#CW: dissociation

[promptful]

what is best way to hug someone

Different Types of Hugs

I'm not even sure this ask is truly meant for me, but it sparked inspiration, so I answered it lol. and MAN I got poetic with it, lmao. Enjoy! (Tag me in it if you write anything, these are some of my favorites so far!) DO NOT ADD.

WARNINGS: Implied suggestive content. Violence? That's it. Implied dissociation.

1) The goodbye hug; a quick press of lips to cheeks and brief embraces before separating in your different ways. 

2) The long goodbye hug; arms wrapped around one another and refusing to let go. Their lips whispering reassurances in your ears until one of you finally separates. 

3) The reuniting hug; standing across from one another, frozen. Then, finally, they tumble into you and you can do nothing but hold on tight. 

4) The awkward hug; usually sideways, arms strung about shoulders with half-smiles that don’t reach eyes. A grimace on their face, and a grimace on yours.

5) The forced hug; similar to children forced to apologize, this hug is done underneath prying eyes. All warm on the outside, but actually glaring at one another on the inside, limbs stiff and bared teeth. 

6) The comforting hug; they wrap around you as you sink to the floor. Their breathing matches yours while they walk you through as many comfort methods possible, voice soft against your ear. 

7) The reluctantly comforting hug; although they don’t care for you—and you don’t care for them—they can’t stand to see you like this. It’s unnatural. Stiff as can be, they wrap around you and attempt comforting. 

8) The reassurance hug; one where you wrap entirely around them similarly to armor, but only fighting intangible enemies. Their words, strong in tone, combat your demons and insecurities, proclaiming their love with each syllable. 

9) The grounding hug; with permission, they wrap around you, keeping you tethered to this world while your mind spirals. No words are necessary. Their presence is enough. 

10) The safety hug; feet dug into dirt, arms wrapping around their waist so they don’t tumble headfirst into something stupid. At first, they try to fight, but eventually sink into your unrelenting grasp. 

11) The disarming hug; arms wrap, but they’re not warm. Their voice whispers, but it isn't safe. They want you to wholly trust them, no matter their intentions. 

12) The broken-hearted hug; a last ditch attempt to salvage relationships. You try to keep them close—convince them for a second chance. They don’t give you one. 

13) The crowded hug; usually on a packed train or concert, they wrap around you to keep you close, out of crowds, and safe. Breaths shared between one another, every word a zap of whispered electricity. 

14) The protection hug; their back shown to the threat, keeping you tucked against them. Their chin digs into your head, breathing rough while the shockwave/noise/yells tear through the room. 

15) The shielding hug; your back to the threat, they stare over your shoulder/around you at the threat, eyes narrowed into daggers. They won’t allow harm to come towards you. 

16) The guiding hug; a hand against the small of your back, waddling the two of you away from a horrible sight. 

17) The morning hug; sleepy eyes and warm limbs. They hold you close, eyes shut while they rake in the morning sun and thank the stars for this very moment. 

18) The nighttime hug; knowing that your lover doesn’t care if you’re sleep deprived and run ragged. Your arms wrap around them, and they reciprocate with hushed whispers and soft, chaste kisses, tucking you into bed and soon following.

19) The snuggle-hug; done in bed or on the couch, all limbs entwined with fingers carding through hair. Their head rests on your, or vice versa, and rest ensues knowing that one another is nearby.  

20) The heartbeat-hug; head pressed against their chest, you listen to each thump of their steady heartbeat and relish in that they’re here, with you. 

21) The warmth-hug; a hug only meant to share heat when it's cold. Skin to skin from head to toe. 

22) The frozen-hug; another hug meant to share the cold when it’s sweltering. Their hands skimming underneath your shirt to absorb the ice-cube-like skin. 

23) The distraction-hug; their arms wrap around your waist, head plunked against your shoulder blade/on top of your shoulder blade, slightly swaying. All in hopes of distracting you from what you’re currently doing. 

24) The kiss-me hug; a hug that feels like lightning in a dark sky. Eyes blown and lips parted, breathing hitched and stuttered while you wrap around one another. Desperate to feel the warm body of your SO. 

