#youtube emetophobia warning

[bransons-emetophobia-warnings]

ZOOCHOSIS (2024)(VIDEO GAME)

ZOOCHOSIS IS NOT EMETOPHOBIA SAFE!

I found myself repeatedly caught off guard by my emetophobia and extremely triggered during my time watching a playthrough Slimecicle did with an interesting immersive twist of this game, (which is a bummer because the video I was watching was very entertaining, and I was very interested in the game's story). I'll try my best to tell you what I know, but spoiler alert: I recommend that emetophobes just avoid this one altogether.

There are many occasions where people and animals trigger emetophobia with absolutely no semblance of warning, including the character you play as, in a very sudden, realistic, first-person manner. It is very audibly visceral, and there is a very detailed, however unrealistic, but extremely triggering (in my experience), animation that goes along with it.

Animals will do so whenever the player messes up a diagnosis or a food mixture, or whenever the mutated ones are healed. I'm also under the impression that some of the morphed forms do this for unrelated reasons.

The player will do so more or less at random.

There are so many scenes like this that are so visceral that my recommendation is to avoid the game and any online playthroughs altogether if you are emetophobic. I am incapable of giving a warning for every scene.

These scenes can last anywhere from three to twenty seconds.

[seasonallydefective]

If you can handle a little cheesy gore, watch Extra Ordinary (2019). Fantastic little indie horror comedy (light on horror, heavy on the comedy) out of Ireland about a woman who’s basically a medium who renounced her gift and now runs a driving school. One of the things that struck me was how normal the cast looked, and that there weren’t any jokes about the main character’s appearance.

It’s also just REALLY fucking good. Absolutely shot to the top of movies I’ve seen this year! (I’ve seen about 80 and counting so … that has to count for something.)

cast fat people in normal roles that do not revolve around being fat/ridiculed, I dare you

[cyrsed]

im biased but 1 thing i miss in the remake is how disgusting the slasher noises sounded in the original & i think the original makes better use of the color yellow

[harbingrs]

I coughed you up Saw you swimming there in my blood It sort of makes sense now Why you always had my love There's something about you that makes me tick There's something about you that makes me sick I think I want you Oh God, I want you

[meeludrawz]

New rehab program - Pt2

~ You're the very last therapist that the law has sent to "help" Shigaraki Tomura. All Might is the one who recommended you but the thing is, you have to be roommates with the villain ~

Warnings: You have anxiety, skin picking problems (Not mentioned in this text but will be in next parts), emetophobia, angst? (Idk if that counts as angst) Author's note: So this part is VERY self indulgent, but you can enjoy it nonetheless!

In a month, you learned alot about his "schedule".

Shigaraki was quite the night owl. In the morning, you'd hear nothing coming from his room but by the time noon approached, you'd start hearing shuffling. He'd eventually come out, do his morning routine, probably, in the bathroom then sat down at the table to eat lunch with you. He never sat close to you though, always at the very opposite end of the table. You both never really talked either, well, you did try here and there but everytime he'd give you that one murderous look, that'd easily make you shut up.

Then he'd get up and watch TV while you did the dishes. Tomura was usually looking at Netflix or Youtube.

You were glad he felt comfortable enough to spend an hour or two on the couch while you were in the next room. You had tried to sit down in the living room to watch something with him, but he'd get up and watch the rest in his room. It always made you feel horrible. You knew you were unwanted since the very beginning but acting like that, right in front of you, was just painful. It only happened once and it was enough to make you stop trying to watch tv with him.

If he didn't watch TV after eating, he'd immediately go back to his room and not move from there until dinner.

Dinner was like every lunch, silent and awkward but he never seemed to find your food horrible as he always finished his whole plate or never showed any signs of disgust. Maybe he was just a good liar, but you couldn't help but feel glad that he liked your cooking.

You also picked up how much he didn't want help. Not just for therapy, but for everything else too.

One time he had lost "something", you figured it was important due to him rummaging around the whole place, so out of curiosity, you had asked him what was going on.

Surprisingly, he had answered. "Lost something"

"Would you like me to help? What did you lose?" You had genuinely asked.

By the look he had given you, you immediately knew that he was highly suspecting you. He probably thought that you had hidden his stuff. Tomura refused your help, and threw an insult so you never figured out what he was looking for. He eventually had stopped searching an hour later. Hopefully, you thought he had found it.

There was the time when his new gaming chair had arrived. He had installed himself in the living room to assemble it.

Half an hour later, you heard a thud and an angry Tomura swearing loudly so you ran to him. "Are you okay??" You had carefully approached him

Whatever happened that day, he only had stood up, looked at you dead in the eyes and went: "Fuck off" Before he locked himself in the bathroom.

But right before he did, you had spotted him holding his hand while he walked past. You figured he hurt himself and it hurt… You had only wanted to help since the beginning but he didn't want to. Of course you couldn't force him, but still.

There were other small events like these where you quickly learned that he preferred taking care of himself.

