#tw mentions of ptsd

[weaverpop]

I like both yours and that anon hc about Wukong unhealthy habits of eating

Hc: Wukong sometimes melt copper and drink it as be thought he deserve it :3

Tw angst and self harm, and mentions of PTSD and suicidal thoughts.

NOOOOOO MY HEART WHYYYYYYY

Poor Wukong, I can absolutely see him doing this as a self harm tactic, while it also acts as a triggering agent forcing back into a trauma attack.

Lord knows how many times this dumb Monkie has done this. He tries and manages to hide it from his partners for a while, but I imagine after a bad argument with macaque Wukong just… can’t take the idea of him or the others leaving. He’s so low mentally (especially after finding out that he can’t carry at all because he’s basically sterile, and only has a small chance of having a baby with others.) that something in him just needs a release every one in a while.

It’s Erlang who catches Wukong in the act, and despite the others garbled protests immediately gets him to the celestial ER.

The aftermath isn’t pretty.

Jing, who has much experience with such things himself and is very aware of the mental state Wukong was likely in, immediately orders that Wukong be placed on suicide watch. Macaque is told this via Syntax, and rushes over. Of course, Jing tells Nezha who tells mk and-

Soon everybody knows and shows up and is concerned. Jing actually has to hold Mk back from seeking out Wukong because of how distressed he was, and Wukong couldn’t be upset right now.

Jing has to explain the others that this likely isn’t something new, and tells them it’s gonna be a minute before they can see him. They leave reluctancly, but Jing promises to pass on the fact they were here.

Wukong just wants to go home.

(All this took place before Erlang got preggo)

[lostmf]

I’m not sure I deserve it ..

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

Hello, Congratulations on the 5k follows!!

I discovered this fandom a few months ago and have been living for your writing ever since.

I was thinking as a drabble of the taskforce gentlemen coming home at the crack of dawn from a long mission and seeing their spouse's hand, limp on the ground peeking out from the side of the couch. All the panic and worry going thru their heads, so much bubbling up, horrible scenarios. They rush over and find you sleeping on the floor. The power had gone out last night and the hardwood floor was the coolest place to be (you didn't want to open the window because you know how they worry), so you were watching stuff on your phone and drifted off. Crisis averted!

Thank you for your time 💜

—Wide-Eyed Panic

⇢ ˗ˏˋ 5k Drabble Masterlist ࿐ྂ

╰┈➤ ❝ [Why were you behind the couch?] ❞

I’ll start by saying all of them would be concerned and immediately go into panic mode—why were you behind the couch? Why was your hand sticking out? Why, in God's name, were you not moving? Cue the horrible thoughts and flashes of what went on in their work lives.

John Price ➺

John entered the house with a sigh, slipping off his boots as the door was closed and deftly locked behind him. Grunting under his breath, the man rubs over his face, the lights off as he calls out with a tired grumble to his voice. 

“I’m back,” his voice echoes, the tone moving through the darkness far louder than it should have. There’s no answer. “Love…?” Pausing, John blinks slowly at the wall, ear twitching to the utter silence of the home. No water in the pipes. No buzzing of electricity. No you. Eyes rising, they dart around quickly as his finger moves out to the light switch. A small push elicits nothing, just as he thought. The power was out. 

Dread slowly creeps into John’s chest.

Hand reaching behind his back, the man’s fingers inch over the smooth metal of a pistol, grasping the weapon before he begins walking forward. He keeps silent, feet moving to where he knows the wood won't creak. 

His mind runs. 

Why was the power off? Where were you? Why didn’t you respond—were you hurt? John’s mind goes to blood and bullets, his jaw clenching tightly as the pistol comes out to rest in front of him; hands shifting the grip as he takes a soothing breath. Panicking wouldn’t help anyone, but it would be pointless to lie about how his heart hammers. 

“Fuck,” he growls, eyes going tight. 

That’s when he sees it. Blue eyes widen sharply. 

“Love!” John shouts, all other concerns about intruders meaningless to him. Your hand was sticking out from behind the couch, a dark shadow in the low light. He rushes over as you jerk, yelling in alarm as he rushes to grab you, pulling you up into his arms and pulling you away into the closet across the room.

“John!” You blink rapidly as you’re set back against the wall. 

“Shush now,” he grunts, eyes panicked. “Keep awake, let me look.” A hand moves all over your body, searching and pulling at clothes to touch the skin for any wounds. “Tell me where it hurts, then. Quickly. We have to move—”

“John, what the hell,” you push at him, moving him back. Your eyes try to adjust to being so rudely awakened at such an hour. “What are you doing?!”

You weren’t hurt. 

The Captain’s face pulls in with confusion, back against the closet door and now in more darkness than ever before. He can barely make out your face before you sigh and put your hands against his arms. 

Things begin to calm down as his hand rests at your hip, nearly tight enough to bruise. In his other is the gun just before you put your hand to it and softly peel the item away from him—putting it on the shelf that you know is to your left. 

Hands find John’s cheeks as he pants.

“John,” you say his name again. “...what happened.”

“Why were you on the ground?” He forces out firmly, voice a low grunt. “Why were the lights not—”

“The power went out for everyone, okay?” You speak slowly, rubbing your thumbs over his beard. “It was on the news. I didn’t open a window because I knew you would worry about that—the floor was cool and it was getting too hot in here.” 