25) the stepping-stone hug; drifting fingers and lingering looks. Shed clothing and stumbling embraces down the hallway. This hug usually proceeds by the morning hug (17) some hours later. 

[tripleyeeet]

bad news: all i've done for the last week and a half is dissociate beyond recognition.

good news: i'm getting really good at playing hades.

[fonkeloog]

clean

The first bath in 13 years is... weird. He knows Remus is just behind the door -giving him privacy, but not wanting him to be alone- in case he needs something. He also knows that if he'd ask moony to stay in the bathroom with him, he would.

He looks down at the water. It was clean when he got in, but right now he can't even see his own hands with how murky it is. He doesn't feel like he has a right to change the bath though. Even if the water has cooled of and he's freezing and the only thing he wants is something real to hold onto. To anchor him back to the real world instead of his murky brain.

He doesn't hear the door open, nor the soft but concerned "Padfoot?". He doesn't register Remus changing the bathwater so that it's clean and warm. Too far inside his own thoughts to hear the soft murmurs coming from moony's lips.

And suddenly there's warmth. Two arms wrap around him as Remus sits down inside the tub, maneuvering them just so that they're connected on every possible part. One hand cradles his head, and that's all he needs. Big, heartbreaking sobs shake through him, millions of apologies stumbling their way out his mouth. But it's okay, Remus is here, he's being anchored in the way only a couple of people were able to do.

The murky fog starts to lift a bit, making room for a much lighter fog. And for the first time in years he feels clean.

for @wolfstarmicrofic July 15th prompt: bath

[sollody]

What if Will's upside down related flashbacks were 'normal' flashbacks at first, but eventually got turned into some kind of reality!? (-> a semi-physical manifestation of his memories of his time in the Upside Down that ended up being some sort of intangible bridge between the two dimensions which could only be crossed by psychic beings.)

Does that make sense? (I'm really bad at explaining things in general and I really struggled to put the thought into words ... so it probably doesn't, but that's fine. :D)

--------------

It's just a loose idea that popped into my head when I was trying to find an explanation for why it took Henry/the Mindflayer almost a year to properly interact with Will, even though he'd been experiencing those episodes for quite some time.

Plus, it would kind of fit with the creation/manifestation power theme.

[forestlingincorporated]

Hey, I was using some clips from the rottmnt movie for an amv, and I just wanna fuckin’ appreciate the small animation details in Leo’s fuckin’ eyes when he’s getting half murdered his ass beat in the prison dimention. 

Idk how well you can see in just a screen shot, but the outline of his iris is spotty. It’s unfocused, like Leo isn’t all there. 

The eye wavers a little and focuses, becoming more solid as he’s looking at the photograph of his family clutched in his hand. Leo’s coming back to himself. 

This only lasts a second, and only then does Leo close his eyes, presumably because he’s only now registering the pain. 

Just !!!! AUGH, THE ANIMATION IS IMMACULATE, THE TINY DETAILS! FUCK!

[loganwritesprobably]

Teen Wolf Fanfic

It was four in the morning; Stiles had just woken from a nightmare. He wasn't sure what he was thinking when he woke and grabbed for his phone, scrolling through his contacts until he found 'Creeperwolf' but he hit call before he could doubt himself.

OR: Peter and Stiles build a relationship based on their shared experience in the Wild Hunt

[jessikittygay]

gotta love it when your girlfriend casually minimizes your mental illness and when asked to maybe not do that again she goes off on how her coping strategies got her shouted at as if your dissociation is a fucking coping strategy and not a blight on your life, and then gives you the silent treatment for the remaining five hours you're awake

or is that just me

[spacesapphic770]

Sedate Memory

So a lil while ago in a server I posted a writing prompt of "Go to this adjective and noun generator. This is the name of a new Destiny gun and you have to write the lore tab for it" and people really enjoyed it (and I did too tbh). Here is my lore:

Sedate Memory – Legendary Stasis Fusion Rifle, High-Impact Frame. Curated roll Controlled Burst/Chill Clip Sometimes the hardest battle is staying present Disconnected. Disparate. Drifting. Orpheus watches herself sit up. Her ghost greets her. Tries to explain where she is and what’s happening. For every explanation all she can muster is “…oh”. Her ghost chuckles and says “Well, I guess I know what we’re going to call you”. O would be a name she carries for a while. She holds it like you hold something a friend has passed to you. Something you can’t put down, but isn’t yours so you can’t hold close. Orpheus watches herself introduce herself to a new guardian. “Hi, I’m Orpheus. It’s long for O.” It always gets a giggle, or at least a smile. Breaks the tension. It’s a script. An autopilot. She isn’t really there. Materially she is, but in most other senses she isn’t.

