#like it’s probably medical at this point 

[bunny-jpeg]

bunny heat

simon "ghost" riley

tags: smut/pwp, hybrid au, bunny!simon, wolf!reader, size difference/kink, breeding kink, mating press, dirty talk, mentions of pregnancy & babies

a/n: i am rekindling my affection for call of duty fan fiction by making self indulgent nonsense - enjoy

the common assumption was that bunny hybrids were small and fragile. with blunt teeth and long bunny ears. they were meant to be dressed up and adored. they were sweet little things, harmless. prey.

the other assumption was that wolf hybrids were large and imposing. if folklore were correct, they were near feral with large teeth and pointed ears. the possessed great physical power and could overtake anything that got in their way. predator.

your wolf-like ears twitched as you tried to grab the box of cereal off the shelf. you tried to get up on your tippy toes to reach the top shelf. but to no avail you could get it. you huffed with your hands at your hips and turned to your mate, almost a foot taller that you. you said sweetly, "bun-bun, can you get that for me?"

the imposing blond with the rabbit ears and medical mask on, turned away from the other shelf to help you. one large hand on your hip while he easily plucked the box from the shelf and handed it to you, "glad ya didn't scale the shelves like last time." and he reached to you to rub the top of your head lovingly.

common assumption were rarely right.

your eye glanced at the clock on the kitchen wall. you finished buttering the toast and then slid the two fried eggs on the plate. already on it was some vegetarian bacon and sausage. with everything on the plate, you headed towards the attic to find simon.

the worst part about spring wasn't snow that melted to slush or the allergies. it was simon's breeding season. poor guy, while he was in the military he was given shots to keep it at bay. but once he retired it felt like it hit two-fold after years of suppression.

"simon." you cooed as you went up the stairs. the smell was overwhelming when you got into the attic. it smelt like heavy bonfire except without all the smoke. regardless you still squinted as if there was smoke in your eyes. you brought the food to him and found him laid out in his nest.

he was in a white tank top and loose boxers. his blond hair a mess and he was sweaty, but at the very least, his breathing was heavy. poor thing had a one track mind right now. to fuck.

and while for more bunny hybrids that meant accepting whatever cock they could get. simon wanted to fill someone up with his hot cum and let his bunnies grow inside another hybrid. you got down to your lover's nest and gave him the plate.

"eat, my love. c'mon, you need the energy." you cooed as you cupped his sweaty face. you watched simon sit up against the pile of pillows. you cooed at him softly as he ate a little bit.

except he used very little of the fork and knife you gave him. using his hands and licking his hands free of butter, grease and egg yolks. you kissed his face softly as your feverish simon ate greedily.

"amazin'." he purred, "taste good. my good made." he loudly ate and leaned in for a messy kiss that got breakfast on your face before he went back to eating. he said, "get your clothes off, need the proper scent in the nest."

you slowly got undressed while he finished eating. he licked his fingers before he got he strong arm around you. his cottontail wiggled as he rubbed himself up against you. he stuck his nose in your hair and heavily exhaled.

"feel good." he said. simon was probably the largest bunny hybrid you've ever seen. man stood close to 6'5, he was a military man covered in scars and tattoos. he was scary even with those perked blond bunny ears and white cottontail. he leaned in and gave you a sloppy kiss.

his tongue was quickly in your mouth and you moaned. you clutched onto him and he groaned as you sharp nails dug into his shoulders. when he pulled away his tongue was out, panting. his cock strained his sweaty boxers and he needed you. he needed that release.

you were naked. known as a predator animal, you were under him without a single stitch on you. all curves for him. he got his hard cock out of his briefs and there was a feral look in his eye. you swallowed and said, "simon."

he gave you a wide grin, "like what ya see, my little wolf? i bet you were thinkin' about while you were cookin' for me." he licked his lips, even bunnies desired flesh, "could smell ya under all that cookin'. kept strokin' myself, knowin' you were playin' wife for me."

you swallowed and shifted a little, "fuck, simon... take me." and your eyes went wide when simon used his strength to hike your knees to your ears and expose your pussy to him. he sank into you quickly and you let out a small gasp as you became accustomed to his length.

he probably had the biggest cock you've ever seen.

he planted his hands on either side of your head and moved against you. his cock nudged against all the right places. it wasn't even like he was going particularly fast. he may be a fast little rabbit, but he wanted to consume you. he wanted to feel all of you, every inch of you.

you were his mate, bonded till the end. your souls were intertwined together if you wanted to understand it in a metaphysical way. the wolf and the bunny, except the bunny was the scary one and the wolf was the more harmless one. you weren't a push over, but you weren't the imposing one in the relationship. not that you minded, you enjoyed how protective simon could be.

he laid wet kisses on you as you laid in his nest. his protected space with all the items a bunny hybrid like him could need. that included his mate. he fucked you into the covers, the soft quilts and even the throw pillows from the couch. it was a safe place for him to have you all to himself. and you happily let have you, all of you.

you wrapped your arms around him and the two of you moved together. there was something so tender between the two of you, even if there was an under current of intense sexual want. a neediness that your simon had for you as he rutted against you. he was only thinking with his cock, but he still had enough restraint to not harm you.

he'd never harm you.

"gonna breed ya. gonna give you some bunnies to take care of." he purred, "ya'd love that, wouldn't ya, love. carryin' my little bunnies around in your perfect womb." he licked his lips. he felt more predator than his animal traits led on. he was hungry the way a wolf was, not a rabbit.

"wanna give me babies?"

"ya, all of 'em. keep ya locked away all of my heat so i can ruin that pussy of yours and give ya a bunch of bunnies to be a good mama too. maybe we'll end up with a few wolf pups, but i wanna see ya haulin' around my babes like a good den mother." his thrusts grew in strength. his words were coated in a heavy lust.

"fuck." you exhaled deeply. his words were erotic.

"you feel amazing, my mate." he purred, "you feel so good around me. this fucking pussy is amazing, only thing i want during this time. how could i not want you? you're my mate, we're bonded and i love you more than words can describe. ya know that, right, my little wolf." he continued to move against you. he could feel the pleasure in his body, he could feel the leap of want in his core.

"please, simon. holy fuck." you shakily exhaled as you held onto his strong shoulders tighter. your loving bunny mate, he looked lovely on top. those dark features that scared most, but lured you in. he was by every definition the worst bunny hybrid, but you loved it. everything from the resting scowl on his face, to the scarring, to those soft bunny ears and how he could easily wrap you up in his arms.

he was the ideal partner for you.

you kissed once more. your knees knocked against your cheeks as he pressed further into you. the kisses were hungry as you knew you both weren't going to last much longer. the pleasure left you out of breath and a slight fuzziness in your head. you held on tightly for support as he worked your body against his. he wanted to make love to you, he yearned for you deeply. there was something so carnal about your love making that it left a flutter of lust in your gut as your mate fucked you.

"all mine." he purred as he held onto the covers a little tightly. he pressed himself as far as he could go, he wanted to make sure you felt every inch of his hefty cock. you whined in response.

you two shared one more heated kiss, you whined your love for him against his lips as he continued to thrust. a few more heavy thrusts and he finished inside of you. he shoved his entire length into you and made sure that his cum hit right against your cervix. it would be the only thing that would sate the sexual desire in his body. to breed his loving mate.

you exhaled shakily as he came inside of you. you panted heavily and felt the euphoria through you as he continued to thrust inside of you. he continued his movements. he wanted to make you feel good to as his still hard cock pushed his cum as deep as it would go. but he couldn't help himself, he came a second time very quickly. only to slip his cum all the way to the back of your pussy.

he felt lucid and now worked solely on hormones. you whined and your eyes fluttered as you felt the wanted in your heated core. you whined as you felt the stimulation in your body from your mate push you over the sexual edge. you let out such a beautiful moan and came around his cock.

"good, good." he mused, "fuck, that's it, my little wolf." he said, the edge had been taken off and he could relax. he pulled out and flopped down next to you on the mattress. you reeked of his aroused scent and before you could drop your legs down to the bed. he had you curled up in his arms.

his lips on your neck as he said sweet nothings to you. promises of pups and bunnies and being forever mates.

-

you didn't have your heat that spring, all it took was a weekend of simon's cycle to impregnate you. now it was summer and you were cuddled up with your much larger mate. his hand on your swollen middle as you got comfortable next to him.

you were carrying two babies; two pups, two bunnies, who knew. wouldn't know until they were born by fall. your swell was impressive and your dear simon loved it.

it wasn't common for a wolf to be impregnated by a bunny, but you had to admit. the pregnancy looked better on you anyway, and simon would agree as he contorted himself to kiss your swollen middle.

