#soft guy with a chronic condition

[allez-argeiphontes]

I’m in a fairly shit mental health place right now, but today we went to the nearest proper arcade and I got a new high score on Centipede (ABT is me, I still have to beat whoever’s dad that is) and I am choosing to focus on that.

[pinkusmaximus]

So many “taking care of Logan after a long day” fics exist. Why not Wade?

Wade, who is canonically in constant chronic pain due to cancer ripping apart his cells and then being knitted back together by his healing factor. Who, in the comics, isn’t just scarred, but constantly has open wounds on every plane of his body. Whose brain is constantly being literally eaten by cancer and replaced and is tumultuous in his emotions at best (bipolar girly here, relatable). Who so desperately tries to be a good guy when he knows it matters the most. Who throws his all into protecting the people he holds dearest to him. Who is, in reality, doing one of the only jobs that accommodates his conditions, and is still doing it to take out people he believes are causing others harm.

Doesn’t he deserve to be greeted with a warm, reassuring hug and a soft kisses to his features? To be helped out of his suit as his body succumbs to the mounting exhaustion and relief at being at home, taken to a warm (but not hot) bath with a soothing soak blend you’d carefully researched to ease the discomfort of the ever-changing landscape of hills and valleys in his flesh? He knows you know that they don’t help him heal and certainly doesn’t prevent them from reappearing, but he likes to believe (or pretend) that it eases the itch and ache, if only for just a little while.

He likes it when you sit with him, asking gently probing questions about your day to get you talking and less concerned about him. And he likes hearing about your day, the mundane and even routine things that he lacks. He likes it when you offer to help wash the blood off of him, knowing that your careful hands will be gently massaging away at his aching muscles. It’s one of the few times he’s really quiet; letting your hands work off the red to leave behind Wade, just Wade.

When you help him out of the bath, leaving him to the bedroom with his favorite pajama pants and one of seemingly unending shirts with phrases like I GOT MY CLIT PIERCED AT CLAIRE’S or I MAY BE STUPID, you return to the kitchen to take dinner out of the oven. Some kind of one-sheet-pan recipe you’d looked up earlier in the day while you were at work. Whatever it is, it smells amazing from in the bedroom, and he quickly comes out to wrap his arms around your waist and lean over your shoulder to take a deeper whiff, calling you Martha Stewart and Guy Fieri’s bastard scandal child or asking if you were extracted straight out of Gordon Ramsey’s left nut.

You have a lovely dinner with Wade singing your praises the entire time, and god, it knocks him right out. Do not let that man go sit on the couch after a good, filling meal like that, because that is where he will pass out and you couldn’t move him with a forklift. Take him by both hands, lead him into the bedroom, get him on the bed (let him make his comments, they are unavoidable whether he’s horny or not), turn the lights off, and crawl under the covers with him. Press your body as close to his as possible; he’ll probably want to be skin to skin if he can stay awake long enough to get you both out of your clothes. And to perhaps everyone’s surprise except yours, it’s really not all that sexual in nature. He finds the smoothness of your skin soothing against his own, and he runs a little cold, so he finds refuge in the warmth you provide. He likes to pull the covers up to your noses and kiss you under the blankets like you’re hiding some big secret, making you giggle as he shushes you to keep quiet.

His favorite place to sleep on nights like this is with his ear against your chest; the sound of your heart still beating and your lungs still pulling in air is a great comfort to him. If it’s comfortable, he’ll want to fall asleep with your fingers lazily entwined, and pro tip— he finds it incredibly relaxing to have you run your fingertips along his palm, down his wrist and up in the inside of his forearm then all the way back down until he falls asleep. Congratulations, you’ve got yourself a content and quiet Wade all to yourself until morning. Enjoy it. Make sure you kiss his cheeks and nose and forehead while you’re at it; it makes him smile in his sleep.

[strawberrysnoopy]

ACT ONE: The Photoshoot, Part Three of Four

prologue, part one, part two. warnings: tobacco, smoking, alcohol use, briefest mention of using alcohol as a coping mechanism, mentions of infidelity (as always), ada slander at times (sorry), texting for a while, leon's a bit of a perv,

author's note: btw I left the husband without a name so there's no overlap on you and your husband having the same name and you live in new york due to the modeling thing. I also try my hardest to keep the reader ambiguous because I realize that skinny, quirky, white girls aren't the only ones that read this series: if there's anything you'd like to recommend or change in the writing to be more reader-friendly, drop in my inbox and let me know! :) thank you guys so much for all the reblogs and 100 FOLLOWERS AHHH!! thank you thank you thank you!

The warmth of your fingers working against his cool and paled skin had him melting like a runny ice cream cone in your hands. His hand was on your hip, rubbing loving circles like he was trying to commit the warm feel of your flesh into his memory. This was the type of life he envisioned when he was younger: married to someone he loved deeply with every crevice of his being. He thought Ada was the person for him, but that was such a costly and emotionally unbalanced guess. "Thank you, honey." You nod in response, applying the rest of the stitching to his busted lip. His hands dare to move a little higher on your hips, squeezing your waist and getting some sick pleasure out of the way your breath stopped in embarrassment. The scene was perfect, just a good ol’ friend taking care of her busted up pal. Leon hated that he couldn’t find you earlier, sooner, before he could even lay eyes on Ada Wong. She had her charms, sure, but there was something about the soft lull of your presence, how gentle you were, how caring you could be with others that had his heart fluttering in his chest. He still can't believe out of all the places he could've met you, it was at a store while you were buying a bottle of wine for yourself and your husband. "Met" would have to be an overrated word in his dictionary. The truth was that Leon had first laid eyes upon you in a magazine. They had released their February shoot that show-cased entrepreneurial photographers on the rise, climbing their way to the top without a care in the world who they scratched on their way there. You happened to be the diamond in the rough, making everyone else's cliche photographs of "lust" or "revenge" or "innocence" themes seem drab. Your theme? Limerence. Beautiful, simmering, and chilling limerence. Your hair was pieced together lazily but curled neatly, wearing simple yet cryptic tops and little boy shorts that lovingly cradled your ass. The rookie photographer that snapped your photos had done a stellar job at making it seem like you were one of those once in a lifetime girls you met in college. He still had the magazine of course, stashed away in the depths of his closet: kept in pristine condition like a filthy little secret he loved to indulge in. "So..." He muses. He feels the little pause in your work, his eyes crinkling with amusement. "How long have you known? About your husband's infidelity?" You've always known. The first? A college girl in the first year of your "official" relationship Bubbly and vibrant and a fucking joy to be around. The kind of girl you see on ABC's 20/20 or some other type of true crime prime-time film. Your husband claimed it was a drunk hook-up. And the first time, you believed him. The second? A school teacher that looked, acted, and talked exactly like you. Maybe she was your long lost twin or some weird rip in the fabric of time and she happened to pop out. He claimed he was mad at you for the way you did laundry. You forgave him a second time, but you'd surely have a knife to his throat the third time.

"A while. It's just like some weird fact I live with, I guess. Like you have some chronic disease and it's something you deal with from time to time." He nodded, bringing your hand up to his mouth and pressing a soft kiss to your palm. He knows you don't deserve that. Nobody deserves that. Yet, he always wondered why you stayed. Your husband was an asshole, although that shouldn't be a term that leaves his lips due to the fact he's supposedly your husband's best bud, but for the sake of doing the holy honor of defending you: he was a cheating dick that didn't deserve to be maritally bound to a woman such as yourself. "Wouldn't you get a divorce? I don't mean to be like...rude or anything but I would've thought that you're the type of woman to leave his ass once he cheats." And you were. Headstrong, confident, and self-assured—he's never seen an insecure model before, or maybe that's some weird stereotype he's made in his head unconsciously. "It's a tough situation." And that's all you have to say about your marriage. He nodded, understanding your reluctance to speak on the subject. He can't say he's any different from you either considering his marriage to Ada, the very reason he can't be with you. Especially so intimately. It’s hard. The safety of it all. Having someone next to you at all times despite the shitty relationship. He knew.

Now the bathroom is silent. You’re still doctoring up his wounds while he sits up on the marble counter-top. He really wants to say something until you step in for him.

“I can’t believe you fucked my husband up like that.” You say, pulling your hands away from his face to find some more antibiotic cream. He hates that he feels his head moving forward to get your hands back on him. Pathetic. He feels pathetic, especially considering he beat the dog shit out of your husband when you graciously invited him into your home.

“I’m sorry—“ He begins, you stop him once more.

“No. Don’t apologize. I was thanking you.” He nods again, finding the motion of moving his head back and forth too repetitive. “So, thank you.”

He boldly takes your hand in his own, squeezing it and kissing the palm—feeling like he’s turning into a crazy man when your fingertips brush against his lower eyelids and cheeks.

“You’re welcome.” He releases your hand from his own, feeling guilty for not saying more to you. He feels as if you deserve more than silence, and to be honest, with everything you've gone through this week, you definitely do. "I know I said it already but I'm sorry for saying that I wanted to—" He pauses, not wanting to be so crude with his wording but throwing caution to the wind as he had already fucked everything up so far. "Said that I wanted to fuck you, that's not fair to you nor your husband."

"It's okay if you do." His heart pulses in his chest at those words. He had expected you to ignore it, maybe slap him if you were really pissed. But you agreed? What the fuck, it's like he's living in a fucking alternate universe. "It's not a crime to find someone else attractive. The only thing wrong is if you act on it." That was true, but it never took from how much he dreamed about you. The times he's jerked himself off while thinking of your gorgeous body on his mind had grown to a disgusting amount. Hell, it's gotten to a point where he doesn't even fight it anymore and Ada being in the house used to stop him, but not anymore. He'll just go up to the bathroom and rub one out with your magazine in hand. "Then I guess I'm attracted to you." Your cheeks flush red at the admission, flaring a brighter color when his hand grips your hip once more. And tighter, too. Jesus Christ, the way this whole situation had been playing out like a steamy porno. First, your husband was gone in the hospital. Second, Leon was brought into your home. Alone. Third, he admitted he wants to fuck you. No, he has to resist. You were right. It's not wrong to be attracted to someone other than your spouse but you had him wanting to act. Wanting to drag you down to the marital bed you share with your husband and fuck you senseless. "So, do you want to stay the night tonight? Considering your car is broken down and everything." You ask, your tone beautiful and raspy like it always is.

Oh, God. He's gonna fuck you.

tags:@heylesamis, @sweetserial, @iloveyousomuch1989, @galactict3a, @m1sery-busin3ss, @ssulfurr, @julia13123, @nic-stars, @stillhavingdaddyissues, @greywardensaywhat, @ressespearlz, @xqlenkdy, @g0rep1ty, @nomorekerkanymor,

[affableramen]

Assorted creditor Pantalone x afab!debtor reader headcanons. Episode one

((highly requested))

tags: tsundere!pantalone ; condescending, slightly vulgar villain ; he is a meanie ; toxic relationship ; early stage of relationship ; manipulative Lone ; slight degradation+humiliation ; choking ; slap dynamics (you slap him) ; degrading names (“bitch”) ; pet names (“kitten”) ; sexual themes ; criminal themes ; pantalone has chronic illnesses

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT Madman’s note: I like mean guys and judging by what we know about Pantalone so far (Arlecchino’s voice-line, Lazzo teaser, Wriothesley’s weapon, Pantalone’s artefact) he fits this category perfectly. I see the pattern of a rude boy here. Charming on the outside but once he opens his mouth it’s disgusting (hahaha.) He probably likes mocking and lecturing others, that’s for sure vibing in the Lazzo. He also talks a lot (thanks Cholde). As for the toxic assorted au, Ik half of you don’t like reading gentle n sweet Pantalone, but when I see this man I just can’t imagine him being cruel to his lover who accepted him when the Gods did not. I really think he is very soft inside (with a person he trusts). He’s all about equality and fairness so probably he treats people the way they treat him, and if ur nice to him, well Panty acts with equal respect to you back. That’s for the personality part. Speaking of other aspects, at least you guys get a happy ending. Coz I hate bad endings. Don’t wanna fuck up huge efforts. The angst and struggle was worth it. Come get your man guys. He’s like the mean classmate who bullies you but is secretly in love with you. As for the gentleman part, I wish I could write something more than just him protecting the lady, coz I believe Pantalone to be a big deal of a gentleman who has his standards even though what he does for a living is very questionable. I’m afraid it will be too much information for this post already. I must also mention that he might say a lot of disturbing and condescending things in the beginning. Oh, and to avoid any misconception--i don’t like writing innocent readers. My reader is fierce, chronically exhausted and crazy.

