#please list your family’s medical history

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

why is filling out doctors forms the worst thing in the world

[greenflowerceo]

Here's how you can help Palestine!!

Educate yourself and spread awareness with the help of these sites:

Al Jazeera - This is a news site that gives constant updates and information on Palestine.

Decolonize Palestine - This is a website that informs you about the history of Palestine, debunk myths, and gives out a lot of resources to look into.

Visualizing Palestine - This site creates infographics that can help people visualize the statistics from data collected about Palestine. They are free to download and share around.

US Campaign for Palestinian Rights - This website includes numerous campaigns and resources you can look into and support.

The Palestinian Museum Digital Archive - This site features a collection of many things from Palestine that archives documents, letters, and other items that show the lives and experiences of Palestinians.

Ways you can donate to/support families in Palestine:

Arab.org - Just do your daily clicks and you get to donate for free. Please take the time to donate to all of the causes.

Gaza Funds - Every time you refresh the site, it leads you to a different GoFundMe page for the people who need help.

Care for Gaza - This is an organization that sends aid out to Palestine, you can find more in their Twitter/X account. They also have a PayPal.

eSims for Gaza - You can send an eSim to people in Palestine to help them connect and reach out.

Emergency Relief for Gaza - This is a campaign that gives food, medical supplies, and other humanitarian aid to families from donations.

Medical Aid for Palestinians (MAP) - They also give medical aid to the people in Palestine and you can also support by donating to them as well.

Palestine Children's Relief Fund (PCRF) - Donate here to give funds and support to the children in Palestine as they specialize in pediatric care.

Google Docs/Spreadsheets:

Make sure to look at the other tabs within the spreadsheets as they lead to more options/resources!

Help Gaza - This is a spreadsheet with a list of fundraisers for different families/causes that need support! Look through and donate when you can!

Operation Olive Branch - This is a spreadsheet with many links and ways to help in the project! There are campaigns, fundraisers, volunteer work for other parts of the causes and such! Make sure to check it out!

★RESOURCE LINKS AND INFO★ - A google document made from Twitter/X user: para_docx. This includes links, resources, and information for the other ongoing genocides as well.

Some of these documents intersect and have similar resources and links, but I'm adding them just to make sure as they may also have some that aren't listed in this post either.

Free Palestine.

[215-luv]

here are links and websites that you can open to help palestine, sudan, congo, and more, may it be for donations, petitions, or what more do you need to know. i am open to adding more links from anyone, so please let me know what can i add. the more, the better.

also, let me know if there are links that are inaccessible.

THE LEAST THAT YOU CAN DO:

do not forget your daily clicks!

DONATIONS:

Fundraisers for Gaza, Sudan, Congo, and more

Random Generator that shows you the most in-need fundraiser at the moment in time

donate to local relief groups/kitchens so they can alleviate the hunger of 1,000+ people in their area

medical aid for palestinians

urgent support for medical professionals in gaza

emergency relief for gaza

emergency appeal to support gaza emergency medical relief

help support families in sudan impacted by war

Help Asjad and her Family Escape War in Sudan

Help Tala make a future after losing all family

please help noor and her family by donating in to their gfm

please help rawan ahmed and her family escape the war in gaza

CareForGaza: Supporting Displaced Families in Gaza

Help buy eSims for people in Gaza

Provide resources for Congo people

PETITIONS:

petition to investigate war crimes committed by the israeli military

demand ceasefire

open call for immediate ceasefire

urge the american government to stop funding israeli military

WHAT YOU NEED TO KNOW:

a collection of credible sources for anyone who wants to know more about palestine and its history

list of companies that support israel

here is a spreadsheet containing fundraising platforms that help palestine escape the violence of genocide

spreadsheet of more than 500 funding links for supporting families in gaza

FicsForGaza: donate vetted fundraisers who help palestinian people by sponsoring some of tumblr writers’ fics/wips or vice versa! (more details in the link)

[trustmypoison]

SVT when their partner has a medical emergency

Requested? Sort of!

Request: 'Please can I request one where reader has sepsis? If it’s too hard or not something you want to write that’s ok don’t worry! (Also want to say I discovered your account only yesterday and I’m really loving your writing) 🫶'

A/N: there is no TW/CW because this won't address the specifics of the medical emergency itself, but rather their reaction to you having one in the first place.

A/N #2: the initial request was specific, but I chose to write about medical emergencies in general, rather than covering a specific type of emergency. To the requester, I hope you understand and still enjoy!

Totally unhinged - Seungcheol, Wonwoo, Woozi, Mingyu, Seungkwan

Yelling at nurses and doctors. Getting threatened to get kicked out by security. Demanding to know every single move the medical staff are making. Every protective instinct is on overdrive and he demands the best care for you rather loudly. A huge pain in the ass the whole time, refusing to leave and asking for updates every ten minutes. When you’re okay and alert, the doctors and nurses might even joke that he must really love you. Will deny throwing the fit that he did, before eventually admitting how worried he was.

The picture of control - Joshua, Minghao, Vernon

Oh, please don’t get me wrong. So incredibly concerned that you needed to go to the hospital and really is thinking the worst just like they all are, but he knows he needs to be stable and level-headed right now, so that’s what he is. Listens to the medical staff carefully when he gets updates. Calls any family or friends you might want to be aware of this situation. Stays with you when he can finally see you. The picture of careful and caring if only because they can compartmentalize. They don’t want you to feel guilty for worrying anyone.

Nervous wreck - Jeonghan, Jun, Hoshi, DK, Chan

Falling apart. Totally panicked. Not the most poised in this situation by any stretch of the imagination. While the first group might harass the medical staff for updates and details out of anger or protectiveness, he’ll do it out of desperation. This is the one that might need to call a friend to come sit with him and be the voice of reason - reminders that he needs to let your family or friends know, or get a list of your medical history together for the medical team, or just simply that it’s okay to be upset. Will be so, so relieved when he finally gets to see you and will not be able to hide it. Will jokingly beg you to never put him through something like that again (but it’s not too much of a joke because he was really losing it).

[kamaluhkhan]

🍉 fics for gaza

while @ficsforgaza is focused on animanga and video games fandoms, it's inspired me to do something similar to help raise funds for palestine ! click here to learn more about this amazing initiative (how to participate, creator masterlist, etc.)

other ways to support palestine:

boycott companies complicit in israeli apartheid

click this website daily; generated ad revenue is donated to palestinian causes

follow palestinian journalists like bisan owda, plestia alaqad, and hind khoudary; al jazeera is a news outlet that reports on what's happening, without an western bias

learn more about the history of palestine (some resources are the palestine academy and decolonize palestine)

check out this post (updated regularly) for donation links and petitions to sign

how does it work?

🍉 send me a message/ask with your request ! if i accept, then please send a screenshot as a proof of donation; remember to cover any personal information.

🍉 make a donation !

@/ficsforgaza has a list of fundraisers and charities to choose from;

gaza funds picks a random vetted gofundme each time you click the page;

other charities like palestinian children's relief fund or medical aid for palestine

🍉 once i get donation confirmation, i will try and have the request written within 3-5 days !

🍉 you will be mentioned as a sponsor of the fic when i'll post it; if you wish to remain anonymous, please let me know beforehand !

🍉 my blog is 18+....minors DNI !

request a fic - $10 per request (recommended)

🍉 in exchange for your donation, i'll write you a short one shot !

note: while i recommend $10 per request, i also recognize that everyone has different financial situations. if your donation is less (or more) than the recommended amount, i might still accept your request depending on if it is within my scope as a write. any donation helps!

🍉 i can write for these fandoms/characters:

percy jackson and the olympians: luke castellan, book!percy jackson (18+)

marvel: shuri udaku, michelle jones, peter parker (mcu or tasm), kate bishop, gwen stacy

miscellaneous: conrad fisher (the summer i turned pretty), any zendaya or ayo edebiri character (but no rpf!!)

🍉 i write pretty much any genre (fluff, angst, smut, etc.) and i'm open to any trope (friends to lovers, enemies to lovers, found family, secret relationship, college au, etc.), but please contact me with your idea before to make sure i can write it; you can send me a message or an ask !

🍉 if you aren't sure what to request, @nightprompts has this list of general dialogue starters i'm open to writing; remember to also lmk which character you are making the request for !

last updated: 08/06/24

[khaire-traveler]

🦋 Subtle Psyche Worship🕯️

Try meditation; practice mindfulness

Drink calming herbal teas

Start a garden; tend to plants, especially your own herbs or flowers

Have a candle that reminds you of her (no altar needed)

Keep a picture of her in your wallet

Wear jewelry that reminds you of her

Support environmental preservation or mental health organizations

Honor your ancestors; learn about your family history

Have imagery of butterflies, wings, candles (especially in the dark), or the soul around

Have stuffed animal butterflies, sheep, or any animal you associate with the soul

Eat a comfort meal; drink a comfort drink

Take a self-care bath or shower, especially with soothing herbs

Practice self-love and self-care

Practice patience and understanding, especially towards yourself

Set healthy boundaries; not all boundaries need to be openly stated

Leave out nectar for insects and hummingbirds

Listen to music that deeply connects with you

Dance like nobody's watching!

Show compassion towards yourself and others

Make a list of things you enjoyed throughout your day; little things matter just as much

Spend time with loved ones

Engage in activities that you're passionate about or that you enjoy

Take a walk/hike in nature, especially on a nice day or in your favorite weather

Engage in activities that allow you to express your creativity

Express yourself in little ways if you can't be fully open; a bracelet to represent your gender, pride flag colored shoelaces, etc.

Feed neighborhood cats, dogs, birds, etc.

