#maybe the more general term ‘flare’ works

[kiragecko]

[Images of the Core 4.

Tim is labeled, ‘big shirt, big pants’, and is wearing a baggy long sleeve covered with an even larger t-shirt, very baggy sweats, runners, and chunky headphones around his neck.

Bart is labeled, ‘big shirt, lil pants’, and is wearing an oversized t-shirt partially tucked into shorts, with mismatched socks and shoes.

Cassie is labeled, ‘lil shirt, big pants’, and is wearing a halter top with giant early-2000s hip-huggers (low-cut baggy pants).

Kon-El is labeled, ‘lil shirt, lil pants’ and is wearing tiny shorts, a tight belly shirt, shoes, and socks.

The four images are shown again under the cut without text.

End ID.]

core four political compass based on this post by @aliteralchicken. op is asking the right questions

[cobraaah]

Sebastian solace x gn reader (fem anatomy but like,, they/them pronouns if that's alr,,) smut,,, breeding kink,, or something like that,, preferably with emphasis on size dif and power imbalance,, and perhaps some degrading? PLEASE IM BEGGING SOOOOO HARD

Pairing• [Sebastian ♡ Reader]

A/N• YES!! I originally was gonna do something like this in the first place, so it worked out! I had multiple ideas on how his anatomy would work , like some 𝓕𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓴𝔂 ideas. But I decided to keep it tame since I don't know how 𝓕𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓴𝔂 you guys are. I still don't know how warnings work, LOL.

Warnings• Smut 18+, breeding, size dif, power imbalance, degrading

Word count• 1.1 K

Discount

Reaching door fifty wasn't the easiest, considering you accidently angered Eyefestation, and you managed to actually survive Pandemonium on a whim. With you being rushed multiple times by Angler and Blitz, you never had the right opportunities to check for data, leaving you with a measly one hundred intel. With a deep breath pushing open door fifty, you're met with the familiar voice of your condescending fishy friend, Sebastian. "Hey, over here." His voice rang through the vent beside you, sounding unexciting as ever. Popping open the vent and crawling through you're met with the tall hybrid, towering over you. As your eyes locked on his bored ones, his fins flared out slightly upon noticing it was you. "Oh! Hello my little minnow, what may you be looking for today? I stumbled upon this black light, it's pretty rare, four hundred Intel for it." A small smirk came on his face as a frown formed on yours. "What's the problem? Couldn't reel in that much Intel so far? Normally, you come in and buy everything, but it seems you're lacking today." A soft tsking noise can be heard from him as his tail flicked. You bit the inside of your cheek, eyeing the black light strapped to his tail. It could come in use against those annoying squiddle later on. "Could you maybe give me a . . discount?" Managing to look back up at him, his gaze still boreing in on you. Silence covered the room as he stared at you before laughing. "A. . A discount?"

His laughter quickly died down as he realized you weren't joking with him. "Awh. . oh.." He glanced off to the side with his eyes squinted, he pops his clawed fingers in a fidgeting motion as he seemed in thought. His esca flickerd for a moment before he turned back to you, "I have a proposition! How about I give you a very generous discount since you're not an annoying parasite like the rest of the little divers they send down here. ." His voice trailed off to something more luscious. "In exchange though, you give yourself up to me?" A patronizing grin formed on his face as he saw the soft blush creep onto your face. Your mouth moved, but nothing came out in protest, just soft stutterd "I. ."'s and "Wha. ."'s fell from your mouth. The embarrassment at the idea picked at your brain. "Are you stupid or something? Did you forget how to speak?" The snarkness in his voice makes your stomach flutter. "I guess. ." Timidly accepting his terms, his grin comes back, briefly flashing his sharp teeth. "Well then, shall we get started, my dear?"

Sebastian is leaned against the wall, he's already ripped off your diving gear, leaving you bare on top of him. With your back flushed against his chest, two of his lower arms hold onto your waist, covering it completely, holding you in place. "Seb. ." You softly mumble out as your head is tilted down looking at how his tentacle like cock slithers out of the slit a bit under his lower abdomen where his tail like body starts. His unoccupied hand grabs your chin rather roughly tilting it up, his hot breath pants against your neck. His long tongue emerges from his mouth licking along your neck before mumbling something incoherent you couldn't catch onto. You feel his cock rub against your stomach in a sort of rutting motion, pre slicked onto your stomach as Sebastian let out a groan. He slowly guided his cock inside you, you gasp at the unfamiliar feeling of the arrow like head pushing its way deeper into you. The stretch making you gasp as he finally lowered you all the way. He lifted you up effortlessly and pushing you back down, using you like you were nothing. You whimpered at the feeling of him biting down on your shoulder to muffle his groans. Your mouth forms a 'o' shape as the head of his cock kisses your cervix and the small bumps on the underside of his member rubbing against spots you never knew existed, making your vision haze with pleasure.

His thrusts pick up, using you effortlessly. "Fuh. . hah.. fucking take it." He groans against the nape of your neck. "Jeez. . humph.. m'gonna fuck you till you're stupid. You won't mind right?" His patronizing tone resurfacing as you respond with choked gasps and whimpers. "Aww you can't even form any words, you're so fucking dumb. My dumb little toy." He harshly groaned against your ear, feeling how you're walls clenched around him as he said that. "Such a dirty, dirty little thing." He nipped against your neck as he neared his climax, your eyes open up slighty as you hear a soft thumping noise. Glancing over you see Sebastians tail wagging against the floor. "Drive me so crazy. . m'gonna fill you up. Yeah?" His voice wavers into soft hitches as you feel him twitch inside you. The feeling of one of his hands dragging down your stomach to the clit, roughly flicking the pad of his finger back and forth, desperate for your release on him. That familiar burning feeling in your stomach quickly builds up. With a few final flicks of his finger you let out a whimper as you reach your climax and cum around his cock. He twitches inside you for a final time before roughly slamming you down all the way on him, groaning against your neck as he stuffs your tiny cunt full of his cum. He holds you down for a few more moments before his grip on you softens.

Both of your soft pants and breaths fill the room as you come down from your highs. Gently lifting you off of his retreating member, he helps you get dressed again in your gear. "And heres your promised discounted item, my sea fireflie." A sofend grin formed on his face as he picked the black light off his tail and handed it to you. "Th. . thanks.." You mumbled as you leaned against the table next to him, having a hard time standing up. "Maybe discounts for you will be more frequent. Don't cha' agree?" A snicker left him as you collected yourself. "Thanks Seb." You mumbled your goodbyes to him and crawled back through the vent. "Goodbye." He said, dragging it out longer than he should.

[imaginespazzi]

Nivi....how are you? You haven't said anything about the game. I think UConn fans on every app were rightfully crashing out. Would love to hear your thoughts when you feel up to it.

Hi lovie, I'm good just busy as per usual but I actually have not been crashing out as much as everyone else. Was it hard to watch? Yes but did I, despite all my cautious optimism, still sort of expect it? Also yes. Here are my thoughts:

Every single thing that we've seen this team do wrong, they did last night. How many times have we been harping on about our lack of 3-pt-defense? How many times have we called out the overhelping? How many times have we complained about a stagnant offense? Literally, all of that happened last night and honestly? I think they needed this loss. So far the team and coaching staff have been able to get away with this without any improvement because we've been winning in spite of this issues and they got complacent. Now they know for sure that they cannot win big games with these flaws, I expect to see this change in our next games.

I'm not sure why there's so much chatter about Paige when she wasn't the problem last night. By all means, she had a good game. The main issue I had with her was her lack of assists but that was team-wide problem because as I pointed out before: stagnant offense. She also did a really good job defensively with Sonia. Could she have played a better game? Statistically maybe not (well I guess she could have scored 40) but what I think Paige lacked, and the team in general lacked, was a spark of some sorts? I am not a proponent of she should force shots (and she took a fair amount of shots imo) but there was flare missing from this team last night and I was waiting for the leader of this team to inject something into them. And it never came and of course that's not all on her, but yeah that's the one thing she could have done better and there's no way to really explain how, just that I know she's done it before.

Actually before I got onto other plays let me talk about that a little bit more because everything else aside, WHERE WAS THE ENERGY? These people went into your house, on your alumni night and EMBARASSED the living fuck out of you on your court. You should be lived, you should wanna do the exact same thing to them and yet, it still seemed like ND wanted it more. And I think of everything I saw last night, that's what annoyed me the most. There was a certain laziness at some point, a lack of fire from everyone (that really showed up in rebounding) and it was in stark contrast to ND who just in simple terms, played like they wanted to win.

I would really love to congratulate KK and KC on what were solid offensive performances. However, it doesn't matter that they combined for 21 points, because I have since realized that they gave up 27 points, and that's only based on how many 3s they gave up so it very well could be more. Egregious work from two guards who are supposed to be our best defensive players.

Sarah looked a little bit like a freshman again but I will say, the couple of "energy" runs that we did have? Those were absolutely spearheaded by her but she just doesn't have the experience yet, where she can start them and then continue them. But it's games like this that will start to get here there and I'm excited to see her against ISU and USC.

Jana had the highest +/- on the team in the sense that she was +5 and she was a huge part of the run that lead us to cutting the lead to one so of course, OF COURSE, grandpa had to go ahead and bench. WHY WAS SHE ON THE BENCH FOR MOST OF THE FIRST HALF?? What was the gameplan? What was the reason? All of it pisses me off so much because why would you not play your tallest player when we were shit on rebounds????