⟣

“You will be my prize. A perfect fit for a powerful man like me. You have no friends, your parents are far away, the only person to care for you is your grandmother who was, for sure, foolish enough to take a loan from Northland Bank. You are helpless in front of me, and I enjoy seeing that smug smirk disappear from your face once you realise you’re completely at my mercy. All alone, with your life depending on me. And I will, by any means, show you mercy if you are worthy enough.”

Said Pantalone as your résumé was forcefully slapped down on his desk. Your past jobs, experiences and skills — all in front of him, in his long fingers which are sliding through the pages as if it were an action book.

Your grandmother, indeed, was the only dearest person you had and, unfortunately, in order to save your life (and future) she took the risk of becoming a debtor to the old devilish banker who was by any means an extremely questionable person.

You had a rough path of changing jobs, trying to find the most fitting and well-paid one, however ending up in only worse conditions. A few years passed like this, the workload traumatised you so much that you couldn’t believe two years had passed since you started doing work for a living. Your grandmother was too prideful to retire, but you both knew her money alone could not sustain your happiness.

And thus, you ended up under Pantalone’s sharp gaze. Now, standing up in front of him with an unfazed expression, knowing too well this man just adores chewing on others’ suffering.

“Fuck you and your long ass monologues”, you think but your face remains cold.

The tapping of his fingers suddenly stops. You feel your heart sink, and it makes you wanna vomit.

“What was that? The look on your face just a moment ago”, Pantalone takes his glasses off and looks at you sharply. You can feel that heavy presence with your skin alone. The violet charm of his eyes suffocating you. His whole presence does nothing but choke you.

“Beg your pardon?” You narrow eyes and ask him as politely as possible.

“Were you thinking something a bit ago, dear? Or should I say, were you doubting my professionalism?”

“Shit, he is reading my mind. I have to think about something stupid.”

“You’re so untamed and so… wild, I’d say”, he says as he rises from his desk and approaches closer to you. “But alas, I can’t discount your value after one mere impression, can I? That would be too unconscionable of me as a businessman.”

You see him lean to your ear, his body bending cause of how tall he is, and you feel nauseous once he opens his mouth again.

“Your résumé is trash, but I’m not a monster everyone thinks I am. I will let you work under me because of how persuasive your grandmother has been. Though, I’ll be watching you, kitten. Perhaps I’ll even put you under my strict supervision—"

A sharp slap lands on his cheek. That is the moment Pantalone should realise that your pride cannot be underestimated. With his face thrown to the side, he pats his cheek, holding his fingers on the reddened skin.

“…at the lowest position”, he finishes the sentence. “Heh, the audacity of yours.”

Pantalone grabs your throat, your is suddenly pulled closer. While being choked heartlessly you turn your eyes to him and hold them for a few long deep moments.

“I’m not afraid of you”, the words come out of your mouth weakly. “Just let me work for you. I won’t be plotting anything. Not interested, to be exact.” He keeps suffocating you, you almost roll your eyes at the back of your head before the banker finally releases you. You slowly fall onto your knees. “Haah… hha…”

“I’d never be mean to a lady. But a particular someone just doesn’t know any manners.”

He signs the papers quickly, squeezes a used draft in a ball and throws it into the trash bin. The signature he leaves on your zero-hour contract is so lazily made as if the man wanted to deal with you as soon as possible.

“Don’t disappoint me. You wouldn’t like to see me when I’m angry.”

“Thank God”, you sigh in relief, despite being choked a few seconds ago.

His movements, his body are so quick and flexible, you do not notice how the eyeglasses return to his face.

“You have a zero hours contract here, but I’ll personally make sure you work not less than six days a week.”

“Just so you know, I won’t kill for you. That goes against my principles.”

Pantalone raises his eyebrows, giving you a bored look.

“I wouldn’t let you have a privelege like that anyway. I have enough henchmen of my own to stain hands with unneccessary violence.”

When the conversation ends, you go to the bathroom and throw out. This man gives goosebumps, and he is not easy at all.

To your biggest surprise, as a leader Pantalone turns out capable enough. Just seeing him intricately managing his resources and employees makes you admire him at some point. No matter how unattractive his personality, for sure, was, none could not deny the fact that he is a skilful individual. He possess finesse and determination. Though speaking of his other traits, you cannot ignore the fact how suave he is. Women touch him with or without his consent all the time. And you’d agree: the man is attractive. Affable demeanour in public, though quite closed in private. “Closed” is an understatement. He is, in fact, incredibly emotionally unavailable.

His ill-favoured personality, hidden under that affable demeanour and polished looks, however, could not prevent you from falling. For him. And you are gradually finding yourself more and more addicted to him. Brushing off these ideas as soon as possible, of course. Occasional touch of your fingers, frequent looks he’d give you. You cannot remember the exact moment when Pantalone started showing signs, but you remember well that his glances in your first meaning were anything but interest. As you are a “special” debtor with a large sum to owe, Pantalone almost cages you in his main office buildings. To your knowledge, there were a few of them, but out of all people the fate of working with him has fallen onto your shoulder.

There was one day when he scared you.

“You… killed someone?” You ask, holding your hand to your chest as you walk into his office to bring some papers. But they are dropped down the moment you see the so-called crime scene. The heavy metallic scent of blood blocks your breathing and you dream of disappearing from this room, however it is too late.

“Just taught a disagreeable debtor a valuable lesson”, Pantalone walks out of the shadows, lighting the cigarette right in his own office.

Your eyes widen at the sight of the blood on his face once he makes himself visible.

“What are you doing here? Ah, the job. I almost forgot.”

A panic attack crashes you sooner than Pantalone inquiries.

“Why the sour face? Just put the papers here and you’re dismissed.”

You look down at the body next, and even if!(fat chance) that person is alive, you cannot pull yourself back into the calm state.

“Are you deaf? Put your stuff on my desk,” the banker commands, wiping the blood off his cheek.

Your vision goes blurry when you see his stained with crimson skin and you feel like fainting.

“I don’t… exactly like… seeing blood, yes.” You turn away but lose your consciousness the moment after.

When you wake up you find yourself lying in the leather couch, a blanket dropped sloppily over your body. Pantalone is sitting at his desk per usual, working on his papers when he sees you slowly come to senses.

“Alive? Good. Now go back to your duties.”

You rise from the couch slowly, pulling the blanket down and slightly wobbly proceed to the door.

“Y/N.” Pantalone stops you with his voice.

“What now…” you think. But your expression softens one you hear what he tells you:

“There is a bottle of water I left for you on the desk. Take it. I’m not exactly eager reviving you after another fainting because your careless ass is dehydrated”, he stops writing with his left hand and says again, this time harsher: “And never enter my office announced again.”

“Thank you”, you take the bottle of water the Harbinger offers you. It has a distinct spicy scent from cologne lingering on it. “Your couch reeks of tobacco, by the way.”

One time, when you save him.

Pantalone storms into the office visibly injured and infuriated. You can see his secretary come up to him, presenting some sort of intel while her hand slips under his sleeve trying to pull his gloves out. You see it all through the small doorway.

“Lord Harbinger, you must have had a tough mission, let me release this stress of yours…”

The other employee of his, a male, presses a wet sponge against his expressionless face. Pantalone, seemingly weak and tired doesn’t respond immediately to the secretary boldly roaming her lustful hands over him but a while after his consciousness makes itself known. He grabs the recently presented papers and slaps the woman’s hand with them.

“Sir—”

“Have you two no shame? I need privacy. For once, just leave me alone!” He shouts, uncharacteristically to him. Both the secretary and the lowly subordinate rush out of the room under his strict command.

When the shift ends you can see everyone leave the office, however there has been not a single move from Pantalone’s office since he shut his door. You look on the clock, it’s already 9:15 p.m. Why is he not going home? You decide to spy on Pantalone. Soon, as everyone has left the office empty, you raise from your working desk and go to check on your CEO.

“Pantalone.”

You knock, but the response is none.

“Pantalone, coming in.”

You push the door slowly. Even his spicy cologne mixes up with the metallic scent of blood. You walk in the office and feel your heart sink at the sight: the banker is lying on the floor, as if he had fallen from his desk, there are lots of tablets scattered around the floor, and a bottle of wine, shattered, the salty smell filling your nostrils. The ashtray on his desk is full and messy. Everything looks chaotic and Pantalone himself is, for sure, out of character.

He is unconscious as he is lying on the floor. You rush to him, gently placing your hand on his shoulder and start shaking him.

“PANTALONE!!”

He doesn’t wake up and you have to resort to drastic measures. You slap him. At that, he finally comes to the senses.

“This is the second time you have slapped me. Are you not afraid of the punishment I might force upon you?” he asks, groggily putting his body into a sitting position.

“Why didn’t you go to the doctor?”

“I’m perfectly fine handling some scratch.”

“Just a scratch? Then, what are the tablets for? I thought they were painkillers.”

You see as Pantalone examines his own mess, and his expression is calm yet a hint of exhaustion can be spotted.

“Clever”, he says. “I was beaten up, and my muscles obviously hurt.”

“And the wine?”

“To relax.”

“I see.”

Pantalone eyes you once again, his face extremely pale and tired. “Are you done? You can go home.” He turns away from you, you don’t know what he’s doing but you hear a drawer being pulled and Pantalone let out a short sound similar to groaning. His knuckles turn white as he grips the edge of the desk. You see a used needle roll across the very same desk…

“You’re… you’re diabetic?”

“An astitute observation” (silently). “Didn’t I tell you to go home?”

You analyse him from the top to bottom and deem this person likely not being able to get home himself. You open your eyes to offer taxi, but realise that he has a personal chauffeur. “Right, rich people…”

“That’s all? You won’t even give me a lecture for spotting you in such a vulne-” Pantalone’s gaze becomes so evil that you rethink over the choice of your wording. “In such a predicament. I mean, shouldn’t your mighty self cut my tongue in order to prevent me from gossiping about your health concerns?”

“You’ve been reading far too many detective stories. I’m not so…” he sighs, realising that given the circumstances of his long list of crimes even as a polished businessman he is a perfect match to Meropide. So Pantalone cuts his wording as well. “Forget about it.”

“You sure will be alright?”

“Worry of yourself, it’s getting quite dark and seems like rain and thunder.”

Wow. That’s a gentleman indeed! He won’t even offer you a lift? You roll your eyes.

“I’ll get home just fine. And also, you reek of alcohol. Can’t have the employees think poorly of you.”

You don’t even know if you are happy with your doing or not, because if you didn’t wake him, he’d probably be lying there on the floor until the very morning.

As you’ve cleaned your desk and taken your coat on, ready to leave, you see that the raining outside has become even more aggresive.

You walk outside and slip on the first level of stairs. “Great.” Before you could dial the number of the taxi, you hear the voice behind you stopping you.

“Don’t need to spend money. You’re coming with my chauffeur.”

“No thanks, I am quite fine being al-ready indebted to you.”

“That won’t need repayment. You saved my life. If I were not woken up in time, and didn’t inject insulin, I would most certainly end up in a coma not long after.”

“Especially considering that you drank wine”, you think.

“If you insist. Look like today I’m but a slave of the weather conditions.”

Pantalone hums to your response and leads you to the sleek black car. He throws the door open for you and gets onto the back seat with you. Once he’s settled and you wait to be dropped off your place you notice the holes on his gloves, revealing already dry blood stained cuts. You are only able to see them properly now, due to your close proximity.

“May I ask who attacked you?”

“It happens quite often so no one is really surprised by now”, he clears throat. “An assassination attempt. But I’m faster” he gives you a warning look, by which you conclude that the killer is no longer alive.

“I see.”

As you’re dropped off safely to your place, you sneak into your bedroom before your grandma has questions. As you lie in bed under a fuzzy blanket you cannot brush his scent, the mix of spicy cologne with blood, off your mind. The sight of him almost helpless, injecting that insulin like he was on a thin ice, stays carved into your mind as well.

