#so for the most part my brain is kind of a soup of voices and im just too busy irl to take the time and discern them

[hungee-boy]

living life normally then youre reminded DID exists then you wake up

[joelscruff]

a kindness you can't afford (joel miller x f!reader) 18+

kofi | a/n this is a sequel to my fic 'to freeze or to thaw', it's mainly just a lot of filth cause that's all my brain can handle at the moment lmao. pls be sure to check the warnings before reading & i hope you enjoy 💕 also shoutout to the incredible @toxicanonymity whose joel/reader/tommy fics inspired me to get tommy involved here. would highly recommend her fics stuffing & sweet little mess for a similar vibe. summary: there are no limits to how or when joel plays with his special girl. rating: 18+ explicit warnings: dark!joel, ddlg dynamics, daddy kink, big unspecified age gap (reader is of legal age), unprotected p in v sex, creampies, free use, somnophilia, cockwarming, squirting, light pussy slapping, size kink (joel's dick is huge), tummy bulge, oral (m receiving), praise kink, dirty talk, pet names (use of 'little one'), finger sucking, exhibitionism, mentions of pregnancy (but no risk), lil bit of tommy x reader teasing 👀(if you don't like tommy x reader then you prob won't like this) word count: 4.1k

He's so kind.

You've never known kindness like this before; never known the soothing whispers and gentle praises, the calming touches, the satisfying taste of homemade soup on your tongue, the comfort of a roaring fire, made just for you. You've never known the warm embrace of a much older man, the strong arms and solid chest, greying hair and sharp scruff, soft belly and thick cock. You'd spent most of your life in a frightening QZ, the past few years in a cold and unforgiving forest, and now - the warm safety of a cabin.

Woken by the gentle caress of two fingers against your forehead, pushing your hair back gently, a kiss to your bare shoulder, the heat of his solid form behind you, and the press of his hot tip to your soft opening. He doesn't ask, but he doesn't need to.

He pushes inside and you hum sleepily, drifting in and out a little as he feeds you the rest of his cock in one slow movement. Your eyes flutter but you keep them closed, nuzzling against the fluff of your pillow as he pulls you in and presses his body to yours, the hair along his torso tickling the sensitive skin of your back as the throbbing tip of his cock kisses that special spot in your tummy. He's so big inside you, taking up so much space in your body that it's mind numbing.

"Go back to sleep," he murmurs, pulling more hair away from your face and trailing his fingers along your cheek soothingly. His big cock twitches inside you, but he doesn't move, stays still as he waits for you to drift back into unconsciousness.

And you do. But not for long.

You're woken what you're sure must only be a few moments later to the feeling of his cock throbbing within the furthest parts of you, pulsing thick spurts of cum deep inside your body as he holds you tight and groans raggedly in your ear. His fingers are suddenly working furiously against your clit, circling and rubbing and pressing and making you cry out sleepily into the dark cabin. With barely any awareness, you feel the hot coil in your lower belly snap - and you're gushing. You feel him tug his cock out of you at just the right moment, just as a steady stream of liquid makes it's way past your freshly fucked hole, and you squeal.

"Shhh, baby," he soothes, but you can hear the smile in his voice as he watches your juices stain the dark wooden floorboards, watches it drip down into the blankets and soak the cotton, "Shh, I know, I know."

You whimper and squeeze your fists together, releasing another stream of liquid as your eyes roll back. An unintelligible string of words slip past your lips, slurred and broken, almost like you're speaking another language. He pulls you in and hushes you again, presses a finger to your lips as you convulse beside him in the bed.

"That's enough now," he murmurs softly, kissing your cheek and still rubbing your clit, pushing for more, "That's enough, little one. Go back to sleep."

He says this to you as if you can even control your sounds, your movements, as if your pussy continuing to gush isn't a result of his own actions, but he already knows this. He enjoys it, likes watching you fight to regain proper consciousness again after you squirt, likes watching you try to stop it from happening. And god, does he love to make it happen.

"Can't, daddy," you mumble, voice thick with sleep and pleasure, brows furrowed as you open your eyes to look down and see where he's still circling, "Can't stop wh-when you rub it like that."

You feel him press a kiss to your ear, watch him pull his fingers back from your pussy and slap them down lightly, then again, then twice more in succession. Another small gush of liquid spurts from your hole after the fourth slap, and he chuckles.

"Sleep," he whispers, slowing his movements, "I'll stop now, promise."

So you do, and he does - not before slipping his wet fingers past your lips for you to gently suck as you drift. You vaguely hear him murmur Daddy's perfect girl before you're lost to the world again.

You dream of him, as you always do.

--

He learned very early on that you could squirt. It wasn't even something you were aware of yourself - how could you be? It's not like you'd had many sexual encounters before this, none of them ever worthwhile anyway, and you'd never had it happen to you on your own either. But it's somehow easy for Joel to make it happen, once he knows he can, so easy that now it's one of his favorite things to do when he plays with you.

The first time, you'd been more than surprised - and very confused. You'd been spread out naked between Joel's clothed legs, back against his chest while four of his thick fingers pumped deep inside of you, thumb tapping your clit. He'd crooked them, curved his fingertips in the slightest way - and suddenly there had been a gush of heat, a heavy stream of release. You'd thought you'd done something else, something that had your cheeks warming and embarrassment flooding through your body as you twitched and cried in his arms. I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to, it was an accident.

He'd hushed you softly, kissed your lips tenderly and explained to you what it actually was.

"You're such a good girl," he'd praised, carefully easing your head into his lap and threading his fingers through your hair, eyes peering down at where your legs lay open, pussy still dripping, "Such a good girl with the sweetest little pussy, baby. Squirtin' just for me, just for her daddy, huh?"

You'd closed your eyes and let him hold you, soothe you, relax you. I know, little one. Did such a good job. M'so prouda you. Then he'd unzipped his jeans and fed his heavy cock into your mouth, let you suck on his leaking tip quietly for a few moments before he came down your throat with a long sigh, still stroking your hair. After you'd swallowed every drop, opened your mouth wide and showed him your clean tongue, he'd bundled you up and disappeared from the tent to make you dinner, off to fulfill that never-ending kindness and care he'd promised from the beginning. It had only been about a week since that first night where he'd first come into your tent, and you were already settling into the role of his special girl and doing it quite happily.

He'd made you squirt again later that night, had you shaking in his arms and gushing around his cock and close to tears, not because you were afraid or in pain but because it just felt so good. A relief, a release, a moment of bliss, all because of him. Your pussy had pushed his cock out of you with the pressure of your release, and you'd fallen back against him, sleepy and sated.

"Daddy," you'd whined, overstimulated and exhausted as he'd slipped his dick back inside your dripping heat, "Daddy, m'gonna fall asleep."

"That's okay, baby," he'd whispered, fucking into you slow with no plans of stopping, cock bulging in your trembling belly, "You can go to sleep."

You'd woken again a little later, warm in his arms, globs of cum drooling from your opening. You'd whimpered softly, reached down and touched where you were leaking, and - without even really thinking about it - gathered what he'd left there and pushed it back inside yourself before drifting back to sleep, safe against his chest.

--

The cabin you reside in is only temporary, though you wish you could stay longer. The group came across it in the early hours of yesterday morning, and you've spent most of that time naked in one of its four beds, sleepy and content among the warm sheets. It's been so long since you felt the comfort of a real bed, a soft mattress and thick blankets, and from the moment you passed the threshold Joel was adamant that you spend as much time in it as possible.

He's so kind.

He's been planning something with the others, an upcoming raid, a plan of attack, but you don't pay much attention to those things. When it all goes down, Joel has assured you that you won't be anywhere near the carnage, still safe and warm in the cabin until his return.

"Need you safe, little one," he'd told you softly last night, fingers scratching soothingly across your bare back, "Can't have anythin' happenin' to you." He'd kissed you tenderly, whiskers tickling your lips and making you giggle. "You'll stay here with Tommy, he'll take care o' you."

"Tommy?" you'd asked curiously, unsure which member of the group he was referring to.

"My number two." He'd brushed his nose against yours, touching his index finger to your bottom lip and tugging gently, "Don't worry, baby. I trust him."

"Okay, Daddy."

You can hear his muffled voice now through the door of your room, though you can't make out what he's saying. He's addressing the group, going over plans, but you're sleepy and have been in and out of consciousness for most of the afternoon, lost in the comfort of your warm bed. It's only when you hear someone say the girl, that your ears prick up, brows furrowing as soon as you realize they're talking about you.

Only seconds later there's a light tap on your door and you sit up in bed, gathering the sheets around yourself as it opens. You peer wide eyed at one of the other men of the group, standing there with a hand on his hip and his head tilted charmingly to the side. He's very handsome, dark haired and mustached and from what you've seen, always pretty well put together. You think this one is Tommy, the number two, but you're still not entirely sure.

"Your daddy needs you, sweetheart," he says calmly, though his eyes tell a different story - he looks at you hungrily, like they all do, gaze going glassy and dark. "He asked me to help you get dressed."

"Oh," you whisper, nodding slowly, "Okay." Knowing it's what Joel wants, you let the sheets drop, and now the man you think is Tommy can see that you're completely naked on the bed, exposed and soft. It's nothing new or alarming - Joel has not been discreet when it comes to your relationship, and you're no stranger to the men taking peeks at you, peering inside your tent when Joel's not there, watching the rise and fall of your breasts as you pretend to be asleep.

You watch as this man's eyes fall to your pussy, and you can't explain why it throbs beneath his gaze.

"He just wants you in a dress," he murmurs, leaning down and assessing the few garments folded near the bed that make up your incredibly simple wardrobe; two dresses, two shirts, one pair of jeans. He picks the warmer dress, the blue one with long sleeves, which you greatly appreciate; the cabin may be warm, but it's still the middle of winter.

He approaches the bed with a smile, unfolding the dress.

"Arms up, sweetheart," he says softly, and you obey. You wait for him to help guide your arms and head through but he doesn't, instead opting to stand there for a moment just looking at you. His eyes are glued to your breasts, smile still curving his lips as he reaches out and very gently strokes the side of one with his knuckle. You shiver.

"You're so pretty, honey," he murmurs, trailing his finger up and down slowly, just shy of your nipple, "You know that?"

You nod slowly, eyes hooded and arms still extended, "I- I think so."

His thumb finds your nipple and rubs it gently, bringing it to life under his fingertips. "Your daddy's been takin' real good care of ya, hasn't he?" he asks quietly, circling the hardening nub, "In a lotta ways."

You nod again, aware of a slow trickle of warmth beginning to pool between your legs, and unsure whether what's happening right now is something Joel would want. "Y-yeah."

"Heard him fuckin' you to sleep last night," he breathes, and the words send another throb to your pussy, "He was all up in your guts, wasn't he?" His hand suddenly moves from your breast to your bare tummy, and he palms the soft skin there delicately, "Right here?" You nod again and he smiles.

"You make the prettiest little sounds when you're gettin' fucked like that, babygirl."

His praises send tingles up and down your spine like Joel's do, as well as a blooming warmth to your cheeks. "Thank you," you whisper, unsure what else to say to such a statement.

"You're welcome, sweetheart." As he says it, the fingers on your stomach trail downward a little bit to rest on your mound. He strokes the skin there gently, thumb dipping low to brush against your outer lips. "Soft little pussy," he murmurs, smiling kindly at you again, "You like havin' this all filled up, honey?"

You nod again, still unsure the point of his questioning, of his touches, but also not really wanting him to stop. A quiet whimper slips past your lips when you feel the tip of his thumb lightly brush past your clit and prod very gently against your hole. There's no way he doesn't feel the sudden wetness there, the slow drip of stickiness and the warmth of your arousal, as well the faint remnants of Joel's cum still leaking from where he'd fucked you a few hours ago - he hums quietly, unsurprised.

"Yeah, you like bein' full," he breathes, that dark glint returning to his gaze as his thumb just barely pushes inside, "Y'like bein' used."

It's not a question, but you nod anyway.

He suddenly removes his hand from your pussy and finally helps you with your dress, pulling it down over your arms and shoulders and helping you stand on wobbly legs. With another kind smile, he brings his hand up and gently brushes your cheek.

"So pretty, babygirl" he repeats quietly, "Like a little angel, ain't ya?" He suddenly presses his thumb gently against your mouth, lightly prodding for entrance, and without much thought you allow him to slip it inside; it tastes like your arousal. Eyes sleepy and pussy throbbing, you suck on his thumb obediently, as if it's just second nature to do so.

"Christ," he mutters, watching your lips as you suckle around his thick thumb, "Now that's a good girl."

"Tommy!" Joel's voice from the other room suddenly shouts, and the man who you now know for sure to be Tommy - the man who Joel is planning on leaving you with during the raid - quickly pulls his thumb from your wet mouth.

"Come on, sweetheart," he says, smiling crookedly, "Let's go see what your daddy wants."

--

There are five other men in Joel's group, from what you've gathered, including Tommy. Four of whom currently stand in a half circle in the front room of the cabin, arms crossed, boots tapping, attention directed at Joel who sits in a dusty armchair in the corner of the room. They all turn to look at you when the bedroom door opens, and watch with those familiar glazed expressions as Tommy brings you to their leader.

Joel's serious expression grows soft when he sees you, a small smile gracing his lined face. He peers at you, crooks his fingers. Without needing to be asked, Tommy carefully hoists you up into Joel's lap. His thumbs linger for a moment on your waist, a small stroke so quick you're not sure Joel notices - you're not sure you want him to - and then he's pulling away to stand beside the chair, asserting the role of number two.