[sageivy11]

feral street kitty hybrid!reader who’s been slinking up the fire escape and sneaking into ghoap’s apartment for food.. but they know. 18+

introduction: omg hiii 😻 so i was totally gonna abandon the first post but i already have like 5 other things in the works bc the brain worms haven’t stopped soo.. don’t expect anything tho bc im not very consistent. if i make another part there will probably be smut. 1.1k words, basically just a long drabble i decided to proofread a bit to post

contains/warnings: reader is homeless and eats fish, established ghoap, no mention of size or appearance expect for ‘underfed’, reader only has ears and a tail. no smut

Maybe they’ve known for a while, Ghost once saw you skitter away down the ladder after being woken from a nightmare. He complains about it to Soap, scolding him for forgetting to lock the window, but he’d been doing it on purpose ever since he saw you in the alley behind their apartment, digging through trash and underfed. Hoping.

He convinces his LT to leave it unlocked and says that they can spare a piece of bread now and then. That you look so lost and sad, that’s the least they can do. You haven’t even stolen anything more than a few bites of left out food, he insists.

But you grow more confident, napping on their couch for a few hours during the night to keep warm, washing your face in their sink, licking their leftover plates clean. They pretend not to notice. Ghost, who used to sit on the couch and watch television when he couldn’t sleep, has switched to the chair in his office so as not to spook you.

Until one day you fish through the laundry bin in the bathroom, looking for a pair of socks that no one would notice missing. You’ve never stolen anything more than a bite or two of food from them but it’s getting colder. People lose socks all the time.

Your head snaps towards the door when you hear it creak open, seeing a pale, shirtless man with mussed hair pause in the doorway when he sees you. He grunts. You scramble, only grabbing a single sock in your process of shoving past him and bolting towards the window.

You don’t notice the way his eyes drift down your body to take in the healthy weight gained. He sighs, shaking his head and not bothering to close the door as he makes towards the toilet.

You don’t come back for a week and a half. Soap got worried on the fifth night, realizing you hadn’t stepped through the window in days. Your dirty fingerprints had been cleaned off the window on the second day and they hadn’t come back since.

But eventually, you get hungry. With how cold it is at night, you’ve been forced to spend less and less time searching through trash lest you freeze. You think about it for a few days, and decide there’s no point in not going back if you’re going freeze to death out here anyway.

You slip through the kitchen window on the eleventh day, shivering at the temperature change. You head straight for the fridge where they keep their leftovers, your shaky hand holding it open as your eyes quickly scan for something small to eat.

“There’s fish in the freezer. F’you want some.”

You nearly jolt out of your skin, the fridge door snapping shut as you suddenly whip around to find the location of the voice. You can feel the fur your tail puff up in fear as your back presses the cool doors. It’s the same man you saw that night. This time, he’s wearing a mask. And not a medical one.

The mask is black and embroidered with white skull markings. Or, more like grey skull markings. There’s dark brown stains on the fabric where the white is. Maybe the black, too. You can’t tell. It kind of looks like dried blood. No, it’s definitely just dirt.

Your ears are pricked, chest silently heaving as you stay frozen, staring at him. How did you not see him? Or hear him?

He looks like he just got home despite the fact it’s the middle of the night. It’s early, maybe three, or four in the morning. He’s still got shoes on. He holds a clear glass full of a gold liquid propped on his knee. There’s a duffle bag by his feet.

You just stand there, stuck in time for what feels like a week as you watch him. The only time he moves is to bring the glass up to his lips, pushing his mask up to the bridge of his nose to take a long sip. He would’ve moved by now if he wanted to hurt you. Right?

You swallow thickly, slowly turning to open the freezer. You look over your shoulder every few seconds, but he’s just sitting there, watching. Your eyes land on three saran-wrapped plates in the freezer. Huh. Maybe they had a guest over.

Two plates have various vegetables and sauces, while one looks plain. Just fish and something green that looks like a tiny tree. You grab it, closing the freezer and glancing at him for the millionth time. Still stayed the same. You slowly sink to sit on the kitchen floor, tail curling around the side of your leg protectively.

You watch him as you peel the wrap off, as you eat. He stares back. You pinch a cold piece of meat between your fingers, slowly bringing it up to your lips. And it’s fucking good. You don’t waste much time with your next few bites, try the little tree thing too. It’s not great, but it’s not horrible. You start wrapping the dish up again when you’re interrupted.

“It’s all f’you. Eat it.”

You pause, your eyes flicking back up to him. Your ears twitch. For you? Sounds like a trap. You should have a pretty good radar for danger. I mean, you live on the streets. You can feel your heart beat a little faster, but it tells you to continue. You waste no more time, greedily finishing the rest of the dish almost concerningly fast.

He watches and only adds more whiskey to his cup when it empties. You stand when you’re done, quietly placing the dish in the sink and discarding the wrap in the trash. You flinch when he abruptly stands, stepping closer towards your exit. His hands reach towards the bottom hem of his black hoodie, pulling it over his head.

You stay and watch, for some reason. Then he tosses it towards you, over the kitchen counter separating the two rooms. You startle, twitching back when the fabric falls to your feet. You look between him and the hoodie briefly, before crouching down to grab it.

Your footsteps are light and tentative as you step back towards the window, still watching him. You quickly slip out, practically running down the fire escape stairs until you’re back in the streets. Back in your little box hidden in the trash, with a few blankets to keep warm.

You replace your thin zip-up with his hoodie. You push the fabric of the collar up towards your nose when you slip it on, inhaling deeply. It smells like man. Like sweat and something coppery. Like burning firewood and grill char. Like it would be so easy to just slip into his bed and sleep into the late hours of the morning.

You sleep easier that night, even if it’s on cardboard and tattered blankets. And if you’re already wet when you slip your fingers between your thighs, it’s no one’s business but your own.

notes: i figured out how to do the ‘read more’ thing!! sorry my first post didn’t have that. again, written and edited on my phone. ty for the love btw 🫶 im trying to stay humble bc this is lowkey boosting my ego. tumblr tips appreciated.

tags??: @other-fandoms-reblogs hi 🙈 this is not related to my first post but i thought i would tag u anyway! if i ever post the other part in the works to my first post ill also tag u in that.

[aboutanancientenquiry]

"I come now to the next wisest of their [the Babylonians'] customs: having no use for physicians, they carry the sick into the market-place; then those who have been afflicted themselves by the same illness as the sick man's, or seen others in like case, come near and advise him about his disease and comfort him, telling him by what means they have themselves recovered from it or seen others recover. No one may pass by the sick man without speaking and asking after his sickness.'

Herodotus The Histories, I.197, as translated by A. D Godley

An eminent Assyriologist, Dr. John MacGinnis, comments on this chapter of Herodotus' Histories:

“We know nothing of the custom here recorded of laying out the sick in the market place, though Baumgarten points out that this is so in Mark vi.56, also bringing to attention the Caucasian folk tale in which a sick prince goes to the bazaar to seek (successfully) a cure after his doctors have failed him (80-81).

Our knowledge of Babylonian medicine is confined largely to the scholarly side. This comprised both magical and physical treatment (see especially Ritter, AS 16), the latter including chemical prescriptions for internal treatment, poultices and bathings, and surgery (cf CH, 215-225, and  Oppenheim, Journal of the History of Medicine and Allied Sciences XV (1960)). Wiseman (1985, 106) is surely right in refuting Oppenheim’s view that formal medicine had fallen out of the curriculum in NB [Neo-Babylonian] period (see now the indices under “medical” in Leichty’s new catalogues of the Sippar Collection in the British Museum), but it may well be that our sources do not reflect the treatment available to the common man. On the present point, we have no reason to doubt Herodotus’ statement.”

John MacGinnis "Herodotus’ Description of Babylon", Bulletin of the Institute of Classical Studies 33, 1986 

On line source: https://www.academia.edu/10243265

Dr John MacGinnis read Near Eastern Archaeology and Assyriology (the study of cuneiform texts) at Cambridge for both his BA (Trinity College) and his PhD (Darwin College). He has worked on sites across the Middle East and South Asia. In 2000 he became a Research Fellow at the University's McDonald Institute for Archaeological Research. At present MacGinnis is based at the British Museum in London as Lead Archaeologist in the Iraq Emergency Heritage Management Training Scheme, a UK-funded programme for Iraqi archaeologists.

Source: https://www.cam.ac.uk/stories/ziyaret-tepe

I reproduce also immediately below the passage from Mark’s Gospel to which John MacGinnis refers in his article (Mark vi.56, as translated on https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Mark%206%3A56&version=NIV ) :

"And wherever he [Jesus] went—into villages, towns or countryside—they placed the sick in the marketplaces. They begged him to let them touch even the edge of his cloak, and all who touched it were healed."

According to late David Asheri (D. Asheri-A. Lloyd-A. Corcella A Commentary on Herodotus I-IV, Oxford University Press, 2004, p. 210), "not only therapeutic magic (ašiputu), but also medicine (asutu) flourished in Babylon. The custom described here may have arisen in impoverished rural communities under the Persian rule. A comparison with the Persians' attitude towards the sick (I 138-1,2) is implicit."