Little did you know, something would change soon

``` ```` Today was the only day that Shigaraki was allowed to go out that wouldn't require groceries or stuff like that. He could go out do anything he wanted! But under the eye of a pro hero, of course. Which, you couldn't help but observe, that it would get him more tense than usual.

Dabi and the pro hero, Hawks, had came to pick him up. The winged hero was in charge of the blue flame villain, like you were in charge of Shigaraki. He was also here to see how you were handling things with the crimson eyed villain.

When they walked in, Dabi went to Tomura's bedroom, while Hawks leaned on the kitchen counter in front of you. You were holding a warm mug of hot cocoa, unsure about this outing, but you trusted the heroes, didn't you? "Well, I'm not sure how it's going or what you're doing with him but he never had a therapist staying this long before"

You held a tiny smile before looking down and sighing. "Well, I honestly think I failed.. We didn't make any progress.. And sometimes it's.." You hesitated. He raised a brow but patiently waited for you to finish. "It's scary.. Whenever I try to do something, I.. He looks at me like I'm the worst thing on Earth and I immediately back off.. I- I don't think I'll be able to endure this for long"

The hero's expression softened even more than earlier. "Hm.. I get ya, it's not easy at all and it's even risky.. But hey I heard your quirk is quite useful for that, he didn't try to… Do anything against you, right?"

You nodded in agreement, your quirk was just enhanced reflexes. If something was thrown at you with no ill intent, you could easily catch it, like a ball or your keys. You could also easily climb up on a pile of books and if you had to fall, you'd easily land on your feet. But if someone wanted to attack you, you could easily dodge attacks. Though, it wouldn't work if someone threw a ball with too much strength or speed, or if you fell from too high.

"When are you thinking about leaving?" The hero asked.

You glanced back up at him. "Well, once the Director of the program knows, I think I should be able to leave next week"

Hawks nodded but as he was about to add something, Dabi and Shigaraki walked past you two. The purple-ish-scarred man giving you a respectful nod while Tomura didn't even acknowledge you before they entered Hawks' car.

The winged hero usually didn't need one but when he was hanging out with more than one person, he couldn't fly with them. Even though that would be more than hilarious. "Welp, time to go, I should bring him back around midnight"

You nodded, giving him an amused smile. It sounded like he was Dabi's dad telling you that he'll bring your "rebellious" child (Shigaraki) safe and sound.

You watched them leave with the "ex-villains". He was lucky that they were wearing those necklaces or else he would've been easily outnumbered. Now that they were "quirkless", he could handle them both with the strength of his feathers, if they even tried something that is.

You tried staying up all night to welcome them back but you ended up falling asleep on the couch.

The next morning, you woke up finding a little note on the little table in front of the couch.

'He drank a little bit too much, so he might be cranky tommorrow, sorry - Hawks <3'

Great

Now you had to deal with an hungover villain.

"I'm leaving soon" You sighed to yourself.

You got up, walked to the bathroom, brushed your teeth and all that.

You then decided to take a shower, but as soon as you were done, a towel wrapped around you, Shigaraki kicked the door open. You screamed and jolted. "W-WHAT ARE YOU DOING??"

The minute you saw his face, a cold shiver went down your whole spine, you KNEW what was going on.

Your brain was YELLING at you to run as far as possible to escape. But Shigaraki hurried past you and hunched over the toilet.

You had, by instinct, already covered your ears with your hands as your body started shaking violently and tears were forming in the corner of your eyes.

You kept your eyes, very anxiously, on the door.

Your brain was screaming at you, telling you to RUN, to ESCAPE, that it WASN'T SAFE to stay near him!

He was fine, he was fine! He didn't help-!

But he's your PATIENT-!

NO NO NO NO! RUN!!

Danger-! DANGER!!

NO, HELP HIM, he could CHOKE and DIE!!

You DIDN'T want to let someone die when you were RIGHT THERE, to help!

Shigaraki restarted gagging and, without being able to control your body, you stormed out. At this point, your shaking had increased. You clutched, holding it for dear life, the towel wrapped around you.

Once you had reached the extreme opposite of the house, which was a corner in the dining room, you had curled up in a ball. You silently cried, squeezing your hands against your ears, wanting to block EVERY little sound. But you had to calm down, you HAD to, you couldn't like this! He couldn't see you like this!

'What do I do? What do I DO?!' You wanted to scream.

You let out a whimper, you knew what to do but you really REALLY didn't want to get near him.

Your brain was screaming danger all over and over again. What a pathetic therapist you were, being mortified at the sight of vomit. Hell, you didn't even had a glimpse of it! And you were curled up in a ball, naked, in a corner of the dining room.

After what seemed horribly long, you very very carefully removed your hands from your ears and you surprisingly, and gladly, didn't hear any sound.

Though, it worried you, was he-

You quickly got up, the room spun a little, and headed to the bathroom. You, once again, very very carefully peaked inside and found him sitting on the floor, his back against the bathtub.

You shakily walked towards Shigaraki and carefully lifted his hair up a little. He flinched but never struggled against you, his body probably still felt too upset to try anything.

You were still shaking like hell and you never looked at him when you said: "L-Let's get y-your hair cleaned.." You didn't care about your very trembling voice, you just grabbed a small towel, poured water on it and gently rubbed his hair. You almost didn't look, not wanting to get a glance of anything that he had thrown up.

It slowly made you relax.

He was fine, you were fine, you weren't going to catch whatever he had because it was just a hungover, you cannot catch a hungover, you weren't hungover, you wouldn't get sick. You kept repeating those sentences nonstop in your head.

You grabbed his shirt, tugging it a little and he understood what you were doing. He raised his arms and you removed it. Then throwing it in the sink, as fast as you could to not touch or see anything that could trigger your fear more than it already was.

You had to take care of him, you had to, it was your job, wasn't it? You also kept repeating those in your mind.

You bent down next to him, your vision was a bit blurry but you felt fine, It was just not focusing on anything, which was perfect like that. Though, were you really feeling fine? No, not at all, you were still shaking, your heart felt like it was going to explode and your breathing also hadn't settled that much.

You didn't glance at him, you just put the back of your hand against his forehead, just making sure, but it was hard to keep it against him due to your trembling. He seemed fine though.

Your throat squeezed, you had to force yourself to talk. "A-Are you okay?"

Shigaraki looked so exhausted, almost zombie-like. Mostly with the state of his hair, it hid his whole face like a mop was thrown on top of him. He nodded before mumbling. "..Are you?"

You blinked, focusing your eyes again and you realized that he was looking at your hand who was still shaking against his forehead. You slowly removed it, trying to compose yourself.

You wanted to tell him that you weren't okay, but that would make you and horrible therapist, wouldn't it? You were the one that had to take care of him, not the opposite. Your lips quivered, and tears restarted to form in the corner of your eyes but you controlled yourself as much as you could. "Y-Yeah" Your voice cracked, of course, but you would keep lying if he kept asking.

He threw a quick glance at me. "Bullshit" He spat out, keeping his voice low though as he sounded more raspy than usual.

You showed him a weak smile before murmuring: "Yeah"

This would've been a good time to talk and have a little therapy session but the both of you stayed silent. Personally, you didn't want to push him, not after what he had gone through a few minutes ago. And him? He wasn't a therapist, what could he even say?? Not that he cared anyway. In all honesty, he felt so horrible that he didn't give a shit about you. He just felt like sleeping plus drinking water since his head and throat were killing him.

You eventually stood up and left to your bedroom. Though, you couldn't help but feel bad for leaving him in the bathroom.

Part 1

Pt 2 - You're here

Pt 3

[the-raven-lady]

(Not) The Savior You Long For [Part 3]

[Masterlist] [My Ko-Fi]

Pairing: Night Lord (OC: Elias Rushorik) x serf!Reader [fem]

Song Inspiration: Nocturnal Me - Echo & The Bunnymen  [YouTube] [Spotify] “Do or die, what's done is done / True beauty lies on the blue horizon / Who or why? What's one is one / In pure disguise of vulgar sons / Oh, take me internally / Forever yours, nocturnal me.”

Warnings: Getting tattooed in detail (needles and pain), vomiting / emetophobia, illness and recovery, mentions of violence and gore, cannibalism, food (and lack thereof) talks, partially unreliable narrator?

Word Count: 3.3k

Author’s Note: Thank you everyone for being straight feral for this man. It makes writing for him far easier. Thank you @mothiir for keeping me company as I wrote and happy late birthday.

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3]

Tag List: @egrets-not-regrets @sleepyfan-blog @kit-williams @bleedingichorhearts @bispecsual 

@lemon-russ @moodymisty @dedios-of-the-word @pickpocketing-your-gender @historitor-bookshelf

The needle digging into your skin alternates between a carpet burn and the drag of a razor blade as the apothecary packs black pigment into your nape. Vibrations electrify your entire nervous system and tingle deep into your bones, sending all of your systems haywire. You lost the ability to hold yourself upright through the pain a long time ago, your master having simply pivoted and shoved you face-first into his bed when the iron grip around your neck wasn’t enough to silence your incessant whimpering. 

You ball your hands into fists and press them hard into your lap as an aggravated spinal nerve shoots lightning down your arm. The apothecary hisses in Nostraman, but the foreign words are lost to your pain-addled brain, too much blood whirring in your ears. The Contekar holding you steady digs his fingers into your jaw, the greater pain refocusing you and inadvertently soothing the ache in your clenched teeth. Your eyes blink open to his creased brow and tired eyes glaring at you in warning. You hadn’t even noticed the high pitched whimper leaving your throat with how focused you’d been trying to hold your breath, but it’s not a difficult leap in logic to realize that your tattoo artist was getting annoyed with the constant sound of a balloon leaking air.

The next time it happens is after you cry out from a stab to a particularly tender area above the spine, and both parties were substantially less polite about it. The apothecary lifts the needle from where it bore into you, and you don’t even have the time to catch your breath before someone kicks your chair and spins it round. The next thing you perceive is total darkness and the inability to take a full breath, as well as an immovable force preventing you from lifting your head back up. Your entire body tenses up as the needle once again makes contact and angry vibrations rattle down your spine.

