you laugh, and his drunk mind can't tell if it's out of pity or honest amusement, but he likes the sound of it all the same.

Though your words might be meant to sting, the delivery is silky when you tease, "I'm driving you home because you can't handle your liquor. Nothing about you is manly or suave right now."

He nods along obediently, "Okay, sorry."

Turning his attention back to the condensation dripping from the window, he suddenly speaks so gently that you'd think he was sober if you didn't see what he drank tonight.

"If you don't actually wanna go out, you can just reject me already. It's fine."

Now it's Eren who won't meet your eye as you're pulling up to his house on the corner of the street. Throwing the car into park and tapping his bicep, he slowly sighs, a bit embarrassed but too drunk to actually care.

"Tell you what," you breathe, and you're surprised Eren's neck doesn't snap on impact with the speed he turns to face you. You bite your cheek at his desperation and exhale, "If you wake up in the morning and still want to take me to dinner, then we can talk about it tomorrow."

"Yeah?" you swear you can physically see the light reenter his eyes at your simple words.

Nodding, you smile. "Yeah, but for now, get your ass in your apartment and drink a shit ton of water."

Gently shoving him, Eren gets out of the car. In the slightly drizzling rain, his eyes never leave yours as his lanky legs stand up and he salutes in a corny way, "Yes, ma'am."

You reach over the middle console to pull his door shut, but before you can even grab it, he's reaching for the handle and holding it open.

"Wait—!"

"What now?" exasperation crawls from your throat.

You watch unimpressed as he pats down all of his pockets before meekly whispering.

"…Do you have my house keys?"

[tiny-minecraft-rabbit]

Please do Rats Treebark #4!!!

"Captain! Look out!" Martyn shouted, shoving Ren to the side. The snap that resulted turned everything into blinding white fire, an explosion going through his leg.

"Lieutenant!" Ren's voice was distant despite him being right next to him.

Martyn couldn't think. Martyn couldn't see. His world had narrowed to the pain that was moving in waves across his body, centering from the place where the trap had snapped around his leg.

His leg. Thank goodness it was his leg and not the rest of him. Thank goodness it was him and not the Captain. The Captain that had been too focused on backing away from the cat to see the trap in the first place.

Oh FUCK the cat-

"I got you. I got you Lieutenant," Ren's voice was near his ear. He could barely register the Captain's arms wrapped around his own and pulled them further under the cabinet they had slipped uner.

His eyes blinked away the spots just enough to see the cat's paw reaching under. It's claws just barely grazed the trap still snapped around his leg- he quickly closed his eyes when it processed in his brain that that was his leg that was smushed in the trap that was dragging with him.

"You guys okay over there?"

That was.. That was Owen, he had going on the supply run with them. He was on the other side of the room, he thinks, the three of them serperating when the cat had entered.

"No!" Ren's voice was screechy with panic, octaves higher than his voice actually allowed, "Martyn's leg- we can't- we can't leave like this."

"O-Okay. I'll get the cat out the room, lead it away for a bit. Do you think you can get to the tunnel out when I do?" Owen asked, taking charge of the situation quickly despite his own panic.

He could feel Ren's chest heaving. Ren must of sat against the wall and pulled Martyn into his lap. That was nice. "I- I don't think- It's still in the trap! Juice, his leg is still in the trap."

"Shoot. Right, okay. I'm leading the cat out and I'll circle back around. Hang tight you two. Be right back."

Martyn heard the telltale squeak of a rat hitting the floor running and then the skittering of cat claws on a wood floor.

The blinding pain had reduced some, it was still throbing all through out his body, but at least there was some space to think now.

Ther was an arm wrapped around his torso, holding him in place against the Captain, and a hand wrapped around his head and fingers scraping against his ear. It was probably meant to be comforting but Ren was too panicked himself and was scratching a little hard and fast. Not that Martyn minded, it certainly wasn't the worst thing he was feeling at the moment.

"What were you thinking?" Ren muttered, head dropping and resting against Martyn's.

It took Martyn a few deep breaths to get his answer out, fighting against the fog. "You were backing right into it. Would have- Would have been a lot worse than a leg if I didn't do something."

"You could have died," Ren hissed, the hand around his ear unintentionally squeezing. Not painfully. Ren couldn't hurt him.

"My life or yours, Captain? Yours. Every time."

Ren was silent for a moment, "We will be talking about this later. When you're not delirious with pain."

They wouldn't.

Martyn wasn't changing his mind on this. He was a selfish man. A very selfish man; and if potentially dying to a stupid human trap meant he never had to see the end of Ren's life, then so be it.

[villainousauthor]

Hi!! If this requests is something you don't wanna do, ignore this!!

So basically, in the middle of a fight, the hero just goes up and kisses the villain, and then backs up, and the villain is just standing there like: 🧍‍♂️

Trying to process what the heck just happened.

If the kissing isn't comfortable for you, head pats or like a sweet little smile or something like that is fine to!!

Again, if you don't wanna do this you can ignore/delete it that's fine by me!!

Have a great day/night!!

:D

The Hero breathes heavily, trying to catch their breath and manage to stay upright at the same time. The fight has been brutal so far, and neither Hero nor Villain have pulled any punches.

Hero gasps as their back is slammed roughly against the concrete wall of the building with a thud. Villain's fingers clench around the collar of their clothes tightly. Hero can feel the heat rolling off their body as they press closer.

"Ready to give up yet?" Villain's asks confidently, a wild grin on their face. They speak as if they know Hero isn't, and as if that makes this even more entertaining. Villain seems to live off the excitement their brawls bring, hungering for it like a person starved.