Ice girl, I haven spent the last couple of week saying girlie was starting to look soid and first big game, she goes ahead and makes a liar of me because she was terrible last night. Why she was on the floor instead of Jana, I will never understand.

I have about as many good things to say about Ash as she had points last night. ZERO??? SERIOUSLY? For all KC and KK gave up on defense, at least there was something on offense but Ash gave us nothing. A complete non-factor if not a complete liability. The only right decision Geno made last night might have been benching her in the 4th. But I will say, some players, especially shooters, you needa run a play or two, to get them going. Just one play for her and on the off chance she hits it, you never what that could have done for her confidence and our chances.

Morgan deserved more minutes last night. Girl played nie minutes less and only had one less rebound than Ice. She had hustle and we needed hustle so bad but of course, of course grandpa would bench her.

If y'all haven't realized yet, my main gripe with last night is directed at Geno because I think he made every wrong decision her possibly could and quite frankly got outcoached like nobody's business by Niele Ivey.

Despite all of this, once again, I'll reinstate that I am not crashing out. Everything that went wrong is fixable and I do believe that this team can fix them. Especially because 2 of the biggest things that fucked us over will start to get fixed by two of our players coming back. Azzi will help with 3 pointers and Aubrey will help with defending them. Overall, this was a respectful loss to a good team in December. Championships are won in March. You lose and you learn and you keep on living.

[ladamedusoif]

able

(Joel Miller x disabled F!Reader)

Pairing: Joel Miller x Disabled F!Reader

Summary: "I just don't think she'll be able for patrol". But then it's just you, Joel, and your trusty walking stick in the middle of nowhere...

Content/warnings: Reader is disabled (she has rheumatoid disease/arthritis in addition to panic attacks, she uses a walking stick as necessary); Reader had a sister; Reader is an art teacher; strong violence; blood; description of panic attack; references to impact of chronic illness and disability; references to medication; references to disease and death; non-canon compliant; Jackson!Joel; strong language; ableist language and abusive language

Rating: Mature; 18+ MDNI

Word Count: ~3.7k

A/N: After making a plea earlier in the week for people to actually write disabled Reader fic, as opposed to forcing writers to feel they have to tag literally everything in an able-bodied Reader story, I knew I had to put my money where my mouth was as a disabled, neurodivergent writer with various mental health things going on here and there. And this one-shot is the result.

This one is a little personal. I was diagnosed with rheumatoid disease about ten years ago, and Reader’s experiences are informed by my own (though, thankfully, I haven’t had to contend with an apocalypse that meant I couldn’t access the medication that has kept me going). She’s also inspired by @agentjackdaniels, who acted as consultant extraordinaire on walking sticks and panic attacks, and suggested the Joel picture for the moodboard. Thank you, Luce, for this, for fighting the good fight for representation in fic - and for beta-ing the story. 

(A note on terminology: rheumatoid disease/arthritis are sometimes used interchangeably. ‘Arthritis’ often sounds like it’s ‘just’ osteoarthritis to people who don’t know the difference. Rheumatoid, unlike osteoarthritis (which is shitty in its own ways), is a systemic, lifelong, chronic illness and an auto-immune disorder that affects the entire body, not just bones and/or joints. So personally I use ‘rheumatoid disease’ as it conveys more of the impact of the condition. It's also often seen as an 'old person' disease but this simply isn't true - not that this stops mobility aids being modelled by people in their 80s all the time...)

Please follow my writing blog @ladameecrit and turn on notifications to stay up to date with my work.

Dividers by @saradika - moodboard by me

You weren’t supposed to make it.

Twenty-odd years in the apocalypse with your fucked-up joints and no steady supply of the meds that kept you going, pushing through the cycles of fatigue, and fighting off your own goddamned immune system as much as you were fighting clickers and raiders. 

You really weren’t supposed to make it. But you had Annie.

You were sharing an apartment when the outbreak happened, a quirk of shitty personal circumstances - she’d just broken up with her long-term boyfriend - that probably helped save your life. Annie was the all-action sister - the kind of person who thinks there’s nothing weird about spending your weekends doing triathlons and “Tough Mudder” challenges, who had a perfect bill of health your entire lives, who bounced out of bed in the mornings while you cracked and creaked and stiffly manoeuvered yourself into being. 

The good days generally outweighed the bad in the years between your diagnosis with rheumatoid disease and the initial outbreak - or maybe you had just gotten used to the aches and pains and the occasional flare-ups of fatigue. You invested in a walking stick to help on those days when mobility was particularly bad: solid, heavy, and carved in a pale yellow wood. It felt like a comfort in your hand, more a sign of strength, to you, than of weakness. 

Annie helped you through the panic attack that consumed you on outbreak day, working with you to regulate your breathing and relax your tense muscles until you could finally say what was on your mind.

“My meds. What am I going to do without my meds?”

Nothing a quick smash and grab at the local pharmacy couldn’t fix. It was the first of many, stockpiling the little yellow tablets you relied on and taking as many packs of over-the-counter painkillers as you could carry. Useful currency in the apocalypse, as it turned out.

All-Action Annie was never going to cope with life in a QZ. She got the two of you out after months of planning, nights of whispered talk about a town out west that was normal - or something close to it, anyway. She hadn’t entertained your protestations about you slowing her down, holding her back.

“You think I’m leaving behind a girl who’s so handy with a weapon?” she’d teased, pointing to your walking stick. “Be real. We’re busting out together.”

The infection took hold in her about three days from Jackson. Fuckin’ barbed wire, tearing a jagged line through Annie’s hand and leaving behind an old-fashioned kind of threat to life, the kind penicillin had mostly dealt with. But that was then. This was now. 

She died in an abandoned farmhouse in the middle of nowhere, you holding her hand until the end, talking to her about your childhoods and trying to keep smiling until she closed her beautiful eyes. 

It took all your strength to dig her grave. And then, somehow, you found more.

You weren’t supposed to make it. But you did. 

Jackson stands before you. 

He sees you for the first time in the community dining hall, talking animatedly to Maria as you hungrily devour the food set in front of you. Eyes wide, face grubby, clothes ragged. Half-wild, he thinks, like most of the new arrivals. Like him and Ellie, once upon a time. He returns to his bowl of soup and his own thoughts - at least, until he’s interrupted by Maria.

“Joel? Want to introduce a new member of the community, just arrived.”

He doesn’t quite know why he’s surprised when he realises you’re leaning on a sturdy hand-carved walking stick in a solid, light yellow wood. Maybe it’s because he knows how physically hard it is to get here. Maybe he just assumed folks who needed a stick wouldn’t have been able to manage the journey. 

For a second he can hear Sarah’s voice in his head, chiding him for focusing on what a disabled person can’t do instead of what they can. 

“Joel?”

He snaps out of his reverie and looks from Maria to you. “Uh, hi. Sorry, just…sorry. Forgot my manners.”

“I was just saying how glad we are to have someone who can offer some art education in the town, isn’t that right, Joel?”

Your eyes are warm and mischievous as you meet his gaze, silently conveying your amusement at Maria’s rather brusque manner. It’s all Joel can do not to laugh.

“Sure is. You’re an artist, then?”

You shake your head. “Not a real one. I was an art teacher, before. Long time since I created anything, though, so I hope I remember how.”

He smiles softly, his gruff exterior receding a little. “Bet it’s just like riding a bike,” he says, before his face falls as he looks at your walking stick. “Oh, shit. Sorry. I didn’t mean… Shit. Hope I didn’t offend.”

“As it happens, I can ride a bike, Joel. The apocalypse just doesn’t give me much cause to.”

You leave him with a smile and a wink as Maria ushers you to meet other townsfolk. He watches you as you walk away, the tap-tap-tapping of your stick beating out a new rhythm in the heart of Jackson.

You think of Annie every morning when you wake up in the little house you’d been assigned. Sometimes, as you potter around the kitchen, still revelling in the novelty of making yourself morning coffee for the first time in two decades, you even talk to her. You tell her about the town, the townsfolk, your work in the community vegetable garden, your art classes. 

“Honestly, An, you wouldn’t believe how popular they are,” you tell the Annie who, in an alternate universe, is sitting at the kitchen table with her own mug of coffee. “I’m setting up extra sessions to cater for demand.”

There’s something uplifting in how hungry the people of Jackson are to make art, no matter their experience or existing skill level. They’ll draw stuff from memory, they’ll dutifully work on a still life, they’ll even traipse outside with you, wooden sketching boards in hand, and make rapid-fire sketches of the goings-on on Main Street. 

Joel doesn’t join a class - but the teenage girl Maria refers to as “Joel’s kid” does, all potty-mouthed and enthusiastic and pretty damned talented, to boot. Ellie tells you how she’s pinned up the drawings she’s proudest of in their home, “like our own fuckin’ art gallery or some shit.” 

You pull up a tall stool and sit beside her, resting your stick over your thighs. “Joel’s got his guitar and those dumbass model figures he paints,” she continues, leaning around her easel and squinting at the woman who’d volunteered to act as a life model for this week’s classes. “But this shit? This is real art.” She adds a little highlight to the woman’s sweater and leans back to assess the work.

“You probably got exempt from patrols, I’m guessing. On account of the stick, an’ all.”