Gentle wipes of a cold cloth against the entirety of your nape jarringly signaled the close of the session, temporarily calming the constant burn. What felt like an eternity had at most been three hours, but by the end your entire body was exhausted. You were dehydrated and nauseous, trembling from adrenaline and low blood sugar. Your limbs were torn between desperately needing to stretch out and being completely uncooperative. 

On legs of jelly, you slowly stagger up out of the chair and lift your face off of the bed, firmly planting your hands into the soft mattress to stabilize yourself. Moisture from where you had been crying stains the blanket and your cheeks. Disorienting static buzzes within your head.

The apothecary is packing up his cart, tossing used supplies into a bag on the side and putting the used needles in a rigid case with an occasional clink, clink. You squint as you notice a scarlet ink cup on the tabletop, not remembering when that had been poured despite trying to pay attention at first. The terminator and apothecary exchange quiet words in their native tongue before the apothecary pulls a tub of… something from one of the cart’s many drawers. The terminator accepts it with a scoff, shaking his head in annoyance, and puts the object next to his ornate armor. 

The back of your neck is lit up like a severe sunburn, curling around the edges of your traps and up behind your ears. Turning your head from side to side gives no glimpse of the new ink (but it does remind you of how stiff your body is). Whatever substance had been put on top of the tattoo is greasy and warm; you guess it must be there to protect the fresh wound.

The creak of the door opening and closing alerts you to the apothecary taking his leave, dragging the cart out behind him. The terminator gives the room a once over, then turns his black eyes to you. Your brain is too tired to react to the weight of his gaze at the moment, clouded by adrenal buzzing, and you feel the corners of your lips quirk up as you meet his stare. The slivers of white in the corners of his eyes make him look like an overgrown dog.

He huffs and looks away, sitting back against his table and grabbing the tub of whatever from earlier to read its label over. The way folds his arms over his broad chest conceals several of his larger chest ports, and you wonder why they’re placed along his body in each specific location. Questions for another day.

Curiosity gets the better of you, and you find yourself moving in the direction of the bathroom. Each step is messy and uncoordinated, feet dragging, but you manage to not fall over as you push yourself off of support of the bed. Getting tattooed so close to the head must be making your brain do spirals. Head warm and floaty, vision dreamlike and unfocused. Everything simultaneously feels better than it ever has and dreadfully wrong, but you can’t find it within you to care. The world has never been so ethereal.

You jump as you recognize the face in front of you. When had you gotten to the mirror?

Craning your neck to the side, you catch sight of the red and black artwork wrapping around your neck. Inflammation has set in over the entire area, an angry flush from head to chest. The thick black outline of a bat wing curves down from behind your ear to the top of your shoulder, packed with crimson. Red waves and spirals flow along its webbing in cascades. You turn fully to your side and drag the skin of your shoulder down to see the rest of it.

Subtlety was not considered for this design.

A skull sits between the bat wings along your spine, perfectly aligned with where the vertebra of your neck meet those of your back. Above the skull sits two symbols you don’t recognize: one in the shape of a cross, and another like a rotated ‘F’. You’ve seen similar script on some of the older Night Lord’s armor, but you never inquired about their meaning before. Whatever they are, they likely serve some function beyond purely aesthetic.

A sudden warmth overtakes you. Your hand slips from its perch on the oversized sink basin, and you nearly topple over, just barely catching yourself in time as a wave of vertigo washes over you. Alarms ring in your ears, tinnitus deafening everything around you. The grey tiled floor begins to swirl, churning tides at your feet that double and triple. Dull throbbing pounds from the inside of your skull. 

The only warning you get before the contents of your stomach paint the surface of the sink is a furious twist in your gut. You violently retch the remainder of your last meal, coughing and sputtering sour yellow chunks off of your tongue. 

You meet your own bloodshot eyes in the mirror as your legs begin to give out, clutching weakly at the sink to keep yourself upright. A sheen of sweat coats your face, cheeks flushed despite a sudden pallor to the rest of you. Each breath you take is labored and intense, diaphragm screaming at you for oxygen you can’t seem to get. 

What is happening–? You try to speak but the words won’t come out, tongue too large for your mouth. Am I dying–? 

The slam of the door is the only thing that reaches your fogged brain, and you sluggishly turn your head to meet it. Shadows crawl in from the opening like licks of dark smoke.

Everything tunnels around you, and a sharp sting of blinding white floods your vision.

Soft. The surface is soft, warm. 

You can’t remember the last time you’d felt so comfortable.

The heavy blanket around you anchors your sore body down, faux fur and minky sending little prickles up your arm as you brush your fingertips against the fabric. You must not be in your spot on the floor, unless your pillow had grown three sizes from the last time you checked. 

Honestly, you couldn’t tell if it did or not. A heavenly glow basks the room around you, hazing the edges of your vision. 

The tattoo had killed you— it must have, for why else would you be so at ease? This couldn’t be the Nightfall. 

An angel walks into your view, a vast colossus of perfection. Its form radiates with light, grey eyes dotting along its body in random locations that all seem to stare right at you. You’d dare call it beautiful. Gingerly, you reach a hand out towards it, hoping to share in its magnificence.

The afterlife wasn’t so unwelcoming after all.

Elias swears if you grab his leg one more time he’s going to tie you to the chair and leave you outside for the vermin. For the tenth time he swats away your hand, trapping it against the edge of the bed. He pushes away the blanket covering you to check over your weeping tattoo as the apothecary instructed. His eyes hone in on the subtle beating of your heart, capillaries expanding and contracting as lymph tries desperately to carry away the astartes blood in the ink. You haven’t died yet, which is a positive; it would reflect poorly on his abilities and reputation otherwise.

Your frail little body treats him like an infection. Elias had heard you vomit from the bathroom and surged in just in time to watch your head slam into the metal sink as you collapsed. There’s still a yellowing bruise on your cheek from where it had impacted, but the deep purples and reds have dissipated. He couldn’t remember a time when he was so delicate, even as a human. 

…however long ago it had been since then. The Night Haunter had only just been found by the Emperor and joined forces with the Imperium at the time Elias became a neophyte. 

You give a pathetic whine at his touch, and it grates him. It’s as if Apothecarion Rathal had tattooed the intelligence straight out of you, reducing you to a groveling ape and no more. Your skin was perpetually damp and perspiration soaked into the fine linens of his bed sheets, which made them reek of you (did you not understand how difficult it had been to acquire those?). You moan and hyperventilate in your sleep, demanding his attention away from the responsibilities you had shirked in your illness.

And now it was his responsibility to care for you? Absurd. Still, the human medicae would surely do no better than he could. It was bad enough that he can’t even use his own bed during this extended downtime because you’re in it.

It isn’t as if he hasn’t tried, but it’s difficult to focus on his own activities when every few minutes a sick human is trying to clutch onto you like a child in need of comforting. 

First, he had been attempting to clean off the plates of his armor while you were unable to do it for him. Elias sat over the edge of the bed to avoid getting any of the flakes on his expensive spread, when your needy little hands had snaked around his waist and pulled at him. “No,” he had scolded, pushing you off, but your foolishly feverish mind wouldn’t take that for an answer. You redoubled your efforts, forcing him to move to his far less comfortable chair to finish. 

Second was after a brutal training session. Elias had worked himself nearly to collapse, pushing the limits of his underfed body. He returned to his quarters drenched in sweat and exhausted, ignoring your sleeping form as he walked past you to take a much needed shower— he didn’t subscribe to the filth of the rest of the Eighth, taking more pride in his image and heritage than the lowly degenerates that had recently populated it. Dried and clean, he pushed you as far to the side as he could before taking up his spot in bed, sinking into the soft mattress with a sigh.

Only to wake up to you snuggling against him.

His back had begun to ache from the amount of half-sleep spent in his chair to accommodate for your needs. If you had been any less diligent at your job, Elias would have already disposed of you like the rest. 

The previous serfs he’d acquired had proven inadequate. Some would beg and cry to him for their freedom— freedom, as if he had not offered them a better life than they ever could have hoped for on this wretched ship. Others had damaged his armor or belongings, which infuriated him to no end. You at least seemed to know your place and understand the magnitude of the gifts he had given you, even if it had taken multiple days for you to use the pillow and sheet he provided for your floor spot at the foot of his bed.

He may not have kept you around at all if one of his useless younger brothers hadn’t been present in the armory he found you in. 

Elias had just returned from a six month long campaign on a noncompliant feudal world, utterly ravenous and annoyed. The fleet had stopped supplying rations to the squads weeks prior as ‘encouragement’ for them to finish their mission faster. The casualty rate had shot up as a result of the ration cuts, each Night Lord left to fend for themselves. The civilians and guardsmen stood no chance.

Elias had already never been given proper portioning for his body size to begin with, being larger than the majority of his legion by a substantial margin. He left most meals hungry, but he learned how to make up for it in his own ways. 

And there you had been, crying in the corner against a storage locker as his brother cornered you in while spewing ridiculous notions about gutting you. There had been two priorities on Elias’s mind at the time: have his armor refreshed so that he would stand out amongst his squad, and have his belly filled. How kind of his brother to so willingly volunteer for slaughter, getting in his way as he did. Elias had been craving such a protein-dense meal for ages.

You had done an admittedly excellent job cleaning his helmet as he ate. It brought him something akin to happiness that you were intelligent enough to shut up and just work, leaving him to his devices. He was almost grateful he wouldn’t have to devour you. The chances of finding a serf that didn’t question or cry about every little thing were slim.