It only takes a few seconds for you to realize that Joel's cock is out, hidden beneath the thick cotton of his jacket, out of sight. With no hesitation you wrap your arms around his neck and open your legs, laying your face against his shoulder and sighing contentedly when you feel his tip notch at your wet entrance. Not fully hard yet, he pushes inside carefully, subtly, and you ease yourself down just as quietly to sheathe him inside of you. You close your eyes and nuzzle into the warmth of his coat, already feeling the soft weight of him begin to stiffen.

You've done this before. Sometimes when he's overwhelmed, in over his head, needing to be grounded, he likes to have you sit on it. The first time it happened you weren't sure how to feel, self conscious with the other members of the group staring and knowing that you were full of him, soft whimpers escaping your mouth with every small movement or jostle. It's okay, little one, Joel had whispered, barely audible, you just focus on me.

Now, it's second nature. You can feel their eyes on your back and you know they can tell what's happening beneath Joel's coat. But now you find that you don't really care.

He starts talking then, continues whatever it was he was discussing before you left the bedroom. It becomes white noise almost immediately, your eyelashes fluttering as you bury your face further into his shoulder and focus on the feeling of his thick cock growing large inside of you. You love the way it stretches you, pushes, begins to prod up and against your cervix. It pulses and twitches within your walls and you squeeze down on him tighter, mewling a little without really meaning to.

At your noise you suddenly hear a soft chuckle from directly beside the armchair. You open your eyes halfway, looking up sleepily at Tommy who's still standing to your left. He smiles at you like he did before, a twinkle in his eye, and then winks. He obviously knows what's going on - standing so close, there's no way he didn't see you settle onto Joel's cock.

You peer back at him, blinking your eyes slowly and tightening your arms around Joel's neck. He tilts his head, and you suddenly let a smile turn up the corners of your lips. Look Tommy, you almost want to whisper, he's all up in my guts, like you said. You're not sure why you feel so unbothered under Tommy's gaze, why you don't yearn for him to look away like the others and for him to pretend it's not happening. There's a feeling in the pit of your stomach that you can't explain, that you don't want to explain.

You stay settled like that on Joel's cock for about fifteen minutes, letting the deep voices of the men around you fade into the background. You close your eyes again but you can still feel Tommy's eyes on you, watching, assessing. Every now and then Joel carefully adjusts you, driving himself a little deeper each time, sending tiny bursts of pleasure throughout your body as your pussy leaks around the intrusion. If Tommy were to lift you up again you know there'd be a dark spot at the front of your dress, a trail of slick on Joel's coat.

One particular adjustment moves the edge of the lining of Joel's coat between your folds, coming to rub against your clit, and without any warning you feel yourself start to come. Your soft cry interrupts the voices of the group, a hush of silence suddenly blanketing the room as you tighten around Joel's cock and gush around him, shaking in his embrace. His arms come up to hold you close, rubbing your back soothingly.

You look up at Tommy again and find that his eyes are hooded as he watches you, lips parted and brow furrowed with what can only be arousal as he watches you fall apart on another man's cock.

"Christ," you hear one of the men murmur, and you feel heat flush your cheeks and ears, the self consciousness returning in full swing as you come down from your orgasm, burying your face in Joel's coat once again.

"Not a fuckin' word, Perry" Joel states, voice firm.

The conversation continues like nothing happened, and you try to let the sudden embarrassment you feel dissipate as much as possible despite still being impaled on Joel's length. You nuzzle against the warmth of his neck, sighing and trying to get your breathing back to normal. Your cunt continues to spasm around him in small twitches, aftershocks, soft whimpers still falling from your lips unconsciously. It doesn't take long for the sounds and sensations to set him off, and there's another lull in the discussion as Joel tenses underneath you and starts to come.

"Oh for fuck's sake," you hear the same voice from before mutter, but his commentary is suddenly lost beneath a soft groan from Joel as his cock twitches inside you. It pulses warmly, thick bursts of cum painting your insides. You gasp softly and squeeze your thighs against his, letting him fill you up in slow and steady spurts, claiming you. Daddy's special girl.

There's a moment of silence, a deep sigh from Joel, and you wait with the rest of the group for him to speak.

"You wanna say that again?" he finally says, voice gruffer this time but stern and serious, as if he didn't just come inside you in front of a room full of his men, "Huh, Perry? You wanna fuckin' say that again?"

Another beat of silence. Then-

"I'm just sayin'," the man named Perry grumbles somewhere behind you, "Aren't you worried you're gonna get her pregnant? I mean, Jesus Christ, Joel, we don't need another fuckin' mouth to feed."

The words send a shockwave through your body, eyes widening.

"And where the fuck do you get off tellin' me what I can and can't do?" Joel asks angrily. His body has gone stiff beneath you but you think you've gone equally as stiff against him, Perry's words suddenly circling over and over again throughout your mind.

Pregnant? Could you be pregnant?

"I don't know if y'all remember," Joel says coldly, "but back in my day there was a little thing called a fuckin' vasectomy. Need me to explain it?"

"Oh, fuck off, Miller."

You suddenly find yourself peering upwards again at Tommy, eyes still wide as Joel and Perry start to have a go at each other. He looks at you once, brows scrunching together when he sees the sudden look of shock in your expression, the confusion, the fear.

"We've all been thinkin' it," Perry is saying, voice slightly shaky in his anger, "It's a valid fuckin' concern."

"Well now it ain't a concern at all," Tommy suddenly jumps in, hands clenching into fists at his sides, "She ain't gettin' pregnant, he's shootin' blanks."

His protectiveness sends another confusing feeling of warmth to that pit in your stomach. Your heart is pounding as you continue to peer up at him, eyes still wide, and he shoots you a soft look of reassurance before turning his attention back to Joel.

"Don't know why you had to have her in the fuckin' first place," Perry spits, "She's just some fuckin' girl. And now we gotta stand around and watch you fuck her all the time? It's fuckin' sick."

Joel stands suddenly, almost like he's forgotten you're sitting in his lap, jostling you to the side as his cock slips out of you. You take a step backwards, finding yourself bumping into Tommy's solid form as Joel zips up his jeans and tilts his head from side to side, bones cracking loudly in the tense room. You can finally see this Perry now, a much younger man with dark hair, standing a few feet away. He's thin, almost gaunt looking.

Joel could kill him so easily if he wanted to.

But he doesn't. Instead, he reaches down and takes your hand, pulls you away from the group and back toward the cabin bedroom. He mutters something under his breath to Tommy in passing, something you can't make out, and as he ushers you inside the room you hear the heavy shuffling of boots as the men are lead back out into the snow.

--

He explains to you what a vasectomy is.

You breathe a sigh of relief.

Wrapped up in warm bedsheets again, you close your eyes and nuzzle against his chest, letting his large form crowd and comfort you, his arms firm around your waist. You can feel his cum starting to drip from you under your dress, making a mess of your thighs.

"I don't like the way he talked to you, daddy," you whisper like it's a secret, voice hushed and muffled against his coat, "I didn't like it at all."

He sighs, pulls you in closer and presses a kiss to the top of your head. "I'll take care of it, little one," he murmurs softly, a sense of finality in his quiet words, "Don't you worry your pretty little head."

He's so kind.

[takami-takami]

Like Animals.

kinktober day 4: sex pollen.

includes— hawks x reader. minors dni. smut

warnings— afab!reader. dubcon (sex pollen/heats, but both have been pining like idiots). breeding if you squint.

keigo's beloved crush sidekick gets hit with the unluckiest quirk possible. he quickly discovers his rut suppressants ain't shit.

Through all the horrors and adverse life events Keigo has endured in this line of work— brutal near-assassinations, negotiations with international crime syndicates, purchasing sugar-free canned coffee with Splenda substitute by mistake before his morning shift— he has always been able to find a silver lining in the darkest of moments. 

Which makes it infinitely more concerning that for the first time in his life, he nearly whines through his teeth the words, "why me?" 

A palm drags once down his face, thumb and index finger pulling down his darkened eye bags. His hand collects the beads of sweat and stops to rest over his mouth. 

He supposes this must be his penance for taking a risk and trusting faulty intel. 

Keigo's informant told him the villain he and his darling sidekick were meeting would have a limited-ranged fire quirk, so the diligent hero stuffed ointment and cold packs in his pockets before leaving just in case. 

If he had known the villain was a plant heteromorph and possessed a heat-inducing mist quirk instead, and that the person he was hopelessly in love with had a bit of a crush on would be caught in the direct line of fire? 

He would have brought a paper bag to hyperventilate into instead. And some prayer beads. The god to which the prayer is delivered doesn't necessarily matter, he thinks. He'd simply pick one and drop to his knees in a bid for mercy.

"I'm taking you to a medic," Keigo puts his foot down for the fourth time this evening. 

"Fuck no," you groan from the couch, shifting to squeeze your thighs together. It offers not even a modicum of relief from the incessant throb. "Do you want my cause of death to be humiliation? Is that your plan, genius? 'S bad enough as it is that you're here." 

The subtext is unspoken, but clear to him through your adorable pout: I only trust you to see me like this.

It's unlucky that the man you've had the most innapropriate-for-work crush on for the better part of two years happened to be the one beside you that day. And it's just your sorry luck, you lament, that Keigo would also be the one to catch you, to fly you home cradled in his painfully capable arms, to refuse to leave your side and insist on making his favorite chicken soup for you in a desperate flail of support. 

He'd respect your decision and leave, should you ask him to. You know that. And yet the humbling truth gnaws at your pride: doing so wouldn't do much to save your image at this point. He’s already seen you like this, you grumble. The proverbial cat has long since escaped the bag, waltzing its way over to rub its purring body against Keigo’s leg to your abject horror.

If you close your eyes, you can attempt to trick your brain into thinking this affliction is a flu of some kind. 

Yes, this is just some common cold. You're wearing nothing but your work partner's shirt (your clothes were contaminated by the quirk's dust, Keigo explained, speaking in that strict work mode voice that makes you picture your mouth stuffed and drooling somewhere beneath his desk and between his spread legs). You pull the damned fabric down over your core as you try your hardest to not writhe in fits of pleasure underneath the blankets, rubbing your thighs together for any friction against your swollen clit.

All symptoms of an affliction of the flu, of course. 

You don't need to reach down and touch to know the slick would string those thighs together, should you attempt to pull them apart. 

Keigo knows that, too. But he doesn't say anything about it. 

You would be mortified if you were aware of the truth. 

That he knows everything.

Keigo knows exactly how you ache; like you're constantly on the precipice of an orgasm, perpetually ablaze from the heavy heat scorching your body from its surface to the boiling core. 

You try to suppress your glee as he spoon feeds you the broth, reminding yourself that this is just what good friends do for each other.

Friends coo praises at each other when they swallow, friends tilt each other's chins up with one finger and mutter things like that’s a good dove and you can take another as they watch their throat bob in tandem. 

Friends shiver from their wingtips down their spine when they pull the spoon back. They let their gaze linger for just a second on those lips that open wide, aching to touch with their own.

Ever the gentleman, Keigo stays lowered to his haunches and places one hand over your forehead to check for a fever, redirecting his focus toward taking inventory of your vitals. He doesn't wince when he hears your moan at the contact, even though the pitiful sound pings at his weak points. His avian instincts remind him he needs to protect you, please you, take care of you; to make it go away, to fix that feeling he knows better than anyone is aching like a bruise between your thighs. 

He doesn't allow his eyes to wander astray or trail their way downwards, especially when you're in such a vulnerable state; but his professional assessment is that if he could only wet his appetite, the flat of his tongue alone could— 

He shakes his head and blows a puff to cool the soup, raising another spoonful to your lips. 

"Here. Another. You need to keep your energy up," he reminds you, voice stern. It's nearly clinical and achieves the opposite of its desired effect.

Your heart rate picks up to thump at a steady, thrumming beat at the innocuous gesture of domesticity. 

How have you never noticed how capable of a mate Keigo would be…? He’s all musculature and sincerity, sharp ridges at his knuckles and soft curves at the small of his waist where he only trusts you to touch.

You huff an involuntary moan. 

He picks another god to praise that the couch you're laying on obscures his lower half. 

Today, Keigo discovers his suppressants are only designed to reduce the chance of a rut being triggered. It brings the possibility of it starting in the first place to a comfortable near-zero, allowing him to carry out the spring and fall seasons as if he were entirely quirkless.

But if that rut passes through the blockers' biochemistry in, say, the event Keigo's luck rears its ugly head, for example… It does fuck all to reduce the actual symptoms. 

More importantly than his own anguish, however, is this: his mate work partner got hurt because of him— hurt being a stretch, he'd know if he weren't overthinking so much, given the blissed out panting just two feet away from him; but you’re probably suffering and it's all his fault. It’s all because of an unlucky, once in a lifetime slip up from Keigo Takami himself, and he can't detangle himself from the guilt.

If drowning in the unexpected whirlpool that is his first rut in half a decade is his penance for the crime, then Keigo will hang his head and take it.

The huff he lets out is your last straw.

"I'm going to my room," you state, moving to leave like you left the stove on and are trying to avoid an upcoming house fire.

When his hand darts out to stop you, the touch against your shoulder sends shockwaves down your stomach.