⟢

[cowgurrrl]

Omgggg Charlie. I love her. Could I please get a fluff piece of Joel having a cute little night in with her when she is tiny - mom is on patrol shift. It’s just him and nugget Charlie at home, him cooking, doing bathtime and doing HER LITTLE CURLY HAIR and just reminiscing about being a girl dad again

Charlotte Sometimes

Pairing: Joel Miller x fem!reader

Summary: “Maybe our world will grow kinder eventually. Maybe the desire to make something beautiful is the piece of God that is inside each of us.” — Mary Oliver, from “Frank Marc’s Blue Horses” aka this ask [1.4k]

Warnings: talks of Tess and Sarah, Joel being the softest girl dad in the world, chronic pain, marital bliss

Joel never took care of his hair. Before the Outbreak, all his knowledge about hair was learned to protect Sarah's hair. Thanks to a lovely woman he met at Sarah's daycare, he learned about bonnets, leave-in conditioners, braids, and so much more. Joel would often come home from work with cracked and exhausted hands, but that all got washed away when Sarah sat in front of him with combs, sweet-smelling products, and hair ties. They'd listen to music together, talk about their days, and laugh as Joel worked his Dad Magic. Spending time caring for his daughter's hair was his form of meditation. 

After the Outbreak, he couldn't even look in the direction of the shitty FEDRA shampoo and conditioner without feeling pieces of him crumble and splinter like the face of his watch. He was always a rinse-and-go kind of guy, but especially so once he settled in Boston. There was always somewhere to go, something to do. He didn't have time to be alone with his thoughts, and he didn't want to. Tess washed his hair for him when he broke his arm during a shake-down. "You're killing me, Texas," she said when she brushed his hair back. She was the first person who ever cared for him the way he cared for Sarah. And it scared the shit out of him. Still, even after all those years, he remembers how she called him Texas and gave his malnourished strands attention. He remembers how she reminded him of that soft, vulnerable part of himself, and he buried it as deep as he could until he met you.

Joel never cared about his hair until Charlie was born with identical ringlets and wave patterns. The Miller Curls is the affectionate name for it. Everyone in the Miller family has had some version of The Miller Curls. Joel and Tommy's mom passed it down to the boys, and then the boys passed it down to their kids. Sarah and Camille have a scarily similar curl pattern, and Joel has given Tommy all the help to nourish her hair. So when you first noticed the tight curls forming on Charlie's head, you let Joel take the reins. 

By the time she's three, they have their own routine. Once a week, you work a night patrol shift with Maria or Ellie, sometimes Tommy, and he makes dinner. He usually makes more than is necessary for just three people, so you can take leftovers to Ellie or whoever you're working with that night, and you leave home with a full belly, Tupperware, and kisses from your favorite people. The second you're out the door, it's over. 

They chase each other around the house, color on the floor, sing loudly to whatever's spinning on the record player, and play guitar together. Well, Joel plays guitar, and Charlie just kinda makes up songs and dances. He strums to keep time with her, but she interrupts him with laughter and requests for new songs. Tonight, it's "Mommy's Song," which is what she calls your favorite Beatles song. When the sun gets low, they pick up the living room together, and Joel carries Charlie upstairs to take a bath.

He takes his time washing the marker off her hands, brushing the tangles out, and shampooing and conditioning her hair. Once she's out and in her pajamas, she sits in front of Joel and hands him the products he asks for: leave-in conditioner, spray, and cream to hold her curls. Maria and a few other parents in Jackson made their own stuff and taught Joel how to mix different oils and herbs to strengthen and condition her hair. It gives him a sense of pride, knowing he can take that extra step to show how much he cares for her. When he's done with the products, he lightly scrunches and wraps stray pieces around his finger to encourage the curl formation. 

By the end of their routine, Charlie is nodding off, her cheek smushing against Joel's knee. "Let's get you to bed, baby girl." He murmurs as he kisses the top of her head and carefully picks her up. She buries her face in his neck and wraps her arms around his shoulders, feeling nothing but safety and love as she falls asleep on him. 

When he lays her down in her bed, she doesn't immediately let go of him. She groggily blinks her eyes open to look at Joel in the moonlight shining through her window and smiles. "I love you, Daddy," she yawns and kisses his cheek. "I love when you do my hair, too." It's the last thing she gets out before rolling over in bed and closing her eyes. Joel sits there, as starstruck as the day she was born, and has to take a deep breath to stop himself from crying. 

"I love you, too, Charlotte." He says, but she can't hear him. He tucks her in a little tighter and kisses her temple again before leaving her room. 

When you get home from patrol, he's asleep on the couch, snoring with his arms crossed over his chest. You've told him repeatedly that he doesn't have to wait up for you, that you'll see him in the morning or when you crawl into bed. Nearly four years of marriage, and he still doesn't listen to you. You walk over to the back of the couch and push his hair out of his face to kiss his forehead, rousing him awake. He hums and lifts his arm to hold your hip. "If you keep falling asleep here, you're gonna fuck up your back." You whisper as he leans his head back to get a kiss.

"M'back's already fucked up." He says, his voice gravelly and deep from fatigue, and you laugh. 

"You guys have a good night?"

"The best," he says. "She told me she loves when I do her hair." 

"She did?" You gush, and he smiles softly. "I'm telling you, you've got a talent for that kinda thing." Joel Miller, hardened survivor and killer, has spent the last three years becoming a pro at handling his toddler's hair. There's a joke in there somewhere, but you're too tired to try and find it. 

"How was patrol?" He asks, and you reach for your shoulder. 

"All clear. I think I've gotta switch back to my handgun 'cause the shotgun is hurting my shoulder."

"Could be the cold, too."

"Could be how many times I've dislocated it." 

"And that one time you caught a bullet right," he trails his hand up until his thumb can press into the thick scar tissue near your collarbone. "There." He says, and you hum. You sigh and pat Joel's chest before walking over to the coat rack and shrugging your jacket off, wincing as you do. 

"Why don't you go to bed, and I'll join you after I take a shower?" You suggest, and an idea lights up his brain.

"Your shoulder gonna be alright?"

"I'll manage." 

"Y'know..." he starts, standing from the couch and waltzing over to you. His hands snake around your waist, and you raise your eyebrows at him. "A very smart lady once told me I've got a talent for doin' hair."

"I think I remember hearing that." You tease. 

"You gonna let me wash your hair for you, darlin'?" He asks, that stupid, sleepy southern drawl doing it for you every time, and you fight a smile. "To rest your shoulder, of course."

"Of course," you echo, squinting at him. You try to wrap your arms around his neck, but shooting pain stops you from getting very far. As much as you want to fight him and make him go to bed, you could also probably use the help. "You can wash my hair only if you promise to stop falling asleep on the couch when I'm on nights." 

"You drive a hard bargain, Mrs. Miller." 

"Mm." You hum. He pretends to think as his thumbs make soothing circles into your shirt. 

"I promise to try and stop fallin' asleep on the couch." 

"I'll take it." 

"Yeah?" He asks, and you nod. He kisses you and your injured shoulder, a gentle, sleepy smile on his face the whole time before he leads you upstairs and to the bathroom that still smells of his homemade products and Jane's lotion. 

Joel Miller never took care of his hair. At least, not until he had someone like you running your hands through it or daughters who needed him to care. Who would've thought that big, broody, dangerous man with the scar across his nose would be the same man to color on the floor with your baby or brush her curly hair or fall asleep on an uncomfortable couch just to make sure you got home safe? 

TAGLIST: @abbyhaslongshorts @moonandseatgr-yngf @kiwiharrykiwi @sumsworldz @myloveistoolittle @anavatazes @korynnekorynne

[wilsons-three-legged-siamese]

MY OCS BACKSTORY AND JUST INFO DUMP ON HIMM!!

Feel free to send me anything i can add!!

My oc:

Art by the wonderful @lefthandedspaghetti !! Joon you're so talented.

Info on him:

Name: Dr. Sydney Forrest.

Full name: Sydney Will-Knox Forrest-Gösta

Age: 24

Nationality/ethnicity: born in England, raised in the us. British, swedish and french.

Accent: british with a hint of french, he cant say certain words.

Languages: english, swedish and french

Gender: male, cis

Sexuality: questioning gay

Hair colour: light, light blonde

Eye colour(s): green & brown

Hair type: short, fluffy, not styled/messy.

Physicality: quite skinny, around 5'9", always on his tip toes so probably 5'5", flamboyant look.

Personality type: INTP

Personality: awkward, intoverted, oddly polite to strangers, sarcastic, caring, sympathetic - cant do empathy.

Disorders/conditions: depression, ptsd, slight autism, svt (supraventricular tachycardia), horrid anxiety. He also have chronic backpain and once in a while borrows houses vicodin, but usually just has wilson massage it (i have chronic backpain and used to have svt.. 😁).

Voice claim!!

Voice: (Steven Patrick) Morrissey. (This but with a hint of french, but oretty accurate.)

Backstory: tw; sui, sh, @buse

Syd was born on the 2nd of june to his parents, Delilah Gösta and William Forrest. Deliah was a banker, and William was a doctor, a very good one at that. Syd didn't get much attention when little, no hugs, no pet names - no normal kid things. He was mainly left to his own devices. He got a proper education, but got bullied a lot for his looks and unusual placement at home. He isn't very confident at all, being extremely shy as his self esteem is very low. At the age of 9, his mum had left for another guy. William was broken, so he quit his job and started to drink, quickly becoming abusive. Syd couldn't deal with it, so he turned to sh and attempts. Non of them worked. At 14, he was placed in hospitalization because of one of the attempts, wilson being his doctor. Wilson noticed how awful his life was, and actually fostered Syd for a year until Syd managed to get into hopkins, getting a dorm at 15. He graduated at 18, started working at ppth and formed a good relationship with house, as well as wilson. Syd told house all about william, them having flings in college. Syd became cardio head at 20, even house is impressed. He sees wilson as a father.

Random facts/hcs!:

He ships house and wilson so much hes actually managed to make them kiss.

House taught him how to play piano.

Hes never had a love interest, but tends to swoon over random strangers.

He enjoys petnames and being held, in a platonic way, probably from childhood issues.

He has pictues of his dad and house from their college days.

His hair is extremely soft, people love touching it, and he loves people touching it (by people i mean house and wilson.)

He has a comfort object !! Its a rose gold stethoscope*

He absolutely sucks ass at saying tounge twisters because of his fucked accent.

He really enjoys cracking his knuckles, annoys the hell out of everyone.

Hes got a wonderful singing voice.

He collects really pretty rocks.

He steals wilsons clothes all the time, literally every time he vists.

Hes basically blind without the glasses.

Hes always on his tiptoes (same, i had casts for 6months when i was like 7 [didn't do anything])

* the stethoscope 🩺 ‼️

He has a dog!!

His name is Sawyer and is basically just a dog version of himself, why he loves him so much

(Not my photo)

Tagging! @sillyhyperfixator

[uwingdispatch]

From the Very First Night

From the Very First Night

Notes: Ezra Bridger/Reader, established relationship, gender neutral reader, post-rebellion/post-war, hurt/comfort, chronically ill/disabled reader

CW: light discussion of past traumas/implied PTSD

Ao3 Link

★★★★★★★★

The day you met Ezra Bridger you laughed when he told you his name. 

“Forgive me,” you told him, “but you’re not the first man on Lothal to try and pick me up while claiming to be the guy in the mural on the wall outside.”

“Well that’s new,” he said. “I tell you my full government name and you think it’s a ruse. Maybe I should have used one of my old aliases.”  

You’d been finishing up some work in what had come to be your favorite caf bar in town, a few blocks from your home on Lothal. And you were thinking about leaving when a man approached with a look in his eyes that, on another day, might have prompted you to pick up your comms and fake an emergency call from a friend.

But now he was reaching for his wallet, pulling out an ID. “You can check my chain code if you want. I didn’t realize I had so many doppelgängers.”  

You quirked an eyebrow. None of the other “Ezras” you’d met had offered ID but, as soon as you saw it, you felt heat rush to your cheeks. “Okay,” you said. “This is embarrassing. ”

He smiled warmly as he put his wallet away. “To be fair, most of the stuff in town depicts me as a kid, and I didn’t have this handsome beard back then. But I can appreciate a skeptic.”

You put away your datapad, your instincts still split between staying where you were and running out the side door. Surprising yourself, you say, “But I’m not hearing you say that you're not trying to pick me up.”

“Well…maybe. That depends, I guess, on whether you mind if I join you.”

You nodded, and he sat opposite you, the corners of his blue eyes crinkling when he smiled. Up close, you could almost see the teenage boy from the mural. But his hair was longer, dark curls falling soft around his face, and he had a short beard that he did wear quite well.

