#Just repeating my mantra of this is a safe space this is a safe space

[rosepetalsthings]

Me, fighting the urge to argue with people on Tumblr

[imperaptorfuriosa]

when there are people working in my house, i simply hide.

[aethelwyneleigh27]

Toothache

How does one go "You're Too Sweet For Me" to "My Baby's Sweet As Can Be"?

Synopsis: Simon Riley finds himself stuck in a situation, growing feelings for his roommate who's so annoyingly caring, domestic, sweet and too good for him. What happens when he let's himself indulge in the sweetness rather than cage himself in the bitter life he's been told is the only one he's deserving of and the only life he's known?

Apologies to this mess of a lyricfic, I couldn't help it even though this was supposed to be a relationship analysis..

MEN WRITTEN BY ANA HUANG ARE GONNA BE THE DEATH OF ME. Alright back to our original programmed schedule with Hozier. ALSO SURPRISE! THIS CONTAINS 3 HOZIER SONGS as an apology for not posting these past two weeks due to me enjoying holidays, reading, prom dress picking and wanting to stab myself because of life, there's the added bonus 👀

My CoD Masterlist

My Simon Riley x You Playlist

Also reader in this one had a lot of characterization, she's me fr, so AFAB?Reader, Fem!Reader, Short!Reader, Reader is VERY feminine with fashion, soft-girl-sunshine!Reader and Chubby?Reader. Y'all have no idea how hard it is to write without a personality and physical intimacy in romance, I tried but failed 😭

Warnings and Disclaimers: Mentions and details on sexual content ahead (is this considered smut? Idk anymore). Not detailed smut but vivid memories of sexual intercourse (especially the dialogue) with Simon. Again, this is a safe account for all ages because I'm not a MDNI acc, you are responsible for your own media consumption. DO NOT GO ON MY DMS, INBOX OR REPLY TO MY CONTENT TO TELL ME YOUR AGE. I don't need to know that and let's strive to not make each other uncomfortable. Mentions of questioning of religion or rather belief on afterlife??

Pink, bold and italic: Lyrics

Italic: recalling past events

Little snippet of an image of how I imagined he'd hold you, courtesy of the one and only @ave661

"It can't be said I'm an early bird, it's 10 o'clock before I say a word. Baby, I can never tell, how do you sleep so well?"

Simon Riley was never a man to live the life he was taught to in the military, it was out of habit for him to not leave his room until around noon. Then there was you, his roommate, he didn't exactly calculate how much it would affect his personal life to save money through rent by willingly letting someone within the same living space.

He'd find himself with not even a wink of sleep, hearing your footsteps through the thin walls, hearing the lock on the windows outside click open.

"You kept telling me to live right, to go to bed before the daylight. But then you wake up from the sunrise."

He'd always hear you, quite frankly it was like nagging on the constant.

"Simon you shouldn't do that, you'll hurt yourself"

"Simon please go get some rest"

"Simon.."

He'd swear he'd rip his own ears out every time his name falls from your lips from how sweet and chirpy it sounded and yet deafening silence would consume him whenever you aren't around.

"You don't gotta pretended, Baby, now and then. Don't you just wanna wake up dark as a lake? Smellin' lika bonfire, lost in the haze?"

Something about you makes it so tempting for Simon to give in, I mean it would be a one time thing, wouldn't it? So soft, so pliant, he set himself up for an addiction. It wasn't healthy, he knew this, he'd convince himself of the fact that he would end up hurting you.

Just too different, it repeated like a mantra in his head. He was bitter, brooding and didn't find any sense of pleasure in living. Why'd you think he has the job he chose? It's all he knew, till you skip your way into his life, giving him the sweetness he was deprived of.

"If you're drunk on life babe, I think it's great. But while in this world, I think I'll take my whiskey neat"

Drowning himself in alcohol, a trait Simon promised himself he wouldn't ever do when he was young, setting his glass down with a small thud from the wooden table. But what would the kid version of him know about life. He didn't have healthier options of coping with what seems to be his dilemma.

But then there you were, sweet little thing coming home at the late hour in that skimpy dress of yours. Revealing too much to the eyes of those who wish to have you for themselves with just one look. Where did you go that night?

"My coffee black in my bed at three, you're too sweet for me"

Desperately trying to keep himself awake and at bay from his thoughts of you. Drowning himself in now two cups of straight black coffee to help him focus.

It was odd, you got used to the scent, was strong with a lack of sweetness but it calmed you down knowing he was around.

How he'd corrupt you, he wanted to shatter that rose tinted glasses of yours to save you from himself because being with him would change you. Selfish but he doesn't want that, you were utter perfection..

Simon further delved into his feelings, what the fuck was wrong with him?

"I aim low. I aim true, and the ground's where I go. I work late where I'm free from the phone and the job gets done"

Grumbling, Simon walks back into the apartment in the middle of the night. You heard a thud, you come out of your bedroom, yawing from you incomplete sleep.

"Si..? Are you hurt? What happened?" You asked in a soft tone, careful not to agitate someone would could possibly be pissed off.

Simon stays silent, glaring at you as his eyes was only thing visible because of his balaclava. Your soft gaze intimidated him, because why would he feel that squeeze in his heart?

"But you worry some, I know but who wants to live forever, babe? You treat your mouth as if it's Heaven's gate. The rest of you like you're the TSA, I wish I could go along Babe, don't get me wrong..."

The only thing Simon heard was a sigh from you and nothing more, you walk up to him, each footstep feeling louder than that last.

Something Simon didn't expect you to do was wrap you arms around his waist, tiny thing you are that your head only goes up to his chest. Your body against his, basking in the warmth in contrast to the cold weather he had to deal with coming home.

"You know you're bright as the morning, as soft as the rain, pretty as a vine, as sweet as a grape. If you can sit in a barrel maybe I'll wait, until that day.."

You took care of him that night, to his reluctance and stubbornness. Despite refusing, he had no choice, he wouldn't want a soft thing like you on his ear the whole night till he agrees. You were persuasive in your own irritating way.

Sitting on the edge of the tub of the warm bath he's in, washcloth in hand. Touch was so gentle, why was it so soft? Why's it so warm? "It's the water you fucking idiot" his subconscious screaming at him. In denial.

Why is his heart beating so fast..? He wants to stab it to stop the feeling..

"I'd rather take my whiskey neat, my coffee black and my bed at three. You're too sweet for me"

Using both your hands this time around, one gently holding his chin with your fingers while the other wiping away at the eyeblack he had. Every scar on his face felt the graze of your finger.

The slow blinks, your eyes on his. Before any conscious thoughts consume Simon, he lifts his arms from the warm water and wraps them around you.

Your nightgown was now damp but you couldn't care less, now with the man you were pinning over, foreheads against the other.

"Si.." you softly whisper. That nickname will be the death of him, you'll be the death of him. He crashes his lips on yours, not wanting to let go till you both were panting. You were too fucking sweet, your lips, your skin, everything. He wanted a taste and he got it...

"My lover's got humor, she's the giggle at a funeral. Knows everybody's disapproval, I should've worshiped her sooner"

Another sleepless night wasn't uncommon for someone like Simon.. however this aching feeling wasn't, he doesn't know where it's from or what it's about. Not until he heard you in the kitchen, letting out a giggle even though you knew better.

"If the Heavens ever did speak, She's the last true mouthpiece. Every Sunday's getting more bleak. A fresh poison each week "We were born sick"

That sweet fucking voice, like the angels speaking to him themselves. "Oh- I'm sorry Si, did I wake you up?" You asked, turning around to the sound of his footsteps.

That tiny nightdress of yours, a reminder of the night you spent together, that morning you slept in his bed.

Lashes beautifully displayed on the delicate skin of your under eyes. Soft noises while your chest was peacefully moving up and down with every breath.

"She tells me, "Worship in the bedroom". The only Heaven I'll be sent to, is when I'm alone with you I was born sick, but I love it Command me to be well. A, Amen, Amen, Amen"

"Simon.. Ahh~" you moan out softly, your body writhing underneath him. It felt hot, sweaty despite the well ventilated room, so intimate from something that was supposed to be the farthest thing from domestic.

"Shhh, you can take it sunshine.. You don't want the neighbors to hear us, do you?" Simon whispers, callous hand covering your mouth with as little pressure possible, you whimper at his words.

Closing your eyes to lose yourself in the pleasure you've never felt before. Your body being worshiped with gentle hands and soft kisses that leave marks by the very same man who kept distancing himself from you, now he'd stop at nothing for your pleasure.

"Take me to church, I'll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies. I'll tell you my sins and you can sharpen your knife, offer me that deathless death. Good God, let me give you my life."

"Simon.. no more–" you whined. Scratching his back hard enough to leave marks without being aware, he'd always imagine what those pretty pink nails could do to him.

"Just one more, please sunshine.. you remember our safe word right?" Simon asks for you to nod softly, you didn't have energy to take anymore. "I told you I'll make you feel good, didn't I? So be a good girl for me and take it, hmm?"

Your eyes roll back at his praise, your legs shake with one after another wave of pleasure running through your body. This man was starved.. insatiable.. who would be able to resist such a request? Not you.

"If I'm a pagan of the good times, my lover's the sunlight to keep the Goddess on my side. She demands a sacrifice, drain the whole sea, get something shiny"

It took everything in Simon not to worship the ground you walked on that night, he wasn't trying very hard, was he? Because always.. at the end of the night, you're in his bed, his mind, his life.

Was it really a sin? To want something you don't deserve? Simon stayed up that whole night, not a wink of sleep while thinking of whether this arrangement should continue. Every bone and organ in his body telling him to be selfish, take what was something that wasn't his to take.

"Something meaty for the main course, that's a fine looking high horse. What you got in the stable? We've a lot of starving faithful that looks tasty, that looks plenty, this is hungry work"

Simon's gaze, never faltering on your sleeping figure that he refuses to go anywhere but his own arms. He tries to close his eye to compose himself, free himself from the emotions you emit from him.

His efforts were to no use, all he saw was the image of you, sweetly smiling, those doe eye staring right through his soul.

"No masters or kings when the ritual begins. There is no sweeter innocence than our gentle sin In the madness, in the soil of that sad earthly scene. Only then I am human, only then I am clean"

You were getting too close for your own good, Simon knew that, he'll be damned if he let's himself hurt you. So he does what any stupid man would do, avoid you like the plague. Did it mean nothing? Were you just some fling, never to be talked about again?

Fuck you Simon Riley, he made you feel loved in bed like no man ever has or ever will, completely ruining your chance of ever thinking of anything else and that was just a hook-up session? Maybe this one time you can let yourself be delusional, was there really something more? Only one way to find out.

"Oh, oh, Amen, Amen, Amen, Take me to church, I'll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies. I'll tell you my sins and you can sharpen your knife, offer me that deathless death. Good God, let me give you my life"

You caught him, fucking finally, after days of waiting and trying to get him at the perfect time. "Si.." you whispered softly, you didn't know where to start. He took a quick glance at you before looking back at what he was doing.

"Simon Riley, don't fucking ignore me. Not after everything that happened those nights" You said, it was stern but he needed to hear it. It made him stop, think about what had happened.

Before he could generate a response, "Why?" You asked. It was a vague question, why was he ignoring you? Why does he feel this way? Why does he love you yet refuse to act on it?

"Take me to church, I'll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies. I'll tell you my sins and you can sharpen your knife, offer me that deathless death. Good God, let me give you my life.."

"You don't deserve a man like me, you deserve one who is like you, optimistic, sweet, fucking beautiful and alive.. A man who's not damaged, scarred, has blood on his hands and haunted by his past. A man who's not afraid to show his love for you. A man who won't put his burdens on your shoulders and a man who will take care of you instead of the other way around. That's what you deserve and I can't give that"

Everything felt like it came to a stop, were you hearing that right?