I add that the truth is that Herodotus' interest in Babylonia cannot be compared with his interest in Egypt or Scythia and, moreover, he does not claim unambiguously that he had visited Babylon. A journey by him there looks to me rather improbable, as Babylonia was too deep in the Persian Empire and there was not in the 5th century Babylon any important Greek community on which he could rely for hospitality and support. Most probably his sources on Babylon were Greeks who had worked for the Persians, Persians who had contacts with the Greeks, and perhaps Babylonians who had left for the one or the other reason their country. If, despite all obstacles, he did visit Babylon, his sojourn there must have been short and serious contacts with the Babylonian intellectual elites must be excluded. But Herodotus praises a lot (and perhaps excessively) the Egyptian medicine and, therefore, one should exclude any intention from his part to belittle the medical achievements of an important non-Greek people like the Babylonians; it seems that he was genuinely unaware of the Babylonian medical-magical tradition as practiced by professionals.

On the other hand, the period of the Persian domination of Babylonia is one with many uncertainties, but I think that scholars agree that the picture which emerges for it from the available sources is rather bleak, with important difficulties for the Babylonian population living under the Persians, especially in the period after Xerxes' repression of the Babylonian revolt in the beginning of his reign: therefore, it is not implausible to think that impoverished common people could not have access to professional physicians and had recourse to makeshift efforts of cure, as the one described by Herodotus. And what Mark records some centuries later in the Roman-dominated Judea may reflect a more general practice of the poorer strata of the population in Middle Eastern societies of the Antiquity. So, I think that we should accept, as MacGinnis and Asheri suggest, that what Herodotus writes on this particular topic may very well preserve a practice of popular medicine in the Babylonia of his time.

It is also evident that Herodotus, although elsewhere critical of some Babylonian customs, praises here the humanity of the Babylonians toward sick people, their sense of solidarity, but also their practical wisdom.

reading about how herodotus thought it was awesome that the babylonians had no doctors (patently false) and that instead they brought their sick out into the streets for whoever walked by to diagnose and there's a lot i could say about that from an academic perspective but all i can think of is

[fangdokja]

AEAWWAWAWAWAA I LOVE YOUR (WITD) OTOME ISEKAI WORK!!!

So a question that I have, how do you rank all of them in terms of strength, both physical and magical? Because honestly? If I put all of them in the same room, I think the only ones who will walk out unscathed might be the Supreme Mage, Demon King, and the Demon Assassin- but I can't be too sure since they're the only ones who I know have INSANE levels of magical strength.

(Supreme Mage-> Can literally turn back time

Demon King-> Can unintentionally destroy surroundings by just losing control of his emotions+Killed a Fallen Archangel+Won multiple battles

Demon Assassin-> Proves multiple times that he can potentially be on par against the Demon King)

I hate it here.

❤︎ Synopsis. Trapped in a reverse harem of overpowered, emotionally unstable warlords, I’ve learned three things: love is just a polite word for obsession, survival is a full-time job, and statistically speaking, I should have died five times by now. But sure—tell me again how this is every girl’s dream.

♡ Book. Whispers in the Dark (WITD): Subtle Devotion, Lingering Shadows.

♡ Pairing. Yandere! Various! Otome Isekai Characters x Fem. Reader

♡ Headcanons. How to Survive a Reverse Harem (You Don’t) - Part 1

♡ Word Count. 2,242

♡ TW. Heavy Dark Humor + Satirical Comedy, Reader dissing everyone including you (I'm talking about all of you Readers)

♡ A/N. That was a very enthusiastic response. Sounds oddly familiar, and very ENFP. I could be wrong, but the intro reminds me of people. Anyways... This isn't a request, but an ASK. I genuinely do like world building. However, this ask requires a semi-formal answer. Hence, the organization. Also I'm shocked you showed me actual lore. Reminds me of this request for Yandere! Marine Corps. Though, this does have a different structure than my usual works. But still entertaining. Also, I worked on this quickly, because I enjoyed writing in this style tbh. Just once in a while. I also won't be too specific though.

♡ Their Story. One of them wants to marry you. The other wants to make sure he never does.

[BEGIN LOG]

Date: Irrelevant. Time: Wasted. Will to live: Nonexistent.

Not sure if it qualifies as survival or just prolonged suffering. Either way, I'm still here. Yay me.

For those of you who have found this document, congratulations. That means either one of three things:

You’re as desperate for answers as I was.

You’re already too deep into this mess and need a coping mechanism (writing helps, trust me).

You’re dead, and this is just some eldritch horror reading through my notes like a bedtime story before coming after me next.

If it’s option three, I hope you choke on my misery.

You ever wake up and wonder if, at some point in your past life, you pissed off some all-powerful cosmic entity? Like maybe you accidentally stepped on the Eldritch Lord of Relationships’ robe, and now you're cursed to live in the world's most EXHAUSTING social experiment?

No? Just me?

Well, sit down, idiots. Because apparently, you people find this entertaining.

Let’s get one thing straight. Reverse harems are not fun. You think it’s all, “Oh, she’s got multiple hot, dangerous men fighting over her, how dreamy!”—wrong. It’s like living in an active war zone but instead of actual grenades, it’s obsessive, overpowered lunatics with emotional damage so profound it could be studied in medical journals. There is nothing enjoyable about constantly monitoring the probability of spontaneous assassination attempts every time you walk into a room.

For whatever reason, some of you seem to think strength is the most important thing in this nightmare circus. Oh, how stupid. How naïve. If power alone decided the outcome of battles, then history books wouldn’t exist. But sure, let’s indulge your little power ranking delusions and talk about these walking natural disasters.

———

Before we begin, let me ask you, dear audience, one simple question: What is actually wrong with you?

No, really. Because I need to understand what kind of psychosis leads a person to actively seek out and romanticize a scenario in which one (1) socially detached, chronically exhausted individual (me) is forced to navigate an entire reverse harem of homicidal, magical, and politically influential lunatics.

You. Yes, you reading this. You think this is fun? You think it's "hot"? You think I'd enjoy this?

Congratulations, you're officially the reason why the world deserves to burn.

Now, since you refuse to let me die in peace and insist on knowing which of these disasters would hypothetically survive an all-out brawl (which, by the way, has already happened multiple times because they all suffer from incurable testosterone poisoning), I suppose I have no choice but to indulge your delusions.

────────────

❤︎ Disclaimer (because some of you can’t read).

Before you open your shriveled little mouths to cry about "power scaling" or "but actually, technically—" let me stop you right there. Everyone in this story is ridiculously strong. Their strength could shatter nations, rewrite laws of reality, and make lesser beings soil themselves at the mere thought of their existence. Compared to you? They might as well be extraterrestrial beings.

But compared to each other? Well. That’s where things get interesting.

So sit down, shut up, and try not to let your fragile egos get bruised when your favorite isn’t ranked as the ultimate all-powerful deity. You're lucky I even bothered to explain this, considering most of you wouldn't last five minutes in this world without crying, vomiting, or both.

────────────

Now, onto the subject at hand: Ranking the Men Who Have Made My Life a Living Hell.

Yes. Them. The supposed "love interests" of this so-called story. You ever wake up one day, and find yourself as the unfortunate soul caught in the crossfire of some overpowered, emotionally unstable men with enough magic, weaponry, and unresolved trauma to wage an entire war over you?

That’s me. Hi. Welcome to my breakdown.

Since I’ve managed to slip through the cracks (for now), I’ve decided to document their strengths. For research purposes? For future escape attempts? For spite? Who knows. Maybe all of the above. Maybe none.

Here’s what I’ve compiled so far:

———

❤︎ Physical Strength Ranking.

Because sometimes, magic isn’t enough and these men like to resolve their issues with their fists. Or swords. Or daggers. Or just brute force in general. It’s exhausting.

(Or: "Which One Would Yeet Me Across a Room the Farthest")

♡ Yandere! Master Thief – Listen. He’s fast. He’s slippery. He’s also the most likely to run away instead of engaging in actual combat. He doesn’t fight, he strategically retreats. If he has to fight, he wins by being an insufferable bastard. But brute force? No. If I had a rock, I could probably take him in a fistfight. (This is foreshadowing.)

♡ Yandere! Supreme Mage – He’s not weak, but let’s be real—he doesn’t train his body, he trains his magic. The only reason he’s above the thief is because he’s at least accustomed to lifting heavy grimoires and standing dramatically in high towers while the wind blows through his robes. That has to count for something.

♡ Yandere! Archduke – You would think someone of his status would have the raw strength to back it up, but let’s be real: he has People for that. Like, actual armies. Sure, he’s dangerous, but it’s not because of his strength. It’s because he can literally just send an entire brigade after you while he sits there sipping wine and making vague threats.