Your mind tells you to explain quickly and fluently. You move forward and press your forehead into John’s as he sags with a great exhalation of breath—his arms circling you tightly until your spine might crack. 

He doesn’t speak for a long while, just holding you.

“Scared me,” he mutters, missing you deeply on the forehead, speaking into your skin. “Fuck, you scared me.”

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. 

He keeps you to his chest, eyes fluttering shut and his spine hunching over you, fingers splayed over your back. You run your hands through his hair and calm the swelling of your heart.

You can feel his pulse mirroring your own.

Simon Riley ➺

When he sees your hand, he freezes. 

Simon wasn’t a stranger to the lights being off in the home—you opted for lamps and low light more often than not; this wasn’t new. He had only quirked a brow when he came home to the pitch-blackness, off from his recent deployment and eager for a warm bed to fall into. He admits he’d let himself calm down on the car ride home—your home was where he could relax and release tension until it became as unimportant as an ant on the pavement. 

But when he’d closed the door silently behind him and walked the few steps it would take to enter the living room, where he was sure you were still up either reading or watching something on your phone under a blanket, his body had stiffened immediately. 

Your hand sticking out from behind the couch. Limp. 

Lifeless.  

He’d been staring at it for only a few seconds before the memories came back—the ones of gore splattered to the walls and ceiling of an old flat back in Manchester. 

Simon’s thoughts had hit him like a bullet.

Not again.

Rushing forward like a bear, the man slips along the hardwood as his knees go down, shaking the home at the force at which he grabs at your body and flips you from your side to your back. 

You gasp awake and instinctually throw out a fist, connecting with a stone chest as you hiss and blink in panic. 

Fingers ruthlessly dig into your shoulders, wide brown eyes open, and…and afraid. 

“Simon?” You mutter softly, all fear in your heart is squished in an instant. 

The man breathes through wheezes, balaclava fabric moving from the force of his breaths. His fingers are shaking, blinking as his head jerks to look your lying form up and down swiftly. 

You hesitantly put a hand on his cheek and he flinches before nuzzling into it. 

“Don’t…” he takes a quivering breath into his lungs, and after, loosens his grip on your skin. Simon’s hands go to your waist, dragging you up and stapling you to his chest. “Don’t do that again.”

His voice is low. Vulnerable. 

You blink, hands holding him back on the floor. 

“...The power went out,” you try to explain only half of it softly, muffled by his neck. 

He only holds you harder, eyes open and blankly staring at the floor a foot away.

Johnny MacTavish ➺

Johnny hums a song under his breath, hanging his keys on the hook near the door.

“Dearie!” He calls to you loudly, itching at the side of his head and chuckling. “Don’t run too fast to me now, I’m all yours for two w—”

The light switch is moved by his finger, but no light illuminates his path to the living room. Pausing in the entrance, the man’s brows furrow tightly, speech cutting off like scissors to paper. 

“...eeks?” Johnny ends his sentence, turning back around to look at the switch in confusion. “The hell’s going on with that?” He mutters to himself, a frown growing on his face before he refocuses on his mission to find you—now with the added task of figuring out why the power was out in the house. 

“Swear,” the man grumbles, huffing while he runs a hand over his face, “if those kids down the street did something I’ll be livid. Little devils, I swear.” 

Johnny steps farther into the living room, glancing around. 

“Dearie?” He pauses, listening before calling out your name. “Where’s she off to?”

He sighs softly, wanting to hold you now that he’s home to do so—squeeze you in his arms and take in your scent again; he’d missed you immensely while he was away.

Johnny came across your hand sticking out from behind the couch by accident, moving to make his way into your bedroom thinking that you were sleeping. He sees an odd shape in the blackness and pauses, feet slowing to a stop. 

When he notices that it’s a hand—your hand, he doesn’t even realize that he’s completely gripped the side of the couch and wrenched it back until the scratch of the wood floors screams in his ears. 

You wake up to hands on your cheeks, sharp yelling, and your head being shaken up and down until you’re conscious. 

“Dearie, hey! What the fuck,” the last sentence is growled on fast lips. “What the fuck.”

Your hands slap to Johnny’s wrists, nails digging in. 

He breathes out quickly, looking into your eyes to look for dilation as the darkness forces him closer. “There we are, tell me where you’re hurting, now, yeah? Did you hit your head? Let me take a look. It’s okay, I’ll get you all fixed up, there’s no need to worry.”

“Hey!” Your hands push at his, trying to shove the brick wall away from you. “Quit it! Johnny! I’m fine! ”

The man pauses at your animated movements, blinking rapidly before his grip loosens. 

When it’s obvious that you’re perfectly fine, he moves back and groans, thumb and forefinger digging into his nose bridge. 

“Hell’s bells, Hen.” You glare, panting on the floor before you push yourself up. 

“‘Hell’s bells’, me?” Johnny’s head plops to your shoulder. “You just shook me like a fucking rabbit!” 

“Scared the shite out of me, you terror.” The man huffs. “Need to put a heart monitor on you.”

“Piss off,” you sigh, putting a hand to your chest to feel the pace of your pulse and the blood that runs furiously.

Johnny, moments later as he’s still resting on your shoulder, starts…laughing. Low at first, then gaining noise the more it goes unchecked—a deep rumble into chest-jerking amusement. You look down at him, the couch tilted and long scratches over the floor. Pausing, you blink at his shaking shadow before your lungs start quivering. The two of you bend over one another with shared, house-shaking laughter. 