You wondered if his nerves had caught up with him as he ran a hand through his hair, the late afternoon light coming in through the window catching a streak of silver at his temple.

“Sometimes it feels like I know everyone in this city. Or at least that everyone in this city feels like they know me.” he said. “But you’re new, aren’t you?”

“What gave me away?” you asked.

“Well, I could never forget such a lovely face.” 

“Are you serious right now?”

“I really am.”

There was something sincere about him, despite the flirtations. Something about the way he moved was honest. Welcoming. A server brought him a cup of caf and Ezra exchanged a few words with him in Rodian. 

“So how long have you been in town?” He asked.

“About eight months,” you said. “I just hit this point where I felt like a fresh start might be nice. I don’t usually abandon ship when things get rough, but I thought maybe this one time…I can’t believe I’m telling you this.”

He winked. “I used a Jedi mind trick.” 

“Right,” you said, fairly certain he was kidding.

He shrugged. “And somehow you landed on Lothal.”

“I narrowed it down to the places where I’d be able to have my astromech serviced.”

“Must be a special astromech.”

“She’s a therapy droid.”

“Ah,” he said. “There are several mechanics in Capital City who work with that program.”

You were a bit taken aback at how unfazed he was at the mention of your therapy droid—issued by the New Republic. Similar programs had been available to injured veterans before, but the civilian program was newer. And he not only knew about the program, but didn’t seem bothered by the fact that you had a condition that required this kind of aid.

“We had a lot of options,” you said. “But Ceetoo and I decided Lothal seemed nice. So…I’m here.” 

“Glad you are,” he said, both hands cupping his caf mug.

“You just met me and the first thing I did was call you a liar.”

“That’s what I like about you.”

A day would come when you’d realize what he meant then. That when you saw him you weren’t thinking about all the war stories, about the way Lothal had memorialized him when they’d thought he was dead. That he had a chance, at least for a moment, to show someone who he was without the burden of their assumptions and expectations. 

You would also come to realize that from the first time Ezra smiled at you, there was no coming back. He had you, melting like chocolate in the palm of his hand. Because he saw you too, like no one else ever had before.

***

It’s late afternoon when C2-B35 comes in from the garage bleeping about the line at the pharmacy. She’d gone with Ezra to pick up your medication after getting your doctor to call in something new for your joint pain. Ezra could have gone by himself but, because of an incident early in your dating history when there’d been a mix-up, Ceetoo almost always insists on going with him—and he learned a long time ago not to fight a stubborn astromech.

Ezra finds you on the sofa where you’ve been trying to relax, the pain in your back making it hard to even lie still. He knows better by now than to tell you that you’ve been working too hard, that you should take more breaks. He knows to help you up, taking you gently into his arms and kissing your hair. By the time he hands you the tablets, you’re already feeling a bit of relief.

You take the medicine and let out a heavy sigh, resting your head on Ezra’s chest before whispering a thank you. 

“I wish I could heal,” he says.

“We still don’t know if that kind of healing would help me,” you say. “Genetic condition.”

It’s a dance you dance every time you have a flare like this, bad enough that Ceetoo insists on contacting your doctor. 

“I met a kid once who could do it. His dad said he could nullify the effects of a neurotoxin. Close a wound like it had never been there at all.”

“What did the kid say about it?”

“The kid doesn’t talk much. Still working through some things, I think.”

He gets quiet, and from the look in his eyes you know that he’s gone somewhere in his mind lost you can’t follow. It’s been 25 years since he last saw his adoptive father, the man who’d trained him in the Force, and there are some wounds that time never quite heals. Ezra is still working through some things, too.

“Hey,” you say. “Come back to me.”

He smiles, his eyes bright as he gently squeezes your arm. “I’m right here, sunshine.” 

The medication starts to hit, and you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding. You reach for his face, the sharp line of his bearded jaw, the parallel scars on his left cheek. “Just as you are, you’re enough, Ezra. I don’t need a Jedi. I just need you.”

C2-B35 beeps irritably before retiring to her room, reminding you that you haven’t eaten since breakfast. 

“Thank you, Ceetoo,” you call, with a promise that you’ll have a proper dinner.

“Is it helping?” Ezra asks. “The medicine?”

“It is,” you say. “Finally.”

“Have you really not eaten all day?”

Your face tells him everything. 

“Right,” he says. “Dinner. I could make some quick dumplings? I think I froze some last time to fry later…I’d just have to make the sauce, really.”

He’s up and in the kitchen, pulling jars of spices out of the pantry, and you know he can already taste this comfort dish, and so can you.

So much of his life had been unstable after Ezra’s parents disappeared. He was on his own at such a young age, and then after a few short years in the Rebellion he ended up in exile on Peridea. Now, everything he had felt like a luxury to him: a permanent home, a pair of naughty indoor loth-cats, soft clothes he wore without consideration for armor. He’d told you about learning to cook when he came back to Lothal and, now that he has access to just about any ingredient for any dinner in the galaxy, he has every intention of not only enjoying the luxury of any hot meal he can dream up, but to make sure you enjoy food as well. When Ezra offers to cook, you never say no.

“Ezra?”

“What do you need, love?”

“I need you to kiss me.”

And he does, pulling you up from the sofa, taking your face in his hands as he presses his lips to yours, his neatly trimmed beard soft against your skin. You’re lacing your fingers through his dark curls when he pulls away to look right into your eyes.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” you whisper.

And he replies, “I can’t imagine being anywhere else.” 

***

It was night before you left the caf bar and, at this realization, Ezra insisted on walking you home. “Unless you don’t feel comfortable with that,” he’d said. “I would understand. It’s just dark out and…”

And something about being with Ezra just made you feel safe. Even on that first night. You’d never let a strange man walk you home before—it was on its face a bad idea. But you’d stayed out much later than you normally would, and the idea of being alone felt far more unsafe than being with this charming man.

“I don’t normally do things like this,” you told him, the words coming out way too fast, just a block from your building.

“I figured,” he said. “For what it’s worth…I haven’t done anything like this in quite a while.

This did surprise you. “Walked someone home?”

There was a playful tone to his voice when he replied, “Approached a beautiful stranger in a caf bar.” 

“You sure are bold for someone who doesn’t regularly…do whatever this is.”

“I just…” he started and paused, taking a breath. “This is going to sound like a line, but I just felt so drawn to you.”

“In the Force?”

“Maybe.”

“It does sound like a line,” you said. “But somehow I believe you. Jedi mind trick?”

“I’d never actually—”

“I know.”

You were both standing outside your door, a cool evening breeze in the air. You took all of him in—his firm chest beneath the deep v of his tunic, his dark hair catching on the wind, those blue eyes that seemed to see right past all of your walls. You’d met this man just a few hours ago but, beyond all reason, you so wanted to—

“Can I kiss you?” He asked, the words falling from his lips as if he hadn’t considered the consequences.

You nodded and he took a step closer, cupping your face in his hands, his nose brushing yours as he leaned in to press the most delicate kiss to your lips. And you felt his smile just as you felt that joy in yourself—a spark of something unlike anything you’d felt before. Maybe it was the Force, but every inch of your being wanted to be close to this man as you reached for his face, drawing him nearer, slipping a hand into his hair as the kiss deepened.

“I should go,” Ezra said, breathless into your ear.

“Why?” you asked.

“I have an appointment.”

“Really?”

“No.”

“Then stay.”

Nervously you fumbled with your keys, dropping them not once but twice as you tried to open your door, Ezra eventually placing them steadily into your hand, and just the touch of his fingertips against your palm sent a pleasant shiver through you. Quickly you shooed an alarmed Ceetoo away as you entered. Unlike you, her memories included files from the war, and she recognized Ezra as soon as she saw him. Beeped out something along the lines of this one’s mostly trustworthy and I’m going to charge.

“Mostly?” Ezra said, almost in a whisper. “I wonder what she’s heard.”

You bite back a laugh. “I just need you to know I don’t normally do this either.”

“Okay.”

“I could make some tea.”

“Sure.”

But his arms were around you again and you both stumbled toward the sofa, falling into the cushions wrapped in each other like teenagers, wholly unworried about anything else in the galaxy.

That tea didn’t get made for hours. And it was nearly dawn when you retired to your bedroom and Ezra fell asleep on your sofa, your loth-cat sitting at his feet. When you woke, he was gone, a note left on your kitchen counter: Had to work this morning, but I hope you’ll call me. You traced your finger over the comms code left in scratchy handwriting below, wondering for a split second if this could be real. But if you closed your eyes you could still feel the sensation of his fingertips ghosting over your cheek when you’d handed him a blanket the night before. His voice when he’d whispered in your ear, “Sleep well, sunshine.” 

★★★★★★★★

Thank you so much for reading! They really gave us Hot!Ezra in the Ahsoka series and I'm just here to be a gremlin about it. I hope this fic made you feel seen and loved.

I have a taglist now! Sign up here if you want to be tagged in future fics. (And choose if you only want to be tagged for certain characters.) In the meantime, I’m tagging my taglist as well as some folks who have been reblogging my fics. Love y’all!

@writingbylee @waterpancakeao3 @princessxkenobi @zinzinina @aerynwrites @belfry-bat@phoenixhalliwell @r1-sw-lover @laserbrains @darthanakn @lovedbyth3sun @usernamesarebitches @maul-ologue @operation-spot @writeforfandoms @akgracemk @littlemousedroid @strwrs @saveatruckrideoptimusprime @galaxtic-writings @mintpurplemnm @againstacecilia @elasticreality @zombiedixon89 @forresway @sith-as-heck @alistocats @favficss @themandadolorian @ginger-swag-rapunzel @iamsuchanasshat @vvpoisonous @saradika @islandfrogeery @boba-brasso-bee @groguspawbeans @fluffyprettykitty @mischiefqueer @wretchedmo @wyn-n-tonic @dystopicjumpsuit

[do-androids-dream-ao3acc]

chronic pain buck not telling anybody (tommy!)

This ask has been sitting in my inbox for a while, because I already had this WIP and initially wanted it to become a multi-chapter-thing. But, you know, life (and ideas)... so here's, finally, my humble offering of chronic pain Buck.

A Little Bit Off

Buck wakes up two hours before the alarm clock goes off, and he immediately knows what kind of day it's going to be. 

The world is still dim, a black veil of silence covering the loft. Buck squints at the ceiling until his eyes have adjusted to the darkness. There was a dream, what was it? It’s already slipping away from him, becoming transparent like a faded piece of fabric. It was at night, in a forest, I was running away from something, constantly looking back. Tripping over a root, I fell, I fell so hard – it was just a dream, but when I hit the ground my leg exploded. It wasn't the dream that had woken him, just a nightmare like many. It was the pain. In the past, Buck would have never believed that you can feel pain in a dream, so fresh and strong as if it wasn't just a memory, but had just happened. 

Now it's just a dull, throbbing pain, nothing like the tons of weight that crushed his leg back then. He has lost the actual memory of the fire truck on his leg, even though he knows exactly what happened, even though he was conscious. But those few minutes are missing from his memory, which is probably why he keeps hurting his leg in different, creative ways in his dreams. The pain, however, is real, both in his dreams and now. Not as bad as back then, no, but constant. This throbbing deep in his bones, it will stay with him all day. 

Buck has consulted three different doctors, he has googled his fingers to the bone, but there is no simple solution. This pain is chronic, and it doesn't really matter whether it's a nerve malfunction or a change in the weather. It comes and goes, flares up like a bush fire: quickly, without warning. And it’s just as difficult to extinguish. Buck debates with himself whether he should get up and take a pill, but painkillers often don't help, and he still has a shift. If he's going to gamble on his luck, he'd better do it later. 

All three physicians he visited are not LAFD contract doctors, for one simple reason: nobody must know about his problem. The days when he has no pain, when he can forget that he ever had it, it's easy to convince himself that it's not really a problem. It comes and goes, maybe at some point it will go forever. That’s a deceptive hope, and he knows it. But there’s a fear in Buck, deep down in his guts, that a permanent condition will destroy his career. 

He sighs into the darkness only to quickly turn his head. Did he wake Tommy? No. The sight next to him fills his heart, much more than the pain fills his thoughts, at least for a moment. A few tousled curls poke out of the blanket; they'll be gone in at dawn. Tommy is lying on the very edge of the bed – it's not necessarily too small, but for two such tall men, it kind of is. He has wrapped himself completely in the duvet. It would be nice if that was the real reason Buck woke up so early, wouldn't it? The guy keeps pulling the covers off him at night. He sighs again, quieter this time. 