“Maria asked, and I signed up happily. I got all the way here, didn’t I? I’m sure I can manage patrols. And it’s the least I can do - they’ve even found me some of the medications I need.”

Ellie nods, somewhat convinced, and returns to sketching out the contours around the model’s jaw.

The day of your first patrol arrives. You bundle up and set out early for the stables, allowing extra time to get there on account of the flare-up you’d been experiencing the day before. 

You arrive early - just in time, in fact, to overhear a heated conversation between Joel and Maria.

“She’s doing enough, ain’t she? I just don’t think she’ll be able for patrol.”

“You’ve seen her out and about, Joel. She’s mobile. She’s competent. She’s good with the horses. She got all the way here, the last stretch on her own. What more proof do you need?”

“You’re seriously gonna send a woman with a walking stick out on patrol?”

“I seriously am. Sent you and your bad back out, didn’t we?”

“That ain’t the same and you know it.”

“Just saddle the horses, Joel. And, in case you’re wondering - yes, I paired you together deliberately, just until she gets settled.” You hear her footsteps recede as she leaves him.

You had misjudged how much your already-limited grip would be further impeded by the gloves you’re wearing. The stick clatters to the ground.

“Who’s there?”

You emerge from the shadows. “Me. Sorry.”

Joel rolls his eyes and gruffly points out the tack and supplies.

The first patrol passes in silence. You wonder what happened to the softer man you’d caught a glimpse of the first day you arrived.

On the second patrol, you ask him questions about himself. On the third patrol, he asks (fewer) questions about you. By the fourth, you’re having something approximating normal conversation. 

“Sarah loved to make all kinds of stuff,” he ventures, leading the way on his chestnut horse. “Those beaded bracelets, that girly Lego in the pink and purple, all of that. My girl had enough Magic Markers to supply a whole elementary school. Maybe two.”

You can hear him smile, even without seeing his face. His shoulders relax a little as he recalls the memory.

“So she was a creative kid?”

“Creative, sporty… she could do anything. Made the school soccer team, she was so proud. Just a…” He pauses. “A great kid.”

There’s a few beats of silence, punctuated only by the sound of the horses snickering and the steady rhythm of their hooves on the ground. 

“What about your sister, was she arty like you?”

You’d told him about Annie on the last patrol. This was the first time he’d asked about her explicitly.

“She was the sporty one. I think that’s why I survived so long, truth be told. She was so strong and fast and tough as fuck.”

He chuckles, the burr of his voice resonating in the cold air. “Sounds like a good balance, though.”

“It is - it was. Was.” Your voice grows quieter as you repeat the word to yourself, chest starting to tighten. The horse slows, responding to the tension of your body, as Joel continues to trot on, not realising you’ve come to a halt behind him. 

And then the tell-tale snapping of a twig, the sound of footsteps, and the realisation there’s someone else there, emerging out of the woods. Two someones. 

Raiders. 

The panic attack that has been building inside you gives way. An innate fight or flight response kicks in as you roar his name. 

Joel turns and charges back towards you, just in time to see you take out one raider with a crack shot from your pistol. He slows the horse and readies his rifle, staring at the other man who is now trying to haul you off your mount.

“Get the fuck off me, motherfucker!” You flail against him, desperately shifting your weight to the other side of the saddle to try to shake him off. 

Joel takes aim. 

You think you’ve kicked the raider off. And that’s when you hit the ground.

He can’t take the shot now, not with her half-hidden from his view and audibly fighting off the man who’s dragged her to the ground. Joel is still a little distance away, slightly too far to see exactly what’s happening. 

Why didn’t he hear her slowing? Why didn’t he realise she was further behind than she ought to be? Why did she slow in the fuckin’ first place?

Joel quickly dismounts, rifle in hand, moving closer so he can get a clearer shot at the guy who’s now standing over her. The horse’s elegant neck obscures the raider’s hands from Joel’s vision - he has no idea if he’s pointing a gun at her or not. 

He thinks he has a clear sight on the guy’s head, provided he stays in the same position. He readies the rifle. 

Suddenly, the raider disappears, letting out a primal roar before he hits the ground. 

“You fucking cunt!”

Joel can see she’s standing now, the man prone before her. As he rounds the horse he sees her lift her cane, hands securely gripping the pointed end of the stick. 

She brings the solid, weighty handle down on the raider’s leg with a sickening crunch. Even Joel recoils a little at the sight and the sound.

“F-f-fucking…c-c-cunt!”

Thwack. The other leg. 

Fuck. She knows exactly what she’s doing.

”Keep calling me that, and I’ll keep the blows coming.”

Holy fuck. Who is she?

”C-c-c-cripple.”

”Excuse me?”

The raider props himself up on his arms. “I said, cripple. Fucking crippled cunt.”

“You shut your fuckin’ mouth.” Joel cocks his rifle. 

The stranger sneers at Joel. “Awww, he’s actin’ the big man now. Weren’t too quick gettin’ back down here to save your cripple woman, were ya?”

Before Joel can react, she swings her stick over her head and brings it down on the man’s skull with a furious scream that seems to come from the very depths of her being. 

She screams and screams as she hits him, over and over, eyes wild in her blood-spattered face. Joel recognises this: in himself; hell, in Ellie. It’s the moment when the floodgates open and all those years of pain blend together and zone in on this convenient target, an avatar for everyone and everything who had forced loss and trauma upon you. 

He roars at her to stop, but knows she can’t hear him. It’s just her and the raider, now: her rage and fear and grief finding their expression through a walking stick turned cudgel.

A single shot ends it. She turns sharply, as if snapped out of a trance, and sees the smoke leaving Joel’s pistol. 

“Hey. Hey. You alright?” His broad hands grip your biceps as he looks into your eyes.

Yes, you tell him, yes. You’re fine. But Joel keeps asking. 

“Talk to me. Are you okay? I’m worried about you. Please, just talk to me.”

You are moving your mouth, but no sound is coming out. The familiar vice is tightening around your chest. You look down at your blood-stained hands and you struggle to breathe. 

“‘M dying, Joel. Can’t breathe. All the blood. So much. Why can’t I breathe?”

Oh, he realises with a pang. She gets these things too. And I know how to help.

“You’re okay, you hear?” He’s rubbing your arms gently, keeping his gaze on you. “You’re alright. Breathe along with me, okay?”

It’s difficult to find the rhythm, at first. Joel’s hands find yours and squeeze them in time with his breath.

”In through your nose, that’s it. Slow and steady. Now out through your mouth.”

He can see your muscles starting to visibly relax. A wave of relief courses over him.

”Yeah, that’s it - you got this. You got this, good girl, you’re just fine. Gonna be alright.”

When he’s confident your breathing has settled and the panic attack receded somewhat, he gently guides you away from the body of the dead raider, one hand holding your horse’s bridle and the other holding yours. 

“Why don’t you have a seat for a minute, huh?” Joel gestures to a long, low tree trunk lying near the forest’s edge and opens his saddlebags, rummaging until he finds a cloth, a battered hip flask and a bag of dried apple slices.

”Here.” He wipes the blood as best he can from your hands and proffers the flask, settling his substantial frame beside you on the log. “Have a sip or two, just to relax you a little bit more. Got a snack, here, too.”

You flinch at the taste of the liquor, but take a second sip regardless. The apple slices barely taste of anything in the afterburn of the moonshine. Joel nibbles on some jerky and stares into the middle distance. 

You take a break from patrol, agreed with Maria, and a few days off your art classes. It was tempting to keep going, to return to the light and airy studio and to your students. But you feared a relapse.

And your body needed to recover physically, too. You ached from head to toe, fingers and toes puffy and swollen and movement seriously restricted. You ration out the supply of medication you’ve secured since getting here, and use hot water bottles and plenty of rest to try to ride out the flare in your arthritis.

Three days after the incident, there’s a knock on the door. You hobble to answer it, leaning on your trusty stick for support.

”Came by to see how you were doing. Got you some things if you needed ‘em.”

Joel is standing on your front porch, holding a jute grocery bag. He pauses, as if waiting for you to give him permission to say more.

”That’s so very kind of you, Joel. Come in, won’t you? I was able to set a fire so it’s nice and cosy.”

He watches as you lead the way into the living room, noting how much slower you were today. Guilt laps at his conscience. He said she shouldn’t go on patrol. He knew.

”You want me to bring these into the kitchen for you?”

“That would be a great help. Thank you.” He’s glad to see you smile, after the trauma of the patrol. “If you want a drink, I’ve got some tea and coffee in the cupboard just to the left of the sink.”

He pops his head back into the living room. “What would you like?” 

“A tea would be perfect. Mugs are in the cupboard to the right.”

You wrap yourself back up in your blankets on the couch, making room for Joel when he returns with the drinks and a couple of cookies, sent over by Ellie as part of his care package for you. The mug feels like a comfort in your aching hands, its heat assuaging the inflammation ravaging your joints.

He sips his coffee and you sit in silence for a little bit, watching the flames dance over the firewood. 

“Have you, uh - you been okay, doing okay, since…”

Joel stares into his coffee cup and then looks at you, a little awkward. You smile, hoping to reassure him.

”I’ve been okay. Just the physical pain and exhaustion, mostly. And - well, you saw it. The panic. It can leave you drained.”

He nods and takes another swig of his drink. “I know. I - I’ve had times like that, too. Real fuckin’ scary, when you’ve never gone through it before.”