“What the fuck were you doin’ behind the damn couch?” Johnny grabs you close, kissing along your neck as he picks you up, dragging you to your feet. 

“The power went out!” You giggle, chest hurting from the fast gasps of breath as more kisses are spread over your skin. “It was colder down there and I didn’t want to open one of the windows because I knew you’d throw a pouting match about it.”

“Christ, Dearie.” Lips meet your own. “I had half the mind to think you had a heart attack. Nearly gave me one.”

Kyle Garrick ➺

Kyle sighs as he rubs at his jaw, itching the skin and slipping out of his jacket. 

“I’m home, Love!” He says, his voice echoing over the flat. “Want me to start on supper or have you eaten yet?” The man smiles, taking off his cap and putting it on the coat rack, sighing softly. 

It was good to be back. 

Bending down to unlace his boots, he pulls at them until they’re loose enough to slip out of, thumping to their sides on the rug until he reaches out and fixes them. 

“What’s that, then?” He calls into the darkness, not hearing your answer as he quickly checks the time on his phone. “Fuck, it’s late,” Kyle utters to himself. 

Walking into the kitchen, he touches the light switch only to be met with nothing. Pausing, the man’s face pulls in—fingers twitching at his sides as he glances at the window and the moonlight that seeps in to glare along the floor. 

A deep frown takes hold of him, and he looks around once more before backing up.

“...Love?” Kyle wasn’t too concerned—the building wasn’t always the best, and power outages weren’t unheard of. But, damn, if the high of getting off of a deployment didn’t put him in a negative head-space when it came to a change in routine involving you. 

Why weren’t you answering him?

Walking slightly faster into the living room, his hand nearly reaches into his pocket to call your phone if you didn’t end up in any of the rooms—pulse beginning to be infected with a steady injection of adrenaline. 

Brown eyes find your hand behind the couch when they’re about to shift to the open door of your bedroom. A sharp gasp is inhaled instantaneously. 

Kyle races over, grappling to it and pressing his fingers to your neck for a pulse. You softly breathe, none the wiser as you lightly shift and sigh in your sleep; a delicate hum moving out as familiar fingers dig into you. 

It’s through his panic that a thought quickly cuts through the man’s mind. You’d mentioned this before. 

Kyle pauses, just about to loudly wake you. 

‘It gets hot when the power goes out, Kyle, I swear one of these days I’m going to just fall asleep on the floor. At least it’s cool down there.’

Well, the power was out, and, it seemed, you really had fallen asleep on the floor. Now that he thought about it, the flat was running hot—and he also knew that you knew he had gotten nervous of late when you left the windows open at night. 

“Bloody hell,” the man releases a long breath, free hand moving to grip the back of his head. A few seconds later, Kyle chuckles to himself, shaking his head with a small smile. “You are losing it, Mate. Losing it.” 

Without another word, he grips you, and with a grunt, picks you up and takes you to bed, setting you down on the pillows and making sure to leave the sheets off of you so you don’t grow uncomfortable.

A kiss is pressed to your forehead, and you hum in slumber, smiling unconsciously.

“You’re gonna be the death of me, Love.” 

He leaves to go make a quick supper of cereal and milk.

[cccat-in-a-meat-sack]

me, with both:...

[daffodilmornings]

Anyway, victims of rape deserve a safe space online to vent. We deserve to be open about our feelings, and our hatred and fear is valid as yours is to anything else that has harmed you. Stop silencing rape victims as "radfem man-haters" and listen to them as victims of continuous abuse at the hands of men and a patriarchal society that does not put these men behind bars.

RADFEMS AND TERFS DO NOT TOUCH

[selfship-shinigami]

your F/O would beat the shit out of your abuser, they would absolutely torment your abuser because no one hurts you and gets away with it , in your F/Os eyes your abuser deserves no peace

[lacorawnzo]

Shout out to-

the anti-shippers who just told me that being gang raped as a toddler isn't severe enough trauma to give me ptsd while simultaneously saying fanfiction with rape is harmful and equated to experiencing it in real life.

So which is it? Is rape not traumatic or can you use it as a justification to harass people because "romanticizing rape is harmful"?

[jackie-gremlin-ghost]

BOOK OF BILL SPOILERS

I know I already gushed about this already, but darn it, I wanna gush again:

Bill having freaking PTSD flashbacks of Stan after all the shit he put the Pines family through is just…

MMMMM THAT’S SOME GOOD CATHARSIS!

[harmonyrae]

Power Couple

CHAPTER 14 - Right Here

I’d like to apologize for this chapter, it’s gonna hurt. Like angst doesn't even begin to describe this. Also, this is completely my own head cannon & is ABSOLUTELY NOT lore accurate (as far as we know).

Photo: From Pinterest, all credit to original poster NSFW: Mentions/Depictions of violence, PTSD, torture, death

Your armchair is not as comfortable as you remember. You sit with your knees curled up to your chest. Your hoodie pulled down over your knees, your arms hugging your legs. You rest your chin on your knee, trying to organize your thoughts. You try to imagine you are so small that no one will know you’re even there. 

The lights are dimmed, you can barely see Sylus sprawled out on the floor of the cage. You remember the night you first brought Sylus here. You were so confident, how did you end up here again? 