It's infectious and draws Hero in even more. They're addicted to these encounters just as much. The way Villain grips them tightly, the way they handle Hero so roughly, the way their eyes shine when they have Hero pinned. Hero can never get enough of it.

"Cat got your tongue?" They question, and Hero just then realizes they got lost in the moment, Villain's close presence fogging their brain like usual.

Before they can even properly think through their actions, Hero is throwing themselves forward, grabbing the Villain.

At first, Villain thinks this is some sort of counterattack until they feel hands gliding through their hair, and as those soft lips meet their own needily, they jolt.

Any of their defenses immediately lower, and they can't help the sigh that leaves their lips before the Hero pulls away abruptly, stepping back.

Hero looks at them, eyes wide as if they can't believe what they did, and Villain knows their own expression probably looks similar.

Several long and tense seconds pass before either speaks up.

"That...is not a part of our usual fights." Villain finally manages, voice unsteady. Their fingers twitch at their sides, unsure of what to do now. Their heart thumps in their chest, and they can hear it loudly in their ears.

Hero gulps. "I- I know." They look away as if they can't meet their eyes now, and Villain doesn't miss the deepening blush on their face. "I shouldn't have done that."

"No, you probably shouldn't have." Villain says, feeling inclined to agree. Their heart continues to beat wildly, and they feel the urge grab Hero yet again.

Hero turns away, embarrassment obvious on their face. "I should leave." Villain sees that they're about to flee and panics.

Before Hero is even able to register it, Villain is grabbing them by the face, sharp nails digging into their jaw roughly as Villain's lips claim their own desperately.

It's a rough and messy kiss, teeth clinking together as Villain kisses Hero as if consume their very essence. It's passionate, possessive, and aggressive in every way their fights are.

Hero bites Villain's bottom lip, and they groan out in response. After a moment, Villain pulls away panting, through their fingers still hold them tightly. "Just because you shouldn't of, doesn't mean I didn't like it."

[lost-in-fandoms]

This has been something that's been living in my mind for a very long time. Sometimes, when things are hard, I write this in my head and it helps, so I thought I'd share. There's a bit of hurt before it goes to the comfort, but the comfort is there, I promise. This got long so you can read it on ao3 too

cw: non-sexual bathing, depression and a whole bunch of self-hatred

Daniel doesn't hear the door opening, but one minute he's alone, curled up under the blankets, and the next Max is sitting on the edge of the bed, running clothes still on. To be fair, Max might have been there for longer than one minute. Daniel hasn't been great at keeping up with time lately, keeps losing hours to naps and blank stares at walls. He's not been great at noticing Max either, sometimes feeling like he's living alone, even when Max is right beside him.

"Daniel."

Daniel opens his eyes again, hadn't even noticed he had closed them in the first place. Max sounds tired, careful, as he often does lately. It makes Daniel want to curl up tighter, shut him out harder, embarrassed and ashamed of being like this.

"Daniel, hey."

Did he close his eyes again? Max has one hand hovering near Daniel's cheek now, but he isn't touching. The last time Max had touched him without asking first when Daniel had been like this, just a hand on his shoulder, Daniel had flinched so hard he had kicked him off the bed.

Max has been sleeping in the guest room since, and the bed feels big and cold every night. Daniel is still glad Max is not touching him.

"Daniel."

Max's voice is firmer now, a frown on his face. It used to make Daniel feel worse, knowing he was upsetting him, but it's been a reality for so long he has learned to accept he's just made to make Max feel worse.

"Your therapist appointment is in two hours, Daniel, you should get up."

This time, Daniel makes the conscious decision to close his eyes. It doesn't matter how many hours he's been spending in this bed lately, he is always exhausted, and getting up sounds like way too much work. He doesn't want to get out of his blankets, doesn't want to have to sit up, to have to speak, to have to sit in their office to talk about his fucked up brain to a lady through a screen.

For a long moment, nobody says anything. Daniel is expecting Max to argue with him, to tell him he's being childish, pathetic, but Max doesn't.

It's worse when he simply sighs and gets up, leaving the room. It makes the chasm in Daniel's chest grow new teeth, gnawing at his lungs, breath stuttering in his throat. He didn't know he could feel more lonely.

He doesn't know what to do with this, with all the slick tar coating his insides, suddenly threatening to spill out, so he does what he's been doing lately and turns around, back to the bedroom door, and wills himself to sleep.

"Daniel."

Max's voice drags him out of the fog. He doesn't know how long it's been, but when he forces himself to open his eyes again, Max is crouching next to the bed, this other side now, still in his running clothes. Not long, then.

"I ran us a bath, will you come with me?" he asks. He doesn't look mad at Daniel for not speaking, doesn't look upset. He looks worried, and pleading. There are black shadows under his eyes. It's worse than him being angry.

It takes a long moment for Daniel to actually process the words, to filter them through the fog, but Max waits patiently. He always waits for Daniel, even when Daniel doesn't deserve it.

He doesn't want to get up, doesn't want to drag his limbs to motion, but he knows he stinks, knows his hair are a greasy mess, flattened on top of his head. He should. He doesn't want to.

"Please."

It's only a whisper, but it's impossible to miss in the quiet room. It pierces through Daniel's heart, his next breath coming out harsh and choked, his eyes closing on instinct. Even when he's deep in his own pain he can't forget how this is hurting Max too, but it's worse to see it so plainly, to hear the desperation in his voice. He doesn't know why Max hasn't left yet.

"You won't have to do anything," Max continues his pleading, more urgent now, "I will carry you, I will wash you, you just have to give me permission to touch you."