You study his face for a moment or two, noting the little scar on his temple, the lines on his face, the stern expression completely undermined by the warmth of his deep brown eyes. For an instant, he seems so vulnerable, this strong, tough man sitting on your little couch. 

“I haven’t had an attack like that in a while. But then, I hadn’t done anything like that in a while.”

This time Joel turns to look at you properly. “Not your first rodeo, huh?”

You giggle at the turn of phrase. “Not quite. Let’s just say my stick did a lot of work over the last twenty years. He wasn’t the first to feel the brunt of it.”

Joel nods, and you feel strangely relieved that he doesn’t seem surprised. “Doesn’t get easier, though, does it?”

“It does not. Which is why it’s better to avoid having to do it.”

”I agree. Gotta say, though, I - I was worried you wouldn’t be able for patrol, y’know?”

You arch an eyebrow at him. “I know. I overheard you, remember?”

He blushes. “Aw, shit. Yeah. I’m sorry about that. I just didn’t want anything happening to you, what with your - condition, and all.”

You sigh softly, not really noticing the affection in his voice. “Most of the time, I’m fine. Y’know? I’m slower, but I do okay. I get tired more easily, but I manage. I didn’t come here to be a drain on the community.”

”You aren’t.”

”I know, but I want to keep it that way. I want to pull my weight. I’m able, Joel.”

He huffs in agreement. “Not like I’m a perfect specimen these days, either. Knees, fuckin’ back, deaf in one ear…” 

You chuckle. “And you thought I wouldn’t manage patrol? Anyway, you’re not doing so bad, are you?”

He gives you a little smile, but that constant sadness still haunts his eyes. He stares at his coffee for a moment.

“You knew what you were doing, though.”

”I did. But I didn’t feel like I could stop.” You sip your tea, swallowing hard. “And I’m scared that makes me some kinda monster. You know?”

Oh, he knows. He knows it too well.

”You aren’t a monster.” Joel resists the urge to put an arm around you. “You just… something snapped, I guess. All that - well, all that hell you’ve gone through. It… it changes you. But it doesn’t make you a monster.”

He realises you’re crying before you do, spotting the fat tears that roll down your cheeks. He finds a clean handkerchief in his jeans and offers it to you. 

Fuck it. 

“Can I - can I put an arm round you? Just for some support?”

Your eyes light up, tears or no tears, and you nod enthusiastically. Joel is warm and comforting, his broad chest and strong arms a kind of anchor in the emotional storm. You nuzzle against him, and he gives you a little squeeze on the arm.

”You’re a really brave woman, you know that?”

His voice is quieter, more intentional. You look at him quizzically from under your lashes, unused to praise of this kind. For an instant you think about asking him what he means. But the safety you’ve found in the broad arm draped around you is all you need right now. 

You nuzzle a little against his chest, and watch the fire dancing for the rest of the night. 

[storm-angel989]

Hi!! I was wondering if you could do valentino x teen reader where as, teen reader is in her rebellious era and how valentino would handle the situation?

Thank you in advanced! i love your works and i hope u have a great day!

Hi friend,

So I tried to make this different from my others- rather than going through a hair dying, secret piercing rebellion, what about those of us who decided we wanted to change the world without truly understanding why the world was the way it was? Those of us who tried to protest, to fight against the way life is run? 

Enjoy!

<3 Mandy  

Valentino stared at his daughter in disbelief. Disbelief that she would be so bold. Disbelief that she would dare to question the very thing that brought them the comfort and safety they surrounded themselves with. Disbelief that she honestly thought she would get out the door, let alone get away with dressed….

Dressed like that. 

“It’s a statement, Dad,” Reader snapped. “Now move, my friends and I have plans.”

“If you think for one second my daughter, Vox and Velvette’s niece, is going to involve herself in anything that has to do with canceling soul bound contracts you’ve got another thing coming,” Valentino retorted. 

“Hell is paved with the labor of unpaid souls,” his daughter replied as she crossed her arms over her chest. “And it’s about time my generation does something about it.”

Valentino took a deep breath and pinched the bridge of his nose, “put your tits away. And then we can talk about your misguided ideals.” 

“Aren't you the overlord of lust?” She growled. “Shouldn’t you be so proud that I…”

“I will not tell you again. No daughter of mine will leave this building dressed like…like…” Valentino couldn’t bring himself to say it.

Readers eyes narrowed. “Dressed like what, Dad? Like one of your whores? My point exactly, you wouldn’t want your daughter dressed like this! Those souls are someone's daughter, someone’s..”

Valentino felt his temper flare, and it took every single ounce of his self control to not explode right then and there. How could he have raised such a disrespectful brat? A child who dared to desire to shout about things she knew nothing about? A child who so blatantly disrespected everything her family had worked so hard to build. 

“Go to your room,” he said finally, “now.”

“I hate you!” She screamed. 

To his relief, she whirled around and a moment later, he heard the door slam. With a sigh, he turned back to the table and tossed what remained of his now cold breakfast into the trash. 

“You’ve got your hands full today, don’t you?” Vox remarked as he took a drink of his coffee. “Good call on keeping her home.”

“Where did I go wrong?” Valentino asked as he poured himself a cup of coffee. “Anyone?”

Vox and Velvette exchanged glances. To Valentino’s irritation, Vox smirked and Velvette rolled her eyes.

“If you have any ideas, please, I’d love to hear them,” Valentino said sarcastically as he flopped himself back into his chair.

“I mean, Val, you’ve always been so good at keeping her out of the dark side of hell,” Vox began slowly. “Maybe it’s time you show her what life would be like if we didn’t…if we didn’t offer the employment opportunities that we do.”

“Or! Better suggestion, if you don’t want to traumatize the poor kid,” Velvette interjected, “offer to let her sit in Vox’s office and read through any contract she’d like. See the terms and conditions and see that really, we’re doing all sinners and hellborne a favor. And we pay them. Better than most, I would think.” 

Vox choked on his coffee and in one fell motion, his cup slammed against the table. “You want me…to take whatever evil that swept up my sweet niece…into my office and let her loose on our contracts? Just let her know all the dirty details?”

“Obviously, keep the worst ones tucked away, but give her a chance to see…even the slightly more in our favor agreements,” Velvette replied. “Shove some common sense into her face. That’ll help.” 

“If it’s the best idea we’ve got…ugh,” Valentino grumbled. “When exactly will she find her common sense again?”

“Sorry Val, if she’s anything like us…it’s gonna be awhile,” Vox answered with a grin.

[thesecretsofthedivine]

Pick a Pile Reading | What Do People Admire/Find Beautiful About You? ☄. *. ⋆

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PILE 1 COLLECTIVE

7 of pentacles. ace of cups. the magician.

channeled songs: sh-boom - the chords. starstruck - christopher wilde. magic - bob. where you lead - carole king.

people admire how much of a visionary you are! your aesthetic sensitivity, long-term goals, personal values, business skills, creativity, and optimism are some sources of your beauty. people find you to be very physically beautiful in general though. maybe it’s the advice you give or the pleasant sound of your voice, but your charm is undeniable. people also appreciate your unique flare, work ethic, and emotional intelligence. it’s clear you have big dreams and capabilities. something about you is dependable and trustworthy to others. you have tinkering energy and raw talent. people recognize the positive impact you make regardless of the environment. you may often be in a fixer-upper, alchemist, support system, teacher role. people admire your dedication and feel more connected to their dreams/purpose because of you. your energy is healing and uplifting. the sincerity in your heart is a gift and allows others to find hope/relief in you. you’re a trailblazer, philanthropist, humanitarian that does the world good simply by existing and sharing your light. your self-assured outlook is infectious and the way you make life feel like a party is irreplaceable. people admire how much of a safe space and muse you are, tied all into one.

PILE 2 COLLECTIVE

knight of cups. 2 of wands. 9 of wands rx.

channeled songs: perfect (exceeder) - mason. the heart wants what it wants - selena gomez. come & get it - selena gomez.

you are a natural flirt and an object of affection, whether you know it or not! you've got sweetheart/crush/eye candy energy. people love to simply know and be near u. it can be hard to read your mind because of your gentle/feminine/passive nature, which tends to keep the thrill or mystery alive! you're someone that can appear intimidating or too hot to handle, but your inner self is much more reassuring and grounded. people find your resilience, charm, social status, patience, thoughtfulness, style, and mysteriousness to be beautiful. it’s giving hot but unavailable/bad bitch or bad boy. you can be quite protective with your energy/time, which people admire. you know not to settle and to treat yourself like the prize. you often intimidate but intrigue others. cat's got their tongue when they look at you! you embody the beauty standard or simply have that “it” factor. you leave people wanting more and struggling to move on from you. you’re unforgettable and mesmerizing, which is beautiful. you’re like a still and elegant work of art that people would go up to admire in a museum. sometimes it can seem like you're a shiny toy that everyone wants a chance to play with, but you’re not easily impressed.