You replay that night in your head. His voice echoing in your ear. You stare blankly at his unconscious form, digging your fingernails into your palms willing yourself not to cry.

"I’d hate to disappoint you Miss Hunter."

But he did.

"But her mind… that’s what is most fascinating. It’s brilliant, calculated, and somewhat haunting."

And now it’s haunted by him. His voice. His touch. His empty promises.

"Seems like everything about you is special, kitten."

You were a means to an end. A tool to be used and tossed aside. Nothing special.

A soft groan brings you back to the present. You see Sylus roll away from you and onto his side. His back muscles tensing as he tries to ground himself. He reaches a hand up to the side of his neck. He lets out a soft grunt as his fingers trace the sensitive flesh where the needle deposited the heavy drug. He sits up and scans the room, his eyes straining against the darkness.

You hold your breath. You know he can crush the doors of the cage and simply walk out. But this is the only place you could think of bringing him. You could at least lock him in the lower levels of your tower long enough to evacuate everyone else if it came to that. You take a deep breath before using your phone to turn up the lights. Sylus’ eyes snap to yours in an instant. He was usually hard to read, his emotions hidden behind a wall. But when you look at him, you can see he is raw and broken. 

You pull your hoodie up to release your legs, you shiver as the cold air hits your bare skin. You stand and slowly make your way closer to the cage. The room is eerily quiet, the soft pitter patter of your bare feet on the linoleum echoing through the room. As you approach the cage, Sylus shifts to face you. He makes no attempt to stand up. He draws one leg up and props his arm on his knee. 

“There’s a shirt on the chair.” Your voice is void of emotion. You barely recognize it.

Sylus glances over to the chair to see the sweater you brought for him to put on. He returns his gaze to you. His eyes have glazed over, if it wasn’t for his ragged breathing you’d think he was perfectly calm. He tilts his head as he looks you over. From your head to your toes, it doesn’t feel sensual this time, he’s sizing you up. Trying to determine your motives.

“Why?” 

One word. That’s all he says. The base in his voice is amplified, the simple question rings in your ear. You straighten up, your eyes narrow and you cross your arms. You’re the motherfucking leader of Himitsu, time to act like it.

“That is the question of the hour, isn’t it Oni?”

At the mention of his code name, his eyes close. He drops his head. He sighs deeply before looking up to you once more.

“Did the kid tell you before you killed him or did you dig that up on your own?” His words cut through you like a razor.

“Have you heard of a hacker who goes by the name of Macintosh?” Sylus nods. “He’s on my payroll. Took him less than 24 hours to narrow it down once he had the burner.” 

His jaw clenches. He brings a hand to the back of his neck, his eyes finally dropping to the floor.

“Bit of advice. Tossing a burner off the pier is not the most effective disposal method.” Sylus chuckles. 

“And what would you suggest then, kitten?” 

That’s when you lose it. 

“Don’t fucking call me that. I’m not your goddamn kitten. But I am, apparently, your plaything, right? Distract me, fool me, fuck me. Was that your plan? So you could stroll into my territory and do as you please? Attack my clients? Destroy Himitsu?”

Sylus jumps to his feet and stalks over towards. He tries to grab you through the bars, but you’ve moved far enough back. He uses his evol to pull you forward. Before you reach the bars your gun is in your hand. Your body slams against the bars, you look up to see the barrel of your gun resting at the center of Sylus’ forehead. He doesn’t back away or try to pry the gun out of your hand. He rests his head against the barrel and holds your upper arms tightly against the bars. 

“Do you really think I fucked you as a distraction?” 

You can’t stop your bottom lip from quivering. The tears you’ve held back threaten to fall once more. You take a deep breath and try to force a smile.

“I wouldn’t be surprised at this point. You’ve lied about everything else.” 

“I’ve never lied about how I feel about you. I can’t.” 

“But you did lie.” Sylus finally reaches a hand up to your face, holding your chin steady. His thumb slowly brushes against your jaw.

“I’m sorry.” 

You break away from him. He doesn’t try to pull you back. You drop your gun on the table next to your armchair. Your fingers rake through your hair as you try to calm down. When you turn back to Sylus, he has an arm propped above his head leaning against the bars of the cage. His other hand extended through the bars to you.

“Please let me tell you why. Why Ridgeway and why I couldn’t tell you.”

You stare at him. His bare chest and strong arms make you ache for him. Your body craves him and it hurts to resist. Your heart hammers in your chest. Should you give him the chance? Your mind drifts to earlier that morning. Sitting in the tub, your body pressed against his, his voice in your ear, that heartbreaking tone as he tells you about your shared Aether fragments.

"You wished we could be free. And I made you a promise, that I would find a way for you to be free."

Your heart wanted nothing more than to reach out to him. To hold him close. You see his arm drop and retreat back into the cage, his head pressing against the bar. You take a cautious step forward. His eyes flutter up to meet yours. You wrap your arms around yourself.

“Why?” 

“Ridgeway has a brother. Goes by Sinclair. He’s a member of the board for a medical tech company. I needed information on Sinclair and I was hoping Ridgeway had records that could lead me to whatever hole he has crawled into.”

“Why are you hunting Sinclair? And how does burning down Ridgeway Liquors help you with that? And why couldn’t you have just talked to me about this?” 

“I needed to send a message to Sinclair. His family will suffer if he crosses a line. I couldn’t tell you… I couldn’t…” He struggles to form the words, he starts to tap his head on the bars. Slowly building the intensity until his forehead is red.