He's touching you. He's taking such good care of you, feeding you, providing for you in his nest and now he's touching you?

It sends your hormones into overdrive. 

You'd do well to conceal it, if his heightened instincts couldn't smell your desperation. 

"I'm afraid it ain't that easy, dove," Keigo warns, eye contact averted. "I'd avoid doing that, if I were you." 

He schools his expression, but not before you catch a flash of something hungry. 

There's no chance in hell he's letting you out of his sight. Not like this. You're confined to the couch while he keeps an eye on you. Attempting to fix it yourself will only make the feeling unfathomably worse, something he tries to communicate to you with a look that only ends up making him look like a kicked puppy.

You squint right back when you process the implication of his words, eyes raking down his form in suspicion. 

"How do you know all this, anyway," you ask.

Keigo goes silent, hand concealing his mouth. 

Ah, it hits you. 

Bird things.

Your head falls back against one of the numerous pillows your partner propped up behind you.

"The couch is soft," you murmur, situating yourself against the cushions and throw blankets he so carefully arranged. You trail your fingertips along a silk pillow. Keigo slams his eyes shut.

"Please don't say it like that." 

"Why not?" Your lids droop, heat overtaking your better judgement. Tentatively, you play along the bounds. You allow your hands to run along the soft divots of the blanket covering your body, squeezing your chest and pinching the peaks. "It's like a little nest, isn't it?" 

His hand drags down his face before pinching his nose bridge, suppressing a whine. "Baby, please—" 

"You don't wanna join me?"

"You don't know what you're talking about. It's just the heat," Keigo tells himself more than you. "For the love of God, dove, stop talking—"

"But it hurts, Kei'." It’s a low blow, judging by the protective coo that escapes his lips. 

Fed up, he leans forward and swings his right leg over your hip, crawling atop you as if his body has a mind of its own, utterly bogged by desire and yanked like puppet strings.

With Keigo kneeling tall above you, the bodysuit of his hero costume hides absolutely nothing. The musculature is quite impressive, actually. Proof of his viability as a mate— all dominant and masculine and gorgeous.

And at this angle, you can see the most painful erection straining against his pants. 

"I need you, Kei'. I need— mmph!" 

A palm silences you; slapped down, hot, imposing, and heavy like a weight against your mouth. 

The authority of the action makes your cunt clench; and Keigo would die before he lets that feeling go to waste, so his hips drop down to grind once against it. 

Your eyes go wide, doughy and stunned, darting down in haste, following the trail of his thick bicep up toward the disciplinary scowl on his face. 

His nostrils flare with the heaving in his chest, eyes screwed shut with his last slivers of patience holding its grip on his psyche.

"One more word," he says, pulling his hand away. "One more word and I'm ripping this blanket off and fucking you raw." 

After a moment of silence, you speak.

"Please." 

Keigo is wordless when he unbuckles his belt and lets it— and his inhibitions— drop with a satisfying clink.

The reality of what you've gotten yourself into comes crashing down as it hits you how utterly fucked you are. The scaffolding of years of sexual tension comes crumbling down like bricks to rubble, a city of restraint reduced to pure, animalistic desire. 

Years of Keigo's eyes darting away when you nonchalantly change into your uniform in front of him, even though he never seemed bothered by any of his other peers doing the same; years of you both curling in on yourselves at the furthest edges of the bed you had to share, cramped close in those under-the-radar motels on stealth missions; years of the words "idiot, can I kiss you," held back by your lips as you watch Keigo moan when he sinks his teeth into his comfort restaurant's chicken teriyaki every stupid Friday night, sitting cross-legged and at home on the carpet of your apartment floor. 

Not a single word is exchanged as he pulls his cock free from its confines, nearly too thick for his fingers to meet when they wrap around it. He tosses the blanket to the side with haste, dragging your shirt (his shirt) up to your collar, exposing your chest when he lines his cock with your entrance. 

"Please, Kei'," you sniffle. "Hurts." 

"Oh, I know, baby... I know." His lips are pursed when he shushes you, tracing your cheek with his palm. "I'll make it go away."

When your lips meet, it's like static electricity; and it's entirely remorseless.

"Jesus fucking Christ," he groans against your mouth, dragging his length along your sticky thighs before plopping the thick of it atop your soaked cunt. 

"You're so wet for me," he reveres in awe, dragging the plump tip through your mess to get it slick enough to rub against your clit. 

Your rutting hips buck with impatience in an attempt to glide his length against your swollen pussy, but that only serves to fuel his desire; and those desperate little whines only feed into his insatiable need to fuck, to breed you until you're silent. 

Until you shut the fuck up. 

Those pathetic little sounds are music to his ears, a siren's song that used to play only in his most shameful fantasies; the ones that kept his fist tight around his cock the moment he returned home after missions, the sight of you panting and spitting blood after battle with a smile on your face still fresh in his memory. 

Keigo wants to hear you moan. 

But his rut needs to fuck you wordless with satisfaction. 

"Oh, fuck," he hitches, shifting his hips back and forth to the tune of the audible shlicks below. Unable to stay upright any longer, his chest falls flush into yours in a rut-afflicted haze, rutting against you like animals. 

When he slips his cock inside, it's with a kiss to muffle his voice.

And he wastes no time setting a punishing pace, aided nicely by the slickness that coats the sides of his cock. The legs of the couch surely must be scraping indents into the floorboards, judging by the creaks that mingle with the sounds of his belt buckle at every thrust. You'd notice if either of you were lucid enough to care. 

It's a brief consideration of a possibility of an afterthought, like a sheepish voice behind a roaring crowd. 

Pulling out, that is. 

Yeah, if he were a stronger man, he could probably will his hips to stall. There's a chance someone far stronger than him would hiss when he does it. His cock would weep in denial of that sweet, velvet entanglement, dripping out in the cold when he fists himself to completion mere inches away from what might as well be the center of his goddamn universe.

But when it comes to you, when it comes to his rut, Keigo is not a strong man.

He allows his cock to throb in the vice of your cunt, instead.

"God, baby," he moans into your neck, wings flapping once, twice with each thrust, shedding a few feathers before straightening out and grazing the ceiling behind his back. "Baby. Oh, baby. You're so tight. You're so— fuck!"

He's babbling, but so are you. Legs hooked across the small of his back, you bump your hips as best you can to aid in his efforts; and with your last shreds of lucidity, you decide for the both of you how things will end. 

With watery lashes, you open your eyes enough to blink away some tears and clear your vision just enough. Your gaze crawls up his legs that are still clothed to the thighs, peeking over the curvature of his ass and up his shuddering spine— all to mark onto your scarlet red prize.

When you entangle your fingers into the downy feathers at the base of his wings, it shoots straight to his cock and he spills.

With eyes wide open and a strangled choke at the back of his throat, Keigo's hips stutter when he empties himself. With every throb comes another rope from the tip, sticky and excessive from the rut, mixing with your wetness as you crash over the edge soon after.

When the ringing in your ears ceases and you finally come to, it's to the sight of your now probably-more-than-a-work-partner pulling out and staring between your legs as if under a trance, eyes glimmering.

"Kei', you okay?"

"Uh huh," he answers absentmindedly, utterly transfixed on the mess he made. 

It's strange, he thinks. Whatever urges his rut transcribed into cravings, every instinct that tugged at the avian etched in his DNA and called him to fill you pales in comparison to the satisfaction of having indulged himself at last.

His eyes flick back to meet yours.

"Does this mean I can kiss you at work now?" 

You snort. So that's where his mind goes in the end.

"It means a whole lot more than that," you say, rolling you both over so he lands square on his back.

[lost-in-fandoms]

Got caught up in my feelings last night and kept thinking about this until I was able to write it down.

Max's fingers moved deftly on Nicky's hair, braiding the long strands while reading out loud. It was a new book, something about a witch and a fairy being best friends and going on adventures, both of them endearingly invested in it.

Daniel took his place to the side of the door, leaning against the wall, eyes trained on the pair, as they both looked up to smile at him before going back to their story.

Max didn't do voices when reading books, he never had. At first Daniel had complained, sure that their daughter would only pay attention if he kept the reading as silly as possible, but then Max had started the new bedtime routine of braids and books. There was something in the way his voice changed over the dialogue, in the weird cadence of his, in his gentle rasp, that kept Nicky completely entranced in a way Daniel had never been able to replicate.

That and the hair styling. For some reason, whenever Daniel was the one to deal with elastics and bows and hairbrushes, things always turned out either wonky or tear stained or both. He had felt bad about it, felt like he was failing her, until Max had pointed out that he always struggled with getting her to finish all her food, and that if it had been up to him they'd be eating soup and various charred vegetables every night, and Daniel had felt better.

Max always knew how to make Daniel feel better.

"Page," Max said, pausing his reading to allow Nicky to turn the page, tying the braid off with a yellow elastic and tugging her closer against his chest, moving the hairbrush out of the way. They were almost at the end of the chapter, and Daniel smiled, knowing what was coming.

As expected, even before Max was all the way through the last page, Nicky started squirming, twisting to glance up at him, big eyes already pleading, but Max steadily finished reading and reached for the bookmark she was holding anyway.

"No, papa, please! One more?"

It was always the same. Max would finish doing her hair, finish their chapter and then she would beg for more. Honestly, Daniel couldn't blame her, not when he too would have liked to be sitting against Max's chest, listening to his voice.

"We had two already, because the other one was short," Max replied, kind but firm. He closed the book, pushing it to the side, then turned Nicky around so they could sit face to face, her little crossed legs bracketed by his spread ones.

Nicky was still pouting, but she had learned soon enough that there was no bargaining with papa. Not that Max didn't treat her like a princess and spoil her rotten, but he had rules, and rules were followed. Most of the time.

"So, what do you say?" Max asked, offering the book back to Nicky for her to hold, because just like Daniel she struggled to keep her thoughts straight if her hands were free.

Max had told Daniel once that this part was important for Nicky's development. That getting to talk through her ideas, offering opinions, making hypothesis for what was to come was good for the brain.

Daniel didn't doubt it, but he suspected that Max just liked to talk to her. Both their eyes were bright as they discussed what they had just read, Nicky bouncing slightly on the bed, unable to sit still, Max's hands moving in the air. Daniel loved them both so much.

When they were done, Max put the book down on Nicky's bedside table, turning on her ladybug nightlight and the lamp next to it, just as Daniel turned off the big light, leaving the bedroom bathed in warm shadows.

"What are you going to dream about tonight?" Max asked, tucking Nicky in and placing a kiss on her head.

"I will be a mermaid and I will find a big treasure!"

She was already clutching Bissit, her stuffed bunny, his name an unfortunate attempt of a toddler to pronounce Biscuit, and one of his ears ended up in her mouth as soon as she was done talking.

Max gently pulled it out, kissing her cheek as a distraction.

"Will I get some?"

"You will get one coin!" Nicky replied, giggling at her own mischief. Daniel could feel his own smile grow wider at the mere sound of it and Max's fake-offended face could not hide his fondness either.

"Just one?! What about daddy?" he asked, pointing at Daniel as if he was the culprit for the bad treasure sharing.

"Daddy will get..." Nicky paused, brows furrowed as she tried to think of a big enough number, "seventy-five!"

Daniel whooped as Max gasped in fake outrage, poking Nicky's tummy through the covers in retaliation, her delighted laughter filling the room.

Max sighed in mock resignation as Nicky quietened again, hand cupping her head gently.

"Will I at least get a good night?" he asked, his voice softer now.

"Good night," Nicky readily said, poking one hand out of the covers to grab his free one and bring it up to her lips, smacking a big wet kiss on it.

"Good night, liefje." Max gave her one last kiss before getting up, leaving an empty spot on her side, and Daniel knew that was his cue. Reading time was Max's special time with Nicky, but Daniel always got the last good night.

He kissed Nicky's forehead, one cheek, then the other, then the tip of her nose, listening to her giggles.

"I love you so much, baby," he told her, because he could never stop himself from telling her a million times a day. He was dreading the day she was going to become a prickly teenager and fight him over it. He hoped she never did.

"I love you too, daddy" she said back, because she was four and she still said it back every time.

He stayed with her a little longer, petting her hair, one of the very rare times during the day they could both be still and quiet, but when her eyes had stopped drooping and stayed fully closed, he turned the lamp off and went to look for Max.

He found him in the living room, slowly folding the laundry Daniel had abandoned earlier.

"I would have gone back to it," Daniel said just to say it. They both knew he was never able to get through all the laundry without getting distracted.

"No, you would not," Max replied placidly, not even looking up at him, poking through the pile to find the sock matching the one he was holding.

"No, I wouldn't have," Daniel acquiesced, sitting down on the couch behind him, leaning forward to wrap his arms around Max's shoulders.

Max paused his search to tilt his head back, eyes squinting into a smile as he accepted Daniel's kiss.

"I love you," Daniel told him, because his inability to hold it back wasn't limited to their daughter.

"I love you too," Max replied, because he was thirty-four and still said it back every time.

[thrashkink-coven]

Understanding how your brain works to better utilize it in witchcraft, spirituality or occultism

I apologize if this post is really long lol

The biggest challenge I run in to when trying to explain my “mystical” experiences with my deities and spirits is in accurately portraying the “abstractness” of the interaction. We all have a special concoction of brain soup going on in our heads. While one brain may communicate with itself very auditorily, as in, in sounds and voices, other brains may be more predisposed to imagery. The goal of some forms of occultism is conditioning both the subconscious and conscious brain into adapting into different forms of “thought”, communication with oneself.