There was a time, before everything got this bad, when they were all over each other all the time, constantly touching, kissing, fucking. Now, Daniel can't remember the last time he even had wanted to come and his boyfriend is asking for permission to take care of him. He feels sick.

He hates the idea of Max seeing him like this, dirty and too skinny, but Max has never been good at letting things go and he doesn't have the energy to argue with him, nor the heart to hear his pleading, so he nods.

Relief shows so plainly on Max's face it's almost a physical blow.

He's still hesitant as he grabs Daniel's shoulder, helping him sit up, holding him still until the dizziness wanes, gently easing the t-shirt he's been sleeping in off. Daniel is gearing himself up to stand up when Max leans in closer, guiding Daniel's arms around his shoulder and his legs around his waist. It's not until his hands are under Daniel's thigh and he's heaving himself up that Daniel processes what is happening. A surprised gasp leaves his mouth, but Max only shushes him softly, walking towards the bathroom.

"I won't let you fall," he reassures, as if Daniel could ever be scared of that. As if Daniel had ever not been safe when in his hands.

In the bathroom, Max puts him down on the closed toilet seat. The lights are off and the curtains are drawn, but it's still much lighter than the bedroom, making Daniel squint his eyes almost all the way closed. The bath is full, the sweet smell of his favorite body wash already filling the room. There is an unlit candle on the edge of the tub, and it tugs on Daniel's heart, how deeply Max knows him, how he was aware that Daniel likes to have candles when he's in the bath, but doesn't like smells mixing when he's already so overwhelmed. How he left Daniel the unspoken option without pressuring him to take a decision with a direct question.

"Daniel." Max waits until Daniel is looking back at him before touching his shoulder, fingers warm on Daniel's clammy skin. "Is it okay if I come in with you?"

Daniel had thought it was implied, when Max had said he had ran them a bath, wonders if Max has changed his mind, now that Daniel is almost fully naked in front of him.

Some of his thoughts, who knows how much, he hasn't had control of his face in so long, must show, because Max frowns, other hand coming up to cradle Daniel's cheek.

"Daniel, I want to, but I don't want you to be uncomfortable. Can you please tell me? What is best?"

What is best? The best would be to go back four years and tell his old self to make different decisions. Go back two years and tell Max to make different decisions. Go back ten minutes and tell himself to fall back to sleep for a long long time.

He doesn't know how to answer an open question, one that requires more than a yes or no. He nods anyway.

"Yes, I can?" Max clarifies. Daniel doesn't understand why he looks so happy about it, but he nods again, and Max smiles, the lovely crinkly one that makes his cheek bunch up. It's a stab in his chest, realising how much he had been missing it, how long it had been since he had last seen it.

Max is efficient with his own clothes, stripping off and throwing them on the floor, but he's careful with Daniel, pulling him up and gently easing his underwear off, one leg at a time. Daniel finds himself looking at the wall over Max's back, refusing to look down at his own body, refusing to think about another time, when Max on his knees in front of him would have meant something completely different.

He lets Max help him into the bath too, water deliciously hot, scooting forward to let Max sit behind him.

For a second, the inch of space between them feels like a wall. Then Max sneaks a arm around his waist, pulling him against his chest, legs bracketing him.

Daniel lets himself go boneless, knowing Max will keep him upright.

He doesn't know how long they just stay like that, lost in the warmth of the water and the steady movement of Max's chest, but after a while he feels him shift behind him, reaching for something.

"I will wash your hair now, okay?"

Daniel nods, following Max's guidance to reposition himself slightly so that he has easier access to his hair, but keeps his eyes closed, brain for once blissfully quiet.

He doesn't know what he was expecting, but for sure not the smell of his favorite shampoo to fill his nostrils, aware that he had ran out weeks prior and hadn't bothered to buy more, using Max's 2in1 instead, uncaring of how frizzy it made his curls. He doesn't know when Max went to buy more, but it's yet another squeeze to his heart.

Max is slow with it, massaging Daniel's head, his firm and gentle fingers moving down towards his neck and shoulders too, working his tension away.

He holds a hand over Daniel's forehead when rinsing him, like Michelle does with the kids, and maybe once Daniel would have argued against the babying, but not now, not when he feels so deeply cared for.

He's not expecting to hear the click of another bottle opening, wasn't aware Max even knew of the existence of conditioner. He must make a sound, because he feels Max's chest move under him, as if Max is leaning forward to check his face.

"Okay?" he asks, fingers pausing in his hair.

Daniel hums, more sound than he's produced in hours, and it feels like a reward when Max presses a kiss on his wet shoulder.

"I called Vic, before," Max starts talking, hesitant and almost embarrassed, fingers twisting in Daniel's hair. Daniel doesn't know where this is going, but it's nice, to listen to Max's voice, his chest vibrating with it against his back, feeling closer than they had in weeks.

"I wanted to know, I..." Max huffs out half a laugh, self deprecating in a way he usually isn't. "I sent her pictures, of your hair things. I don't know why you have so many, but of course she knew, and..."

Daniel twists around, Max's fingers slipping from his hair, suddenly overcome with too much emotion to be able to deal with it like this. He bangs his knee against the side of the tub, his tense shoulders twinging with pain at the uncomfortable position, and he barely gets a glimpse of Max's spooked expression before he's burying his face in his shoulder, kissing the warm skin there.

He feels Max move, giving him more space to turn around, hands rubbing his back.

"I'm sorry," Max throws out in a rush, voice tense, and Daniel doesn't know what he's apologizing for, not when he's been so wonderful all this time. "I don't know, I..."

Max's voice breaks in sync with Daniel's heart.