You close the distance and grab onto his hand that has reached up to hold onto a bar. He stops and looks down at you. His eyes are hazy, a tear finally falls.

“I couldn’t risk them finding you.”

You blink rapidly, trying to process what he could mean. 

“Sinclair was one of the doctors that worked on us. He’s looking for you.” 

Your eyes widen and you shake your head.

“I made a promise to you. I promised I’d find a way for you to be free. And I found a way. As long as I knew you were safe, I could deal with what they did to me. But when I heard he was leaving to look for you, I couldn’t let that happen. You’ve kept your identity hidden, it’s bought you time. But if he finds out, he’ll come for you. You being unaware kept you safe, at least that's what I convinced myself.” 

“What do they want with me?”

“You’re an energy source. The most pure and regenerative source ever discovered.”

“Is it the Aether core? What about you?”

“The Aether core amplifies your evol, changes it. Possibly adding to it if you’re unlucky. They used me for… honestly, I don’t know how long. But my energy isn’t enough it seems.”

“Is Sinclair working alone or…” 

“The group he runs, their slogan is A New Kind of Energy for a Brighter Tomorrow - safe to say he most likely has a small army hunting us.”

“I thought I knew every major corporation in the Zone.”

“It’s not in the Zone. It’s in Linkon. But they have their people everywhere.”

“What’s the name?”

“Ever.”

Your heart skips a beat. The name feels burned into your memory. But something Sylus said before is the only thing you can think of. You are afraid to ask, but it’s tearing you up inside.

“You said you could deal with what they did to you… What did they do?” 

Sylus drops his gaze to your hand, still wrapped around his hand on the bar. You see his eyes dim, as if he has retreated into his mind. You squeeze his hand, reassuring him.

“After I helped you escape, they punished me. More experiments, more surgeries. As I became more powerful they put more security measures in place. I can’t access all of my power. They called it a 'bio-metric inhibitor'. All I remember is I couldn’t get out of bed for weeks. Eventually they installed a patch over my eye so I couldn’t control anyone. My cell was the energy conduit they used to…”

He looked up at you now, the pain in his eyes so great you could hardly breathe. You hadn’t noticed you had started crying. He brings his arm down to reach through the bars and brush the tears away. You lean into his touch.

“I’ll stop.”

“No. Sylus. Please tell me.” He takes a deep breath before looking down to stare at his feet.

“The regenerative part… when they drain the energy… it… it kills you.” A sob escapes your throat. Sylus doesn’t look up.

“When they first tested their theory… they chose you. No matter how much I begged and fought, they took you away. And when you came back, you had no idea who I was. After that, I spent every day, every hour, every minute working on a plan for you to escape. A month later, I succeeded. You were free. I don’t know how long it was before they needed another energy transference but when they strapped me down I found myself hoping to forget. To forget losing you. But then I woke up. And I remembered everything. My first surgery when they cut into my eye, the first time I saw you, the first time we touched, the first time we kissed, the first time we made love, every time there was pain in your eyes, the fear in them when I put you on the shuttle…”

His grip on the bars was weakening, his body shaking as he spoke. You were frozen, listening to what he went through, for you. Your heart ached. But nothing could have prepared you for what he said next.

“And I remembered how it felt to die. Pain so intense I wanted to tear myself in half. Blinding heat then complete stillness then everything was cold. So fucking cold. And dark. It was completely dark, no light anywhere, I searched for days but it was just dark. I found myself wishing for pain and then I’d feel it, like a knife in my chest, my heart started again. I opened my eyes and I was back. I don’t remember how many times I died. I stopped counting. But every time I woke up I would look for you. Wishing that my previous life was a dream and you were still there with me. And every time I would see your empty room and… and I…” 

His voice finally broke. His grip on the bars faltered and he sank to the floor. He pulled his legs up to his chest, for the first time he looked small. You ran to the door of the cage and pressed your thumb to the lock. The door swung open and you rushed inside, crashing down next to Sylus, your arms wrapping around him. You pull his head to your chest and run your fingers through his silver hair. His body was shaking and he didn’t dare touch you. He wouldn’t even look at you. Desperate to bring him back to you, you start placing gentle kisses to his shoulders and up to his neck. You see his eyes close and you move to sit behind him, your legs on either side of his torso. Your arms pull him back towards you. You caress his chest and place kisses on his back.

You sit like that for what feels like hours until one of his hands reaches up to take yours. He strokes your palm slowly. 

“Y/N…?” 

“I’m here. I’m right here.” 

Tag List (comment if you wanna be added!): @trishiepo0 @not-so-quite-human @kitsunetori @babyx91 @libriomancer

[theultimatenonbinarynerd]

Epic Fandom We Need To Talk! (An Open Letter)

As a former survivor of severe Cyberbullying and harrasment I can no longer stay silent anymore. You have forced my hand.

This has gone way too far and I am massively disappointed. All I ask is that you listen to what I have to say. This is no longer a joke as a survivor of Cyberbullying and harrasment I can say that a misunderstanding has turned into The Epic Fandom putting the livelihood and well being of artists in danger. I ask you to be respectful and understand I am speaking from old wounds and experience. Please don't twist my words, I don't support 🍇 or Antinous he is a horrible character.