PILE 3 COLLECTIVE

queen of swords. 5 of wands rx. knight of pentacles. knight of wands.

channeled songs: look at me, i’m sandra dee - grease soundtrack. something that i want - grace potter.

your composure, morality, clear judgment, inner beliefs, and stimulating conversation are really attractive to others! people feel that you have a way with words or a commanding presence without actually exerting force. you’re strategic and wise beyond your years, which makes people want to respect you. others also admire your resilience and thoughtfulness. you can easily find answers to problems or have an unmatched intuition to those around you. you’re in it to win it, which makes u dedicated and passionate. for some, you may relate to the underdog. even with life’s tough challenges, you always persevere. people admire your loyalty & find your mind attractive. you may tend to keep to yourself or people could view you as having a big ego, but your tunnel vision blocks out all that noise. you're admired for the way you defy expectations and others’ authority. you are the boss of your own life and a force to be reckoned with. your identity is a mix of stoic tradition + edgy rebellion, which can surprise people at times. your tenacity, analytical traits, high spirits, and capacity to lead are beautiful. you have natural leadership skills that make people want your approval or loyalty. your aura is dominant and elusive so people know better than to stand in your way or do anything other than tag along for the ride.

PILE 4 COLLECTIVE

8 of swords. 9 of swords. 8 of pentacles. justice (libra).

channeled songs: i’m a mess - bebe rexha. mind over matter - young the giant.

your past, independence, emotional maturity/depth, complex mind, shadow self, and resilience are focal points of attraction. you are a survivor who takes their time in opening up/letting go. people admire the capabilities of your heart and feel a lot of sympathy for you. others may feel that you are too much of a people pleaser or often underestimate/overwork yourself, which makes them want to show up for you. the more reluctant with embracing confidence you are, the more people want to advocate for your potential and growth. others feel like you deserve all the privileges and platforms that you may have been previously denied. you deserve to take up space. people tend to develop a karmic attraction to you where they want to see things through or can’t bring themselves to leave your life. you are hardworking and deserving of everything good, which can enhance other people’s desire to provide and show up for you. if life has not been fair to you, this inspires generosity and admiration in others. people feel protective and want to advocate for you. your fairness and respect for the balance of life is also beautiful. people enjoy how even-tempered, considerate, honest, and reflective you are. they see you as the work hard, play hard type. “went from nothing to something”, apocalyptic energy. you’re on your grind and everyone wants to be a personal cheerleader to you. you fight the good fight and others believe in ur potential because of how beautiful your heart is + how much you’ve overcome. your willpower is also a defining statement/testament of your core identity.

[ochrearia]

ether

I'm normal (lying) and I needed to put this somewhere so bad and it's still not enough but YS I'm sorry. I'm making you suffer even more but you need to understand we're basically the same at this point and you're really the only bitch that I can pretend like feels exactly what I feel. Fuck. RGBFverse prompts aren't just silly fiction anymore

Every damn prompt in the last two or so days has been real. Been me. I feel like that was obvious

BFs in this one-shot: Yourself (YS)

God it was getting rather ridiculous now. Could he even blame it all on the angelic instincts anymore? Sure, they certainly didn’t help, but that wasn’t… it wasn’t quite the same. At least, YS wasn’t really sure if it was or not. The guardian angel thing, that was more of a possessive protectiveness that flared up practically any time he saw or thought about his people he’d attached to. Which, good god, he was understanding why angels didn’t attach to this many people. It was bad enough to have one person taking up all your thoughts on any given day, because you were hard-wired to dedicate yourself to them, but he was at what, fifteen now? Probably more. And he wasn’t stopping his erratic attaching either. He’d probably keep making that number go up. Not like he was known to make good choices.

But this felt a little different. YS was no stranger to working himself up into trances over the sheer amount of sappy, sentimental thoughts he started getting over any given brother. And it wasn’t like those thoughts were specific to one idea. The protectiveness rang true in those trances and made itself known through his half-aware mumbling. And paired with it came thoughts of love, and appreciation, and everything in between he had no idea how to name.

But… were the trances even because of his angelic instincts? Or did he just feel so damn deeply about things in general? Suppose YS couldn’t really recall feeling much of these trances before he started meeting all of his brothers. Maybe he had thoughts pooled together like this about her, and he was sure of that but he probably just never considered it as a “trance”. Because it’s not alien to just love your girlfriend that much that you think every nice thought possible about her, right? And he used to be able to kiss her any time he wanted, show properly his affection and she’d understand it. Maybe feel it too.

So what the fuck was going on here? Every time his brain snagged on a thought about a brother it was like a fucking disaster was set off. YS very much didn’t care in terms of ‘what affection he could express’ compared to what he ‘couldn’t’, because it was all going to slip out at some point eventually. If you asked him, he was technically not allowed to express any type, because he didn’t deserve to, but Beefer would sooner crash straight through his mirror in full dino form and try to like, eat him or something. Because he could tell when YS was being an ass to himself and was sticking very clearly to his ‘job’ of butting in before it kept going.

God his heart. YS was going to die it felt like, because fuck, why did his heart have to ache so bad thinking about his brothers? Tripping himself up over the fact they cared about him, dizzying his own mind over the concept of being loved by anyone, much less this many people. And yeah, okay, sure, they were all technically the same person. And there was probably some merit to his previous idea of reality getting confused when there were two or more of them in the same world. Getting so cuddly for nothing because it felt like they had to become whole again despite not being fractured at all. But this was just… something else.

He loved so hard. Holy fuck, he really did to the point it was debilitating. That’s really what it was. It was debilitating, completely paralyzing him on the spot despite things he needed to be doing. It was so much, almost all the time, it took days sometimes for the ache in his chest to go away for a little, only for it to come back later to torment him again. It was like YS almost couldn’t breathe sometimes, thinking in a spiral of how much love he had for the people in his life now, people loving him back, caring for him, quite literally making him want to wake up to be alive tomorrow so he could keep them in his mind again and maybe even spend time with them. Family like he’d never experienced before, because angels in his world didn’t really care about each other. Couldn’t, when they had others to attach to.

God YS had so much of it to give. That was all he really wanted to do. Give, give it all, drain his heart to empty and still continue giving because he could, and that’s what his brothers deserved and more. Giving the world to the people he loved. For the asshole he believed so much couldn’t want things, he wanted this so badly. Give all of himself away, unhealthy mindset be damned. He would do anything for his people. Because he cared. He cared, so much, and that thought was powerful enough alone to bring slight tears to YS’s eyes. Truth, raw and strong.

But that was the problem. He’d give everything. But he couldn’t give this feeling in his chest, the swirling in his brain, raw emotions that rippled in his body like tsunamis but were confined there. YS had no way to directly broadcast the exact things he felt, and it was like he was dying. Because it was all trapped and it wasn’t fair. Words weren’t enough, actions weren’t enough. None of what he’d been doing so far was enough no matter what he shared. And god, it was so bad, but he’d been describing it all with such negative words when it was literally the opposite.

He’d take being debilitated like this over any other kind of feeling, any day. Wanted this. Wanted.

This was… possessive. Very possessive. His brothers. Every single one of them. His. His to love and hold and appreciate, his to care for and lift up. And not a single damn regret about it. Too possessive? Probably, but this was all so new to him. He’d never done this before, in fact, he doubted that any angel had done this before. Attaching to this many people and feeling just as equally strong about each one. It was so much. And he could never give enough.

So important, all of them. Stuck in YS’s brain and he couldn’t get them out. And it didn’t matter how much he spoke about this to them, telling them point-blank that he loved them, holding them tight and not letting go until told, it was still just… not enough for what he felt in his heart.

YS’s heartbeat was freakishly slow. As were angel’s heartbeats. Probably didn’t help with the whole cold-blooded thing either. But every time he worked himself up into a trance, getting so mind-swirlingly loving, possessive, and almost needy, his heart would speed up. Noticeably speed up, because Beef had pointed it out before. God, he was so disgustingly sweet in his actions and that was mortifying to admit. Biff had a habit of saying it like it was though.

Tear my heart out of my chest, lay bare the ache it holds and feels because I cannot fucking take it anymore. I want you all to know. I wish I could perfectly convey it, I wish you could all feel what I feel, know how powerful my love and care really is, and if it’s too much then I’m so sorry. But it’s exactly what you deserve, and still more. Wonderful to me, kind to me, after all of my mistakes, stains on the world because of my wrong choices. People that aren’t here anymore because I didn’t do enough. But you’re all still here. And I know I have done nothing to deserve any of you.

YS felt like he was dying. But that was okay. If he got to die feeling so positively, then it would be his final victory.

God, I love you all. I promise. For the rest of my time here I will try to convey that as it is. For the rest of my time here I will work to repay and make up for everything I may put you through and you still stay.

For the rest of his time here. However long he’s wanted. And he hoped that would be forever, but that was usually never the case.

So he would love, like it would be over tomorrow.

[ghostr0tz]

I would very much like to hear your Vox headcanons

Takes a deep breath before opening my mouth cartoonishly wide.

Definitely was disabled during life but probably hid it pretty well. I feel like Vox was sick a lot growing up.

Having a body thats both mechanical AND flesh? Yeah that sounds like an actual nightmare to live.

The only upside is Vox using his electricity for weird electrotherapy. And sometimes he gets annoyed and overdoes it when he doesnt immedietly feel better.

Vox makes his own aids and equipment, and deals with most of his health issues by himself too unless its too bad.

Makes sure his aids are at least stylish in the VoxTek branding. But he doesnt sell them probably. Those are his. Made for himself.

Probably has arthritis and definitely Hypermobile and generally his body just HATES him tbh. Maybe EDS or even POTS. Chronic migraines too (you would too if you had a screen for a head!!!!!) Doesnt have a pinpointed diagnosis though. Vox just sort of Deals with his symptoms.

He didnt start having as much chronic pain until he really started focusing on upgrading himself and everything etc.