"You have no idea how much you contradict yourself, Si. How are you so sure that you haven't given those things to me already? You might not be like me but "like me" isn't what I want.. I want you, every flaw, every beautiful scar. Not once before your silent treatment have you hurt me, it's frustrating yes, but you are worthy of that. Every struggle, frustration and mistake, every bit of your love is worth all of that. I want you to see that Si, your actual true worth rather than what some psychotic fucker decided to torture you with"

"Boys, workin' on empty. Is that the kinda way to face the burning heat? I just think about my baby, I'm so full of love I could barely eat"

"Si?"

"Yes, Sunshine?"

"I love you" You whispered after smothering him in a plethora of kisses. Never has anything made Simon melt more in his life than his wife say that. Doesn't matter how long it's been, how much the both of you have been through or how much frustration the both of you were going through..

It will always stay the same, the feeling those three words give him, like the first time, every moment feels that way. Familiar, finally.. Home.

"There's nothing sweeter than my baby I'd never want once from the cherry tree. 'Cause my baby's sweet as can be, she give me toothaches just from kissin' me"

He always thought about how unfaithfulness was such a struggle between some people, he thought about how good he has it constantly, reflecting back on what he used to have to how now this is something he never thought he'd have or deserve.

"When my time comes around, lay me gently in the cold, dark earth. No grave can hold my body down, I'll crawl home to her"

When a man finds himself in the verge of embracing death's arms, what causes the struggle? What causes him to fight that pain, to keep on going? Not once has this crossed Ghost's mind.

No. He's not Ghost, he's Simon. Your Simon.

And you're expecting your Simon home, fuck everything else, he'll give the biggest "fuck you" to death itself and crawl home to you because he'll be damned and he'll experience everything he has in his life over and over again just to hold you again.

"Boys, when my baby found me I was three days on a drunken sin, I woke with her walls around me. Nothin' in her room but an empty crib and I was burnin' up a fever I didn't care much how long I lived, but I swear I thought I dreamed her. She never asked me once about the wrong I did."

It should matter, the amount of blood on his hands. Not once did you judge him for it, what the fuck was wrong with you? Giving a monster such as him a bath like he was some innocent stray kitten, although this time around it was far more messy. The dried blood caked underneath his finger nails.

Flashing him a tired smile while you wiped off the blood that made the water in the tub a hue of brownish-red. Taking your hand in his, his lips brushing against your knuckles. The way you looked at him was enough to make him cry.

"When my time comes around, lay me gently in the cold, dark earth. No grave can hold my body down, I'll crawl home to her"

"Fucking get up" Simon repeats to himself, "She needs you, she loves you" despite how many times he's convinced himself you didn't due to the voice of his father in his head, it felt like a knife twisting in his heart imagining how it would be for you without him.

How much you cried the night he came home a day later, you told him yourself, practically sobbing while clutching your aching chest and him with your other arm how you weren't ready for Price to show up at your doorsteps holding Simon's belongings.

He won't let that happen.. he can't...

"My babe would never fret none, about what my hands and my body done. If the Lord don't forgive me, I'd still have my baby and my babe would have me"

Simon knew it, no one would ever love him like you do. No one would show him the same acceptance, devotion, care, concern and love. It wasn't healthy to be so attached dependently to someone in love.

He couldn't help it, it felt so right, everything with you did. Never a judgmental one, at least towards him. Always first to hold him, the first to ever take away the heavy guilt that weighed his heart and shoulders down after he'd done something he knows he'll go to hell for, if it's even real

"When I was kissing on my baby and she put her love down soft and sweet In the low lamplight I was free. Heaven and hell were words to me"

Every inch was kissed, not a part wasn't worshiped. "So fuckin' beautiful, so sweet. All for me, hmm?" Simon mumbled against your skin, suckling on the soft sweetness that he so claims. All hickeys, no bruises.

Fuck, he'd not just survive but thrive on just you. No other sustenance, your supple thighs he adores to cover in purple, your neck, your lips and your skin that he often compares to sugar syrup in his head.

"When my time comes around, lay me gently in the cold, dark earth. No grave can hold my body down I'll crawl home to her"

The question was, was it worth it to live an eternity of lifetimes filled with suffer to be with you in at least once? The only answer to ever graze Simon Riley's lips was the word "yes", the day that changes is the day that he'd be the biggest bull-shiter the world has ever known.

Simon opened the door to your shared home, "Daddy!" A loud squeal wakes him up from his dread of what he's seen on the field.

"How's my little sunshine been? 'Ave you been good to your momma while I was gone?" Simon asked, carrying the little girl in his arms.

"Yes! Momma said we'd go to the park tomorrow as a reward for me helping out!" Little one saying it so proudly, Simon couldn't help but smile, beaming with pride as his little girl grows up to be what he recognizes as a good person.

"Simon..? You're finally home, I missed you so much" You said, peeking out the laundry room. You walked out, quick to give him a peck on the lips.

"I love you Si.."

"I love you too Sunshine"

Also this is a very long fic.. I expect long feedback.. @connorsui 👀

Does this make sense? Idk anymore it's like almost midnight and I'm running on a few hours of sleep. GOD MY PROM DRESS LOOKS SO GOOD, I CAN'T WAIT.

Taglist: @wishesforyou @puff0o0 @simping4konig @simp4konig @blingblong55 @azereus @rustic-guitar-notes @shadofireshinobi @thelightdjinnofpalestine @09maruchan @anonymuslydumb @skeletalgoats @icarustypicalfall @ghosts-cyphera @fawnchives @connorsui @capuccino192 @miss-gms-and-the-rotten-womb @celestialhole @the-second-sage @starryylies @everlastingmoonlightsworld @keiva1000 @iexiam @drewsmusee @konigceo

Trying out new dividers as well by @anitalenia

[erosuguru]

Trying my hand at angst, I don't like this but here you go fjsjfdj

Gojo misses reader and is a mitski fan here, sfw, 1.6k words

Satoru knew he was clingy, he knows he can be overbearing with you at times and you've constantly reassured him that it's one of the many qualities you like about him; you even called it cute and compared him to a lost kitten. However, the longer you're gone, the more stressed he gets, thoughts of worry plague his head if they go unanswered for too long—how you are doing? Is everything going smoothly? Did you eat a full proper meal? Are you sleeping well? He never had to worry for long because he would get an answer the next time he sees you, which would usually be the next few hours or the next day.

When you told him about a trip you had to take out of town to visit family and stay with them for a while, he only smiled and helped you pack as anxiety rattled in his chest— as if trying to bring your attention to it. he chooses to remain silent about his worries even after you tell him you'll be gone for over a week, even if every bone in his body is telling him to trap you in his arms and beg you to stay.

Clingliness be damned, he loved you too much to remain separated from you for over a week, let alone a day.

Dread crept at the back of his mind as you explained your trip, why you were going and when will you leave and return, the entire time Satoru tried to listen his mind would wander and begin to memorise your features as you spoke— the shape of your lips, the crinkle in your eyelids, the structure of your nose, god, did he tell you look beautiful? He couldn't recall if he did today.

".. so don't expect fast replies, okay?"

The dumbfounded expression quickly took over Satoru's features as he sat up, he remembered he mentioned he would call or text you if he gets lonely but after that his brain tuned out his surroundings as if preparing itself for a week of loneliness.

".. repeat that for me, Baby? Please?"

"I said the service is pretty bad at my grandparent's place, so don't expect fast replies."

Ah. He was in hell. He had to watch and help you pack, pretend as if this didn't bother him so you wouldn't cancel for his sake, he even saw you off and kept his goodbye short; a simple kiss, hug and a promise for you to stay safe and call him if anything happens. He would have been proud of himself had he not known how lonely the house would be without you.

For the first three days, the phrase "its just under two weeks" became a mantra Satoru would mutter to himself— from the moment he opens his eyes in the morning feeling the empty space next to him, the phrase is echoed in his head. He made the mistake of preparing two cups of coffee in the beginning forgetting you were off with family, that simple mistake triggers a domino effect; it causes him to remember to contact you, he checks his phone and finds messages sent from you in the wrong order, courtesy of terrible service.

Leaving the house did nothing to alleviate the anxieties floating in his mind about you, whenever he passes by a cafe he has to purchase your favorite item off the menu, this time he had to stop himself and double back from the door remembering the meal would rot away in the fridge before your return. Spotting anything remotely related to your interests activates a knee-jerk reaction where he turns to gesture and mention it to you, looking for the spark that would light up your features in excitement— but alas, you were not here.

The days were longer, the nights were colder, Satoru's love blooms whenever he's near you, and yet now that he's alone, his heart is heavy; an overgrown garden.

The week was over. It was finally over, and yet the torture continued. You specifically told him you'd be gone for over a week— he once again repeats to himself "just under two weeks.." Satoru feels tired, and he doesn't know why. Through his meals and activities throughout the days, he would usually share them with you. He wonders if you felt the same exhaustion.

Just as his eyelids began to weigh down from the exhaustion, his phone released melodious chimes. Satoru grunted in annoyance and sat up in the cold bed, tempted to crush the phone in his hand— was he not even allowed to dream of you?

'LOML💘 Calling...'

His heart soared to his throat, everything he wanted to say to you, threatening to spill out before he even tapped the green button. He hurriedly answered and brought the phone up to his ear.

"Hello? Satoru?"

"... Baby? Can you hear me?" He immediately wanted to make sure of the call's quality. He won't be swindled by fate.

"Oh, thank god- I've been trying to get a hold of you all week! How are you? Is everything okay? I'm so sorry I couldn't contact you." He could hear chatter in the back. "I'm with my cousin. We drove out to this convenience store, and the service is pretty good!— I mean, yeah, it's a little far, but..." You took a breath, speaking too quickly for your lungs to handle."I'm so happy I get to hear your voice, Satoru..!"

everything he wanted to say, you were saying it for him, Satoru knows he's clingy but when you return his clingliness it makes him believe that he was made for you— that he was truly loved by you.

Suddenly, the stress he felt from worrying about you, the overbearing silence of loneliness, your affections pouring to him through the phone, all of these factors shattered him; a sob choked him.

".. yeah - me too..!" Satoru hiccuped as he tried to wipe away forming tears. He can't be upset now. He has to be tough for you.

You didn't miss the sniffle that followed, setting your soda down in the cup holder of the car. You sat up briefly. "Honey? What's wrong?" Your cousin silently signalled they'll return into the store, not wanting to overhear a lover's quarrel. "Did something happen?"

Satoru shook his head, forgetting you couldn't see him. He swallowed the lump that formed in his throat. "No - no, I'm fine.. I'm just really happy to hear from you."

Silence filled the call, a moment ago he was preparing himself to yell at you, cry to you, beg you to come home— now he didn't know what to do with himself as he had everything he wanted listening to him on the other end.

"... Hon? I'm really sorry." He hated how you knew just what to say when he began to crack. "I love you, I promise I'll be home soon, okay?"

You love him. You love him. He felt guily; he finally had a chance to speak with you, and he cried and made you feel like the bad guy, made you apologize for wanting to spend quality time with family, does he even deserve you at this point?

"... okay." Is all he can muster, Satoru always sounds so full of life— but now he just sounds defeated, as if faced with a foe that he couldn't damage or evade whatsoever. It broke your heart.

Satoru traced shapes into the covers that he practically kicked off him when he saw your nickname flash on his phone screen, he began. "Baby?"

"Hm? Yeah?"

".. when you get home, I'm gonna be more selfish with you." His tone was serious. He couldn't help but smile when he heard you laugh. "You're already selfish with me!"

"Hey, I've been very emotionally vulnerable recently, okay?" Satoru felt like the usual dynamic of your conversations is slowly seeping back. It felt right, like finding something he thought he misplaced.

"I'm not complaining, hon. I actually love it." He heard you shuffle a bit. "I think you deserve to be a little selfish. You've been so good for me lately, haven't you?"

Of course, he should've expected this from you; you're his smart girl. Of course you would notice how strained he seemed before you went on your trip.

"I thought I hid it pretty well.."

"Satoru."

".. what?" He grew wary of your unimpressed tone. He didn't slip up, did he?

"You were listening to Mitski all week." Ah, your shared music subscription gave him away.

"She perfectly puts my emotions into words, okay? So sue me!"