Pick up trash in your environment

Be gentle with yourself when you're having a difficult time

Remember that rest is productive; take breaks when you need them

Honor your ancestors and loved ones who have passed; keep family heirlooms, items that remind you of them, etc.

Draw or color a butterfly with your favorite colors; draw yourself as a butterfly

Keep your space clean; make it your own

Take your medications if any; drink water regularly; treat your body and mind kindly

Light a candle, bonfire, or general small fire in the darkness; sit with it and focus on the warmth and light it provides

Connect with a local community; LGBTQ support groups, D&D groups, gamer groups, etc.; interact with new people

Make a list of your future goals, big or small; make a list of little or big things you've accomplished already; celebrate them

-

I may add more to this later on! For the time being, this is my list of discreet ways to worship Psyche. Please take care, everyone, and I hope this was helpful! 🧡

Link to Subtle Worship Master list

[stabbyfoxandrew]

I am proceeding orderly to your askbox, totally not running and stumbling over myself, humbly requesting the light of my life, Angel Neil. Or Mer AU, if Angel Neil isn't behaving and needs quiet time in the corner. (I haven't been paying much attention to Tumblr lately, I hope you're doing well!)

WIP Wednesday (9/25) | Guardian Angel Neil AU (Part 239)

"Her name was Lacey,” Bee says finally. “She said she saw ghosts."

"Past tense?"

"Past tense." Betsy repeats, looking solemn. "But there are no similarities between you and Lacey. You describe Neil as an angel, a being who would not hurt you. Her case was... Very different. I just wanted to be sure. And now I am. You have nothing to worry about.”

“Oh, I have plenty to worry about. Neil is not on the list.”

“If that ever changes, if Neil ever threatens you, I need you to tell me."

"He won't." 

"But if he does."

"Then I swear on hot chocolate and reality television that I will come to you first." Andrew says, holding up his hand as if he's testifying in court. Bee seems pleased by that. And amused. Andrew puts his hand down. “So… You're still of the mind that Neil's my imaginary friend, correct?"

"Or a harmless side effect of your medication."

Andrew sits there for a moment, pushes his tongue into his cheek. "What if he's not?"

"What if he's not harmless?" Bee asks, looking the slightest bit alarmed.

"No." Andrew gestures with his hand, trying to communicate without having to come up with words. "What if he isn't a side effect?"

"Are you suggesting that he is actually an angel here to protect you?"

"What I am suggesting, Betsy, is that it's a bit strange for him to only have shown up a few months ago when I have been taking these things for years."

"I…” Betsy closes her mouth. “That's a good point."

"So, what if the drugs have nothing to do with him? What if I'm just plain ol' psychotic?"

"I'm not sure that's a possibility, Andrew," Betsy says, flipping through his paperwork. "You have no family history of psychosis—"

"Oh Betsy, you forget who you're speaking to. I have no family history, period. If you recall, I only have two living relatives and they're both my age. My sperm donor could be tied down in a psych ward anywhere in the country and I would never know."

"Okay. You're right. It is possible. But I think the chances are pretty slim.”

“How slim?”

“Nearly non-existent.” Bee says. After a moment, she continues, “I have patients who are psychotic, Andrew. I’ve had patients who were schizophrenic. You do not exhibit the same symptoms as they do. I promise.”

"So I don't need to get fitted for a straight jacket."

"Exactly. Andrew, I'll reassure you as many times as you need me to. But I think you're fine. After June, we'll know if Neil was a side effect. If he sticks around after you're off your meds, we'll talk about it more. Okay?"

“I don’t think he’s a side effect, Betsy.” Andrew says. “I’ve seen him without them.”

“Without them?”

“At night when I come off them to sleep. Early in the morning before I’ve taken them.”

“Ah. Then, like I’ve been telling you, he’s a coping mechanism.” Betsy says. But she's wrong. Andrew has seen Neil eat and drink and hold things. He’s felt the angel’s warmth when they sat side by side. If Andrew has seen him sober, Neil is not a side effect. If Andrew is not psychotic, Neil is not a hallucination. That means he’s real. 

Boo hoo for Lacey, but Andrew's got an angel.

"I think you'd like Neil," Andrew says randomly.

“Of course I do. He’s good for you." Bee says, taking Andrew by surprise. She's said as much before, but not in so many words. As if answering an unasked question, she continues with, "You've told me that Neil encourages you to take care of yourself, to spend time with your family, to catch up on school work, and to take exy more seriously. These are positive things." 

“The rest I’ll give you. But exy will never be a positive.”

[hysteric-machine]

Spoilers for the new Reverse 1999 chapters

TW Psychophobia, Torture, Intergenerational trauma?, Suicide Attempts...

Now started playing the new story chapters of Reverse 1999. And while I KNEW what I was going to go through, the instant I saw Isolde tied up on the electric chair... I reminded.

I reminded what it did to me as a mentally ill kid to play Alice Madness Returns. What it did to me when I watched Penny Dreadful as a young adult. So I paused. To talk about it.

I am one of the lucky ones. I never had go to a psychiatric ward (my parents tried to get me there after my first suicide attempt, but it was an adult only service, and as a 16 years old I wasn't old enough to enter, luckily my mom was there to attend to me all summer since she worked from home).

I did suffer the stigma, in many ways, but I did not suffer the medical abuse to a no return point extent. Of course the abuse in general is still terrible, but I got lucky. Some friends did not. Someone you know surely got through that. Everyone knows someone broken by psychiatric institutions. And a lot of these unlucky individuals did not recover, and sometimes died from this abuse.

We can argue that it's much better now, that there isn't torture anymore (that's a lie, getting tied down is torture, getting isolated is torture, and I won't start talking about how close to prisons psychiatric wards are, and yes I hate the reality of prisons too).

We can argue about all of this.

But we are still counting our dead. Mourning people that were not helped, not cured, but drowned even further into despair and left in shreds.

And my body knows, when I watch these pieces of fiction, when I read the history of how our condition were "studied", how the DSM got written. I feel an overwhelming and unspeakable fear. Because I know, it's me on the screen. It's my story. It could've been my exact story.

It has been the story of many unluckiest, unprivileged people (at this point I have to mention that of course, it is not just pure luck : if you aren't white, if you're lgbtq+, if a woman, you're particularly poor, if you're from a pious family, if you have commorbidities and many more can add to the list, it's going to be harder and you are the first ones on the list).

I can't ease this feeling. It's like a survival instinct. You know you don't want to ever have to go there. Even if "it can be fine sometimes", "there are some safe wards" or whatever. If you are mentally ill you just know.

So a kind reminder : always consider this when dealing with someone close to you that have mental health issues and seems to not be able to get the help they need, or sometimes are in emergency state. Please don't call the cops. Don't call the emergency services. Please don't get them to a psychiatric ward first without trying everything else, especially if they aren't ok with going there. It is, in and of itself a traumatic experience to live, and even the less abusive institution ARE abusive because psychiatry's history is what it is. It's not because some privileged people got out of there unharmed (and again I can't agree with that) that everyone would.

Anyway, it's all over the place, I can't find a good way to word this, because there is no good way to word that I'm terrified by all that shit, with reason.

Take care of yourself, of your loved ones. You can't change the world, and it is designed in a way that we still have very few alternatives to psychiatry nowadays, so you can't really avoid it all together. Just know that it's not only fiction and incredibly triggering for some of us.

Cheers. If you can relate and wish to read the new Reverse content maybe take your time to be ready, not alone, in a good mindset.

[tf2occontest]

Balloonimedic VS The Blade / Hemi LaBoh

(Full matchup list here)

Alright team, here's a recap: This is a contest to determine who amongst you will take the top of the leaderboards and be hired at TFI! Simply put, whoever gets the most votes gets to move on, and whoever doesn't... Well. They'll be put down swiftly and cleanly. :}

So, mann your stations, because here are your next contestants! Vote for your favorite mercenary who you want to win the TF2 OC Contest! - P

OC INFO UNDER THE CUT!

We highly encourage you to take a peek to make your decision!

Balloonimedic

@jolluxiscool

Image credit: @/jolluxiscool

Balloonimedic is a TF2FREAK (wowzers, right?) that came to be after a very bad discussion with xis heavy, resulting into xim becoming friends with the team's pyro, eventually picking up their behavior, their likings and quirks, even to the point of asking engineer to build a device that let xim spawn balloonicorns and lots of fun stuff! Until one day xe got lost and never saw xis team again, but that's another story.

Optimistic, unpredictable and eager to make a mess, Ballooni is the most fun person to be around, yet one you have to keep an eye on if you don't want everything to catch up on fire. Xe's a sucker for drawing and candy, and even if xes mute, xe loves to hang around with everyone xe sees! Unless its a heavy, theyre no fun.

Be SURE that this fella will charm your heart and light your soul, but please, DON'T GIVE XIM ACCESS TO FIRE!!

The Blade / Hemi LaBoh

@bohemianette

Image credit: @/bohemianette

A once aspiring fashion designer now turned to the life of a mercenary (seeking to be Mann Co.'s 10th class) after a gruesome decision made during a botched fashion show, and discovering her love for sharpness and precision went beyond the arts of sewing and slicing up fabric; expanding her arsenal from simple nimble needles and scissors to swords, ninja stars and scythes. She even designed her own uniform! And despite the allegations, she absolutely did not use blood to dye the fabric, nor did her BLU counterpart use her enemy’s tears to wash it.

The Blade comes from a typical middle class family, one with rich history rooted from their Northern English carpentry, an early on introduction to the arts of meticulous and detailed crafts, and obviously sharp objects. Maybe giving the Blade a saw at the ripe age of 3 wasn’t the most excellent of choices, but it gave her stable, precise hands; perfect for cutting cables to help out a Southern engineer or perhaps harvesting organs for a particular deranged German doctor.