Hmmm....I feel like Alastor has arthritis so it was one of the things they bonded over when he were on good terms

I feel like it wasnt the root cause when he was alive but polio WAS kinda ....a thing...that was going on..

Teleports any chance he can get over walking long distances.

He wouldnt consider himself housebound but he kind of is? Not in a traditional sense, its more out of choice. He never really leaves the V tower unless he has to. Lives there, brought his work there so he didnt have to leave, literally moved his closest friends in, and then moved THEIR work in. Why would he leave he has everytbing he'd want.

Thats not even a headcanon Vox just. Did that.

I feel like he gets flare-ups pretty easily. Constantly overworking and getting generally just getting worked up over things (ALASTOR).

Probably prefers crutches and canes over a wheelchair when it comes to mobility aids. I feel he'd feel too short idk. but the idea of him in a wheelchair is very cool to me. Nerdy Evil Supervillian

Okay thats all for now thank you for letting me infodump tehe

[infranthrax]

Hey! Can I please request some Espio the chameleon x reader headcanons? Any type is fine <3 Tysm!!

sure thing! it’s gonna be my first time writing for espío, so just be patient… matter of fact this is my first time writing for sonic/co in general 😌 kinda made general headcanons for this.

creating new memory… just a moment… ✨

𝐄𝐒𝐏𝐈𝐎 𝐓��𝐄 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐎𝐍

espio the chameleon x gn!reader — general headcanons!

espio is very closed off— not mean closed off, he just doesn’t really like getting close to people. you can say espio is an introvert, and while working with the others of the chaotix is enough to highlight his day, he prefers the quiet times, ones filled with peace where he can just sit and be.

as a newbie that gets into the chaotix, espio intrigued you from the start and you made a goal to try and befriend him. though, espio may see this and go, hmm…. this is odd.

cautious yet curious, he doesn’t seem you at all threat yet, but he likes to keep all newbies close as to keep an eye on them. this also goes for you. he doesn’t like traitors and doesn’t do well with betrayal or being lied to, as honesty is a principle he follows religiously.

it takes him the longest to figure you out and if you were to try and step out of line he would be quick to correct you.

one day you approach him and give him flowers, and ask him to be your friend. you think he’s so cool and, it would be so cool of you to befriend this dude. he’s just so happenin. and he just sits there with warmed cheeks and accepts your gift of friendship. either this, or he’ll let you off slowly and ask you to allow him to think. you might think he’s being too serious, but he’s simply very much work oriented and would most likely prefer to keep things professional between the two of you as to not cause disruption.

as your “friendship” grows however you get to see more of his self absorbency show through missions— how he’s prideful and how he obtains pleasure through the thrill of the heat of a situation, all the while still being crucially agile and level headed. this only made your admiration grow, making you think, where can I get confidence like that?

the same would go for espio seeing you in combat alongside him and vector. you would often learn from him and that would set him up a little, seeing as though you were taking his influence. sometimes however this isn’t exactly a good thing because he himself knows he can be rather impulsive, but it’s usually out of his strong sense of duty and passion for justice keeping, and that same passion he likes to see in you.

when he felt as though he was ready to cement your friendship, one morning you would wake up, get ready and be ready to head out the door only to find some flowers laying on the ground, with a little note.

“sincerely, espio.”

you would take the flowers in your hands and hug them, feeling accepted by the chameleon at long last.

friendship with espio is very calm and reserved— a very relaxed and smooth pace kinda journey but still worth it. espio likes to watch movies with you during your time off and he also likes to take walks. you both go out to different parks sometimes just to roam around, maybe get something to drink or a bite to eat and just talk to each other. the little things mean a lot to espio and he’s not hard to please.

he’s not a touchy feely kinda guy though, so he gets stuff if you try to hug him, touch him, attempt to cuddle him, etc. not that he doesn’t like it it’s just that he doesn’t exactly know how to respond, but he accepts it anyway.

overall, pretty good boy in terms of friendship and commitment. if you were in trouble, he’d come in a heart beat. he would expect you to do the same despite his ego flare. he’s too proud to admit he needs help.

he’d be the type of person to ask you for help in a text, then unsend it, then send it again, then unsend it, then send it again. poor guy.

i imagine that espio can cook decent food, that being used a bit loosely since he prefers to cook when vector and charmy are gone. this leaves him with no interruptions. asian cuisine is his specialty and if you have any recipes for him and or if you wanna cook dinner with him for the team, be his guest. he doesn’t mind, just as long as you help clean.

other than that he just orders takeout because vector bombards him.

you dear to yourself. (and so does he,) that he’s the only member of the chaotix with a decent head in his shoulders. (because that’s true anyway lol.)

[divinebunnii]

Hi Bunni, not sure if asking this as anon or not would be appropriate, maybe asking at all would be inappropriate, if so feel free to put me on blast haha I’d deserve it.

My question is this: I am asexual, been asexual all my life, though it took me til my early twenties to figure it out. I also have fibromyalgia, and while I’m not interested in sex generally, I do wonder how much of my aversion to it/repulsion by it has to do with the thought of physical exertion and inviting pain that I don’t want or am not ready to handle. I’d even say that pain I’ve felt in the past has kind of made me afraid of it, as well as afraid of disappointing my partners.

As someone with chronic pain, how do you manage it in regards to your sexual activity? Is there any type of prep you do beforehand to loosen up or prevent injury or debilitation? What are some self-care techniques that might keep one from worrying about how much they’re gonna regret gettin frisky by the morning?

Preferred roles/fantasies aside, you seem like someone who enjoys what they get out of sex, and that’s what I’d want, if I ever end up trying stuff with my partners.

I don’t do asks very often so I apologize if this is/was awkward. Also, no pressure to answer if this question is too intimate or crosses your boundaries. I’ll love your blog regardless!

Thanks!

hello sweet love I’m so glad you sent me this ask! This is something I haven’t touched on in all my advice talks and this is a perspective I really think more should be more aware of! nothing awkward ~ but long response heheh

I’ll start with the term pillow princess, it’s mostly used in queer lesbian spaces, but as a queer and someone with chronic pain, I 100% identify as a pillow princess. my partner does the work for me, if my body is a bit more nimble or limber or *not in as much pain* I get a lil freaky and do missionary, but for the most part i’m the one always “being used”. some see it as lazy, but honestly it’s not their relationship and if they can’t garner any kind of forethought for someone else’s lifestyle then fuck em ~

make sure you trust whoever your potential partner(s), it seems obvious but people can manipulate anyone into a sense of trust, and push boundaries that someone like you or I can’t have pushed. make sure you know without any doubt this person or people aren’t going to try and spring something onto you, or perform an action your body can’t handle. everything is about communication, them being aware in full honesty from you (ie. I’m physically disabled / have chronic pain etc, there are things I cannot do). we are 100% responsible to make sure everyone involved knows everything about us that they can.

I do try to stretch every day, and I also walk up and down the stairs multiple times a night. my pain is mostly nerve damage in my neck, and I have a very specific way of sleeping that helps prevent flare ups, and arthritis in my knees and my hips (which prevents 85% of most positions most people are able to do freely). Low impact stuff like using stairs is super beneficial to keeping those tricky pain places at bay. I cant be on my knees, so we avoid those positions and ones that might cause pain. my hips will lock into place and really fucking hurt, so unless I know I can get into a position that won’t hurt my hips, we won’t do it. lots of prone, on the belly ~ and a lot of against the wall from behind ~ I get all my squeezing and spankings without risking becoming bedridden for an unknown amount of time!

and of course, learn your body. you have to know “well this position hurts and that’s something I have to tell them, I can’t life my leg or arch my back like that, and they should know this.” being able to come at it with a bucket of knowledge of yourself is super helpful for any new potential partner, and makes it much easier to weed out the ones that might not be capable or willing to adjust their sexual practices to your needs. start slow, start calm and relaxed, put yourself in different positions you know you might be able to try and be very gentle. and don’t push yourself, or let anyone else try to push you into anything ~

closing thoughts, if you find out you’re asexual and nothing works for you, that’s also totally valid! but i definitely know my hypersexuality has more or less forced me to find ways to get and give pleasure ~ but I do know that asexualtiy is just the other end of that spectrum, and you can be asexual and still partake in the sexi every now and then ~ it’s up to your level of comfort, and what you’re willing to try or not try ~ 98% of the time im just a wee bag of meat and he gets to squeeze me and use me and tease me without me ever having to move many muscles. arms can stay where I want, eyes can stay closed because I’m weird about eye contact, and he finds ways to support my legs should I find myself getting uncomfortable.

feel free to ask me for any kind of advice about anything c: ! I’ll always do my best to answer 💗

[astro-is-a-bigot]

Hiiii. I'm uh. I'm not astro-is-a-bigot Major, I'm astro-is-a-bigot Minor you could say (because that seems funny) and I thought it might be cool if I talked about myself because my experiences are very relevant to Astro thinking he can get away with calling people's plurality "psychosis" as if psychosis and plurality are mutually exclusive... Which it isn't. Obviously so.

I have been diagnosed with schizophrenia since I was a teen and have recently(? it's been a couple of years) developed plural symptoms, if that's what you'd call it. Is my plurality a result of psychosis? No. How do I know? Because they occur completely incongruently, which is something that Astro obviously leaves out as a possibility with this "you're not a multiple you're psychotic!" kind of stigma. And how do I know they're incongruent? Because I've come to understand my psychosis by having to live with it, which Astro looks over with the stigma of "if you're psychotic you can't tell if you're experiencing psychosis".