Speaking since his lip had been torn a half-century ago brought Elias no short amount of annoyance. Sharp consonants like F’s, P’s, and S’s would catch on his lips, causing them to whistle and lisp. It was even worse in Gothic than his native dialect of Nostraman. Eloquent speeches and curt words were softened by the reality of their vocalizations, and over time Elias decided to speak only when necessary to avoid the stress.

He wasn’t ‘self-conscious’ about it. He doesn’t get self-conscious. That was only for the weak minded, and Elias is not weak.

The jar of antibiotic balm has gotten warm in his hand. Deftly unscrewing the lid and dropping it aside, he hooks a dollop onto his finger. The apothecary made it very clear that the tattoo had to be kept moisturized and coated to protect it and have it heal properly, and Elias wouldn’t settle for any imperfections in the design. He had overseen the entire process from start to finish to assure the outcome was as favorable to him as possible. The best tattoo artist, the finest supplies, the most reliable machine, everything. He wouldn’t skimp on the recovery process no matter how difficult you intended to make it.

The terminator kneels down on the bed and rolls your head to the side once more to apply the ointment, diligently spreading it over every exposed inch of the tattoo. The process would go so much more smoothly if you would stop nuzzling into the hand holding your head like a damned kitten. He needs to use both hands to lift the back of your collar up, but your complete inability to stay still and let him work stalls the process. 

An annoyed grunt leaves him, and he sits back to glare down at you. Your eyes are half-lidded and unintelligent when they meet his, and you give him another useless smile. Never learning your lesson, you lean forward to rest your head against his knee, letting out a deep exhale at the contact. It’s ridiculous, the basal creature you’ve become.

But it also puts you in the perfect position for Elias to finish his work. He supposes this is fine if it means you’ll cooperate with him, and he allows himself to relax. He’s only taking advantage of your weakness.

He hooks a finger into your shirt and pulls it away, working the balm down under the fabric to make sure the entirety of the tattoo is coated, rolling it an inch farther out than necessary in all directions in the event you smudge it. He relinquishes your collar and stares down at the runes between the wings. On a whim, he scoops up another small dollop of the salve and focuses more attention to the area. He would prefer his claim on you be clear if nothing else, and no part of the tattoo was more important than his name.

Content, the Night Lord pulls the blanket back over the area and reaches for the lid of the jar to close it.

“Thank you, my lord.”

He stops at your words, returning his gaze to where your cheek rests on his thigh. Your eyes are cloudy and red, pupils dilated so large they nearly envelop your iris. The look is almost pathetic, so reliant on him for your needs.

You have been since he chose to keep you. Unable to stand up to any of his brothers and most other serfs before. You could not find your own clothes, find regular sleep, or find consistent food. Elias had so generously made up for that, providing you new garments and a safe place to sleep, and you still tried to leave at first. Perhaps if you had just spoken up about your needs, he would have known you were hungry sooner. Taking the finer foods the Imperium provided to the remembrancers had been tantamount to stealing from children. No one dared stop him from entering their hall and commandeering what he saw fit to nourish you.

He has now sacrificed his bed for you, but at least it is visible how grateful you are for it. It stirs an odd fluttering in his hearts that makes him grimace.

“Elias.”

Your eyebrows knit together as your obtuse brain thinks loud enough to hear each cog within whir. Are you always so transparent?

“Pardon me, my lord?” you reply, unable to piece it together yourself. Perhaps he has given you too much credit.

With a sigh, he responds, shaking his head. “My name is Elias.”

A light enters your eyes for the first time in a week, a modicum of intelligence coming back to you. The adoring smile on your face widens to a full fledged grin as if you have just been given all of your dreams in life. It would be impossible for another human to look more reverential than you do in the moment, face pressed against him like you’re venerating a god.

If you could purr, Elias swears you would be.

If he still could, he might be too.

And here's the tattoo you got. Hope you like Night Lord Tribal!

They say bold will hold for a reason. Unfortunately for most serfs, it doesn't have to hold very long. I overlayed it on top of some skin tones so you guys had a better idea of what it looks like on the skin.

I debated doing the entire Fenty Beauty shade range but the time sink was high, so here are 18 common shades. If your skin tone isn't on it, feel free to send me a picture and I'll throw the transparent tattoo on top of it :)

[lactosecarrotsoup]

Hey!! My name is Jenny and I've been writing a fanfic based on what we know from the game's lore (in game + the lore live streams) along with my take of what happens! It takes directly after "Petals" and jumps around in point of views, mainly Maria, Johnny, and Danny's. It's a twisted romantic drama with horror and of course tragedy. It also features one art piece by nomoxxie on twitter/x! Thanks again for the permission to use it! The cover is done by me with the Maria model in the image by IRIDESCENDLING on twitter/x too!

This story is far from perfect - as the lore is confusing and not coherent along with my own simple mistakes here and there. But regardless, I hope you enjoy!

Maria Flores is an aspiring photographer who has unfortunate luck. Johnny Slaughter is a mama’s boy raised in a place that makes hell jealous. Johnny captures Maria with only one intention - to make her his. But now Maria’s boyfriend, sister, and friends are out to find her. Could Maria escape? Or will she die trying by hands that claim to “love” her?

WARNING: This story contains graphically written topics! Such as sexual intercourse, sexual assault attempt, sexual assault fantasies, violence, gore/blood, cannibalism, cheating, slight animal abuse, emetophobia, Stockholm syndrome, and character death. I try to put warnings before each chapter. More warnings might come as the story progresses.

[things-that-are-litwtc]

This entire shitshow of a YouTube video is litwtc (I cannot fucking believe this is one of my comfort videos wtf)

Emetophobia warning (sorta) + other slightly gross stuff

This is LITWTC

[theelvishfiddler]

I like the art style you have for the turtles in those 2 comics (the ones I'm referring to is the comic with the broken button and the one where donnie and raph are trying to build something) it looks familiar and the facial expressions are very fun

Thank you! I have a lot of fun with it XD. The style was inspired by a few things you might recognize!

#1 - Juni Ba's TMNT 2022 Annual! I am a HUGE fan of his artstyle, especially the inks and how expressive everything is.

#2 - the youtube short 'Don vs Raph' by Jhonen Vasquez. It's incredibly silly and over the top (although its Very nickelodeon so emetophobia warning from 2:40-3:03 :/ )

#3 - Mike Mignola's artstyle. I borrowed a few volumes of Hellboy from a friend and THE INKS, the inks, the inks, and the angular style of the limbs 10/10

It's also just my usual artstyle, but more geometric and less careful about proportions / perfection. It's what i default to when my chronic arm pain is flaring up, but I (stupidly) still really really want to draw. The simple circle head is a wonderful thing 〜(꒪꒳꒪)〜

[poddopetals]

TWEWY Bang 2023 Entry by poddopetals — art by @sitraxis @subasekabang

Run Through Fire — Part 1: Starless Nights

Rating: Teen and Up Audiences (T)

Pairing: Bito "Beat" Daisukenojo/Kanade Rindo (main) Additional pairings:

Furesawa "Fret" Tosai/Kanade Rindo

Bito "Beat" Daisukenojo/Sakuraba Neku (mentioned)

Furesawa "Fret" Tosai/Kanade Rindo/Sakurane Shoka (mentioned)

Kanade Rindo/Sakurane Shoka (mentioned)

WARNINGS:

Prominent appearances: Swearing, light body horror/gore, burning to death, non-canon character death, blood, nightmares, insomnia, vandalism, vehicle accident, emetophobia, headaches, fainting, food and eating, social avoidance issues, hallucinations, paranoia, characters struggling with mental health, mentions of homelessness, mentions of protests, unspecified anxiety disorder, unspecified hallucinatory disorder, characters argue often

Minor appearances: City destruction, neglectful parents (implied), claustrophobia in crowds, allusion to gang violence, mentions of cops, mentions of politics, mentions of therapy

Summary: Rindo Kanade, now 19, has been having violent nightmares and visions of his time in the Underground. For reasons he can't explain, they subject him to watching himself lose his friend of four years, Beat Bito, to inevitable disasters. This story follows Rindo's journey towards realizing exactly why he's having this issue as he gracelessly and awkwardly navigates his complicated memories and feelings for Beat, laying out a tale that shows the boy's plights of his crippling trauma clashing with young love.

Partner: sitraxis @sitraxis on Twitter @sitraxis on Tumblr Credits

tinpin.bin for proof-reading my grammar

@tinpinwin on Twitter

@tinpinwin on Tumblr

Felix Mittermeier on unsplash for graphics

This series has an official playlist on spotify!

(Or YouTube)

Read on...

AO3:

Google Docs:

WattPad:

Art © sitraxis

Read my thoughts below!

HI GUYS 💜

SO I'VE BEEN WORKING ON THIS FIC FOR A WHIIIILE NOW

I'M SO SO HAPPY TO FINALLY POST IT WITH THE TWEWY BANG!!! WORKING WITH MY BETA READER @TINPINWIN AND MY ARTIST SITRAXIS WAS ABSOLUTELY AWESOME AND THE STAFF OF THE BANG ALONG WITH THE OTHER MEMBERS WERE ALL SO AMAZING AND NICE AND I MADE NEW FRIENDS AND HAD SUCH A GREAT TIME!! If you read this fic, I hope you like it!! It's the first entry to my Run Through Fire series, which will be a BeatRindo fanfic universe that I'll make lots of art and fics and maybe even videos for!! Stay tuned!!!!! :D

[magic8ballofyarn]

Ask a question... Turn over for the answer!

Good day, my name is Juno? and I am the internets finest wizard. I am 20 and a genderqueer lesbian, my pronouns are It/that/they/he sometimes she and I am taken by my forever love, Lawrence.

I am currently studying to become a music educator. I am also looking to teach both music and drama since those are both things I am passionate about.

Here, I will post about my interests, life events, and maybe even things that get a bit personal. That being said, I will not put warnings unless it is graphic. (Tag will be #shuteye if needed)

I enjoy music, the performing arts, parodies, dancing, singing, oddities, whimsy, pokemon, cosplay, internet horror, writing, creative projects, collecting CDs, puzzles, movies, photography, US history, politics, magic (illusions, practical, spells) old youtube, video games, collecting jewelry, dressing up, *crime cases, game shows, mysteries, aliens, cryptids, cats, urban legends, weird animals, makeup, jumpscares/screamers, shock sites and more..!

(*I do not support the glamourization and the insensitive commentary that is normally associated with this)

I am looking to make more friends! Particularly lgbt, otherkin/therian, just very fun overall, and weird. [PUT SOMETHING HERE]

I ask that you tag the following with #junobeware:

Alcoholism, Negative religious topics, Neglect, Emetophobia, Any kind of ab*se, Contamination/germ talk, Cutesy trauma dumping or kind of the "t*ktokification" of mental illnesses (ex: omg im so ocd) it just bothers me personally, nothing against anyone who does this.

Thank you in advance.

[paracosmicoweb]

