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unkat · 11 months ago

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I have more

senshi is the guy whos been there forever and has great patience, teaching skills, and is good at reading people. a little bit of a 'power behind the throne' where he was actually laios' mentor back when he was new, and now their relationship is as friends.

he is trained in fire and medical. chilchuck is only medical (med only calls are more common than fire) so they run a lot of medical-only calls with just the two of them and a backup crew.

they put chilchuck with him when he was first transferred because of the bad rumors around his behavior until senshi vouches for him being a decent fellow.

he likes to cook dinners and is in team under 6'0" but has been around for so long and is so built that nobody would question him on it.

chilchuck definitely fire carries someone (tallest guy on the squad? laios?) over his shoulders to demonstrate his own ability to lift. as short guys, technique is much more important than raw strength, so they actually end up being able to accomplish more than some of the young guys when space is limited

they are smoking buddies too, because it was so common back when they started, vs younger guys who would only start because of peer pressure. "Want a smoke? No? Good, keep it that way."

senshi gets attached to chilchuck as a partner and for the first time when setting up trucks does he request to stay with someone rather than offer to train the new recruit.

the two of them pose for a fundraising calendar together. laios keeps the picture. (there is a big group shot from that day with everyone soaked from "washing the trucks" and laios has his arm hooked around chilchuck's neck while chil is grabbing his waist, grinning half at the camera and half at each other. its from before they even realize they had feelings for the other.)

falin went to school out here because laios moved out here after dipping right after high school. she and marcille were close in undergrad but marcille went to a big name school while falin came out here. they live together now, because they are the bestest girls who are friends and love each other so much they don't mind sharing the bed every night.

laios has a motorcycle that chilchuck judges him for but still sits on the back when he goes for a ride. he also has a leather jacket and jeans combo that kills chil whenever they go out to a bar together. chilchuck himself is sexy in a rough around-the-edge mature man way that is so fixable if he just got in the right environment and boned, so he also gets his fair share of admirers.

and they do try to wingman each other at the gay bar but keep getting jealous of whoever the other is talking to so it doesn't work out very well. they both keep scaring away anyone who flirts with the other on accident and end up just sitting together and talking after the first thirty minutes, commenting on the slow night.

chilaios medical au idea i have been bouncing in my head (will not be written until after my current one is done)

i am thinking of a like firefighter/paramedic story for these guys. where laios is a new shift commander/chief at a small middle of nowhere station and chilchuck is a medic from a big city who keeps getting reassigned because he is trying to recruit for a union and the company is trying to make his job unworkable/find a reason to let him go.

laios was promoted because of his work ethic and ability to teach other people about the ins and outs of emergency medicine, not because he wanted to be in charge. he is too new and disinterested in the company politics to throw him under the bus for other people, and by the time someone explicitly says he needs to fire him, he has gotten attached.

"he's reliable, does good work, and catches things nobody else here would have. i know he cussed out the family trying to get into the rig, but he had already told them no and they should be grateful he saved their daughter instead of filing a complaint! even if i were to discipline, he deserves a verbal warning and not dismissal. You were not there, and i am his direct superior."

(wins the argument and walks away trying not to hyperventilate)

also falin is a surgeon and marcille is a research fellow who abandoned her big-city super-focused projects to come out into the country and work with subpar equipment and an incompetent assistant. im not thinking like full rural hospital here, but closeish to it. could be an academic satellite hospital and she switched from like gene therapy trials to studying exposures/population/histology stuff.

shifting the touden hyperfixation from monsters->medical fascination i think would still get across the same vibes. falin is very nice and pleasant but she treats everyone nicely and pleasantly without actually empathizing with them. shes one of those surgeons who went to shadow a heart transplant in college and cried because it was so beautiful and then got a bunch of scholarships plus student loans for med school.

laios hunts and has a big appreciation for the lives of things he kills and butchering/using everything he can. then it translates to him being fascinated by the human body as an object more than as a being that is different and special from other animals that he is a part of. he is a fantastic emergency responder because of this- people are a pile of flesh that is broken somewhere, and he wants to figure out why. (this is something that I'm like. not sure if it is okay for me to include because it can be squicky/triggering. but i feel like when I'm unsure if I'm going too far that is when i am reaching the line i want to?)

the touden siblings still go hiking and mudding and spend their time off in the woods (marcille wears white shorts and sandels on a hike leaving laios to be very explicit and offering clothes to chilchuck when he offers him to join. chilchuck borrows his shirt and it is way too big, but he keeps it for a while.)

chilchuck is extra divorced. he facetimes with the girls a couple of times a week and gets them on rotating holidays. sometimes ex-mrs. tims invites him over for dinner because she feels sorry for him and her new boyfriend is also there. it's awkward but they both know he's harmless, just annoying and closed off. he smokes but has tried to quit 7-8 times. started when he was an emt and couldn't shake it because it helped him destress. he only knows how to drive well enough to pass his vehicle license renewals and still doesn't know what the buttons in his car do. the ac has been "broken" for a week before a station mechanic pushes the button to turn it back on (they should put a subway around here, stupid cars).

laios respects his experience and history of being at a constantly busy station that saw a variety of crazy shit. chilchuck initially resents him for being so out of touch, but grows to respect his leadership abilities. laios also always follows up on cases at the hospital to figure out the outcome and reflect on best practices.

he is the first person to get chilchuck to actually debrief after a shitty call and chil cries and never wants to talk about it again. but its like a seal in a dam has been breached, and opens up when they are cuddling on the couch. they spend more time off shift with each other. chilchuck crashes on laios' couch and initially feels like he needs excuses to do it until laios says he really likes talking with him and having him there. he tells him about the company's EAP coverage and that he encourages everyone to take advantage of it.

in the end, they hit that threshold of basically living together, and one of them would need to change their station (superior/employee romance) after they go from making out off shift in secret to seriously considering having laios meet his daughters in person. (they already think they're married because laios is always there when they call now)

#unkat rants #dungeon meshi #chilaios #chilaios ems au #just in case it wasnt obvious i want them to fall in love and fuck #I ended up writing more of this in the actual story structured way but. It’s me.#it’s all the most emotionally intense stuff and not anything fun #you really can fit so much trauma into these bad boys #you know there is some guy out there who sees chilchuck smoking on the porch and is all 'i can change him. with my dick.'#turn daddy into babygirl etc etc #later laios is like wait...*I* could have been changing him with my dick this whole time?!?#that would have been so much easier than whatever the fuck we've been doing

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phecdasolar · 10 months ago

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Me day 1 of my Trolls hyperfixation after watching Trolls 3: This is absolutely fantastic and I love it, I love Floyd, he’s great, Bruce is also amazing (hello Daveed Diggs), John Dory is okay though I guess? Idk why people like him so much he’s kind of annoying, anyways I just really want Branch to go ham on his brothers and psychologically beat the crap out of them-

Me present day and 3 weeks into my Trolls hyperfixation: I UNDERSTAND EVERYTHING NOW I UNDERSTAND IT ALL IF I DON��T RECEIVE TWO METRIC TONS OF JOHN DORY ANGST I WILL SOB, DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME HE GAVE UP HIS CHILDHOOD HE HAS ELDEST DAUGHTER SYNDROME HE IS SEVERELY DEPRESSED AND TRAUMATIZED I AM SHAKING HIM LIKE A RUBBER CHICKEN LOOK AT HIM

#i speak #dreamworks trolls #trolls movie #trolls 3 #trolls band together #john dory #trolls john dory #as someone who was/is really into ROTTMNT he reminds me SO MUCH of Raph and Leo???#Eldest daughter syndrome he shares with Raph #believing his family will be better off without him but he needs his family or he thinks he’s nothing he shares with Leo #*slaps his head* do you have any idea the trauma I can fit into this bad boy?#if I can heavily angstify a character chances are I will love them #that is a threat and a promise

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pid-widgin · 2 years ago

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in the beginning, the world ends.

In the beginning, the world doesn't end.

Well, that's not entirely true.

The world does end, just not in the way that you think.

No, after the shot of red light and the flutter of the Veil, the world is still moving- still spinning on its axis.

Everything continues as it should; Harry still runs after Bellatrix. Neville and Luna are still tending each other's wounds, Kingsley is still calling all the Ministry workers there and Dumbledore is still battling Tom Riddle somewhere in the depths of the Ministry.

And Remus Lupin is frozen, crumpled over before the Dais where Sirius Black just fell through the Veil.

"There's nothing you can do, Harry... nothing... He's gone."

Gone.

The words were rattling around his brain, every passing moment bringing a new round of grief and despair with it as it crashed over him like a wave.

He took a tentative step forward, eyes wide as if it would prevent the tears from coming as he circled around the Dais, as if any moment Sirius would come tumbling out the other side with that smoldering smirk and look at him.

"Alright there, Moons?"

Sirius had been gone before, had been gone for 13 years.

Had been taken away from him.

But this was different, there was finality here.

There was no changing what had happened, no way to fix this.

Sirius was gone.

Sirius was gone and Remus was still here.

Sirius was gone and Remus was still here and the world was still moving.

Sirius was gone, and Remus was still here, and the world was still moving, and Remus didn't know how to go on.

So, if you think about it, really; in the beginning, the world really does end.

#wolfstar #remus lupin #sirius black #the marauders #ao3 #y'all #its giving Into The Spiderverse #it's giving Loki #this fic has everything #there's Wolfstar #there's Jily #there's Jegulus #we've got alternate timelines #we've got cannon compliance #and cannon divergence #you can fit so much trauma in this bad boy #we're hunting Horcruxes #it's just a good time all around #but not really

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yeyinde · 2 months ago

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You want a baby. Simon can't get over his hangups to give you one. The solution to both problems? Johnny.