Tw: Mentions of Cyberbullying, 🍇 and harassment

Dear Epic Fandom,

You are better then this, I know you are. Polites taught us to greet the world with open arms and accept when people make mistakes and stop holding onto are anger. The fandom is growing and we can't stop it but I'm really disappointed in the people letting hate win and turning the fandom venomous and toxic

We are all Epic Fans but behind the glass on your screen there's a person, a person with feelings who you know nothing about. You all don't know the real Melody typing this but your all probably gonna make assumptions based on what you dont know and that is the danger of being online. The person who posted fanart of Antinous and Telemachus you didn't like, they have real feelings. Complicated messy feelings that aren't able to be articulated enough online.

As a survivor of bullying myself my motto is block or scroll. I myself am very uncomfortable with a lot of the ao3 tags shipping Odysseus with Poseidon or Zeus but do I go angrily type on my keyboard? No I don't cos it's none of my damnn business. When I saw that art, I was confused and uncomfortable but instead of being reckless and sentimental I asked for clarification. Taking Polites advice I used open arms and talked about what was bothering me without attacking the artist. Instead of being like Polites you all became Poseidon. Ruthlessness Is Mercy is not the way to go, it's a toxic way to go about life. Did you all not listen to that Thunder Saga and see how it destroyed everything Odysseus had known for the past thirteen years.

You should all be absolutely ashamed of yourself. This is not what the Epic Fandom should be. You don't like someone's fan art ask for clarification and or block. There is no need to be Ruthless and cruel. The fact two genuine heartfelt Apologises have been made and you still can't let it go very much clearly shows your character. You are very much like Poseidon and Zeus and should be ashamed. In Ares words you are all sick cowards. Not only that but you are clearly projecting. I suggest you go to therapy if you think your time in the Epic the musical fandom should be spent bullying and harassing people then leave. The number one rule is that there is always a person behind the screen and that you should think before you type.

I'm still not over the fact how you have twisted and triggered someone's truama. I also can't believe hate is being given after the artist mentioned her experience. 🍇 is not a thing to weaponise. I feel like the Wisdom Saga has made you far too comfortable in how you handle and discuss 🍇. The artist forgot her trigger warnings and wasn't even trying to imply the twisted image you put on her. Also I pointed out she shouldn't have tagged it Epic and apologied. Jorge has made adaptations to The Odssey a piece of fiction. What Jorge has done with Antinous is his own creative liberties. If you can't have sensitive and respectful conversation about something that is still happening to people I don't know what to say. Accusing someone of supporting 🍇 is not okay at all. The artist wasn't attending that way and understands she shouldn't have done what she did but it goes both ways. Look for context before you slam. Judging someone based on an honest mistake and huge misunderstanding is dangerous and cruel. Do you not understand the dangers this could put the artist in in real life. Please have open arms and think before you type. This is a serious topic and not a joke.

Moving on I want to talk about why I think this blew up so bad. It's because Elian was commissioned to do an animatic for Jorge. Listen you all would have blocked if it wasn't for that. I read comments saying they idolised her and that is a really f**** dangerous thing to do. Idiolising someone because they've been noticed or hired by Jorge isn't healthy at all. At the end of the day we are all human beings. Elian is allowed to make mistakes and grow. Outside of Epic this is becoming a massive problem in genuine.

Worse I've seen and heard about Artists like Mirscy and AnniFlamma getting attacked just for defending their friend. I'm sorry are we not allowed to defend our friends now from bullying? I can't speak for them but if I saw my friend getting hated and harassed on I'd be angry too, it's like a natural emotion to feel. Then again you are the same fandom that mocks Eurylochus for sticking up for his crew so I'm not suprised. These artists are human beings and not God's because Jorge noticed and appreciated their work. Stop twisting these artists into people there not.

I'm not Tiresias but I can see Jorge stopping collaborating with artists on animatics if you keep this disgusting behaviour up. Constructive criticism is okay but falsely twisting the image of an artist is not okay at all by doing this you are dehumanising artists and doing exactly what Hollywood does. Jorge will have to stop commissioning people it you keep using the fact he noticed them against them when they make mistakes like all human beings do.

Please do better and stop being Poseidons. An 8 year grudge was unhealthy and got him nowhere. Be more like Polites and Greet The World with open arms. Not everything is black and white. Tik Tok built the Epic Fandom up and you hold all the power.

Stay kind and great the world the world with open arms.

Yours Sincerely,

Melody

They/Them

Ps: If you send me hate and twist my words be warned I have friends as well. One particular friend was there when a lot of my Cyberbullying truama happened and is aware why this has triggered me so badly and caused an episode.

Attack you will be blocked. I'll also remove reblogs.

Attack and you will be reported.

You don't scare me.

Be nice Epic Fandom and don't become The Monster. I'm willing to have civil conversations but that's it.

[lostmf]

[traumatizedjaguar]

“The so-called ‘psychotically depressed’ person who tries to kill herself doesn’t do so out of quote ‘hopelessness’ or any abstract conviction that life’s assets and debits do not square. And surely not because death seems suddenly appealing. The person in whom Its invisible agony reaches a certain unendurable level will kill herself the same way a trapped person will eventually jump from the window of a burning high-rise. Make no mistake about people who leap from burning windows. Their terror of falling from a great height is still just as great as it would be for you or me standing speculatively at the same window just checking out the view; i.e. the fear of falling remains a constant. The variable here is the other terror, the fire’s flames: when the flames get close enough, falling to death becomes the slightly less terrible of two terrors. It’s not desiring the fall; it’s terror of the flames. And yet nobody down on the sidewalk, looking up and yelling ‘Don’t!’ and ‘Hang on!’, can understand the jump. Not really. You’d have to have personally been trapped and felt flames to really understand a terror way beyond falling."