Introduction

Paracosmico is a science fiction and surreal/psychological horror webcomic made by @teefsintheweb !!

STORY OUTLINE:

Zone is a child who was artificially created using the remains of a dead cosmic entity. He is accompanied by a newly sentient robot, both on a mission to learn more about the new world while guided by a higher being.

CONTENT WARNING

Agoraphobia, cannibalism, derealization, substance abuse, depersonalization, body horror, blood, eyestrain, bugs/insects, emetophobia, eyes/eye contact, religious themes, depression, anxiety, abuse, death and suicide.

The Paracosmico series is being created by just one person and is a passion project.

Animations and other types of videos are uploaded to Teefs YouTube channel.

TAGS:

"#Paracosmico Webcomic" (MAIN TAG)

"#Paracosmico [name]" (CHARACTERS)

Versión en español aquí!

(Here is the Teefs CARRD in case you want to find them on other sites.)

[daggersandarrows]

i am once again asking whoever puts the trigger warnings on dimension 20 episodes to understand how trigger warnings work. "misophonia" is not a good warning for their being "wet/squelching sounds". the correct warning for that. is. "wet/squelching sounds". you put "misophonia" when there is a discussion of/content focused around/a person actively displaying symptoms of misophonia.

you do not put "emetophobia" in a warning for "there will be vomit" unless there will also be emetophobia. it's just...not correct. i also find it personally really annoying when youtubers for example say shit like "if you have (phobia) then don't watch this video" or "if you have sexual trauma then don't watch this video" like bitch tell me what is in it and then i will decide. warning for the phobia that people may or may not have is just...unhelpful. i doubt that that's what d20 is doing directly, but it's tiring to me and feels like it deliberately strips away agency. i just wish they'd trigger tag correctly if they're going to do it at all.

[illusionlockarchive]

OH LADS I DID A GOOD FIND LAST NIGHT

So I was just scrolling n scrolling down my YouTube front page being like "man I don't wanna watch any of these lol" n eventually one of the vids that popped up was this like. Less than 1k views video of some Hannah Barbera looking cartoon character and by the title I was like. Uhhh uhm. Is this... a YouTube horror I've never heard of?

Sure enough, I clicked on the channel it was from, Chuckleful Pictures, and it seemed to have all the markings of your typical YouTube unfiction horror story. Particularly here it's told mostly through "found footage" of lost cartoons of the characters Charley and Edgar, and later a sheep named Barley joins the main gang as well...

I will say I REALLY like the art direction in this, from the character design to the way the medium is used to the storytelling used in dynamic ways to the changing angles and art styles... there's quite a lot of effort here for such a criminally underrated little series. As for the story itself I'm not gonna give much away, specially because it's pretty simple and easy to parse so far.

Will give general warnings though, which are: emetophobia, child harm, child death, domestic violence and alcohol abuse

I'm no big YouTuber guy at all, but with how underrated this thing is and how much it's captivated me and I think it deserves one of them deep dive analysis videos and if no one else is gonna do it, then I guess I will

[mechanicalowls]

Unlovable

a terrornoss one shot

ao3 link

warnings: smut (so don't read if you're under 17), emetophobia, hurt/comfort, loss of a parent, self esteem issues, brief internalized homophobia and the whole m*ni l*dd ordeal

summary: brian michael hanby had a fear of commitment. brian michael hanby had been forcibly thrust into a black hole that was seemingly endless. and brian michael hanby had convinced himself he was unlovable.

fic below the cut:

When he was younger, Brian often found emotional investment wasn't his strong suit. With his parents being older when they had him, they, especially his dad, were pretty old fashioned with how they raised their kids. Men were supposed to be strong, valiant protectors of their families. Men didn't get sad or cry. That was a girl thing.

Tangentially, that meant, at least in Brian's not-fully-developed brain at the time, that men didn't get lovey dovey, or romantic, or doting. That was just out of the question. It wasn't something he learned from his parents, but he also wasn't exactly told otherwise either.

As such, by the time he was a rough lad, roaming the pubs and clubs of Dublin in his college years, he didn't put much thought into who he bedded. So long as she was pretty and had nice tits, he couldn't care less about her feelings or personality. They were always one night stands anyway, no meaningful connection would ever come from banging a chick from the bar because she was the first one willing to glance his way.

He always bailed before his ladies awoke in the morning. Not out of spite or shame, and it wasn't until much later in life that he realised what it was.

The fear of commitment.

Yes, that was an unfortunate side effect of his somewhat stunted emotional growth. Or, lack of emotional maturity, that was a better term for it. In his dumb, college kid brain, he never considered how the women he broke drywall with would feel after waking to cold sheets and sometimes a missing tube of toothpaste. As long as he got his rocks off, he was satiated. With as high of libido as Brian had, especially back then, he was a borderline sex pest in that regard.

It wasn't until a certain youtuber slid into his DM's one day that he really took a step back to evaluate his personality as a whole. He wasn't exactly a complete dickhead, but he wasn't a saint either. Seeing that message from someone he admired and looked up to so much in his inbox shattered something in Brian. His ego, his pride maybe.

He vividly remembered the way his chest tightened as he read the message; a request to play together. He vividly remembered his trembling fingers skipping over keys as he attempted to formulate the perfect response, keeping his “cool guy that does a decent impression” persona intact. He vividly remembers pacing around his tiny bedroom, nervously awaiting the canadian’s response.

When he finally got into a call with said canadian, Brian was over the moon with idol worship, and desperate to remain cool and aloof to the fact that people who were on the level of Justin Bieber and Selena Gomez to him were willing to talk, play and record with him.

Especially Vanoss himself.

Yes, Mr. Evan Fong was, for a while, an unknown quantity. He didn't even know what the man looked like and he was already in too deep by the time that fateful Skype call happened. Brian found that something just felt different at the end of that call, long after Nogla and Tyler and Lui had bid their goodbyes. He and Evan stayed in that call for such a long time, Brian had barely noticed he hadn't slept. In fact, it was Evan who had questioned him about his sleep schedule.

A warm, fuzzy feeling sizzled in his chest as he and Evan wasted away in that call, talking about everything and nothing all at once. Talking about hockey, football, college, their childhoods, youtube, their families, their favorite foods, literally everything. The connection Brian felt with Evan in that call was undeniable, and for many years Brian wondered what that feeling was; moreover, if Evan felt it too.

From that moment on, they were practically inseparable. Brian would drop everything to come record with Evan. Hell, he'd even been fired for the man's sake. For so long, he couldn't place the precise emotion he felt for the younger man. It was just “The Evan Feeling”. Sure, he soon gained good connections with the others, with Marcel, and Nogla, and Anthony and everyone else, but none of their connections felt even remotely similar to the one he held with Evan.

When the shorter man finally did a face reveal in 2014, Brian had felt the tides of “The Evan Feeling” shift. Finally having a face to put to a name was a surreal experience. The only other member of their group more secretive than Evan about his face was Delirious. Despite the video being public and uploaded at Evan's discretion, Brian felt like he was intruding on a private conversation. Like he had accidentally overheard a secret at a party.

He had frowned at Evan's apology for “disappointing people”, whatever that was supposed to mean. Evan was not bad looking in the slightest. Brian would scarcely admit it, but he found the man to be very attractive. He was handsome in the way a college gym bro was. And those muscles really did something for him.

Nevertheless, Brian was a straight man from Dublin, Ireland, living his life, banging chick's with huge racks every other weekend. He banished any of those thoughts to a deep part of his brain. Not only was he not gay, but he was having those thoughts about someone he considered one of his best friends for christ's sake. It was (he assumed) precisely why Evan had stayed hidden behind a camera for so long. He didn't want people ogling him for his looks, preferring when people ogled his sick ninja defusing skills.

As the years went on and the times had changed, Brian found that he never could quite shake “The Evan Feeling”, no matter how he tried. Over the years, their banter evolved from the average conversations you'd have with the boys to something he later recognized as playful flirting. Brian loved to make Evan bashful and sheepish, and, in tandem, Evan adored getting Brian all riled up.

At that point, Brian hadn't had a date in a long while, having sworn off the practice after having his heart broken by that old Subway manager. At least he and Evan were in the same boat and had yet another thing in common in that regard. The poor man hadn't had a steady girlfriend since he graduated high school.

He supposed that's where all the flirting between them came from, a mutual understanding of each other's lack of romance. Nearing the summer of 2016, just before PAX East that year, Brian finally came to terms with the fact that he might not have been as straight as he thought he was. He absolutely refused to confide this in anyone, especially not Evan, and even more especially not any member of his family. They weren't full on hateful, but he did know his dad often called bisexual people “greedy”; even if it was a joke, Brian didn't want to find out if it wasn't one.

Around that same time, Brian finally made the big decision to fly to America for that convention. He'd finally be meeting all of his friends, his brothers, in person for the very first time. He kept it on the down low, openly lamenting the fact that he'd miss yet another opportunity to meet his friends face to face. He found out from Brock what hotel they'd all be staying at that time around, and booked a room as soon as he could to snag it before the convention.

He'd heard from Nogla that the lanky irishman had been tasked with meeting their friends at the door to the hotel, so that way they'd all be able to have dinner together right away. Brian wasn't sure why Nogla was the one chosen for that job instead of, say, Brock or Marcel, but whatever. The moment Brian set foot near the front of that hotel, he saw Nogla's face light up. Brian would always hate to admit it, but his friend gave a great hug. It was a nice, friendly embrace that left him less anxious than he had been just a moment prior.

Nogla finally let him go inside after chattering his ear off for fifteen minutes straight. Upon finding his way to the hotel restaurant and finding a table with several friendly faces all talking and laughing, Brian sauntered up and made his presence known.

To say he received a warm welcome would be an understatement.