18+ SMUT. breeding. mildly dubious consent. Johnny feasts on your pussy and then does his best to knock you up while Simon watches. slight body worship. bastardization of religious imagery. Mean!Dom Simon. rough, messy sex.

He's not the type to saw off his own hand to feed you, but would rather find a third man to satiate you both. The only one who can care for you, he said. Can't do that when he's dead, can he?

Maybe that's why he calls for Johnny.

down boy. eager mutt. lil' pyedogs got himself all twisted up in a rutt. help him, won't you, pet?

Johnny's softer than Simon but only just. This margin of distance, however, could be the gaping maw of a canyon for how wide it really is when scaled down to fit. Boxed inside a narrow bed—on your belly, cheek on Simon's knee; ass up, legs spread. Johnny behind you—colluvium to Simon's mountainside, but still so broad, so thick, your hips twinge with the effort of keeping your knees so wide apart.

You feel it whistling through the chasm when he licks his lips behind you—a loud, lascivious smack, a wet suckle—and feel the burn of his stare riveted on the split of your flesh. This bare seam Simon swears he found nirvana tucked deep inside of. A buried ravine. Aquifer he quenches himself on.

A pilgrimage Johnny has been aching to take.

And that's what this is, isn't it? Yatra to the hidden piscina. A procession to pollute the tarn—something Simon can't bring himself to do.

Bad genes. Trauma—sticky, noxious tar that oozes from the rotting filaments; festering deep inside. Cancerous: a mass you long to cleave from bone but know it's not cosmetic. Not just the ball joints, or the studs, but the foundation itself. If you start tearing up pieces now you'll have nothing but an empty plot and a pile of damaged debris.

So:

Enter the third man.

A tool. Vassel. Pays fealty by fucking a baby into your womb.

It's what you wanted, isn't it?

(yes, but—)

It happens faster than you can keep up with. Hands on your hips. Coarse hair tickling the back of your thigh. Warm breath against sticky, wet flesh. A broad nose parting your folds. Inhale. Exhale on a deep, reedy groan.

"fuck, ye smell heavenly, doe."

Simon hums before you can peel your tongue from the roof of your mouth, answering for you with a brassy invitation: tastes even better, Johnny.

It's all the permission he needs before he pushes his head closer to your bare cunt, groaning as his tongue cleaves a silky, thick line between your folds. Gorging himself without much preamble. Hands curled around your hips like expensive silverware, pulling you back into the wanting, eager suck of his mouth.

All at once, it's too much. Your hips shift, squirming away from his tongue, the too-sharp press of his teeth against soft, sensitive flesh. Mewling, whimpering into the rain-wet fabric of Simon's jeans.

His hand falls on your head. A gentle tap. Behave, it says, but you can't.

Johnny tramples over that thin line between pleasure and ecstasy, blurring them both until it becomes pain. Overwhelming. Shoving you towards the edge before you've readied yourself for the fall.

"Can't, Simon, can't—"

The words elide, slurring into a high-pitched whine as Johnny feasts on your cunt. Devours you from the inside out—all teeth and tongue, sucking your clit until your thighs cramp from how tight your muscles tense, bleeding lactic acid over sore flesh. The scrape of his stubble over your folds, chafing them until they are raw. Swollen. Drenched hole fucked with the spear of his tongue, digging so deep you begin to fear that he's trying to crawl inside of you. Salt your womb with his own two hands—

"Can take it, birdie," is all Simon says before his hand slides down your arched, trembling spine. Fingers digging into the meat of your cheek, spreading you wider for Johnny to eat. "Look how eager he is. Can't get enough of that sweet cunt."

"It's—it's too much—"

You don't feel him move. Can't see much from the blurry tears in your eyes. But his other hand whips out, cracking over your untouched cheek in a firm, burning smack. One that makes Johnny moan when it lands. Cruel. Open palm. Hard enough to leave a welt in the shape of his hand—something that makes him groan when he sees it.

"fuckin' hell—" his fingers dig into the aching flesh, grip bruising.

Johnny peels his wet, open mouth away long enough to pant into the slick spread of your cunt, resting his cheek on the swell of your ass. "Bit rough wit' 'er, Lt."

Simon considers it. Body shaking the bed when he shrugs, leaning back to trail his hand back up your spine, curling over the arch of your nape. Keeping you still as you sob into his knee. "She likes it."

"know she does. Fuck, Lt. Can feel 'er little pussy twitching. Tryin' tae suck me in."

Another hum. The grip on your asscheek eases as his hand peels away, sliding over swell before notching a finger between your cleft. Dry. Rough. It drags down your seam until it brushes over your fluttering hole, calloused tip digging in.

"soft, too, ain't it?" He asks, words mockingly cruel in their conversational tone. Nonchalant. But Johnny's hands tighten on your waist, palms slick with sweat. Glueing to your flesh. You can tell he likes that. Likes the way Simon talks about you. Demeaning and brutish. Butcher selling a piece of meat. "Bit of a tight fit at first—" he curls his finger inside of you, stretching your sore walls with the width of his knuckle. Sinking in deep. Another follows before you can remember how to breathe around the sting. "But swallows you up like a goddamn dream, Johnny."

His breaths grow ragged. "Fuck, Lt. Look at th'."

It makes you clench up around Simon's fingers, embarrassment scorching through your chest. "Please—"

Neither of them acknowledge you. Simon's fingers split, spreading wide apart as Johnny shuffles forward for a closer look, and nearly choking on his next inhale when he does.

"such a pretty fuckin' pussy—" he says it like a curse. Spitting the words out on a snarl. Angry, now, for reasons you can't discern slobbering over Simon's leg. "God, Lt. ah cannae—"

Johnny shifts back. You hear the clink of a belt. The rip of a zipper. Choked groans barely swallowed down as Simon buries his fingers inside of your weeping cunt over and over again, blunt tips cruelly skating over a spot inside, just behind your navel, that makes you feel liquid and loose between your hips. Debris floating down a whiteriver.

Pleasure peaks with each brutal thrust until you're howling into his leg, unable to move with their hands on your body, holding you down. Making you take it. Making you come undone as Johnny watches.

"fuck, fuck, Lt—she's gonna cum, ain't she?"

"Wanna feel it, Johnny?"

Simon's name falls out of his mouth on a whispered prayer. Drenched in thick reverence. Arched in need.

"aye, sir—" there's something about the hush of his voice, the way it slurs into putty. Enshrining his need in a halo of gold. It sends shivers down your spine. Heats you up fast like a fever. Sends you screaming over the edge—

"gonna miss it, Johnny. She's squeezin' me so fuckin' tight—"

Whatever else they say is swallowed by the keen clawing at the hollow of your throat when you feel the blunt, fat press of his cock knocking against your swollen, stuffed rim.

It's a burning thing—a sharp, heavy ache. Knock, knock. Simon spreads his fingers again, forcing you open. Pulling your hole wide apart for Johnny's engorged head to push up against.

It feels like being split down the middle. Ripped apart. Simon's fingers flex around your nape, thumb brushing soothingly against the knob of your spine.

Can take it, he mutters, brassy and low. A rumble just for you. Gotta take it, birdie.

You forget why. Why you need Johnny's too big, too fat cock inside of your cunt until the head bullies through, scissoring Simon's fingers apart until they're pressed tight on either side of the flared glands. Squeezed between your taut rim and Johnny's cock.

Johnny makes a noise like you've gutted him. A gutwrenching sob. "Oh, shite, Lt. M'—m'nae gonnae last—"

"gonna cum inside 'er, Johnny? Knock my pretty birdie up?"

Right. Right. A baby.

There's a heavy push. Your flesh wrenched apart to fit the fat, throbbing length of his cock—

(the cock that's gonna knock you up—)

Simon's fingers slip out of you as Johnny bucks forward, burying himself deep inside with a long, throaty groan. It's a horrible sensation—a bellyache. Without the splint of Simon's fingers forcing you open wide to near numbness, you're forced to feel the thick girth of his cock. Rim fluttering, spasming over the flared base. Too much, and somehow, not enough.

You sob through it. Each one ripples through your chest until it feels like it will collapse. Every inch of your body burns, throbbing. You don't think you'll survive this ache—

Johnny sets a brutal pace. Likes pistoning into you in quick succession until you're nearly howling into Simon's thigh before slowing to a crawl. Force-feeding you every inch. Making you feel every single one. Long strokes that batter the plug of your womb, bullying against the aching seal of your cervix until the flashes of pain, the savagery of this pleasure, makes you feel sick.

Getting fucked by Johnny like this is both a punishment and a reward. Baptism in hellfire.

Be careful what you wish for—

"gonnae fuck ye 'til it takes, doe. Knock ye up. Want th', don't ye? Aye. Can feel it. Feel this little cunt beggin' fer ma cum. Dinnae worry. Ahm gonnae give it tae ye. A' o' it, doe. Every—fuckin'—drop—"

Each awful word lands like acid on your spine. Chewing through flesh, tissue, until it melts bone below. Liquified. Helpless.

And with Johnny's hands on your hips, anchoring you in place as he hammers into your sore, abused pussy, possessed with the need to carve a space inside of your flesh where only he fits, rots, and Simon's hand on the scruff of your neck, holding you down, there's nowhere to run. Nowhere to escape the ragged breaths that spill from Johnny's slick mouth, the desperate way he pumps into you—thrusts growing sloppy as he stretches towards the precipice they dangle you off of, kicking and screaming as the scent of iron fills your nose, as his flared cockhead scrapes over that place you thought only Simon would ever know. Bluntly battering into the altar that sits, nestled behind your navel, like he's allowed.