This will vary from person to person but I personally do not experience a constant psychosis in terms of delusions and hallucinations, and the intensity of that psychosis varies. From lived experience, I can generally tell when I'm starting to have an onset of psychosis, when I'm in the midst of psychosis, and when the symptoms pass. I understand the certain kind of "motifs" that my psychosis lingers on in terms of delusions and hallucinations. It is very possible for someone to understand their psychosis and be aware of it and many psychotic people will attest to this.

So IF all endogenic plurality is really just psychosis, surely, my "plurality" would only come up when my psychosis is intense... But it hasn't been. Have I experienced psychosis during times I've been more dissociated? Yes. But have there been times where I've experienced only psychosis or only dissociation? Also yes. And my psychotic delusions and hallucinations come in clusters so if the rebuttal were to be "well maybe it's just a different kind of hallucination--" that has never been how my psychosis has worked.

Also, there's obviously a major difference in terms of the voices associated with my psychosis and that of my headmate. Physically, the voices I hear from my psychosis will originate from absolutely any point in the room and from outside of myself; whereas my headmate is quite "internal" and it feels like he'll either be speaking over my shoulder or somewhere "further back". Also, the voices from my psychosis don't really have anything to say other than being very mean to me... Sometimes they're kind of dynamic, but overall they're incredibly shallow and tend to be imposing on me. Meanwhile, Major is incredibly dynamic with a lot of unique thoughts and reacts to things like you would expect a person to.

There's also the whole uh not being in control of my body thing and the grey outs and all that stuff. Which, if it somehow still needs clarification, is NOT something that's ever been a part of my psychosis ever in any form. I have had dissociative symptoms probably even longer than I can recall my psychosis, but no one around me nor any records I have mention that kind of possession. So if you're confused by me referring to myself as endogenic despite identifying with dissociative symptoms, that is why.

This isn't to say there isn't occasional overlap, but correlation doesn't equal causation. For example, let's consider stress. Stress is... Complicated. Stress can cause my psychosis or my dissociation to flare up, so that may bring the two closer in "timing" therefore "my plurality must be a result of psychosis under stress". But actually, it's very possible for one to come after the other because psychosis or dissociation in itself leads to stress. I can remember a time where I had initially been doing relatively okay until my headmate had start taking over for a very long period of time, which made me feel out of control and completely stressed - which caused a psychosis induced by stress. Meanwhile, I can also remember a time where my psychosis was very distressing and my dissociation occured in reaction to that sense of danger - that being a dissociation induced by stress.

There is also an overlap in a certain theme that I won't be sharing so as to keep us an anonymous as possible (you know, having a blog dedicated to calling out a harasser doesn't bode well)... So someone might go, "You see! Your headmate resembles your delusions! Your plurality is just a result of psychosis!" But like... Yeah? Of course if I you have a heavy attachment to something, that's going to be the thing your brain is most ready to draw on and create something from. Psychosis and "alters" are pulling from the same pool of information, so it's not that surprising.

And this isn't to say that plurality caused by psychosis is even wrong. Like, who give af? They're not claiming to have DID, it's just a state of being plural due to psychosis. Not a big deal. And DID obviously has a distinct overlap with psychotic symptoms as well, so it's really weird to be pushing psychotic people away for being "fakers" as if they don't have more in common with you than what you may have with other neurodivergencies. There's just so many layers of wrongness to that kind of thought it's truly baffling.

[midnightactual]

The former name for Bankai, Shinuchi (真打) does mean "True Strike" in terms of its individual characters (the uchi, 打, is actually part of what katana are properly called in Japan, uchigatana, 打刀) but also as a compound it does mean "Headliner", as in star performer or main performer. (As a point of reference, Mugetsu being translated as "Moonless Sky" is a poetic reading of the compound, not the individual characters, so both readings are probably apt.)

What Isshin and Ichigo call "the Final Getsuga Tenshō", is 最後の月牙天衝, saigo no Getsuga Tenshō, which is more like "the end of Getsuga Tenshō", and there's a distinction between those two things in English. How does a Bankai end? Grandly. So in English, given the theatrical flare of Shinuchi, it was probably more appropriate to call the ability class a Grand Finale, with regaining powers being a Curtain Call.

Japanese doesn't seem to have direct translations for those terms, and it doesn't really matter anyway since they would be replaced by something ending in -kai, in the style of Shikai and Bankai. But what do those mean anyway?

Shikai is 始解, Bankai is 卍解, but the Bleach Wiki is wrong as usual. While Shikai indeed can mean Initial Release (解 is more like "untie" to get release, and it more generally means "solution"), 卍 is not "final". (Which is good because it saves Kubo from more weird allusions to the No-No Germans, as he's already deep enough in that hole with the Schutzstaffel.)

Rather, 卍 is youth slang. For the guy who supposedly named the thing, Ichibē seems uncertain about it (Chapter 609):

These translations seem quite accurate. Maybe he pulled it from the future without fully understanding it, since he can just do that:

Anyway, I want you to know that Captains are running around saying the equivalent of HYPE RELEASE, KEWL SUMMON, AWES SOLUTION, EPIC STYLE, or OFF THE CHAIN and that they are huge dorks.

So, what might you call "End of Bankai?" I think it should be slangy like Bankai itself is. I'm kind of partial to using this:

おつ (otsu) Short for お疲れ様でした (otsukaresama deshita), meaning “you worked hard” or “good job.” You can use it as a slangy goodbye. 乙 This obscure kanji, which translates as “moth,” is now used as a shorthand for お疲れ様でした, which we talked about earlier. Why 乙? Because it’s read as おつ, which is the same slang term we covered above that means “you must be tired” or “thanks for your hard work.” You’ll see this as praise for someone online. Like when someone posts the answer to the clickbait title of an article in the comments to save you a click.

乙解 looks the part, as it sort of looks like an even more stripped down 卍解, and calling it "Goodbye Release" is appropriately bittersweet for what it is. However, Otsukai sounds kinda lame, and the alternate readings of ochi, itsu, kinoto, oto, kanaderu, meri… all kind of don't work. It should be three letters, like shi and ban, and Otokai also sounds sort of weak.

Admittedly, Kubo did do this thing with Hakka no Togame, where he just subbed in a completely different pronunciation kana for a kanji, so you could have 乙 and use kana to say it was read another way...

Another possibility might be 終解, Shukai, with 終 also being owaru, as in owari da, which you've heard an endless number of anime characters say, usually meaning, "It's over!" or the like. That feels also kind of slangy, in a slanted way.

[nevermoreconfessions]

Prospero is my favorite character for many reasons and one of those is the fact he's from the first work of Edgar Allan Poe I read, therefore it has a special place in my heart. Having said that, his spectre disappoints me, AT THE TIME. It's true I don't know what the authors have in store but thus far, his spectre lacks severely to me. Spoilers for Masque of Red Death ahead, but he's based off of a story where a Prince hides away from a plague that torments his land until that "Red Death" enters the castle and follows him through a series of colored rooms, each one representing different things depending on how you read it. His spectre is not giving me any of that. It's a generic plague doctor with a staff as his most "unique" design choice. It tells me he lived through A plague but it doesn't tell me anything else from him just by looking at it on top of it being the weakest in terms of flare. Even Will's has more flare and that's...saying a lot. I trust that eventually the design might... make more sense to me and it might go through changes but as of right now, it's the most boring to me and that's a shame because I adore Prospero and anything related to him but I couldn't honestly say his Spectre is my favorite when it doesn't even look like anything more than a regular plague doctor... Especially since the staff is easy to miss or just doesn't add much. The rats could be a bonus too, but rats weren't really much of an element in the story either....

PS: I really don't mean this as hate or harsh criticism, it's just an observation and a mild hope someone sheds a new perspective on this that maybe I missed?

Can I call you PoeAnon? I'm calling you PoeAnon.

Oh, PoeAnon. How I love you, because this is what critique looks like. And you know what? I get what you're coming from. In a way, I actually agree.

Dear PoeAnon, here's what Prospero's design and abilities tell me, in regards to who he is and how he died —

Let's start with the whole Plague Doctor thing he's got going on. Personally, I love a good plague doctor, and I do think that the spectre could've used a little extra pizazz; but, here's where that design gets truly interesting —

The rats.

Yes, those damned rats. Let me explain.

It tells a great amount of how he died! Did you know that the Plague was spread by rats (then, fleas)? Apparently, the Catholic church was like, "Deport those cats, they're evil," and rats ran wild, spreading the plague like wildfire — the plague subsequently hit Italy, where Prospero is said to be from.

So, to me, it appears that Prospero died of the Plague in Italy, where he might have worked as a doctor in efforts to treat said plague. Or, he was the patient. (I think he was the patient who either died of the plague, or in surgery.)

To emhasize that he died of the plague, let's talk about the poem for a moment. The "Red Death" is a fictional disease that causes "bleeding at the pores."

Prospero is known to have a fear of blood — he gets queasy seeing his own blood, to be exact. Fits well, right?

I'll admit — I don't really understand the bat wings or the hourglass symbols on his staff.

I'll assume that the hourglass symbolizes death — namely, "running out of time," because getting the plague back then meant that you were counting your days. The bat wings stump me, though I assume it's because bats can carry some pretty serious diseases, too.