A few years later, Orpheus watches herself holding that new light’s hand.

It’s tender and gentle.

A hail of bullets passes overhead, above their hideaway in the ditch. They haven’t been found yet, but they don’t have long. “Where is Ameliance?” the Warlock asks weakly. Orpheus looks to fragments of ghost shell a few metres away. “She’s hiding in the next ditch.” Orpheus lies. “I’m scared” “It’s okay. I’m here. I’m with you.” Despite the danger, despite the urging from her ghost to move to a safer location, Orpheus watches herself as she stays with the Warlock until she passes.

When she feels that the Warlock has died her final death, Orpheus stands up. She grabs a nearby metal bar. Before her fingers have even touched it arc light is chaining up and down its surface. She watches her ghost have to decompile to avoid being caught in it. In the storm that follows, there are no survivors.

--------------- “Orpheus! Hello? ...I’m waiting for a response” Orpheus snaps back to herself. Sitting in the tower, at the bottom of the stairs that lead to Ikora’s overlook. Her friend, a fellow Hunter, is looking confused as Orpheus has been staring blankly at nothing for a while and hasn't responded to any questions. “Sorry,” Orpheus says. “I was miles away for a second.”

She forces a smile to avoid further questions.

[spikybanana]

@wolfstarmicrofic - prompt: party - happy mid-autumn festival! thought I'd share with you the headcanon where Hope followed the wave of students from China to Europe & North America in the 40s-50s, before she fell in love and decided to stick around. this snippet is wolfstar at hogwarts.

“They’d met on this day. It was at some party for the festival the students threw together.” Remus murmured, smoothing out the creases of the lantern where it got scrunched in the post. His every movement was shaky and slow, willing against how his bones rattled for the moon rising in a couple of hours. “And a year later they were married. Kissed under the full moon and everything. Ma would have loved full moons before I ruined it.” 

“Stop that, Moons,” Sirius said immediately. He pried the paper lantern out from his hand, waved to send it hanging by the window. Later that night, it would be quietly glowing with the moon while the boys ran wild in the woods. “You didn’t ruin anything.”

Remus shook his head. He tried to focus on the warmth of Sirius’ chest through his back, the careful, soft touches of a thumb up and down the inside of his arm, rather than the wolf’s growl inside his skull. The moons that landed on festivals were only more of a mess— how did one confront it all as the beast that the revels tried to fend off? In the feverish haze leading up to his running free, it was all he could do to stave off the wolf and its hatred from taking over his mind, with Sirius as his only anchor. Sirius, and the reminder of his mother, in the letter still open on his lap, the mooncakes barely out of its packaging on the bed in front of them. Their faint fragrance recalled all the colourful old traditions in old streets, from a home far far away— a home he still saw in his eyes, his skin, but had only heard about in tales; a home neither he nor his Ma knew if they even still had.

“She worries so much about me.” Remus said, lost once more inside the same old storm fighting for the same old tune. Who was he. What was he?

“We’ve got you, Remus. I’ve got you.” Sirius said firmly. Anchor, Remus thought. “I swear someday we’ll prove it to your mum too. You’re okay with us.” Sirius held him tighter. “We’ll celebrate our own way later, you’ll see. It’s your festival, Moony, we’re throwing a party just for you.”