On the battlefield, giving her team's Spy a little crochet accessory akin to whatever enemy merc he is turning into (like a mini Sasha for the Heavy, a mini baseball bat for the Scout, etc) before he turns into an enemy team's class decreases his likelihood of being found out as a spy. However, she needs "sewing progress" to do this, which is gained through kills and assists. This sewing progress can also be used to assist other team members, giving them temporary bulletproof or stab-proof clothing.

When not on the battlefield, the Blade also contributes to the team with the aforementioned cable cutting and organ harvests (even surgeries!). Not only that, but she helps them out when their uniform gets cut or ruined in battle, Scout seemingly getting the most tears in his clothing (with Blade starting to get suspicious). If she weren’t a mercenary, she would’ve been their personal seamstress.

The Blade, if not provoked, is sweet like jam but can become bitter like blood (which will be drawn if necessary!) if pushed far enough. In the battlefield, she is focused and collected, but once the stress of the battle’s time limit hits her along with the Medic’s Übercharge, she begins to stab any enemy she can see in her peripheral vision. She calls this her ‘dye deadline’ to refer to the mass bloodshed. Again, she absolutely has not EVER used blood as a substitute for red dye.

The Blade specialises in precision and speed; using blades instead of bullets requires far more speed than one would need when handling a typical gun.

The Blade uses the following load-out: Ninja stars (called the Stitchers), an ex-calibre and a katana named Westwood (after iconic fashion designer Vivienne Westwood).

In regards to the other mercs, the Blade has pretty good relationships with most, being the closest with the Scout and the Engineer, and only having more neutral relationships with the Soldier and the Sniper. There was mild tension between her and the Demoman due to the fact she's English, but her being from the North seemed to ease it up a little more. To quote him, he said "A've got ma eye on ye lass."

Fun fact: she had met the Scout not long before her days as a mercenary! She had designed baseball uniform for the Bostonian while she was still in her fashion career, who offered to pay for it with $5 and ‘friendship’. The Blade was desperate. But it wasn’t entirely a bad decision!

“So, erm, cheers for listening. I hope yous liked my little origin story.” - Hemi LaBoh, the Blade.

[icypolargirl78]

i'm so fucking tired man. i don't normally post on tumblr beyond reblogging and making art occasionally but i cannot think of anywhere else to put these thoughts so whatever

i'm not entirely sure if anyone will read this post and that's okay, i don't have many followers and there are better posts to follow when it comes to supporting palestine and her people. don't give up hope, keep reblogging, keep talking about palestine okay. even if you think it doesn't matter it does. talking about what's happening beats back every bit of propaganda that gets spread about palestine. every bit counts

FROM THE RIVER TO THE SEA PALESTINE WILL BE FREE

here is a list of resources that you can donate to if you can. and if you can't, please reblog anyways. boost them.

i'm sick and tired of the constant news from palestine. not because i want to remain blissfully ignorant about what's happening there but because with each passing hour i get more and more angry and discouraged regarding what's happening there. i cannot in my mind truly comprehend the level of inhumanity that is required to forcefully remove people from their homes, to deprive them of basic necessities like water, food, and medical care, and then carpet bomb the land that so many families have lived on for literal decades. it's horrific and a disgusting level of evil.

beyond that i have to live with the knowledge that my government is actively funding these atrocities. i don't even want to call it my government because there is no way in my mind that any human could possibly see the deaths caused by israel and want to help them continue in their path of genocide.

these past few months have solidly confirmed in my mind that capitalism is single-handedly one of the worst things to have ever happened to our society because capitalism the thing that's behind my government supporting these atrocities. plain and simple it makes companies more money to help kill literal children who have done nothing wrong than to send aid to those children and to call for a ceasefire. it's sickening that my government is choosing to support this senseless violence simply because it means they can sell more guns and bombs and tanks.

i think about how the world will speak on these events in 20, 30, 50 years from now. i wonder how the history books will recount the brave gazans who survived what happened. i wonder if my country will continue to pump out propaganda regarding their involvement in this disaster. i wonder if the textbooks and worksheets students will read and write on will echo the way that my textbooks talked about native americans or african slaves. i wonder how many lives will get reduced to a statistic on a page.

and it makes me sad. so depressingly sad that so many people will get swept under the rug. that every lost life will never be mourned in the way every human deserves to.

i get conflicted over whether or not i have any right to speak on these events. i live a very privileged life. i never have to worry about when my next meal is coming, i have access to clean and safe drinking water at all hours of the day, i have a roof over my head and 24 hour access to the internet. why should i, someone who has all this, speak about events that are happening across the world. why should i have the right to mourn and speak about people who are now gone when those who are still alive are living in some of the worst conditions known to humankind.

and i realise that that's what the israeli government wants. they want me to stop thinking about gaza and palestine as a whole. they want the world to turn their backs and ignore the atrocities they are committing.

and i don't want that to happen. i'll continue clicking daily for palestine. i'll continue to reblog posts about gaza. i will keep that shred of hope that one day i will wake up and my tumblr dashboard will be filled with posts celebrating a ceasefire, that one day palestine will be free from the occupation of a tyrannical state.

but even knowing that doesn't take away from the guilt that i feel when i see gofundme's and links to aid relief programs. i've donated an esim to gaza and i really do hope that it helps someone but i'm not in a position to do anything more than reblog posts and do my daily clicks.

[dixonsdarkelf]

Finding Myself, Finding You: Chapter Twenty-One

Masterlist

AO3 link Wattpad link

Let me know if you want to be added to the taglist <3 (18+ only, MDNI)

We get a little Vulnerable!Daryl in this one & it makes me emotional I’m not gonna lie

Story is 18+ for mature content/themes, minors do not interact please

TW/CWs for this story--implied/referenced past rape, canonical violence, non-canonical violence, blood, gore, referenced past suicide, swearing, surgery, excessive drinking, nightmares, panic attacks, mention of scars, vomiting, amputation, medical procedures, non-con medical procedures, referenced past medical torture, referenced past drugging, attempted sexual assault, panic attacks, mental health struggles, referenced sibling death, referenced parent death, PTSD

Each chapter will have its own TW/CWs listed

This story, Lydia Vector, her family & bestie (c) me, TheVeganDarkElf

TWD & its characters (c) AMC & Robert Kirkman, the writer of the comic series

Legolas & Lord of the Rings (c) J.R.R. Tolkien, Sleeping Beauty (c) Disney

TW/CWs for this chapter--swearing, allusion to child abuse (Daryl’s history), discussion of sibling death (Merle), mention/discussion of scars, discussion of an alcoholic parent, smoking

Word count: 3.3k

"What's this last one?" he asked, flipping it over. It was a picture of me wearing a blue off-the-shoulder ballgown with flowers around the neckline and crystals adorning the cinched waist. There were tulle sleeves and a slit up one leg. My hair was cascading around me in loose curls, and I was leaning back against a tree, hands holding the edges of my dress out as if I was about to start twirling in circles.

"Oh, that's from a renaissance festival I went to. Kathryn took that picture. I wanted to do my own version of the Sleeping Beauty dress," I explained, "so in the movie, there's a dress that the fairies make for her, and there are two that keep arguing over whether the dress should be pink or blue. They go back and forth, changing the color when the other isn't looking, and--"

"She chose blue," Daryl said, his voice so soft he was almost whispering. He was fixated on the picture of me, running his fingers over the edges, and I questioned if he meant to say that out loud or if his mouth got the best of him. Was he talking about me?

"Hmm?" I hummed, pretending not to hear what he said in case he didn't mean to say his thoughts out loud, "oh no, it goes all the way to the end of the movie. Like they're still changing it when the screen fades out."

"This's a real good picture o’ ya. Ya look real pretty," Daryl said.

"You're sweet," I thanked, "I went to a lot of ren fests growing up. I loved to dress up and go all out. This one was by far my favorite." He flipped the pictures back in order to give them back to me, but they spilled out onto the floor, scattering themselves around.

"Shit, sorry."

"It's ok, really," I assured, "shit happens." I leaned over and grabbed the photos closest to me, and Daryl grabbed the rest, handing them to me.

"Thanks for showin' me. Was nice to see the people ya always talkin' so much 'bout," he said. I opened the back of my notebook and placed the photos back, pulling the notes out of my pocket and putting those in as well. "Ya really tied to that thing, aren'tcha?"

"My notebook?" I asked, flipping it around in my hands, "yeah, I guess you could say I am. It's like a security blanket. It's comforting to have it on me, even when I'm not doing anything with it."

He was hesitant before he asked his next question. "Could I...maybe read somethin' of yours sometime?"

I'll admit, I was a little surprised, as he'd never expressed an interest before in reading any of my work. Sure, he'd asked me about it here and there, but he never asked to see it. Part of me, though, was grateful for that. I wrote a lot about Daryl, and he didn't need to know that. Not yet at least.

"Tell you what. If I ever decide that anything in here is quality enough to show to someone else, you'll be the first to know."

"Ya think ya stuff's bad?"

"No, not bad," I said, "just...personal is all. A bit intense at times. It's...it's like a catalog of everything I've gone through since the world went to shit. I'm hoping one day, I can look back on it and be proud of myself for surviving all the stuff in here."

"Should be proud already," Daryl advised, "ya's by yourself out there. Couldn'ta been easy."

You don't even know the half of it, I thought.