"I know, hon! But you were listening to First Love / Late Spring. What was I supposed to think?"

The conversation continues, from Lyricism to current routines to favourite cafe desserts. For the first time in a week, Satoru felt safe and comfortable enough to sleep.

Your conversation lulled him to a sleepy state, he could hear you shuffle and move about, he could hear the car start, your family commenting on your dynamic with him, even if the sound was minimised as the phone speaker was only moderately audible, as long as he could hear your voice then he was happy.

"So, either Wednesday or Tuesday..?" Satoru asked groggily after you explained your situation.

"Yeah - I'm hoping Tuesday, but we don't know yet, I'll drive back to the convenience store and tell you once I know." It sounded like a joke, but he knows you would do it.

"Baby- no, I can wait, I swear—"

"Can you, though?" He could hear the smile in your voice, Satoru let out a breathless laugh.

"... nah, I don't think I can."

[hypnovibing]

Mantras

Hello sweeties! I am glad you all enjoyed the tips I gave you last time, hope they helped you go deeper than ever before.

Today I want to talk to you about mantras. Such a wonderful little thing that gets you all silly and obedient as you repeat them over and over and over again.

But before we begin, I do want to say that this post my contain a bit of trance text, so if you don't feel comfortable or aren't in a safe space, I recommend skipping this or saving it for later.

A mantra can be as easy as repeating a word or phrase over and over again, or it can be as complex as doing and saying something over and over again.

One of my favorite mantras I have encountered is...

"The deeper I go, the more I surrender"

Such an easy phrase to say, and the more you eventually repeat it, the more you will believe it.

"The deeper I go, the more I surrender"

It rolls so easy, so why not say it over and over again.

"The deeper I go, the more I surrender"

And you know, that's the wonderful thing about mantras. Specially when you sneak them ("The deeper I go, the more I surrender") just like that. They become so easy to follow that you just start saying them over...

"The deeper I go, the more I surrender"

and over...

"The deeper I go, the more I surrender"

and over again...

"The deeper I go, the more I surrender"

.

.

.

Oh sorry, I hope I didn't get you stuck in a loop hehe, I hope you have a good day beautiful and remember...

"The deeper I go, the more I surrender"

[the-heros-sidekick]

❝ I dream of cracking locks , throwing my life to the wolves or the ocean rocks. ❞

He feels it first at the back of his neck. A buzzing, like the crackling of electricity underneath his skin, reverberating against the hollow of his skull. Something is knocking, making its presence known: A particular kind of evil that had snuck into Stiles’ mind once already, stealing away control over his body. Condemning him to sit back, trapped in his own mind, rendering him powerless. Doomed to watch in horror as his  blood-stained hands wielded sharpened blades against those he loved. They’d gotten him out, though nearly at the cost of his own life—a sacrifice Stiles had been more than willing to make, so long as no one else would get hurt because of him. And yet something must have stayed behind, lodged into the membrane of his skull like a shard of glass. For the longest time he’d managed to keep the horrors contained to only haunt him in the dead of night, leaving him sleep deprived and wrung out, every nerve ending scraped thin. But now, even the light of day no longer offers refuge for Stiles to feel safe. Long gone is the once obnoxiously loud, carefree kid—left in its stead is a man carrying himself with caution, treading quietly across the space between other people’s reality and what lies beyond. He knows there are demons out there listening, waiting for an opportunity to exploit any sign of weakness—a door left slightly ajar, perhaps, much like the door to Stiles’ mind they’d never managed to close. The feeling of impending doom crescendos and Stiles, feeling sick to his stomach with fear, clings desperately to the words he repeats to himself like a mantra. "Nothing gets in unless you let it.” But the words turn to ash in his mouth, memories of past experiences proving him a liar. 

an exploration of Teen Wolf's STILES STILINSKI who, after leaving Beacon Hills behind, settled down in New York where he's now considered the FBIs golden boy . ― crafted for @fakevz . following canon events of the show with additional headcanons . medium activity & very crossover friendly . minors dni . this blog operates in english only . est. 2014 . ♗ ©

A STUDY IN: loss of innocence , comedic sidekick , aftermath of demonic possession , a morally gray world , undying loyalty , survivor's guilt , agent of chaos , deflecting with humor

I think I've loved you since I met you. I just mistook it for curiosity.

Ever since I first laid eyes on you, I felt this unquenchable need to know you.I blamed it on ulterior motives, justified it because I needed something from you, because you held the answers I was looking for, because no one else was able to help but you. Looking back on it now though, I'm starting to think that maybe some part of me knew right from the start, that first night I stumbled upon you in the woods, what took me years to see: Maybe my heart recognized that it was going to love you right away, and I spent the years to come catching up with what it knew right from the start. That it was always going to be you. How could it ever have been anyone else? Through mayhem and bloodshed, through fear and loss, through grief and sleepless nights, you were the one constant that remained. When I lost sight of everything--first myself, then reality, then hope--you were the one guiding my way like a beacon, or a north star. If I've ever known peace, it's in all the moments that your hand has touched mine and that your arms have held me tirelessly, putting your body like a shield between me and every inkling of danger. Of all the late-night wonderings of trying to make sense of the last decade (and failing), what remains is this singular thought: At least it was you. At least it was me. At least it was us, together. I'd bear it all a million times over if it meant I got to hold your hand at the end of it all. You are the moment of quiet at the end of a long day, you are breathless laughter, you're the patch of sunlight filtering in through the window that I stand in to warm myself. You are everything good in this world and living proof that there is hope despite it all, and I love you beyond measure.

[the-dixon-effect]

Beyond Broken

summary: In the aftermath of Y/N marrying Negan to break Daryl out of the Sanctuary, she doesn't know why he is so upset with her.

era: season 7, Negan-Saviours era

pairing: Daryl Dixon x fem!reader

genre: angst

words: 1.3k

warnings: mentions of non-con, Negan being horrible, saviour shit

When the night was full of terrors And your eyes were filled with tears

The tight, form-fitting black dress clung to your thighs with sweat as you stepped off the rusted bike. Not a word escaped anybody in the crowd that had gathered at the front gate as Daryl stormed off. You simply stood there, confused and upset as to why he would be so angry with you, and embarrassed to have every pair of eyes in Alexandria staring you down. A moment later, the woman you recognised as Maggie darted towards you and flung her arms around your shoulders. Your eyes swelled with tears, but you were not about to break down, not here, in front of everyone.

"Oh.. my God, Y/N, you're back! Are you alright?" she spoke softly into your tense shoulder.

"Maggie... I'm so sorry," you began, your heart full to the brim with regret. "I couldn't do it.. I couldn't kill Negan.. 'M sorry, you deserve so much better," you choked, spluttering over the words you wished you didn't have to say. Preparing for the humiliation, the disgust that would soon be radiating from those around you. She's the coward who thought marrying Negan would do some good.

"No.. no, it's okay, you got Daryl back," she spoke in that familiar Southern drawl. It reminded you of someone else's voice that needed to hear right now. "What happened? Is he okay?"

"I- I don't know... I got him out. They had him-" you stuttered, struggling to bring yourself to utter what you had seen at that God-awful 'sanctuary'. "They put in him a cell. Made him eat shit, listen to this awful song that played over and over... I got him out, but Negan made me-"

"Hey, hey, it's okay, you're back here now. You're safe, you saved him, Y/N,"

"I'm sorry, I have to find him,"

Your black high-heels clicked on the tarmac as you exited the crowd with as much dignity as possible. Why the hell would Daryl storm off like that? Maybe he's just tired, maybe he needs some space. He's hurting, and you so badly want to be the one to comfort him. You approached his shared home and hesitated before knocking on the door to his basement, the place that had remained empty for what felt like the longest time. Before knocking, you registered a couple characteristic grunts from inside, and suddenly your eyes glassed over once more.

Knocking twice, you brought up a palm to smooth over your clammy forehead and straightened up your dress, just now realising how silly you look as one of Negan's costume girls. You knew he was in there, and yet, no one answered. Your heart was bubbling with sorrow while you remembered what you had to go through, just to end up here.

You didn't deserve this, you thought. Not being blown off by Daryl after saving his ass just a couple hours ago. You bust the door open and strode inside, not paying attention to the surroundings or how you appeared.

"What's going on Daryl?" you cried, praying for a response, anything, just to know what's going on in that brain of his. He stood there silently, not moving a muscle, staring you down like a deer in headlights.

"Daryl, please, just tell me-" you started, tears threatening to roll down your puffy cheeks.

"Why would ya' do sumthin' like that? Ya' know how stupid that was, bustin' in there?" he yelled, throwing his arms up and approaching you. He towered over you, berating you like you were a misbehaving child.

"I- I don't understand," you thought of the way Negan grabbed you, trapped you beneath him as you tried to control your movements by repeating words in your head, like a mantra. It's all for Daryl, this is all for Daryl, all for him. You remember the things you'd heard in your direction during your time there. Whore. Slut. Scared little bitch. Abandoning Rick and the crew just for a chance to get a piece of Negan. It wasn't fair. You felt like a traitor as you lay awake in Negan's bed on those cold nights, knowing Daryl was awake too, tortured and bruised in a cell three floors beneath you.

"I got you out.. I came to rescue you Daryl?" you sobbed, unable to prevent the tears from falling now.

"Listen ta' me. Don't ever do sumthin' like to yerself ever again," his tone was so harsh, so mean, it was difficult to actually register his words. "I need ya' ta tell me why... Why would ya' do sumthin' like that? Put yerself through tha'?"

"I- I did it for you, Daryl! I did it for you because- because there's nothing else, no one else.. It was.. It was the only thing!" your lips trembled and your whole body quivered beneath his sharp gaze.

Daryl looked around the room and resorted to staring down at his feet. He looked so shaken, so confused and scared, poor thing. If only he could give into the desire to hold you close and never let go. It seemed, at that moment, like that would be the only thing to heal him.

When you had not touched me yet Oh, take me back to the night we met

"But- but why?" he spoke, quieter than he had done previously.

"Don't you get it?" you began softly. "You were being tortured down there... and I couldn't stand for it. It makes me sick, thinking 'bout what I had to do to get you out, but it's all for a reason. Daryl, no one else here is wading into Negan's territory to get you out..."

You thought about the ridicule. The disgusting glares and grimaces you received from psycho-leader's personal foot soldiers. Having to humiliate yourself all day, all night, worrying about being discovered, worrying about getting killed.

The two of you just stared at each other now, as if there was nothing left to be said. But oh, how much he wished he could say to you.

"He lay his hands on you?" he asked, softly and cautiously, as though now he saw you as a wounded animal, sobbing and frightened.

"No... he just..." you couldn't bring yourself to speak of the things he had done to you. He appeared to understand. You wanted to be okay. You wanted to make Daryl okay.

"C'mere," he whispered, pulling you into a tight hug. You buried your face into his wide shoulder blade and wept. Maybe this was it, just what you needed. You had both suffered so much, all you needed was a gentle embrace and someone to hold you like an angel. God knows Daryl needed it too. All he's never known was violence and sorrow, and all you've ever wanted was to dry his tears and hold him late at night.

"I will kill that motherfucker... and any son of a bitch who thinks about touchin' yer'," there was something so poetic about the way he threatened the rest of the world. Like you two were the only ones that existed.

He stroked the back of your head and placed his hand in your soft hair, pulling you closer. "Hey. I dun' wantcha puttin' yerself in danger fer' me, alrigh'? Y/N, I.. I can't let nuthin' bad happen to ya',"

You hummed into his shoulder before pulling away to gaze up at him, arms still wrapped firmly around his torso. "But, Daryl..."

"Nah, I'm righ' here. An' I ain't leavin' ya again."

[ynscrazylife]

Us against the World

Summary: It’s one of those days where everything feels utterly hopeless. Joel reminds you that you’re not alone.

Disclaimer: Set post-outbreak, before the show starts.

