#but every so often I get those nagging things in my brain

[meownotgood]

writing would be so joyous without the plague of the Compare Self to Others debuff

[prouddogboi]

Stray dog (Part 2)

To find the most recent chapters, please go to @doggoboigaugau 's masterlist

Sorry it took me quite long lmao TToTT School and work deadlines are killin' me.

Pairings: Ghost x Soap x Male Reader

Summary: Male Reader is traumatized and refuses to open up to 141. Soap found out something horrible going on with him and told Ghost about it.

Word count: 1910

Warnings: Smoking. Mention of attempts to self-h@rm.

The next morning you woke up with a throbbing headache. It was so bad that you felt like hundreds of needles were jabbed into your eye sockets and every time you blinked, those needles plunged into your brain, sending a sharp and chilling pain to the crown of your head. This was by no means a strange occurrence for you though, given the fact that every night the base celebrated a party you always indulged in this self-sabotaging habit. 

Still, no matter how bad the situation was, you still had training to attend to, tasks to get done, reports to compile, and a miserable life to live. You turned your head to look at the clock, silently praying that it wasn’t too late. 

It was 13:00 in the afternoon already. 

“Shit!” You threw an arm over your forehead. Nice, you missed the morning training session. It was your responsibility today to train the new recruits and now you messed up the whole Task Force’s schedule once again just because you could not handle your pathetic emotions properly. The thoughts of giving up flooded your mind yet again since it was no use in waking up anyway, it was too late to do anything useful. The other team members were already aware of how irresponsible you were as you continuously failed to be on time for training the newbies. And what about the newbies’ impression of you? Probably an unreliable man who was no longer fit to be a member of a special Task Force that was particularly famous for its efficiency. Or maybe you were never fit to be one to begin with. 

Why didn’t the others wake you up? You had worked here long enough to know how scary and irritated Ghost could get when people missed his training session. There were even times when he immediately had the unpunctual soldiers pack their things and get sent to another department because he couldn’t fuckin’ stand people disrespecting his schedule. 

“Maybe they forget about my existence. Maybe I wasn’t that big of a part of this Task Force.” You mumbled to yourself, trying to pull your tired body out of the heavy blanket. As much as you wanted to give up, the desire to be important to someone, something, or some organization, …just anything, urged you to wake up and keep trying. You wanted yourself to be seen.

Upon opening the door of your stuffy room, you instinctively covered your eyes as they were attacked by rays of blinding sunlight. Your room was too dark and gloomy, doors and windows tightly shut all day and night, no wonder you would react so unfavorably to the bright sunlight that is often associated with positive moods by most people. 

The base was unusually quiet. You didn’t meet a single soul on your way to the kitchen to fill your hungry stomach. No Soap cracking stupid jokes with his heavy Scottish accent and laughing loudly to them himself, no Gaz cursing at his jokes, no Roach laughing at the two dumb manchildren, no Price sighing and telling them to at least be less raucous. You tried to shrug the nasty nagging feelings off, but it soon became unbearable when you walked into the kitchen and saw all the dirty dishes in the sink. 

“They have finished their lunch.” And they had it without you. The people you considered to be your own family, much closer than the biological family that you had cut all contact with, didn’t wake you up from your drunken sleep, totally forgot your existence, and enjoyed a meal together like there wasn’t anything missing. You knew damn well that you were overexaggerating the seriousness of the situation, but you just couldn’t help it. 

‘What am I to them?’ That question kept spiraling inside your brain, worsening the headache that you were already having. In a brief second, all the nagging feelings were anthropomorphized into a disgusting creature with multiple heads and mouths by your ailed mind, shrilly screaming out your deepest thoughts that were fraught with insecurities. Your legs were rendered weak and you collapsed on the floor. Supporting your weakened body with all four limbs, you took heavy breaths, trying to calm yourself down.