There was silence between us for a while as we stared off beyond the walls. It was a comfortable silence, as they had come to be with Daryl. I remembered our first run, the first time we really spent time together, and thought about how far we'd come since then. Just a month and a half ago, I never thought we'd be here. I never thought we'd be up in the watchtower together, spending the night keeping the community safe, nor did I think Daryl and I would have come as far in our relationship as we had. We were essentially a couple, minus the confession of our feelings to one another and more intimate physical contact.

"Hey Daryl? Can I ask you a question? If you don't wanna answer, that's more than ok."

"Sure," he said, a hint of hesitation in his voice, "shoot."

"Do you know where Merle is?"

I held my breath while I waited for his response. I'd been wanting to ask more about Merle for some time now. What I did know was that he was the older one, he was in the military at some point, and he was the ringleader when it came to the drug escapades he and Daryl got into. And that he was a bit of a creep and kind of an asshole. But Daryl never talked about where he was now or if something happened to him. I was worried that maybe it was too fresh of a wound, or perhaps it was simply too painful. It'd been quite a while, though, since I last asked about Merle, and with how close we'd become since then, I was hopeful that maybe, even if he didn't answer, it would open the door for him to share in the future.

"If you don't want to answer, I promise it's ok," I reiterated. He was staring out the window, crossbow popped up on the frame, resting his arm on it. I bit the inside of my lip and waited with bated breath for him to say something, anything.

"He's in Georgia," he finally said. Seeing as it'd taken some time for him to answer with that, I didn't dare ask the follow-up question that came to mind—why didn't he come to Alexandria with Daryl? However, I didn't have to wonder for long. "Dead."

He kept his gaze out the window as he told me everything. He talked about the prison, Woodbury, the man called The Governor, what happened with Merle and the Governor, and how Daryl found him...after he had already turned. And he told me something that I don't think he'd shared with the others before—that the only reason they ever went to Rick's original camp in the first place was because they planned to rob them. But things changed, and Daryl found a family in Rick, Glenn, Maggie, and the others, and chose to stay with them.

My heart was shattering as Daryl filled me in on everything. Having had to kill one of my brothers after he turned, I understood the pain—the pain of wondering if they're ok, then finding them and realizing they're far from it, the farthest in fact. But the gut-wrenching pain of Merle having been killed at the hands of someone else before turning...I wasn't going to pretend to understand that hurt. Daryl was such a good person, and to see such a good person lose so much was heartbreaking.

Daryl was quiet when he finished talking. I wasn't sure whether he was waiting for me to respond or was attempting to find more words of his own. I approached the window and leaned against the wall next to it, looking up at Daryl with the softest, most empathetic expression. I said the only thing I could.

"I...I'm so sorry. You didn't deserve that."

He didn't say anything, didn't move or turn his head to look at me. He kept that same stoic expression, looking off at something far in the distance outside the walls. I swallowed hard, feeling bad for asking the question in the first place. "You know that I know how it feels. To have to do that to a sibling. It's awful. I wouldn't wish it on anyone. I'm sorry you had to experience that pain too." I reached a hand out and stroked his forearm, drawing small circles with my fingers. "And I'm sorry I brought it up. I'd been avoiding asking because I was worried it'd be too painful. I don't know what came over me." I felt Daryl's muscles relax under my fingers as I worked slowly from his elbow to his wrist, continuing to draw tiny circles.

"Don't gotta 'pologize. I ain't mad at ya," he said, his voice soft. He still didn't look at me. "It's 'cause ya care. I know that."

I tilted my head slightly to try to get him to look at me. "You of all people didn't deserve to experience pain like that. I'm sorry, about everything that happened. But I'm glad you're here now. And I'm glad I am too."

He fidgeted a little before he continued. "Was worried tellin' ya 'bout the robbin' the camp story might..." His voice trailed off before he finished his sentence, though I had a feeling I knew where it was going.

"Might what?" I asked, "make me view you differently?"

"Maybe."

I gave him a soft smile. "Well, you have nothing to worry about there. We've all got a past, Daryl. That's not who you are now. That's all that matters." I was cautious to follow up with what I wanted to say, but my mouth was betraying me before I could do anything to stop it. Maybe it would help him feel less alone. "Hell, there are things you still don't know about me that I feel the same about. That they might make you view me differently."

"You?" He sounded amused when he said it, like he thought I was bluffing. “Dunno what someone like you could do to make me see ya differently." I crossed my arms over my chest.

""Someone like me?" What do you mean by that?" I asked, looking at him quizzically. Being someone who didn't have much of a way with words, I thought he might ignore my question and start talking about something else, or there'd be a long period of silence before he finally gave a response. Neither was the case here. It was like he already had his answer queued up, knowing I was going to ask.

"Someone perfect," he said. My shoulders relaxed as I let out a gentle sigh. I stepped closer to him and wrapped my arms around his torso, careful to avoid the bandaged wound on his back, and gave him a gentle squeeze. I rested my head on his chest.

"Oh Daryl, you're very sweet, but I am far from perfect." He snaked his free arm around me and placed his hand on my back, just above my waist.

"Well, ya ever wanna share those things I don't know 'bout ya, I'm all ears," Daryl assured.

"Thanks."

"Since ya asked a question that's been on ya mind a while, can I ask one?" he wondered.

"Sure," I replied, biting gently at the inside of my cheek to quell my anxiety, wondering what he was about to ask. I waited with bated breath for him to speak, my mind spiraling in all the different directions he could've been going, but I had a hunch about where we'd end up.

"Do...do ya scars got anythin' to do with what you dream 'bout every night?"

I clicked my tongue and let you a shallow, shaky breath. "Yeah...yeah they do. Figured that's what you might ask."

"How ya figure that?"

"I've caught you staring at them before. You're not very subtle with it," I chuckled, "it doesn't bother me though. Not you looking at least. I know they're kinda hard to ignore." I lifted my arm in front of us, shifting the sleeve of his jacket down and exposing my hand and wrist. I was writhing a little inside. I hated looking at my scars. "I have a fantasy that one day, tattooing will be a reality again, and I'll be able to get them covered up. I think vines with flowers on them would look cool."

I rotated my hand, inspecting both sides of my wrist as if I was looking at my scars for the first time. They were thick bands of scar tissue that adorned both of my wrists like bracelets. They didn't hurt, but there were some sparse patches here and there that were numb. I didn't like them being touched, and despite me never sharing that, Daryl seemed to know. In all the times he'd touched my arms or my hands, he never touched my scars, not even grazing them on accident. There was an unspoken understanding between us about that. I shimmied the sleeve of his jacket back down my arm, covering my scars again.

"Can I ask you something else that's been on my mind for a while? You don't have to answer if it's too much," I said.

"Might'as well," Daryl replied, fidgeting with his crossbow in anticipation.

"You said that I haven't really mentioned my dad much," I said, my words shaky as I tried to control my voice, "you haven't mentioned yours either."

His body tensed under my arms, and his hand on my back curled a bit. I was sure he would've accidentally scratched me if I wasn't wearing his jacket. His answer was short, to the point, but told me everything I needed to know.

"Where ya think my scars came from?"

I didn't want to believe what I was hearing. This wonderful human being, suffering at the hands of one of his parents? My stomach ached. My heart was breaking, shattering, and exploding all at the same time. Tears tried to form and escape my eyes, but I wouldn't allow it. I needed to be strong for Daryl in this moment. No wonder he had the best survival skills I'd ever seen—he didn't have a choice.

How could someone do something so awful to someone so good?

"Daryl..." My voice trailed off, and the only thing I could think to do was wrap my arms around him tighter and give him another squeeze.

"Merle got it first. 'ts why he ran off to the army," he continued. I tilted my head up to look at him. He hadn't once taken his eyes off whatever random object he'd fixated on out in the distance. I'd never seen Daryl cry before, not even come close to, but I could've sworn I saw a tear welling up in his eye. Just one, the moonlight catching it and making it glimmer.

"Daryl, you don't have to—"

"Old man was a drunk," he said. He rested his bow on the windowsill and reached into his pocket, pulling out his box of cigarettes and lighter. He hadn't smoked once in front of me since the first time he did. He knew I didn't like it, but I wasn't going to say anything now. We all had our vices, and I was going to let him have his.

Daryl pulled a cigarette out of the box with his mouth, still keeping his other arm wrapped around me. He had tightened his embrace and brought me closer, like he thought I might slip out and walk away if I had the space to do so. He shoved the box of smokes back into his pocket and lit the one in his mouth, turning his head to puff in the opposite direction of me.

I knew I was privileged to have such a close, loving family, I was never ignorant of that. Being a trauma surgeon, I knew some of the horrors that people experienced at the hands of family, at the hands of people who claimed to love them. I knew not everyone was as lucky as I was. But sometimes, there would be that person who landed on my operating table, and their story would hurt just a little bit more than others.

This one, though...this one hurt the most.

Sweet Daryl, the man I'd become so close to, the man whose shell I'd cracked wide open, the man I'd gotten to open up...the man I'd fallen in love with. To know someone so kind, so protective, so empathetic, had suffered at the hands of his father...and at such a young age...

For his father's sake, I hoped he and I would never cross paths.

I wanted to kiss every single scar on his body and remind him of how appreciated he is, how loved he is. Not just by me, but Carol, Rick, Glenn, Aaron...I wanted to hold him and whisper all the sweet little things I wrote about him in my notebook. I wanted his pain to stop. Such a tender soul shouldn't have to know pain like that. My little Georgia peach shouldn't have to know pain like that.

"You didn't deserve that," I whispered, my gaze still transfixed on his face. He took another puff of his smoke and finally tore his eyes away from the outside world, looking down to meet me. Our noses were barely touching, and I would've certainly taken that opportunity to plant one on his lips if the situation was more appropriate. I did, though, take the opportunity to kiss his cheek. His skin was softer than I was expecting. He flinched just a little, then quickly melted and relaxed under my lips.