Warnings: Talk of depression, hopelessness, reference to suicidal talk but not explicit

Request to be on a taglist (or multiple) here! (Taglists are at the end of the fic)

Main Masterlist 

PSA: Do NOT copy, steal, translate, plagiarize, republish, etc any of my works on Tumblr or any other platform. Also, do NOT claim any of my works as your own. All of these works are either requests I’ve gotten that people have wanted me to write or original ideas I’ve had for works. If you happen to take inspiration from anything I’ve written and want to write something inspired by that, please a) ask me first and b) IF I say yes, credit me as inspo in your post by tagging me and link whatever work of mine that inspired you. Thanks.

Safe-house. Safe-house. Safe-house.

You repeat those words like a chant, a mantra, in your head as you keep on forcing your feet along the dirt and pebble-filled path. A couple days ago, you and Joe had found a miraculously abandoned building that seemed like it used to be a Firefly safe-house. There wasn’t any electricity, but there was some water and heat. You had gone on a simple supply run only to be ambushed by FEDRA officers. Now — you were going home.

You weren’t foolish enough to think of the safe-house as home. No — you and Joel would be moving on in a few days, probably. So when you said home, you meant him. The love of your life. Your reason for living: Joel Miller himself.

You manage to smile at the thought of him and that allows you to go a little faster. When you finally look up to see the rusted door, you nearly collapse in relief right then and there.

Stumbling against the door, you have just enough strength to do the rhythmic knock that you had decided upon with Joel as your signal. Then, you simply rest, limp until he opens the door and you quite literally fall into his arms.

“Oh, shit. Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Joel mutters as he quickly reacts and tries to catch you. You can hardly support your own weight at this point and can only flail in his arms. Your legs fail you as Joel’s arms wrap around your torso — him having to essentially drag you inside until he can set you down on the wood floor as gently as possible. His heart is pounding with alarm and concern, but he tries not to let that overwhelm him. First and foremost, you have to be stable.

“Stay here,” he grunts, wasting no time in stepping over you to close the door and lock it. Once he is sure it’s secure, he turns back around, only to see you curled up on your side.

“Y/N!” He yells, dropping to his knees and pulling you close. His eyes scan you over for injuries and he doesn’t like what he finds: multiple bruises and open wounds. Your knee is bent in a way it definitely shouldn’t be and the most concerning wound is a gash reaching from your stomach all the way to your hip.

He scoops you up in his arms, trying not to worry even more at your limp-ness and the way your head just rolls against him like a rag doll. He carries you to the tattered couch and sets you down, leaving for a second to grab the med-kit which thankfully wasn’t far. It was by no means enough, but he’ll make it work. He always does.

“What the hell happened?” Joel grumbles, anger seeping through his tone — but not at you, never at you, just at this goddamned world. It would never stop finding ways to hurt the two of you, would it? He makes quick work of assessing the med kit but when you don’t answer, a glance your way made him feel like he’ll explode.

You’re barely conscious. The only indication of it is that your eyes aren’t fully closed, but not fully open either. He can still see how dazed you were, staring off into space and showing no sign that you had heard, much less understood, him.

Don’t push it, he tells himself. It takes all his will to follow his own words. He gets to work, first cleaning up the big gash. But you quickly begin to flinch and whine at how it stung and hearing that, seeing it, brings out a softer side to him that he only shows to the people that he cherishes.

“Shh, honey, shh,” he soothes. trying to continue to work but he soon realizes that it isn’t working when you begin kicking, and then cry out when it aggravates the pain in your knee. Joel sighs, the guilt raining inside him. “Baby, please.”

He knows he’ll have to hold you down somehow if you don’t stop soon. In his head, he’s willing for you to break through the pain and exhaustion that’s clouding your judgement and realize that he needs to do this. But you don’t, and honestly, he can’t blame you. He can’t imagine what happened — he doesn’t really want to. And if he can’t stomach it, how are you doing it?

You twist and turn — nearly hitting Joel. He has to almost manhandle you, pulling your legs into his lap and being mindful of your knee as he pins down your legs with one of his own over yours. You squirm. but don’t seem to have the energy to fight him. He gently keeps you against the couch with his right arm and with his left, is able to clean the wound. Then, he stitches it and finally bandages it up. When that’s finished, he turns his attention to your knee and mutters curses.

It’s definitely dislocated, which means he’ll need to set it. Taking a second to look at your face, already scrunched up as if some part of you knows what’s about to happen, he whispers, “I’m so sorry, sweetheart.” He gently pressed his hands to your knee and quickly sets it.

You quickly shoot up with a strangled yelp, tears springing to your eyes. Joel moves to sit down on the couch and pulls you into his lap, holding you and allowing you to cry and let it all out. You don’t cry often, so he knows that something’s really wrong, and it almost makes him cry but he closes his eyes and peppers you with kisses.

It takes a while, but eventually you calm down enough to be able to talk. “Joel, I can’t—I can’t—” you pause, struggling to breathe for a second. You sniffle and Joel waits patiently for you to swallow and continue. “I’m so tired of this.”

Unfortunately, Joel knows exactly what you’re talking about. The two of you have had moments like this before, you’ve had conversations about it — the moments of depression, where it all feels hopeless and pointless and you start wondering what you’re even doing. But it’s never gotten as bad or as overwhelming like this, not when one of you is injured. Joel doesn’t know what happened, but he can tell that it was all too much.

You press your head against Joel’s chest, tired. It takes a few more minutes for you to begin telling your tale. “It was those stupid FEDRA officers,” you say, venom lacing your words. Joel bites his lip — that’s what he suspected when he saw your injuries. They weren’t made by any of the infected and you didn’t usually get into fights. “They started to question me, thought I was stealing. I didn’t get the supplies, I’m so sorry.”

A fresh round of tears spill. You hide your face in Joel’s shirt. “I’m sorry,” you whimper, shaking. Joel holds you closer, pressing a kiss to your head and resting his chin on your head after.

“It’s not your fault,” he assures you. He doesn’t say he’s not mad, because that would be a lie. Once again — not mad at you. He’s mad at FEDRA, at the entire goddamned world.

You quiet down and continue. “They roughed me up real good. Even tased me. The only reason I got away is cause a couple of the infected came out of nowhere. One tackled me to the ground, FEDRA shot ‘em and I ran away while they handled the other ones. I made it all the way here but when I woke up . . . It’s all getting to be too much. It’s so much. I’m so tired of this. All the running, the hiding, the crappy food and the crappy water and the constant fear.” You begin sniffling and Joel wipes your tears, nodding.

He doesn’t say anything for a bit. At first, he doesn’t have anything to say because you’re right. It’s not fair. You shouldn’t have to live like this. No one should. And you both know it won’t stop anytime soon — it might not ever stop.

He wants to have the right words to say, but he’s just not that kind of guy. For you, though, he’ll try. He hates subjecting you to silence, but as his mind conjures up words, he tries to believe that they’re not sappy or poetry. “It’s us against the world, sweetheart,” is what he finally lands on. “And I know sometimes it doesn’t feel worth it, but I refuse to give up if I still have you. I’ll do this every day until I die just to see you smile, just to hold you and kiss you, just to hug you. You’re what keeps me going. You’re worth it.”

You take some shaky breaths, leaning into him. “You know the same goes for you, babe. It’s just—it’s so hard sometimes . . .” You trail off.

He nods. He knows. “I can’t believe I’m the one saying this — but you gotta have some hope. That we’ll survive and we’ll be happy and the Fireflies will kick FEDRA’s ass and someday, we’ll start to rebuild things. We’ll be apart of history. There will be a future,” he says.

You sigh. It’s a long sigh. “You know as well as I do that there’s a pretty good chance that stuff will never happen,” you point out, tone dull. Any other day, you’d be the one telling Joel all the things he’s telling you but it’s too much right now.

That breaks Joel’s heart. It’s like the two of you have completely switched roles. He’s not good at expressing it, but he needs you. He loves you.

“I love you.”

“I know,” you say softly.

“No, I don’t think you do. I love you. So much. More than anything in the world. I know you know but you gotta really know, let your brain fully get it. I love you.”

You blink, truly thinking about it. Remembering your times with him. How he makes you smile and laugh and forget about all the chaos around. It’s enough to give you a little hope. His love is enough. To convince you that you guys can do this. And you can be happy, too. Together.

“And we’ve known that things are shit for years now and you haven’t stopped. Even before you had me and I had you, you did it. You survived. So you’re not gonna stop now. I know you’re not saying fuck it all or anything, I know you need to get it out — so do it, cry. I’ll hold you. But I want you to know that I’m not giving up on you. I’m not giving up on anything while I have you,” Joel continues, letting his heart pour out for once.

You sit up and twist around in his arms, heart thumping wildly in your chest. “You’re not just saying this to make me feel better?” You asked, hoping and praying that that wasn’t the case.

He stares into your eyes, cupping your face in his hands. “No, darling. I really fucking love you and you know what, now’s as good as time as any to remind you of that,” he said. He has trouble saying it as often as he wants to, but he’s saying it now. He’ll say it everyday.

A grin breaks out on your face. He’s right — it doesn’t make everything better. But it’s a start. And it definitely made you listen. His words seep into your skin, start to heal your invisible wounds. He’s right. He’s got you and you’ve got him. It’s the two of you against the world, and that’s enough. “I really fucking love you, too,” you say, and with that you’re leaning in to kiss him.

The kiss is sweet and calm, but the passion is there. When you pull apart, you’re leaning into his chest, your eyes starting to droop. Joel looks down at you and laughs. “You’re really cute, honey, you know that?” He teases.

“Stop,” you whine, lightly hitting his chest which only makes him laugh more. You and he are well aware of how much he loves to tease you and see you blush, which he is convinced is adorable.

“Aww, that’s too much for you?” He teases even more. He can’t help it.

You groan and shut your eyes, which makes him shift you a little bit. “C’mon, let’s go take a shower,” Joel says, swinging his legs down.

You groan again. “I can’t even stand, J,” you remind him with a small huff annoyance that yes, Joel finds so cute (sometimes he starts small arguments just to see you get a little frustrated).

“I’ll help you,” he says. Before you can answer, he’s lifting you up with the gentlest touch he’s used in decades. You let him, because you know you need it. He tucks your legs around his waist and your arms loop around his neck.

Joel carries you to the bathroom and sets you down on the counter. He turns on the shower, getting it to the best temperature he can before helping you out of your clothes and changing into just a pair of shorts himself. Joel picks you up again, helping you into the shower. You let out a breath as the warm water hits you, Joel allowing you to lean against him and get the weight off your leg that has the dislocated knee.

After simply standing in the water for a few minutes and holding each other, Joel props you up against the wall. He grabs some soap but you let out a whine. “I can do it myself,” you mumble, reaching out your arm limply for the soap.

Joel can’t help but let out a small chuckle. You’re half asleep as it is and he honestly thinks that it’s adorable that you’re still trying to be independent. “Let me help you. I want to,” he says.

You pout at him, but ultimately give in with a nod. You have to admit, you like when he takes care of you, and you have a feeling he knows that, too. Joel helps you wash yourself and then washes your hair for you. At the feeling of his fingers in your hair, that nearly sent you to sleep. By the time he was done, you were leaning heavily against him, Joel supporting your weight.

He sets you down on the floor of the shower while he steps away to turn off the water. Then, he ties a towel around himself before grabbing one and wrapping it around you. As he helps you stand up, you can’t help but wonder what life would be like with Joel before the outbreak. What life would be like while things are normal. Perhaps this was a little glimpse into that alternate world. A peek.

Joel’s arm is wrapped around you as he leads you into the bedroom, helping you into bed. You roll over, intent on just falling asleep, but Joel returns a moment later. You must’ve dozed off for a bit, because now he’s dressed and holding out some clothes for you. You go to whine at not being allowed to sleep yet, but stop when you spot that Joel brought you his clothes. He wears a knowing smirk when you shut your mouth.

Joel helps you put the clothes on and then climbs into bed beside you. He pulls you close to him and you smile, liking that he’s initiating it. The bed isn’t too comfortable but it’s okay, because you’d rather be in his arms. You’re not quite sure when you fall asleep but when Joel sees that you have, his smile just grows bigger. He kisses your forehead and runs his fingers through your hair, watching over you until he falls asleep, too.