Marcel was up in a flash, practically bursting at the seams with excitement as he all but strangled Brian in a bear hug. Brock was next, giving him an embrace similar to the one Nogla had. Then Tyler, and Anthony, and Scotty, and Lui, and Craig. And at last, the man he'd been the most eager (and nervous) to meet in person gingerly made his way over to greet his friend.

The sudden wave of electricity he had felt when Evan hugged him was undeniable. As much as he liked the hugs he'd received from all his friends that day, his brain stalled at the thought of the strong, warm embrace from the shorter man. He clapped a hand on Evan’s shoulder, making a joke about just how muscular the man was. To his surprise and delight, Evan (and the table) erupted into laughter. The canadian rested his hand upon Brian's back, and in that moment he wondered.

He'd wondered if Evan felt that jolt of lightning buzz through him too.

He'd wondered if Evan would hug him again.

He'd wondered if Evan had “The Brian Feeling”.

Half an hour later, Luke finally arrived on behalf of Delirious, and they were finally all set to order. Brian had taken a seat right next to Evan. The pure contentment he felt as he listened to and bantered with his friends like they'd known each other since birth was something he didn't know he had been sorely missing. He often caught himself staring at Evan, of course. He knew the man was shy, but he just couldn't help himself.

Having actual, physical proof that Evan was a real person, living, laughing, breathing, was a hurdle Brian just couldn't seem to leap. He discreetly attempted to memorize every little thing about his friend. How his chest puffed out when he laughed, how his eyes shimmered when someone addressed him, how his fingers curled around the fork as he ate.

Ok, maybe he had been a bit of a creep at that point. But, he'd also caught Evan staring at him in turn; maintaining eye contact until the younger man broke away. If Brian weren't sitting so close, hell, if the lights were any more dim, he would've missed the way Evan's cheeks tinged red when he was caught staring.

During one of those instances, when Evan looked away with a blush, Brian found Brock looking at him, an eyebrow raised and a knowing smirk plastered on his lips. The man glanced between the irishman and the canadian, widening his smirk when Brian made a face at him.

Near the end of their meal, Brian had rested his palm on the table as he listened to Anthony and Tyler discuss the evening plans. In all honesty, despite wanting nothing more than to spend even more time with his friends, Brian would've killed a man for a room temperature beer and a nice, debatably soft hotel bed to rest his travel weary bones upon. As he pondered his own evening activities (or lack thereof), he had felt something nudge his pinky. Looking down, he found Evan's knuckles settled to the side of his own; pressing against Brian's hand ever so slightly.

They were curled around his now empty glass of soda. Feeling eyes on him, Brian looked up at the face the fingers belonged to. Evan was watching him, assessing his reaction. The irishman had given him a small smile and a shrug, leaving his hand where it was upon the worn, wooden table.

Before they all bid their goodbyes, Brian had managed to jot down the rooms everyone stayed in. Evan had his own room, as did Luke and Craig. Lui and Nogla roomed together, and Marcel, Scotty, Anthony and Tyler all squeezed into a two bed room. Brian had pitied the poor housekeeper who'd be cleaning that crime scene. Brock also had his own room, which is where he called Brian to before he could set foot in his own room.

“Alright, what's the deal with you and Evan?” He'd grilled, crossing his arms. Brian had gone red at the bluntness of that.

“W-what? Nothin’, nothin’, just a bit of banter is all. He's ‘m best friend, Brock.” Brian replied, cursing the sudden stutter. Brock raised a brow at him.

“Uh-huh. Yea, that's why you two haven't stopped staring at each other all night and holding hands, right?” Brock posited. Brian would swear he could've heard a pin drop at that.

“H-hey! We have not been holdin’ hands!” Brian snapped back. Brock had merely raised a brow at his defensiveness.

“Right,” the taller man had said, holding the i for a beat. “Well, just… just don't hurt Evan, ok? He hasn't had anyone like that in a long time. Behave yourself and treat him right, alright?” The older man had almost chastised. Brian remembered burning up at that; at Brock's nonchalance about the complicated relationship between he and Evan.

Brian doesn't remember much after that point, he promised Brock that whatever happened, Evan wouldn't get hurt. At some point he had stumbled back to his hotel room in a daze, heart rattling against his ribcage and echoing in his ears. He passes out in bed shortly thereafter, not even taking his jeans off and barely remembering to discard his shoes.

Of course, he had dreamed of Evan, it was only natural that the canadian would invade his dreams as well.

The next few days had passed with little to no incident. Brian and Evan had all but danced around each other, maintaining eye contact for extended periods of time, playfully flirting, hands resting upon each other for a bit too long. Brock and Tyler had each thrown them knowing glances. Brian hadn't really wondered how Tyler came to the same conclusion that Brock had, maybe they were that obvious after all.

It all culminated at the end of the week, the last night in the hotel. Besides that first night, Brian had found a lost canadian wandering to his room at 9pm on the dot every night. Brian would let him in, and it was just like those Skype calls all over again. They would talk, and talk, and talk, and talk some more until the early morning when Evan would (reluctantly) bid his friend good night.

Brian had so badly wanted to beg him to stay.

The closest they had gotten was on that Wednesday, when Evan had found Mr. Bean playing on one of the hotel tv's channels. They sat next to each other then, slowly slouching down the bed while giving animated commentary over each episode. As the evening had gone on, however, their words slowly escaped out the open window and into the night, leaving the two men in a comfortable silence only broken by a laugh track.

At some point, the two had dozed off, completely lost in their shared bedspace, body heat, and interests. To this day Brian would never know how long they were out for. Maybe it's best they didn't know. He had been awoken however long later by Evan attempting to shimmy out from his grasp. Brian remembers, even in his bleary, sleep riddled state, going bright red at the realization that he had been spooning the younger man, and had done so unknowingly in his sleep.

As always, Evan had looked reluctant to leave, but he did so anyway. Brian didn't take any offense to it, even at the time. Evan was, and always will be, a nervous wreck when it came to emotional waves he couldn't simply tread. Brian knew the feeling, he was just better at hiding it.

After that night, something had definitely changed in the air between them. Brian would never know the cause, but he didn't really need to know. Suddenly, their playful flirting took a sharp, sexual turn. Jokes about slamming headboards, making each other scream, getting all wet and licking each other clean slowly crept into their normal flirtatious comments until it was all they joked about with each other.

That had done nothing to quell the raised brows and narrowed, knowing eyes of Brock, Tyler, and now Marcel, Luke and Anthony. No one ever spoke up about it, and thus, the sexual tension built up to a breaking point that Saturday.

It was bound to happen eventually.

All that tension and barely contained desire spilled over and coated both men in a thick layer of lust after they finally returned to Brian’s room that night. Despite each man having a little to drink that night, they'd both swear up, down, left and right that they were both as clean as someone getting their seven years sober coin at an AA meeting.

It was a flurry of discarded clothes, undone belts, sweat, bedsheets and open-mouthed kisses that, even in his frenzied state, Brian knew meant something deeper than a one night stand. Brian had taken the lead, doing everything in his power to ensure Evan would get nothing but pleasure and satisfaction from the event, his efforts not going unrewarded later on.

To make a long story short, they both came, and their impending relationship was solidified that evening when Evan settled back against Brian's chest, holding the older man's hand and leaving gentle kisses against his palm.

After that, as soon as he returned to Ireland, Brian made plans with Evan to move out to California. Evan already had a house much too big for one person, and he was willing to do everything a man could do to get his boyfriend to live with him.

After many months of moving and cleaning out his small apartment he'd been occupying for the better part of the decade, Brian finally settled into the Fong estate, and reaped all the benefits that came with it. It was the highest point of his life thus far. He had a job he loved, friends he saw regularly, a nice house, a new puppy Evan had gotten him for Christmas, and a loving, doting boyfriend that could not have enough of him.

It was all too good to be true.

And it was. In a way.

The funny thing is, when you're in a constant state of euphoria, the dreaded feeling of misery hits you twice as hard. It all came crashing down one day in 2018. He, Evan and their dog Ghostie sat on the couch, just soaking in and enjoying each other's presence on a day off. An old Batman cartoon filled the silence of the living room, occasionally interrupted by the snores of Ghostie, snuggled against Evan's legs.

Said man was scrolling through his phone, leaned against Brian's chest. He'd been awfully quiet ever since his attention focused on the device. Brian had his arm around him, occasionally sparing glances at the canadian. Sure, Evan was naturally quiet, but this was almost unnerving.

As if Evan could feel the icy blues burning a hole through his head, Evan shifted, nudging Brian gently to get his attention.

“Hey Bri?” He all but murmured.

“Yea, Ev?” Brian responded, squeezing his shoulder slightly. Evan finally glanced up at him, an uncharacteristically nervous look upon his face. Sensing something serious coming, Brian pressed the mute button and turned his full attention to Evan, petting Ghostie as he did so.

“Ah… Have you, uh, seen this um… this thing that Craig posted?” Evan asked, grabbing a handful of the blanket they shared. Brian gave him a wide-eyed look.

“What thing? What'd he say now?” Brian asked, attempting to keep the dislike for his fellow irishman from his voice.

“He just… he posted this big long thing about me on Twitter. He kept saying things like how much of an ego I have and how rude I am. He just, kept bringing up all these things that happened years ago, and it feels like he's trying to make a callout post or whatever.” Evan explained, his ever present flat affect dipping his words in a hint of sadness.

“What? Let me see.” Brian said, holding out his hand. Sure enough, upon scrolling through the ridiculously long post Craig had made earlier that day, Brian saw how he dragged his boyfriend's name through the dirt. Brian saw right through the faux “respectful” tone the irishman had used while airing his grievances with Evan to the public.

Brian seethed with every word he read, the slanderous claims about his beloved further enraging him. No one, and especially not Craig, had any right to make the, frankly, wrong assessments of Evan's character; especially those people who only recorded with his boyfriend once in a blue moon. Even more especially if the person making those assessments had previously stated he wanted to go his own way and make his own career not riding Evan's coattails. Craig was just trying to start shit, both Brian and Evan knew that.