- Infinite Jest by David Foster Wallace.

[system404singletnotfound]

This is your reminder that abusive people can do good things, but they are still abusive!

They can help you

They can save your life

They can be nice to you

But this doesn’t excuse their abuse, and it doesn’t make your experience any less valid

[sparkywrites25]

Perspective

Summary: You're struggling in the aftermath of a mission. Amid the beauty of autumn, Levi finds you.

Pairing: Levi Ackerman x Reader

Inspiration: Credit goes to @creativepromptsforwriting for some of the prompts that I used. Here is the post.

TW: descriptions of death and violence as well as symptoms and mentions of anxiety/PTSD especially flashbacks and panic attacks.

Taglist: @youre-ackermine @galactic3a @notgoodforlife @ladycheesington

Notes: If you like my work and want to see more then please join my taglist. Form is pinned on my blog.

Your footsteps crunch satisfyingly against the browning leaves beneath your boots. You enjoy the harsh, crisp sound as you march across the grounds to the thick woodland surrounding the base. Under the stunning rays of sunset, the forest shines in various shades of golden-brown, green and red. The leaves that drop to the ground are beautiful in their variety before they land with their comrades and disappear into the autumnal mulch of the earth, turning to bits under your weight. 

Huffing quietly, you lower your head and continue onward, a scowl twisting its way across your features. Away from the prying eyes of your comrades and commanders alike, you allow your feelings to fully settle over you. Your first ball into fists so tight that your nails scratch deeply at your palms and your shoulders are so squared that they ache already.

Each puff of air is sucked in and inhaled quickly, each one shallower than the one before. You let your stride increase, your anger pouring off you in waves as you retreat deeper and deeper into the forest. The colourful, bright ways of sunset begin to disappear behind the thickening shade of the trees. 

The scent of apples hits you immediately and your stomach surges in immediate, nostalgic delight. In those brief seconds, you are back home watching your mother serve up the family treat of apple pie, the apples produced from the family orchard. Or you’re running through the orchard with your friends, ducking behind trees and lying down flat behind brushes and bramble. Or you’re strolling under the trees with a basket, plucking down the ripest-looking apples and adding them to your basket, beaming with pride at the growing pile there and then comparing the collection to the ones sitting in your siblings’ baskets.

Back before you killed anyone. 

The thought brings you a stop and for a moment you can’t breathe as the images hit you again: comrades swallowed up in horrific, gaping mouths, riders racing towards their endangered comrades only for a surprise grab to pluck them out of their intentions and their lives, and the remains of bodies and blood streaming the plains around the titans. 

You reach out a hand to the nearest tree to steady yourself as the stench of iron and death overtakes you at once. You gag under it and bring your fist to your mouth at once. 

You’re a useless captain. You should have just taken the loss and focused on the mission. You should have protected your squad. Maybe you wouldn’t have lost half of them. 

It was so simple at the time; the possibility of saving the new recruits and minimizing casualties. It was a sick twist of fate that your decision had resulted in more casualties. 

You lean against the tree and slide down it until you have slumped onto the ground. You stretch out your legs and you feel your anger draining out of you as your intrusive thoughts take hold. Anxiety swirls like a maelstrom, filling up your body with a dizzying, queasy feeling of regret. The faces of your team, the ones who will never come home again, drift in front of your face, like their ghosts are taunting you. 

Why shouldn’t they?

You let out a shuddering breath, a strange, strangled sound escaping you when you think of Commander Erwin’s announcement this morning. The next mission would be delayed. There was talk of that being the last one before expeditions halted for the winter. You smile mirthlessly. Once upon a time, that would have irritated you. You would have been chomping at the bit to get out there again. 

Now titans are chomping on your team. 

You pass a hand over your face, closing your eyes as that weight falls over you again, the heaviness of responsibility, of the consequences of your decision. The same burden of dread and hindsight that hovers over you at night, sapping sleep away from you before it can land.

Your breathing is coming out in shallow, quicker pants. You stretch out your hands either side, feeling for the earth around you. Your left hand closes around the nearest object - something smooth and lukewarm. You turn your head to look at the smooth, round object in your fingers. Your see a chestnut, free of its spiky case, sitting in the lowest dip of your hand. You clutch onto it instinctively, hanging onto it steady firmness as you breathe deep.

On your other side, your fingers meet with the familiar shape of acorns. You trace the shapes of them with your fingers. The motion helps with the increasing struggle to breathe. You can feel some of the nervous energy disappearing into the movement and you gasp for breath, trying to take in more air. 

You’re so weak. You’re pathetic. 

How you ended up in this position, you suddenly can’t remember? Why did the higher ups think that they could trust you? What made them think that they could trust you? They made a mistake. That much is very clear. You can’t even breathe properly. 

You hold onto the acorns and the chestnut, focusing on the grip and trying to breathe as slowly and deeply as you can. Unfortunately this isn’t the first time you’ve felt like this. You just have to wait. You keep your fingers moving over the acorns and then move your fingers over the chestnut as well. You feel some of the anxiety beginning to ebb away little by little. 