A few minutes later, you managed to put yourself together enough to stand up and get out of the base, on the way you didn’t forget to grab a pack of cigarettes. You felt stupid to resort to nicotine as a way to fight against all those feelings, but you didn’t know a better way. There were times when things were so bad that you had no energy left to hide your conditions from your teammates, and Price was concerned. He used to have you talk to some therapists, and not surprisingly to you at all, they could not handle you for long. No one ever could. 

You were now standing in the parking lot with a cigarette in your mouth. You sighed, clearly satisfied with how strongly its bitter taste stimulated your taste buds. When you first arrived here as the newest member of Task Force 141, Soap and Gaz always joked that you’d become Price’s smoking buddy, but that did not happen. The image of you standing with Price awkwardly because you two couldn’t find a mutual topic for a conversation made you feel too uncomfortable to even try, so you kept avoiding the older man or pretending to not hear his offer until he just stopped inviting you. It was so obvious that the men wanted to get closer to you, they wanted to earn your trust, to make you feel at home and be yourself among them, yet you kept pushing them away. And now perhaps they had stopped trying all together. It was not their fault. It was yours. 

But why it was so painful? You were supposed to feel relieved that they had given up so that you didn’t have to blame yourself every time you turned their kind offer down and saw the sadness drawn on their faces. ‘Why do I keep feeling like shit no matter what I do?’

Feeling that the intense emotions that were barely suppressed by the nicotine started to get out of hand again, you cupped your head with both hands, the half-burning cigarette fell to the ground. Suddenly, your eyes caught the red burning tip of it, together with how the paper wrapping around the nicotine was slowly burnt to black. At that very moment, a dark but familiar thought popped up in your mind. You bowed down to pick up the cigarette, blankly staring at it resting between the two fingers of your right hand. Then, your eyes turned to your left hand, examining your spotty lower arm. It was full of the small round scars that were caused by burning your arms with the burning tip of a cigarette. You had noticed Ghost looked at these scars of yours many times; luckily he never asked about them. The army was a place filled with people who had different background stories and bore numerous scars, so it wouldn’t be abnormal for you to have some that were a bit funny-shaped.

‘Should I do this again?’ 

Maybe you should. It helped with the emotions. Well, temporarily, but that was good enough.

Just as you were about to press the burning tip into your lower left arm, someone threw their whole weight into you. You were hugged by two strong arms and the cigarette was again dropped to the ground.

“There you are! I’ve been finding you everywhere!” It was the Scot man. “Are you smoking? Gosh, I hate this smell! Price’s cigars are much better!”

‘The ones that smell good are never bitter enough.’ You thought to yourself.

“Have you had lunch, pretty boy?” Soap pinched your dumbfounded face.

“Not yet.”

“What? Unbelievable! Get to the kitchen with me right now, Sergeant.” The man literally manhandled you straight from the parking lot into the base, leaving you no time to object.

As you two arrived at your destination, Ghost was already sitting there, sipping some coffee. Soap forced you to sit down right next to him while he proceeded to walk to the fridge and pulled out a dish, putting it inside the microwave oven. 

“Here you are, babyboy~” He put the hot meal in front of you. You chose to ignore the pet name and his flirtatious voice simply because he had started doing it to you ever since you start working here. It was just one of his signature thing, you should not fall for it and mistake it as a sign of interest that could develop into romantic feelings. 

“Thanks, Soap.”

“Aw, don’t be so all worked up and formal, babyboy. Ya’ welcome~”

Silence fell over the three of you, until you just felt so awkward that you had to speak up, “So… how was this morning?”

“It was fine. Ghost stepped in your place and took care of the training.” Soap replied.

You carefully glanced at Ghost, just to find that the man already looked at you, which made you tremble slightly. The skull mask on his face made him too difficult to read, you couldn’t tell whether he was annoyed or he just gave up on expecting something greater from you. 

Soap laughed at your reactions, “It’s okay. You were drunk so Price agreed to let you sleep. Also, Ghost volunteered to help you with the training so he probably doesn’t hold a grudge. Am I right, Ghostie?”