♡ Yandere! Crown Prince – A lifetime of royal training has made him decent at combat. He has discipline, skill, and years of experience with a sword. But would he win in a feral, no-holds-barred fistfight? No. Absolutely not. He’s still a prince. Which means at his core, he’s pampered. He would hesitate to fight dirty. And that’s why he would lose.

♡ Yandere! War Hero – Finally, someone who has actually seen some shit. He has the scars, the combat experience, and the sheer stubbornness of someone who refuses to die out of pure spite. Physically strong, absolutely. But he’s also very "by the book" when it comes to fighting. Which is unfortunate for him, because the next three don’t play fair.

♡ Yandere! Demon Assassin – Built different. Too fast, too smart, too unhinged to go down easily. He fights like he’s a glitch in reality—no wasted movement, no hesitation. Also the most likely to stab you first and ask questions never.

♡ Yandere! Demon King – Do I even need to explain this one? He is literally a demon king. He has killed celestial beings. His rage alone can shatter mountains. I once saw him accidentally break an entire fortress just because he got mildly irritated. Mildly.

♡ Yandere! Enemy Spy – …Ah. And here we are. The anomaly. The one that should not be this powerful and yet somehow is.

Listen, I know things. Things that you don’t. Just trust me when I say that if you think the Demon King is the most terrifying entity on this list, you are not ready for the truth.

———

❤︎ Magical Strength Ranking.

If I had a gold coin for every time I nearly died from spontaneous magic exposure, I’d buy an alternate dimension where none of these people exist. But alas.

(Or: "Which One Would Destroy Reality the Fastest")

♡ Yandere! War Hero – He’s strong, yes, but magically? Almost nonexistent. He’s a normal human being (albeit an absurdly powerful one). No magical gimmicks, just raw battle instinct. You could drop-kick him into another universe and he’d probably still survive off sheer willpower alone.

♡ Yandere! Crown Prince – Has magic. Uses it occasionally. But his real strength is in political manipulation and military strategy. If he’s using magic, it means shit has hit the fan hard.

♡ Yandere! Master Thief – Ah yes. Magic. The cheating tool of cowards. He doesn’t have raw magical power, but he has a frankly unfair amount of tricks that let him survive situations where he absolutely should have died. His whole existence is a scam.

♡ Yandere! Archduke – Refined, tactical, and disturbingly efficient. He does not waste magic. If he’s using it, it’s because you’re already dead.

♡ Yandere! Demon Assassin – Fast. Deadly. Unpredictable. The kind of person who would kill you with a single spell and not even stick around to see if it worked. Annoying.

♡ Yandere! Demon King – If raw magical power were the deciding factor, he’d be top three. He wields the kind of destructive force that civilizations fear. But he’s also emotionally unstable, which means he can be baited into losing control. Good for psychological warfare. Bad for literally everything else.

♡ Yandere! Supreme Mage – Time. Magic. Literal reality alteration. And yet, he is still not the most powerful one here. Why? Because despite his ability to turn back time, he still cannot escape the cursed fate of being a yandere in an otome isekai narrative.

♡ Yandere! Enemy Spy – I refuse to elaborate. This man is an anomaly. He should not be this strong. There is no reason for it. And yet, here we are. Spoilers? Yeah, I have them. Will I share? No. Wallow in ignorance, as I do in despair.

As if I’d tell you. What, do you think I get paid to explain my personal torment to an invisible audience? No, I do this out of spite.

────────────

❤︎ Conclusion.

If, at any point, you read through this document and thought to yourself, “Wow, this is so cool!” I regret to inform you that you have lost all credibility as a rational human being. There is nothing “cool” about being trapped in a constant state of hyper-awareness, wondering which psychotic warlord is going to attempt a romantic gesture that results in a body count.

To those who still believe that my life is some sort of dream scenario: I envy your naivety. May you never experience the reality of what it means to be the object of multiple obsessive affections. May you never know the fear of realizing that every person in your immediate vicinity could, with minimal effort, end your existence in ways that defy the laws of physics.

And if you still insist on romanticizing this?

Congratulations, you have Stockholm Syndrome. Seek help.

Disgusting.

And yet. Despite it all. You’re still here. You’ll come back. You’ll keep reading. Because deep down, you are not normal. You enjoy this insanity.

And that? That’s on you.

I wash my hands of this nonsense. Goodbye.

I don’t even care anymore. If you want to simp, fine. Just know that I am staring directly into your pathetic, degenerate soul and judging you immensely.

———

❤︎ Final notes. Power does not equate to survival. Intelligence does. And if you’re reading this, you’re already at a disadvantage because they’re smarter than they look. Pray for me. Or don’t. At this point, I have no expectations.

[END LOG]

────────────

If you want to be added or removed from the tag list, just comment on the MASTERLIST of Whispers in the Dark (WITD): Subtle Devotion, Lingering Shadows. Thank you.

General TAG LIST of “Whispers In The Dark”: @keisocool , @elvabeth , @elloredef , @mjsjshhd , @lem-hhn , @yuki-istired , @lilyalone , @starryperson , @yandreams-storageblog , @tiffyisme3760 , @songbirdgardensworld , @yune1337

❤︎ Fang Dokja's Books.

♡ Book 1. A Heart Devoured (AHD): A Dark Yandere Anthology ♡ Book 2. Forbidden Fruits (FF): Intimate Obsessions, Unhinged Desires. ♡ Book 3. World Ablaze (WA) : For You, I'd Burn the World. ♡ Book 4 [you are here]. Whispers in the Dark (WITD): Subtle Devotion, Lingering Shadows. ♡ Book 5. Ink & Insight (I&I): From Dead Dove to Daydreams. ♡ Library MASTERPOST 1. The Librarian’s Ledger: A Map to The Library of Forbidden Texts.

♡ Disclaimer. Not all stories are included in the masterpost due to Tumblr’s link limitations. However, most long-form stories can be found here. If you're searching for a specific yandere or theme, this guide will help you navigate The Library of Forbidden Texts. Proceed with caution—these tales explore obsession, madness, and devotion in their rawest forms.

[wee-larceny]

Time to Orbit: Unknown liveblog Chapters 011-020

Chapters 001-010

So recently I've been reading Time to Orbit: Unknown by @derinthescarletpescatarian who may or may not appreciate being tagged in this thing again; a sci-fi mystery you've probably heard about if you're on this webbed site. I am definitely having Thoughts about it, so I'm abandoning my uncomfortably long post for a shiny new one, and also grabbing the opportunity to organise some of those thoughts; we have 180+ chapters and any minor detail might be key. It's only getting more complicated, so let us go through unanswered questions and assorted fuckery. Mysterious, frankly bizarre, and/or outright shady behaviour exhibited by characters:

Captain Joshua Reimann: grabbed an axe and started attacking the walls. Wrecked CR1 and his own arm in the process. Died of an untreated infection. Science Officer Claire Rynn-Hatson, possibly also Science Officer Mohammed Aziz and/or Maintenance Officer Ash Dornae: did some sort of experiment involving dangerous chemicals: the experiment ended in disaster killing Rynn-Hatson on the spot and Aziz&Dornae later due to poisoning. The experiment was conducted for unknown reasons despite the lack of any available medical professionals. Captain Kinoshita Keiko: did not authorise the jettisoning of CR1 even though it cut more than half the crew off from her and made it impossible to turn fore engines on from her position. To be fair it's kind of understandable considering the number of people in there. She also died trying to move a giant, heavy crate of protein bars for some reason. Engineer Leilea Arc Hess: spilled coffee all over a keyboard and didn't clean it up. Also kept a physical calendar even though I don't think you need the AI for the calendar or timed reminders to work. The ship's AI: so many things. Didn't wake any new crewmembers when the deaths started; didn't decrease "gravity" or do anything else to save Captain Kinoshita; woke Aspen and Aspen alone when the fore engines needed turned on; needed Aspen to identify by chip even though it was the one that woke them up just a bit ago, who the fuck else would they be; is definitely lying about CR1; is definitely acting outside its parameters; other stuff probably. The organisation that sent them up here in the first place: doesn't allow personal effects which is comic-book villain behaviour. Also made the AI. Doctor Aspen Greaves: upset the bees.