And just like that, things feel like they’re getting a little better.

[whumpzone]

Linden & Colton - Guard Dog AU #2

(masterpost)

CW: pet whump, dehumanisation

-

The walk to the bus stop was nicely cool. The trees were turning crisp and orange, whispering to one another every time the wind blew through them. Linden had his thin coat on, a chequered brown which reached his upper thighs, and every time he pulled it out from its long summer retirement he found some long-forgotten memento in its pockets; a piece of seaglass, or a train ticket, or a business card for a taxi company on the other side of the country. Col’s shoulders didn’t fit into any of Linden’s coats, so he was instead in a cable knit jumper and a scarf. 

“It’ll just be a quick trip into town, but I think it’ll be good to get out. I’m going to get you some weights so you can work out at home.”

Col’s serious expression faltered a little with surprise. “Really, Sir, that’s not necessary. I can train with anything.”

“Think of it as a nice treat, then.”

“Yes, Sir, thank you. How can I pay you back?”

Linden gave him a smile. “By carrying them instead of me.” 

They stopped and waited at the bus stop, the only two people there. Linden knew that Col hadn’t walked very far recently, and he didn’t want to put too much strain on his legs; they were streaked with scar tissue which sometimes caught the light and shone against the rest of his skin, which was in some places puffy and red, and in other places crossed with thin cuts which had turned a pale lilac. 

Col nodded. He always did so very quickly, often before Linden had even finished speaking. He had a strong suspicion that Col would get into terrible trouble if his old owner thought he wasn’t paying attention, and with the way he’d occasionally seen Col stare into nothingness, perhaps this had happened a lot. 

“It’s always busy, though, so we might need to sit separately. Is that okay with you, Col?”

He was relieved when Col paused, seeming to genuinely consider this. “Yes, Sir. That’s fine.” 

“If we do, you can take the seat further to the back. That way you can still see me. You’ll know that I’m alright, and you’ll be able to see when to get off.”

Linden cringed at sounding so self-important, but he knew it would be the first thing on Col’s mind. If this had reassured him at all, it didn’t show on his face. 

. . .

It’s not like I have a choice, thought Col. Other guard dogs, ones that were bigger and better and more trusted, would bark at someone to move, to let him sit by his Master. My place is at my Master’s side, he repeated in his head without fully thinking about it. The mantra was so old it came naturally now. But Col wasn’t good enough. Not even close. 

The bus rolled to a stop (after Col had flinched when Master put his arm out to hail it) and it was clear they would indeed have to split up. He found a seat towards the back as he’d hoped, and watched as Master flashed him a smile from up ahead. 

They made more stops than he’d anticipated, the geography of the bus changing each time, taking on parents pushing prams and letting off elderly women with dogs, until Col’s neighbour had motioned for him to let them get past and he had stood, ducking his head, watching them leave to make sure they didn’t do anything alarming near his Master. He moved to take the window seat.

This left Col with a space beside him, and his instincts told him to have his Master fill that space. But how? Col, who was still a new purchase and needed to prove himself, suddenly sagged under his self-doubt. He’d have to call out for him, or get up and go over, both of which would cause a scene. He’d be telling him what to do. He’d be assuming that Master even wanted to be sat next to him – maybe it was a welcome break, and Col was expected to keep him safe from this distance. Maybe trying to close the gap between them would seem weak. 

It still mystified him that humans hurt one another when pets existed, but it wasn’t for him to question. He wasn’t so naïve as to have forgotten about revenge, old grudges, power trips, terrorism, self-defence. And no one cared if their pet was killed. A lover or a friend would need to be sacrificed to really cause some grief.

He realised, stomach suddenly dropping, that if Master’s brother came to any harm, Col would have failed in his duties, would have failed to protect his owner. How could I guard Vik, too? he wondered. He’d have to find out where Vik lived, and familiarise himself with his entire neighbourhood, but he could hardly drag his owner along for this, so where would he get the opportunity? How would he ever be trusted after he had attacked him, anyway? Col felt stupid for even considering it. Master would probably judge that the biggest threat to Vik right now was his own pet.

He hadn’t realised how deeply he was considering this until a voice from the real world brought him back to the surface.

“Am I alright to sit here?” asked a young woman stood above him, and Col allowed himself just one second to realise that she meant the seat beside him, and more, that she was speaking to him directly. 

I asked you a question, his old owner said, so clear and commanding he could have been just behind him, and if you’re not gagged then I expect an answer. 

Except he wasn’t collared, or leashed, or gagged, and he wasn’t with his Master, and she wasn’t asking him to perform any of his normal duties as a pet. She didn’t know what he was, Col realised, giddy and scared at the same time. 

He nodded, not meeting her eye, and forced himself to speak. “Y-Yes, of course.”

“Thanks,” she replied pleasantly, and sat, pulling her satchel flat onto her lap. Col tried not to stare as she opened it and slid a laptop out. He pulled his gaze away, but a sudden movement caught his eyes yet again and he couldn’t help but look. His lifetime of training meant he had to look. 

Her laptop had a presentation on it, and with each slide the woman was gesturing, mouthing words silently. She was practising, Col realised. He suddenly felt himself so intrigued by this stranger’s life, just for a few seconds. This stranger who had spoken to him like a person. Was she a student? He didn’t dare read the words, he wouldn’t stare that brazenly, but he could see the unmistakeable shapes that only graphs made. A few rows in front of them both, Col’s Master sat safely, undisturbed. It was fine. Col hadn’t messed up by looking. 

This woman was going somewhere, with her normal human life, and it was as if a light switch had been flicked, the way Col became unbearably aware that every single person around him had a normal life of their own, too. Where were they all going? What were they thinking about? The bus was rattling down widening suburban streets. Each house would have an occupant, maybe even a whole family, or a couple. Were they happy? How many pets were there?

His fingers curled involuntarily as his training kicked in – any stretch of being lost in thought inevitably ended badly. Col blinked, again, again, as he heard his old owner screaming at him. 

You will LISTEN when you are spoken to, you slave, you useless piece of junk, you fucking dog. Pets do not have ‘thoughts’. You do not think unless it’s to follow orders. Do you fucking hear me this time? 

Yes, Master, Col thought, stamping out any more daydreaming. He fixed his eyes on the back of his current Master’s head and kept them there. 

Eventually, Master stood up, turning to Col just briefly to catch his eye, and the two stepped off.

“Was that alright, Col?” Master asked when they were both standing on the pavement, watching the bus rejoin the flow of traffic.

“Yes, Sir,” he said, thinking of nothing but his Master’s face before him. 

. . . 

As the pair walked through town, Linden noticed the space between them shrinking, until Col was almost pressed against his left shoulder.

“Hey,” he said, softly, and Col’s eyes darted to his. Nothing else changed, and Linden found it somewhat unnerving. Like a ventriloquist’s dummy. “Did you used to go out, much?” 

“No, Sir. The pub, or the racecourse, sometimes. I usually stayed in my cage.”

“But I thought you were a guard dog,” Linden said, his heart sinking when he saw the look on Col’s face. Okay, shouldn’t have said that.

“I am, Sir, I am. You can- you can trust me. I swear I’ll keep you safe. My old owner just… just had to get me trained, first. But I am trained, now.”

“Of course you are,” he said, feeling gross. “I know you’ll keep me safe.”

“Anything, Sir. I’ll do anything.”

“I know,” he said, trying to sound decisive. “I’m not going to get rid of you, I hope you can understand that.”

Col just nodded, but Linden felt like he had to ask this now, rather than let it fester.

“You were caged?”

Funnily enough, this didn’t seem to upset Col in the way he’d feared it might. Linden could almost describe the look Col gave him as quizzical. 

“Yes, Sir. I’m just a dog. But-! But I’m so grateful, so grateful for my- the bed, and the room. It’s very generous, Sir.”

“You’re welcome. I don’t own a cage and I’m not going to buy one. There’s no chance of that in my house.”

It wasn’t too busy in town, which was ideal. Their bus was always rammed, running through the main arteries of the district, but the hospital and the train station was where it spat out most of its cargo. It was term time, midweek, midday. Linden watched two cyclists wave to one another as they passed by. Turning to Col, he saw him looking at pigeons on a fence, one pruning the other. 

“Aw,” Linden said, making Col flinch. 

“S-Sorry, Sir. I’m paying attention.”

“I know. You can look. Oh, here, do you see that dog? He always sits in the window up there.”

Linden pointed past Colton’s face to a brindle whippet, which was curled up on a strategically placed dog bed, keeping an eye on the passers-by. “People call him Nosy Nigel.”

Linden wasn’t expecting a reply and he didn’t get one. Col nodded, then turned back to face the road. 

The curve of the hill had flattened during their ride, and this too would be easier for Col’s legs. 

“If walking becomes painful, you need to tell me,” Linden instructed him. “So we can go back home.” 

“I won’t let you down like that, Sir,” Col replied, keeping his voice neutral.

“It wouldn’t let me down,” he said, a little firmer. “I don’t want you to be in pain. Can you promise?”

“Yes, Sir. I promise.”

Now it was Linden’s turn to be quiet, and as they walked on, he thought he saw Col glancing at him, his eyebrows drawn tightly together.

-

Fifteen minutes later they were heading through the centre of town and Col had the boxed dumbbells held fast under one arm. Linden had made Col wait by the door to the sports shop when he paid, so Col wouldn’t be able to hear the price. They were hardly expensive, but he didn’t want Col to have it hanging over him. As they left, Linden didn’t think he’d been thanked so many times in his life. 

“We could get a coffee, if you fancy it,” Linden said, knowing they were about to pass his favourite cafe in town. 

“Yes, Sir, you should get whatever you like.”

“Would you like one?”

“I should keep one arm free, Sir, if that’s okay.”

Linden hummed an acknowledgement. That was good, he told himself. Col had told him what would make him most comfortable. He wondered what threats, if any, Col was picking out from their unremarkable walk around town. The cafe faced a small town square, in the centre of which was a once-grand statue of a general or soldier of some sort, with a traffic cone balanced on his head. Beyond him was a bakery, a newsagents, a chippy, a Polish grocer’s, in a neat row with houses on their second floors. It was normal - it was home. 

Their pace had slowed since they started out, and Linden decided to call it a day - he was well aware that Col would never admit if his legs were hurting. They’d done well - he got what he came for and Col hadn’t lashed out or scared anyone. 

“You know what… let’s head on home. We’ll both be able to have a hot drink in peace. Yeah?”

“Yes, Sir.”

. . .

Col grit his teeth, feeling his jaw pulse, forcing himself to ignore the ache steadily growing in his feet. The pain shot up his legs with each step. It felt like there were screws in his ankles, driven in good and deep, and even the smallest movement made them reverberate off his bones like a church bell. How could he stay alert? How could he be ready for anything, any threat, checking every angle and street and person they walked past? His head was spinning with the responsibility.

His foot came down hard. It took everything not to gasp in pain; he was aware he was slowing down, and the clock was ticking before Master noticed what a defective nothing he’d accidentally bought. 

I told you to admit it when your legs hurt, Colton heard Master say, his soft voice finally cracking in frustration. You thought you could hide it? That you’d carry on like this, trying to fool me, forever? 

Hurry the fuck up. I’ll decide what to do with you at home. 

Col saw possibilities playing in his mind like the young woman’s presentation. Each new slide carried a new, and equally likely, outcome once Master got fed up with him. The cage, the darkness, the whip, being thrown out entirely. The worst scenarios always ended with him alone and scared.

He came back to reality with his heart pounding. What had made him resurface? He looked over at his Master and saw that they’d come to a stop. Master was staring at something just behind Col’s head, squinting. 

“Oi, oi!” Col heard a familiar voice shout.

“I knew it was you!” Master replied, patting Col on the shoulder gently and indicating for him to turn around. 

Vik stopped his car in front of them, leaning out of his window with a smile. “Hey, guys. You alright? Done a tour of the town?”

“Yeah, just bought some weights,” Master replied, returning Vik’s casual wave. Col was frozen by his side, trying to find a neutral spot to cast his eyes. The last thing he wanted to do with aggravate Vik. 