The masked man didn’t answer; instead, he turned back to his cup of coffee.

You quickly finished your meal and left, saying that you should do training by yourself. The truth was you couldn’t stay there any longer, you didn’t want to disturb Ghost and Soap’s rare peaceful time together. You had already made too terrible an impression on Ghost, it’s best that you did not mess up again. As a result, you also missed their conversation. It was not intended for you to listen to anyway.

“You’re right. He did it.” Soap’s voice was solemn, with no sign of flirt or unseriousness like a few minutes before.

“You mean the scars?” Ghost looked up at him from the cup.

“Yeah, the round scar marks that you’ve told me many times.”

“It was just my guess. How do you know he really did it?”

“I found him in the parking lot. He was holding a burning cigarette and about to press it into his left arm.” 

A few minutes of silence passed until Ghost spoke up, “Fuckin’ hell.”

“I asked Price about his past, I know it’s a nosy thing to do, but I wanted to help. Unfortunately, Price knows nothing either. Y/n… the boy never opens up to us.”

The two men sat quietly, exchanging worried looks with each other. If only you could know how much they cared for you, maybe you would find it easier to accept their love and help. Yet, even if they told you, even if they desperately showed you so many times that they cared and loved you so much, would your brain allow your heart to welcome them just like how it used to welcome other people you had met earlier in your life, the ones who left you wounded and made you the way you were today? 

If someone asked you that question, you’d just offer them a weak smile and simply say: “No”. You're now too tired to hold on to any crumbles of hope left in your broken soul. You'd like to give up.

to be continued i guess :")

Taglist: @aphroditeslovr @prestigeghoul @edgyboi10000 @c0nny3917 @peter-the-pan @lovecats123451

[freelancearsonist]

oblivion

➔ Dave York x gn!Reader - 2.2k

➔ Dave left years ago to keep you safe from him. Now, he comes back to finally claim what’s his.

➔ Rated MA for kinda dark fic?????, gn!reader (no pronouns or anatomy described), reader is able-bodied but otherwise is physically a blank slate, infidelity (Dave cheats on his wife w/ reader), smut, choking, biting, blood, this is the midnight mass au that no one asked for [pls let me know if i missed any warnings you think should be included :)]

➔ Thank you to my love @ozarkthedog for this prompt, if you're reading this ily <3

Everyone is leaving this island–your home–in droves. The seas are drenched in oil, and there’s nothing left to fish or net. People are moving on to bigger, better things. But not you; you’ve never enjoyed the mainland, never craved the just-another-face-in-the-crowd feeling of those big cities. You love your little small town, even if most of it is gone now.

You go for your nightly walk, and the loneliness gets to you for the first time since the spill. There’s no lights on in house windows, no kids playing out in front yards. It’s just you as the sun goes down, casting everything in fiery red and orange brilliance.

Some nights seem darker than others, regardless of the star visibility or the moon’s phase. It’s almost like the air swells and surrounds you until it feels like a thick, dark blanket. It can be almost stifling; and those nights never quite leave your mind.

That’s what it feels like tonight, and for no discernable reason. There’s a wicked sense of foreboding–even more so than you’ve come to be accustomed to. It ramps up even more so when you see the only other house in the neighborhood with lights on: Dave’s house.

Dave left with his wife and daughters two years ago, long before the spill destroyed the island’s economy. No one’s stepped foot in it since–you figured it just never sold. But certainly it hasn’t sold now; who would want to move to the island at a time like this?

Curiosity gets the better of you, maybe because a traitorous little part of your brain wonders if it’s Dave. If he’s finally come back for some reason, if he’s here to fix things. That nagging little hope keeps you up at night more often than you care to admit; that he might return and you’d get a second chance. Either way, you don’t think twice about walking up the short driveway to knock on his door.