Swinging his long legs out of bed, the treacherous mattress squeaks, and now Tommy is stirring, after all. 

"Evan?" 

He turns, squinting, but he can't keep his eyes open yet.

"S’it time yet?"

Tommy's sleepy voice causes a warmth to spread inside Buck, flowing through his whole body, lifting the corners of his mouth to a soft smile. 

"No, babe. Go back to sleep."

Was there something in his voice? Tommy blinks again, obviously not quite convinced. He pushes a strand of hair out of his face, opening his eyes. 

"Something wrong?" he asks.

How well he already knows him. Half a year of bliss, and this man notices nuances in Buck’s voice even when he’s not quite conscious. 

"I'm just going for a pee," he claims.

In the bathroom, Buck leans on the sink and looks at his reflection in the mirror. It’s strange that he looks so normal. A little disheveled, a little tired, but certainly not like a man whose leg feels like it's slowly being hollowed out from the inside. Thump, thump, thump, maybe there are little miners inside him, digging for gold. Buck grins at his reflection, but a smile that doesn't reach his eyes is just creepy. 

Thoughtfully, he runs his forefinger over the edge of the medicine cabinet. Should he take one now? Should he take it later? He feels like a drug addict, and that's an amazingly cold thought. Almost analytical. Because even if he only needs the pills sometimes, what if it gets worse? What if he needs them so regularly that he becomes really dependent on them? 

There is a whole spiral of thoughts that have just been waiting for Buck to let them surface. What if the pain gets so bad that he starts to limp? What if he deliberately doesn't put any weight on that leg and people start questioning his movement? What if he can no longer think straight because of the pain, ending up making a mistake?

Knuckles white, he clutches the sink again, gritting his teeth until his cheeks ache. Tommy, he thinks. If it has to start somewhere with nobody noticing, then it has to start with Tommy. The thought feels right and wrong at the same time. Buck lets the toilet flush, then runs cold water over his wrists. 

He returns with the vague hope that Tommy has simply fallen asleep again. Instead, the man sits upright in bed and says, "I've been thinking."

"It's like... 4:30 in the morning," Buck replies with a glance on the clock. "And you've got the whole blanket again." 

Snuggling up next to him, he tugs at the comforter until Tommy finally gives up a piece of it. 

"Yes, but I'm awake now," says Tommy. 

"Shit, I'm sorry."

"Never mind," Tommy returns good-naturedly, "your shift starts much earlier than mine, I'm sure I can sleep a little longer."

Well, I won’t, thinks Buck, but he’s careful to not let his thoughts show. He buries his face in Tommys side, breathing in his scent. It's something he would much rather become addicted to, that peculiarly stimulating smell of sleep and masculinity. 

"And what were you thinking about?" he mumbles. 

"That we should move in together."

Now Buck is also wide awake, even more so than before, and for a brief moment, the pain is actually irrelevant. He sits up, looking inquisitively into Tommy's face. It's still dark in the apartment, the sunrise can only be glimpsed behind the blinds. So whatever he sees now, it may be easy to misinterpret. 

In fact, Tommy's sharp features are soft in these pale surroundings. He almost appears… insecure. Buck doesn’t even know why he’s suddenly kind of shaken, after all he’s moved in with some of his partners before, and earlier, even. They've just never talked about it, maybe because it wasn't necessary, maybe because Tommy still thinks they should be taking it slow. Every time Tommy's supposed confidence crumbles when they're together, in such small, very tender moments, Buck feels like his heart is about to jump out of his chest. 

"Your place or mine?" he asks, and the smile he causes on Tommy’s lips is worth it. 

"Actually," Tommy returns, stroking Buck's hair, lost in thought,  "I thought we'd look for something new. Together."

"It's a big deal," Buck opines.

"Right, it's probably too soon."

There’s not even a hint of disappointment in Tommy's voice, he’s far too composed for that. Buck recognizes himself so much in this answer that it hurts, in a completely different way to his leg. It's easier to withdraw than to live with the disappointment of having your wishes ignored over and over again. Tommy knows this as well as himself, but it only seems to have made him stronger, while it made Buck sadder. At least until he met Tommy. And he doesn't want him to feel like that. 

"It's not," he says, leaning forward to brush Tommy's lips with his. "I'd like that."

"Really?"

"Really."

The sun rises, less outside the blinds but in Tommy's face. His kiss is unexpected and impetuous, regardless of the fact that they should both brush their teeth first. A second later, Tommy's lips graze Buck's earlobe, breathing a "This is going to be great" that sets his skin on fire. Tommy seems to sense this, he starts nibbling on the sensitive spot on Buck's neck.

"I thought you wanted to go back to sleep," Buck mumbles, but his hands are already kneading Tommy's muscular back.

"Hmm," returns Tommy, shifting to manhandle Buck on his back. "If you’re not sleeping, I’m not sleeping."

Tommy’s beautiful face above him, his hands all over his body, Buck knows that this will successfully ease his pain. For a few minutes, at least, he will no longer be able to distinguish between pain and passion. He will forget that he hurts, and it will be easy not to show.

Maybe, one day, he’ll be ready to tell Tommy about it. 

[idontplaytrack]

good problem to have

Janis ‘Imi’ike x physically disabled fem!reader

Warnings: kind of a vent writing, descriptions of chronic health & physical conditions + symptoms. Light smut, fluff, Janis being soft for reader. This oneshot took a few turns at the end- I didn’t intend on ending it the way I did😂

The following depicts the worst side of reader’s experience with a physical disability and its chain of effects. Reader discretion is advised.

Janis looks at the clock on the wall as though she was having a staring contest with it. You’d been in the shower for nearly thirty minutes and the girl had half a mind to just walk in there to keep an eye on you instead. But she held back, she stays on the other side of the door as she hears the water running.

Half an hour ago, you angrily decided to sit in the shower - a warm, no- hot shower in hopes that the heat would alleviate the squeezing pain in your ribcage caused by your rather newly diagnosed condition of Costochondritis.

Janis was with you the night you ended up in the ER because of it. She watched everything went down and it shattered her heart seeing you so helpless. You didn’t exactly remember what happened because of the amount of pain that you were in- she tells you it was better that way since the doctor practically tried to gaslight you into giving you over-the-counter pain meds and sending you right back home. That was a month ago- and this, was technically flareup number one since that night. She fought for you, because you couldn’t. You actually couldn’t even take in a full breath, let alone open your mouth and form a coherent sentence. Janis’ Mom has been a big help throughout all of this as well, seeing that she even noticed something was wrong unlike your own who barely believed you. “Is she still in there?” Damian arrives at Janis’ with their favourite pizza. And both your homework for the day that you two’d missed

“Ya think?” Janis huffs.

“Is she…”

“She didn’t pass out. I knocked and she responded but she doesn’t want to let me in there.” Janis was just ever so slightly horrified by his assumption.

“Okay, good. Well, eat first.” He shrugs, unfazed by her glare.

As Janis refused to eat first, saying you weren’t back out yet, you opened the bathroom door and walked out. “Fuck this.” You remarked as you shut the door to the bathroom. “My back already hurts because my legs are not the same length, I have fucking scoliosis and now this added on to it? Does the universe want to torture me till I die or something?” Janis seemed unfazed on the outside, but inside she was actually so worried (she wouldn’t admit it to anyone). This never was a good sign, and the damage control needed to be fast. To top it all off, Damian’s never been around to witness such ‘episodes’.

Janis knew you didn’t really mean what you said, it was more so in the moment of anger, frustration and more importantly, the constant nagging pain then random weeks in the year where you would get heightened levels of the pain due to a ‘flareup’. How does it happen? You would have usually have done something to push yourself too much- whether or not either of you have realised it. And full disclosure, a big risk to take would be bedroom activities. You usually did not care until it was too late and end up pushing through the next few days with what feels like your whole body aching.

“Shit, I did not see you here, Damian.” You let out a soft gasp, a hand clutching at your chest.

“I wanted pizza. I sent him a text, and here he is.” Janis grins, “Sit down, lovey.” You did, eyeing the box Damian’s placed on the coffee table.

“I bought our favourite- trust me, we need this.” He joked, “They even gave us free garlic knots.”

“Oh, hell yes.” Janis rummages through the paper bag for some of that bread first while you reached for a slice of the pepperoni and sausage pizza.

“Hey, guys.” Janis’ mom was home. Damian and Janis greet her almost in unison, while you gave her a wave without saying a thing. “How are you feeling, y/n? Any better?”

“Barely.” You revealed.

“You came home to grab your lunch, didn’t ya?” Janis chuckled.

“Yeah.” Her Mom laughs, “Forgot it this morning. You guys need anything before I go?”

“I think we’re good.” Janis answers after pondering for a second, observing you and Damian as well.

“Alright. If your Ma calls the home phone, please pick up and let me know. Some guy at the coffee shop spilled his coffee on her and the phone’s a goner.” Janis’ Mom informed.

“Alright, well- did she back up her stuff?” Janis’ eyes widened for a beat.

“Yeah, but it’s just that she doesn’t have time right now to get a new phone.”

“Oh, okay. Get back to work, I wouldn’t want you to be late.” Janis shrugs, one of her hands on your back as you ate.

Her Mom flashes a smile, nodding, “I’ll pick up Ma on my way back from work, we’ll be buying dinner too. You guys are welcome to join us.” After Damian says he couldn’t— since he’d already promised his family that he’d be home by dinner, Janis’ Mom leaves with her lunch to go back to work.

————

Janis and Damian were engaged in a conversation over lunch, you on the other hand were more focused on whether or not you could make it through more of the day without relying on pain meds. They tasted foul and made you feel even worse- yes, even with the pain gone, the Tramadol gave you pretty bad nausea even after taking an anti-emetic. And you, having emetophobia would rather not go through that.

You were fine- you weren’t gonna collapse or anything, you were just in a lot of pain and physically uncomfortable. It was pretty much all you could feel, especially every time you took in a breath even slightly deeper. “Stay with me till this flareup is over.” Janis announced to you, “Your parents aren’t in town, and your sisters…I don’t trust them to be accountable for you. Don’t fight me on this.”

“Alright.” You agreed curtly, putting your plate containing a half-eaten slice on the coffee table, then you just curled up in a corner. “I’ll finish it later.”

“Yeah, sure, baby.” Janis smiled briefly, mouth full of food. Damian chuckled at her talking with her mouth full, earning a playful shove from the ravenette. You managed to fall asleep with their company, thank god. But when you woke up, it was just Janis alone.

“I made you some tea, y/n. Should help your chest pain some.” She hands you a mug, which you gladly took a few sips out of before putting down. “Thanks.” A warm beverage always alleviates your chest pain- the heat from it helps once you’d consumed it. Since it goes down your throat, it basically kinda just, spreads to your chest. “No problem, lovey.” She sits down beside you, putting the TV remote nearer to you in case you felt like watching something.

Here’s how it was: You couldn’t close a door behind yourself, you couldn’t wear a seatbelt on your own, you couldn’t stretch in any way because it would trigger a sharp pain in your chest. The condition was by definition, an inflammation of the cartilage of the ribcage. Thus, causing the pain. Even a cough or a sneeze would have you cursing and swearing, if not on the verge of tears. Little every day tasks are a huge challenge for you now, and it would be like this at every flare up. You hated that had to rely on her or someone else for such minuscule things. It made you feel useless.

While you finished up the tea, she was eating a bag of chips. It was evident to her that you were still in pain. When you first started experiencing it, you had it for a full week before it got unbearable and you had ended up in the ER. The worst part? Probably the physical exam where the doctor pressed down on your ribs and quite literally made you cry. But it did however, confirm your diagnosis. So you were glad you weren’t just seemed as ‘dramatic’(like the ER initially thought you were) and it made your Mom shut up about those remarks after Janis’ mother handed her the memo from the doctor. “I’m…really sorry. I just feel like shit and very unlike myself.”

“It’s okay.”

“No it’s not, I’ve been such a bitch.”