Holy offering in a handful of seeds he'll sow over fecund land until something grows.

"Look at you take it," Simon coos, sticky, damp fingers petting over your tear-stained cheeks. It smells of loam. Salt. Iron and ozone. "So pretty when you're gettin' bred, ain't you, birdie?"

It rips a mournful keen from your chest, a feverish moan following on its heels when the lewd squelch, the echoing slapslapslap of Johnny driving into your cunt fills your ears. So wet, so messy, you can feel the slick drying, tacky and thick, on the inner crease of your bent knee.

"He's gonna put our baby in you, ain't he, birdie? Like a good mutt—"

The hands holding you over the precipice let go. Johnny's answering moan spears into your head, fluttering around the pulsing heartbeat of liquid bliss frothing in the pit of your belly. Overflowing over the rim.

Too much, you think, but that's not quite right because you can't feel anything at all except the length of his thick cock lodged deep inside you. Throbbing in tandem with your second pulse.

"gonnae cum, Lt. Gonnae—oh, fuck, Lt—"

His voice is a warm river washing over your spine. Pooling ecstacy. Something heavenly. Divine—

Molten gold blooms in the pit of your belly. Cockhead spitting against the seal of your womb as he cums, filling you to the brim. Fucking it into you even as his cock softens, unable to pull out he says.

Feels like fuckin' heaven, Lt.

"ain't she just?" Simon volleys back, sounding oddly dissonant. Off-key. "Pretty little birdie got what she wanted, huh?"

The drawl of his tone—acid-scorched, electric—forces you to blink through the tears, lifting your aching, wet eyes upwards at him. Searching.

He has the eyes of a predator. Leonine. The gaze of a beast after it's devoured something whole. His touch is as gentle as he can be—a rough, cracked scratch over your blistered cheeks—and when he meets your divining stare, he coos.

"Maybe I'll 'ave a go next time."

In the pounding, soporific slurry of your mind, you can't wrap your head around the words. Can't make sense of them. Struggling to keep your burning eyes open, even.

Not that it matters.

Johnny huffs a scorching breath of laughter over your sweat-slicked spine before wedging his forearm under your belly. Keeping your hips tipped up as he falls into you, resting his broad chest against your back and smothering you into the damp mattress.

"Yer cruel, Lt," he rasps, chin nuzzling over the arch of your shoulder, cock giving a feeble twitch inside of you at something you can't seem to piece together.

"m'jus' givin' my pretty bird exactly what she asked for." Huh? He prods, fingers tapping over your cheek when your swollen eyes slide shut. "Forgettin' y'manners, ain't you? Say thank you, pet."

With Johnny's half-formed chuckle echoing in your head, you mumble the words out on an exhausted sigh.

"an' say thank you to this mutt f'knockin' you up."

It comes out slower this time. Sluggish. His cock gives another twitch as he buries his face between your shoulder blades, smothering a groan.

"Sweetest thing, Lt. Christ—"

"more where that came from, Johnny. Jus' you wait an' see." Another tap. You mewl in response, feeling war-torn and achy. Unable to open your eyes for a second time, all you can do is whimper, burying yourself into his thigh. Pleading, silently, for clemency. Later, you think. Later—

But Simon has other plans.

"Fallin' asleep on me, birdie? Ain't even gonna give me a chance to put my baby in you? Greedy little thing, ain't she?"

Buried under the weight of Johnny as he peppers sucking, open mouth kisses over the width of your shoulder, cum leaking out around the softening plug of his cock, all you can do is snuff out the sob on the arch of his knee, resisting the urge to bite instead.

"Maybe next time then, eh, birdie?" Since you've been so good for this mutt, huh? Maybe I'll give you a reward.

Just be careful what you wish for, huh, birdie.

#i don't know how to end things sorry #simon riley x reader #johnny mactavish x reader #soap x reader #ghost x reader

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i-cant-sing · 1 year ago

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Okay but this has to be one my fav tropes ever:

And i can imagine the following characters for it:

DABI, because ofc he's the OG no. 1 nonchalant bad boy with childhood trauma pro max. Ofc he fits this trope, and yes he'll burn the world, burn himself for reader.

Bakugo, grumpy LOUD boy but gets quiet when you're around so everyone thinks that he must really hate you but he's just actually shy around you and wouldn't want to spook you away.

Naoya Zenin, for some reason, but like he's more obnoxious than grumpy, but he still fits the trope because I know Naoya, at least Naoya in my AUs, will grovel for reader but only the very few times that he fucks up so badly that yalls relationship is about to end. Otherwise, no. He'd still play the "ew, I hate women. Anti feminist🥂 bleached rat. Misogynistic and sexist rich dude" but only in public. In private, he's somewhat nicer to you.

Toji Fushiguro? Yes, because there's no shame in being on your knees for the woman you love and convince her to give you another chance and take you back. And it's not because he wants your money, no no, in fact here you go baby- take his card and spoil yourself. He's sorry for pretending he's poor before, but take him back... he's not leaving your doorstep until you do.

From my OCs: Theodore (my mute assassin/spt with 100% anger issues is quite literally obsessed with reader) and also Mahir (my suprr smart lawyer OC who owns his firm and but everything from scratch- he won't grovel... but he'll be panicking on the inside. Rest assured, Mahir doesn't fuck up much because he has too high IQ)

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highseas-swede · 1 year ago

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Aziraphale and Trauma

[Just a note that I initially wrote this in response to this post: https://www.tumblr.com/theangelyouknew/732357015604756480?source=share&ref=_tumblr which is full of insightful info. I'm reposting my response here with some minor edits so it's easier to find in tags.]

This is something I actually find interesting within the fandom, because there seems to be this weird divide in fandom when it comes to Aziraphale.

See, I love Aziraphale. I think he's an amazing and well nuanced character, but a lot of the time fandom boils him down into this really simple version of himself. This happens both with people who dislike him and claim he's a bad person as well as with those who want to soften him up and make him more palatable. Aziraphale isn't the only one who has trouble with black and white thinking here!

Things like Coffee Theory remove Aziraphale's agency because the thought of Aziraphale doing something to hurt Crowley deliberately is something they can't stomach. If Aziraphale is acting under some kind of major magical influence, it means that it's possible to brush over the fact that he can - and has - hurt Crowley in the past and it certainly hasn't always been accidental.

There's a lot of Psychology I could touch on here, but it's honestly such a complicated topic that I don't really feel I can do it justice attached to a completely different topic.

But one thing I do want to touch on a bit is how Aziraphale asserts control in his own life via his connection with Crowley, and that touches on something equally complicated, which is something that's probably hard to understand.

Abuse victims are often manipulative.

I don't mean this at all as some kind of slight or insult. I've been an abuse victim myself and it's one reason I know it's true.

Fandom talks a lot about Crowley's trauma and he's got loads, to be sure. I think of that meme about "this bad boy can fit a lot of trauma" and it's very true. I've even seen people mention that Aziraphale has a different kind of Trauma than Crowley, which is also true.

What I haven't seen is someone addressing that the type of religious trauma is a form of CPTSD. CPTSD or "Complex PTSD" is a very specific form of PTSD. PTSD is characterized as being the result of a traumatic event - Crowley's fall, for example, is a good example of PTSD and I can go into that at some point. CPTSD is different because it's not a singular event, it's the result of being in a constant high stress situation. A lot of abuse victims - especially those abused by parental figures or significant others - have this form of PTSD.

A good way to see the difference is in comparing how they relate to their trauma. When Crowley thinks he's lost Aziraphale in S1, it sends him into a spiral. But importantly we see that this traumatic event is causing Crowley to go back to another traumatic event in time, triggering his memories of his fall. This emphasizes how much Crowley's fall defines his trauma. We rarely see him experiencing trauma at the hands of Hell, as he's mostly allowed freedom to handle his job on earth the way he wants.

https://cptsdfoundation.org/ defines CPTSD as "the results of ongoing, inescapable, relational trauma. Unlike Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD), Complex PTSD typically involves being hurt by another person. These hurts are ongoing, repeated, and often involving a betrayal and loss of safety."

In humans, this is caused by having no sense of safety in key moments of development. It strips away sense of self, sense of worth and really any agency. We even see the angels using direct gaslighting tactics on Aziraphale in S2, which I'm surprised doesn't get mentioned more often: When they come to the bookshop looking for Gabriel, they mention Gabriel and then almost immediately when Aziraphale asks "you were looking for Gabriel", Uriel outright says a line that goes something like "Did we say we were looking for Gabriel?", leading Aziraphale to fumble and try to remember if they did, in fact, say that at some point (they did).

So, one big thing to know about CPTSD and this kind of abuse related trauma is that learning to lie and be manipulative is often what people have to do to survive. Children with abusive parents will learn how to be manipulative in order to get what they need or avoid losing things they need.

We see this with Aziraphale, time and time again. He could just ASK Crowley for things he wants. A lot of people point out that he could ask and that Crowley would probably give in to him most of the time anyway. But that's not how it works in an abusive home. Instead, Aziraphale maneuvers Crowley into situations where Crowley is forced to give him what he needs or wants.

His lack of agency, as a result of his CPTSD, is also why he needs to be worked into making decisions that he already knows - or at least suspects - are right. That's why they have their little dance every time Crowley has to talk Aziraphale into something by finding the right way to frame it so it makes sense with Aziraphale's strict rule structure. These rules exist as a defensive mechanism too. Having rules makes it easier to figure out how to avoid being hurt and Aziraphale cannot simply step outside the rules because it's Not Safe. Not even with someone he trusts as much as Crowley.