"What have I done wrong?" Max begs, both keeping Daniel against him and pulling back, trying to look at him. "Daniel, please, if I..."

Daniel shakes his head grabbing at him to keep him close.

"No, it's good, you..." his voice is raspy from disuse and he can feel Max flinch in surprise when he hears it, but he pushes through, for once, unable to stand Max thinking he's done something wrong. "Thank you."

Tension bleeds out of Max's body as he cradles him close again, lips finding Daniel's hair, uncaring of the conditioner still there.

"I want," Max pauses, breathing out heavily, almost a sigh. "If I can do something to make you feel better, always I want to do it."

It splits Daniel's heart wide open, the candid way Max is able to say things like this, the steadiness with which he's never stopped caring for him, not even back when they weren't together, when they weren't even talking. He hopes Max can't feel the tear he can't stop on his already damp skin.

They breathe together for a long minute, while Daniel tries once again to process the impossibility of Max's love and Max holds him close, but it still feels too soon when his back starts screaming in protest, forcing him to turn back around.

They settle back in the previous position, but it feels like something dislodged in Daniel's chest. He feels lighter and more anchored at the same time, feels like Max's hands on his body are more real, like the fog in his brain has dispersed a little.

After rinsing the conditioner, careful hand still shielding Daniel's eyes, Max moves onto an hair mask.

"Vic said, of course she does not have your hair, but Vic said this was last," he explains, coiling Daniel's curls around his fingers, one by one, focused on the task as he would be on following the perfect racing line. "She said to do this, to make them right."

Daniel tries to imagine it, Max in the living room, or maybe on his run, or in the supermarket, calling his sister for advice on hair care. He knows he talks to his family most days, but it's different, to know he talks about him, about doing something to make Daniel feel good. A spike of shame curses through him, knowing that it means at least Victoria is aware of how much of a shitty boyfriend he's been lately, but for once it doesn't stay, quickly replaced by overwhelming affection. For Max, for asking, and for Victoria, for giving such careful and detailed instructions, clearly invested in making sure Max could do his best.

The water is cooling down by the time Max rinses off the hair mask and presses another kiss on Daniel's shoulder, arms wrapping around his waist once again.

"We can get out, or I can add hot water," he offers, lips brushing against Daniel's skin. Daniel almost asks him to stay, wanting to prolong the time spent in this little bubble of comfort, but their fingers are wrinkly and he knows his therapist appointment will be soon. He had thought about skipping it, earlier, just hide in bed and refuse to talk, but now that his brain is clearer he knows it would just make things harder.

When he moves, Max moves with him, keeping him steady as they both stand up, holding his hip as he rinses him with the shower head, knowing that Daniel doesn't like to just get out of the bath, even without him having to ask, taking his hand as they step out of the tub, offering him a towel.

Daniel doesn't fight when Max starts drying him, or when he squeezes the water out of his hair with another towel, or when he goes to the bedroom and comes back with clean clothes. He lets himself be taken care of, for once enjoying again being the center of Max's full attention.

It's only when Max steps back that Daniel notices how the hoodie Max is wearing is one of Daniel's, and it reminds him all over again how he's not the only one suffering from all the shit his brain is putting him through.

It makes his heart hurt, but at the same time he can't help but feel yet another wave of love for his boyfriend, who hasn't complained, hasn't left, has never made him feel guilty for any of this. His boyfriend, who so obviously misses him, enough to wear clothes that are too warm for him.

"Come here."

Max's head snaps up, surprise clear on his face, but when Daniel opens his arms he goes willingly, folding into himself a little to be able to fit against Daniel's chest.

"I love you," Max whispers it like a secret, hiding it in the folds of Daniel's sweater, and it makes Daniel wish he could fix his brain quickly, once and for all, just to not have to hear him so small ever again.

"I love you too."

He presses one kiss on Max's hair, then another.

He knows that when they'll break the hug, Max will probably try to convince him to have some food, then will sit in the living room pretending he isn't waiting for Daniel to be done with his session. He will try to make Daniel talk about it, go outside, eat dinner, brush his teeth, take his meds. He will be there, and stay there, even when Daniel kicks him to the guest room because he can't stand the touch of another human being, even when Daniel won't speak to him for hours and hours, too lost in his own head.

Daniel wants to say thank you, but it feels like there's so much he has to be thankful for, two little words wouldn't be enough. He hopes Max gets it anyway.

[inyourgravehcs]

♡ One more, bartender! ♡

❥ TAGS: female!reader, Alcohol, state of alcohol intoxication.

It was no secret to you that bartending is a special, delicate art that reveals itself in all its glory only to true connoisseurs. Only to inexperienced eyes the show provided by the bartender is meaningless. In every movement there is a certain strength and dexterity; the coordination of movements must not be disturbed. Behind each time the shaker is shaken again and again, there is precise control; the fingers need to hold the lid firmly, without releasing the main vessel and controlling the method by which the cocktail is stirred inside. All in all, the kind of task where every stroke could be the last. Still, you can't blame those who don't understand it - you once were an amateur yourself.

Before you met him.

Your fates crossed when you walked into that very bar. The bartender's unkempt appearance didn't inspire confidence, but you wanted nothing more than to get drunk and forget yourself. "Bartender, I'd like a cocktail on your recommendation. And make it quick."

The man's brown eyes stare at you from under half-closed eyelids. In them you can see the tiredness so familiar to you, but together with a polite smile it creates a friendly, kind image for him. Interesting. "Young lady, mixing drinks is not about speed."

"What the difference does it make? I just want a drink…"

"Allow me to demonstrate."