Think about it this way, some people have an inner monologue, that is an actual audible “voice” that speaks to them, narrates written text, etc. This inner voice may or may not be omnipresent, it may or may not resemble your voice. It may change.

Likewise some people don’t think in sounds at all, their brain is more visual and produces images, videos, movie like sequences that you may or may not be able to mentally interact with. If you have aphantasia, you will not be able to do this.

If you can identify and understand how your brain works, how the hardware and program you are operating on functions, you can understand how to better use it to communicate with deities or to preform other methods of magic.

So here are some easy ways to get an idea of how your brain works in regards to communicating thoughts and information. If some of these things don’t make a lick of sense to you, you’ll know that it isn’t your jive and you’ll probably have more difficulty learning magical practices that utilize that function.

For Visual Imagery we’re going to be using the letter A - Visual imagery describes thoughts that are communicated through visual senses. This means any kind of imagery, including simple colors and shapes.

For audible/ sound based thought we are going to be using the letter B- Audible thoughts describe ideas that are communicated through auditory senses. This includes music, narration, and sounds of any kind.

For texture/sensation based thought we are going to be using the letter C- Texture and sensation based thoughts are ideas that activate the “feeling” part of the brain. These can be both pleasant or uncomfortable.

For transcribed thought we are going to be using the letter D- Transcribed thoughts are ideas which are communicated through written text, literal letters and sentences, or symbols, as if you were watching a movie with subtitles.

For “invisible” thoughts we are going to be using the letter E- Invisible thoughts are ideas that are almost instantly understood through the subconscious. They do not take time to process and usually go unnoticed. These are usually common sense observations. The part of your brain that processes “person” when you see a person, and “dog” when you see a dog. These thoughts are your most prevalent and least observed.

For memory based thoughts we are going to be using the letter F- Memory based thoughts are ideas that are conjured using information from passed experiences, needing no new stimuli or information to be formed. These thoughts can also include experiences that occurred in dreams. Common sense repetitive norms influence these thoughts.

Keep track of your points.

1. You probably already know the apple thing.

Can you picture an apple? what color is it? can you rotate it? which way is it rotating? clockwise or counterclockwise? upside down? does it have a stem? does the stem have a leaf on it? Where is the apple?

If you can easily picture and manipulate the apple, you have the capacity to understand mental imagery. That does not necessarily mean your brain is predisposed to it, only that you have the hardware to process it. Not everyone has this hardware.

If your apple was spinning in a black room with no other objects or environment around it, you may be more dominant in another field of thought with visual imagery as a supportive addition. You get 1 point for A

If you pictured an apple you saw recently, you get one full point for F.

If your apple was already in a room, on a table, in front of your real world environment right now, or in some other environment that was not necessarily conjured through memory, your brain likely uses visual imagery as a predominant method of communication. You get 2 points for A.

If you were able to understand the concept of an apple and all of the manipulations, but didn’t necessarily “see” anything, you get one point for E.

2. As you’ve been reading this post, assuming that you are not reading aloud, have you been hearing a “voice” narrating the text?

Does that voice sound like your voice when you speak aloud? Do you take the time to pronounce every word as you read mentally? Do you pay attention to every letter individually, or do you look at the words as contained objects?

If you have an inner narrative voice that is activated by reading long passages of text, your brain is able to process visual imagery auditorily, especially when combined with will established symbols.

If that voice resembles your speaking voice, you are likely more dominant in another field of thought, using narration as a supportive sense. Your brain doesn’t naturally tend to generate sounds, it’s using the most easily commutable sound, your own voice, to deliver the information. This isn’t to say that you can’t conjure sounds, but rather that your brain doesn’t do so without “trying” to. You get a half point for B and a half points for D.

However if that voice does not usually resemble your own speaking voice, or changes often, your brain is likely more predisposed to communicating through sound senses. You get one full point for B and a half point for D.

If you have no inner narration or other sensory stimuli when reading this text, but still fully observe and understand the words, you get one full point for D.

If you have no inner narration when reading this text but imagine it’s contents like a slideshow or movie when given visual descriptions, you get one full point for A.

If you’ve observed the text with no other thoughts or ideas asides from what has been commanded of you by the quiz, you get one full point for E.

3. Oops I did it again…

“I played with your heart! Got lost in the game! Ooh baby baby!”

Okay, assuming you know the song “Oops I did it Again” by Brittany Spears, did you hear her voice singing the song when you read the passage? Did you hear your own voice singing it? Did you only read the text?

And if you did hear her voice, did you also hear the background instrumentals? Did you see Brittany in your head in her red jumpsuit? (assuming you watched the music video lol) If not in her red jump suit, did you at least get some kind of visual imagery of Brittany’s face?

If you heard Brittany’s voice singing with no background instrumental or other stimuli, you get one point for B.

If you heard your own voice singing the song with no other stimuli, you get a half point for B.

If you only read the passage, you get one point for D

If you heard Brittany’s voice and heard the background instrumentals, you get 2 points for B.

If you heard Brittany’s voice and heard the background instrumentals, and saw her to some capacity, although not dancing or moving, you get 2 points for B and an additional 1 point for A.

If you saw and heard all of that whilst seeing Brittany dancing in some way, as if you were actively watching a video, you get 2 points for B and an additional 2 points for A.

If you saw Brittany specifically in her red jumpsuit alongside the instrumentals and singing, as if you were watching the exact music video, or remembered some other portion of the music video, you get 2 points for B, 2 points for A, and an additional 1 point for F

and, if you immediately remembered the entire song of “oops I did it again” without any other stimuli, or without necessarily “hearing” anything, you get two full points for F.

Consider how your brain handles all of these rabid thoughts and quick communications to understand the contents of this post.

4. Imagine yourself sitting in your living room

Now imagine there’s an apple in your right hand and a cube of ice in your left hand. Sit for about 15 seconds. Now, mentally, stand from whatever surface you were sitting on, still holding the ice and apple, and lick the floor.

If you had difficulty imagining the living room, “feeling” the ice cube and apple, and maintaining those things while licking the floor, your brain is likely not dominant in texture based thoughts. Subtract a half point from C if you had any already.

If you could easily and vividly imagine the feeling of ice and an apple in your hands, but did not experience any discomfort, and had difficulty maintaining your living room or moving within that space, you only get one point for C.

If you could easily and vividly imagine the feeling of the ice and an apple in your hands, but did not experience any discomfort, and had an easy time maintaining your living room and moving within that space, you get one point for C and an additional one point for A.

If after 15 seconds you felt somewhat uncomfortable, vividly felt the ice melting in your hand, or felt disgusted by feeling the floor (carpet, tile, hard wood etc ) on your tongue, specifically at the thought of dust, dirt, or debris on your tongue, vividly feeling hair and lint get stuck to your tongue, you get 2 full points for C and an additional 2 points for A.

If you could easily imagine the space and do all of these things, but did not experience discomfort and/or saw yourself doing these things in the third person, you get one point for A.

If you could somewhat do these things but got tripped up or lost some of the immersion by thinking about things that aren’t actually in your living room, like imagining both the room and the apple at the same time, you get one full point for F.

5. If I were to hand you a page with 50 phone numbers on it, and told you to memorize all of the numbers in the list, would you…

1. Remember each phone number sequence individually to the best of your ability, starting from the first.

2. Remember the sounds of the numbers as you recited them aloud and recall the “song” or rap that you created with them

3. Recall the whole page of numbers like a photo and try to remember what was written on the entire page

4. Remember each number individually and remember how they sit in the sequence in relation to each other

5. Assign each number a color and then recall the number sequence by remembering how each color transitions into the next

6. Assign each number a letter (4 = F, 9= N), and create words or abbreviations to remember the full sequence of numbers.

7. You wouldn’t be able to remember them all.

If you chose option 1, you get a half point for F

If you chose option 2, you get one full point for B

If you chose option 3, you get one full point for A

If you chose option 4, you get one half point for F and an additional half point for D

If you chose option 5, you get 2 full points for A

If you chose option 6, you get one full point for D

If you chose option 7, you get 1 full point for F

6. Your goal is to think of absolutely nothing for the next 30 seconds. Close your eyes, and do not think about anything.

If after about 10 or so seconds, a song or tune started playing in the background of your mind, you get 2 points for B.

If after about 10 seconds, you had any conscious comment or thought, “how long has it been?” “am I doing this right?” “I wonder what…” “I hope that”… or you felt the need to mentally count to 30, you will subtract a half point from E if you had any already.

If after about 10 seconds, you visualized something against your will, anything at all, even though you were actively trying to think about nothing, you get 2 points for A.

If you started thinking about previous parts of this quiz that you have already completed, you get two points for F.

If you had inclinings of thoughts coming on but were able to quickly stifle them, you get one point for E.

If you were truly and honestly able to think about absolutely nothing for thirty whole seconds, you’re a winner baby, you get 2 full points for E.

7. You’re laying in bed procrastinating doing some task you really don’t want to do. But you eventually find your strength and finally decide to get out of bed. When motivating yourself, do you think:

1. “okay, I gotta get up now”

2. “come on, you gotta get up now”

3. “alright, we gotta get up now”

4. you do not have any inner dialogue about it, you simply know you have to get up and get up without consciously voicing it to yourself.

If you chose option 1, you do not lose or gain any points.

If you chose option 2, subtract 1 full point from E if you had any already.

If you chose option 3, subtract one half point from E if you had any already.

If you chose option 4, you get two points for E.

8. When you hear people speaking in real time, do you see their words transcribed in your head as if you were reading subtitles?

1. No, never

2. Sometimes but not always

3. Yes, all the time

If you chose option 1, remove a half point for D

If you chose option 2, you get one point for D

If you chose option 3, you get 2 points for D

9. Which best applies to you?

1. I remember things best when I write them down

2. I remember things best when I say them out loud repeatedly

3. I remember things best when I have some kind of visual reminder

4. I remember things best when I’m nervous about them

5. I don’t know how I remember things, I just do.

6. I remember things best when I’ve done them at least once before

If you chose option 1, you get one point for D

If you chose option 2, you get one point for B

If you chose option 3, you get one point for A

If you chose option 4, you get one point for C

If you chose option 5, you get one point for E

If you chose option 6, you get one point for F

10. You're waiting for something and you're bored, there's no one around you so you're not nervous to do whatever you want. How do you "stim", or occupy yourself?

I probably start singing a song to myself or repeating a funny phrase

I tap my fingers, feet, or teeth together. I do some kind of repetitive movement

I daydream or imagine scenarios in my head

I think about my day or something weird that happened recently

I'd have to have my phone or some kind of music to occupy me or I'd be upset

I'm able to wait for long periods of time without stimming or using distractions

If you chose option 1, you get 2 points for B

If you chose option 2, you get 2 points for C

If you chose option 3, you get 2 points for A

if you chose option 4, you get two points for F

If you chose option 5, subtract one point from E if you had any already

If you chose option 6, you get two points for E

Part 2: Interpreting your results

[eunchancorner]

Revenged and Rescued (Part 2)

Help I can't stop

-

“Henry, you awake?”

He blinked his eyes open slowly, his brain feeling like soup in his head as he responded to the familiar voice.

“Mhm… ‘s that you, Charles…?”

“Yeah, it’s me. How’re you doing?” the pilot asked, sitting beside Henry’s cot.

Henry took a deep breath, feeling how weirdly… flawless it was. No, something was wrong. He shouldn’t be breathing this smoothly after how badly he’d gotten hurt.

“S-something’s wrong. I’m- I’m breathing wrong, Charles, why am I breathing wrong?” he began to panic, trying to sit up and placing a hand on his chest, but was met with the feeling of cold, smooth metal.

“Oh, yeah, uh… they found a lot more internal damage than we thought. Your lungs weren’t gonna last much longer, so they gave you an artificial respiratory system. It supplies oxygen to your bloodstream as long as you’re breathing, like normal lungs, but it’s not as delicate, so it’ll work as long as your brain keeps you breathing. Plus, it sorta surrounds your heart, like a second ribcage, which is good, because a lot of your ribs were broken, too… It’s a lot to take in, I know but… you’re ok now. And you have this cool new chest cavity so that they have direct maintenance access to it. It’s even got a glass panel so they can make sure your heartbeat’s normal, isn’t that cool? It’s also got sensors and stuff, connected to your nerves so that you can still feel stuff, I think to make sure that you can tell if it’s being damaged? Either that or to keep you from going nuts because you can’t feel your chest. Once you’re less… out of it, they’re gonna make sure they’re working properly. After that, you should be good to go!”

As Henry relaxed at the explanation, he felt his thoughts return to that soup-like state, induced by the medicine used to keep the rest of him numb from the pain he should’ve been in. It was a lot to adjust to, but he’d had to deal with worse, in all honesty. And listening to Charles ramble on about it helped him feel a little less alone.