"You're so loved Daryl. Don't think for one second that you aren't." I brought my head back to his chest and nuzzled in closer. "I may not have experienced it firsthand, but I know what that kind of thing can do to someone. What it can do to their self-worth, their confidence. Just remember that you're important, and you're deeply loved and appreciated. I'm so sorry you had to go through that."

"Ya really know how to make a guy feel good," he told me, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"Only guy I care about making feel good is you," I said. I was almost immediately kicking myself for what I said. My supposed-to-be flirting was more of a sexual innuendo than anything. I quickly took it back to the subject at hand in an attempt to gloss over it. "I'm glad I could do that for you. Thank you for being vulnerable with me, Daryl. It means a lot that you're so open with me."

He took another puff of his cigarette. "Ya make it easy." His hand on my back slid off for just a moment before coming right back, this time slipping underneath his jacket and resting on the bare skin of my side. "This alright?"

"Sure is," I hummed before nuzzling my head further into his chest and closing my eyes. His calloused hand against my soft skin felt heavenly, and it tickled just a little, but not enough to elicit a reaction from me.

Daryl flicked the ashes off his smoke and stomped on them once they landed on the ground. "Thanks for always listenin' to me. Bein' there for me. Dunno what I did to deserve ya."

My heart swelled in my ribcage, the warming sensation that accompanied it seeming to radiate off my body. "Being you. That's what you did."

We spent the rest of the night like that, hooked onto each other like our lives depended on it, like we were afraid the other person would slip away if we loosened our grips too much. We talked for hours, and despite standing the whole time, I almost fell asleep. The rise and fall of Daryl's chest against my head nearly lulled me into dreamland. At one point, his nose nuzzled into my hair, and he kissed the top of my head. His sweet Southern accent whispered something into my hair that I didn't catch. I was in some half-awake, half-asleep state, eyelids heavy and struggling to stay open. A delirious smile spread across my face. What I was feeling was nothing short of absolute magic.

I would be forever grateful that Daryl asked me to keep him company in the watchtower that night.

Taglist: @raddydaddydude

[confettiinred]

STOP SCROLLING.

IF YOU SCROLL, YOU ARE DENYING THESE PALESTINIAN FAMILIES THE RIGHT TO LIVE.

Hello, thank you so much for stopping. It only takes a few moments to read this, please show your humanity by staying to the end of this post. Several Palestinian families have reached out to me, describing their situation in Gaza, something we could never even begin to imagine, let alone live through ourselves.

THEY NEED OUR HELP. THIS IS A MATTER OF LIFE OR DEATH FOR THEM.

HERE IS A LIST OF THE PALESTINIANS WHO HAVE REACHED OUT TO ME. THIS WILL BE UPDATED EVERY TIME I RECEIVE ANOTHER MESSAGE.

@yazanfamily2

https://www.gofundme.com/f/abgwv-help-us

@ibrahim-family

https://www.gofundme.com/f/vert8-help-ibrahims-family-escape-the-gaza-war

@enas225

https://www.gofundme.com/f/k5cc6p-stockholm

@ahmedmatar12

https://www.gofundme.com/f/a-call-from-gaza-saving-my-family-from-siege-and-death

@mohmoud-j

https://www.gofundme.com/f/help-mahmouds-family-evacuate-for-urgent-medical-care

@alwayscrispyduck

https://www.paypal.com/donate/?hosted_button_id=W9EFFUZFUX5PE

@anasfamilys

https://www.gofundme.com/f/evacuate-my-last-family-members-in-gaza

@salem-baker

https://www.gofundme.com/f/save-my-family-from-the-war-nightmare-in-gaza

@lastdosesworld

alice.sima1477@gmail.com ( FOR DONATIONS )

@motazmohammed

https://www.gofundme.com/f/help-my-family-survive-the-war-on-gaza-by-fleeing-to-safety

@ibrahem-4

https://www.gofundme.com/f/help-ibrahims-family-get-out-of-gaza?attribution_id=sl:49593836-fb1e-4867-bc69-a48ba1fa5af4&utm_campaign=man_ss_icons&utm_medium=customer&utm_source=copy_link

When we learn about the Holocaust in school, we wonder how this could have ever happened, and what we would have done had we lived during that time in history.

IT IS HAPPENING AGAIN. WE ARE LIVING DURING A SECOND HOLOCAUST. WHAT YOU ARE RIGHT DOING NOW IS EXACTLY WHAT YOU WOULD HAVE DONE DURING THE HOLOCAUST.

WE ARE LIVING THROUGH THE GENOCIDE OF PALESTINIANS AND WE CANNOT STAY SILENT. DO NOT STOP TALKING ABOUT PALESTINE, DO NOT STOP SHARING, DONATING, REBLOGGING, EVERYTHING.

Thank you for your time and please, reblog this and every other post about those in Palestine every time you see it. You may have time, but those in Palestine do not. They are running out of it. Do your part and show your humanity.

PLEASE SHARE MY OTHER POSTS ABOUT PALESTINE BELOW TO HELP SPREAD THE STORIES OF MORE PALESTINIANS IN NEED.

1 2 3 4

[tjemegames]

HSR: Character Build Archive - Abundance

Yaoshi

The nurturer of all beings and the Aeon of paradise. THEIR aim is the continual proliferation of life. Yaoshi presides over the Path of Abundance and is the sworn enemy of Lan, Aeon of The Hunt.

Certain character descriptions may contain story spoilers: Gallagher. If you’re not caught up to the most current version of the game, please read them at your own discretion.

Bailu

The High Elder of the Vidyadhara, who is also known as the "Healer Lady" on the Luofu. She uses her unique medical science and the medical treatment that can only be provided by the Vidyadhara dragon race to save lives.

unowned: have yet to get on standard or lose 50/50 to

Gallagher

The loyal hound of the Watchmaker. A character concocted by a certain History Fictionologist based on various facts in Penacony. Carrying on the legacy of the Watchmaker, he craftily opposed The Family until his last breath.

will over cap on novel concoction's healing buff once I pull e6; break effect will be at 153.8%, 3.8% over the limit

too slow for the lowest optimal spd breakpoint; need to roll at least 5.1 more spd to hit 134

latest upgrade - 7.16.24

Huohuo

A trainee Ten-Lords Commission Judge of the Xianzhou Luofu, she is a young Foxian girl possessed by a heliobus. She is a timid and weak girl who is afraid of all kinds of strange things, but is responsible for luring and subduing evil spirits.

unowned: not pulling during 2.4 rerun. may pull in a later rerun depending on future kits of abundance units

Lingsha

unowned: not likely to pull due to high investment in Gallagher

Luocha

Carrying a coffin wherever he goes, he is a foreign trader who came from beyond the stellar seas. Has excellent medical skills.

unowned: chose to skip during 2.1 rerun because I wanted Aventurine more. not likely to pull during future reruns because I already have a 5-star imaginary sustain

Lynx

A Belobogian Snow Plains Explorer, and the youngest of the Landau siblings. Calm and collected, with a strong drive for action. Often embarks on solo adventures to explore the snowy wilderness.

farming her pieces has been surprisingly hard; Gallagher is currently wearing her old head/hand/sphere pieces because she wouldn't stop rolling break effect when I was last working on her

would like to have over 60% eff res and 160 spd

need to do a full relic overhaul because half of these pieces are cope & I'd like to switch to an hp% sphere

latest upgrade - 7.26.24

Natasha

A doctor from the Underworld and a caregiver of children. Alongside her kindness and caring, she also has a hidden dangerous side.

outdated build: 3/6 relics are 4-star

need to farm a wandering cloud healing bonus body & fleet planars (hp% sphere + err rope)

The most recent version of a character's build(s) will be listed here; older build versions can be found on their designated changelog. To avoid word/image limit issues, information on a retired build will be removed from the path archive and a link to the build's changelog will be provided in its place. Changelogs will only be created and maintained for the characters that I actively use; they will be updated whenever significant relic upgrades/changes have been made. Characters that have multiple builds (i.e. additional builds that are non-traditional, niche, or memes) will have a dedicated changelog for each one. Return to Navigation

[hoppityhopster23]

Introductions, PSA's, Other Blogs,and Posts Lists.

Hi! I'm Hopster, and welcome to my blog! this is just where i post most of my chaos, which just so happens to be Napoleonic stuff right now.

PSA's

These past few days I have been flooded with asks asking about monetary help for medication, war aid, etc. I have gotten three today alone, and it’s not even 2pm for me.

I want my ask box open for folks, but it’s tempting to close it because of this. I don’t want modern politics on my blog, nor do I have the money to help. So please stop.

That being said, if your ask has anything regarding the asking of money or modern politics (2000-present) it will automatically be deleted and you will be blocked.

And just in case someone wants to start calling me things I’m not, I just want to keep modern politics off my blog. I am surrounded by that shit every day, especially with my situation. This is my safe space where I talk about silly and historical stuff.

Other blogs

@trauma-and-truffles

@otdhistoricalbirthdays

@hoppity-hopster-extra

Post List (updated 3-2-25)

Collections

On This Day: Vienna Congress Edition Masterlist

From the Archives Masterlist

Asks

Napoleon et Larrey Image collection

Miscellaneous

Duroc in Copenhagen

Rambling about the Medicinsk Museion and museum newsletters

A Napoleonic Medical History Goldmine.

Record player rambling

Teenage abandonment issues (more rambling)

Ancestry stuff

Ancestry stuff round two: the Disappearing uncle

Pearl Harbor

3D printer fun

I morgen Bliver Bedre Graphic novels

Josephine's Jewelry in the Danish Royal Property Trust

Stuff about Larrey and Bessieres.