Initially unimpressed, you can't deny that with each toss of the shaker, each Gallagher's trick, your interest grows more and more. Immersed in this small but not the least bit humble performance, you don't even notice how the drink is already right under your eyes. "Your cocktail."

From that day on, your outlook changed drastically.

Alcohol was no longer your first and only priority. The more exciting the process of making a drink, the sweeter the anticipation - and the sweeter the anticipation, the more delicious and exquisite the cocktail feels on your tongue.

You can't even imagine what it's like to ignore your surroundings and get drunk just to pass out and forget all the worries. No, now you pay attention to every detail: the clinking of glasses against the wooden surface of the counter. The unobtrusive but atmospheric music playing from the speakers under the ceiling. The ringing murmur of the flowing stream of your drink base, already remotely giving an idea of it's degree and strength. Hell, even the dim lighting, as if to multiply the intimacy of the moment.

But it's him you pay the most attention to. The way his hand adjusts his loose tie, the way his biceps tense with another shake of the shaker, the relaxed and satisfied expression on Gallagher's face at that moment.

…Well, you're in for a real treat. You couldn't help but feel sympathy for the bartender, and your alcohol-fogged mind was sharpening every detail, leaving you no chance for calm.

On the other hand, was there anything wrong with that? You'd been searching for yourself on Penacony for a long time, and with each system hour the excitement waned, leaving only your true shell, empty and bored. That's why you resorted to drinking, a simple and sure way to feel something, albeit one that would imperceptibly wash out over time and zombify your despairing brain. You wished to dive headfirst into pleasure, intense and oblivious - and what was better to drown yourself in, alcohol or lucid love?

Silence lingers between you and Gallagher for several minutes. Nothing out of the ordinary - the man rolls up his sleeve, stirring another drink. Presented between his index and middle finger, the glass slides flawlessly down the bar straight into your hands. As you taste the cocktail, your eyes shamelessly trace his broad shoulders and back, the embossed forearms and gloved hands, from under the edge of which the twisted outlines of veins inadvertently emerge, the vest taut and creased at his waist, and when your gaze goes lower…

No, this isn't gonna work anymore. You need to hear his voice again. "One more, bartender!"

Your voice catches Gallagher's attention. He turns around and gives you an understanding look - after all, you've had a couple of drinks and you're clearly intoxicated, but who better than him to know how to behave in such situations? "Are you sure I won't need to take you outside after this, Y/N?"

"I am so sure! I can take a hundred more of these!" Despite your loud declarations, your feverish hiccups indicated otherwise. "Can you get me another… Please?"

Well. It was not in his power to deny the request of a regular visitor - especially when she was especially sweet and begged so tearfully for another drink. The process repeats itself: the drink is stirred, the ice cubes clink against the glass walls… In just a few short moments, another Gallagher's alcoholic work of art becomes your own, a greedily gulped down and throat-warming delicacy. The man could look at that satisfied smile forever, but apparently you didn't want to leave him alone with himself, constantly pulling him out of his thoughts. "Hey… What would you do if I told you I liked you?"

The audacity. Just a few newly arrived sips in your system and this is where it gets you? Sometimes he wished alcohol wouldn't bring out the courage in customers like you.

Because Gallagher was well aware that these weren't just drunken ramblings. "Uh-huh. And do you like your therapist too, even if they're just doing their job?" and again, that quiet smile that drives you crazy. "I wouldn't jump to conclusions if I were you."

"Gallagher, I'm serious!"

Your puffed cheeks and a scowl on your face show your displeasure, while the sly man just snickers and shakes his head condescendingly.

Oh, he shouldn't have done that. You'll show him…

As the man hesitates to respond, you take it as a perfect opportunity. Your hands reach for his tie, grabbing and pulling Gallagher to you. After your foreheads collide, you waste no time engaging the bartender in a kiss that's sloppy, assertive, and without a doubt, extremely passionate. The man's stubble lightly tingles your soft skin, only adding spice and thrill to your heated exchange. And even though Gallagher doesn't respond to the kiss, shocked by the situation, he certainly doesn't rush to pull away either. Of course, you wouldn't be you if you didn't use this to your advantage, pressing your lips tighter and more demandingly against his. "One more, bartender." In a casual whisper, the words drip from your lips into his. Breaking the kiss, you don't want to move an inch away from the man, demanding more and not allowing him to escape so easily.

So it was at this point that Gallagher realized he was screwed. What should he do in this case…?

♡ ── ✦ ──『♡』── ✦ ── ♡

Please note that english isn't my native language and can be awkward at times.

Please don't translate or repost my works without asking for my permission first!

[iblameashley]

Something to look forward to

Civilian | Male | Gay

2,607 words

Content: Angst, mention / depiction of blood, hospital recovery, mental breakdown, happy ending.

Follow up to: A Night, A Fight and the Price

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley | Male/GN Reader

!!!SFW!!!

Price swoops in to save the day and take Simon away for medical attention at the 141 base. Later, you're made an offer you can't - and won't - refuse... after all, Simon is your friend and he needs you, even if he'd rather swear off tea for life than admit it.

Tag List: @a-sleepy-dissapointment

(Thanks to @loneghostwolf for permission to use this image)

It all seemed like a dream; or perhaps a nightmare. Simon had slumped over on his floor bleeding out as you frantically tried to apply pressure to his wound. Captain Price had arrived in what felt like an eternity but also in record time. He burst through the door with two other soldiers – both apparently medics.

They swooped in and took over, pushing you out of the way and stabilizing Simon as Price divided his attention between you and Simon. His gruff, deep voice was a stark contrast to his kind demeanour.

“Simon will be okay.” He stated in an even tone as he guided you to the kitchen sink.