“Once they’ve got it all tested out and cleared you to get up and out, I wanna show you around the base. I still want you to meet some of my squad, I think they’ll like you! Well… mostly. The Bukowski twins will, at least! But then again, they’re pretty friendly anyway. But, then again, so is Mac… We might have to keep Phlex away from you for a while, he’s kind of a wildcard when it comes to… well, people in general. Oh, and Quentin’s gonna seem mean at first, don’t worry about it, he’s a cranky old man. Heh, then again, I’m saying that on Galeforce’s base. Either way, even if they don’t like you at first, I think they’ll learn to! After all, you’re pretty likable. You’re smart, you’re motivated, and you’re a good listener! After all, you’re listening to me right now! The whole Toppat thing might dampen stuff a little, but hey, you also, y’know, killed most of the Toppats, so there’s that. According to the twins, you’re kind of a legend, too, so, I’ll have to hear that story. Anyway,” the pilot finally finished as he stood, “I’ll stop talking your ear off and let you rest some. You’ll need it, y’know, if you’re gonna meet my squad.”

“Actually, can you… stay a little longer..? It’s nicer not being lonely…” Henry admitted against his better judgment. He chalked it up to the pain medicine making everything so much easier to say, since he couldn’t really think much about holding it back.

Charles smiled a bit as he sat back down, resting an arm on the guard rail of Henry’s cot.

“Sure, I’ll stay, but I’m gonna keep talking, so are you sure you don’t want me to go?” he asked playfully, leaning on the rail.

“You say that like it’s a downside…” Henry responded simply, smiling back at him.

[yanderu-deredere]

Your ocs with a sick darling maybe? I’m sick right now and want them to comfort me please

a/n: why is this literally me every single day? hopefully you feel better soon and here's some helpful (and maybe not so helpful) yanderes to perhaps be of service to you

warning: please don't take this as an instruction guide to how to take care of a sick person

eun-jeong yoo ★ profile

literally acts like this is why he went to medical school, like this is the sole purpose of his degree and nothing else

unfortunately paranoid tho? like he's checking your temp constantly and if that shit isn't getting better, he'll be like actually i think you have a brain parasite or something, puppy, like idk your symptoms really match--

babies you SO much

doesn't let you get up at all, will get everything for you, will bring food to you, makes you all the good comfort food of korea, etc etc

probably the most likely to get you all better the fastest

You sniffled, pulling the blanket farther up so you were warm and covered.

It made Eun-jeong's heart melt, to be honest. You looked so cozy but also so helpless at the same time. It was like staring at a puppy! Especially with your hair all messy and your big sweet eyes so innocent and watery.

He removed one of his leather gloves to press his palm against your forehead. You were definitely still significantly warm and, from the way your nose was running, it didn't seem like you were going to get better any time soon.

"Okay, puppy, can you sit up for me and take some medicine?" He reached over to get the little cup of flu suppressant with his ungloved hand before he tried to pass it over to you.

When you pouted, he felt his melty heart get pierced. Softly, he placed a kiss on your warm temple "Come on, pretty, just this and then you can chase it with your favourite drink. See? I brought it over?"

When you continued to pout, he just chuckled and helped you up. He'd make you feel better, no matter what.

gawain dubhán byrne ★ profile

paranoid fuck pt. 2

except he doesn't have a medical degree so like you sneeze and he immediately thinks it's brain cancer

all of his worries are sooo far from the truth that it's not even funny (but also its so so funny)

also babies you but not to the point of forcing you to stay in bed or not letting you do things you want

like if you wanna sit on the couch and watch movies instead of huddling in bed, he'll let you

but he'll also be there lmao he's attached to your hip

"What do you want to watch, darling?" He grabbed the remote for you so he could flick the expensive flat screen on. "Anything you want, I promise."

You just sniffled, your voice hoarse as you shrugged, pulling the blanket tighter around you "We can watch Pride and Prejudice. I know it's your favourite."

"My sweet, I want to watch something you want to watch." Gawain frowned though it was hard to at the sight of you.

You're sitting huddled on the couch, looking like a bulky little potato or maybe a stubby burrito. It was precious and part of him wanted to keep you sick forever.

"Might just fall asleep." You leaned your head against his shoulder and his heart fluttered "Just wanna watch sm'th you wanna watch."

"Okay, darling, that's good too." Gawain pressed one last kiss on the top of your head before pointing the remote at the flat screen to start Netflix

fujio watanabe ★ profile

can barely take care of himself let alone you

then again, he made sure his little brother survived to adulthood, right? he can take care of a sick darling

wrong.

he's definitely there just for muscle. you can't move around so you can ask him to do things for you

you have to be specific tho forreal becos you'll ask him to get you soup and he'll get you all the soup, all the kinds he can find

same goes for medicine, cough drops, etc etc

keeps calling his little brother for advice lol like you can just hear him in the background, panicking

"What do you mean thermometer? Can't I just put my hand on her forehead and know?" Fujio grumbled into the phone, his hand on his own forehead as he stared at you curled up on the couch.

He could hear the static sigh of his brother on the other end of the line "If her fever gets to a certain point, you have to take her to the emergency room."

It was like someone dumped cold water over him. Emergency? It was just a cold wasn't it? Why'd you need to go to the emergency room?

"Okay, okay." It was like someone lit a fire under him. "Just stay on the line."

He rushed around, phone held in between his shoulder and his ear. He hurried to get his keys, a jacket, his wallet-- Before he left to go out the door, Fujio leaned over to you, pressing a chaste kiss to your temple.

"I'll be back, baby, don't worry. I'll take care of this."

ryuunosuke yamamoto ★ profile

he knows first aid? but that's about it lmao

you know that saying that's like idiots can't get colds? mans has the strongest immune system in the world

part of him is actually kind of fascinated by your cold like what, your nose is blocked? what does that mean? and your body is warm? why is your body so warm? huh?

literally has only two people he can call that he trusts and one of them doesn't know what the fuck he's talking about (fujio) and the other can't be bothered (fujio's brother)

definitely depends on you to tell him what to do

"Here, I made you miso soup. It's the only soup I know how to make." He pulled the coffee table closer to the sofa with his free hand before he placed the bowl of hot soup in front of you.

You muttered a very crackly thank you before reaching over. He stood there, watching your every move like a hawk, his fingers playing with each other in anxiety.

Because of your bad throat, instead of saying anything, you just gave Ryuu an enthusiastic thumbs up. Or, as enthusiastic as you could looking like you were half dead.

His entire body relaxed and he plopped down next to you, making sure his large body didn't jostle you too much. He then wrapped an arm around you and pulled you closer, pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth.

"Don't do that! You could get sick!" You growled at him, voice throaty.

Ryuu just laughed, pressing another kiss against the same exact place "Babe, I don't get sick ever, don't worry."

ayaka yamato ★ profile

would not touch you with a ten foot pole

like sorry, she loves you with all of her heart and all but like what if she gets sick? no way!

does hire the best doctors in the world to take care of you

gets really angry at you for no reason becos why the hell did you get sick, now she can't be around you!

despite the fact that she can't be around you, she definitely hovers close to your room

demands that you stay at her place also lol

"Hi hi, baby, how are you?" Ayaka smiled at nothing in particular, her glamorous nails tapping against the coffee table in front of her, her glitzy phone held against her ear.

All you could do was really groan and, from the sound of rustling sheets, she could tell that you had shifted positions.

She could almost cry. She wanted so badly to be able cuddle you close, to hold you and comfort you, maybe even run her fingers through your hair. But you were sick and there was no way in hell you were going to pass that bug to her.

"Baby, I asked you a question." She said instead, her grip on her phone tightening.

"I'm fine, my love, my throat just hurts a lot." You finally responded after a minute of silence. Probably because you were in so much pain, Ayaka thought bitterly.

She nodded despite the fact that you couldn't see her "Okay, okay, I'll leave you to rest. Text me if I can get anything for you, okay?"

You grumbled out an affirmative and she forced herself to hang up after exchanging 'I love you's. Ayaka didn't sit there doing nothing for long though.

Immediately, she stood up so she could pace before dialing another number. Her face contorted and, if anybody could see the anger that was radiating off of her, they probably would've scampered in the opposite direction.

"What the hell am I paying you for! You're supposed to be making my darling feel better! Goddamnit, go back in there and do something or I'll have my guards fillet you, you useless piece of shit!"

[baldy-wan-kenobi]

Okay people, here we go:

Baldy's Book Club

Episode 1: "Into the Storm"

By Taylor Anderson, Book 1 of the Destroyermen series.

Okay, so, on the recommendation of my most esteemed mutual @frogblast-the-ventcore , I have been coerced to read the Destroyermen series, and post my thoughts about them as I do.

So, for part 1, here we go. I'm going to assume those of you reading have read the book, cause if you haven't, you should be going to buy it, right now. I mean it.

First and foremost, this book was written by a ww2 nerd, for ww2 nerds, and by god does it show. Taylor Anderson is a professor of history, and it shines through in every part of the book. From the technical details of the USS Walker, to the shortcomings of the Mk. 14 torpedo, to the attitudes, lives, and habits (both good and bad) of a 1942 Asiatic fleet destroyerman. Speaking of which, call me Dean Kamen, cause that's a perfect segway to talk about

The Characters

To begin with, do not expect a normal person's assessment of these characters. Expect a Normal™ person's view of them.

First: Captain Matthew Reddy. Oh my lord this man. He's an absolute mess, knows it, and yet cannot let that show, because, well he's stranded in an alternate universe with humanoid lemurs and sapient velociraptors. In my head, he's got total divorced dad energy going on, 30-something going on 50 because of stress, greying at the temples but still hot in a DILF kind of way, not overly muscular, and with one hell of a voice. (I'll admit the audio book colored my perception, but it's a fantastic audio book so I don't care.)

Next, Chack-Sab-At, the biggest and most baddass guyfailure to ever live. "Oh, I'm a pacifist" then the very second that an enemy without moral repercussions comes along he's all "I love violence and killing and murder and death and injuring people and blood and biting and cutting and-" like, seriously, dude says he's a pacifist before turning around and becoming Furry Doomguy.

Next, Dennis Silva, he-who-was-told-not-to-fuck-the-monkey-cats-but-did-it-anyway. Moving on,

There's literally more I love about the characters than I want to sit here and type out, so I'm going to cut it short, but Oh My God these characters are A+.

Next, I just want to touch on something these books made me feel. A lot of times, as an USAmerican with an actual brain, I can get bogged down in the fucked-up shit my country has done and feel like I can't celebrate what makes the US cool without making it sound like I'm excusing all the bad stuff, but this book kinda made me stop for a minute and go "man, the US is kinda fucking rad, when you think about it." Because, you know what? It is. Yeah, we've done fucked up shit, but we've also done some pretty awesome stuff. For every My Lai Massacre, there's a moon landing. For every Trail of Tears, there's a Berlin Airlift. Sometimes, it's okay to take a moment and just go "Fuck yeah, guys. Were pretty cool." Because this book really makes you feel that, at least it did to me, but I'll get off my red, white and blue high horse and keep going.

Alright, now we come to the part that I need to get out...

THE BRITISH EAST INDIA COMPANY

Literally everywhere in my life, I am haunted and stalked by the specter of a long-dead megacorporation. In every piece of media, in every topic I research, no matter what, they're there. As the Frogman quoted from me in a meme a while back "I'm being haunted by the ghost of English imperialism". What the fuck? Anyway, if you wanna chat about the book, please do, because I am at terminal levels of Fandom.

Anyway, if you want to read along for the next Baldy's Book Club, we'll be reading Crusade, the next book in the Destroyermen series.

(P.S. Frogman, I know this review isn't very good, but my brain is soup rn so this is whatchu get.

[crowtrobotx]

your most recent fic destroyed me and now i HAVE to ask— how do you think the chrysalis story/maybe just lottie in general would turn out if she was raised by kris? if something happened to karl but maybe they’re still stuck in the village. obv don’t spoil anything you don’t want to but that little thought experiment killed me.

OHHHH MY GOD Jackal you really do ask the best questions. I had to think about this for a while! It’s funny bc Karl & Lottie are such a package deal in my head and I’m just like… Do Not separate them. Like so much of her personality is just wrapped up in being his horrible little clone and constant shadow that cutting her out of that picture seems almost impossible.

HOWEVER. I can think of several scenarios where they might end up apart (minus him straight up dying bc that isn't fun!!! I say as if what I'm about to talk about is any better lmao.) Like, minor spoiler but this won't happen (obviously) because Reasons - I imagine Karl would want to pay off the Duke to whisk Kris out of the Village before Lottie is born (whether it's because they realize their WHOOPSIE or it's coincidental.) And maybe it happens and Kris of course doesn't hear from him for ~7 years and she forgets a lot of the finer details of his face and his voice doesn't come so easily to mind anymore. And then he does escape and he does get his freedom ending and he finds her and whatever you do, do not think about Karl seeing Lottie for the first time after never knowing her especially in the scenario where he didn't realize she existed oh my god oh mY GOD--

Anyway. To your actual question: I would like to think most of Lottie's gremlin nature is just inherent. It's in the damn HeisenDNA. Like, no matter her circumstances she's always going to be a weird little girl who's a little too into the concept of cybernetic enhancements and bugs and rats. And Kris, being a former weird little girl herself, would definitely support her - but given that particularly the mechanics/engineering part are NOT in her area of expertise, I think she'd have to rely way more on teachers or outside sources to help that part of her blossom. She'd be the mom at the science fair nodding along enthusiastically like she knows what the hell anyone is saying while internally her brain is turning into soup. Would that effect Lottie negatively? I don't really think so, but it might make her less attached because she'd have to seek... enrichment further away from home lol. There’s also the issue of Lottie’s lil magnet powers. Kris would not know what to do with that/how to relate at all obviously. I think that’d cause a whole host of problems - not necessarily resentment on Lottie’s part bc she’d still think it was Neat but I also can’t help but think they’d be more chaotic or out of control after a point. I think it would fuck her up a little bit being the odd one out with no one to relate to and it might make her a bit mad at the world. :( I definitely am inclined to believe Kris would have a metric shitton of anxiety about keeping her away from folks who'd want to study her like a lab rat or worse use her for their goals, and as the child of an extremely obsessive compulsive parent I can tell you that it does rub off and can make you extremely paranoid. Like, Lottie's probably got her own little conspiracy board by age 5 in this scenario lol. Kris only knows protecc, attacc, and panic attacc.