Mutually, the two men agreed that Evan didn't need to defend himself, as the “evidence” Craig posited was circumstantial at best, and flat out, obvious lies at the worst. Evan was never one to acknowledge internet drama anyway, especially that pertaining to him. However, that same principle didn't apply to Brian. After getting the go-ahead from the man who had dozed off on his chest about an hour prior, Brian began typing his defense of Evan.

It was well worded, and even more well received; the general consensus among fans being that people on Craig's side believed him and thought Brian was white-knighting, and the people on Evan's side thought Craig was just trying to start shit for attention. Brian could've never seen the impending snowball speeding down the hill towards him upon hitting send.

Little did he know, that was all Craig needed to go for the throat. Almost immediately, while the couple dozed upon their couch that evening, a vicious storm brewed. Violent waves of accusations and jealousy battered the sides of Brian's boat as he slumbered. Ginormous crests of lies and deception pelted the deck while he was none the wiser. When Ghostie awoke her owner's later that evening because she was hungry, Evan left to feed the fluff ball while Brian finally soaked in all that had transpired while he had been dead to the world.

Brian didn't want to care about the things Craig said, but the man was dragging his name through the mud more publicly and more violently than he had Evan's. It became clear that he wanted to take Brian down through whatever means necessary, refusing to listen to replies from even Nogla and Tyler. A grim, dark cloud formed over Brian’s head that day, drenching him in stress and desolation as everything came crumbling down. For weeks and weeks and weeks the borderline harassment from Craig and his fans gnawed away at Brian, plunging him into the depths of despair.

Unfortunately, the universe seemed to just have it out for him.

Not even two months into the ordeal and Brian was hit by another landmine. He'd been at his desk, stumbling through editing and emails with a can of Monster clutched in his fist. Ghostie was curled up beneath his feet, acting as a footstool for her depressed human. Evan had let him be that day, and Brian appreciated his borderline psychic ability to read him. He loved the man with all his heart and was basically attached at the hip with him, but on a rare occasion, he just needed to be alone.

It had been dark in his office, the only light sources being the monitors and the small Batman night light plugged in near the door. The room lit up ever so slightly, indicating Evan's entrance. He felt the warm hand on his shoulder, trembling ever so slightly as it squeezed once, then twice. Brian looked up at his boyfriend, removing his headphones as he did so.

Evan looked lost, he had a forlorn look in his eyes that even Brian had scarcely seen. The landline was clutched in his other hand, pressed against his broad chest. Evan said nothing as he placed the phone in Brian's hand and wrapped his arms around his torso, pulling his hands into his sleeves as he did so.

Brian raised the phone up to his ear, and he could hear sobs. Those of his sister.

While it was expected, that didn't diminish the way the color drained from his face. It didn't prevent the nausea rising to his throat. It didn't stop the bile pooling in his gut. It didn't stall the molten lava coursing through his veins. It didn't cut-off the cascades of venom rushing from his tear ducts.

What a cruel world to take his father while he was already losing everything else.

Upon hanging up the phone, Brian couldn't breathe for a moment, and then he could. Too much. Everything was too much. The darkness was too much, the monitor light was too much, the air conditioning was too much, the mugginess of the bathroom was too much. Falling to his knees and clutching the porcelain, Brian threw up. He couldn't remember the last time he vomited. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been sick. He couldn't remember the last time he'd hurt like this.

Evan followed him in shortly after as he dry heaved and gasped for air. The room slowly came back into focus as the soothing hand of his beloved gently escorted him back to the surface. He rubbed circles of comfort into Brian's back, retrieving a washcloth from the cabinet to dab along the irishman's forehead when he had no more bile to eject. Evan swiped the washcloth across the man's lips, tossing it into the laundry basket before encasing Brian in a hug.

Brian's face grew hotter as he sobbed into Evan's chest, staining his sweatshirt with salty tears and snot. The younger man also shook as he quietly cried. Evan readjusted them on the bathroom floor so his back was against the bathtub and Brian was in his lap. Neither knew how long they sat like that, cursing the cruel nature of things out of their control.

Days later, and Brian had been keeping up tabs with his mom and siblings as they planned his father's funeral. Not a day passed where Brian wasn't comatosed. He'd snapped at both Evan and Ghostie, locking himself in his office to mald over everything the world had thrown his way since that goddamn tweet was made.

Evan didn't hold it against him, never even rising to the bait of an argument.

Brian, Evan and Ghostie all traveled to Ireland later that month to attend Brian's dad's funeral. The world seemed grey as the service dragged on, the only source of warmth coming from the calloused hand that hadn't let go of his own pale one since they left home. Upon returning to the States two weeks after that, the couple and their pooch slowly endured the grieving process.

Craig was still dragging Brian's name through the dirt almost every day, and many of their friends had moved onto greener pastures. Sure, they all still played together, but lately, it seemed as though everyone not named Nogla or Brock was just too busy to do any sort of co-op game Evan suggested. Brian wasn't as sick as he had been since the news of his father's passing, but he couldn't say he felt better either.

Depressed. Yea, that's what he was.

His (and Evan's) views had tanked since that godforsaken tweet came out. Brian couldn't even look through Twitter for more than a minute before his irritability took over and he had to resist the urge to bite his phone in half. The only times he left his office was to use the bathroom and take Ghostie for her walks. He hadn't seen his bed in weeks, instead sleeping on the loveseat within the room. Evan would bring him food thrice a day, and the man, plagued with his own waning mental health, had taken to setting up both a dog bed and a sleeping bag upon the floor near the loveseat.

As he did this, Brian insisted he go back to their bedroom, or to at least take his place on the loveseat. Of course, Evan refused, ensuring Brian he was fine. Brian would, begrudgingly drop the topic shortly after, falling asleep as Evan stroked his knuckles with his thumb.

On one day, Brian sat in his office, staring at his desktop background while he stewed in his thoughts. He had already recorded 3 videos that day, sent them off to Clyde and Sal to edit, given a thumbs up to his thumbnail artists sketches, and posted a video. Quiet moments like those were dreaded, Brian was his own worst enemy, the little rat inside his brain chewing away at his fortitude.

A warm hand settled upon his shoulder, slowly carding down his bicep and over across his chest, just above his heart. Brian turned to look up at his boyfriend, heart swelling as he did so. A small, scheming smirk was plastered on his lips as his hand trailed along Brian's collarbones. Evan leaned down to connect their lips, a sigh escaping Brian’s nose as they did. It was gentle and chaste, but that didn't last long as Evan spun Brian's chair around to plant his ass upon the irishman's thighs.

Brian rested his hands upon Evan's hips, kneading into the flesh left exposed by his clothing choice. He wore this black, cropped Saliva muscle shirt, and a pair of baggy, grey sweatpants that closed around his ankles. Brian knew precisely what the combination meant, specifically what Evan wanted.

The two broke away and Brian sighed heavily as Evan got to work latching onto his neck. Brian couldn't help the small moan that escaped his throat as Evan nipped a specific spot near his jugular, sucking what would most likely be a gnarly hickey into the spot. Brian could feel the canadian grinning against his throat, grinding down upon the older man's lap. Through both Evan's sweats and his own shorts, Brian felt his dick perking up at the attention after being neglected for months. Evan leaned back, a glazed look in his eyes as he palmed Brian through the cotton.

“Wanna, y'know…” Evan asked, biting his lip as he rubbed small circles against Brian's crotch. The irishman swallowed.

“I don-... I dunno, Ev. I don't really have the energy to…” Brian mumbled, the horrors of not being able to please his lover exploding within his mind. Evan let out an airy chuckle at that.

“Let me take care of it, then. Let me take care of you,” Evan stated, wrapping his arms around Brian's shoulders and pulling him impossibly closer. “Let me take care of you, Brian. Please.” The younger man pleaded, the deep, sultry tone in his voice acting as ambrosia for the man beneath him. Brian swallowed again, giving a small nod. Evan smiled, giving a gentle kiss to his man's cheeks before lifting off Brian's thighs and pulling the man out of his chair at last.

Evan kept their fingers intertwined as he led Brian out of his office and towards their bedroom for the first time in months. The feeling of being out of place in his own home was not lost on the man, taking in how little things had changed during his absence. He was mortified at how neglectful he'd been, not only of his home, but of his family. Evan had been so understanding and patient with his struggles, and Brian had snapped at him more times in the last two months than he had ever in their relationship.

What kind of partner was he?

Brian came to when he felt the backs of his knees hit their bed. Evan gently pushed him down onto the mattress, indicating for him to scooch up to the pillows. He did, and the shorter man crawled on top of him, a seductive smirk gracing his lips and a warm hand cupping Brian's cheeks. They kissed again, and Brian replanted his clammy palms against Evan's hips. He felt Evan’s messy locks fall against his forehead as the canadian deepened the kiss, licking across Brian’s bottom lip. Brian opened his mouth, allowing Evan's tongue to batter his around like a punching bag.

Evan ground down against Brian's crotch again, wrenching a whimper from the irishman's throat. He felt Evan smirk against his mouth before he broke away, a thin trail of saliva connecting their flushed lips. Evan tugged at Brian's hoodie collar, causing him to raise his arms absentmindedly to give his boyfriend some leeway with removing it. While he was into it, Brian found he just couldn't focus. His head was too full of those wicked thoughts that had been plaguing him for half a year at that point.

While he still responded to everything Evan did, he felt like a machine. Giving the desired outcome to specific actions taken. The only indication that this was doing anything for him was the prominent arousal, straining against Evan's navel as he sucked more hickies into Brian's damp, pale flesh. It felt good, of course it did. The intimacy they'd been sharing since that night in the hotel room was something Brian treasured deeply. He treasured everything about Evan deeply.