Pretty Napleonic Medical men

Larrey art (source unknown)

Larrey Art II (source unknown)

Larrey Stamp

Larrey statue

Larrey art III (source unknown)

Larrey art IV (source unknown)

Details in the Painting "Battle of Moscow" by Lejeune

Surgery meme made by me

Marbot the Cat (and His Near Death Experience)

The Marshals Baton at the Danish War Museum (Tøjhusmuseet)

The Marshals and their Genetics

My first trip to the Ny Carlsberg Glyptotek

Some Benefits to the Napoleon (2023) Movie

The H&M Hussar outfit

The Bust of Metternich

the Ney image

The Mexican Napoleon meme

the Napoleon House in Lerapetra

Larrey on Seasickness (not my og post, but i write quite a bit here.)

My first visit to the Thorvaldsens Museum

Napoleon Spotify playlist

Larrey and his Family (also not my post, I just write a lot here.)

an older Larrey

The Larrey Propaganda

my 3D Printed Napoleon

Davout Cat meme

Bird Identification

April fools day in the Napoleonic bubble

On Yvan

Caroline Seufert rambling

Frederiksberg Gardens II

On Frederik VI's height

Facts about Frederick VI that live rent free in my head

Frederik vs. Frederik

On Frederiks Childhood

On Frederick VI's chair and being able to find a historical figures things.

[naviculariis]

This seems like a good time to remind folks of this part of my pinned post [ which is also in my mobile rules & in my carrd. ]

I write content that does fall under the Dead Dove Umbrella. Not anything sexualized, but I do tend to write more uncomfortable topics regarding:

•Familial Physical / Mental Abuse

•Matricide / Patricide

•Delusions, psychosis, PTSD-induced panic disorders / attacks

•Drug abuse / usage [ specific to very few muses & tagged very heavily as such, if I ever post that here, which I highly doubt I will. ]

•GORE. This is a big one. I try to write things as being accurate in terms of injuries / wounds, death scenes, battlefield scenes, etc. I come from a medical background, I spent 5 years listening to nursing students and their lectures as well as helping them study for their exams, and I'm a massive history buff. Things like period-accurate medical procedures are my weird niche. So I don't shy away from gore. I've taken history & medical courses specifically for this.

•DEATH. Death of loved ones. Death of mind. Ego Death. Raising the dead & using the dead as weapons. The dead are here.

•I'M A HORROR FANTASY WRITER. Granted, I have toned down a LOT of stuff regarding a few OCs to make it more publicly palatable ( malekai, mizuki, milorad, and vasille specifically ) for the RPC.

•Also, I tap into certain things that in general make folks uncomfortable ( uncanny valley, certain phobias regarding insects or serpents, medical-based things, body dysmorphia + body dysphoria, self mutilation, body horror, stalking, obsessiveness / possessiveness in a totally not good way, etc. )

Granted, majority of these will only show up in *SOLOS*, or rarely in threads between myself and a small select others that are OKAY with these topics. And today was a big slip in regards to how I normally tag, and I apologize for that. I do try to tag my posts as accurately as possible, but sometimes shit slips and that's on me.

If there are specific triggers that you have, PLEASE. LET ME KNOW. I can't remember every single trigger every single person has, so I try to cover broad bases, but if I need to be more specific- I gladly will. But I need to know what these are, because not everyone will have the same triggers.

That being said: if Something I post makes you uncomfortable, and you no longer wish to remain mutuals: softblock me. It's okay. It sucks, but if it makes your experience here better? I understand. It's okay. No hard feelings. Or even hard block me ( though if you don't mind, give me a heads up so I don't go asking where xyz is. I won't be angry, I promise. I get it. My block list is a mile long on various platforms. )

Alright.

That's all.

[missmaywemeetagain]

Broken Glass Chapter 2 (Elvis/Austin!Elvis x OC Reader)

Character/Fandom: Elvis Presley - Elvis (2022)

Read More Here - Broken Glass Masterlist! 💔🥂❤️‍🩹

Prompt: You are Dolores Cannava, a young Italian-American nurse desperate to make her own way in the world and break free of her dysfunctional mafia-connected family and traumatic past. Elvis Presley is just returning home from his two-year stint in the Army, looking more handsome than ever, but feeling the pressure to successfully find his way back to the stratospheric career he was forced to leave behind. In a twisted turn of fate, Elvis finds himself in the hospital where your paths cross. Forced to harbor his potentially career-ending secret and needing to escape a terrifying future in New York, you are pulled into his unusual world and must endure a begrudging fake relationship with Elvis in order to protect his reputation (and his life). 

TW: Hospitals, illness, cussing. The Colonel. Some historical inaccuracies.

Tags: Fake relationship. Slow burn. Angst. (Sort of) enemies to lovers. Hurt/Comfort.

Rating: PG (ish?) (but this story will eventually be Mature/NSFW, 18+, so minors Do NOT Interact)   ||     Word Count: 4.4k

A/N: Happy Broken Glass Wednesday, y'all! I'm going to try to put out a chapter a week on Wednesdays (we shall see if I can keep up lol). Thank you for your lovely responses to Chapter 1 and for giving this little fic a chance. ❤️

This chapter dives into some heavy stuff in that I've sped up the timeline and brought some of the serious health issues that Elvis experienced more prominently later in his life to the forefront in 1960. I've always wondered what might have happened if they had recognized his many complex conditions for what they were early in his life. Truth be told, I am endlessly fascinated by the medical conundrum that was Elvis and that he lived most of his life with some pretty severe shit that at the time no one understood or had names for. Of course, I simplify the shit out of it here and try to put them in laymen's terms. I've taken some major artistic liberties with history in that there is likely no way in 1960 they would have be able to diagnose, especially so quickly, his complex conditions. Also, I am not a medical professional, so I've done my best to describe things whist moving the plot along. I HIGHLY recommend reading Sally Hoedel's book Elvis: Destined to Die Young if you are interested in the specifics regarding E's health journey and how he ended up where he did in terms of that. It's a superbly researched and somewhat heartbreaking book that I think every Elvis fan should read. It certainly inspired part of this story.

As always, I love and live for your reactions, comments, asks, and reblogs, so thank you in advance for both reading and giving another one of my stories a chance! 

I imagined it with Elvis in mind, but Austin!Elvis works here, too, whatever floats your boat.

Apologies in advance if there are any grammatical errors or TW that I didn't catch.

I’ve used the tag list from Pink Scarf, and added those who requested it, so please let me know if you’d like to be added or removed!

Story is cross-posted to my Wattpad and AO3, if you prefer those reading experiences! 

Shit.

Elvis winces as he cracks open his eyes just enough to see the sun blazing in on him. The infernal light pierces straight into his head, worsening the headache that already throbs against the inside of his skull. He quickly shuts his eyes again, cursing whoever thought it was a good idea to keep the curtains open on a sunny late winter’s day.

Gotta have Lamar cover those damn windows with something more than those flimsy-ass cutains, he thinks, already pissed off.

It takes him a moment to register where he is and why he’s there. That, in fact, the sun’s rays are rather weak and dim, making him wonder just what time it is. Holding the bridge of his nose against the pain in his head, he manages to squint his eyes open to find himself in a rather small hospital room.

Bits and pieces start to come back to him, though the days and nights run together into one big jumble. How he’d finally escaped the confines of his service in Germany, so damn excited to be coming home that he hadn’t properly slept in days. He’d just kept popping those great little pills he’d obtained from a more than generous pharmacist in Bad Nauheim and, fueled by those and pure restlessness to get back to the states, he’d managed to easily keep the smile on his face for the cameras in Germany and the UK.

But the flight over the Atlantic had him chewing his nails to the quick, his legs going a mile a minute. He feared flying ever since the emergency landing that he, Scotty, and Bill had to make in that small, dinky little plane back in the old days, when things had just started to kick up for them in the business. It was made worse by his mama being convinced that he was gonna die in a horrible, fiery crash, so he’d taken to trains and boats and cars as his main forms of transport. The U.S. Army wanted to get him home sooner rather than later, however, and if there was one thing he’d learned in the last two years, it’s that you don’t try to fight Uncle Sam.

Whether it was the flight or the pills or the lack of rest, he’d started to get queasy and dizzy on that pass over the ocean. Then, the scratchiness of his throat, the burn of his forehead, and the chilled sweat that began to stain his perfectly pressed and tailored uniform were the telltale signs of a bout of tonsilitis striking him at precisely the wrong time.

That’s where things get a little fuzzy. Between the pain behind his eyes and at the base of his skull and the heavy fatigue consuming him, it’s not coming to him as quickly as he’d like. His eyes begin to adjust to the sunlight, and he puts together enough to know whatever happened between that flight and landing in New York was enough to land him flat on his ass in the hospital.

New York. That explains all the racket, he thinks as the sounds below on the streets echo off the buildings, creating a cacophony unique to the big city.

The door to the little room swings open then, making him jump out of his skin. It’s as though his state of consciousness was magically communicated to the staff because in walks an older gentleman in a long, white coat, along with his daddy and the Colonel. Their faces are all different degrees of solemn, which sets a churning dread down into the pit of his stomach.

“Glad to see you’re awake, Mr. Presley. You’ve been asleep quite a while,” the doctor says, the man’s education only belying a hint of a New York accent. “You’ve had us a bit worried.”

“Mister Presley is my father, Doctor. Please call me Elvis,” he manages to croak out. The fire in his throat flames from the use, causing him to cough and sputter. There’s an uncomfortable heaviness in his chest that tightens with each breath, and that knot in his stomach coils ever tighter.