My questions at this point: Why did Captain Reimann try to damage the ship? I've read Solaris, I know that sci-fi characters don't just go crazy for no reason. Why did no one treat Captain Reimann's wounds? Whose body is missing and where is it? There were only three frozen corpses for four potential dead people in the back of the ship. What is in CR1? How did the 120-something people die there? If a guy with an axe in the process of being subdued can actually cause a hull breach then that's not a spaceship I'd like to travel on. When and why was CR1 locked ? We know when it was damaged but not when it was password-locked. Which captain did it? Riemann probably didn't have the opportunity (it was still open during his rampage and I sure wouldn't have allowed him computer access after.) If it was Kinoshita, why? Why didn't the two halves of the crew reestablish contact? What killed the people at the front of the ship? What's up with the disgusting air filer? What was the experiment that killed three members of the crew? Why can't the new captain override the previous one's orders? Captain locks a door, dies, door is locked forever. That's just bad design. How did the aft engines get irreparably damaged? What happened when the ship lurched sideways? It can't have been just the rotations slowing, because that would decrease gravity unless there's a complicated science reason as to why it doesn't. There can't be a complicated science reason because Derin explains those immediately. Did the crew keep logs? If yes, read them. Current suspects:

Captain Reimann: convenient scapegoat but probably not the root of the problems. The AI: could be. Computers sometimes do stupid shit. My company had to change one of their domains once because a widely used cybersecurity AI decided that we're a phishing scam pretending to be ourselves and wouldn't let the programmers whitelist us. The organisation that launched the Courageous, whatever their name is: programmed the AI. Aspen: no, that's stupid.

[f3mtguy]

just got a post on my dash with

"y'all gotta stop calling yourselves afab at some point." and "there's a word for people who identify with what they were assigned at birth." and it had fucking 500+ reblogs BY QUEER PEOPLE.

fuck all of you.

i've been out for 10 years, medically transitioning for 4, and i can't walk into any room without being misgendered. even over the fucking phone while people actively have my information in front of their nose saying "MALE" i get misgendered. i get catcalled with girly terms. i get death stared or "what the fuck are you doing here?" out of every men's room. i have a fucking uterus that acts up like nobody's business. i get threatened with pregnancy. and you're pissing and shitting your pants because trans men use the term 'afab' when describing some very specific experiences BECAUSE CALLING THEMSELVES ANYTHING ELSE WHEN DESCRIBING THESE EXPERIENCES WOULD BE MISGENDERING THEMSELVES AND PROBABLY TRIGGER DYSPHORIA YOU DUMB FUCKS.

and why the fuck are the majority of reblogs trans women going "umm i never see any of my trans sisters call themselves amab so much 🤓☝️" MAYBE THERES A FUCKING REASON FOR THAT, USE YOUR FUCKING BRAIN FOR A MINUTE. i'm so fucking done being nice to transmisandrists. fuck all of you, genuinely.

we are 'whiny afabs' 'theyfabs' and 'have afab privilege' when it suits you but when we use the term on ourselves suddenly its 'umm why are you clinging onto that so much, lol, faker.'

[autumnmobile12]

Expanding on the Endeavor: Physical Strength vs Emotional Strength post I made because I finally have the wording for it, this is my more in-depth take on where Endeavor ended up in the finale.

In a twisted way, I’m glad he survived, and the reason for that is I’m personally a fan of the ‘live in despair’ trope.

Endeavor is a character whose identity lies heavily in his own physical capabilities.  Physically, he’s a very strong and imposing character, and all his life, he has used that strength both in the positive manner of fighting villains and protecting the public and in a negative manner to abuse and intimidate his family. His ties to his physical strength is a core aspect of his personality.

But another factor that might be in play is I actually think Endeavor suffers from depression. If that's the case, he has been dealing with it for years. And I don't say that as an excuse for everything he's done because accountability and all, but it would explain a lot.  Let’s face it, therapy and medication might’ve done this guy and his family a world of good.

Depression in men often presents itself as anger compared to women who experience it more commonly as stress/sadness. This is due to a combined factor of social expectations for men and a possible difference in brain chemistry between men and women. Symptoms of depression in men can include:

Aggression

Irritability

Controlling/abusive behavior

Overworking to avoid addressing negative feelings and overworking to the exclusion of any other hobbies/interests. (Does he even have a life outside of work?)

Isolation (He doesn’t really go out of his way to interact with co-workers, peers, or anyone in his family aside from Shouto.)

And if you really think about it, Endeavor's career-long status of second place in his profession did probably have ties to his own self-worth, so add in the 20+ years of feeling like he was never good enough that he projected onto Touya.

There's also the fact his oldest son died in a horrible accident that could have been prevented and he knows it. Touya’s death probably exacerbated his depression because I don’t think Endeavor is the sort of person to take a month off to mourn. I think he went right back to work to distract himself from it and never addressed his son’s death and he certainly never confronted his own part in it. That should have been a personal turning point for him to self-examine and re-evaluate some life choices, but see the post in the link above for the analysis on why he didn't. In short, no wonder Dabi chose the war path.

...

On top of all that, there's the aforementioned societal pressure that men are supposed to ‘tough out it’ because being sad/vulnerable is viewed as weakness, and Japan in particular does have a societal stigma against mental illness, so those two factors alone would mean Endeavor probably never considered he had depression or sought treatment for it even if he did. And so he used the intense physical activity of his job to overwork himself and further avoided actually confronting the emotional turmoil going on within himself and his own household.

But the finale:

Endeavor is crippled, he is missing an arm, he can’t walk by himself, he can’t dress himself, his former outlet of overworking himself is an impossibility, and he is now dependent on Rei’s care for the rest of his life, which is a subversion of her being forced to remain financially dependent on him for the majority of their marriage.  Everything that made him the strong, independent person that he was before Final War has been stripped away.  One of his children is dead because of him, one has all but disowned him as a parent, and the remaining two have limited contact with him.

This is in no way close to the dignified retirement he probably had in mind.

Endeavor didn’t die and ‘rest in peace.’

And now he gets to sit in his wheelchair and dwell on the choices that put him there for the rest of his life and, reminder, he's not an old man. He's middle aged, so he's got a few more decades of this to look forward to. He spent his whole life chasing after a goal that was egotistical, he ruined his own life and the lives of his family, he achieved his goal in the most hollow victory imaginable, and it all came crashing down.

It might not be legal justice for the abuse and mistreatment he put his family through, but I do see it as karmic justice. In all, it's a sad and pathetic end to a sad and pathetic life. The guy lives, but he lives in despair.

[dumfanting]

Damn Woman

AO3 Link Tumblr exclusive (for now)

Rating: teen

Warnings: blood, moderate description of injury, stitches, hypothermia | Notes: PoV third person, past tense.

@clonexocweek

I’m not 100% sure if I’ve done this right, so I guess I’ll find out.

I’ve been debating changing the PoV of Same Heart to that of an OC rather than a reader, and I figure this can be a kind of test run or soft introduction to that. If you haven’t read Same Heart (please do! I’m very proud of it.) the general idea is that the reader/ Ionne loses Echo and copes by taking an assignment as the medic of clone force 99.

At this point in the timeline, between chapters 13 and 14, Ionne has been with the Batch for a handful of weeks; long enough to get familiar with the guys, and long enough to realize that Crosshair is an asshole. What she doesn’t know is that he’s got a thing for her, but has no idea how to handle it. This is one of many conflicts between the two.

Thanks for reading and/or reblogging! I’ve got more like this one planned, if it’s received well enough.

~3100 words

Crosshair/ F! OC

Things go wrong during a mission, and despite her dislike of Crosshair, she does her job, whether he likes it or not.

————

The attack was bad, but would be survivable if Ionne moved quickly enough.

She rushed to Crosshair’s side, kneeling beside him in the snow that was rapidly changing from white to red. A cursory glance over his left calf showed that his armor had been cracked in multiple places; whatever the animal was, it was strong enough to break through his armor, which did not bode well. The broken pieces stopped her from being able to see the extent of the injury, so she quickly discarded them. It was too dark to really tell if anything else happened, but it was obvious that his leg was bleeding freely. Ionne went into a pouch on her own leg and brought out a length of thick material, wrapping it quickly and tightly around his calf, tying it off behind his knee as an emergency tourniquet.

Ionne turned to take her medic’s pack off, but before she could move completely, a loud, low growl cut through the air. Glancing around, she had no idea where it was coming from. Crosshair, though dazed, was conscious, which was a small blessing; they needed to get out of there and she wasn’t quite strong enough to carry him on her own. He sat up and tried to stand, moving his leg in the process, which sent a bolt of pain through it that was bad enough for him to fall onto his side, cursing. Despite the two of them wearing their helmets, Ionne instinctively held her hand over Crosshair’s mouth. He sat up again, but before he could say anything, she held her finger up in the universal “be quiet” gesture.

They both stayed as silent and still as possible, and when the growl rang out again, it was far too close. The hair on the back of Ionne’s neck stood on end, and she felt a pair of predatory eyes staring into her back. As she slowly reached for one of her blasters, holstered to her hips, the snow behind her crunched under a heavy footstep, and her breath caught in her throat.

The next thing Ionne knew, Crosshair had roughly knocked her out of the way before firing off a single shot from his rifle. She wasn’t sure if he had hit the creature or just scared it, but the two of them could hear it retreating into the nearby tree line. After about two seconds she let out a long breath that steamed when it hit the cold night air after going through her helmet’s mouth vent.

“Thanks,” she said, trying to get her heart rate back down.