The entire apology dance scene stands out for a few reasons. Everything Aziraphale does in the entire scene is an act that allows him to take control of the situation. He's already won, so to speak, because Crowley is back and Crowley is going to do what he wants. The apology is unnecessary on every level.

This post talks about how uncomfortable Crowley has to be sharing a space with Gabriel. Gabriel is with the abusive team, whether or not he was directly involved with Crowley's fall. Crowley also harbors a severe distress and mistrust of Gabriel because of Gabriel's attempts to destroy Aziraphale, the most important person to Crowley. But it's worth noting that Aziraphale is uncomfortable too.

Another good indicator of how stressed Aziraphale is with all this is that he doesn't eat ANYTHING when Gabriel is in the shop. The only food he consumes in modern era is when he's in the Bentley which is a "safe" space. Gabriel constantly hounded Aziraphale over eating and despite offering Gabriel hot chocolate, we don't see him partaking himself. He does briefly drink to demonstrate how "drinking tea" works for Muriel, but he doesn't seem to drink from his cup at all after demonstrating.

The bookshop is also Aziraphale's safe space, his ONLY safe space - Crowley still technically has the Bentley, and honestly I feel like Aziraphale wanting to borrow the Bentley is actually partially because he needs to get away from Gabriel and the Bentley is the only place that feels safe for him at the moment. Shax ruins any illusion of safety for him, but Aziraphale is much more enthused for his trip in ep3 and a fair amount of it is because he's not trapped with Gabriel.

A small note here, as a thought occurs to me. Aziraphale asserting that the Bentley is "our car" is probably mostly for himself. He's trying to realign his thinking to make the Bentley an acceptable "safe space" for himself prior to the trip.

There is a very different relationship dynamic when it comes to Gabriel and Aziraphale because Gabriel is the constant source of Aziraphale's trauma. He's Aziraphale's superior, the one he has to report to, the one who passes down his missions and his punishments. When Aziraphale takes Gabriel in, he's just invited his former abuser of over 6000 years into his safe haven. This is a hugely uncomfortable thing for an abuse survivor.

Worst of all, because Jim is, for all intents and purposes, NOT Gabriel, Aziraphale can't bring himself to lash out at his former abuser the way he wants to.

That brings us back to this apology scene.

There are two major things going on here and both of them are bad and hurtful toward Crowley. They're also both intensely unfair. I love Aziraphale but this was definitely a dick move.

Firstly: Aziraphale is using Crowley to reassert a sense of control over the situation because he is spiraling. He can't assert control over his life and his shop, which is one thing that he falls back on heavily, and that leaves him scrambling to find somewhere where he can control his situation. He makes Crowley go through this whole unnecessary apology and dance routine because it makes him feel like he has control over SOMETHING in his life right now.

Secondly: Aziraphale is also enacting his own trauma on Crowley. He's treating Crowley the way Heaven treats him. This is a direct parallel to the way Crowley terrorizes his house plants because he can't do anything to the people who actually caused his trauma. This is, obviously, wildly unfair of Aziraphale to do - and I'm fairly sure there are other small moments where Aziraphale does this in a mild way, I'd have to rewatch again.

These are both behaviors common in CPTSD caused by environments that apply this constant state of stress.

I'm not going to say it's right, or that Aziraphale isn't being a bit of a bastard in this moment - he absolutely is - but this behavior does have some obvious triggers that might be easy to overlook. It's just important to understand that Aziraphale is falling into self-preservation habits that are actively detrimental to his relationship with Crowley. It's not just the manipulation, he's also hiding things and lying to Crowley when he really shouldn't be - both things often necessary in abusive environments - but he's doing it because that's the method that he's created that works with his abusive relationship in Heaven and he's falling back on it because he feels unsafe. The trouble is, this survival tactic does not work with Crowley and actively makes things worse because it shuts down open communication entirely.

#Aziraphale #Good Omens #Good Omens Meta #good omens s2 #aziraphale meta #crowley x arizaphale #CPTSD discussion

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a-dumb-sarcastic-bisexual · 2 years ago

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Nimona headcanons just cause

Nimona and Ambrosius are both like sentient space heaters

Nimona runs hotter than the average human being because obvi

But Ambrosius is a whole nother ballpark

I just know this man hates summer more than the average person

Poor baby is just a miserable sweaty clammy mess and if anyone tries to touch him during summer he threatens to bite them

Nimona and Ambrosius always refuse to let the ac get higher than 60 degrees and Bal suffers

Bal should be classified as a damn reptile

Poor baby has terrible circulation

It’s bad enough that Ambrosius has dragged him to the doctor multiple times

He clings to Ambrosius and Nimona in the winter because this man is constantly freezing

I just know he’s a damn menace the second it gets a little chilly

This little brat will shove his hands up Ambrosius’ shirt the second he gets home to “warm up”

And he’s got a metal hand so it’s twice as cold

Ambrosius has been woken up from a deep sleep by freezing hands or freezing feet and will whine about how it feels like waking up in an ice bath

One time Ambrosius walked into the living room to find Bal chasing Nimona around while they were screaming “Frosty the snowman is trying to kill me with his icicle hands”

Ambrosius is weirdly good with all kids he’s been described multiple times as a “natural parent”

Does he like kids…. That’s up for debate

Like he doesn’t hate them if their parents raised them right but if that kid is a little bully then fuck no he doesn’t like them

Nimona is also really good with kids

He’s a little cautious around elementary school kids cause you know trauma and has weird beef with all middle schoolers

Bal is fucking terrified of babies

One time someone asked him to hold their baby and then walked off and which sent him into a panic attack

He’ll go on hour-long rants about how fragile are and how he can’t be trusted with something that can suffocate if you don’t lay them down the wrong way

He’s okay with elementary school kids and doesn’t mind middle schoolers but he has massive issues with highschoolers for some reason

A high school once asked him to visit and give a talk to the students and Ambrosius had to take his laptop away before he emailed them back saying “I’d rather chop my other arm off”

Honestly I think even though Nimona craves stability she also needs freedom

So every couple of weeks she’ll go on little solo adventures

She keeps the boys updated constantly about where she is but she never tells them when she’s coming back because she doesn’t even know

Most of the time she’ll come back when she wants a homecooked meal (and when she misses the boys)

The boys are pretty used to this routine so they aren’t surprised anymore when they come home to a note saying she’ll be gone for a bit

They also aren't surprised when he climes through their window at 2 in the morning to wake them up and demand food

Could he make it himself? Absolutely

Does he want to? Fuck no where’s the fun in that

Plus he knows no matter how much the boys complain about messed up sleep schedules and how he “gave them a heart attack” they'd rather be woken up in the middle of the night so they can make sure he’s healthy and fed

When they do come home the boys “force” them into a sleepover in the living room where they eat a stupid amount of junk food and watch old horror movies

And they call out of work so they can catch up and learn everything that can't fit in a text

#nimona 2023 #nimona movie #nimona headcanon #nimona #ballister boldheart #ambrosius goldenloin #ballister x ambrosius #goldenheart #I am Ambrosius #but I'm also Bal #I have terrible circulation but I also hate summer #summer can suck a dick #Nimona is like a cat #they come and they go as they please #the boys never try and stop them #cause they know it's not their place #oh they miss her for sure #and they worry about her all the time #but they also know she needs her freedom

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onepiece-polls · 2 years ago

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One Piece Shipping War - Round 2 Side B

ZoLaw art by @jack-pictures. Check out the original post here!

Propaganda under the cut.

Propaganda for Sanji x Law:

North blue bitches unite!! Law is definitely a nerdy fanboy who fell in love, just look at the gif i submitted. Also remember the extremely gay way law landed on sanji's shoulder in wano? Other ships could never!

Why have one traumatized north blue twins when you can have two?

North Blue boys and their trauma

Propaganda for Zoro x Law:

they're just both really good at sword play :P

Grumpy swordmen? What's a better ship?!

Sword guys, great way to go from releasing tension to topless and sweaty and close together, Zoro gets lost and Law enjoys wandering so they just go on walks together, both incredibly intense in what they do, both unlikely to back down, understand each other reasonably well, Zoro can deal with Law's brand of stupid/crazy/D

I think their interactions are fun :)

Law: "Let them kill you! Be ready to die for the plan!" Zoro: *is ready to die for the plan* Law: "NO!"

They have ao much in common! Both are swordsmen and they both have cursed swords (at least one). They're both pretty deadpan but not above getting into shenanigans with luffy. They just fit!

Two moody, broody swordsmen who are really bad at expressing their feelings, but deep down, you know that they are softies. They would bicker with each other but at least understand that the sarcasm is like a love language. They can at least share that mutual respect of having to be the strong one, especially surrounded by a crew of silly goofy guys.

They are perfect together because they are both massive nerds who think they're just so freaking cool, but they're not. Literally every time everyone else is freaking out about something they're like "pfft losers." But THEY are the losers.

It's two guys who are obsessed with Luffy who are in love, it's swordsman x swordsman, it's the two straight men together, it's jock/goth. I just think they would have nasty sex and I'm into it.

Both of these poor gay boys accidentally fell in love with the most aroace mf in all the blues. So they fuck each other to cope.

#one piece #sanlaw #zolaw #lawsan #lawzoro #tournament poll #op shipping war #round 2 #side B

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agerefandomstuff · 8 months ago

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Caregiver headcanons about Dean Winchester from supernatural?

• Hugs from him are tight and all consuming since he always a pours his heart and soul into them. They take all worries away—at least for the moment.

—speaking of; forehead kisses. Started with the occasional feather light one during hugs, turned into kiss attacks on your cheeks to make you laugh.

-hes also just fantastic at making you laugh. Games, teasing, silly dad jokes, bickering with Sam, tickling, playing dress up, whatever he does he knows just how to get you into a giggling fit.