It’s completely silent for a long few minutes; long enough that you almost knock again. But maybe this is just some fluke thing, an electrical malfunction or something that turned his lights on. He swore he’d never be back, after all. It’s just wishful thinking.

It started on your night walks. He jogged the same route every single night after the girls went to bed, and eventually his jog slowed to a walk when he would come alongside you. You’d walk side by side and talk about anything and everything, vent about work or life and tell each other little stories. Before too long, you knew him better than anyone, and it was all completely by accident. Just the neighborly kindness of him slowing his pace to chit chat with you.

And then this man who you shared nothing with besides a nightly exercise route, after weeks of small talk every single evening, kissed you. In the middle of a street, in the middle of a very small island community where every single person knew every single thing about every other person; a community where every single person knew that Dave was married, and that he wasn’t married to you.

You dragged him home to scold him somewhere that no prying ears would catch it, and somehow you ended up in bed underneath him. All desperately breathless kisses and deeply earth-shattering thrusts and muffled moans of pleasure.

He whispered that no one had ever made him feel so alive before, that he’d never wanted someone more. And you wanted to believe him, so you did.

Miraculously, no one ever found out; not about that first time, and not about the million times after. No one ever found out about all the times that you swore up and down it could never happen again, only to fall right back onto your knees for him. No one ever found out about the time that he finally agreed with you, and the way you cried yourself to sleep when he stuck to it and didn’t catch up to you on your walk the next night. No one ever found out about how the next night after that, he caught up to you and begged for you–for your forgiveness, for the feelings that only you had ever been able to make him feel.

And for a while, it was enough. Being his at night under secrecy of darkness was plenty; until all of a sudden it wasn’t. Until you would bump into his wife at the market and nearly have a panicked breakdown by the time you got home, wondering just how much she knew. Until he would say things that were heavier and heavier–things that translated to something akin to ‘I love you’ without actually being the words. Until he had to leave for a work assignment.

He’d be gone for a week. That was all. A simple job, he’d explained. Somewhere overseas, but that was really all he said. He never liked to talk to you about his work much. He said he’d be back before you could even miss him.

But it was a month before he returned, and he came back different.

Withdrawn, dark eyes darker than usual, sunkissed golden skin looking a little insipid. You tried to convince yourself that he was just coming down with a cold, that the way he’d put his hand around your neck just to feel your pulse thrum under his fingertips and squeeze a little tighter than comfortable wasn’t related; that the way he nearly broke skin from biting into your shoulder so hard wasn’t anything to be concerned about; that the way he seemed to have doubled strength while he was away wasn’t cause for alarm.

You lied to yourself because it was easier than the truth; whatever had happened on his assignment, he wasn’t the same man anymore. The man you had started to fall in love with, circumstances be damned, was long gone.

But it came to a point where the truth couldn’t be avoided any longer, because the inevitable can’t be postponed indefinitely. Ignorance is only bliss until the truth comes unapologetically crashing in.

He fucked you so relentlessly it scared you. The hands that had once held you so gently were pushing you into positions far past your comfortable range, his hips were thrusting hard and deep enough to bruise. He saw the tears that leaked from the corners of your eyes and called you pathetic; and just like that, you knew your Dave York was gone. Where to, you weren’t sure. But something in his roughness, in the way he wanted to hurt you, made you sure he was never coming back.

You pushed him off of you and told him to get the fuck out. For a moment–one flickering, horribly tension-fraught moment–you didn’t think he would. The most terrified you’d ever been in your life was when you looked into his dark eyes and saw nothing but violence.

For a moment, you didn’t know what he was going to do. And then he hastily pulled on his clothes and slammed the door shut behind him without a word.

You didn’t see him on your walk the next night, and the following night after that there was a U-Haul parked in front of his house. Part of you was relieved at the sight of boxes and furniture being lugged out of the front door into the box truck; another, more complicated part of you wanted to fall to your knees right there in the street and start screaming.