“Shut up, there are probably more,” Crosshair hissed. She nodded at him, then got to her feet. She bent down and held a hand out to him, but he huffed and waved her away. He tried again to stand, and despite keeping his weight off his injured leg, he still collapsed before he could stand upright.

Ionne rolled her eyes, then crouched down and took his right hand, pulled his arm around her shoulders, and allowed him to lean his weight into her. He used his rifle as a makeshift crutch in his other hand, and although it was slow going, the two of them were able to get away from the area.

After a grueling ten minute uphill walk that normally would have taken just three, Ionne and Crosshair came to a stop outside the mouth of a small cave. Before going in, she looked over at him and found he was scanning over the space with the sensor attached to his helmet.

“We’re clear, there’s nothing in there,” he said, as quietly as possible. Ionne nodded at him again and she half-carried him inside.

After they both turned on their attached headlamps, Ionne and Crosshair went as far back into the cave as possible, stopping at the rear wall. She guided him into a sitting position, then knelt beside his injured leg before she removed her helmet and pointed its light directly at the wound. The improvised tourniquet seemed to have done its job, and when Ionne cut it away, Crosshair still bled, but nowhere near as heavily as he had been. Ionne took her med pack off of her back, grabbed a pair of rubber gloves, and swapped them with her regular ones.

“I need to feel for anything I can’t see,” Ionne said. Before Crosshair could react, she started to gently but firmly run her hands over his leg, pressing deeply into his skin. Crosshair grit his teeth and grunted, but was otherwise still and quiet.

“Well, whatever the fuck it was, it didn’t bite deep or hard enough to break any bones,” Ionne said. “However, there is skin and muscle damage that I need to take care of as soon as possible.”

Crosshair watched her grab a bottle of bacta spray and mist it over his torn skin, and he hissed through his teeth at the sting. He reached up and wrenched his helmet off, a sheen of sweat on his forehead despite the surrounding chill. Ionne then prepared a suture and he tried not to show how anxious he was.

“This is gonna hurt, but I have to do it now, so I need you to stay as still as possible,” Ionne said, and something about her calm but firm tone soothed his rising panic, though he’d never admit it. She looked up at his wide eyes and he nodded at her.

She wasn’t lying; it did hurt, a lot. Crosshair grit his teeth and clenched his jaw, barely able to contain a shout. Adrenaline kicked back up, dulling his pain, and he was able to control his breathing again. Ionne looked back up at him apologetically, then pulled the stitches taut, more or less forcing the torn muscle back into place.

Crosshair couldn’t stop himself from crying out as this happened, which echoed through the cave. Breathing heavily, he looked down and saw Ionne preparing another suture. He whined and instinctively tried to back farther away from her, but only succeeded in clenching the freshly stitched muscle in his calf and sending another bolt of pain through his body. He slumped back against the cave wall, panting for breath as tears of pain and exertion escaped the corners of his eyes.

“Crosshair, look at me!” Ionne said, her commanding tone grabbing his attention. “You need to let me close the skin. It fucking hurts, I know, but you’ll be fine, I won’t let anything happen to you,” she continued, maintaining unbroken eye contact with him.

“I thought you hated me,” he said, then groaned when he shifted his leg again.

“I wouldn’t go that far, though I certainly don’t like you,” Ionne admitted. “But I’d be a pretty shitty medic if I let that stop me from taking care of you. Now hold still, this is the last few stitches.”

“Just do it,” Crosshair said, speaking through clenched teeth. Ionne pierced his skin without warning and he was barely able to hold back a shout as his eyes watered over. Ionne worked as quickly as she could, and the wound was tightly closed a minute later. Crosshair was left panting for breath and grimacing against the pain.

“Hey, you’re okay; that was the worst of it, I promise,” she said, having seen this. Her voice was softer, and she rested her hand on his knee, dragging her thumb back and forth over his armor and calming him further. He couldn’t actually feel her touch, but he shivered nonetheless. To his relief, she didn’t seem to notice.

“I’ve just got to clean and bandage it up, then I’ll fuck off, okay?” she continued, and Crosshair felt a surge of guilt over her phrasing. Flustered and trying to hide it, he snapped at her.

“Good, now hurry up,” he spat.

She didn’t flinch at this, and in fact barely reacted to his harsh words in general anymore. Soon enough, her work was done. After pulling her soiled gloves off, she went into her pack one more time and shuffled forward with her canteen and a few small tablets in her hand.

“Here, take these. It won’t kill the pain entirely but it’ll be better than nothing,” Ionne said as she handed the items to him.

“That's not my canteen,” he said, but took the pills with a deep swig of her water regardless.

“I know. Yours is empty,” Ionne said, then took the much lighter container back from him. Crosshair's guilt surged again, but he said nothing.

“You should get some rest, I’ll keep watch,” she continued, her voice now tired, and got to her feet. She walked towards his rifle and he snapped at her again.

“Don’t touch that,” he spat, and she glared over her shoulder at him.

“Wasn’t going to,” she said coolly, passing it as she moved toward the mouth of the cave. “You’re welcome, by the way,” she said without looking at him, though she knew he was scowling at her. He always was.

She sat down near the cave entrance, just out of sight of the outside. She activated her distress beacon, then kept a lookout for both the thing that had attacked them and the rest of the squad.

Less than five minutes had passed before Ionne heard Crosshair softly calling for her. After a cursory glance around outside, she got to her feet and hurried over to him.

“What is it?” she said, keeping her voice low as she knelt beside him.

“Answer your kriffing comm,” he said, pushing her helmet towards her. She held back an irritated sigh, then detached the small, beeping device from the side. She clicked a button, and a wavering image came into view, lighting up the dark cave.

“Ionne, we got your distress call, is Crosshair with you? Are you two alright?” crackled through the static, but despite this she could hear the worry in Hunter's voice.

“Yeah, he’s here; I’m fine but he’s not.”

“What happened?”

“We were arguing, I don’t even remember what about, and something ambushed us. It bit through the armor on his left leg before he was able to shoot at it and scare it off.” Ionne said, and Hunter cursed.

“Shit… How bad is it?”

“No broken bones, but I had to stitch up some tears in the muscle and skin.”

“Better than dead I guess. Where are you?” he asked, and Ionne hesitated. “Ionne… where are you?” Hunter repeated, sounding worried again.

“I… don’t entirely know,” Ionne admitted. “But we can’t be more than a few clicks from where we all split up. We’re in an empty cave halfway up a hill. Can’t you trace the distress beacon?” she asked. Tech moved into view and spoke next.

“Typically, yes, but there’s a fault in the system that is causing it to malfunction. I’m surprised that you were able to send out a signal of any kind,” he said. Ionne’s heart sank, and in the background, she heard Hunter make a sound of frustration.

“God dammit Tech! The second we get back on the ship you’re fixing that; I can’t believe you didn’t say anything!” he snapped.

“My focus was on collecting data on this planet for the mission. Which, by the way, included a map of the area with landmarks like caves noted.” Tech fired back.

“Really?” Ionne said. “Do you think that’ll help?”

“The map is rudimentary, but I’ve worked with less information in worse circumstances.” Tech said, then paused for a moment. “That said, I don’t know how long it will take for us to find you. Are you somewhere safe?”

“Safe is a stretch,” Ionne said. “But we’re sheltered and there’s only one way in or out.”

“That will have to do,” Hunter said, taking over again. “Better buckle down, it’s supposed to drop into the negatives tonight.”

Ionne thanked him, then clicked off the holo-comm. Crosshair, having heard everything, huffed, getting her attention.

“And just how are they going to know which cave we’re in? You can’t expect them to wander blindly into the dark, hoping they find us and not another pissed off animal,” he said, narrowing his eyes at her. Ionne thought for a moment, then went back into her pack. She rummaged around for a few seconds, mumbling to herself, before finding a large chemical light. She took it, and a roll of adhesive bandage tape, and returned to the mouth of the cave. She cracked the light and shook it, activating it, then used the tape to hang it up outside.

Ionne turned back towards Crosshair, illuminated by the bright yellow-green of the chemical light. As she walked deeper inside, the light seemed to form an aura around her, giving her an almost otherworldly appearance. She met his eyes, and he had to focus in order to keep his heart rate steady and his face neutral.

She went into her pack a third time, then sat down next to him on his left, close enough for their bodies to touch, with two things in her hands. One was a ration bar that she broke into two uneven pieces, before she handed him the larger portion.

“You’ll need the energy to heal,” she said, her voice still soft, like it had been just before she applied the second suture to his leg. Her calm tone eased his faint anxiety, and he mumbled out a ‘thanks’ before eating it.

Once Ionne had finished her share of the ration bar, she showed Crosshair the other thing she’d taken out of her pack; an emergency thermal blanket, folded tightly into a bag about the size of a datapad. She opened it up, then flapped it out. It was large enough to cover two or three people, and she draped it over him, tucking it between his back and the wall, but left nothing for herself.