“Planning on camping here all night?” Captain Levi questions as he steps out from behind some trees to your left. You jerk at the arrival, cursing yourself for not spotting him. 

Too busy panicking about nothing, huh?

You swallow and look away from him, trying not to focus on how put-together he still looks after a day of training and official duties. Not even a hair looks out of place. 

“It’s not a crime to seek out some peace and fucking quiet,” you snap at him between gritted teeth, your fingers still trying to work off the worst of your feelings. 

The famous captain slowly strides over to stand in front of you, frowning at you as if he can’t believe that you’re actually sitting in the dirt. In fact, that’s probably exactly what he thinks, you muse. 

“You shouldn’t be on your own when this happens,” he reminds you.

“I don’t exactly get advance warning,” you bite back. 

“You’ve been stressed to hell all day.”

“So? I’m often stressed. I’m used to it.” You exhale, feeling your breathing beginning to steady at last. Your eyes flutter closed with the rising relief of the feeling of air actually settling in your lungs properly. 

“Hange told you to go and see them if you were this stressed.”

“Yeah because running to my superior officer every time I get pissy is a real good look.”

Levi crouches down, his kneecaps inches from the ground and his eyes, as grey-blue as pale slate, meet yours intensely. “Everyone needs to take a breather. That includes you.”

“Why should I when I don’t deserve it?” you question, your brows furrowing.

He’s silent for a moment, still staring into your eyes. He looks like he’s reading you. “You made a tough call. You did what you could. Sometimes it goes to shit. That’s not on you.”

“They would be alive because of me,” you whisper. 

“Not necessarily. If we’d advanced further, we could have run into another titan horde and lost even more lives.” Levi frowns at you. “You can’t know what would have happened. We’ll never know that shit. Once we make a choice, anything else is gone forever. All you can do is choose what you’ll regret the least.” Levi’s words are calm but firm at the same time.

You lower your gaze to the leaves between your legs. You can feel yourself steadying now that your breathing is returning to normal. You think about your options back then on the mission. Would you have regretted leaving the recruits to it? Would you be haunted by that instead of this? Was it always going to end with you sat in the woods having a panic attack?

You sit there silently, mulling over your thoughts. Levi remains crouched but he stops staring at you, gazing around the forest instead. It takes you a few minutes to realize that he’s keeping an eye out for trouble while you recuperate. You feel a swell of gratitude and something deeper at the thought. 

Eventually you clear your throat and your fingers release the acorns and the chestnut. You start to pick yourself but suddenly Levi’s hands clasp around your elbows and he hauls you to your feet. 

You’re unsettled by his strength and so when you are upright, your feet stumble, unprepared for the sudden weight again. You topple into Levi who catches you against his chest. Your face is instantly nose to nose with his and your heartbeat begins to quicken for an entirely different reason. 

He’s staring at you for a moment, his mouth ever so slightly open as his eyes dart down to your lips for a moment. His arms move around you, holding you to him. 

You don’t want to move. You want to stay there, wrapped up in his arms. You want to stay in this little bubble, out here in the trees away from titans and tragedy. 

Levi leans in a little, like he’s going to touch his lips to yours. Like he’s done so many times before already, in the darkness and in the privacy of his office or yours. Part of you wants him to, to linger here together a little longer. 

But your breathing is quickening again and Levi pulls himself out of the daze that holds you both. His arms around you shift so that his hands hold your elbows again. 

“Come on,” is all he says and you nod, getting your bearings and stepping back from the hold. Once he’s sure that you’re steady, he lets go and you feel the absence of his touch. 

Soon you’re walking through the woods again but this time, the rage and fear has calmed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

An hour later, you are settled in one of the chairs beside Levi’s fireplace, a large mug of pumpkin spice tea in your hands and the comforting presence of your little black furball, Sooti, in your lap. 

The dark little kitten snoozes happily against your stomach and you lower one hand to brush against her soft fur. The motion eases away some more of the earlier anxiety. 

You smile towards Levi who is working quietly at his desk behind several stacks of paperwork. His jacket and cravat have been put away and the top buttons of his shirt are undone. At last, a few strands of his hair are falling into his eyes. 

You say nothing to interrupt him, just reflecting on how lucky you are to have him, and all of the good things in your life. You’re grateful to be able to see that clearly again. 

After taking a sip of your tea, you turn to gaze into the firelight, feeling your body relaxing once again. The crackling of the fire and Sooti’s purring fill the air, and your heart with peace. 

[intrusive-thoughts-only]

All vices are fair game with BPD, how many can you collect?

Now Featuring: Substance Use, Self Harm, Binge Drinking, Sex, Nicotine, Starving Yourself, and so much more!

[ldma-boodyshaker900]

Krangrified Leo Au Remastered

Tw Blood Warning, Trauma, Dead, Tentacles

Comic: in process and planed to be finished.

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3 (TW blood), Part 4(TW slightly Blood), Part 5 (Tw Blood and Injuries) , Part 6 (advancement)

Doodles: request From @scribble-me-to-my-core, Cannon and Sillys

Characters: Black void Mikey

Characters Info: Mikey

Asks and Requests (You can ask in any moment!):

Mini comics (non yet):

Before being remastered:

Part 1 , Part 2 ,Poster , Short Animation (Also My first one), old desing and poster, Old idea