- He loves costumes and getting you in on them.

—and while he may pretend he doesn’t like all the touchy “chick flick” affection, he’s a liar and everyone knows it. He loves cuddling and rocking you.

• He’s strong enough to pick you up and carry you and man.. it’s hard to get him to put you down once he’s got you on his hip.

—He likes being close to you and being able to have you in his arms. He feels like he’s actively protecting you in that moment. Like he can keep all harm away by just holding you.

-Car rides all the time. Whether it’s to clear his head or yours or just to help lull you to sleep to the sound of soft rock and the hum of the road.

-music! His lullabies are all rock songs.

• The toys and outfits he gets you are car themed or rock themed until you state you want something else. (You will have to help shop because he states “doesn’t know what he’s doing.”)

• Cartoons are something he insists on because he likes them. Scooby-Doo is the most obvious one but anything you may request he will get sucked into.

• He likes to cook and bake for you if he can’t because he likes the domesticity of it.

—also sweets. Sweets! Sweets! Sweets! Sam has to intervene occasionally and remind you both that you have to eat real meals other than pie, cake, candy, and whatever else you two have gotten into.

—But Dean can’t say no to giving you desserts when he wants them just as bad.

• He likes caring for you in general because he loves having a family and while he still struggles with the trauma of having to grow up early to be a dad for Sam, he still has the desire to care for someone that needs him completely.

• Being in his life means being in everyone he loves’ life. Sam, Cas, Bobby, etc. Everyone is aware of you two. And as long as you don’t cause world ending trouble and you make Dean happy they can’t complain. Hell they may(absolutely will) even start liking you too from seeing you regressed around him and how he treats you.

• He cares so much. It’s nearly overbearing and it sometimes is misread as being aggression or distrust but he’s just worried and a bit insecure.

• Sam will always be his number one but this all started because he saw his little brother in you so much he couldn’t help his caregiver instincts from taking over.

—He wants to just take care of you forever. Keep you from harms way. From the monsters and horrors of the world that the adults take care of. You’re too little to have to deal with that. So you’re not going to if he has any say in it. And, boy, does he have a lot of say.

—(Sam helps deescalate some of the tension that stems from this recurring conversation, calming Dean down a bit since he knows how it feels to be a target of Dean’s extreme concern.)

— If you get hurt he is all over it. He’s fixing you up before your first tear can even fall.

-But then you get lectured about being careful.

• He freaked out initially when you called him something like “daddy” or “papa.” He hadn’t been expecting to have gotten that attached to you and that intertwined with your regression that you would view him like a father.

—He shut down for a few days and was more distant from you while he processed it. He was afraid of being a dad due to everything in his past and really really didn’t want to become his father.

—It took a “chick flick” heart-to-heart with Sam involved and some tears to get Dean to comes back and try again with you.

—But after a while he warmed up to it entirely and even refers to himself as “daddy” or “papa” or something.

-“I knoooow, kid, but Papa wants to take a nap so you’re coming with. Bring a stuffie to cuddle and complain to.”

- “Daddy and Sammy are gonna have to head out for a little bit. Will you be good and stay right here? Or should I drop you off at Bobby’s to be babysat?” “You want Cas to babysit you? Kid… he— well..angels are busy doing— don’t give me puppy eyes! Did Sam teach you that??”

#sfw age regression #sfw agere #🧸mines🍼#age regression #agere fandom #agere headcanons #age regression headcanons #requests🧸✨#agere dean #dean winchester #caregiver!dean #cg!dean #cg Dean Winchester #agere supernatural #hope these made sense I wrote them at 4 am at a hotel #agere caregiver #caregiver headcanons

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amethystfairy1 · 1 year ago

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✨Hello hello!✨

I'm Amethyst (she/her), and I'm your local fanfic gremlin. I've written a lot for a lot of fandoms, right now I am caught in the Hermit/Traffic/Empires brainrot, and if that's how you've ended up here, welcome welcome!

The tag for my random blog stuff is: #amethyst rambles

And I also always post here whenever I post on A03, be it with a new chapter or an entirely new story!

Right now, I have two WIP AUs!

Through the Sky-Blue Cracks 🌤️

My Hot Guy/Cute Guy, Over-City/Under-City AU that has a lot more going on in it now, it's grown pretty big and is organized in chronological order, not by publishing order, so I write up and down on the timeline filling in parts and pieces as I go!

TTSBC takes place in a modern/slightly sci-fi AU with superheroes, biotech, secrets to hide, trauma to unpack, and as much humor as I can attempt to fit in as well!

Features the local superheroes crushing on each other, anxious writer meets intrepid reporter, the drama professors who can't keep their hands to themselves, penpals gone wild, resident middle-aged married couple who happen to be a mobster and a mad genius, the local cottagecore lesbians, bad boy butterfly and cat lady, protective big sister, Zom-Mom and Sentient Glowstick, a very tired Guy-in-the-Chair with a permanent headache, and more yet to be added! I've got lots of plans left for this AU, so if you're interested, please come check it out!

Tags for the AU are:

#through the sky blue cracks

#ttsbc au

#ttsbc ficlets

Traveling Thieves 🪽

My dark fantasy AU! This one has some heavy themes going on, so I'd encourage reading the tags carefully before jumping in! I'm very proud of how it is turning out, dealing with breaking out conditioned headspaces, survival in a sick system, negotiating power imbalance, the power of friendship (no, really), and of course we've got elves, mercenaries, magic, swords, sorcery, rogues, redstone, and lots more fun stuff like that! Also lots of adorable birbs, one traumatized fiery boy, a mer with an attitude, a good doggo, and hurt/comfort galore! Giving everyone a chance to believe that they've all got a shot at getting lucky.

Tags for the AU are:

#traveling thieves au

#traveling thieves ficlets

I think that's all that going on with me right now...so yeah! I love getting the chance to ramble about my worldbuilding, so by all means, give me an excuse and I will make entire posts about that sort of thing!

My DMs are open and I promise I'm not scary! I love rambling and making fandom friends, so feel free to reach out if you wanna chat!

Thanks for coming by! 💖

#intro post #fanfic #ao3 fanfic #hermitcraft #traffic smp #through the sky blue cracks #hermitshipping #worldbuilding #trafficshipping #life series #empires smp #traveling thieves au #amethysts scribbling corner #amethyst rambles #ttsbc #ttsbc au

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sepublic · 5 months ago

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I'm glad I'm not the only one that noticed that trend with toh/dungeon meshi, because it had been bothering. And while everything you said runs true, I feel another aspect of it is the want to compare lumity to farcille. Amity-Marcille is not a bad comparison, even if it's not perfect, but Luz and Falin don't really have much in common beyond some traits you can really strech.

And I feel this highlights another aspect of the white favoritism, and is that most people only like Luz as part of Lumity. She fits as Laios far better than Hunter does, not as Falin, but the farcille vibes for lumity are far more important, because Luz character on her own is not what people is interested in, and is really bothersome. Because again, Amity is white, and she doesn't have this problem.

In general fandom will always default to reducing Luz to just the silly queer girl to talk about her white counterparts’ depth. They’ll talk about Hunter’s cult trauma or Amity overcoming her abuse, meanwhile Luz has an entire arc about surviving a suicidal depression and not letting a racist gaslight her into thinking she’s a selfish monster.

And then they’ll just reduce her to OTTER LUZ because it’s funny to juxtapose what a silly idiot Luz is compared to their serious and deep white faves, it’s just Oblivious Luz again. On its own these things (minus Oblivious Luz) were fine, except Luz isn’t held up as a multifaceted character with range the way her white counterparts are, she’s mostly appreciated as their supportive accessory and not someone whose struggle has so much more narrative focus because it IS the narrative.

There will sometimes be this performative culture around praising Luz as a Girlboss, a girl of color, but in the end it’s just that; Performative. People don’t treat Luz with the same consistent depth, they don’t treat her trauma the same as others’ despite her being the actual main character; She’s canonically suicidal! Fandom will give Luz her time in the spotlight when this week’s episode does, but after a while default back to Hunter when canon isn’t constantly reminding them who’s the real star of the show.

It’s simple really; Fandom loves to praise how their media has a diverse cast but then not engage with said diverse cast the way they do their white (boy) faves; They just treat characters of color as a shiny medal to prove they’re Progressive, but canon is not fandom. And fandom never listens to PoC despite saying they will this time, no you’re just an anti who hates fun or I can learn to consume it ‘critically’ except you don’t. Fandom has this gaslighting effect, regardless of intent, that the white guys are the only truly interesting characters and everyone else just isn’t as good no matter how much they do.

#The Owl House #Luz Noceda

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zvtara-was-never-canon · 6 months ago

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What do you think of this? I think most of it is ridiculous, but I’m not that familiar with all of these moments, so I’d like to know your thoughts.

https://www.tumblr.com/allnewalldifferentwildspider/759267251779141632/so-kataang-arguments-always-shift-between-aang-is?source=share

What a load of bullshit. The most mature 12-year-old in the whole world is still just 12, much like the most mature 14-year-old in the whole world is still just 14.

Aang and Katara are both mature enough to understand LOTS of complex stuff (mainly how to handle their own trauma, and each other's, whiel they try to save the world) but they both still make lots of mistakes children their age would - hence Katara making a REALLY uncalled for joke about Toph's blindness during a fit of rage, or telling Sokka he didn't love their mom as much as she did, or, yes, Aang being confused by the concept of "Someone can have feelings for you but not be sure if they wanna date, and you can't speed up the process, just give them time to figure it out on their own"

"Is he mature enough to date a teenager?" Zutarians LOVE pretending the Kataang and Zutara age-gap isn't exactly the same, don't they?