“Oh, great stuff! I assume they’re for you, Col?”

“Uh, y-yeah,” Col stammered, not expecting to be addressed directly. Wouldn’t Vik be sick at the sight of him? 

“We’re just heading to get the bus back,” Master explained. Vik scoffed.

“I’ll give you a lift.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, I’ve got time. Col, you sit in the back, it’s cleaner back there.”

Col could see that the front passenger seat was host to a lanyard, an empty crisp packet, a phone charger and an unopened packet of socks. Master was already pulling open the door and laughing at the mess, which Vik breezily said he could push into the footwell. Col opened the back door and slid inside. 

“You’re going to lose all this stuff. It’ll go under the seat and you’ll never find it again.”

“I won’t, I’ve got a very complex system of storage going here. You wouldn’t understand it.”

“Where are you going, anyway?”

“Just the gym. Sounds like you’re gonna have a home gym set up pretty soon.”

“Oh yeah, premium spot. Hundred quid a month. I’ll be your personal trainer.”

“Ha! You’d be the worst personal trainer ever. You’d probably lie down on the bench and fall asleep.”

“You look like you’ve been sleeping in the gym, look at those flimsy arms. For shame.”

Vik laughed, hard, and Master laughed back. It was a sound Col didn’t hear very much, and he let himself enjoy it. 

The drive back to Master’s house really was incredibly short - Col reflected on the fact that Master probably only made them take the bus for Col’s sake, and cringed at the pure hatred he had for himself - and soon they were back inside, being welcomed in by Jaffa. 

“Go and sit on the stairs to take your shoes off, Col, it’s easier.”

Col couldn’t disobey, and as much as he wanted to protest his strength, his legs were still in pain. He accepted the mercy with thanks. The day had been… fine. Col was okay. Master didn’t seem angry at him yet, and Vik had kindly ignored him, and Col was still owned. Maybe I can do this, he thought to himself foolishly.  Just for a bit longer. Then when this all ends, I’ll be ready.

-

taglist part 1:

@newbornwhumperfly @whumpadump1939 @firewheeesky @whump-me-all-night-long @captain-seconds @grizzlie70 @unicornscotty @lave-whump @princessofonwardsworld @cupcakes-and-pain @bumbumbea @whumpfigure @yet-another-heathen @secretwhumplair @whumps-up @as-a-matter-of-whump @getyourwhumphere @itzagoodthing @whumpymirages @soapparentlyilikewhumpnow @the-monarch-whumperfly @penny-for-your-whump @legallylibra @angel-stars @loyds-of-registry @tears-and-lilies @badluck990 @rosesareviolentlyread @vickytokio @neuro-whump @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @whumpsy-daisies @control-whump @theydy-cringeworthy @starnight-whump @cursedandtired @jo-doe-seeking-inspo @justabitofwhump @glamrockgregory @rippedjeansandfadeddreams @genesissane @justbreakonme @addyez @httyd-chocolate @littlespacecastle @haro-whumps @extrabitterbrain @neverthelass @downrivergirl914

[furiousgoldfish]

When abused children get bullied at school it sends a slightly different message to them.

Bullying in general, can be terrifying because of the violence, destruction, toxic social hierarchy that is imposed on the bullied child, the humiliation and the social abuse can be traumatic and scarring, and there's a lack of protection, social isolation and knowledge that even in the public setting, you can be hurt and others will do nothing to help you, nobody will stand up for you. That is, ultimately, rejection from your entire social circle; you're unwanted among your peers, they don't find you worthy of saving, or physical safety. It makes you distrust the society, and the good in people.

But abused kids also get this at home, so it's nothing new; for those abused extensively at home, bullying can even seem like not such a big deal. It was like that for me. When life at home would be a constant death threat, few kids at school destroying my things and mocking me in public seemed like a minor inconvenience. Nothing short of life-threatening violence would even upset me, and the kids at my high school weren't looking to go that far.

Looking back though, I understand that it did more than upset me, it let me know that I'm unwanted everywhere. For those abused in their homes, the only hope is the escape in the outside world, where we could dream, that someone would care enough to make sure we're safe, that the don't die from lack of resources, that we could possibly be loved and protected. But bullying puts an end to that hope before we can even start. It tells us, no, public is just the same as home. There's nothing for you anywhere, we don't want you either. It's going to be the same for you everywhere. It's because you're different and weird and unlovable that this is happening to you; you can see it's not happening to other people, so it must be your fault directly that everyone hates you.

I haven't realized for a long time, how far it reinforced the message of the abusive parents, that I deserve this. That in my case, it was normal, and that I'm ultimately unlovable and nobody could possibly want or protect me. 'Something is wrong with you so we're going to hurt you' is the mantra both of the bullies, and the abusive parents. It goes hand in hand. And having no space where I could relax or feel like I'm not going to get hurt, made the world a worse place for me to live in. Regardless of whether I fought back or not, it didn't change the fact that I was surrounded with people who wished to hurt me, and would take any chance to do so. It made me feel that there is no escape. I was just too weird and something was deeply wrong with me, and everyone could see it and agree upon it.

Except it's not true. Nothing was wrong with me, I was only unprotected. I would have been just fine left alone. Nothing I did was any incentive for any of these people to do harm to me. It was their choice to do so, to make the world less safe for those who don't have anyone standing in their corner, and nowhere to turn to.

What society tells us about us sticks with us for a long time. A message repeated long enough, from enough sources, will end up etched in our brain, without us having the ability to scrub it off. We're sensitive to how we're being perceived, and out perception is affected by what other tell us about us. So when people tell us the worst possible things, no matter how untrue, they stick. We can't know immediately, that they're saying it only to excuse and rationalize their own gross actions. We can't know that they need to say it, in order to frame their crimes against us as just and normal, when they're anything but. It takes intense and conscious training to link people's spoken opinions of us, to what they're intending to do to us. It takes a lot to realize that when they're talking with hatred in their voice about us, they're doing so only in order to create a fake scenario in which they are allowed to hurt us. They don't know or perceive us at all, they only perceive a situation where they can get away with causing harm. Our only crime is existing, unprotected.

[tamurilofrivendell]

Bad Dreams | Elrond x Reader

Pairing: Elrond/You Summary: You suffer from nightmares. Elrond is there to comfort you. A/N: I didn’t do this the justice I wanted to but enjoy anyway?! Haha.

The scream ripped itself from your throat long before you even became aware that you were making any noise at all. Long before you became aware that you were even awake. Jerking upright, your breathing heaved as you struggled to regain control.

I am safe, I am safe, I am safe.

The words repeated over and over in your mind like a mantra. I am here, I am safe.

Still, the panic rippled through you, fighting for control. You didn’t always remember your dreams but you were well aware of their content. The war. The battles. The killing. The losses. The blood. So much blood. So much death. The images twisting in your subconscious even long after your conscious mind had forgotten what had plagued your dreamscape.

The door to your room flew open, sending a fresh wave of fear flowing through your body. Looking up, your panicked eyes met Lord Elrond’s. You sucked in a breath, fighting for calm, a little shaken that you’d forced the Lord of Rivendell himself to come to your chambers, probably thinking there was real danger, only to find you unable to handle a simple dream.

“Oh, dear one.” His voice was gentle and calm as ever as he crossed the space between the doorway and your bed, coming to sit carefully upon the edge. There was a brief pause where he seemed to consider what his next move should be, wondering what you would allow, but the distress on your face made his decision for him as he wrapped his arm around you, drawing you closer. There is hesitation but you soon melt against him, pressing your face to the crook of his neck. Embarrassment floods you but he doesn’t seem to mind, only gives you a comforting squeeze. His lips find your head and he presses a gentle kiss to your hair, making you nearly forget how to breathe at all.

Eventually, you are able to draw air normally again, your panic subsiding as you relax in Elrond’s embrace. His gentle fingers are running up and down your arm as he holds you to him, calming you as best he can. His mere presence is calming in general but this is a little more intense.

In the time he has been there comforting you, you have both somehow found yourselves laying back upon your bed, both of his arms now holding you to him. You don’t remember how it happened but you are suddenly aware of it with a great intensity. With a sniff, you reluctantly pull back, feeling slight shame prickling at you. “I, uh... sorry, my lord. T-thank you.”

His smile is kind as he pulls himself back up to a sitting position and reaches out, placing a gentle hand upon your face, his fingers ghosting lightly across your cheek. “There is nothing to be sorry for.” He tells you. You don’t quite believe him but you don’t contradict him either, reaching up to wipe the remnants of your tears from your face, shifting a little.

In the silence that follows, the two of you sort of just look at each other. Your expression softens and you smile at him. He smiles back, seemingly pleased.

Without another word, he rises from the bed and takes a step back towards the door. Your panic rises as you watch him go but words are stuck in your throat. He sees though. He sees when he turns at the door to bid you a good night. His serene expression falls away, replaced with obvious worry.

“Elrond....” You begin but nothing else follows, nothing else comes.

He lingers, eyes fixed on you for a long moment, before it dawns on him. You won’t say it, you can’t say it, but you don’t want to be alone. Not after such a horrible dream, not with such thoughts still lingering in your mind.

He quickly paces back across the room to the bed and sits himself carefully on the edge. “I will stay with you.” He says it as though it is his idea, as though he hadn’t just read in your face that you wished for him not to leave you. “Until you fall asleep.”

Working up the tiniest smile, you nod gratefully, moving to lay your head down on the pillow. Silence follows but when you reopen your eyes you find him looking at you. He tries to be quick about glancing away but you catch him and can’t help but smile.

“Would...” You venture, hesitating just briefly before a moment of bravery. “Would you lay with me?”

His surprise is evident on his face but he is quick to agree, offering you another kind smile as he shifts closer, moving to lie down beside you slowly as though afraid to spook you. He wraps an arm around you and holds you to him, pulling the blankets back over you both. “Sleep, my dear.” He soothes, pressing another kiss to your forehead as he watches your eyes drift closed for the last time.

He does intend to leave as soon as you are asleep, truly he does, but he can’t bring himself to move and when you finally wake in the morning, the spot where he lay was still warm, telling you that he had not long since left. Smiling, you rise to greet the day, the memory of him giving you the strength to push your horrible memories away, hope filling you for the first time in a long time.

[my-soupy-brain]

Helping ted relax after a panic attack would be so intimate. Stroking his hair, soft cuddles. Letting him cry. Holding him. Maybe a gentle massage with a nicely scented lotion.

As someone who needs soft touches and a back rub in a panic attack, I think giving that to Ted would mean the absolute world to him. Let's take a page out of that pitch run-off episode. So let's gooo!

---

Relationship: Ted Lasso x reader

Warnings: Panic, anxiety, comfort

---

When you saw Ted jog off the pitch, his head tucked down and hands in his pockets, you immediately knew what was happening.

While others were none the wiser, you didn't stop to answer anyone who tried to ask.

You stood from your seat, made your way out to the aisle, and bee-lined for the coach's office.

But when you walked in and only found his jacket, your heart skipped a beat. So you went upstairs.

Skulking down the dark hallways of Nelson Road led you to see a shadow in Dr. Sharon's office, and when you rounded the doorway, Ted was shaking, hugging himself tight, on the couch.

"Teddy..." you soothed, rushing to him. Your hand brushed down his face, over his ear, as his eyes struggled to focus.

"It's OK, sweetheart. I'm here," you soothed. He nodded, trying to follow along with you.

"It's OK, baby. Breathe...shooooo...." you showed, trying to get him to exhale with you softly. "In...two...three...four...out...two...three...four..."

He followed along but he was still shuddering. You decided to sit on the couch, a little space between you and your hand over his shoulder to coax him down to your lap.

"Shhh, it's OK, baby. I've got you. You're safe. You're safe," you reiterated quietly, your fingers running through his hair in a way that relaxed him.

Your hand coasted down his shoulder to his side and back up, over his neck, through his hair, breathing calmly with him, trying to coax him to follow along.