Price helped you clean the blood off your hands as you fell into a deep brain-fog.

“We're ready to head out, Cap.” One of the soldiers called out as Price finished drying your hands.

“Rog, move out.” He commanded them, “I'll be down in a moment.”

Price turned his attention back to you as the soldiers hoisted Simon up and walked him from the flat.

“You did good, pal.” Price reassured you, placing a hand on your shoulder and giving you a firm squeeze. It snapped you back to reality.

“Are... is...” You stuttered to find the first question you wanted to ask.

“You did good.” Price repeats with a nod.

All you could do was nod, looking into his calming brown eyes. “Okay.” You managed to mutter weakly.

“I have to go, take care of Simon.” Price explained softly before walking out of Simon's flat, grabbing his mobile as he left.

You stood there silently for a moment, the blood stain still fresh on the floor, and the lingering smell of cigars filling the room.

You broke down; collapsing to the floor and bawling for hours as your brain tried to process everything that just happened. Your eyes burned and turned a puffy red and your chest heaved until you depleted the last of your energy and passed out on the cold kitchen floor.

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It was hard to say how much time had passed when the buzzing of your phone woke you. Your eyes struggled to open, heavy from the weight of events on your heart and mind.

You groaned as you rolled over and felt around for the phone.

“Shut up.” You rasped as your hand slapped around the laminate floor.

You had no choice but to focus your attention and look around until you spotted the mobile buzzing near the drying pool of blood. Your jaw clenched as you relived the moment again. You swallowed hard and turned away from the sight as you grabbed the phone.

“Unknown Number.” You muttered as you looked at the screen.

“Six missed calls.” You said weakly as the call ended and the home screen popped into place. “All from an unknown number.”

A text message came in.

Unknown: This is Captain Price. Please pick up the phone.

Your heart skipped a beat. How did he get your number? You thought about it for a moment, and then remembered that Price had taken Simon's phone as he left the flat. He must have grabbed your number from Simon's phone. Your heart sank as it feared the worst. You sent him a reply.

You: Sorry... I... It was a bad night.

You: Is Simon okay?

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You were surprised when Price had offered to bring you to the base as a visitor, but jumped at the chance if only to see for yourself that Simon was okay. You played at the 'VISITOR' badge pinned to your chest as you were escorted to the medical wing of the 141 complex.

You stood out like a sore thumb surrounded by soldiers going about their days. Every one of them flashed you a glance as you walked through the corridor and into the medical wing.

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Your heart sank into the depths of your stomach as you saw Simon laying on the bed with machines hooked up to him, beeping steadily away. His breath fogged up the oxygen mask in even succession and you timidly approached the bed.

“He's fine.” Called a familiar deep voice.

You turned to see Captain Price standing in the doorway, his expression and tone was flat and the smell of cigars once again filled your nostrils.

“He's just been sedated.” Price continued as he entered the room to take up position beside you.

“For the pain?” You inquired. It seemed unlikely Simon couldn't handle the pain considering he walked home silently and barely made a peep as he bled out.

“No.” Price replied bluntly. “To keep him in bed. The muppet would walk his arse out of medical claiming he was fine if we didn't.” He explained with a wry smile. “You're welcome to stay as long as you need.” Price continues, turning his attention to you. “I mean it. We'll set you up with quarters if you need.”

You looked at him quizzically, “Why?” you asked rather curtly. Your lips pursed and you looked down as you realized your tone.

“Because you're Simon's only non-141 friend.” Price said with a warm smile.

Your heart skipped a beat, or six, as you took that information in. His only non-141 friend? It felt strange to hear, to know, but it was true. You knew that much.

“I looked into you.” Price stated abruptly. “I know you can work remotely, so you won't miss any work time if you temporarily move on to base.” He gives you a half-smile.

“Totally normal use of military power.” You remark sarcastically, flashing Price a curious look.

“I did it for Simon.” Price replies, his tone oddly soft for a man of his rugged looks.

You let out a throaty grumble. You had mixed feelings about that particular approach, but you pushed all that down to focus on Simon.

“Thank you.” You finally said before making your way to the seat next to the bed.

You sat down in the chair, feeling the cold fabric mould to your shape. He likely had little or no visitors, and your heart sank deeper.

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After Price had left, you sat there in the chair for a while simply looking at Simon sleeping. He looked strangely peaceful and relaxed.

Simon's phone sat face up on the table next to his bed. It was charging and you couldn't help but pick it up and turn the screen on. No messages. No phone calls.

You looked over at Simon and bit the inside of your cheek. He deserves better than to be left alone. He should have something nice to wake up to.

It was decided, you were going to make sure to make Simon smile when he woke up.

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You: I met Price properly today, Simon. He's a nice man, gives off fatherly vibes, though the smell of cigars is a bit off-putting. Oh well. He joined me in your room while you slept. We talked a bit, but he had work to attend to, so he excused himself and said we could talk later.

You: Its been three hours now. You look quite peaceful, its a nice change from your usual gruff personality.

You: By the way, if you really didn't want to see that movie with me, you didn't need to go and get stabbed. lol.

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You: I met Kyle today. Or... Gaz I suppose. He's a really nice guy, chatty when he opens up. He came by to see you immediately after he got back from a [Redacted] mission in [Redacted] to obtain [Redacted]. I'm starting to think I don't have clearance for that information. Haha.

Gaz walked in the room, clearly exhausted from doing God-knows what. His eyes fell to Simon first and his expression dropped. It wasn't until he took a few steps forward when he saw you sitting in the chair, typing away on your laptop with the over-bed table lowered to a usable level.