“Take it easy, son,” his daddy says softly, pouring a glass of water from the table against the wall and handing it to him. The action triggers a memory: a pretty, little dark-haired nurse all in white doing the same in the middle of the night.

Elvis is pulled from the memory as the doctor begins speaking in a serious tone: “Elvis, I’m Dr. Paulson. You had quite the fall in the airplane yesterday morning and hit your head. Do you remember?”

“No, sir.”

“Hmm, that isn’t unusual with a head injury of this type. You might find that your memory has some gaps, bit that is to be expected and will likely resolve with time. But your injury is not what has me concerned, young man, it’s the cause of your unconsciousness that is the real culprit, I’m afraid.”

“What do y’mean, sir? Just feels like a flare of the ol’ tonsils to me.” As soon as it’s out of his mouth, Elvis knows it’s not the whole truth. He’s never felt quite this terrible in his life, with the way he’s struggling for breath and his body aches from head to toe.

“Elvis, along with your fall, you also went into respiratory distress last night.” Suddenly, Elvis remembers the laughing fit, how he couldn’t catch his breath, how the air just couldn’t seem to fill his lungs as that pretty nurse held his hand. But he thinks maybe it happened before that, too, him gasping for breath as the roar of airplane engines rang in his ears. Icy fear runs down his spine at the remembrance of not being able to draw breath. His attention snaps back to the doctor as he continues.

“We’ve run some tests, and that, coupled with your family history…” the austere man hesitates, “Well, I’m afraid it’s not good news.”

The Colonel glances away and out the window at that, his mouth set in a frown Elvis has never seen before, but it’s the look of sadness on his daddy’s face that finally sets a wave of panic rolling through him.

“Lay it on me, Dr. Paulson,” Elvis says, steeling himself.

“You seem to have a condition that is affecting your lungs, heart, and liver, all of which are vital to our survival. Looking at your mother’s medical records, we think she may have been afflicted with the same condition, and possibly more family members on her side. In fact, it’s likely what caused her early demise,” Dr. Paulson explains.

At the mention of his mama, Elvis’ heart constricts, his barely buried grief stinging his eyes. He blinks away the tears as fast as he can, trying to follow what the doctor is saying.

“Along with that, your immune system also appears compromised, which would explain your frequent and severe bouts of fever and tonsilitis. Altogether, it’s a perfect storm that is likely to only get worse with time. Of course, medical science is improving every day, and there may be better treatments down the road…” Dr. Paulson trails off.

Dread falls over him like a heavy blanket. “What’re ya sayin’, sir?” Elvis asks quietly but is afraid to hear the answer he thinks he’s gonna get.

Dr. Paulson takes a deep breath. “Well, I’m sorry to say, but it’s likely these conditions are going to shorten your lifespan considerably.”

The words hang in the air like a suffocating dark cloud. His daddy’s face crumples and he turns away, while the Colonel winces—actually winces—at the words.

“So, y-y-you’re saying this gonna k-k-kill me? That I-I-I’m gonna die?” His vocal incredulousness covers how the sheer panic overcoming him sets his heart galloping. “I’m only 25, Doc…y-y-you gotta be w-wrong ‘bout this. I just spent two damn years in the Army, and they sure as hell didn’t say nothin’ about no ‘condition’!”

“This condition is very rare, Elvis, and we are learning more about it every day. I’m not saying it’ll be today, but considering the episode you’ve just had, this disease will factor critically into your overall health and survival going forward. It has already started a cascade of chronic health issues of varying severity that will worsen as you age, and in the end, this combination of factors will almost certainly be the thing that kills you.”

Hearing those words out of the doctor’s mouth sets him numb with disbelief. This can’t be fucking happening. Not when everything is gettin’ set to be back on track. Not when I got so much left to do.

“No disrespect, Doctor, but I-I-I don’t accept that. I w-want a second opinion,” Elvis shakes his head, the words popping out of his stubborn mouth before he has much chance to think on them, to actually consider the possible truth of them.

But a deep part of him knows.

He knows his mama died too young and that her illness didn’t make sense. He knows he’s got family who died before their time. But most of all, he knows how he feels, and something ain’t right.

“Colonel Parker and your father have said as much, so I will contact some specialists to meet you in Memphis upon your return. But in some ways, young man, this is a good thing,” Dr. Paulson intones softly.

“Now, how the hell d’ya figure that?!” Elvis rasps out, nearly belligerent. He’s not one to be disrespectful, usually, especially to a man of such education, but he feels like shit and the blazing red heat of his temper pushes in before he can stop it.

Dr. Paulson blinks at him with his brows raised, and Elvis feels a wave of shame crash over his already rolling fear and anger. His mama didn’t raise him to talk to people that way. He takes a breath.

“I-I-I’m sorry, sir,” Elvis apologizes deferentially. “I-I’m just h-havin’ a hard time with what y-you’re saying, is all.”

“That’s understandable. What I meant by it being a ‘good thing’ is that now we know what we are dealing with and can set you up with lifestyle changes that could both improve your quality of life and perhaps extend it. We can set you up with constant care in order to avoid…things taking a downturn.”

Elvis’ head is spinning, pounding, making him feel wildly out of control. “Lifestyle changes? Constant care? I ain’t no invalid, Dr. Paulson, I’ll tell you for sure.” He nearly growls the promise as he swings his legs over the side of the bed, meaning to walk the hell out of here and show this doctor just how wrong he is.

In the back of his mind, he realizes instantly how stupid it sounds, considering that the moment he stands, his entire body betrays him and sends him careening to the floor, if not for the doctor and his daddy grabbing him under each arm and hauling his ass back into the bed. There, he is faced with the terrible reality that he’s sicker than a dog with the world spinning out from under him in more ways than one.

“None of us want this to be true, son, but maybe you should listen to the doctor,” his father says quietly in his ear, putting a hand on his shoulder.

This is the last thing Elvis wants to do. He wants to kick and scream and rally himself well. I can prove them all wrong, he thinks, if only he could stop the world from spinning and his breath from wheezing and his body from aching.

Fuck.

Elvis can’t bear to look at anyone, choosing to stare up at the high, vaulted ceiling, blinking away the blast of dark spots in his eyes as he tries to catch his damn breath.

“What’s next?” he finally wheezes out, counting the dots on the ceiling tiles to keep him from floating away.

“Well, first we need to keep you in the hospital as long as it takes to get you stabilized before you can go home to Memphis.”

“Absolutely not!” the Colonel exclaims from near the window. “We’ve already kept the press at bay long enough with talks of flight delays and other nonsense. We can’t hold them back much longer. You listen here, that boy needs to make appearances, and he needs to look the picture of health doing so, or he’s not going to have a career to go back to!”

The doctor scoffs. “Mr. Parker, look at him—Elvis’ career is the least of his worries.”

“It’s Colonel Parker, Mr. Paulson,” he hisses, “and his career is most certainly your concern. You have your expertise, and I have mine, and I’m telling you right now, I didn’t spend two years keeping him in the public eye despite his service to have you flush it down the toilet. I’m sure you don’t want to be the doctor that doomed Elvis Presley. The one who ripped him away from his legions of loyal fans.” The threat is crystal clear, and by the resulting silence, the doctor seems somewhat shaken.

“Sir, there will be no career if the young man is dead.” The doctor’s words hang heavy, and Elvis closes his eyes, willing himself to be anywhere but here. But there is no escaping this. No amount of money, talent, or fame is gonna get him out of this one.

Finally, he brings himself to speak, “I ain’t givin’ up my career, Dr. Paulson. But I also feel like something the cat dragged in last night and can’t get outta this damned bed. So, we’re gonna need to figure out a compromise.”

Dr. Paulson stares at Elvis and the Colonel like they’ve lost their minds. Vernon stays characteristically silent.

“Anything short of you staying here until you at least recover from this episode will be against my medical advice. You are in too fragile a state to consider anything else,” Dr. Paulson says, almost pleadingly. “And with this condition, if you try to jump back into the breakneck lifestyle of a superstar, your life will be short indeed.”

Elvis sets his jaw. “Sir, no offense, but you don’t know me very well. I can do just about anythin’ I set my mind to. We’ve all worked very hard to get me where I am, and I ain’t ready to give that up just yet. I got too much to do. Now tell me, what do I gotta do to get you to let me outta this hospital?”

The doctor looks at him and shakes his head, silent. Finally, he relents. “First off, you have to be able to get out of bed and stand on your own two feet without collapsing.”

“Fine. I can do it.” Even the Colonel looks at him with a tinge of disbelief on that one. “Maybe not this instant, but I���ll do it.”

“Secondly, if you are able to do that and still choose to leave against advice, I recommend having a doctor with you at all times, someone who can monitor your vitals and give you care when you take a turn for the worse,” the doctor concedes, “which you most certainly will.”

“Done,” Elvis agrees quickly. Anything that will get him out of here and back home to his life.

“Now, listen here, my boy, there is no reasonable way to spin a doctor following you everywhere without the press having a field day. You could lose everything the minute the public knows you’re…sick,” the Colonel points at him, faltering on that last word.

He means ‘dying’ not ‘sick,’ an unwelcome voice in the back of his head adds. But Elvis understands the Colonel’s point. Even as private as he is, it’ll be difficult to go to a movie set or recording studio with a stuffy doctor in tow and not have anyone find out. Shit.

Dr. Paulson looks exasperated and crosses his arms. Colonel just glares. But it’s his daddy that finally pops up in the uncomfortable silence.

“What…what about a nurse? Elvis always has girls hanging around him…” Vernon trails off.