“Look who you’re talking to.” She exhales, “I don’t care if you’re ‘ruder than usual’, you’re in a lot of pain right now, and you’re someone who’s already dealing with chronic pain from your legs and your scoliosis, whatever else…I get it. I see you going through every day and I don’t care if you’re sometimes gonna be a little snappy. A little grouchy. Or if you’re gonna wanna cry. It’s fair- seeing that I myself, and other people who don’t have to deal with chronic illnesses or pain.”

You quietly listen, closing your eyes while taking some shallow breaths. “I actually feel like dying. If this is what the rest of my life will be like, I’d just be a burden. Well, more of it.”

“Baby, you- oh my God, every day. You’re dealing with symptoms that would send regular people straight to the ER. So whatever you need, let me know. Take your anger out on me, I don’t care. I already told you I would do anything for you.” Janis continues.

“You’re so sweet.” You sniffled, a little too hard.

“Only for you, baby.” She winked, her hand on your knee.

You mentioned, “You know, I got my period while I was in the shower.”

“Which would explain the extra pain.” Janis scoffs, her hand stops at your lower back, giving you the needed warmth. “More hormones…more pain, which sucks, but in the meantime…you wanna watch some TV?”

You declined, “I just…wanna sit here with you.”

“Anything you want.” She kisses you softly on the cheek.

“My whole life, I’ve been the sick child. And now things just got worse.” You said to her while you feel her arm gently wrap around your waist, “I guess some days I just let the worst thoughts get the best of me. When I say I want…to die, it’s just that I want to stop suffering. I can’t focus or do anything when I’m in pain in makes me feel like nothing.”

“I hear you and I got you, okay?” Janis cups your cheeks with both hands, “I don’t understand fully, what you’re going through but I see how hard things get for you and I will always be here to help you- with anything. Okay? And Damian. He cares, I care. We love you. Hm? Don’t ever feel like you’re bothering people - we all need help sometimes and I just fucking love you and would do anything if I could make it better.”

You were already emotional, being on your period, hearing her say all that just made you feel like crying even more. “Honestly, I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“Here’s one thing you need to remember in times like these- I will be here for you, no matter the time of day. Call me, or text me. Whatever. But I will always, always have time for you.” Janis had her hands in your own, kissing them.

————

Now it was after dinner, so her Moms were in their room. And you, were in Janis’ room with her. You were laying down, your head in her lap as she massaged your aching head. “Janis.” You looked up at her. She glances at you, “Yeah?”

“You know how they say sex would help with cramps?”

“I heard.” She responded nonchalantly.

“Can you help me?” You asked straightforwardly after a brief silence.

“I can, if that’s what you want. But you’d definitely be in quite a bit of pain afterwards, everywhere else.” She raised a brow, a hand on your torso.

“I’m already in pain. Might as well make myself…feel good.” You sigh.

“You’ve got a point.” She hums, “I can definitely help you out. Just gotta go grab some towels.”

“You really don’t mind?” You asked her cautiously.

“Yeah.” Janis confirmed, “I have hands, I have vibrators…some blood’s not gonna scare me.”

You chuckled, “Okay. Ah, shit. That hurt.”

“Just…lay down and look pretty for me.” She winks, slowly shifting you onto the mattress fully so she could get off the bed and retrieve the towels.

After locking the doors and washing her hands, Janis lays the towel beneath you, carefully leaning down to kiss you while holding herself up on her palms. “You can stop me at anytime, alright?”

You nod, kissing her back. She began stripping each article of clothing off of you, carefully, watching your face to make sure she doesn’t hurt you. You kiss her this time, starting to feel your need for her grow rapidly. It really does not take you long when you were on your period. She stuck her tongue in your mouth, it exploring every little bit of it eagerly. You moaned into the kiss soon enough, and she takes it as her cue to do more. The back of her hand brushes over your nipples, the whimper you let out and expression on your face tells her they were way too sensitive. She leaves them alone, choosing to attack the known sensitive spots on your neck instead. She elicits the sounds of approval out of you extremely easily, as you feel the familiar rush between your legs. Reaching for a small bullet-shaped vibrator, she turns it on and presses it to your clit gently. You gasp, eyes nearly rolling to the back of your head as you got giddy with pleasure.

“You’re okay?”

“Still good.” You let out a strained reply. She breaks away from you completely, getting off of her bed. Then, she pulls you down to near the edge of the mattress, along with the towel. Grabbing your ankles, she was knelt on a rug, pushing them up as gently as she could, mindful about your hurting right hip. She’s never done this before, but you trusted her with your life. So you went with it. You feel her fingers tracing the stretch marks on your thighs, making you squirm because you were ticklish. She kisses you on your inner thighs several times before you felt her fingers teasing your folds. You whimpered, feeling her so close to where you needed her the most. She held your ankles together for a bit as she slid two fingers into you without trouble, pumping them in and out as her thumb rubbed circles on your clit. You were like a melted puddle under her touch, you wanted to moan, but you remembered her parents were only a couple doors down so you had a fist on your mouth to keep yourself quiet,

“It’s okay. You don’t have to do that.” She tells you, looking at you right in the eye. Her voice, it was so gentle and sweet…like honey, or a lullaby.

“Your Moms are home.” You reminded.

“They don’t care.” She stated, all this while her hands don’t stop. Your legs, now sloppily laid on her shoulders as she held the vibrator with that hand and returned it to its spot on your clit, adding on to the stimulation. And with her also curling her fingers upward to hit your g-spot, your release was even closer. “I want to hear you, my love.” She requested as she turned the small vibrator off and put it aside on the towel. Her fingers still hard at work as her free hand reached over to a draw in her nightstand to locate a thicker vibrator. She doesn’t turn it on, but instead she asks if she could use that in place of her fingers. You agreed, desperately wanting to get your release. The stretch you felt caused you to give her a throaty moan, but it didn’t hurt a bit, thanks to the extra lubrication. With every thrust, the more high-pitched your whimpers became. Until, they became actual moans that just couldn’t stop. You could feel her twisting it in between thrusts, it made you feel insanely good. It was never that easy until this time every month, especially not with this minimal foreplay. Her thrusts became harsher at the end as you felt the coil in your core, it felt so intense- it actually kind of ached. As you unraveled, she removes the vibrator and her fingers took over again, helping you down from your high.

When she helped you get up and into the shower, you caught a look of the aftermath, which wasn’t as horrific as you thought it would be. “I’ll be in with you in a minute, okay. Just be careful.”

“I’ll be fine.” You assured, sitting down on a ledge in the bathroom where her bottles of shampoo, conditioner and body wash usually sat. She dumps the towels in a pail filled with hot water. You couldn’t actually see anything on them because they were black coloured towels so that saved you from overthinking how the mess looked.

————

She returns to the bathroom with two sets of clothes for the both of you, leaving them on the countertop of the sink. Janis closes the door. “Hi, pretty girl.” She cooed, hopping into the shower with you.

“Hi.” You smiled in return.

You reached for the body wash, but she stops you, saying she’d do it for you. Well, and every other step of the shower. Suddenly, you got an idea. She’s helped you out, so you thought it was time for her turn. As she stood before you, her chest barely above your eye-line, your hand finds its way to her hip. “What ya doin’?” She asks you with a chuckle as she squeezes some of the body wash onto a loofah. The smell of lavender and camomile feels the air of the steamy shower. You took a careful breath- you loved this fragrance. “Do you want me to…y’know You ask, “You helped me out, I think it’s fair if I help you out now.”

She smirked. “I’m gonna say yes to that.”

Your pointer and middle fingers slide down her folds, you let out a quiet gasp feeling that she was wet. You had it down to a science, how to make her come. It did not take you more than fifteen minutes to have her be asking to come. You let her, without resistance, since she’d make it so easy for you earlier.

She lets out a giddy little laugh, helping you stand up from your seat on the ledge, “I love you.” Janis captures your lips into her own, giving you a lingering kiss as she presses her forehead against your own.

You fell asleep much, much easier that night. She wore you out- that, coupled with your typical tiredness you felt on your period. Before you could feel your pain in a plethora of locations amp up its intensity, you’d succumbed to slumber, feeling Janis doodle circles and other silly shapes on your back with her fingers. “I love you, Janis.” You mumbled sleepily as your eyelids drooped shut.

“I love you so much, baby.” She said wholeheartedly, that being the last thing you heard before falling asleep. Janis doesn’t stop tracing random shapes on your clothed back as for a few minutes, but she mentally ran through a checklist of the stuff she’d left on her desk- stuff that you’d need just in case: water, your medications, some snacks in case you needed to take the meds, plastic bags, heat packs and even the medicated pain relief plasters her Mom got you. You grumbled that it was a lot of work for her but she said it was no trouble. You felt bad, but she tells you not to. She always won. Whenever you were ill or brought down by cramps before this new condition took over and gave sick days a whole new meaning, she’d always make the time to take care of you. Even in school, she’d make the day go by easier for you by subtly doing whatever she could think of…sneaking you little individually wrapped pieces of your favourite chocolate or candy, bringing Advil or Tylenol in her bag with her for the week, even just by asking if you were okay so you knew that she cared and that she was aware that you were sick or having your monthly cycle so you could ask her for help if needed. You never did openly ask her for help, per se. But instead she’d ask if you needed anything because she just knew. Janis could read you like a book after having started off as best friends. She knew just how you behaved whenever you had something on your mind or whenever you weren’t at 100%.

Your Mother’s warned her that you were a big problem to deal with, as though you weren’t a human being with feelings. She bluntly told your Mother that even if you had problems, she didn’t give a shit the way your Mom did. She’d actually make sure you were treated with care. The night Janis got into it with your Mom, she made you a promise to always be looking after you and you told her you’d do the same for her. Neither of you have once broke that promise, which surprised your Mother to no end but slowly caused her to back off. Very unwillingly. Especially since you’ve learnt that, the lesser time you spent at home, the better it was for you. If being with Janis taught you one thing, it was to be unapologetically yourself and always standing up to the people who would treat you badly — that’s two, technically. But you get it. You were not a plaything for others to manipulate for their own enjoyment or benefit.

Everyone you passed in your life since knowing Janis, called her a danger, a problem, or just… ‘bad’, but you disagreed. To you, she was the opposite of those terms. Even when she had her little moments where she’d threatened to rip the head off of a school bully or break their jaw for each mean passing remark. That was her way of caring for people that mattered to her, because she knew that if she just let it go, those bullies kept going day after day. She had to show them that she meant what she said. And you loved her for that. And many other reasons, like how happy she made you, but yeah. You were her problem, and she was yours. As she said, playing along with your Mother’s words. Her wit - your Mother was no match to her. Janis will always have a comeback and Damian always enjoys witnessing such a situation. While you were soundly asleep, Janis stayed up thinking about the night your Mom called you a problem. She could not let that shit go as hard as she tried. Those words were as good as tattooed on her mind and she detested that.

‘You made her a problem. You caused her to have anxiety and be in ‘bad moods’. None of this is her fault entirely. How could you treat your daughter like that? You didn’t even call or text to check on her once.’ Janis thought.

She watches you sleep as her thoughts ran through her mind. Feeling the anger bubbling up, she takes a few deep breaths to calm herself down, scooting closer to you quietly to hold you in her arms.

‘You want to call her a problem? Fine. So be it. She’s a good problem to have. Screw you.’ Janis thought again.

“Nothing will ever make me mad at you.” She mumbles to herself, brushing the hair out of your face, “Good night, sweet girl.”

[froot-batty]

Hello! I am in love with your AU, it tickles my brain just right and I adore everything about it. So I just have a couple questions:

1. Why is Jervis so eepy all the time? Does she have narcolepsy? Is it a side effect of his brain damage? Or is she just like that?

2. So this Jon is aspec, right? Who does he love/care about, and how does he show his love and affection to him? (Also bonus: does Jon go by "it" exclusively when Scarecrow?)

Thank you!!!! And have a lovely day ^^

Thank you very much !! I'm always glad to know my AU is infecting people like a little brain parasite

Jervis is permanently eepy mostly because of the brain damage, yeah! She liked to sleep before the bump to the head (it was a kind of coping mechanism - to sleep through her problems - and it has been ever since she was a kid), but it only got worse as a result of that

One of the symptoms he experiences is a whole ton of fatigue. Chronic migraines paired with muscle weakness make a lot of activities physically exhausting for him, so sleep is one of the ways he recharges or escapes from particularly painful days

Also, sometimes it's just a good excuse to cuddle up with your friends :]

---

Jon is both Demiromantic and Demisexual :]. As of right now he doesn't have a partner, and he's quite content with that, but he's got lots of people he loves - even if his emotionally stunted ass won't admit it

His closest friends are Ed, Jervis as of right now, and Waylon! He also has a soft spot for Harley, as they were former coworkers! How he shows his affection differs depending on the person:

With Ed, they're both really emotionally distant guys, and neither of them seek physical touch (with Ed disliking it), so he's all about actions with them. Busting them out of Arkham, reluctantly answering riddles or testing out their puzzles, things like that. Ed is much the same way. They are a very snarky pair of guys.