"I don't know what happened," Ted says, muffled as he tries to control his breathing. "One minute I was fine, the next..."

You nod. "It's OK. That's how they start, and that's how they happen. Like a freight train. But you're safe. Sometimes our brain's wires just short circuit, and then we have to put them back together."

He nods at this, trying to breathe.

"I can't stop shakin' like a leaf," he says again, holding his hand up, his palm jittering. You reach to grab it.

"It's just your nerves, sweetheart. That's all. Adrenaline. It's OK, you'll be OK."

He smiles faintly, feeling his heart rate finally - fInally - starting to come down. His arm is wrapped around your leg, as if holding on for dear life.

"You don't need to tell anyone a damn thing about what happened, OK? We can go home, relax, and let your heal," you offer. Letting him know that you have his back the whole way.

Ted sits up and nods, not saying a word, as you lead him down to your car to get him home.

You hang up his coat inside your flat and lead him into the bedroom to lie down. He does, almost in a fetal position. You join him, curling up behind him, your legs crooked behind him, while you kiss his shoulder and rub his back.

"It's OK, sweetheart. You're OK. You're safe, you're OK," you repeat like a mantra.

He stretches his legs out and sighs, as if feeling relaxed finally.

"My back hurts," he mumbles into his pillow. "I think I twisted it when I ran off the pitch."

You frown. "Oh babe, just not your night. Let me help."

You dig out some lotion from your nightstand and instruct him to take his pants and shirts off, leaving him in his boxer briefs. With a drip of lotion, you kneel over him and rub his back, your thumbs working circles in the arch where it hurts.

"How's that, sweetheart?" you whisper gently. He nods.

"'s feels good," he murmurs.

Your hands coast up and down his back, his neck and shoulders, his upper back, his lower back. He groans a little at how relaxed he feels.

"Thank you," he says as your hands add more lotion.

You shake your head. "Oh, baby. You don't have to thank me a bit. You've been there for me, God knows. I just want to take care of you."

He smiles, the words I just want to take care of you echoing in his mind. Never has heard those words so clearly. Not from his momma. Not from Michelle. Not from one damn person in his life.

I just want to take care of you.

"I love you, Teddy," you add. "I've got you."

A tear falls from his eye. A happy tear. Because for once he believes it.

---

Not gonna lie, choked up writing this a little because a) he deserves this and b) we didn't get to see this level of care for Ted. Not a massage necessarily, but just someone scooping him up and truly taking care of him. Glad we can do it here. :) Thanks for the prompt, friend!

[handsome-john]

John’s Summer Comprehensive-Reading Program

Tried really hard to make that and SCP thing.

A majority of my followers probably don’t follow me for SCP content, I don’t know why you follow me in general but I thought, as someone who’s been reading for a while, I’d make my own recommended reading list for those who are interested but just don’t feel like combing through all that. I’ll be listing some skips, tales, and canons I enjoy with brief explanations

I am one man with limited free time, and so this list is just stuff I’ve personally read. If you have something to add to this recommended reading list feel free to do so! If you do not like any of the things I’ve listed here then good on you for taking the time to read them and forming your own opinions on things.

There will be several scp pages linked here, please let me know if anything is linked incorrectly.

A brief guide to onsite terminology

Thought I should write this out just for those who have no idea what I’m talking about. Scroll past this if you’re already familiar

SCP stands for several things, Secure Contain Protect is the main mantra of the site but it more commonly stands for Special Containment Procedures. An SCP is anything the foundation has, or is attempting to, contained. Skip and Scip are just shorthand, pronounced “skip”.

Object classes are not how dangerous a skip is but instead how hard they are to contain. On a scale of Safe Euclid Keter, Safe being the easiest and Keter being the hardest. Thaumiel skips are skips that contain other skips.

Goi and Poi stand for Groups of Interest and Person of Interest. The Foundation is not the only group that deals with the anomalous. Some of these groups or people make anomalies some of them do other things. Have fun reading up on them.

Amnestics and Mnestics erase or help bring back memories. Click here for a full guide to the different types.

A tale is just any story that is not an Scp but takes place within the universe.

MTF or Mobile Task Force are the people that go out into the field to deal with uncontained skips or threats. They tend to have a funny little nickname to go with them.

D-Class are Death-class or Disposable-class depending on who you ask. Deathrow criminals the foundation throws at whatever monster they want just to see what happens.

The Personnel And Character Dossier is a very useful list of almost every character with a dedicated tag. If you notice a name popping up several times and you want to know more it may be helpful to check this out.

In a similar vein, The O5 Command Dossier is a helpful guide to several different version of the O5 council, the end all last decision makers in the Foundation. Their role in the Foundation and who fills those rolls depends on the canon and/or the writer’s personal preference.

I would also recommend reading the History Of The Universe for a history of the wiki itself.

Some SCPs I would recommend based on my incredibly subjective opinions on things!

On the site there are several Curated lists of the best/most popular SCPs, these are super nice if you don’t wanna dive straight in. I’ve tried to pick several that are not on these lists, but there’s some cross overs. If none of this interests you please go check those out!

2721 - Eli & Lyris. What if two space stations became sentient and one of them got hyperfixated on Homestuck and the other became a discord moderator.

5477 - Brokeback Labyrinth. What if instead of getting eaten by the monster they banged instead.

5434 - A literal love god failing at love. A love god starts an app for giving out romantic advice.

4525 - u come 2 dad go. An scp featuring Poi dado and an anomalous store.

6345 - Huesos Malos (”Bad Bones”). A sentient skeleton becomes a lucha libre, an oddly heartwarming tale.

2875 - The Town That Got Fucked By Bears. Bears repeating.

3088 - Law of the Land. Local mayor discovers the ability to turn legal law into laws of nature.

5056 - The Constant Companions. A Story about a man and the ghost that follows him. Not too much on it’s own but this acts as the introduction of the On Guard 43 canon, as well as several tales around Philip Deering and his Mirror Ghost.

5382 - The Cure, and What Ails you. An anomalous sickness caused by Poi Thilo Zwist who now wishes to fix his mistakes.

5281-D - The Man of the Hour. An interesting dive into both an scp and the process by which the Foundation disposes of an scp if the need arises. (I promise this is the last Harry Blank article on this list)

2902 - The Human Skeleton Closet (and his cat). A man who can remove his skin and skeleton at will and a cat he taught to do the same thing. (Previously part of Herman Fuller’s Circus)

1893 - The Minotaur’s Tale. An interesting format break that requires multiple read-throughs.

3493 - The Great SCP Foundation Collaboration. A look at several alternate realities and their collective goals. (Also consider reading SCP-1437 are a similar idea :D!)

1867 - A Gentlemen. A sea slug convinced he is a British explorer with the stories and artifacts to back it up. Lord Blackwood narrates several other tales (Lord Blackwood and the Great Tarasque Hunt of '83 and Lord Blackwood In the Land of Wonder being my favorites)

1459 - The Puppy Machine. A machine that rewards creative ways to murder puppies. Maybe I am going to hell for this but the Experiment logs are infinitely entertaining.

2206 - Maximum League Baseball. What if they added trench warfare to baseball? (Also take the time to appreciate this tale and scp 6206 also linked on the article)

1896 - Indoor Salesmen. A persistent and highly anomalous door to door salesmen.

5049 - Demon Dan's Discount Homunculus Depot. A fairly self-explanatory title, this guys sells homunculus bodies at a discount.

4231 - The Montauk House. A harrowing tale of domestic abuse and the effects thereafter. Heed the warnings. I would recommend familiarizing yourself with Dr Alto Clef before reading.

3999 - I Am At the Center of Everything that Happens to me. A similarly harrowing tale about Researcher Talloran. If you enjoy this scp please take the time to appreciate ... Like Clockwork, a series diving into Talloran’s experiences and self reflection.

A Special Appreciation to the contest contestants and winners

Including these here as separate from my recommendation list. For every 000 milestone the wiki has done a small contest for who deserves the big number.

1000 - Bigfoot (Other submissions)

2000 - Deus Ex Machina (Other submissions)

3000 - Anantashesha (Other submissions)

4000 - Taboo (Other submissions)

5000 - Why? (Other submissions)

6000 - The Serpent, the Moose, and the Wanderer’s Library (Other submissions)

7000 - The Loser (Other Submissions)

Series 1 skips

These guys also get their own separate section because part of my goal here is encouraging people to read stuff that isn’t series one, but there are several skips in series one that affect much of the greater lore of the wiki.

105 - Iris Thompson. (And if you like her I can recommend Scp-1465, Scp-3002, SPC-105, The Resurrection Canon, and Devil’s Advocate)

166 - Meridiana Clef/Wojcienchowski. Daughter of Dr. Alto Clef. (And if you like her I can recommend 0166, Scp-4166, and the tale Hawaiian Shirts). I do wish she had her own tag and there was more of her in general, but here she is.

73 - Cain & 76 - Able (Abel?) (As well as their estranged brother Scp-4840) If you like Cain I can recommend the tale Mementos. If you like Able can I ask why? I really don’t get it. (not judging you, he just doesn’t appeal to me as a character)

507 - Grabnok. (And if you like him I can recommend the tale Day Trip)

96 - The Shy Guy. Classic murder monster, not much to say. Here’s Dr. Dan’s tag.

408 - Illusory Butterflies. (Introduction to Dr. Kondraki, and if you like him I can recommend the tales Duke Til’ Dawn, Portraits of Your Father, and The King is Dead)

784-Arc - Posthuman Brain. Formerly Agent Adrian Andrews. (Read about him in Incident Zero and the 784 Incident)

239 - Sigurros. (And if you like her I can recommend the 239-B Incident and Adventures of Siggy and Robomonkey)

113 - The Gender switcher. Trans rights! (Also check out the tale Legally a Falcon (For Tax Purposes)! And SCP-6113)

353 - Vector. (And if you like her I can recommend the tale An Apple a Day...)

423 - Fred. (And if you like him I can recommend Murphy Law)

Scp-001

There are many SCP 001s, I wouldn’t suggest these as the first things to read as many are very complicated and connect to larger canons. Here’s a few that are pretty good.

CODE NAME: S. D. Locke - When Day Breaks

CODE NAME: S. Andrew Swann - The Database

CODE NAME: Lily - The World's Gone Beautiful

CODE NAME: Dr. Clef - The Gate Guardian

CODE NAME: Dr. Gears - The Prototype

CODE NAME: Pickman/Blank - The Frontispiece

Some Groups on Interest you may be interested in

As I stated before the Foundation isn’t the only one that deals with the anomalous. I won’t go into too much detail with them as you can read about them yourselves, but here’s some I recommend with related material.

Global Occult Coalition (Consider reading the casefiles and the Unfounded Canon)

Are We Cool Yet? (Consider reading The Cool War)

Gamers Against Weed (Consider reading Cool and Awesome Ways to Say No to Weed and Jude's Bizarre Adventure)

Herman Fuller’s Circus of the Disquieting (Consider reading the Dread and Circuses Canon)

Dr. Wondertainment (Consider reading the What a Wonderful World Canon)

The Black Queen (Consider Reading up on Alison Chao and her father Dr Gears)

Serpent’s Hand (And the Foundation’s sister site The Wanderer’s Library)

Shark Punching Center (I don’t have anything to recommend here but SPC sure is a thing that exists)

And many more!

There is No Canon

I’ve mentioned several Canons throughout this list and I though I’d give a full recommendation of Canons I enjoy. While the wiki itself has no all encompassing canon there are several mini canons that follow their own rules. Some of them co-exist, some of them don’t, some of them are complicated.

I promise these canons are not as intimidating as they may seem, and I would really like to see more of some of these. Here’s my personal Favorites.

On Guard 43 - One of the first canons I’ve read and my personal favorite. I’ve already linked several things from the canon on this list, hope you’ll give this one a chance.

Resurrection -  A plot heavy look into the Foundation’s attempts to weaponize Scps, specifically Iris Thompson. One day the authors resurrect the Resurrection canon. (Insert Second Devil’s Advocate plug here)

S & C Plastics - A very fun look at causal life in the Foundation universe. If you like character based stories or prefer something a little less world ending then you’ll enjoy this canon.