Silence fills the air. Elvis blinks slowly and can see the wheels turning in Colonel’s head, the way they do when he’s about ready to come up with the perfect plan, the perfect snow job.

“It…could work, if we get one young and pretty enough. Don’t love it because I wanted to keep Elvis publicly available in the eyes of his fans—no attachments—but looks like we may not have a choice. Better you taken than single and…” The Colonel chooses not to finish that sentence, but they all know the ending he’s avoiding, what he’s choosing not to say.

He races to continue, “But you’ve got to keep up appearances in public, my boy, since she’ll have to be a steady fixture in your life. No more frolicking around with every pretty thing with legs. No more girlfriends in every county, state, and country from here to Timbuktu. No one, girlfriends included, can know what we’re up to or all could be lost. Even your wild friends are going to have to believe this is real for it to work.”

Elvis’ heart begins to race with the thought of being so thoroughly confined to a relationship, especially with some random woman who he might not even be attracted to, physically or otherwise, even if it is just for show. He’s always hated the Colonel being in his private romantic business, knowing that the man has managed to somehow get rid of more than a few of his steadies with some unknown manipulations to keep him “unattached.” So, for Colonel to agree to this plan, Elvis realizes just how dire the situation is.

And God knows, he already has more girlfriends than he can handle as it is. He has yet to be reunited with Anita, pines for Priscilla from afar, and dragged Elisabeth from Germany and sent her ahead to Graceland, not to mention the multitude of other flings he indulges in. But he loves women, to a fault, and he doesn’t want to be tied down to just one (no matter how he tells his girls otherwise). Worrying his lower lip in his teeth, he realizes he doesn’t have much of a choice. He’ll have to find a way to make it work.

The Colonel must sense this from him. “Oh, come on now, my boy, we all know your talent for juggling women is near as good as your talent for performing. Think of it as a challenge to hone your acting craft. There are worse things than being made to spend time with a pretty girl,” Colonel drawls, daring to wink at him.

Elvis feels sick to his stomach with the dishonesty of it and with the oppressive feeling that his life is no longer his own. To be fair, he’d been feeling like the walls were closing in, pressing him into submission, since the moment he received his draft notice, but this...this is different. The hell of this knowledge strokes awake a deep, dark sliver of him that has always believed his time here is destined to be limited, that no one should achieve his level of fame and success without paying a terrible price. But the worst is the horrible thought that perhaps it should’ve been him who was supposed to die in the womb and not Jesse, and that all this had been a mistake from the start. Some sort of cosmic joke.

No, God wouldn’t do that. God has a plan. He has to, he thinks, banishing the shameful thought back into the dark recesses of him mind from whence it came. A lump forms in his parched throat and he gulps, trying to get it down, trying to chase away the demons that threaten at the edges of his vision. Please God, please, he prays, though he’s not entirely sure what for. Perhaps the prayer begs to know that this is all one of his damn night terrors, or maybe it’s to chase away the horrors inside his mind that seek to consume him whole.

A small part of him is tempted to throw in the towel and to just fade into obscurity. Lord knows he’s already achieved more of his fair share of fame and fortune, more than most achieve in a lifetime. Maybe he should just live out the rest of his now-shortened life in peace and quiet. Start a family with one of his girls like his mama so desperately wanted. He realizes this is what she feared all along—like she’d had some sort of maternal premonition that he had been living on borrowed time from the start.

But that feels like a prison of another sort. No, he loves music too damn much, the way it tingles in his soul, clicking into place like the pieces of a complex puzzle that only he has the ability to complete, and the performing electrifies him in such an addictive and indescribable way that he can’t fathom trying to give it up. And beyond all that, he knows he’s got it in him to be a great actor if given the chance.

Quittin’ isn’t an option, he thinks, even if it kills me. Better to burn bright doin’ what I love rather than have nothin’ to live for.

Blood pounds at the inside of his skull like a ticking clock, his mind spinning with the fear and rage of it all. He is in no space to make these decisions, he realizes, but because so many want him to keep going, to keep working, to keep living, he knows what he’s gotta do.

Elvis finally nods his agreement, adding pointedly, “As long as I get a say in who she is. There’s gotta be chemistry for this to work.”

Dr. Paulson shakes his head and throws his hands in disbelief at this insane plan. “I think the most important thing is that she is competent, not her looks or ‘chemistry.’ Not to mention, she’ll have to be single and willing to give up her entire life to not only care for you 24/7 but to also pretend to be your girlfriend. I hope you have plenty of money to throw at this problem, Elvis.”

The Colonel grins wickedly. “I think you underestimate the power Elvis has over young ladies, Doctor. I have no doubt you’ll help us find someone suitable.”

“In the next few days? You must be joking,” Dr. Paulson huffs.

The stabbing pain behind Elvis’ eyes gets worse with these considerations brought to light. Yes, he does well with women, but the reality of any girl in her right mind agreeing to such conditions feels slim.

It feels serendipitous, then, that it happens to be this exact moment when you walk through the door.

“L-L-Little bird,” Elvis says, his nickname for you somehow, by the grace of God, popping into his muddled brain the instant he sees you. The name stutters from his lips almost in awe.

God has a plan.

The rest of the men turn in unison to stare at you. Elvis watches as you stop short, your intelligent sky-blue eyes going wide with surprise, annoyance, and apprehension at the intimidating scene before you.

Your mouth opens with a retort, then closes quickly at the strange silence that follows. The men take you in, from head to toe, as you stand frozen in the doorway like a deer in headlights.

After a moment, you seem to remember why you came in the first place, shaking off the uncomfortable gazes of the men and finally clear your throat to speak. “Excuse me, I didn’t realize…I-I’m sorry to interrupt, but Nurse Hunt sent me to find you, Dr. Paulson. She said it was urgent.”

Dr. Paulson, Vernon, and Colonel one by one turn their heads to look at Elvis. Colonel’s wicked little smile turns the corners of his mouth when he sees the way Elvis’ eyes take you in, a little bit of life returning to his pale cheeks.

Of course, Elvis liked you from the moment he’d laid eyes on you yesterday. With your deep brunette hair and stunningly big, bright blue eyes, you instantly piqued his interest, as you fit his usual type well. Your olive skin and striking features are different though, and remind him a bit of a young Sophia Loren, the beautiful Italian actress who he’d met on the movie studio lot a few years back.

In the looks department, you’d fit the role quite well.

The only problem he can see is that you’d made your distain for him quite clear last night.  

“I’ll be right there, Nurse,” Dr. Paulson finally says, realizing you were waiting for any sort of response beyond staring. Relieved, you scurry away as quickly as you’d arrived.

“What do we know about Nurse—” Colonel starts the moment you leave.

“Cannava,” Elvis and Dr. Paulson say in tandem. Elvis is surprised your name falls off his tongue so easily, especially with how clouded his memory is.

“She’s the youngest to ever graduate our program here at Bellevue, and for that itself she is a standout. But being so young, she is still relatively inexperienced despite her excellent training,” the doctor warns, and seeing the look on the Colonel’s face wanting more, he continues, “Beyond that, I’d have to ask around.”

“She’ll never do it,” Elvis interjects with disappointment. “She doesn’t like me much.”

“Nonsense, my boy, I’ve never seen you anything but persistent in your need and ability to win a woman over,” Colonel says encouragingly, patting Elvis’ hand. “And perhaps it will work in our favor in her ability to remain…professional around you. Use that winning charm of yours to win her over. That and a healthy sum she can’t refuse.”

Elvis doesn’t even know your first name, but he can’t help the fact that he’s been drawn to you since the moment you met. The little flutter of his heart, the revealing sign of his already budding infatuation, loves the idea of you being his.

But she won’t be mine, not really, he reminds himself.

Either way, it’s a challenge he’s not quite sure he’s up for in his weakened state, but time is running short, and he doesn’t have much of a choice. He’s going to have to figure out a way to convince you this is a good idea.

“Find out everything you can,” Colonel orders the doctor, “and then bring her to me.”

What the Colonel wants, the Colonel gets.

And Elvis has the distinct feeling he’s already in over his head and is taking you with him, willing or not.

Reblogs, likes, comments, tips + feedback are extremely appreciated! Please help support your content creators!

Taglist:

@atombombbibunny @yesimwriting @uselessbutinteresting @mirandastuckinthe80s @dark-as-love

@domaniquessidehoe @im-lame-irl @allybrooke05 @hangmanswhore

@jazmin2211  @kvcssghbjbcd @coldonexx @dudinhahoff @whatstruthgottodowithit @tiredbuthappy  @amiets2  @saintmagx

@kvcssghbjbcd @butlersluvbot @babydollie43 @vainbimbo @meladollsims @wstelandbaby @dre6ming @normatural @ash-omalley @xcallmetaniax @galvz-42 @thejezebel @fullmetal-falcon @robinismywife @dre6ming @seaweedbrain00 @amiets2 @mslizziesblog @heisatroubleinapinksuit @calusussss @dont-feel-so-good-peter @rainydayz101 @pizzaisrelationshipgoals  

@liaaacantwrite @kittenlittle24 @kaitaesupremacy @butler-trouble @eliseinmemphis @russian-soft-bitch  @tattywood 

@sassanoe @re3kin @thella @suspiciousmidge @hiddlepiddlediddlewiddle @carolinesbookworld @juggernort @aesthetic-lyss @stitchattacks @donnamarie23 @ab4eva 

@fic-over-cannon @lacyluver @littlebitofgreen @paigevis @godlypresley @bugg06 @xhannahbananax03 @artlover8992

@18lkpeters @frozenhuntress67 @girlblogger2002 @kendralavon7 @elvisgf