Jervis' main love language is obviously physical touch, so the easiest way for Jon to show his affection is by letting Jervis cuddle up with him or hold his hand. He also will NEVER admit it, but he worries about her physical condition. When she gets tired, he'll let her sit on his shoulders (He also does tend to consider Jervis weak and in need of protection, and often underestimates him)

Waylon and him are SOUTHERN BUDS. Jon likes being around Waylon because he's just a genuinely nice guy. They have nice chats and look out/do favors for each other! Another example of Jon's love language being "busting your pals out of an insane asylum" though

When he worked with Harley, he thought of her as an overconfident, naïve, but well-meaning little sister. They're still friendly after Harley turned over to the dark side, but there's a part of Jon that resents how the Joker stole that glimmer of real promise that Harley had. Jon shows his affection for her by not injecting that annoying clown with a lethal dose of fear toxin

And to answer your bonus, yes! It came from the news articles written about the Scarecrow when Jon first started out, which used it/its for it because nobody really knew what the Scarecrow was. Jon liked it so much he adopted it into the Scarecrow persona (he probably wouldn't mind being called it/its in his normal life, but he ain't opening that can of worms, no sir)

Thank you for your questions !! I hope this satisfied >;}

[allez-argeiphontes]

Current mood: exhausted and so is my partner, hungover from yesterday in which my kid had a panic attack then I had a panic attack and I’m worried about the trauma on second kid who claims to be fine, grateful that it rained, missing my sister, thank fuck for donuts, yes I am definitely going to bed early tonight and also I made these for the aforementioned second kid

[trashy-corvian]

You draw the twins real funky (I like it) so could I perhaps ~inquire~ what some of your body headcanons for them are?

Sup~ And thank you🖤

Now, do i have some headcanons?

General

While not strict, demon can be sorted into different categories. Some of them are: avian, reptile, fish, amphibian, insectoid, mammal and hybrid.

There a lot of arguing abot how to better categorise them, some demonologist argue that there is no such thing as "fish" type, while others say that arachnids should be considered a seperate type

Each brother, exept Mammon, represent the most common type present in their Ring

Mammon is a hybrid type. Hybrids aren't common but most of them come from the Greed Ring, some demons like to joke that "greed demons wanted to take all the good traits for themselves"

Body hair and fat are traits most often associated with mammal types but other demons can easily have those of they so wish and/or they lifestyle made them like that

Genitals are not a fixed thing. Demons are flexible like that. I also believe that demons are most lax when it comes to this stuff. Angels used to have the most strict gender policies until humans became-waves hand- like this

Lucifer

Avian type

Has the body type like those horny Lucifer statues, you know the ones

Scars. A lot of them. The biggest is a mix of old wounds and burns that starts at his ribs and goes to the mid thigh

He covers them up with clothes but refuses to glamour them

Suffers from chronic pain, especially in his back

Bird feet, with talons✨️

Mammon

Hybrid type

Slutty waist🖤

Lean body with some muscle definition. My boy has to look a certain way in order to be a model

Used to have scars but glamoured them

The fastest among the brothers, rivaled only by Barbatos among the high ranking demons

His horns are a nightmare to maintain. Before Mc he used to spend a lot of money on salons

Fuffy hair, like, the fluffiest~

Leviathan

Reptile type

Covered in the most pretty scales you'll ever see, compliment him!

Very tall, very skinny, a beanpole basically

Has an ucanny long limbs

Unhingable jaw, like in this one movie where old lady almost ate a child

Very strong tail, can lift things and people. He once used it to toss Mammon across the room.

Uses the fish in his giant tank to clean his horns

Has lighter colored scales instead of scars

Satan

Mammal type

Hooves, man

Can and will break your foot if you piss him off

The guy is a reader. No muscles, soft body and a belly.

Moderate amount of body hair but it's so light you can hardly see it at first

Another owner of great hair, so silky and soft~

Once tried to pierce Lucifer with his horn. It was awkward for everyone involved

Asmodeus

Arachnid type

No muscle whatsoever. Still slim, like those pretty anime boys

Mandibles that come out when he's excited

Managed to avoid getting any big scars or at least he says so. His body is heavily glamoured

Scorpion tail isn't just for show, darling. Be careful

Can withstand the most extreme temperatures but who would put this beauty in such conditions. He will complain all the the time while his less adjusted brothers are literally dying of heat/cold

Beelzebub

Insect type

Strongman body because i said so

Grows body hair to make Belphie feel better about his body

Stamina and strength is off the charts

Buzzes when happy or excited

Unhinged jaw and mandibles, also long tube-like tongue

A lot of scars, i haven't drew them but oooh boy Beel is covered in old wounds

Belphegor

Mammal type

Black spots across the body

Tall as Beel but slouches most of the time

Actually really malnourished, you can see his ribs and hipbones

I headcanon him getting slowly better though

A lot of thick black body hair

For the love of Demon King, brush his tail i beg you

Constant stubble, he can shave but it will grow back the next day

No hooves because he hates the constant maintenance they require

Forgets to eat because he unconsciously taps into Beel's eating, but ,unlike his twin, he doesn't suffer from constant hunger so he often feels full while in reality he hasn't eaten in days

[fbfh]

hii! could I request headcanons for leo and a reader (gender neutral or female, whatever u prefer) with chronic fatigue? there's barely any fics with cfs rep and he's my comfort character so i thought i'd ask T-T. i adore your writing and it's great to see that the hoo fandom is still alive. thank you sm!!

oh man oh boy I love this one anon. my dearest darlingest anoniest anon. one song that always makes me think of how it feels to be in a relationship with Leo is acolyte by slaughter beach dog. Leo can always tell when your fatigue is getting bad, sometimes before you can. There's this sort of soft way he looks at you when he knows you just need to rest a little. Whatever your needs are, Leo will always be sure to meet them. If you need to lay down and sleep or rest for a while, he'll make sure you're in optimum napping conditions. Need some cuddles? he's already spooning you. Need to be alone? no problem, he's gonna work on some of his prototypes in the garage for a while, just text or call if you need anything. forehead kiss. longing warm gaze.

"I love you, estrella."

punctuated by another kiss, ofc. he always has ibuprofen or other pain killers for when you start to feel achy, and he's better at helping you keep track of your meds than your pill tracker app. Leo's love language is "I invented this for you to make your life easier", like the guy who invented rubber gloves. Leo loves you to the point of invention. he's joked for years that he's going to build you a Jetsons house, so everything is perfectly automated. all you need to do is sit in a chair while you glide down an assembly line and everything will be done for you. sometimes you text him and tell him you're having a jane jetson day. he always comes right over with snacks and tea and anything else you might need. he'll cuddle you for a while, help you out with some housework, do a little meal prep for you. he never, ever makes you feel bad or even neutral about having chronic fatigue. if it ever gets you down, he'll be right there with hugs and kisses and the sweetest, softest, most encouraging words. he tells you how he would hold up the sky for you or crawl out of hell, so helping with laudry and dishes when you're having a bad day is really no problem at all for him. he's happy to do it, happy to know your needs are met, happy to be the one to meet them. if you get any other symptoms like headaches or sore throats, he'll get every home remedy under the sun from his mom and you'll try them out until he finds what will work for you. Leo slowly makes good on his joking promise to make you a jetsons house, and you soon find your place filled with inventions here and there from Leo, little things to make your life easier. and they work. it takes so much stress out of your life knowing that your dish washer can now rinse, wash, dry, and put away your dishes, that your fridge organizes itself and prints out lists of what you're running low on - it can even send them to your phone to automatically order them. you have a roomba that Leo turned into the monster truck of roombas. not only does it vaccuum, but it also sweeps, mops, picks up your floor, can get you stuff from other rooms, and folds laundry. it's also a dehumidifier. you named him mr. butlertron. and Leo loves every motherfucking moment of it. even if all you can do is sit or lay down in the same room as him while he cleans or cooks or works on his projects, it always makes it so much better because you're there. you're there with him, so everything is good. perfect.

[riordanness]

would’ve, could’ve, should’ve - tmr!newt

0.6K wordcount

warnings: blood mentions, panic attack mentions, skin condition

requested: no

a/n: excerpt from a much longer fic i’ve been working on during my severe mental and physical health challenges over the course of this year. it’s a little something i mostly wrote for myself to cope, but i thought i’d share a little with you guys, cos it’s nice (??) to have people understand what you’re going through, and tbh i’m kinda proud of how this little piece turned out

Now that the initial shock and panic of arriving here, in the place they call The Glade, is slowly starting to wear off, the pain is taking up most of my attention. Even now, my arms are almost unbearable. The pain is tantalising me, taunting me. Cry, it seems to tell me. Break down in front of all these boys and sob.

I blink, suddenly unsteady on my own feet. “I–I’m gonna go,” I announce, not talking to anyone in particular, and stumble towards the Homestead. I manage to get myself to my room, before my legs give way beneath me and I crumple to the ground, leaning against the wall for support.

My head falls between my knees, and one, heartbroken sob shudders through me, shaking my entire being. The red-hot fire on my skin spreads to my chest, to my tears, to my head. I am distraught, trapped inside this ring of flames, burning me alive, from the inside out.

I’m aching, every bone, every muscle crying out in agony, screaming at me to grant them relief. I can only cry harder, wishing with every ounce of my being that I was able to grant that request.

The hot, itchy ants begin crawling, through the flames, and all over me, smothering me with their little, persistent stomps. I’m choking. Unable to breathe beneath all the itching and the pain.

I scratch roughly at the skin of my wrists and forearms, my nails digging into myself, drawing blood. But still, the itching is unbearable. My nails drag again, again and again, each time harsher than the last.

I don’t know exactly how long I stay like this, crunched into a ball, trying to disappear from this narrative I’m forced into.

I have no memories, but it is obvious this condition (of sorts), is a long term thing. I wonder briefly, in between the pain, how long it has been. How many days, months, years have I been fighting it? Is it even a fight? Or just an endless battle of no hope, and no happiness.

I wonder if it’s the cause of my being here. Maybe I got so fed up and exhausted of this pain and this whole damn thing that I just chose to be sent here. But what would that do? I’m still in pain, obviously. Nothing would have changed regardless of my skin. I dismiss the idea, the wonder still strong in my mind. I was burning with curiosity as to why or how or when or where.

I sigh, long and deep, drawing my knees impossibly closer to my chest, as if squeezing myself tightly into a ball will somehow keep out the pain. Maybe the fire ants can’t get in if I block them out.

The thought of those fiery, itching ants does it for me. My mind collapses. I shake, my sobs violent but deadly quiet. My head hurts, my throat is tightening up in a hot ball of tears, my chest feels like it’s been wrapped in cling wrap way too tightly.

There’s nothing but me.

Me, and the pain, and the tears, and the fire.

Nothing else matters. I don’t have room for it to matter. I’m all full, my space for love and life and joy and laughter taken up by a wretched pain. A chronic condition.

Nothing matters.

Nothing.

At.

All.

Finally, someone finds me. My door squeaks slightly as it’s pushed open, and a boy steps inside. My tears blur my vision, so the figure is hard to make out at first. I brush angrily at the tears, hating to be found like this.

“Hey, hey.” It’s Newt’s voice, soft and gentle. “Hey, you’re okay. You’re okay.”

He gathers me hesitantly into his arms, awkwardly hushing my cries. “It’s okay, you’re okay,” he keeps saying, keeping his voice steady. Eventually, I calm down, wiping the last of my tears away. My breathing is still shaky, though, and my voice trembles when I pull myself away from Newt.

“Thank you,” I say. “Um, I–I’m sorry you had to see that.” I might not remember my old self, or my past, but I was uncomfortable with him seeing me like this. It made me feel vulnerable, too open. I instinctively close myself off from Newt, physically shifting away from him, as I stare at the roughly built wooden floor.

“Are you alright?”