Also, I’m truly trying to avoid saying “she’d be a bit kinder/more thoughtful” bc it feels like gender stereotyping but also Karl is Karl and the bar is on the floor lmao. Kris isn't nice but she does more or less recognize when people deserve kindness. I don't think she'd be better or worse off, overall. But she'd be different, as any of us would. I think what you'd end up with is a more subdued but still slightly feral little mischief maker who is more cognizant of other people's needs and wants but possibly less... funny and over the top in her pursuits as a result lol. I'll let you decide if that's a good or bad thing. Anyway. I'm now thinking too hard about that first scenario I described because you planted the seed lol. Hmmm.

[nnnyxie]

*comes barreling in like a madman, decked out in a tuxedo, with a bouquet of your fave flowers/plants + your fave candies/snack pack in hand, askew and windswept* Okay so I may or mayn't have struggled a teensy bit with this one – I can't believe I struggled with writing for our Mikester! I feel he's a little ooc 🥺 forewarnin' apologies for it too . Aaa but I definitely made an effort ^^;

Nonetheless, I hope you like it~ ٩(ˊᗜˋ*)و ♡ 

*offers the bouquet + nomz, platonic nose smooches, then proceeds to drape myself dramatically across a nearby red-velvet chaise lounge* Oh, do tell me how it is, Ceej. I may find that I'll alter slash edit it in the near future if it's not up to my ridiculously substantial code. [/lh] 

mikey 🍊

Mikey, who feels his heart break along with April's voice as she briefs them on the whole ... you situation.

Mikey, who flashes you a kind smile - shaky, but genuine and disarming - when he catches a glimpse of you when April returns. Your face, your sweet, gentle face, is downcast, your doe eyes dull ... it's not amiss: you've been through the ringer.

–but you still make direct eye contact with him for more than half a second, and that's all it takes to reel Mikey in, hook, line, and sinker. 

As far as he and his ninpo is concerned, you're theirs now and there's nothin' nobody except you can do about it. it's rippling somethin' fierce and - as the designated greatest mystic warrior - who was he to disagree with it?

Mikey, who lives by the principle: Food brings people together, and at the realization of a homeless, hungry child, is rushing into the kitchen to work his ✨razzmatazz✨ in only the way he can.

Mikey, who is a bit more than a little frazzle-brained as he's flitting to and fro in the lair's kitchen, his anxious mutterings-aloud at unique odds with his graceful movements. The kitchen is his domain. He loves cooking. Food is art. Art is his métier. Food brings people together. 

These are all main subtitles running loops in his mind. Everyone knew better than to disrupt Mikey when he was in the zone, and right now, he was surfing his waves of expertise. He may not have known much about the situation thus far, just what April supplied them with plus everyone else's speculations, but that was enough for now.

Mikey, who hisses and snarls at his fiend of a blueberry poptart-coded brother and feels no remorse when he nearly breaks his only non-mystic weapon wooden spoon over the back of his dumb-dumb head! 

The only worry he feels from that encounter is for his spoon! His favorite spoon, might he add!! Doctor Delicate Touch is a hair's width from making an explosive appearance until Raph towers over them like a looming storm cloud and he's alerting them of your presence–

Oh. You were coming.

–and he's shoving Leo out the way with his elbows (he makes sure to really dig his joint into the softer parts of Leo's ribs), balancing your tray of food in his careful grasp as he makes his way to the living area. There's a little bounce to his step to rid himself of his nerves, and he can't help but to feel that he's walking straight into a path of fate that would alter the course of his life forever. How right he was.

Mikey, who is the most outwardly exuberant when you agree to staying with the Hamato Clan–– albeit the way you hesitated was not missed with any of them, Mikey was the one who took it to heart. Not in a bad way! It's just that he's the most emotionally in-tune, and there's nothing more he wants to do than to let you know that no matter what: you're safe here.

And that's exactly what he does. One warm meal at a time.

Mikey, whose voice is so soft and voice is so warm, nearly as warm as the soup you were now devouring, as he gently inquires if you'd like any more? There's much more left and you can have as much as you want! Absolutely anything you want. Just let him know and it's as good as yours!

Mikey, who audibly tears up (this makes sense right??) when you nudge past any reluctance you may have had to tell him that the food was good. Is immediately makin' mad moves to get you more. Has to be actively calmed down by Leo and Raph when you literally behold him like this–

(LMAOAOOAOOO he's just an excited lil puppy dw :'] )

Mikey, who plays a crucial role in the climacteric of integrating you in the Hamato Clan's lives, both intrinsically and governmentally. (Adoption processes were actual hell, ohmigosh–)

Mikey, who adores you wholeheartedly. Takes to calling you the sweetest platonic affectionate endearments!! His little sunshine and food-related nicknames are his go-to and all-time favorites! You're his little baking / cooking buddy, and coming together to make delicious meals for the family is one of y'all's favorite bonding activities! :D

However, if you're not so much a whizz in the kitchen, he'll just give a small chuckle, pat your head, and promote you to hand him ingredients and keep him company! ^^ No way are you being left out if you don't want it, honey. Really interesting conversations have come to be during those little moments. You wouldn't trade them for the world.

Mikey, who fixes your school lunches every day without fail, all the way from your first day (with them) up until you graduate. The cutest decorative bentos with the most heart-clenchingly wholesome notes are enough to keep you going for the whole day.

Mikey, who's the first one you think to go to when you need to rant. He listens. He listens to every and any thing you have to say, and these little sessions can range from you guys sitting up together in the kitchen while he bakes cookies [he's making sure to maintain steady bouts of eye contact and reacts accordingly to your words to assure you he's listening :') need me a Mikey fr] or you guys will be curled up together in a blanket fort fit for royalty as you pour your heart out to him. Because that's just the kinda person Uncle Mikey is – someone you can tell any and everything to. Because you know he'll understand.

If you start getting emotional, he lets you :') even encourages it!! Remember when I said he was a big help in getting you to open up and heal from your traumas and wounds? That still stands. It always will. He's the one that teaches you that it's okay to cry, all while fetching you a band-aid (metaphorical or literal) and gently pecking your forehead, pulling you close.

Once the tears hit, he's gazing at you with the saddest eyes and smile – and if you're okay with it, he pulls you close in many a comforting hug, all of which usually end in cuddles (for as long as you'll allow). If not, he gives you a fluffy pillow to hold in place of a hug and uses his ninpo to create pretty little soft images to end this emotionally-taxing endeavor on a magical note. You deserve that much.

"Oh, my little cub. You're so strong. So, so strong. So brave. I love you so so so-o-o much, you know that, right? I've got you, baby, it's okay. Shh, sh-shh ... there we are. I'm not going anywhere. Uncle Mikey's not going anywhere ... Awh, precious sunshine of mine."

Mikey, who is always giving and giving all he's got until he's run dry. Even then, he's still trying to give light to all the candles around him – being the "happy" one in the family, he often feels he has that role to fulfill, all of which can be extremely taxing! :( Mikey's kind, compassionate, and emotionally adept. We know this.

But old habits die hard.

So when he's pulling away from the scene - as inconspicuous as he can, waving off any concerns with a smile and thinly-veiled excuse - he doesn't expect your tiny feet to patter after him. He doesn't expect the way you gaze into his eyes, making him look at you. He certainly doesn't expect your arms to loop around him to pull him into a hug,

and he doesn't stop the globs of tears from free falling down his face as he grips you back almost desperately, squeezing your frame and sniffling into your shoulder. You were so amazing.

Mikey, who screeches indignantly at your lighthearted joking and light teasing quips for when you're in a playful mood, and probably chases you with his infamous wooden spoon waving in the air. Or his kusari-fundo. He never uses them on you, goodness no. Those are just for show! ... No. What he utilizes is much more dire than any mystical weapon, any nigh-indestructible biodegradable utensil.

. . . Mikey, who revels in your squealing laughter as he lands one of many tickle attacks on you, his own laughter ringing like silver bells to match yours in a euphonious melody.

Mikey, who teaches you the notorious Puppy Dog Eyes™ and employs you to gang up on the rest of the fam, no shame whatsoever. You both are a deadly duo in your own right!

Mikey, who loves you through and through and is so so supportive of you!! Nothing will ever change that.

He's fairly protective of you, most definitely, but he doesn't coddle you to the point of being overbearing. Being the youngest, he knows how suffocating it feels, so when you get a little older and to "that age", he's your number one advocate for freedom and letting you go do fun, dumb teenager things!!

This tends to put him at odds with Raph, even April sometimes, but he stands his ground and counters with what they did at their age! You're a perfectly capable and strong and smart individual! Compared to them, you're an absolute angel. So yeah. He's your biggest supporter in all things dumb teenage fun! >:D (so long as it's relatively safe and legal and moral y'all know the dealllll)

Mikey, who is the most verbal in terms of affection and familial love for you and is not afraid to show it! I like to imagine that through him, you delve deeper into healthy communication and most likely develop a pair of eyes that sees the world in a different way. A brighter way. It's not rose-lensed – in the way that it shields you from the harsher truths, but rather picks out the little things that make it beautiful. The little things that make it worthwhile.

Mikey, who regards you with love and compassion and fondness and respect. Mikey, who's the pillow you land on when the obstacles of life are getting to you strike and strike. Mikey, who's vivaciousness and zest for life and artistry is like your vitamin; he makes your days shine brighter.

Your sense of childish wonder and innocence is endlessly rooted in orange hues and the smell of tangerines, spices, and cookie dough. Those orange-tinted lenses you break out when the inevitable cruelty of life is getting to be on that verge of too much– and suddenly ... everything's okay again. 🧡

Mikey, who's that shining light that broke through the winding tendrils of darkness that you resided in for a long while, and still does when they try to snake back in. He saved you. They all did.

So for them, and for you ... you'll live. How could you not?

"I love you, cookie!"

。°˖ ʚ🍪ɞ ꒦꒷⩩

:: Ceej. Ceeeeeej. *tugs on the end of your shirt* It's nearly 4AM. I feel like this wasn't written well enough. I might have a re-do in stock, but lemme know what you think, yeah? please enjoyy what you cannnn ଘ(੭ˊᵕˋ)੭ ੈ♡‧₊˚ *nose smooch, then promptly passes out*

this made me tear up a little ngl… i love mikey sm<3

i just had to post this for my readers and others to see<3

dumpster baby >>>

[chalterdh22]

Chapter 31: How Did You Get That Wound?

I woke up and quietly turned over to see the other two still sleeping.  Good, I thought.  I went over to Grogu first, and he was starting to stir a little bit.  I hope he wakes up soon so he can finish fixing Din up.  Then I can find out what all happened!  I started making some soup for them.  Usually that will wake the kid up, hearing me in the kitchen.  He knows I’m making food.

I wasn’t the quietest either, but I did want Din to continue to get some rest.  As the soup was heating, I walked over and took another look at the leg.  What made this kind of wound, I thought.  I’ve never seen anything like it!  I touched his exposed skin around the wound since it cut right through his flight suit.  The cut looked clean, but like he said, super deep.  It stopped bleeding for the most part though.

“Gaaah.”  I whipped my head around and saw Grogu jump from his cot to Din’s bed. 

“Whoa there, little guy.  Are you sure you have enough strength to heal right now?  Do you need to eat something first?  I’m not sure how this all works.”  He closed his eyes, put a small hand on Din’s shin and stood very still.  I soon felt a relief upon me, like an open sore being exposed to air for the first time and it felt refreshingly good. 

Not taking my eyes off his leg, the gash slowly disappeared!  “Maker…”  I whispered.  I have never seen anything like this. 

I heard Din start to moan, but not in a horrible way, and he started to move a bit.  Grogu stopped and fell backward.  He was out again.  I lifted him and put him back in his cot.  I smelt something burning.  Shoot, the soup!  Running over to the kitchen, I turned the stove off and removed the pot.  Ugh, ruined, blackened soup.

“What’s that smell?” a small, gruff voice asked.  I smiled and went back to him and knelt at the head of the bed. 

“It’s nothing, just some burnt soup.  Don’t worry, I won’t make you eat it!”  I joked with a smile.  “How are you feeling?”

“Better.”  He slowly sat up and looked at his leg.  He started to touch where the injury was and nothing, just stained blood.  “Did the kid do this?”

“Yes, it was amazing!  I’ve never seen anything like that!  Why didn’t you tell me he could heal?”

“Because it’s dangerous if people know about that.”

“I wouldn’t have said anything!”  I said defensively.

“I know that now.  Thank you for helping me out.”

“You’re welcome.”  I scooted towards the edge of the bed to look at his leg again.  Nothing there still.  Remarkable, I thought.  I lightly touched his leg again.  “Does it still hurt?”

“No, not at all.”

“Wow.  It’s just, just amazing!”  He swung his legs down to the floor, sitting up straight now.  “Ok, so now that you’re literally upright and all, what happened?  I couldn’t figure out what kind of weapon could make a mark like this.  It almost looks like an electric whip or something.”