“Hey...” Gaz said curiously as he approached you.

Your ears perked at the sound of his charming voice and you stopped working to look over at him. You could smell gunpowder and sweat, and his eyes looked puffy and tired. “Name's Kyle.” He says, extending a hand. “You can call me Gaz. Price told me Ghost – err – Simon had a friend staying here.” He smiled.

You took his hand and gave it a firm shake. “I didn't believe he had any outside the team.” Kyle joked as he took a seat in the chair beside you.

“Nice to meet you, Gaz.” You replied quietly. You shut the lid to your laptop.

“How's he doing?” Gaz inquired, tilting his head in Simon's direction.

You shrugged a bit, there hadn't been much change in his condition and the nurses wouldn't give you any updates. You were nothing more than a chair warmer and emotional-support human for Simon.

“About the same.” Is all you managed to tell Gaz. “Price says he's sedated to keep him from wandering, and that he should be okay in a week or two.” You explained.

“Brilliant.” Gaz smiles. “Glad to hear he'll be fine, and that gives me time to learn more about his mysterious friend.” He teased. “Care for a tea and a chat?” He asked, motioning for you to join him.

And with that, you two were off to the mess for some tea.

You: Gaz told me a joke, figured you might like it.

You: What sits in the seabed and has anxiety?

You: A nervous wreck.

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You: Got another joke for you.

You: What do you call a bear with no teeth?

You: A gummy bear.

You: I got to meet 'Soap' today. He's... yeah.

Soap had actually sneaked up behind you as you walked from your quarters to the medical wing one morning. You were already used to the sounds to soldiers walking and jogging around the halls, so you paid it no mind until a hand landed on your shoulder and spun you around.

“So you're Simon's wee friend!” He remarked with his perfect smile. “Been lookin' forward to meeting you in person.” He added before releasing your shoulder him its tight grip.

“Let me guess, you thought I was fictional.” You fired back with a mischievous grin.

Soap let out a hearty laugh and shook his head. “Nah, Simon is a good man once you get to know him.” Soap asserted with a nod. “I just needed to see the person who broke through his walls, s'all. Name's Soap, by the way.” He tacked on, giving you a pat and pushing you to walk with him.

“Do I even want to know why you're called 'Soap'?” You inquire, raising a brow.

“Its classified.” Soap joked.

“Of course it is.” You replied with a shake of your head.

“Going to see Simon?”

You nod.

“I'll join you.” Soap decided for you both. “So, tell me about yourself. What do you do? How did you meet Simon? What kept you around Simon?”

Soap fired a barrage of questions as you walked, barely letting you answer one before asking a follow up or new question.

You: He calmed down after a while. But the man can chat, that's for sure. He would even give Gaz a run for his money.

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You: What do you call cheese that isn't yours?

You: Nacho cheese!

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You: What do you call a happy cowboy?

You: A jolly rancher.

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You: What kind of music scares balloons?

You: Pop music.

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You: What did the ocean say to the beach?

You: Nothing, it just waved.

You: Met Laswell today. She was not thrilled to have 'a civilian' on base, but got over it pretty quickly when Price explained who I was. I barely spoke to her, but I've learned to never piss that woman off. Mad respect.

Laswell went outside for a smoke break after her initial irritation and conversation with Price. As she let out the first puff of smoke, you approached a bit causally.

She glanced at you curiously as she sucked at the cigarette between her fingers.

“You're friends with Simon, huh?” She muttered.

“His only civilian friend, I'm told.” You replied with a sigh. You proceeded to take a seat on the concrete half-wall nearby.

“What brings you out here?” Laswell asked as she leaned against the wall beside you.

“Needed to move around. Been sitting beside Simon for almost two weeks now.” Your tone is as weary as your body feels. It was something you couldn't admit to anyone on base, but even just watching over Simon seemed to drain what little reserves of energy you had left. You wouldn't abandon him – never – but it was a lot to handle mentally.

“Understandable.” Laswell sympathized. “How are you doing?” She queried.

She took a long drag from her cigarette.

“Not going to ask how Simon is doing?”

Laswell tossed the butt of the cigarette to the ground and stomped it out.

“I know how he's doing.” She fired back. She gave you a kind smile. “You're the fish out of water here.”

“I'll be happy when they stop sedating him and I can talk to him.”

You roll you jaw around and grit your teeth.

“I miss him.” You add solemnly.

“He's lucky to have you, you know.”

“I'm lucky to have him too...” You mumble.

You: Seems you have a lot of people that care about you. Laswell passed on this joke when I told her what I was doing.

You: Why should you never use a dull pencil?

You: Because its pointless.

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You: Why didn't the sun go to college?

You: Because it already had a million degrees.

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Simon woke up slowly, his head was throbbing and his muscles felt weak. He struggled to look around the room in the dim light. Simon slowly became aware of the machines hooked up to him and began to panic. He was vulnerable. At risk.

He strained hard to move, only managing to weakly pull himself into a sitting position on the bed. He let out a low gasp as the pain in the side of his abdomen seared through his body.

He looked down to see himself in a hospital gown. “Hmm.” He grumbled.

Then his eyes noticed you from his peripheral. You were on a curled up in the chair by the bed, head flopped to the side and gently snoring.

Simon couldn't hold back his smile seeing you sleep.

After a moment of his lingering gaze, Simon turned his attention to his surroundings. He quickly figured he was on the 141 base.

He pulled off the oxygen mask and pulled the wires from his body, shutting the beeping machines off.

He found his phone and flicked the screen of.

“Thrity-six text messages.” Simon mumbled in a raspy voice. “All from...” He looked back to you and another smile crossed his lips. He was too exhausted to maintain his usual emotional armour, and just enjoyed the feeling of happiness that washed over him.