With that done, Ionne leaned back against the wall, crossed her arms, and pulled her knees close to her chest in an attempt to hold in as much body heat as she could. Crosshair watched her shiver for about a minute, then sighed, and she glanced over at him.

“Do you need something else?” she asked.

“Yeah, I need you alive, so shut up and come here,” he said, untucking half the blanket from himself and holding it open, clearly showing the space he’d made for her. She looked at him, confused.

He rolled his eyes at her.

“I’m not about to let the one who’s taking care of me freeze to death,” he said, then flapped the blanket at her. She watched him for a few seconds, then shrugged. She took off her upper kit and set the armor pieces aside, then told Crosshair to do the same. He gave her a withering look, and she rolled her eyes before explaining herself.

“It’ll be easier to keep each other warm without the plastoid in the way. Skin on skin would be better, but I know that’s not gonna happen,” she said with a smirk.

“Tch. Fine,” he huffed, then followed her lead. With the two of them down to just their blacks up top, Ionne moved in close to him and tucked herself tightly into his side before pulling the blanket back around them both.

Neither of them spoke, and in fact avoided each other's eyes. Ionne was trying not to enjoy Crosshair's warmth too much, and he was focused on how nice her hair smelled.

Eventually, Crosshair fell asleep first, slumping over and inadvertently settling his head into the hollow of Ionne’s shoulder. She froze, startled, but when he didn’t move, she relaxed. She positioned his legs over hers, being careful around his wound, pulled his right arm across her torso, then wrapped her arms around his shoulders and lower back, holding him closely. Once she relaxed, she also fell asleep, her cheek resting on his head.

Ionne was awoken some time later by familiar voices.

“You’re recording this right?”

Ah, there’s Hunter.

“Always. Why?”

And Tech, obviously.

“You know he’s gonna deny this ever happened,” followed by a snort of barely contained laughter.

And that’s Wrecker.

Ionne slowly blinked as she opened her eyes and adjusted to the change in lighting. It looked like she and Crosshair had spent the entire night together in the cave. She yawned and shifted her weight, and Crosshair unconsciously pressed himself closer to her, mumbling something nobody could make out. She smiled softly at him despite herself, shaking her head, then shifted her attention to Hunter, who was smirking.

“Cute. Now get him up, there’s a storm coming and we need to get back to the ship before it hits,” he said. Ionne nodded at him, then addressed Tech.

“I want a copy of this,” she said, gesturing to Crosshair and herself, which made Wrecker laugh loudly, which in turn, woke Crosshair. He grunted as he sat up, and when he saw everyone watching him, he quickly let Ionne go and tried to shift away from her. He only succeeded in clenching the freshly-stitched muscle in his leg and cursing loudly from the pain.

After about ten minutes, once he and Ionne had their armor and helmets back on, she changed his bandages, then tucked everything neatly back into her pack.

She held her hand out to Crosshair in a silent offer to help him to his feet, but, in a repeat of his actions in the snow the night before, he just scowled at her and waved her away. Annoyed, but not surprised, Ionne simply sighed and moved next to Hunter at the mouth of the cave. Predictably, when Crosshair tried to stand, he couldn’t put any weight on his injured leg, and would have collapsed again if Wrecker hadn’t caught him.

As everyone left the cave, Wrecker carried Crosshair bridal-style, and while he cursed and grumbled Ionne tried not to laugh at him.

Taglist: @kaminocasey @madameminor @jennamelinda12 @the-sith-in-the-sky-with-diamond @the-cantina @arctrooper69 @salaminus @jedi-hawkins @wolveria @zoeykallus @whore4rex @echo-is-worth-more-than-2000 @vanyaluxz1007 @jane8675 @griffedeloup

To be added to or removed from future lists, reply to this post.

[bearboyyy]

Okay this is such a stretch but I feel like there is a 3rd alter within Tim and I need to yap about it.

So very occasionally, there will be periods of time where it’s not Tim, but not quite Masky either. Tim can be irritable, he can be angry- and obviously he can be stressed all for good reason. Like you mentioned there’s not really an occurrence where Tim is actively bitching for no reason, unlike Alex (no shade love Alex and his bitching). Tim can be sassy and chatty and I believe that him and Jay probably chatted a bit in those hours together off camera.

Masky on the other hand doesn’t speak at all. He is entirely silent and can noticeably violent. Masky is a watcher, you can even go as far as to say that he is a protector. When Jay or The Operator are doing something that may endanger Tim, Masky will become watchful, and incredibly violent.

From Tim’s medical records you can see that he has a past of hallucinations, chronic headaches, irritation, rage, depression, anhedonia, etc. Tim admits that he has been going to therapy (and at least was) and is doing a lot better. Less waking up in the middle of the woods with a mask.

Less prefacing, more points ANYWAYS. “Sam what do you mean 3rd alter?” What if in times where Tim was afraid (like for his life afraid), he started to regress? His headaches are starting to flare up more, he is constantly dissociative and irritated and he’s hallucinating. This third alter is an area between Tim and Masky where he mentally regresses to how he felt as a child.

Regressed Tim is fundamentally still Tim, but he feels exactly how Tim felt as a child. Afraid and angry. I think my only proving point of this is what you previously said about this specific entry and when Tim drives from Rosswood Park to the abandoned hospital. All while dissociating and hallucinating.

Idk this is stupid I had just been thinking about this LMAO

Also I deeply apologize if I misspoke at all, I don’t know a whole lot about DID and systems.

Can I be insane and say that it was Masky still fronting in this moment? Hear me out, please. Hear me out.

I don't think Tim ever wears the jacket casually, not when we see him at least. He's usually in his dumb ass flannels or short sleeved shirts, okay? Okay. Cool.

Tim's mood in this scene is REALLY OFF. He's way too irritated and almost frustrated, like, why? You knew you were coming here, why be an ass about it? It's just the way he seems to HATE being there even though we can see that he really didn't mind and even was having fun on other tapes, PLUS Alex was still Whimsey and silly during this time. Bro had NO reason to be an ass. NONE. PLUS !!! Tim's never an asshole. Not without a reason. He's a genuinely nice guy !!! Even when he's feeling sick !!

We know that Masky and Brian were already spying on Alex during this time, so I don't think it's THAT crazy to assume he was simply in the process of switching with Tim again, hence the pills and all. They needed Tim and Brian just as much as they needed Masky and Hoody.

It's the eyes guys. It's the pure hatred and disgust towards Alex okay? Okay. Cool. I'm normal. So very normal.

[color-ns]

As per my yearly tradition I managed to remain a total psychopath when it comes to listening to music all day every day- love you @setitoff and @blackgryph0n !!! You make my day, every day ♥︎ (as you can clearly see)

[inkskinned]

you have to go to work so you can pay for your doctor, who is not taking your insurance right now, and if you say i can't afford the doctor's you are told - get a better job. it is very sad that you are unwell, yes, but maybe you should have thought about that before not having a better job.

(where is the better job? who is giving out these better jobs? you are sick, you are hurting - how the hell are you supposed to be well enough for this better job?)

but you go to the doctor because you had the nerve to be hurt or sick or whatever else. and they tell you that it is because you have anxiety. you try your best. you are a self-advocate. you've done the reading (which sometimes pisses them off worse, honestly). you say it is actually adding to my anxiety, it is effecting my quality of life. so they say that you are fat. they say that all young people have this happen to them, isn't it a medical marvel! they say that you should eat more vegetables. they say that you probably just need to lose a little more weight, and that you are faking it for attention.

(what attention could this doctor possibly give? what validation? that's their fucking job, isn't it?)

there is always a hypochondriac, right. someone always tells you about a hypochondriac. or someone who is unnecessarily aggressive during the worst days of their life. or someone looking "for a quick fix". or some idiot who wasn't educated about how to properly care for themselves who just abandons their treatment. and again, the hypochondriac, the overly-cautious hysteric. these people don't deserve to be treated like humans (right), and since you might be one of these people, you also don't get treated like a human. because those people can really fuck with the system, you now have to pay for it. and besides. you're actually probably faking it.

(more often than not, you find a 2:1 ratio of these stories. for every "hypochondriac", there are 2 people who knew something was wrong, and yet nobody could fucking find it. the story often ends with pointless suffering. the story often ends with and now it's too late, and it's going to kill me.)

you are actually just making excuses. someone else got that procedure or that diagnosis and he's fine, you should be fine too. someone else said they watched a documentary about other inspirational people with your exact same condition, maybe you should be inspirational, too. you're just too morbid. your pain and your experience is probably just not statistically concerning. it is all self-reported anyway, and you're just being a baby.