He shook his head slightly.  “No weapon did this.”

“Ok, then what did?”  He stood up fast and walked to the refresher.  I continued to sit on his bed.

“I don’t want to talk about it right now.”  Oh, this has got to be good.  Should I try spying in his brain now?  No, that’s not cool.  He’ll tell me when he’s good and ready.

“Ok, but there’s nothing better than hearing war stories.  I loooooove war stories.  Especially when it’s about Mandalorians that I care about very deeply.”  It went quiet for a few seconds, like he was thinking about it.  The water started running and I could tell he was in the shower.  I went to grab clean clothes for him that he had stashed under his bed.  I’ll try to mend the ripped flight suit later after I wash it, I thought.

“I put your clean clothes outside the door!”  I yelled loudly.  “I’ll be outside!”  No reply, but I didn’t expect one, I guess.  I went out onto the front porch and sat down.

A few minutes later I heard the water turn off and the door creak open, probably to grab his clothes.  I sat there patiently, letting him have privacy.  He then walked out in his clean flight suit and NO HELMET???!!!

I stood up immediately and looked around like someone was watching him.  “Din, what are you doing?”

He gave me a huge hug which I returned.  We just stood there for a few moments holding each other.  Finally, he sat down in his chair and brought me to sit on his lap.  “We really need to get another seat for out here.”  I pointed out.  He smiled.  He still looked tired.  This was the first time I saw him clearly in daylight, so I got to see his features more closely.  He couldn’t stop looking at me and me him.  It was almost contagious. 

“Please tell me what hurt you.”  I begged.  Still keeping a smile on his face, he shook his head no.  “Why not?”  I barked back, which only made him laugh.  “I think I like you better with the helmet on.”  I teased.  He raised an eyebrow at me.

“Really?”

“No, not really.”  We just sat there in silence for a few seconds, his hand around my waist and his other hand on my lap.  I leaned in on his shoulder.  “If I guess, will you tell me?”

I could feel him chuckle slightly.  “Yes, but you’ll never guess right, so don’t bother.”  Wow, rude!

I sat up and gave him the stink eye.  “Don’t make me wander around in your head right now!”  I threatened.

Wide eyed, he stiffened up.  “Don’t you dare!”

“I wouldn’t do that, honest…. At least not on purpose!”  He seemed to relax when I said that.  “But I’m super intrigued, just so you know.”

“I know,” he said moving a clump of hair away from my face.  He leaned in and kissed me.  Dang, this felt good.  We just sank into the kiss and let it happen.  Finally coming up for air, my head two inches from his.

“You know, I could just ask the kid what happened.  He’ll tell me.  He tells me everything!”  Din shifted backwards.  He hadn’t thought of that one.  He sighed and looked away.  “Do you want to go put your helmet back on when you tell me this.”

“No.  I’ll tell you.”  I sat up straight, waiting to hear this miraculous bounty hunter story, one of legends.  “A jellyflyer attacked me.”

A what???

[pbandjesse]

So I did not feel better today. I felt worse actually. But I was convinced I just needed to suck it up. I would convince myself that I was actually fine and was faking it. Which is stupid but I kept convincing myself and then would cough so hard I would start crying.

When I woke up I was not happy. James left while I was still getting ready because they wanted to beat the rain. I think if they stayed a little longer they would have convinced me to stay home. But instead I got myself together best I could and went down to the car.

It was raining and cold. But it was warm in the car.

Driving to camp was a little rough only because I kept coughing up stuff. And was feeling really gross and bad.

When I got to camp I immediately went up to stockade to find the mushroom from the other day. And it was just turning black and so I plucked it and was very pleased.

I got back to the office and would answer some emails and get some things sorted. I continued to work on my pine needles sewing. It's going better. I want to start a new one soon so I can try to start the middle in a better way. But I think I'm getting the hang of it.

I was confused when no one came in at 9. And then not 930. Closer to 10 Alexi and Elizabeth came in, with Sarah following not long after. I was sort of deteriorating at this point. My cough was becoming more frequent and painful.

I tried to have conversations but I was so hard to be heard. And I could only do so much. We have two Native American feildtrips next week so I would do what I could to get things set up. But it will be a little bit of a mad rush on Monday morning.

I would struggle through until right before noon. But by then I was coughing and had to put my head down on the table to catch my breath. I had tried going up to the arts building and coughing my lungs out, thinking I could dislodge all the gunk in my lungs. But it just made me feel dizzy.

Before I left I thought about going to target. But I just wanted to go home.

The drive back was good. I had talked to Elizabeth about a nerd rapper I had forgotten about and so I got to relisten to some of my highschool music and that was very fun. Made for a good drive home. Even with the rain.

I got back here before 1230. And was happy to be back.

But I also felt stupid. Like I was being dramatic. I wasn't even coughing! I was obviously fine and had been lying. And then I would breath weird and started coughing so hard I thought I was going to throw up. It was pretty horrible.

But because I am stupid I would be fine for a while. And started vacuuming and adding water to the fish tanks and cleaning the kitty litter. And would be fine! I'm obviously all better! But then would cough so hard I would cry. I hate this so much.

The worse and most annoying part is that I feel find behind the voice and the cough. I'm not nauseous. My chest is a little sore but my body doesn't ache. So it's like my brain can't accept that I'm sick.

But I am trying. So I called out of my weekend plans. I'm really sad to miss my last BAS workshop on sunday. And I rescheduled my private lesson. And I'm not going to the market. I won't say I'm not sad. But I'm going to try really hard to actually rest and get well.

I would try to sleep but it didn't happen. I mostly watched videos. I made a few tiktoks because I was a little bored. I worked on my knitting some. I tried to sleep again but my water cup fell over in the bed and got me and the bed all wet. My world was obviously falling apart.

I moved to the couch to cuddle up there. I had taken some time to reorganize the mantle in the living room and change the layout a little. And I felt really good about that. I also pulled out some blankets from storage to put an extra on the couch and finally remember to put one in the car. Very productive.

James would come home and I was happy to see them. They would get to work making tortilla soup. I was coughing a lot and was kind of miserable but I was happy to have my husband home and safe.

There would be some waiting for the soup to be done but that was okay. Sweetp was crying at the door and we figured out that he's crying and talking to the car upstairs! I hope they are having a nice conversation.

The soup was really good. Very happy with the recipe I chose and James made it so nice. Love my husband. They would hang out with me on the couch. And Sweetp and me had a nice cuddle. I watched to many tiktoks. It was nice.

I took a bath while James made got chocolate. It burned my tongue a little but it was fine. I am pretending it fixed my chest pain. But it probably didn't do much.

I just finished painting my toes. And I'm going to go brush my teeth now. And get ready to sleep.

Tomorrow I will rest. And maybe draw or something small. I just want to feel better.

Goodnight everyone. Please cover your coughs.

[shingansoul]

That's How It Is (Trigun fic)

Sumary:

2023 Vashwood Week day 3, prompt: Scars

"I don't want to do this anymore."

This line has been rattling around in my brain for like 3 months so when I saw this for day 3's prompt i jumped on the chance.

@vashwoodweek

To read on AO3, follow the link below. To read here, continue past the read more!

“I don’t want to do this anymore…”

His voice had barely been above a whisper, but the only other sounds out here in the desert night was the wind around them whipping up loose sand out beyond the rocky outcropping they had made camp at for the night and the fire crackling beside them a small distance away at their little camp’s center. And yet, it felt like it had to be said quietly, a confession like any other sin meant only for the priest and God to hear.

Wolfwood paused from his actions, having been digging through Vash’s bag to dredge out some kind of canned food they had picked up at the previous town to heat over their meager fire. He waited, to make sure he didn't miss anything else from his companion but he was met with silence and a growing sense of unease in the air, his hackles would have raised if his body was truer to his name. He slowly turned to look over at the blonde, sitting on the ground not even a yard away with his legs pulled up to his chest and his face buried up to his nose in his crossed arms atop his knees. Today hadn’t been a bad one honestly, nobody had come to claim Vash’s bounty, nor in the town they had left that morning were they recognized. They were in a walking stretch, Angelina III giving out the week prior but it wasn't horrible or unfamiliar territory. They had not sustained any major losses or reminders at all that day, it had been nice almost frankly.

Yet with how small Vash looked curled up beside him, Wolfwood felt at a loss for proper words. He looked fucking miserable, to be honest. Not quite sad just… everything about him looked and felt run down. Part of Wolfwood thought it was about damn time he let himself feel as ragged as watching how he lived felt, but in this moment actually seeing it unguarded for once felt…off, wrong. Wolfwood plastered on a good naturedly smirk and offered a weak chuckle, trying to glaze over the moment, afraid something delicate would break if he didn't tread lightly here.

“Hey now, my cooking isn't so bad and we’ll be in a town again in no more than a couple days if we keep up a good pace.” 

He tried to keep his tone flippant and light, like he was distracted not as if his attention and body weren't both wired up now keeping attention to any actions or words the other had. In response, Vash merely shook his head, his arms hiding a grimace on his lips as he grit his teeth. Wolfwood waited a few beats before returning to root through the bag, looking to get his original target to at least give off the impression he wasn't stalling and really was casually setting up dinner. He squinted to read the label on the can once he’d drudged it out from the bag, tilting his head a bit to better catch the fire light. 

“Now let’s see…oh now this is a score, you found tortilla soup back there? See, that’s pretty nice right?” He was talking out his ass, he knew it was obvious. But talking felt better than the silence, it put a distance between what he didn’t know how to address and moving through the evening to tomorrow. Hell, maybe they just wouldn't talk about it, wouldn't that be easy and nice? Wolfwood was a coward, he knew that. When it came to things he couldn't use his hands or the punisher for he was at a loss, too carved sharp from the life he’d lived so long having lost most of the real gentleness he had in exchange for a pretty good cover act he usually reserved for women and children to get information and the odd favor.

He set up their little hanging cooking put on its sticks above the fire and dumped the can of soup into it. Stoking the fire a little, he moved to sit not quite next to Vash, but maybe a foot to his right and kept his eyes on their dinner instead for lack of better focus. Now with both his task and his companion, he was caught in a place of quietly waiting. And so he did. It could have been moments or minutes, but Vash had taken the quiet as some kind of invitation and had simply let himself slump to the side up against Wolfwood's shoulder and upper arm. His legs were still drawn in but he turned his foot to be planted so the priest didn't take his entire weight, but it was still more than he was expecting and he reflexively gave out an “oof!”.

Vash kept his gaze downwards, but his position no longer supporting his arms he made to hug himself, his face more visible as proximity didn't allow him to truly hide behind his high collar. Wolfwood, unable to avoid him now, finally looked over at his charge proper for the first time since his small voiced confession. He was quick to notice normally pale lips now looked red and rough, like they’d been bitten through or gnawed on. Wolfwood sighed, scooching closer to Vash so their hips grazed each other, making the lean for the blonde a bit less dramatic and uncomfortable. Vash let himself be adjusted, resettling higher up on Wolfwood's shoulder proper pressing his cheek against the other man, his hair now tickling at Wolfwood's neck but not enough for him to do anything about it.

“Nick?”

“Hm?”

A pause.

“What do you do when…when it hurts for so long that you just stop feeling it anymore?”

Wolfwood’s brows furrowed at the question, unsure how to approach. “Are your scars acting up again?”

Vash hummed noncommittally, “Kind of.” He sounded unsure of his own answer, and Wolfwood could feel him working his jaw back and forth against his shoulder.

“Needle Noggin?”

“I think… I realized how much it hurt, and how long I've been hurting and…,” he paused, taking a deep breath as he turned his head to press his temple into the harder edge of his shoulder. “God, Nicholas, I'm so old and it never stops. It’s just the same thing every day and I keep moving forward but it doesn't matter, does it? I’ve walked every step of this entire planet at least once and yet I still keep walking, the only other constant is-...Does he hurt like this? Do you humans hurt like this? Is it like dying stars for you all, more painful but much faster until you just die?”

Wolfwood felt utterly gutted, like he’d been cut open and everything he had was spilling out instead of one of the most earnest admissions he had ever gotten from his companion. His voice had sounded so damn tired, not in a way anyone like Wolfwood could understand he didn't think. No, he was reminded how much the man beside him wasn't a man but a being, a creature much older than anyone else on this planet aside from the one who completed his matching set. And oh how this creature had suffered, open arms and warm smile rejected endlessly and punished. Had it always been like that, had there been no time truly that humans had returned Vash’s love? No, Wolfwood supposed not, human nature wouldn't change just because of a new planet just like that, no maybe because they were it was like a return to the primal selfishness that humanity had within them. To act otherwise was an active choice, and who would do so in favor of survival even at the cost of others?

Wolfwood reached around Vash and twisted until he could get both his arms securely around the blonde. With his grip sure, he tugged until he had pulled him over into his lap and, once sitting there with long legs awkwardly tucking up to trap Wolfwood's arm around his charge, he pressed Vash against his chest. 

“Wolfwood?”

“Hush. Just sit here.”

He did not. “Ever since we started traveling together, I imagined it would be you who finally killed me.”

“Needle Noggin,” he warned.

“Would you? Kill me?”

“Vash!”

“Please? When everything is said and done, would you do that for me?”