And hell, since I mentioned Zuko - the boy just recently discovered the "revolutionary" concept that a parent disfiguring their own child is bad, he had a real jealousy and paranoia issue with Mai, an inferiority complex towards his sister, and he basically gave himself the Dai Li treatment in Ba Sing Se to please Iroh.

His understanding of boundaries, trust and what counts as abusive behavior is canonically all messed due to how he was raised, to the point that he constantly either accidentally hurts the people he cares about or gets taken advantage of, even by people who don't mean to hurt him, because he simply doesn't know how far is too far. He is constantly either being too demanding, and lashing out with verbal abuse whenever he doesn't get what he wants, or bordeline setting himself on fire to keep someone else warm.

Despite being older than them, Zuko has a much more immature, warped and often toxic view of relationships (and not just romantic ones) than Aang and Katara - yet zutarians never say that means he is forbidden from wanting love or getting into a relationship to try and figure things out, and that liking any ship with him is "problematic" or "creepy".

How convenient.

#anti zutara #pro kataang #pro aang

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visceravalentines · 10 months ago

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folger's, eat your heart out

oh my god this got away from me so bad it's wanted in twelve states. but it's done (is anything ever done) and i'm.......i'm quite happy with it. i really hope you like it.

4.3k words. canon divergence, boys on the run. established relationship. character study, lots of introspection. implied sexual content, nothing too explicit. so much kissing. hand job. light s/m. night terrors and vague mention of canon-typical trauma. mostly soft, so soft. benson is so in love and doesn't know it yet <3

read on ao3 here if that's more your speed.

It’s a Tuesday. Benson knows this because his eyes snap open automatically at five in the morning even though he hasn’t set an alarm in weeks. He opens on Tuesdays, been on that schedule for so long he doesn’t even need the alarm anymore anyways.

Well, he used to open on Tuesdays.

He wakes up slow. Gets a savage satisfaction out of being somewhere unfamiliar, revels in it. With bleary eyes he traces the outline of the water damage on the ceiling and it’s different than the one back home. Room smells different too, stale sweat and dust and complimentary green tea bar soap. The mattress is too fucking soft, folds around him like dough. His spine is electric with pain.

Fuck, he’s getting old. Twenty-nine going on fifty.

He drags a hand over his face and wishes he could fall back asleep. Not going to happen. Not a chance with this marshmallow bed and the sun popping its stupid Raisin Bran fucking face through the blinds. Benson sleeps dark and cold and silent with his back to the wall. Arms locked in front of his chest like armor. Like a corpse on a slab.

Or he used to, anyway.

He can’t feel his left arm. He pushes his chin into his throat at an odd angle to look down at Randy, still asleep, curled up on Benson’s chest like a sandy-colored cat. His hands are tucked together, long, knobby fingers folded over each other, resting in the center of Benson’s ribs. The sun takes each strand of his hair and wraps it in gold, even his eyelashes, laying long and pretty on his cheeks.

Fuck Folger’s. Nothing comes close to this.

It’s surreal, still. Being here, being anywhere, together. Like, together. Unbelievable the way he fits so neatly under Benson’s arm. He rests his lips against the crown of Randy’s head. He does it because he wants to, because he can. He inhales slow and deep and he smells warm and bright and a little grimey. Like summer. Like sweat and mud and the most beautiful blue sky you’ve ever seen. Fucking perfect, he’s perfect.

He's peaceful now, which is saying something. Randy’s a terrible sleeper. Sharing a bed with him is punishing. He thrashes in his sleep, digs elbows into Benson’s ribs and jolts him awake in a panic ready to fight, and then Benson has to stare into the abyss and count to a thousand before he can calm the fuck down and drift off again.

He never talks about his nightmares. Benson knows he has them, but he knows better than to ask about shit like that. On occasion he’ll wake up to Randy tugging on his arm, pulling it around him like a security blanket. He doesn’t mind that in the least, rolls over half asleep and wraps himself around Randy’s sweat-soaked body. He pins his arms to his sides for both their sakes, buries his face against the back of his neck, and that’s that. Problem solved.

Benson, on the other hand, sleeps like the dead–save for the nights he wakes up screaming and doesn’t realize he’s doing it. Doesn't even know he's awake until he sees Randy’s face floating above him in the dark, wide-eyed like some twig-limbed owl. Until he feels his hands on his face, wiping salt from his cheeks.

Shit sucks, because then he has to turn all the lights on and pace the room, chewing on a cigarette and cracking his neck ‘til it's sore, trying to walk it off. Randy sits on the bed hugging his knees to his chest and watches him like a hawk. But he doesn't speak, doesn't try to push it, waits patiently until Benson crawls back into bed and lets him decide where he wants to be.

He can't stand to be touched during and after those episodes, always hated when his ma would try to smother him when he was still young enough to smother, but funny enough, Randy’s okay. Doesn't seem to count. Maybe it's because he lets him set the pace and doesn't get his feelings hurt when Benson curls up on the edge of the mattress with pillows stacked between them. Either way, most times Benson falls back asleep with his head tucked into the hollow of Randy's neck and those skinny arms slung around his shoulders. And the light on.

The night terrors aren’t new, but it’s been a while since they’ve been this bad. It’s like they’ve worked their way to the surface of his brain. Like a splinter finding its way out of the skin. He doesn’t like Randy seeing him that way, but he can’t really help it. He used to sleep on his stomach with his face in the pillow so he wouldn’t wake Ma and have to deal with her on top of everything else, but he had so many nightmares about suffocating he can't do it anymore.

But Randy never lets Benson apologize in the morning, insists he doesn't mind being woken up. He's told him that again and again, so often that Benson’s starting to believe him. They’re both fucked in the head just enough that it makes it okay. No hard feelings.

Last night was quiet for both of them, for once. Benson wishes he was still asleep to take advantage of it, but this is nice too. He can feel Randy’s breath on his collarbone and it’s driving him crazy, a little bit. He’s not used to nice things. He’s always scared he’s gonna fuck them up somehow. Sometimes he wants to fuck them up. Track mud across the carpet, break a dish. Say the wrong thing. Bite down too hard.

He’s learning how to be gentle. He’s trying, like, really trying. Randy doesn’t make it easy, that’s for damn sure. The way he whimpers when Benson’s hands are on him isn’t fucking fair. The way he bares his throat and gasps and begs. And then he shows Benson the marks afterwards like he’s proud of them, like Benson wasn’t there when he got them.

“You did a number on me,” he said last night with this sheepish grin, almost giddy, leaning over the sink to look at himself in the mirror. Prodding at the bite mark on his shoulder, the hickies on his neck. Never mind all the shit he couldn’t see from that angle, but Benson saw it. The shape of his body all over Randy’s in bruises.

Made him feel kinda good and kinda bad, sort of guilty, but then Randy looked over at him with those eyes, hair all mussed, bottom lip cherry red and swollen, and said with unmistakable adoration, “You’re an animal, Bence.”

Un-fucking-fair.

But he’s trying, he is. Trying to ease up on the reins. Trying to be soft, because Randy needs soft no matter what he asks Benson for in the dark. He can’t fuck this up. Can’t fuck him up; at least, not any more than he already has. On the list of things he’s ever wanted to fuck up in the world, Randy is at the bottom.

And it’s good too, the lovey-dovey bullshit. It’s good. It’s great. The way Randy falls asleep on his shoulder halfway through the movie, any movie, no matter how good it is or how loud it’s turned up or how much Benson promised him he was gonna like it. The way he bumps his knuckles against Benson’s when they’re standing shoulder-to-shoulder, just because. Just to touch him. He’ll catch him smiling at him for no reason, all the time, just glance over and there he is looking like they’re on their way to Disney World. No one's ever smiled at him like that. He’s not even doing anything to earn it, he’s just living his fucking life. The fact of his existence is apparently an ongoing novelty to Randy.

Crazy fucking kid.

Benson feels like he’s body-swapped with someone on better terms with luck and the skin doesn’t fit quite right but fuck, he’s figuring out how to make it work. He doesn’t get handed things like this. Good things with no strings attached. He’s always kind of on edge, always waiting for someone to break down the door and haul him away. For someone to pause the laugh track and punch through the set. For Randy to suffer a moment of clarity and tell him to go fuck himself.

He’s never had this kind of good, never expected it. Never really thought he deserved it. And Randy sure doesn't deserve this kind of bizarre sideways bullshit that makes up the best that Benson can offer. He deserves better from him. From everyone. From life. Benson keeps trying to tell him that.

Too bad he can't quite convince him. Too bad Benson’s selfish and couldn't let go of him if he tried. Wouldn't even try. Wouldn't turn out well.

He runs his thumb across the angle of Randy's cheekbone, feather-light. He wants to let him sleep and he wants him to wake up and he doesn’t know which he wants more. He draws lines across his cheek, from the corner of his mouth, along the edge of his jaw, carefully, carefully, so gentle his hand shakes. He’s probably never been hit in the face. Probably never had a black eye, broken nose. Shy, scared, beautiful thing.

There’s been a violence in Benson for as long as he can remember. Bone-deep. And it’s a magnet, pulls other violence right to him like wasps to fresh meat. Sometimes he loves it, sometimes he hates it. He always falls back on it, no matter how hard he tries to leave it behind or wrap it up so tight it can’t get out. He fails again and again. But it doesn’t scare Randy anymore. In fact, it’s like Randy gives it justification. Permission. Validates it. Like maybe it’s hung around this whole time just so Benson could learn how to use it, for his sake. To protect him. At least until he figures out how to protect himself.