The way his long, dark locks of hair fell into his eyes, the sparkle of the chocolate brown irises that would always gaze up at him so lovingly. The small, dirt mustache gracing Evan's upper lip. The flush his skin would bare when Brian so much as smiled at him. The dark circles Brian had so badly wanted to kiss away from beneath his eyes. The ever present mischievous smirk that crossed his lips whenever either of them initiated sex. The way his teeth grazed down through Brian's red tinged chest hair, leaving open mouthed, wet kisses all down his torso as he lowered himself further and further. The pace at which he slid the irishman's shorts down his legs, underwear in tow. The way he slowly and deliberately bobbed his head up and down Brian's cock, leaving a generous amount of spit in his wake.

Before he knew it, Evan had released his cock, climbing up onto his thighs once more. The canadian kissed him in a way that exerted so much love and passion that Brian felt his heart ping-pong between his gut and his throat. Evan took his hands in his own, dirty talking the whole time. Any other time, Brian would be taking charge, making his beloved eat his bratty demands and pleas, but Brian could barely hear him over the echoes in his head. As Evan guided his hands to his waistband and down his eternally seductive hips and thighs, Brian listened to those nagging snarls plaguing his eardrums.

“Look at the angel above you,” they growled. “You don't deserve to even be in the same zip code as him. You're not worthy of the pleasures he's given to you. You haven't earned anything.” They howled viciously as Brian watched his angel shimmy out of his sweats.

“You've done nothing but mope for months because of your dead daddy and dying career. You're an awful lover to someone who's done so much for you. Someone who thinks the world of you.” The wretched voices barked while Evan lined himself up with Brian's somehow still attentive cock. He still held that seductive smile upon his face as he gazed so lovingly at Brian. He felt a lump forming in his throat.

“It's a wonder he's still with you after all this time. You've never been good enough for him. You're a pathetic, whiny, one-trick pony. You really think you're worthy of such a being's love?” They snarled. Brian whimpered and threw his head back as Evan finally sank down onto his cock. His warm, slick insides encased Brian like a gun in a velveteen holster. Evan's hands grasped his biceps, digging his nails in gently while he moaned at the feeling of being filled. After only a moment, he began moving his hips, gently bouncing up and down Brian's cock as he worked up to a steady pace.

Finally, Brian pried his eyes open, barely holding back the thrashing river behind them. Above him, glowing in the magenta tinted room, was a divine saint. His gorgeous partner panted slightly as he rode his cock with experience. His heavenly gaze was fixated on Brian's pathetic face, contorted with pleasure and ecstasy. The absolute beauty of his angel made more tears well up behind Brian's tired eyes. The pure, unfiltered love and adoration radiating off of Evan as he kept eye contact with the irishman was almost overwhelming.

“You're not worthy of his love. He's too good for you.” Those ghastly voices hissed in his head. It was too much for Brian to bear, finally being convinced by those thoughts. He flung his head back and swiftly planted his arm against his eyes as the tears finally spilled over. Evan already thought him weak and pathetic, no need to add more fuel to this fire by letting him see him cry.

He felt Evan falter a bit at that, slowing to a tantalizing pace that wrenched a miserable whimper from Brian's throat. He felt Evan's sweaty palm gently grasp his arm to move it from his face, but Brian held firm, even more so as the tears dripped down his cheeks in his hair. He bit his lip and gulped down a sob, causing Evan to stop his movement entirely.

“Bri?” He asked, voice barely above a whisper. Brian shook his head and arm, barely able to contain another sob. In doing so, more pitiful whimpers and whines sounded from his throat, which only spurred his tears on. With both hands, Evan pried his arm from his eyes, taking in the sight of Brian's splotchy, soaked skin. Brian kept his eyes closed, refusing to tarnish his divine creature with his revolting gaze.

What a horrible, loathsome person he was. Ruining his lover's moment of pleasure, making him worry. Brian wasn't worthy of his concern. He was a mere insect in the presence of a being beyond human comprehension. He didn't deserve the gentleness of Evan's calloused fingers cupping his cheeks as he sobbed. He didn't deserve the delicate kisses of his beloved as he leaned down to mouth away his tears.

He didn't earn the cascading love that washed over him as Evan cradled his head to his chest, wiping away excess tears upon his shirt. He didn't deserve the sweet kisses left upon the crown of his head.

He wasn't, and had never been, good enough for Evan.

Yet…

Despite everything, despite all the controversy they'd faced, the loss of loved ones, the strains their relationship was facing, and the prison cells each of their minds had become, Evan was still here with him. Doing everything in his power to love someone who had convinced himself he was unlovable at the snap of a finger.

After a while, the sobs died in his throat, raw from the emotional toll. His tears still fell, but not as a downpour. They were more akin to a gentle drizzle, one that would signal the end of a typhoon. At some point, Brian had clutched a handful of Evan's shirt into his fist. The fabric was damp with sweat, from both men most likely.

“I love you so much, Bri,” Evan spoke, breaking the silence. “I love you more than I can ever show you.” He mused, resting his forehead against Brian's own. Brian gulped down another sob, one of those nagging voices sinking it's teeth into Brian's brain stem once more; growling out doubts of Evan's claims, trying to turn his thoughts back to the wicked ones that had infested his mind.

But Evan shooed it away with ease, connecting their lips for a deep, meaningful kiss. Brian whimpered at it, at the way Evan just so unabashedly, unashamedly loved him so easily.

Too soon, Evan broke away and began lifting himself off of Brian's dick, grimacing as he did so. In a moment of panic, Brian grasped his thighs, stopping the canadian in an instant.

“We don't have to keep going.” Evan said, tracing his thumb over Brian's knuckles.

“No, no. Please, Ev. Please keep goin’. I… Please.” Brian begged, doing himself no favors by sounding any less pathetic. Evan cocked his head to the side and smiled at him, raising a brow as he leaned down to breathe Brian's air once more.

“Alright.” He murmured, pecking Brian's lips before he sat up again and slowly but surely returned to his pace.

Brian kept his hands upon his boyfriend's thighs, watching in wonder as the man skillfully rode his cock as he had many times in the past. Brian rubbed circles into the strong legs that snared his waist, finally feeling no shame for his moans as Evan almost parroted his sounds of pleasure.

Brian felt his orgasm building up, and he was sure Evan knew it too, based on the way the irishman's hips bucked up to meet with Evan's downward thrusts. Evan threw his head back to relieve the hair from his eyes. He trailed his hands up and down Brian's chest, tangling his fingers in his chest hair and grazing his nipples. Brian almost came at that moment, and made the split second decision to take Evan's leaking cock into his hand and begin stroking.

The younger man moaned like a professional pornstar at that, which sent Brian over the edge at last. Evan followed closely behind, spilling over Brian's fist and stomach as the older man coated his insides in hot spurts of cum. After a moment where they each caught their breath, Evan finally pulled off of Brian's dick, which flopped between his legs after being spent. The canadian made quick work of Brian's lips, kissing him until they were raw and swollen.

Normally, Brian would be the one kissing Evan's lips until they were bruised, but having his boyfriend do it to him was a welcome change. Evan finally rolled off of him after having his fill (for the moment). He climbed off the bed, slightly limping as he toddled to the bathroom, which Brian took great pride in being the cause. When he returned, he ran a damp washcloth over Brian's belly, cleaning the spunk and sweat from his flesh. Evan tossed it over his shoulder and gracefully chambered back onto the mattress.

He nudged Brian until the taller man rolled over onto his side, allowing Evan to slot in behind him and bury his face into his pale back. Much like Evan had during their first time together, Brian took Evan's palm between his fingers and planted tender kisses along every line and callous.

“I love you, Brian. Don't ever think that I don't. No matter what happens, I love you, unconditionally.” Evan spoke up from behind him, flexing his fingers against Brian's mouth.

Something clicked in his head at that word.

Unconditionally.

Brian had always had a fear of commitment. It's what encouraged his one-night stands in his younger years. It's what kept him awake at night, long before any sort of shit hit the fan. It's something that darkened his thoughts as he stewed alone in the dark, answering emails.

But, in that very moment, the fear vanished. Like it had never even been there. All that remained was the adoration he felt for his beloved boyfriend. The man who was slowly dozing off behind him. The man who convinced him he was lovable. The man who declared his unconditional love for him. The man who understood him like no one else before.

“Ev, will ye marry me?” Brian blurted out, heart hammering away at his ribcage and trachea. Evan didn't stiffen, he didn't tense, he didn't move a muscle. Instead, Brian felt him exhale and press a kiss to his bare back.

“Mm yea, sure,” he mumbled sleepily, barely containing a yawn. “Just ask me again tomorrow so I don't forget.” He said, words muffled by Brian's back and Evan's slowly departing consciousness.

Brian's skin was set ablaze at that. Even if he'd have to ask again when Evan was fully awake and aware of what was being asked of him, there was no longer any doubt in his mind that his answer would remain the same. Giddy like a little kid in a Toys-R-Us, Brian settled back against Evan's chest, loosening his shoulders and intertwining their fingers in the process.

He closed his weary eyes, and was greeted by colorful dreams of a fairy tale wedding best suited for his angel.

He finally felt better.

~~~~

“Bri, Brian. Bri, wake up.” Evan whispered, nudging him awake. Peeling his eyes open, Brian squinted at the outline of his boyfr- fiancé in the dark of their bedroom.

“Yea, wha, what. Wha’s wrong?” He slurred out as his mouth woke up slowly.

“Ghostie got into your laundry basket again. She's got a pair of your boxers in the living room.” Evan snickered, smirking as Brian's eyes flew open wide and he scrambled to get out of bed.

“Oh god dammit! Ghostie! You slut! Gimme my damn underwear!” Brian cried, chasing the samoyed thief down the hallway.

Evan leaned against the wall, watching his irishman re-enact a Tom and Jerry skit with their dog, who almost strategically dodged Brian's hands as he grabbed for his boxers. She was a professional underwear robber at that point. As Brian cursed the ball of fluff, who almost taunted her owner with defiant huffs and barks, Evan laughed, to Brian's dismay.

He was glad he'd said yes. He could live like this for the rest of his life.

[mosspapi]

(Emetophobia tw lol) Hhhhhhhhhhh the YouTube video I'm watching just. Unprompted and without warning. Showed like 15 whole seconds of someone throwing up. And now I think I'm going to either throw up myself or throw myself over the cliff behind our house. Possibly both.