Wolfwood screwed his eyes tightly shut, hugging the man in his arms probably far too tight for any comfort but he was never told to stop. “NO! I WON’T! I DON’T WANT TO!”

Vash smiled, a hollow gesture that made Wolfwood feel nauseous.

“Is that how it is…”

“It is! That is how it fuckin’ is, because we’re gonna live through the end of this and then im dragging your ass to December with me even if its kicking and screaming. And when we’re there, you’re not leaving anywhere without me to make sure you don't get your stupid ass killed just like it has been! This is how it is now!” His voice was grit through teeth in a harsh snarl, he could feel his lips peeled back and something guttural threatening to tear through his throat. He exhaled heavily through his nose, trying to keep it at bay before pressing onwards.

“You’re gonna love those kids, and they’re gonna climb all over you and beat you up until you cry. Miss Melanie is going to constantly scold you and you’re gonna duck your head and give her that stupid smile every time and then you’re gonna help us take care of all of the little brats we end up with and when it's over every day we-we’ll…we’ll just….we’ll do it again the next day, and the day after that.”

Wolfwood was losing steam; he had never believed he’d get far enough really do all that, he never believed either of them would survive this stupid mission, but he couldn't listen to this being who radiated hope and love for humanity just…beg him so softly to be killed just so he could finally rest. He wouldn't take any part in a mercy killing, he was the punisher and that was the killing he would do. And Vash….Vash had been punished for living more than enough. And so he firmly painted this picture of a future he didn't ever think could be real, willing one of them to believe in it as he spoke and not caring much which of them it was. He told him about the kids he could recall being there when he left, all the stupid chore they’d both be sent to do every day, how shit the beds were in the room they’d inevitably share to keep as much space for the kids available, he told him what December was like, he just kept talking until he ran out of things he could put into words. 

He resisted the urge to pant, feeling out of breath from his nonstop rambling about a life he had never hoped for before this very moment. As he sat there, clinging and breathing and just feeling, he idly thought how the soup he’d put on the fire was certainly burned. They’d still eat it anyways, of course. Lost in his scattered thoughts, he almost missed the oh so small voice in his lap, but he was quick to whip around to look down at blonde spikes and imagine what startling blue eyes looked like.

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

He felt a nod against his chest.

“That’s how it is now…” It felt less like a response for Wolfwood so much as feeling words in his mouth, but whether giving in as a defeat or genuine belief and acceptance, Wolfwood didn't care. He would cling to it as fiercely as he clung to their owner in his arms right now. 

Yes, Wolfwood was a coward.

He was painfully human.

And oh how selfish he was.

To cling to the very person he was to lead into death, to refuse him release even in the inevitability of both their horrible painful miserable ends. Playing roles in a story neither wanted to tell, they had no real choices before them did they? But even still, Wolfwood wouldn't let Vash just give up and leave him. He didn't allow it in Augusta, and he wouldn't now either, and to say it was for simply his orders and contract and not the memory of surprisingly soft hair against his skin and a too light body in his grip? 

Well that would make Wolfwood a liar too wouldn't it?

[ashen-crest]

❄🧣🍲 !!!!

ooh so many, thank you!!

❄️ Snowflake: talk about a unique trait or aspect of your favorite OC. Have they been living rent-free in your brain? It’s time to talk about them!

I love Banneker the hippie artificer from A Rival Most Vial. I love that he's goofy and loving and also maybe the smartest guy on the street- but you'd never know it just by hanging out with him. I think that in the professional artificer world, people are wondering why he doesn't have a more highbrow role somewhere, rather than tinkering on Rosemond Street. But he's happy there! That's all he wants! And adventurers are more than willing to pay for his awesome stuff! I love him your honor.

🧣Scarf: tell us about a secret your OC has and what would happen if they revealed it.

You know, I don't think Ambrose really tells people about how he got his start at Rosemond Street. A lot of people know he's been a fixture there for years- maybe too many years, once they think about it- but they don't know his parents literally abandoned him there when he was eight. It's not like people would shun or judge him if they found out. It's just a pretty painful part of his life.

🍲 Soup: share a snippet where a character does something kind.

Oh hell yes! We're going to hop back over to The Stray Spirit for a hot second so I can show you one of my favorite Aspen moments:

[Emry] “Didn’t she tell you about why we broke up in the first place?”

Aspen reluctantly let go of his hand. “Yes. She wanted to go to Vornik, and you stayed in Tazlo. For the Guild, she said.” Emry grimaced. He was positive she had used stronger language than that to explain it. “But that was a long time ago—”

“Doesn’t matter. Nothing’s changed.” He gave a humorless laugh and gestured at himself. “I’m still the same stupid, failed musician I was a year ago, and she was right to leave me behind.”

They walked silently through the Academy gates, then Aspen stopped, their hands in little fists. “I can’t fight you like I tried with Marie,” they said, “but you’re being mean to yourself, and you need to apologize.”

Emry stopped, opened his mouth, then closed it. “I—”

“Emry?” Cal’s voice shot across the quad, edged with urgency. “Emry Karic?” 

He whipped around. “Cal?”

[drhu0806]

31 – “It’s not your fault.”

Fandom: Baldur’s Gate 3 (fanfiction) Characters: Halsin, Tav/custom player character Rating: T Warnings: depictions of death, depictions of grief

Halsin finds her lounging on a fallen log by herself, her feet swinging off the edge as she gently sways back and forth to a silent melody only she can hear, pensively staring at nothing in particular. The crunch of leaves beneath his feet betray his presence, and Kainé glances up, giving him a wave.

“Hi, Halsin. Out for a walk?”

“In a way. I was looking for you in particular, actually.”

“Oh, did you need something?”

“Am I not allowed to simply enjoy your company?” he chuckles. “Though, if you would rather I leave you alone…”

“No, it’s fine.” She pats the space next to her, and he happily takes a seat. For a while, they gladly sit in silence, listening to the peaceful sounds of nature around them. The archdruid would normally love enjoy such a meditative atmosphere, but this time he’s come with a mission.

“What are you going to do now, Kainé?” he asks. “Your grandmother has been avenged. The people out here are safe from the clutches of the Shadow Druids. What will you do next?”

“Well, we still have an elder brain to contend with…”

“You know what I mean.”

She falls silent. It’s so quiet he can almost hear her thinking, contemplating a future she never had the foresight to consider until recently. Kainé, in all honesty, doesn’t know how to answer, so she says the only thing she can.

“I think… I think I’m going to miss my family.”

When Halsin looks at her, he sees the years of responsibility peeled away. Countless days of telling herself that she’ll be fine, of silently bearing a burden she doesn’t think she has the strength to carry, but she does so nonetheless because she has to. He sees the tired, bittersweet melancholy she’s had to put away for so long finally revealed.

“If you don’t mind my asking, what do you miss about them?”

“My mother used to be a songstress. She had the most beautiful voice; she used to sing my sister and me to sleep.”

“Ah, I see where you get it from.”

“Ha! Flatterer. My father… Well, it’s been so long I’m beginning to wonder if I’m forgetting his face. But… I can kind of remember how he always did his best to make me laugh. He used to do this—there was this silly little magic trick he would do, usually pulling out some piece of candy from nowhere or something like that. I don’t know, it’s such a small thing, but I remember it. And I wish… I wish he could have stayed alive longer to see me grow up.

“And Grandma, oh, there are so many things. She was so scary, but in a good way, you know? She made the best noodle soup, and I swear she knew every plant and animal under the sun.” Kainé looks up at the canopy that hangs above, searching for the sunlight that falls between the gaps. Her grandmother said that when she passed, she would become part of the wind, part of the trees, part of the very ground she stepped on. If Kainé listened hard enough, could she hear her voice whispering on the breeze? Could she find her smile among the gnarled bark of the trees? Could she still find traces of all of them, if she just looked hard enough?

“I wish they were still here, Halsin. I really do.”

A slightly heavier wistfulness creeps into her tone as she rises; if she’s aware of it, she’s pretending not to as she stretches out her arms.

“Well, their bones are nothing but dust resting beneath the trees now. No point in dwelling on it more than I need to.”

Halsin rises with her, but instead stands in front of her, making sure they’re face to face. She looks up at him, confused but still smiling. But it doesn’t quite reach her eyes, and he spots it, the tiniest stain against the resigned acceptance: guilt.

It’s a little startling, the way he can see his reflection in her. It’s strange to see it so much clearly when he’s looking at her, and he begins to realize perhaps their similarities extend far beyond a love of the natural world. So he repeats back to her the words she said to him, the ones he so desperately needed to hear.

“This may not be my place to say, so forgive me if I’m a bit out of line, but… Kainé, you are aware that what happened with your mother and your grandmother, it’s not your fault.”

She gives him an odd look. “Huh? Yes, of course I know that.”

“No, truly. You aren’t at fault for either of those incidents.”

She tries to laugh it off again, making a move to walk around him, but Halsin holds fast, blocking her. He carefully takes her shoulders so that they can see each other, so that she can see him.

“Kainé. It’s not your fault. None of it ever was.”

She tries to smile, tries to act confused, but it slips. She almost squirms, uncomfortable with the earnest, serious look Halsin gives her. This time, she sees the reflection.

It comes, softly but surely. Her vision blurs as her eyes grow misty; she tries to blink them away, tries to swallow all of it away, but it’s all in vain. Eventually she just lets them come, covering her mouth as she stares at the ground.

She sees her mother, bloody and broken in her lap, her small hands stained with her blood. She sees her grandmother’s corpse covered in a white sheet, having returned too late to say goodbye.

It’s not your fault.

She leans forward even without Halsin’s input, resting her forehead against him. Without hesitation he wraps his arms around her. She can take all the time she needs.

[writtenbyevie]

ik it's kinda late... but... can i send you some elemental asks? 🥺

if yes, pls answer me water 💦, rock 🪨, spirit 👻, and fire ❤️‍🔥

if no, then pls take this heart and enjoy your day 💝

it's never too late for asks ✨!!

I'd like to think we are all lying on the floor of a blanket fort together in a sugar comas just talking aimlessly 💖 time does not exist in the metaphorical slumber party

but anywho, the elemental asks 💫

water: how long have you been writing?

I've been writing since I was a little kid (mostly original work until this past year)! Part of my love for it I think comes from my dad. He's a quadriplegic, so we bonded a lot through words. We'd make up songs together, watch movies, and read books a lot. He'd also always tell me the most elaborate, zany, bedtime stories (often half asleep) that we still reference to this day. Combine that with my very, very overactive imagination, obsession with reading, and general curiosity and you get a nine year old writing short stories with a glitter pen on the swing set during recess.

rock: how do you deal with writer's block?

It depends on the type of block. If I lack interest in writing, I've found listening to music or reading something similar to the piece I'm working, while sat at my desk helps. (I primarily try to write there versus my bed. It makes it easier for me to switch my brain into sport mode 🧠🖊️) Walks are also really nice. Get out of the shame loop that I'm not being productive, which only makes things worse. I've found giving myself the opportunity to create without forcing myself is what tends to help me the most.

Now, if I want to write, but my brain says nahhh, I'll do some of the aforementioned stuff, but my main trick is to brain dump. I just put random words on the page related to what I'm trying to say and piece them together into sentences. Literally just words. They don’t even have to be coherent yet. I do it until I can slowly put together the puzzle of my own thoughts.

In the end I think my best advice for writer's block comes from theatre teacher I had who once told me when I was stuck on a scene, "to just write it badly."

Write it badly. At least you wrote. No one can craft empty space into anything, but you can work a surprisingly amount of magic on a pile of shit.

spirit: what's the best compliment you've ever received on your writing?

my beloved isa asked me this earlier!! (tldr: when people think I could be published, or have a strong emotional reaction to my work ✨)

fire: what's a scene you're dying to write?

oh man SO many for star-stitched, which is the sakuatsu fic I'm currently developing.

I know I probably shouldn't do this, but here's a dialogue exchange between Kiyoomi and Atsumu that was part of the inspiration for the star-stitched. I wrote this MONTHS AGO on my phone. I cannot WAIT to write the full scene surrounding this exchange. I'm not providing any context cuz spoilers, but all you need to know is Atsumu has been hurt emotionally and some out of character soup on Kiyoomi's end is involved.

Atsumu: will ya just stop with this bein' nice shit?

Kiyoomi: (slamming a kitchen cabinet) For fucksake, I am not being nice. I am incapable of nice. I've been called many things in my life, ranging from mildly complimentary to completely condemning of my character. But nice? Nice has never been one of them. Now honest? That I have always been. First and foremost, I am called honest. At the end of day, sometimes that is all I have. All I can call my own. I am honest. And you do not get to take that away from me because the truth is incongruent with your baseless self-loathing. Fuck you! I am not nice. I am honest. Your crocs give you cankles; your cologne is too strong; you've never known the meaning of an indoor voice. You are crass and loud and incorrigible and impulsive and beautiful and kind and funny and brilliant and unequivocally and irrefutably deserving of love. I am not fucking nice. I am unabashedly honest and undeniably right. And I will stand here and scream at you, until you believe me.

Atsumu: That may take a while. And you aren't known for your patience.

Kiyoomi: But I am renowned for my resilience. I will not relent. I will not give up. I will not abandon you. I will win. You are worthy of love at a minimum, Miya Atsumu, and there will never be a maximum. Now eat your fucking soup.

ANYWHO!!

like usual, I ended up rambling. thank you so much for the ask cat. I am sprinkling love on your head like its pixie dust ✨💖