And Randy’s learning, he is. Stands up taller, takes up space. Orders his own food at restaurants. But Benson kind of likes playing guard dog. Likes being needed in that way, and others. Likes being needed by Randy in particular.

Benson’s already killed for him, so it’s like he’s always trying to find a way to top that. That should be hard, right, but Randy makes it easy. Gets excited over nothing, little shit like finding both their names on some dumb souvenir keychains. Or when he brings him a bag of plain fucking potato chips, his favorite. Or when Benson covers his eyes before the money shot in some gore flick because he’s a pussy and also it dredges up some shit for him that neither of them wants to think about. The way he lights up about that stuff, stupid little stuff, makes Benson feel worthwhile in a way he can’t describe.

For all he goes on about helping Randy become the best version of himself, the version of himself who’s confident and decisive and knows who Trent Reznor is, sometimes Benson gets the feeling like maybe, Randy’s the one making him better. Not changing him, not really, just…making him kind of okay. Making it all kind of okay. There are so many things Benson’s taken for granted, never thought twice about. About himself, about his life, about where both of those things would end up and how they’d get there. Randy makes him reconsider. Makes it worth reconsidering.

It feels wrong to stop him. Might as well let him try. What’s it gonna hurt?

Sometimes he wants to laugh in disbelief at it all. Who the fuck is he these days? Going soft right and left and glad for it. He feels like he’s on another planet. Hundreds of miles from home, no phone, no way back. Shooting towards the sun with everything he needs inside his shitty little rocket ship of a car.

Randy’s a spaceman for sure, no question. Ever since they turned west and hit the desert, he hangs out the window when they drive at night through all that nothing, head craned back to look at the sky.

“The fuck you think you’re doing?” Benson asked him the first time, when he rolled down the window and started climbing out like a fucking lunatic.

“Looking at the stars,” Randy said. “There’s so many, Benson…you should look.”

“No thanks, I'm driving.”

“I mean…you could stop first.”

“I’ve seen stars, Randy.”

Randy was halfway out the window so his reply was almost lost to the wind. “Not like this.”

Benson reached over and grabbed him by the pocket of his jeans. “If you fall out I’m leaving your ass behind.”

He let Benson pull him back inside then, and stared right at him in this new way of his. This new, brave Randy who had finally shaken some of that paralyzing fear of confrontation and figured out how to be direct. “No you wouldn’t.”

Benson had looked at him for as long as he could without drifting into the other lane, and then looked at him a little bit longer and had to course correct. “You’re right, I wouldn’t.”

He’s right. He wouldn’t.

Benson lets the memory slide away and finds Randy gazing up at him here and now, eyes crusted with sleep. He feels a twinge in his chest like a guitar string being plucked. The whole room is golden now.

“Morning, sunshine,” he says, and even he can hear the velvet in his voice. Feels self-conscious about it for a second until he gets distracted by Randy wrinkling his nose to stave off a yawn.

“Morning,” he murmurs, peels his cheek off Benson's chest and leaves a pink circle behind that matches the one on his face. He rubs at his eyes and gives him that dumb Disney World smile. “Sleep well?”

“Slept great.” Benson swipes away a stray eye booger from the inside corner of Randy’s left eye. “Nice to have one single solitary night where I don't have to fight you to the death.”

Randy bites the inside of his cheek, looks bashful. Benson fucking loves it. “Well, I mean…you wore me out pretty good last night.”

Benson smirks, takes hold of the back of Randy’s neck and pulls him back into his shoulder. “Yeah I did. I oughta do that more often.”

Randy worms his arm beneath the covers and around Benson’s waist and it gives him honest-to-god butterflies. He runs his fingers through Randy’s hair. It's getting fucking long, almost falls past his ears. He keeps asking him to cut it and Benson keeps refusing. It's got this little flip at the ends that he thinks is cute. He bets it’ll grow out into gorgeous fucking waves when it hits his shoulders.

He takes a fistful and squeezes, does that a couple times before he tugs his head up so they’re nose-to-nose. Randy’s eyelids slide half-closed and his lips part on reflex.

“What you wanna do today?” Benson murmurs. He can feel Randy’s breath on his chin, licks his lips.

“...just this,” Randy says, almost a whisper.

“That’s it?”

“Yeah.”

“You’re not bored of this?”

“No.”

Benson almost smiles. “Me neither.”

He pushes Randy's head back down into the curve of his neck, rides the swell of satisfaction he gets from his frustrated groan. “Don’t worry, babe, we got all day. How about you, how’d you sleep?”

“Good.” His thumb moves back and forth along Benson’s hip and it’s electric, feels like he’s got lightning bolts shooting around under his skin, makes his muscles twitch. He’s still not used to that. Gentle shit like that. “Had a dream about you.”

“No shit?” He’s not sure anyone’s ever dreamt about him before. He’s kinda flattered. “Was it hot?”

Randy snorts. “No, it wasn’t…like that. We, uh…we were at the beach.”

Benson screws up his eyebrows, looks down at Randy. He can’t see his face from this angle. “The beach?”

“Yeah. We were just, like…there. Just messing around. I mean, there were other people there, but they didn’t…matter.”

Benson doesn’t know what to make of this. “Huh. That’s it? Just…beach day?”

“Yeah. Well, I mean, until the end. A shark showed up and you…punched it so hard that it died.”

Benson does a genuine double-take. “I punched a shark. And it died?”

Now Randy twists, looks up at him, smiling. “Yeah. It was awesome.”

It sounds kind of awesome. Benson pokes him in the ribs. “You’re a fucking dork.”

“I’m just telling you what happened!”

“Look, Randy, I’ve never been to the beach, but I’ve seen Jaws about one thousand times and I know for a fact a shark would swallow my ass whole. And it would eat you and not even know that it happened. I’m not saying I’m scared, I’m just saying, don’t count on me to save you from a fucking sea monster.”

Randy doesn’t laugh and Benson looks at him and he’s making that face, that little frown and the line on his forehead that means that Benson just said something puzzling. Here we go. He tenses up without meaning to, braces for it. Grits his teeth, pops his knuckles.

“You’ve…really never been to the beach?”

Fuck, he hates this feeling. Like loss except you never had the thing in the first place. Like realizing maybe you’re supposed to be mourning something but you don’t really know what that something is or why it’s so important. He knows his upbringing wasn’t shit compared to Randy’s, compared to most kids’. He just wishes he could grow out of giving a shit about it.

So he gets defensive. He always gets defensive. “No, I’ve never been to the fucking beach. What’s so super-duper special about a bunch of sand? And water that’s mostly fish piss?”

Randy props himself up on his elbow, leans lightly on Benson’s chest, completely unfazed by his attitude. “Well…let’s go. You can decide for yourself.”

“To the beach?” Benson says incredulously. “Randy, we’re in fucking New Mexico.”

“Not–not today.” Randy waves his hand dismissively. “We can leave tomorrow. Make a beeline for California.”

And that’s that. The magical realism of the newly reformed Randy Fucking Bradley. No pity. No shame. Just the simplest solution in the whole damn universe.

“California.” Benson pictures the Beach Boys and hippies on rollerskates, rolls his eyes. “Sounds dreamy.”

“It’ll be worth it, Benson, I promise.” Randy looks at him with those puppy-dog eyes, chews his lip, slides his arm around Benson’s waist. He knows what the fuck he’s doing, the little shit; he’s too smart for his own good. “We don’t have to stay. We can leave as soon as we get there. I just…I think you would like it.” He leans a little heavier against Benson’s ribs, nudges his foot with his toes. “Please?”

Benson huffs. He’s not a fucking pushover, swear to God he’s not, but it’s like he can’t help but fold these days. He’s gonna spoil the guy rotten if he’s not careful. He has to at least pretend to put up a fight, just to say he tried. “What if I say no?”

His brow furrows. The puppy-dog eyes flick down to his mouth and back. “Well...maybe I could convince you.”

One of Benson’s eyebrows pops up. He likes the sound of that. “I’m listening.”

Randy sits up unsteadily on the marshmallow mattress and straddles Benson’s hips, tucking his hands beneath the pillow on either side of his head. Benson looks up at him, the angles of his face kissed by the sun, and feels a pleasant sort of ache in his chest. It's almost the same feeling as when he finally gave in and pulled over and let Randy sit on the hood, leaned back next to him and looked up at the stars and felt big and small at the same time.

“It’s amazing, Bence…you can't even imagine.” His thighs press against Benson's waist, wrists press against his shoulders.

“Yeah?” Benson licks his lips. His eyes can’t move fast enough, trying to take in every piece of his face, of his body, his name written all over all of it in red and purple. “Tell me about it.”

Randy's hair is hanging over his face like a messy kind of halo. He peers through it with this earnest intensity, this lion cub ferocity that might be the hottest thing Benson's ever seen. He shifts his weight to one hand and strokes the sensitive spot behind Benson’s ear with his thumb, sends chills spidering across his skin.

“The smell of the water and–and the sound. You never forget it. And it makes you feel…it’s massive. It’s amazing.”

“You know what else is massive?”

Randy stifles a chuckle, looks away, color rising in his cheeks. Benson grins. “Listen to me, Benson.”

“I'm listening!”

“It makes you feel…it makes you feel small, I guess. But not in a bad way. We could just walk around or maybe…swim a little bit?”

Benson pictures Randy with wet hair, dark and wavy, water rolling down his neck. Salt water, salty skin. “Could be nice.”

“We can do whatever you want.” He curls his toes against Benson’s thighs. “We could get ice cream and sit in the sun.”

The image of melted sticky sugar dripping over Randy’s hand, down his arm, hits Benson like a truck. Knocks the wind right out of him. He thinks about licking it off, watching him suck it off his own fingers. He wraps his hands behind Randy's knees and grips harder than he means to.