[coffeebanana]

Indirect Kisses On Not So Lonely Rooftops

A little something I wrote to procrastinate for @ladynoirjuly day 6. (prompt: breathe)

CW: depression, dissociation

As night falls, the rooftop is lonely. There’s an unexpected chill to the summer air, a breeze that goes bone deep. It might just be Chat’s imagination. Far away and blurred like the city lights are cries of celebration, but they only sound like more lies. Chat can remember a night months ago when the rooftop was filled with life. It was cold enough to see his breath, but that never mattered in the suit. That never mattered with Ladybug lying beside him, her laughter warming him the way thermal energy never could. He remembers seeing her breath too. He remembers how, if they turned their heads towards each other, their separate clouds would mingle in the air before dissipating. He remembers how he teased her, calling it an indirect kiss. He remembers her eyeroll and her gloved hand pushing against his face and the way they both laughed until his sides seized in protest. Now, he can’t even see his own breaths for company. Now, he’s not even sure if he misses her. But it doesn’t take long for her footsteps to find him, even though he told her not to look. He can’t move as she walks towards him. He can’t breathe. He can’t really see beyond the tears that are starting to form again. Ladybug crouches beside him before he’s fully processed her arrival, and it’s only when her hand cups his cheek, turning his head slightly, that he really remembers. He remembers the angle at which their breaths mingled and his heart beat to the tune of forever and the gleam in her eyes twinkled with every colour like a streetlight blurring in the rain. He remembers, but he can’t quite feel it. Because his body might be in the exact same position, but Ladybug’s isn’t. His mind is light years away, the gleam in her eyes is too hard to reach, and the tune of forever is stuck in yesterdays. “Chaton?” He closes his eyes, but that makes it worse. It twists the sensation of his thoughts tumbling into a physical thing, and he can’t handle that for long. He pries his eyes open to see Ladybug stretched out beside him, but she’s still wrong. She lies on her side, her breath warming his cheek as she leans in closer. She’s supposed to warm the air. To make it sweet and light and enticing. Instead, she weighs it down with a question. “What are you thinking?” There are no ways to put it into words, not exactly. So he settles on, "That I wish I could see myself breathe.” She smiles. “Like an indirect kiss?” “Yeah. Exactly.” She shifts over a bit and rolls onto her back. Then she glances his way, and he catches a glimpse of her forever. It seems to get lost before it finds his heart, but it’s still something. She remembers. The rooftop. The warmth. Before. She can probably still feel it, too. Maybe Chat can learn again. The night goes on, and he can’t see their breaths mingle. But their fingers weave together, and later on their limbs. They talk about stupid things like they did that night--or Ladybug talks, and Chat tries to listen. They ignore the rest of the world. And somehow the noises of the city sharpen and the lights come into focus. The air is thick and stubborn, still hiding their indirect kisses. But little by little, Chat realizes they’re still there. And when Ladybug’s lips press against his cheek, he finds a new kind of warmth.

[light-imperfected]

��

dissociates a lot. prayer/meditation trained him to be able to wipe his mind clean of all thought, very quickly, and it's still a strategy he falls back on when he has to Compartmentalize

[concernedbrownbread]

Azula, former Princess of the Fire Nation, left the Palace three years ago in order to build up an alliance and take her father down, once and for all. But the world is changing - the Avatar's arrival is both a blessing and a curse, and with him comes a risk she might not be willing to take. Meanwhile, in a Nation more fragmented than ever, Zuko will do everything to cut off his weakness and folllow Ozai's orders - but he doesn't know if he can kill Azula.

Read from chapter 1

Chapter 4 preview below (may contain spoilers)

Prince Zuko was kind. He commanded the ship with grace. Nothing about him had been intimidating – he rarely raised his voice, he didn’t punish them unnecessarily, and he never seemed to look down upon them. Even when Jee had briefly seen the Prince at the Black Cliffs, there had been a calmness to him, despite the hectic nature of their mission.

That didn’t stop chills climbing up Jee’s spine, every time their eyes met. Most of the time, it was like the Prince wasn’t even fully there. “Still makes you wonder how someone ends up like that,” Genji defended.

“Doesn’t matter,” Jee said quietly, “We serve the Dragon Throne. We don’t question it.”

The wording was important here, as was the consensus between them. Firelord Ozai sat on the throne now. He wouldn’t forever. No matter what Ozai said, Princess Azula was alive, and Crown Prince Zuko was kind.

Jee was a practical man, so he didn’t hope. But he hadn’t made it this far without watching which way the wind was blowing — without knowing what rumours it was bringing in.