You felt his presence before you saw him–just behind you to the left, out of your field of view. You didn’t turn to look at him; you couldn’t stand to see his face when you asked, “Why?”

“There are worse ways to hurt you than leaving,” he murmured, low and deep. “If leaving is what I have to do to keep you safe, then I’m never fucking coming back.”

You turned at that, because what the fuck was that supposed to mean? What would he have to keep you safe from?

You saw so much sadness in his brown eyes that you nearly broke down sobbing. You knew right then that it was over. There was no begging him to stay, no changing his mind. You didn’t even really know if you actually wanted him to stay, at that point.

He walked away to help the movers lug a couch before you got a chance to say anything; no ‘I love you’, no ‘I’ll miss you’, not even a simple ‘goodbye’.

By morning his family was gone, him included. His house stood empty for two years with not a sign from him. Until tonight.

The living room lights cast a warm yellow glow over the front yard in the dark even through the obscurity of dusty window blinds. You’re tempted to peek through and see if you can tell what’s going on inside after standing on the stoop unacknowledged for a few minutes; just as you make the decision to snoop, the front door opens.

It’s him. It’s really fucking him. He hasn’t changed even the slightest bit. His brown hair is still cut short and neatly styled, his handsome face is impeccably shaved. His dark brown eyes are just like you remember them, from before; the hatred and violence they held those last few days isn’t there anymore.

He whispers your name, and then his eyes flash. “You’re still here.”

“Of course I am,” you reply, on guard. “This is my home.”

His fingers twitch on the doorknob, like he’s contemplating shutting you out. “I didn’t know anyone was still here. I wouldn’t have come back.”

“Why did you come back?” You ask, curiosity getting the better of you.

His eyes shift for a moment, jaw set firmly. “It’s the only place I have left.”

He doesn’t have to put it any clearer than that for you to know that his wife isn’t in the picture anymore. You wonder what happened between them, but a selfish little part of you is triumphant at the fact that he came to you.

Except he didn’t, not really. He said himself that he didn’t think anyone was left. That he wouldn’t have come otherwise. Why wouldn’t he have come?

“You need to go,” he says firmly, moving to shut the door in your face. But your hand shoots out before you can really even contemplate it.

Now, you say what you wish you would’ve had the courage to say all those years ago. “I missed you, Dave.”

You can see his patience is waning–his hand flexes anxiously against the door but he doesn’t say anything quite yet, and you know his is your only chance for closure.

“You said, before you left, that you were protecting me by leaving. What do you have to protect me from?”

“Myself,” he growls. His eyes flash dangerously, the same way they did two years ago.

“What…”

“Each man kills the thing he loves, honey,” he murmurs, stepping closer. It feels like he’s towering over you now, looming ominously. You don’t remember him being this imposing before he left. “And I… I loved you.”

“I loved you, too,” you whisper. Hindsight is funny like that–your brain reveals in hindsight what your heart can’t reveal in the moment. “We can… we can make this work, Dave.”

You should be more hesitant. You should remember how scared of him you were at the end, how strange it is for him to show up here in the middle of the night all alone. You should wonder why he’s back here now, when everyone else is gone.

“You don’t know what you’re asking for,” he growls, all the while moving closer to you as if you have a magnetism he can’t avoid. “I’ve changed.”

“I’m asking for a second chance,” you plead as you set your hands on his strong, solid chest. He’s so achingly close now, and yet he still won’t touch you. “I’ve changed too, I’m… I’m willing to make this work if you are.”

He licks his lips, dark eyes focused… on your neck? Why is he looking there of all places? 

He notices that he’s been caught when his eyes flicker up to meet your gaze. He just stares at you for a moment, then two, so close that each breath you exhale mingles with his.

And then suddenly he’s leaning in. You let your eyes flutter shut, awaiting the sweet sensation of his lips on yours after so long; but it never comes. You wait, and you wait, and then you feel something puncture the side of your neck.