“That sounds, uh…that sounds good. I’m into that,” Benson says and he sounds like a moron in his own ears but it makes Randy smile so it's fine. He can feel the blood rushing away from his brain as fast as it can and he’s about ready to give in and end the discussion. Move on to other things.

Randy gets that earnest, uncertain look in his eyes all the sudden and touches Benson's face, brushes his thumb across the lines at the corner of his eyes in this foreign kind of way that Benson’s brain registers passively as tenderness, and all the sudden he can't breathe right. His throat’s fucked up like he’s getting sick. He swallows hard.

“I want to–I want to kiss you in the ocean,” Randy says quietly. “I think…I'd really like that.”

So now this is the only thing Benson cares about. His number-one goal. A shining and glorious reason to be alive. He’s going to kiss Randy in the ocean if it’s the last thing he fucking does.

“How about you kiss me right here, huh?” He cups the back of Randy’s neck and pulls him in, hard, yanks him really, because he can’t fucking help it. Because he wants him right now, right fucking now.

Randy resists, just a little, on reflex, and then gets overeager and his lips crash into Benson’s, but that’s okay. Randy kisses like he’s starved for it, always, no matter how long they’ve been at it. Even now, first thing in the fucking morning, he opens his mouth expectantly and moans when Benson slips his tongue past his teeth, one hand twisting the sheets, the other gripping his shoulder. He’s greedy, wants more, always more, is done depriving himself after fourteen years of solitude.

They’re a perfect match because Benson wants to give it to him. Anything he wants, everything, always, no matter where they are or how much skin is showing. He wants to share his space, his spit, his air, his anger, every inch of the car, every inch of the sky. All the bad nights. All the good ones, too. All the golden mornings that come after.

Benson laps at Randy’s bottom lip, catches it in his teeth and pulls. He digs his fingers into the half-healed shadow of his own hand on Randy’s waist from all the times before, opens his mouth to catch the gasp that wrenches free from his chest and swallows it whole.

“Benson,” Randy says, breathes his name like an exclamation of wonder. He presses the length of his body against Benson’s, weaves his fingers through the curls at the back of his neck and squeezes tight. He moves his hips in short, subconscious little thrusts, makes a desperate, hungry noise in the back of his throat. Benson can feel him hard against his stomach and fuck, he better pop a handful of painkillers for his back because they’re not leaving this shitty bed anytime soon.

Randy leans to the side so there’s a little breathing room between them. He runs his hand over Benson's chest, down his stomach, wraps his fingers around his dick and the sound Benson makes is strangled, animal.

“We can go, right?” Randy says. He strokes him like he can barely contain himself. “We can leave tomorrow?”

Benson arches his aching spine against the bullshit fucking mattress, digs his nails into Randy's back, feels lucky. Feels like a spaceman.

“Fuck yes. Fuck–yes–you got it, baby.”

Randy lights up and it's like staring into the sun. Transcendent. Fucking beautiful.

He twists out of Benson's grasp and ducks beneath the sheets and Benson can't fucking stand it. Can’t believe it’s real. He feels weightless, so light he just might end up way out there with all the stars. Nothing comes close to this, never has, never will. It’s not fair. He probably doesn’t deserve it. But no one ever said life was fair, now, did they? Sooner or later the odds had to end up in your favor.

He closes his eyes and grips the sheets and lets it be, lets it all be for once. Because for once, it's good. He's good. He's great. And they’re leaving tomorrow. For California.

Sounds dreamy.

tagging a couple friends who have gassed me up and been so patient sdlkfjlsk i just adore you guys <3

@crumb @ace-of-hearts-and-spades @cherubgore

#the passenger #the passenger 2023 #the passenger fanfiction #the passenger 2023 fanfiction #stockroom syndrome #randy x benson #ranson

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stxrquotes · 4 months ago

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yanqing & yunli except i headcanon yunli as audhd so it’s yanqing and his disaster gf

i’ve seen this one really really really sweet couple on insta, it’s a nt guy and his audhd wife and theyre so sweet. he takes the time to understand her and how their brains are different and it’s so lovely. anyways i kind of imagine yanli like that when their relationship develops more. especially because we got to see them outside of their squabbling in the last part of the tb quest—they work together well; they actually have grown to trust and respect each other (there’s also a dialogue if you choose to talk to yunli before confronting hoolay w/ feixiao where she compliments yanqing on his finishing atk and asks him to teach it to her—she even lightheartedly admits he might be stronger than her), and i feel that their trust and respect will only grow more with time. and of course they will always squabble and pick at each other

so to elaborate on audhd yunli, first off we all know how blunt and stubborn she is. her thinking is so straightforward that even her fighting style is “smash with big stick, everything die” (she prefers brute force over strategy or dexterity—doesn’t mean she can’t strategize, i just mean to point out that even in her fighting she gets straight to the point which i find amusing). i adore her so much my beautiful autistic daughter. special interest is swords. yanqing gets an honorable mention because he’s also obsessed with swords but i think he’s just a sword nerd who collects swords while yunli’s interest goes into the forging, the history, the personalities of the swords

yunli: we may both be obsessed with swords but i am obsessed with them in a much deeper and more autistic way than you could ever be

i have also considered though that yanqing could be headcanoned as having adhd; he’s impulsive, and i do still love the idea from pjo of demigods having an advantage in battle because of their adhd. reminds me of yanqing, he’s a hyperactive little dude bouncing all over the place in battle and idk. he’s also just. a teenage boy. so idk, remains to be determined

anyways i just hc that in all parts of yunli’s life except for anything having to do with swords she’s a complete mess and a ticking time bomb. everything in her room is a mess—except her swords (and old mettle is given the most pristine treatment). she’ll ignore any expectations put upon her unless it has to do with swords or something else she’s a little interested in. she has a few safe foods she eats on rotation in mass amounts.

also im imagining her in school and all i can picture is the leg bounce and the thousand yard stare. +10000 aura she doodles swords on all her papers. every project where students are given enough creative liberty and freedom to choose their topic, you fucking bet yunli is going to talk about swords in one way or another. idk how school works on the xianzhou zuming or frankly anywhere in hsr, but i guess that doesnt matter and i dont really care

also her sense of justice and tunnel vision with cursed swords. it’s so black and white to her (it has a lot to do with trauma ofc, but still i see that same kind of black/white thinking and extreme sensitivity to injustice as a trait on the spectrum).

i also would like to share headcanons about her sensorial and tactical development as a child lol. something about her screams sensory seeking. i use the korean voiceover, and i ADORE how they’ve voiced her and the direction they went. i haven’t listened to the english much, but from what ive heard she seems a lot more softspoken, which isn’t at all wrong or bad, it just is different than what i expected. in the kvo she’s got this monotone shrill going on that little girls with zero vocal control have and it’s fantastic. i hc she has no sense of volume whatsoever, can’t perceive her voice and doesn’t realize she’s shouting, things like that. it really fits with how she acted in her story quest, she’s just absolutely tone-deaf, both literally with her voice and figuratively with social cues, reading the room, etc.

practicing with old mettle has got to be so fucking loud, she’s throwing that shit around and it’s going CLANG CLANG CLANG and there’s no way she doesn’t have massive tolerance to high sensory input. for kids who are on the extreme end of high sensory needs, they’ll sometimes just seek out loud noises constantly, and of course, won’t realize it might be disruptive to others because they don’t even feel like it’s loud. so yeah yunli stims by throwing swords around because hell yeah. the fucking CLANG CLANG CLANG regulates her nervous system i just know it🗣️🔥

while some people are just born with dif sensory needs/issues, they can also develop due to your sensory experience, or lack thereof, as a child. kids who weren’t held/interacted with enough might have difficulty with lots of sensory input, while on the other hand (i dont know this one for sure, i am making a guess) i would think that a lot of exposure to excess sensory input might cause that kid to develop high sensory needs.

and that’s what i think with yunli would be part of her sensory issues, whether or not we’re even talking about autism—she grew up in the forgery around all that constant noise, not to mention the traumatic cursed sword event which could have exacerbated the way all that affected her nervous system because it also messed with her emotions and trauma is stored in the body AND she was a child, yadda yadda :3

i could keep going but idk this has been in my drafts for so long bc i kept thinking of shit and i didnt even talk that much about yanli

the reason i see them as disaster gf and nt bf is because although we’ve seen yanqing being a little shit, so much of that is about his maturity level as he’s still a teen. i just feel it and can’t articulate it well, i just feel that he’s got a calm spirit in there somewhere and as he grows he’s going to become so measured and patient and self-disciplined and it’s fantastic i want to see him grow into a fine young man (i know we probably wont but i can imagine it😞). it feels like that’s the direction he’s going with all the development from the recent tb quest, not to mention the parallels he has with jingliu

i hope this makes sense to others and not just me, for some reason i really see them as the wholesome nd girl and nt boy unlikely wombo combo cause yanqing has so much spunk and fire and yunli has so much spunk and fire but neurodivergently and they just burst into flames around each other but as they grow older it will wane and they will fan it down into glowing embers, soft and warm in the hearth; yanqing will hold her explosive spirit in his hands so gently, he’ll admire and understand her like no one else because somehow he just gets her, and she thrives in his comforting warmth. and when yanqing’s spirit crumbles and he loses that warmth and loses faith in himself, yunli can remind him of his strength and reinstall his sense of justice; she also brings the fresh autistic perspective of carefree innocence and autonomy that i feel yanqing needs in times where he might be overwhelmed by expectations or outside opinions. i just ugh i just . i love them i am going to throw up they’re beautiful and i just think that autistic yunli being understood by neurotypical yanqing is something that is so important to. society at large ,

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