[In which Sokka wants to slap Azula in the face, but friendship does it for him instead. Meanwhile, we get to see who Zuko is when Ozai's loosens his leash.]

[theemmtropy]

Two moods recently have been

1) Don't know what's real (paranoia)

2) Don't know what's real (dissociation)

[fonkeloog]

That Mute Sirius fic I was working on? Yeah, I may or may not have cried while working on it today... here's a little snippet under the cut. Make sure to take care of yourself when reading <3

But then there's a soft noise of a wand being placed on wood. And her hand moves down again. This isn't right. Nothing makes sense and Sirius finds himself shaking and closing his eyes to prepare for whatever she'll do. When nothing happens, he opens his eyes and looks towards where Walburga is supposed to be. Remus is sitting on the floor, his wand on the desk and hands visible on the ground next to him.

Sirius wants to call for him, but all he manages is a weird choked off noise. He grabs his throat in frustration. He can't talk, he can't force the words to come out and he's scared. Remus is slowly coming closer, and Sirius wants to tell him to hurry and hold him. But all he gets out is air and choked back tears.

[aurormax]

Personnel File: Cap. Maxine Squint

CLASSIFIED: PRESENT WAND FOR ACCESS

Entry completed by: Cmdr. Nymphadora Tonks

Summary Report: Project Gaiste

Max sat at her Commander’s desk, her head hung low. She was drenched from head to toe, so cold that the Commander was afraid she would start turning blue. They sat like that, for a while. Max shivering, muddy water dripping from her long tendrils of hair. Tonks frowning at her. Matias standing by the door, his arms folded.

“What happened, Captain Squint?” Max felt a wave of revulsion rush over her, her shoulders hunching at the title. The badge had appeared on her soaked shirt as soon as her body hit the Ministry floor. An automatic promotion, when no others were available. Because they were dead. All of them were dead. “Where’s your team?”

Max flicked a glance up from where she’d been staring at the floor, eyeing Tonks. They suspected her. Of course they did. She’d suspect herself, too.

“Max,” Tonks leaned forward, reaching out her hand. She wasn’t Commander Tonks, anymore. She was Tonks, the woman who plucked her out of obscurity and homelessness, gave her a home, a purpose, trained her, shaped her, sent her to Ireland... “Max, we need to know what happened, so we can help you. You need to tell us what happened.”

But Max couldn’t put words to it. It just played in her mind, over and over, flashes of green light. Bodies hitting the muddy ground. A wand pressed to the back of her skull. Max’s gaze slid back to the floor.

“Matias-” Tonks was about to ask him to intervene, but the Major already had his wand drawn, and was slowly walking closer to the centre of the room. He knew what needed to be done. A whole team of aurors needed to be recovered. Tonks slid her gaze to her protege, rising out of her seat, “Max, please. We don’t want to force you.”

But Matias was already by her side, raising his wand.

In Max’s mind, there was a bright flash of green light. But this time she didn’t have a gag in her mouth, or bound hands. She didn’t have her wand, but that wouldn’t stop her this time. She wasn’t going to watch this again. Like a spooked horse, Max bucked back, the chair she’d been sitting in slamming to the ground. In the face of a wand pointed at her head, Max launched herself away and towards the door, running as fast as she could. The quick stunning spell had her falling to the ground, slamming her stomach down on the ground. Max tried to drag her numb legs towards the door, hands clawing across the ground, desperately trying to grip onto pieces of carpet- anything to get away. 

The stunning spell hit her in the back, and Max slumped against the floor, blacked out.

****

The Legilimency woke her.

It was a traumatising assault on her senses, Max writhed, sobbed, begged, screamed, while Matias and Tonks combed through Max's recollection of the last 24 hours. She relived every excruciating second of it.

The work was vital, of course. In time she'd come to accept that. The Department needed to know the status of its assets. They needed bodies to bury. Families to notify. Reports to write.

But as the assault finished, Max was left empty. She sat, empty, as Tonks and Matias talked hurriedly. They made plans. Sent owls. Notified those who needed to know.

Max was assessed by a Healer. Cleaned up. Her clothes taken for evidence. Photographed. They put her in the standard issue sweats, given to Aurors in Training. Given a potion for a Dreamless Sleep, and then a sedative when she threw the vial against the wall and screamed bloody murder.