(once, while sitting down in the middle of making coffee, you had the sudden, horrible thought - i could kill myself to make the pain stop. you had to call your best friend after that. had to pet your dog. had to cry about it in the shower. you won't, but that moment - god, fuck. the pain just goes on and on.)

you know someone who went in for routine surgery and said i still feel everything. they told her to just relax. it took her kicking and screaming before they figured out she wasn't lying - the anesthetic drip hadn't been working. you know someone who went in for severe migraines who was told drink water and lose weight. you know someone who was actively bleeding out and throwing up in the ER and was told you're just having a bad period.

in the ER there are always these little posters saying things like "don't wait! get checked today!" and you think about how often you do wait. how often the days spool out. you once waited a full week before seeing the doctor for what you thought was a sprained wrist. it had actually been broken - they had to rebreak it to set it.

but you go into the doctor. the problem you're having is immediate. the person behind the counter frowns and says we're not taking your insurance. you will be paying for this out-of-pocket.

they send you home with tylenol and a little health packet about weight loss or anxiety or attention deficit. on the front it has your birthday and diagnosis. you think about crying, and the words swim. it might as well say go fuck yourself. it might as well say you're a fucking idiot. it might as well say light your money on fire and lie down in it. and the entire fucking time - the problem persists.

it's okay. it's okay, it's just another thing, you think. it's just another thing i have to learn to live with.

[turtleblogatlast]

Mentioned this before but as much as I adore the medic Leo headcanon, my favorite type of it is when it’s basically just Leo knowing the most surface level of stuff and carrying around a super basic first-aid kit in his pack. So he knows how to use gauze, and he’s got a ton of Jupiter Jim branded bandaids, and if you really needed it then he can hit you up with some ibuprofen but other than that? Nothing.

But. I love the idea that that changes post-invasion.

They’re pretty sturdy, all of them, so they can take more than one beating and really only need a bandaid for the fun of it. But the invasion hit harder than ice packs and “lots of rest” would help with, and I can bet that a post being beaten to a pulp Leo would have a lot of time on his hands to reflect and, maybe, learn a thing or two as he waits to get better.

It’s nothing excessive, not at first, but he watches veterinary videos, and live surgeries, and other videos in that same realm (because the books are, uh, a bit too jargon-y for him) multiple times over. Just so he knows. Just in case he needs to know.

In his pack, there’s a first-aid kit. With the use of a mini portal for extra space, the kit has grown to include everything from scalpels to butterfly stitches to sutures to even fiberglass patches.

And obviously the Jupiter Jim brand bandaids stay too.

[little-pondhead]

The Curse Of Hope

_

Danny is in another universe. He had a reason, but he doesn’t remember anymore. He can only stare, horrified and disgusted, at the sickest city spirit he’s ever seen. Shivering and swaying with every step, core exposed, and ectoplasm leaking from wounds that are decades old. A ratty blanket was thrown over their shoulders, barely hiding the spirit’s pale grey skin and protruding black bones.

The spirit didn’t even sense him until he reached out to touch its wispy shoulders. The spirit flinched, clutching at the dozens of trinkets hanging from their neck and tucking in on themselves like they were expecting a blow.

“Oh, shit,” He swore, floating back a few feet, hands in the air, to show he meant no harm. “I’m sorry. I promise, I’m not here to steal from you.” The spirit shivered again and rolled a pearl necklace in between their fingers. A nervous habit. “Uh, I like that pocket watch? It’s very nice.”

That got their attention. They peeked at Danny, and he saw that more tattered cloth was covering their eyes, blending in with the stringy hair that reached the ground. Their blanket fluttered weakly, revealing hundreds of thousands of tiny marks etched into their skin. Scars, really. Scars that wrote out curse after curse onto the spirit’s very being. They burned with evil intent, and even reached inside the spirit’s body and wrapped around their core.

Occasionally, blinding specks of color raced across their body, temporarily erasing the writing, but it always returned quickly. He watched, a little detached, as one particular line rewrote itself across their rough forearm, drawing fresh ectoplasm like someone was writing it with a thin knife.

“Are you…alright?” Danny stuttered. A stupid question.

The spirit cocked its head. He couldn’t see their eyes, but he felt their burning gaze as they pondered the question.

“The pain of others becomes mine own.” They rasped. “The lights of the city dim as rotten wealth clogs mine veins. Magicks long forgotten have eaten mine skins, pulled mine cloak, and darkened mine skies. Helios has refused to grace mine doorstep, and the seasons of the Earth have revoked their kindness.”

Danny held his breath. It felt like he was the one with the exposed core, not the spirit.

The spirit shivered once more. “Tell mine soul, little lamb. How could this Forsaken City know peace, when it was long since ripped from mine hands?”

Shit, he needed Frostbite. And maybe Clockwork. Now.

-Or-

Danny meets the spirit of Gotham City. The villains and rogues that have plagued the city for decades are literal curses that are taking quite the toll on Gotham, and honestly, Danny isn’t sure how much longer they can hold out. The heroes seem to be doing some help, and are probably the reason Gotham made it this far, but the poor city needs help from the Realms if they want to get better.

Luckily, Danny can provide that help.

But only if he could get Gotham to leave their city behind. Because recovery is going to take a very long time.

[idontmindifuforgetme]

the neurologist i shadow is so funny bc she has a valley girl accent and yet she's the smartest person in the room. this woman was casually doing case consenus ab a man w frontotemporal dementia in the highest girliest voice imaginable. i want to be her i think

[nostalgia-tblr]

fandom goes into deep denial about the attempted infanticide of baby loki because the imperialism reading of it works against the text and requires that the baby be stolen not abandoned, and that this theft be for the most nefarious and imperialist purposes we can think of. whereas actually - and i was going to say this is 'the obvious parallel' but no it's not even a parallel it's what's clearly happening there - the baby's been left out to die for being disabled hasn't he?

the word 'runt' gets used but adult loki compared to other frost giants is not just slightly on the small side, he's probably equivalent to a human with dwarfism, which definitely brings this into Infanticiding The Disabled Child territory. which a) laufey cannot be allowed to do because that's a fucked up and horrible thing to do* b) we also can't allow that odin just kept that baby because by asgardian standards there was no obvious disability there. (the social model of disability, but with giants and less-giants**) "why would you be throwing out this baby, laufey? it looks normal-sized. it doesn't even have an unusual number of limbs. yeah, i am taking this baby as a friend for my similarly-sized bio-son. mine now. finders keepers." i point this out because the disabled baby is not saved by someone thinking disability-based infanticide is wrong - at least not necessarily so - but by being found by someone who doesn't recognise the supposed problem. to whom it simply does not exist.

and of course fandom loves sad little feeble loki being weak and pathetic in fic, but i have somehow never seen this tied to the fact that he is canonically undersized for his species and likely has some connected internal fuckery going on with his organs. we have no idea what made him that small or what it'd do and - here's the fun kicker for you angst fans! - probably nobody on asgard would either. when's the last time any of them had to look after even an entirely able-bodied jotun? how likely is it that they can just write off to jotunheim to say "hey what's up with that kid your king tried to murder? how would we fix him if he lived here? yeah, our king kept him. no, we didn't eat the baby! can we borrow a medical textbook? what do you mean you don't have paper there. well how do you write down how the orientalist belly-dancer outfits are to be worn? well then how... no, come back. did you just hang up on a letter???"

sorry, i digressed. what i was aiming for was that there is a very obvious reason why loki might be unusually weak for a lad who looks healthy to us and who doesn't seem any smaller or less able-bodied than the people around him, but i just don't see it being deployed in fic or in meta or whatever. is this because the 'laufey just left his baby out for some fresh air like norwegians do' reading kind of relies on that baby not being seen as a burden to be got rid of and we all kind of agree that... no. no, i shall not finish that thought. it is too depressing. it probably is that though isn't it?

anyway. this is me wondering what is up with that. other than maybe some kind of 'echo-chamber effect' where even the wildest ideas can become commonly-held fanon and where it'd be easy to just straight-up ignore a very obvious implication of baby-murdering because someone leaving you to just fucking die for being disabled is somehow not enough oppression for a blorbo in these enlightened times. or because it breaks a popular fandom interpretation of events. or something like that?

*in fairness i'd say humans from earth are probably within the group that's allowed to just not care about humans from earth getting invaded and killed.

**i say 'less-giants' because look:

look at this literal giant among men. tiny scrawny little thing, so smol and so freakishly tall to the humans. i call this 'the social model of smolness.'

[jaynovz]

I'm sorry but did anyone else see the weird oil slick-colored spiderweb looking stringy infection shit coming out of Jayce's broken leg in the ravine

Cuz like... Listen that seems unresolved. like dude fashioned a brace out of his busted up hammer wrapped that bad boy up climbed out got sent home, contacted his tailor ASAP to make a new badass mourning robes battle 'fit and just... Shoved all that advanced fungal Anomaly flavor sepsis/gangrene/whatever in the vault aka form-fitting black pants and a spanking new brace (boy did you hit the forge immediately too? Bury it deep amirite 😎👉👉)