Now to find out what you had sent him.

[avoidantrecovery]

cptsd freeze response ≈ avoidant pd?

this is just something i have been thinking about lately, because i'm stuck in a slump and no matter what i do, i can't figure out a way to get out. (as per usual: this is just my own speculation/theories, not medical advice or anything)

signs of being stuck in a freeze response: ☀︎ dissociation & detachment ☀︎ numb & apathetic ☀︎ hiding & camouflaging/masking ☀︎ isolation & seclusion ☀︎ brain fog & spaced out ☀︎ achievement-phobic ☀︎ disconnection ☀︎ shallow breath ☀︎ tenseness & fatigue (source: pete walker: cptsd from surviving to thriving, @chantelleenelson on insta, my own observations)

being stuck in a chronic freeze response is quite similar to the signs of avpd, if you ask me. there is a lot of overlap in terms of behaviour. and i have felt like this, like the above, for a very long time. however, i do remember a time when it wasn't like this.

i've already posted about my bullying/peer abuse experience that nearly lead to my drowning. and while other stuff happened later on, this was the source of my getting stuck in freeze. everything that came after, was also linked to being stuck in this chronic freeze state. i viscerally (in my body) remember the before and after. it is said freeze is what happens when you cannot fight or flee.

chronic freeze also hides a lot beneath it, kinda like a frozen surface with a lot still trapped/going on underneath. that is where the tense feelings/muscle aches come from. essentially it's like kinetic energy, the emotions and feelings that usually result in fight or flight are still being held down. you're holding you're breath, but you will have to breathe sooner or later.

i noticed other things i do in chronic freeze (which strangely enough are all related to dopamine): ☀︎ maladaptive daydreaming ☀︎ doom scrolling & internet addiction ☀︎ catastrophizing & worrying ☀︎ gaming (not as much as i used to) my theory here is that we all need to get our dopamine from somewhere. and when you're not socializing and doing other such activities, these will have to do.

there is a lot that goes into coming out of chronic freeze. it's a response that (imo) has the capability to freeze time in a way. you still go on existing, but on the inside you're stuck in time. and being ready to feel the potential avalanche of feelings, emotions, fears, panic, anything really that might come down on you at once, is important.

creating a base for coming out of freeze: ☀︎ environmental safety: in the best case scenario, is being away from the thing/person causing the trauma response. but, even if you are not able to, environmental safety can be being able to get away once a week and grab tea with a friend or going for a walk somewhere you can relax and feel safe. ☀︎ bodily safety: figuring a part of the body that feels safe and non-tense/non-painful to touch, and massaging/feeling it. it could be a thumb or ones ears. it doesn't mean everything is perfect or safe yet, but it opens up a possibility for thaw. ☀︎ feel your feelings: being ready/able to sit with and process the feelings that will re-surface once "the ice" has thawed. (source: irene lyon - how to come out of a chronic freeze response) i'm still coming up with a list of actual specific activities that i will try to see if they help me out of freeze. there are a lot of recommendations but some sound bogus, tbh, but we'll see. i'll post them here as soon as i know/try more.

[thehellsystem]

I've been noticing a lot of misinformation about visual snow syndrome (vss) around Tumblr/TikTok so I wanted to compile a more accurate list of symptoms and other things related to it. I'm not a doctor or studying it in any degree, but I've been diagnosed with visual snow syndrome since I was around thirteen and the process was so filled with medical abuse that it makes me genuinely upset to people spread misinfo about it.

The first thing I want to address is what most people think of when they think of visual snow syndrome: visual snow. Despite popular belief, this is not the only symptom of the disorder. Saying you have vss because you see visual snow is inherently wrong and you need to further educate yourself. The way most images present it is as this:

However, this is incorrect. The static rarely presents itself as still and "normal" as this. It will move around, there will be flashing colors, and everything will appear more saturated, as pictured below.

Because of the flashing lights, movement, and saturation that comes with visual snow syndrome, it can result in chronic migraines, eyestrain, and anxiety. Some people with visual snow syndrome have side effects of depression, but this is more rare. The issue arises when Tumblr or TikTok dumb it down to "Static vision disorder! I have visual snow because I see it in the dark!" Seeing visual snow in the dark is very average, as our eyes are not built to see in full darkness. If you look directly into the sun and your eyes hurt, do you ask yourself if this is because your body has something wrong with it and not because you weren't intended to look directly at the sun? VSS can result in: - Seeing "snow/static" even when your eyes are closed or when it is dark, potentially getting worse when it is dark, sunny, or you're in artifical lighting. - Seeing objects after you've looked away from them (palinopsia) - Being sensitive to light - Having difficulty seeing at night - Seeing images with your eyes closed - Tinnitus - Feeling anxious, depressed, or irritable - Brain fog or trouble concentrating - Insomnia - Migraines with aura - Dizziness or nausea - Depersonalization - Vertigo (Via Cleveland Clinic)

None of these symptoms are a fun trend. I'm chronically disabled because of my vss and experience chronic migraines. There is very little research being done on it, so having a diagnosis rarely results in benefits. Many people idagnosed with visual snow are told that it will "go away" but it is just as likely that it will worsen or not go away at all. The disorder isn't simply "Seeing snow" or "Seeing snow and migraines" it's many, many other things with a history of medical neglect behind them. Please research further into the disorder: Self-diagnosis is great for people who can't advocate for their own diagnosis, or simply don't want one, but with proper research. It will only hurt people with this disability if others continue to act like experts on it with little to no research.

enjoy my super radical post