I hesitate, then I slowly shake my head, still avoiding looking at him. It feels wrong for someone to have seen me like that. Seen me looking that weak and pathetic. Crying my eyes out on the floor just because of a little bit of pain.

Well, a lot of pain, but how can you possibly explain that to someone?

“Do you want me to stay?” Newt asks, his tone still gentle and reassuring.

I shake my head again, a lot more firmly this time. “I’m okay. Thanks, but I’ll be okay.”

Newt gets to his feet, but still crouches beside me for a second, lingering.

“I’m fine.” It comes out harsher than I mean it to.

“Alright, okay.” He straightens, lets out a tiny sigh I don’t think I’m supposed to hear, and leaves, quietly shutting the door behind him.

I don’t move from the floor for a while, exactly how long I have no way to tell. The sunlight slowly dims, eventually leaving me in darkness. Still, I remain curled into a ball on the floor, my head aching dully, and my heart aching even worse.

I feel terrible for snapping at Newt like I did, but then I remember the feeling of crying in his arms, feeling stripped bare, my true self laid out for him to see. The memory makes me shiver for some reason.

[mellonyheart]

This is the most self projecting thing I've ever written because guess what my body gave me for Christmas? Yaaaaaaaaayyyyyyy. Fuck my life. I still had to cook Christmas dinner too.

Mammon x Reader, first person pov, sfw, swearing because fuck is my favorite word today, slight angst, probably poorly edited. Edit: forgot to add 'reader is fem bodied. Whoops. Edit2: Actually gender is meaningless here and Reader could just as easily be suffering from menstrual cramps or a chronic disease/condition. So gn? The point is Reader has cramps. It's not specified what kind. Only that they hurt bad enough to not be able to enjoy going out.

Fuck.

This wasn't how I wanted to spend my Christmas.

I was supposed to greet the boys at breakfast. We'd eat and hold back our excitement (some better than others) about the coming festivities. I was going to help with Christmas dinner. I was going to bake a truckload of Christmas cookies! We were going to decorate them together. It was going to be a chaotic blast! It wasn't supposed to end up like this....

Owww....

My body seemed to have other ideas as I was now confined to my room by cramps. It's not fair! As if it wasn't bad enough I can't be in my (real) room but the boys were out spreading Christmas cheer for the rest of Devildom without me. And I was really looking forward to it!

It was hard to fight the tears as I remembered how Solomon left early to help out in my stead. I hope they can keep him away from the kitchen. That would be a disaster. Were the brothers missing me? They were right?

I missed them. I missed the present. I missed being a part of their wild world. I miss Mammon.

And now I really am crying. In no small part from the pain in my belly as much as my heart. My phone was suspiciously quiet too. Were they busy? Did something happen? Crap... you never know in the Devildom. Something is always coming up. I wanted to be a part of it. Why was fate so cruel?

I rolled over, still dwelling on my miserable thoughts. The pain killer was barely working. If I ever find this Nightbringer person (demon? Angel? Whatever...) I'm going to give them an earful. Not that my current situation was their fault but it makes me feel (infinitesimally) better to blame the entity that put me here.

Knock knock

Nope. Don't even think about it Solo. I'm asleep and I'm not eating your "soup".

Knock knock

I'm sleeping. Go away.

I could have sworn I heard a curse on the other side of my door but it was too quiet to make out. Weird. Solomon didn't usually curse.

Bzzt

?

I got a text message.

Hey.

You awake?

It's cool if you're not.

The Great Mammon just thought it'd be a good idea to check in on ya. You should be grateful I'm such a nice guy.

Fuck!

Anyway...

Just thought I'd say Merry Christmas.

"Wait!" I shouted as I threw open my door and there was Mammon halfway down the hall looking back at me with a startled expression.

...Just in time for another cramp. Ow.

"So ya were awake! Hang on... are ya okay?!" Mammon rushed to back to me, likely noticing my distress. He helped me back to bed and as he tried to take a step back I held his sleeve. Such soft fabric... if I wasn't miserable right now I would complement his santa outfit. It was perfectly... him.

"Thanks Mammon. But uh... what are you doing here?" I had to know. Why couldn't I let myself just be happy that he was here?

"Is that any way to greet someone who came all the way here to see ya?! And look at ya... fallin' over and stuff. Wait. Does that make me a hero?"

"Sure. My Christmas hero. Doesn't answer my question though." How is it that he can make me smile so easily? That has to be a super power. Maybe he is a hero.

"Do I really need a reason to see ya?! Gimme a break would ya?!" He huffed. I could guess what he was really doing here. His golden heart was always clear to me.

"I'm glad you came. Thank you. I was actually getting pretty lonely." Honesty was easy with Mammon. Even if he couldn't be honest himself. He was blushing and looking away from me. Damn he was cute.

"Y-yeah... well I figured you'd be lonely without me. I mean... well it just sucks ya got sick on Christmas. It ain't right." And by all things holy and unholy he looked at me like he meant it. He did mean it. Mammon really could be ridiculously sweet. Maybe too sweet because I can feel the tears coming back.

"H-hey! I didn't mean to... I wasn't tryin' to..." Poor Mammon. He was panicking. I really did try to explain that it wasn't that he said something wrong. It was just hormones going a bit overboard. But talking is hard when you're trying not to sob because the demon you love is too sweet for his own good. So I just hugged him. Hard. If he wasn't a demon, probably too hard but how else can I express that I love him so much I want us to meld into one person? I'm emotional. Don't hold it against me.

Mammon tried to calm me down. He hugged me back and kept saying anything he thought would be soothing in his own Mammon way.

"Hey. Ya good?" He asked as I finally calmed. My eyes hurt.

"Yeah. I'm sorry Mammon. This probably wasn't what you had in mind when you came over." My face felt puffy and I could really use a snack and some hydration.

"Don't worry about it. Are ya sure you're okay?" Anyone who says Mammon only cares about himself is an idiot.

"Yes. You're the best Mammon. I really need you to know that." I wiped my face and attempted a normal, definitely not wet, smile.

"Come on... don't get all sweet on me. Oh! I almost forgot!" Mammon suddenly dashed back into the hallway. After a moment he came back with a small festively colored bag and a thermos. "Here. I got this for ya. I uh... wanted to give it to ya before the others got here."

"Hold on... the others?" I asked, bewildered.

"Aw crap... that was supposed to be a surprise! Ya gotta pretend to be surprised when the others call ya down. I was supposed to check how ya were feeling so we can throw ya a party downstairs. Ya know, because you probably don't feel like walkin' to the House of Lamentation or the castle. And then Solomon said you didn't want to teleport so..."

I should have known. I love them. All of them. And they love me. Of course they would try to plan a surprise party so that I didn't feel left out. I feel like the luckiest human of all time. Dumb hormones can't stop me from having a good Christmas.

"Mammon?" I interrupted him from his rambling.

"Huh? What is it?"

"Can I kiss you?"

"H-huh?! H-hold on! You haven't even opened your present yet!" Fuck he's cute when he blushes.

"Can I kiss you after I open my present?"

"S-sure, whatever you want! Just open it already!" Mammon pressed the bag in my direction as to put as much distance between it and himself. He looked at me expectantly.

Inside the bag was... cookies. Clearly handmade. They certainly weren't made or decorated by Luke or Barbatos. One was a touch burned.

"You made me cookies?" I asked.

"Tis' the season right? Look! That one is you and that one is me. I threw in a couple Christmasy shapes too. Ya gotta try 'em though!" He looked nervous despite sounding so excited. I bet he brought these privately because his brothers made fun of his amateur baking skills. And he made mini us!

I took a bite of a Christmas tree.

"It's good."

"Yeah?! I mean I tried extra hard to get the shapes right and Luke had to help me with the decoratin' but they look good right?!" He smiled like the first sunrise in Devildom. So I kissed him.

Then as he got flustered and admonished me for the surprise attack I made cookie us kiss too.

Marry Christmas.

[toon-bunny]

Cathal head canons!!! I'm crazy about this guy so please be warned that there is a LOTTTTT under the cut

voice: Andrew VanWyngarden. soft tone, high pitch, speaks kinda slowly, little bit of vocal fry. breathy/hiccup-y laugh. definitely has that muffled synthetic sound like the in-game voice too

speaking sample (please ignore the weird title, this is just a good compilation)

singing sample (I don't imagine them singing, but I do like the voice effect here and the cadence)

personality: extremely perceptive and smart. friendly, light-heartedly sarcastic guy with a metric ton of non-emotive autism. it's kind of deceiving? because when u think of non-emotive autism u think of a guy who never smiles or changes pitch but Cathal is passively very smiley and has a laid back demeanor. very interesting guy to me. he is VERY passionate about his interests, they just aren't indulged/taken seriously by others so it's believed he just doesn't give a fuck about anything. that and they're still not very animated when infodumping

background…

very alienated from living kind of outside of the cogs lifestyle. not that he should be pitied for not having to work, but how do you live and socialize in a culture completely dedicated to work when you don't Do That. but I think he would have odd friendships with other sellbot managers and probably some others

they have a good relationship with dad of course. I like to think that Allan Gets him and doesn't give him a hard time for his perceived lack of passion or anything like that. but giving him a very cushy job and continuing to encourage him w/ said job that doesn't interest him is just how Allan thinks is the best way to support him. I don't remember where I read this but I love the idea that Allan isn't emotionally getting anything out of his job either BUT he's better at masking that and believes he will if he keeps doing his best - it's "supposed" to feel good. sorry wait this is just me thinking about Allan

I do like the idea that, in addition to this job not really aligning with Cathal's interest, they also dgaf because no one would take them seriously in this position anyway even if they DID try. not only do they look silly and non-serious, they'd still be resented for having this position even if they proved they were qualified for it. so it becomes a feedback loop. I'm basically making a ton of reasons as to why he acts the way he does in canon which might seem excessive when ONE trait would explain it alone, but I really like when there are a bunch of experiences/symptoms/etc that foster a particular behavior/outlook and can't be untangled from each other

I think he likes TV shows because they kind of fill the void of connection with others… cartoons kind of endear them to toons but also whenever a character that represents someone like him shows up, they're 1) malicious and greedy, fat as shorthand for capitalist monster or 2) a selfish, stuffy nerd who's meant to be ridiculed by the audience. so no, liking cartoons doesn't necessarily make him more sympathetic to the toons' cause or push him to help, bc he's led to believe he also doesn't have a place in their society

all of the above points also make them a little intimidated by activism and seeking a better life. I think he got cornered into a particular brand of quiet nihilism. I am definitely inspired by this song

in terms of disabilities and conditions…..chronic insomnia from snoozing and lazing about all day, not getting any energy out when it's appropriate. CFS like crazzzzy. autism of course. and also ADHD's brother, cognitive disengagement syndrome

hobbies/interests…

expanding on their canon interest in TV shows, I'm handing my luv of animation to them, but I also think this is the type of guy who could watch scarier stuff and just enjoy the artistry of it. as in "oh wow those practical effects are so well done" (guy who's unfazed by the horrors). (I'm so jealous of this I want to have this ability)

I think they'd like retro games more than I do, he seems like they'd enjoy a good GBA title. maybe roguelikes and metroidvanias, stuff that could be considered tedious and punishing to some but a really fun and rewarding way to waste time to others. he's got a lot of time on his hands to metaphorically bash his head against the wall with more difficult titles ykwim?

this bit's inspired by my friend's AU Toon After Time, I can't undo the association between them and tech knowledge/know-how LOL. I knowwww he collects VHS tapes and other old equipment and can also troubleshoot anything to do with old TVs, VCRs, etc

other details…

I KNOWWWWW it's so cliche to give the cogs tails but I can't help it I LOVE ROBOT TAILS. I LOVE THEM SO MUCH. plus I love the idea that if cogs have tails, they are prehensile, but Cathal can't even be arsed and just lets it drag everywhere so it's all worn out and torn up from getting stepped on/caught in stuff. I also like the idea of it flopping VERY slowly once or twice if they're happy. like a very old dog wagging its tail

inspired by this post by bunglefication, I love the idea that Gizmo is treated well by Cathal and is more like a service animal to them :D so awesomes

bc my friend suggested "closet femme Cathal" once I am now 100% sold on Cathal dressing at least a little more femme at home 🌈 likes to get cutes with it for funsies. other than that, I like the idea of 90s tech guy/TTRPG guy type clothing for them. like imagine a Best Buy employee or Blockbusters employee in the 90s do you see my vision