All this to say: I do like Prospero's spectre. As I said, I have a soft spot for Plague doctors, though I do understand that desire for more.

I wish I had more to go off of, too. But it's still a neat design, in my opinion! It's a classic, honestly.

What do you think, Nevermore tumblr?

[becauseplot]

Still feel is one of my fav fics ever and it made me so happy to see more stuff from this AU! Your post-osnf headcannons are sooo good!! Actually im a big fan of your ordem headcannons in general tbh

If you dont mind sharing more on it...Can you maybe tell us a bit more about your ideas for the effects the symbol left on Thiago? Like, is he still connected to it or to Santo Berço somehow?? I find this consequences stuff really interesting and id be cool to hear more about it

Aw thanks!! I'm glad someone's getting some enjoyment out of my rambles <33

I can go a bit deeper, of course! Warning for the fact that this does get pretty sad and heavy, sorry :(

So Santo Berço really is gone. Equipe E destroyed it. The effects that Thiago is now dealing with are essentially mental scarring: a mix of normal human PTSD with a paranormal "flare" to it. The Symbol has seared itself not just onto his back but onto his mind as well. His dreams of the Symbol are due to trauma and the fact that, just as he suspects, he was never meant to escape it. It is stuck with him now. Anything touched by Death cannot go back to the way it was before, after all.

I kind of like to think about his mental state in terms of Ordem's "sanity" system as well. He recovers plenty of "sanity" while in injury recovery, since he's given time to rest, away from stressors. Eventually, he starts to do work for the Order again, but he quickly learns that he can't handle stressful, paranormal events like he could before (systems-wise, he has a permanent de-buff/disadvantage in the sanity checks) and missions---even the short one he starts out with---just put too much strain on his body. So, he winds up becoming part of the Order's cover-up team, helping fudge official reports and write up those "logical explanations" that Veríssimo sometimes references.

It's a role that's...much easier on him, after everything he went through. He does notice a pattern between his stress and the frequency of the Symbol dreams, so it's much better this way. He will, on rare occasions, help his friends out in the field with intel gathering (perhaps encountering a Horror on the way, which is never fun), and with he gets to serve as a sounding board for Liz's investigations, both her personal ones and the ones she does with the Order.

There are...other effects of the symbol. That he doesn't like to talk about. He's taken a sickly comfort in swirling designs, ever since he woke up in that hospital; back when he dealt with the nightmares on his own, before Liz and the others knew about them, he used to go to bed with reminders to himself ("Your name is Thiago Fritz, you live in São Paulo with Liz, she's in the bedroom upstairs...") written on his arm surrounded by swirls in the hopes they might calm him down enough to think and read it. He ponders his father's pocket watch more than he should, taking solace in the even, steady tick of time moving at the right pace as much as he does watching the second hand go around and around. He finds himself tracing circle after circle after circle with his finger when he's lost in thought or anxious about something...

He finds himself taking comfort in it. The Symbol. The thought makes him feel ill.

Over the months between osnf and opd, his mind slowly starts to deteriorate. Anything touched by Death cannot go back to the way it was before, after all. The frequency of the dreams has always been correlated with his stress and thus fluctuates, but on average they start to get more frequent, and the more intense ones happen more often, and it slowly gets worse, and worse, and worse until---

---he "zones out" one day, thinking of the Symbol. Thirty seconds, nothing much, it must just be on his mind. Then, he starts to fully disconnect from his surroundings, in his own head, pondering the Symbol for a minute or two. The white void starts to creep into his vision sometimes, reality losing meaning and definition, for several minutes at a time. Minutes turn to an hour, two hours, more, if no one is around to pull him out of it.

Thiago, as much as he hates to admit it to himself, is very, very tired. His mind and body are worn out, abused, overused. The thought that he's been living on borrowed time ever since Santo Berço comes more often than he'd like. At the worst of times, he feels like he's orbiting and closing in on some final, finite point. But he'll never tell his friends this because he knows it'll scare them because fuck, it scares him too. (Though, the times where it doesn't scare him are...even worse.)

[end0parasitic]

What are your headcanons for, let’s say…. Cynte, Pravi, Karis, and Luce? (U can add more characters or not answer for one/some of them if you’d like)

Just general headcanons bc i can’t think of specific kinds lmao

i am honestly bad at headcanons lol, most of them r solely visual. but! i definitely have some for all of these characters (and a bonus one!)

cynte: first of all insomniac, that’s a headcanon a lot of people seem to share. i feel like it flared up after karis left him, following a period of almost constant sleep and being withdrawn. i once saw a headcanon of him having heterochromia, and i think that it has potential. also, i like to think that he has a few cybernetic modifications, maybe as a religious thing like eve (the protagonist of wrought flesh). oh, also a strict upbringing! if not at least a very stressful one. i do not think that he was pressured to succeed, but i do think that he desperately wanted to escape something and already grew up in a very religious environment that prioritized success through intelligence and hard work.

praví: my boy has a very small role in game, so i think he’s mostly headcanon for me lol. i had a few back in the day, like he had a major sweet tooth. knit sweaters was also one (still like this one). one specific to me i think was that he used to take q-melanin (thing in wrought flesh that the villagers take cuz it allows them to photosynthesize) when he was child and used to live on a majorly desert planet as a poor colonist. also i like the idea that he’s very technically smart but can’t solve puzzles (projecting lol), while cynte can do both if a little forgetful of some advanced things and protocol. i like the idea of him not having a god/goddess he’s devoted to.

luce: first of all, surrounded by butterfly imagery since this post lives in my head rent free. i drew this luce on a whim and this is honestly how i see her in my head, this might be my fav design of her i’ve ever done even though it’s pretty simple. i like to think that in her childhood, she was seen as kind of a bad omen by the people around her, if a very kind one. like a lot of bad stuff happened around her, and she seemed to be at the center of it, but she really was just a kind person trying her best. the isolation and constant suspicion and harshness got to her and it all culminated in the parasites taking notice of her. doomed by the narrative vibes. also, i think she’s very familiar with tools from computers to scalpels to guns.

karis: oh this man has been hurt before. i wouldn’t be surprised if he had a long term relationship with someone a lot more wild and magnetic than he was and then got his heart ripped out by them, and then moved on to cynte, and then left him too. i get the vibe that he was born on a very carefree planet, a metropolis with a good government, and the people were generally very wild and hedonistic, but he never was. only drinks socially, never smokes. he was definitely a lot kinder to luce than praví and cynte were, maybe they were friends. i think of him as not only smart enough to be a scientist, but also smart enough to know how to talk his way into things, whereas cynte gets by on sheer devotion.

eve (my nickname for the protagonist of wrought flesh): i think her cult generally goes by burn bright and fast, meaning they tank all of the damage they get and die young and gloriously, and that’s what she’s primed to do. i like to think she’s very accomplished and already kind of ascended to hero status, but not truly godlike. she’s looking for something that has been watching her like the way you watch a bug crawl too close and move to shove it away. she’s like an ideal warrior cultist.

in conclusion: i’m normal abt them. trust me bro.

[voievod]

After looking at several possible references for what could Vlad’s kılıç look like, I finally made up my mind and crafted a particular idea. Therefore, let me introduce you to Vlad’s weapon of choice:

Even though the general rule on how to differentiate between the Turkic and Persian scimitars is that the Persian shamshir has that perfect deep curve while the Ottoman kılıç is straighter and has a flaring tip near the end of the blade, even these two can be mistaken for one another because they might be curved to a varying degree or with a less pronounced tip. However, Vlad’s kılıç is definitely one of the finest Ottoman works, showcasing the mastery of sword-making of that time.

Therefore, his would have the perfect, standard shape — the slightly curved and broader handle to fit his grip nicely, a straight blade that curves upwards into the wider yalman (the flared tip). It has a single edge except for the yalman which is double-edged, allowing to harm the opponent by a flick. I do think his yalman would be much more pronounced than it is on the picture, maybe something like this. I also think the guard would be wider, for his own comfort.

The Ottoman sword-making was pretty famous for personalisation of the blades — the owners usually had quotes from Qur’an on them, Mehmed’s ceremonial sword is a good example of that (more on his sword soon!). Because Vlad was not a Muslim, he obviously wouldn’t have that, but I still think he would have a soft pattern engraved on the steel, something like on the picture above. He definitely values practicality, so the pattern would be more on the subtle side.

Despite having inherited his father’s two-handed sword (allegedly made from the finest Toledo steel and given to him by King Sigismund), Vlad prefers the Ottoman kılıç over any of the European swords. This reason is a very practical and pragmatic one — because he was raised by the Turks from his ten years and spent time there until he turned eighteen (with roughly ten months of that period being back in Wallachia), a period during which he was most intensely trained for fighting, he simply grew accustomed to the Ottoman way of fighting and use of weapons. Unlike the Europeans, the Ottomans had a very dynamic fighting style in terms of movement, and their weapons were an extension of that fluidity.

The physical training is what he always enjoyed greatly, and so he naturally picked up the style he was rigourously trained in. When he becomes an active warrior, that is the type of fighting that comes naturally to him, like an instinct. Kılıç is the weapon he is accustomed to and is masterful at wielding — whenever he tries to train with a straight two-handed sword, it feels clumsy in his hands and slows down the instinctive fluidity he needs in his movement.