Having been overseas and undercover for so many years, Max ended up in the Training Corps barracks for the evening. No where else to go. No one else to turn to. She sunk into the twin-sized bed, let the blankets smother her. She watched Tonks murmur something to the Beat Aurors assigned to supervise the halls that evening. And then finally, she slept.

[blankticket]

It's been a great day.

Vash had been errand-running since this morning. He's been like an absentminded mother bird making a nest, taking multiple trips to and from his housing to retrieve and collect ideas for gifts.

Of course, it'd be easier in every way to simply make a list and stick to it, but his magpie eyes enable his wayward heart. It's so much more exciting to leave spontaneity unchallenged—and besides, his head's been a little fuzzy today.

For the other Vash, the gifts are on the perishable side. Since the two have their differences, it's hard to say with full certainty that the other Vash isn't materialistic. But being the Humanoid Typhoon meant being a drifter, and being the type to cherish something as fleeting as life; the younger Stampede figures he'd find a way to appreciate it, regardless.

There's an iconic pink box that needs no further description, and a small paper bag of homemade seed bombs. (The latter is wrapped in plastic and bagged twice, in case of any worry for contamination).

As for his brother! …Well, the big one is a strange, sizable bit of plastic that Vash had happened across in a thrift store. To any layman out of the know, its design could be considered tacky, unintuitive, or unremarkable at the least, but appearances deceive. After researching the object (of course, after buying it on impulse anyway), it turned out to be an electronic musical instrument!

Vash himself had given it a try, and found that its sound was wonderfully pleasing to his ears; like ringing a little set of chimes, or strumming a digital harp. Although it didn't have traditional piano keys inlaid, he hoped that Knives would be able to find peace in self-expression through the Omnichord anyway, and that he could begin to associate the gentle sound of it with him.

The Plant stands there, contemplating the gifts compiled before him on his room's table. There's been a nagging thought all throughout these trips that he's forgetting something important.

Oh! It's his own birthday too, isn't it?

He smiles, embarrassed despite being the only one in the room. Vash could laugh at himself with the revelation of it; he's always been caught in daydreams, thinking of others first. Of course. Because it's been July for some time, now, and, and, and, and

It's an unconscious-made move; his gloved hand pulls his phone up to his eyes, and shows him a lock screen date that argues that April has only begun. But that couldn't be, because he'd met Meryl shortly before becoming here, and that was at the end of May, and then Spirale was freezing in January, and July isn't there anymore, and JuLai was a trap, Vash, please DON'T GO

The ground rushes up at him in an instant. Vash is barely able to turn his head away before the side of his face is slammed against wood. It sounds like a crack, he's not sure if it's him or the floor or the phone or his glasses or his mind, and gravity keeps every limb pinned like a butterfly.

"Ah—"

Did he inhale? Did he exhale? Does he remember how to breathe, anymore? His body is maddeningly unresponsive while his eyes are shut, the backdrop of a flood of memories he can't slow down, he can't stop, he can't look away from. Two months.

And yet there are burn holes in the film roll, frames fully blacked out, information yet suppressed by NULL's intervention.

Home is still there, safe in his mind; all that time spent with Luida and Brad and the others, and the geodome flourishing there. But he's not exactly sure what it was that he was trying to crawl away from, before they happened upon him there in the sand, or who had taken care of him and his brother before then. Inexplicably his mind concludes with an image conjured from his childhood; an illustration from a picture book, of an empty bird's nest. There was something haunting about happening across just the image of it, while reading underneath the shade of the ship's tree.

"Naï?" his mouth asks foolishly, hoarsely, for the last person he'd seen. Where was he?

His throat is sore—had he been screaming, again?

Vash suddenly finds himself able to move, and he does at once, logrolling his sweat-covered body over with a warbling groan, each action yet feeling performed by someone else. Someone new.

The sun's gone by now. The side of his face smarts and stings, and his phone screen feels shattered, lost-tech finger bumping against the texture to confirm it. He curls into himself when he drags the lit screen closer to himself. It still works, against all odds.

April, it continues to argue, flawlessly.