Unfounded - An interesting look into a universe where the Foundation never existed.

Broken Masquerade - Another canon that criticizes the Foundation’s main goal, protection of secrecy.

What a Wonderful World - A deep dive into the past and future of Dr Wondertainment.

Daybreak - Following the events of S.D. Locke’s proposal how does life move on from such an event?

Dread & Circuses - With Herman Fuller gone the “freaks” take over the circus for themselves.

End of Death - What if everyone suddenly stopped dying all at once? An interesting tale of foundation woes. (On a slightly unrelated note, the story 17776 has a much more lighthearted take on a similar idea)

Ship In A Bottle - I feel like I should put a joke here. If you enjoy a bit of tactless humor and you’re familiar with Dr Clef an Dr Kondraki then this is a small canon about being human and also putting your dick in plastic bottles. If that doesn’t sound like your cup of tea then please at least read the tale Lizzy the Big Weird Dog.

I feel like I should also mention Lolfoundation, so there you go I’ve mentioned it.

Other

I don’t know if this post will encourage anyone to get into scp, I mostly wrote this for myself. If you like this post and weren’t turned off by how long it is then I’m glad! I hope you enjoy your reading. I may update this list in the future.

I also want to stick a couple other things here

I haven’t gotten a chance to listen to the podcast Find Us Alive, but I’ve heard good things and I’ll recommend it here

If you haven’t watched Lord Bung’s Scp Confinement go do that. It’s what got me into scp.

There is a graphic novel based on SCP-5000. I think it’s really cool and you can purchase it here.

Happy reading!

[ed-recovery-affirmations]

Any tips on how to overcome a scarcity mindset when it’s your actual situation?? Like I am living with my parents who heavily control my diet, so when I’m alone or in a safe place I end up binging “unhealthy” things, which doesn’t feel great. I’ve tried telling myself that I can always have more later if I want, but the fact is that I can’t because of my situation. And that’s kind of the only method or mantra (what really helps me is repeating little supportive phrases to myself) that I’ve seen in my research.

This is a tough one, anon. I think you're going to have to do some damage control now, and start making plans for treatment once you are able to leave this environment. So instead of telling yourself you can have more later if you want, tell yourself "It is wrong that this is happening to me. One day in the future I will begin to heal from this." Just focus as much as you can on your hope and not on your distress.

Do you have a locker at school or any place your family cannot access? A job that provides you a cubby/locker to store your things? If so, it could be a good idea to stash sealed nonperishables (so that you don't grow mold or attract mice.) Some ideas could be: sleeves of crackers and those single-serve pouches of peanut butter, granola bars, packets of nuts or dried fruit, potato chips. Try to stash nutritious things but it's okay to keep treats too, so you don't create a guilt mindset around these foods. Then you can tell yourself "I'm not going to starve. I do have enough. I do have some control." (A lot of unhealthy relationships with food are about control, and it sounds like you have a scary lack of control in your own life right now.) If you could even get a lockbox to hide somewhere in your room (or in your car, if you have one) you could stash these nonperishables there, and keep the key on your person at all times. Ooh, and if you're afraid you're not getting enough nutrients, invest in a multivitamin too. Just remember to come up with a ready-made excuse for what's in the lockbox in case your family finds it. Maybe stash food in multiple places, as long as it's nonperishables. Oh, and anon, I feel for you having to tell you this, but please make a note to bring this up in treatment if you seek therapy once you're free. Lots of people who've lived in scarcity develop extreme trauma and food hoarding behaviors, to the point of eating foods that are unsafe or keeping their house in unsanitary conditions. Right now, you may need to hoard and that's the honest reality. But do keep your eyes on a future where healing is accessible, not just survival.

Remember, it's okay to eat junk food. I understand it's not ideal to live on it, but if it's all you can access, it's better than starving and you need to remind yourself that so you don't feel guilt. But "junk foods" are the kinds that are easiest to binge, especially if you have a scarcity mindset because they have the sugars, salts, and fats that you'd be desperately seeking if you were starving in the wilderness. So it's a bit of an instinctive reaction to want to go ham on these things if you live in fear of going without, so try to tell yourself not to feel guilty about craving them. No matter what you're eating, make sure you take a breath every few bites. Take a moment to remind yourself that you are alone, in your space, you are totally safe, that you are allowed to not only eat freely but to enjoy your food. Be patient with yourself if this message doesn't sink in right away, as you are living in a traumatic situation where that is not always the case. But teaching yourself strategies to prevent or interrupt the binge process is always helpful. Stay patient and keep working on it.

Do you have friends who are aware of what you're going through? Anyone who can help you to get a little bit of extra food here and there, or whose house you can visit to get a real meal? If you must live on snacks, they will keep you from starvation, but a real meal here and there will do you wonders, as will the knowledge that you have a safe space and people to validate that what is happening to you is wrong.

Never stop working on your exit plan and envisioning your future of healing. I hope you get through okay.

[inawordaverage]

disclaimer: OPINION, FAMILY ISSUES, RELIGIOUS DISCUSSION. I don't intend to put forth any hate speech towards any belief in this post. It is simply an expression of how I perceive my past experiences.

This one's gonna be VERY long.. and there's a good chance it's not going to be seen by many.. but this is an okay spot to get it off my chest, I suppose. Thank you for listening.

To put it simply, I feel like I will be behind in life until the day I die. And no, it's not because I've decided not to go to college. It's because I have missed many of the world's major turning points.

A small example: you can ask me if I've seen a movie, regardless of its popularity, and nine times out of ten the answer will be no. A larger example: you can ask me what happened during Obama's presidency (the entirety of which I was alive for, of course), and I can tell you nothing except that his name was spoken with venom throughout our church.

The history of the world, and of internet itself - a concept that has been familiar to most of my peers for most of my life - is still something that I will never fully grasp, because I was not allowed to participate in it at all.

My life, until I was sixteen years old, mainly consisted of three things: school, church, and home. Anything outside of those three things - or anyone who had access to the rest of the world - was disallowed from my carefully curated bubble.

I was brought up to be obedient and quiet. Don't speak until you are spoken to. Don't question authority, ever. Do, however, make sure you ask permission before doing anything, to make sure you are supervised. And, most importantly, worship God above all else. Or else.

My priorities were as follows:

- Honor God

- Honor others

- Honor myself

As I grew older, I allowed myself to be trampled, abused, mocked, degraded, and assaulted - all in the name of honoring God and others above myself, disregarding my own safety. And nothing was done to stop that impression from being made, as long as my behavior was favorable enough.

To make matters worse, I hardly knew what privacy was. My personal space and private belongings were regularly invaded, and I let it happen because I didn't know any better.

A mantra that was repeated throughout our house was, "If you have to hide anything, it must be something wrong." Nothing was sacred. Personal journals were opened, excessive time alone was scrutinized and brought into question, earbuds were confiscated.

My eyes hungrily latched onto any screen I could find, just to get a glimpse of the world, just to satisfy my curiosity. Each time it happened, I was caught and reprimanded. I felt guilty for trying to see past the bubble, because I was only supposed to know that the bubble was safe, and the rest of the world was evil.

I feared the world. Fear was instilled into my heart from a young age. The fear of strangers, sin, death, and even God himself. Eternal punishment, separate from our almighty creator, was the worst possible pain imaginable, and we were to thank him for sparing us from that punishment.

We were taught that Jesus endured the pain of hell so that we could be saved from having to go through it. We were taught to be contrite, desperate, lost, and confused souls that needed to be washed clean and purified of anything imperfect.

From inside the bubble, I was convinced that being saved from eternal torment was the greatest gift of all, the purest expression of love. But with my first step outside of the bubble, I learned that salvation was not my motivator for following God. It was fear.

Now that I am no longer practicing religion, I experience two feelings at once when thinking of death. These two feelings are very familiar, but that does not make them any less traumatic.

The first feeling is terror. Yes, because of what I have been taught my whole life, I am afraid of death. Will I be punished forever for breaking free of the bubble I was raised in? Will I suffer eternal agony for choosing to abandon God and the church?

The second feeling is intrigue. I must know what happens after death. I'm morbidly curious. Literally. I have had visions of the emptiness of nonexistence, and I have experienced the blind, white-hot pain of what can only be described as hell... but I NEED to know what really happens.

As I am of the firm belief that perfection will always be impossible, I am only left with two options that I constantly mull over. My thoughts are stuck going back and forth between either constant agony, or nothingness. No one has come back from the dead to tell us which it is. So the only way to find out, is to experience it..

I'm not willing to leave this life behind. I've only just begun my journey. Although I have missed out on so much, I am now free to learn, and I will never stop learning. I am learning to love myself for who I truly am, discovering and accepting my own identity while welcoming others in with open arms.

To me, it is such a refreshing change. The worst isn't over yet, but I have had many tumultuous seasons so far, and if I were to never learn from them, I would not be where I am today.

I'll leave with a quote from a message I sent to one of my friends, who had asked me why I live my life the way I do now.

"...I will not let my fear of eternal torment lead me into blindly accepting whatever salvation is thrown at me. Not anymore. I'm living my life, surrounded by good, supportive people, and I don't want to change that. ... The end of the world is near. Before I know it, I'll blink, and everything I know and love will be gone. I'll die, and not have faith in where I'm going to end up. But I feel like that is the truth in the Bible that comes closest to impacting my view of this harsh reality."

[mimine666]

For the deep feels prompts:

"I can wait."

Voilà what came through my mind. I hope there’s not too much coquilles. My corrector doesn’t want to be in English tonight and here it’s our national holiday and I fell a little bit in the Sangria earlier lol.

« I can wait! »

It was her mantra since a very long time, way before the fall of the colonies in fact. Very few people knew, even fewer would believe that Laura Roslin was a very impatient woman.

Since she was a child, she liked things to be done her way and, especially, as soon as she wanted. Unfortunately, she had two sisters, much younger than her, who didn’t understand the concept of patience, asking before borrowing things, breaking someone else property, and so on…

So, to help her deal with that, her step-mother told her to repeat in her head « I can wait » like a mantra. And so she did. Every time her two beloved little monsters tried her patience to the point where she wanted to snap their neck, she repeated, in her head, « I can wait ». Child had to be child, she was their big sister, she has to wait. They didn’t mean to be little monsters. Repeating that phrase helped her deflate her anger and gain some perspective on the situation.

She did the same thing when her mother got sick and she had to let go of Simon. She convinced herself that love and happiness could wait, if her mother survived. She repeated that same mantra, again, when she had to take a break on her studies because her mother was dying and there was no one to take care of her. She was her only child, it was her duty. Despite her father’s protest, her master degree did wait and she did finish it, at some point. Nearly ten years later, she even improved it with a doctorate. It really waited.

So, when she became President of a group of refugees wandering through space, she knew she’ll have to use her old mantra. And using it, she did! What other choice did she have? The survival of the Human race won over her confort and her well-being. And, anyway, she was dying for the better part of it.

But then she got better. And through this new chance, she got some new perpectives. She decided that she mattered, that she had sacrifice enough. She decided that she had earned the chance to live a little, to be happy, maybe. She especially learned to open her heart again. She loved her sweet sweet Billy, like the son she never had. And she was growing closer and closer to Bill.

And then she lost the election and she didn’t have to wait anymore. They were able to explore their relationship in all its aspects. As hard as it was to be on New Caprica while he was up in space, it was nothing close to the pain to reunite with him, but only as Admiral and President. Laura would have to wait, once more.

So before, during and after each meeting, she convinced herself « I can wait » to be Laura, his lover, not just the President. « I can wait » to be held and feel safe, again. «  I can wait » to talk with my best friend, my soulmate, to share my burden with the only person truly capable of understanding me and what a nightmare it is to be a Leader.

Except, now the cancer was back. Except now Earth was a nuclear wasteland. Except there was no guaranteed tomorrow. Anxiety and despair filled her heart and soul. How much did she miss already? And for what?!? They were doomed anyway…

She walked toward Bill quarters. She would not wait anymore, not even for a second.