It’s sharp, and it hurts. Your eyes snap open and all you can see is Dave; his body curls around yours as he gulps eagerly from your punctured artery. A weak hand comes up to nudge his head halfheartedly–somewhere in the back of your mind, you delight in the softness of his hair between your fingers again after so long–but his arms wrap tightly around your waist to keep you in place and your weak resistance is futile.

He was right, you think as your vision blurs around the edges. You really didn’t have a clue what you were asking for.

➔ beta: @futuraa-free and @mothandpidgeon (thank u so much my loves <3)

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[keysmashingfantasies]

Hi hi. I’m not sure if you do request like this and this isn’t detailed or anything so I get if you don’t want to but like could I request something smut chishiya? Maybe him and reader are friends and get into an argument about their feelings for each other and they end up having really romantic love making and confess to each other or something. Probably makes like zero sense sorry.

i do requests like this, yes! just bear with me because i am not the most skilled smut writer but i am absolutely open to writing it, ask away! and it makes perfect sense, don't worry! also, i assumed you wanted fem!bodied reader but since you didn't specify, i didn't. so hopefully i think everyone can read. this is so fucking long i'm sorry. was it good? i don't think so, no. is it the best i could do? absolutely. enjoy!

ok, content warning/this fic contains: sexy times, non descriptive penetrative sex as a way to keep this as inclusive as possible, no body descriptions for reader, unprotected sex (not good! don't do this!), chishiya being vulnerable (or, as the kids call it, a bit subby), a smidge of angst at the beginning, probably kind of shitty aftercare bc i don't know how and i'm going off of vibes. absolutely not proofread so most likely grammar mistakes.

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT WITH THIS POST OR I'LL CALL YOUR MOM!!!

"What do you mean? I'm being careless by talking to people?", you exclaimed. Chishiya was being more and more unreasonable lately. You knew he thought you were gullible and naive, and you suspected that's why he decided to get closer to you; who'd suspect you, after all? You weren't all that wide eyed ingenue, you just believed that people could still be good in this world. Kuina shared the same belief, and he wasn't nagging on her like he did with you.

"Of course you can! But not so much to make yourself vulnerable to threats! What are you doing, cozying up to someone you don't even know during a game?", his tone raised the slightest bit, what was already a lot for Chishiya. He may have been acting unreasonably but he knew what he was saying had reason. Chishiya had feelings for you, and once he got to know you the desire to protect you only grew. He knew that you were selfless to the point of bordering stupidity, and would sacrifice yourself for someone. What made Chishiya's heart clench even more is that you'd sacrifice for him given the chance. Without even thinking. The flame of his anger was fanned at the thought that someone may have used your good will to trick you into dying in their place if he wasn't around.

"I wasn't cozying up! I was talking to a teammate! On a game of clubs! You know, one of those we depend on other people to live?", you said, exasperated. You took a calming breath and sighed. "You know what, think what you want of me. I'm tired, I don't want to fight", you started to pace around, something you often did to release anxious energy after a game.

"We're not fighting. We're having a conversation", Chishiya deadpanned, raising his eyebrows when you turned to look at him.

"A conversation of you laying it thick the implication that I'm some dumb thing with stars in my eyes? That I can let anyone trick me into sacrifice?", you said, and his eyes darted across the room, avoiding your eyes. Red-handed. "Chishiya, listen to me", you sat besides him, taking his hand in yours. "I may still be a bit too hopeful of people sometimes. Everyone copes in their own way, right?", you earned yourself a dry chuckle. "But I am hopeful because of what I've seen. Yeah, there's death and sadness and betrayal but there's good things. Friendship and love. For every bad person there's a few good ones, I truly believe that. And don't worry about me. You and Kuina drilled in my brain to be street smart", you smiled. Now it was your turn to avoid his eyes. "The only person in this entire world that can trick me is you, Chishiya. I trust you wholeheartedly", you whispered, clenching his hand in yours tight but still refusing to turn your warm face towards his. He was your lifeline but made you mortified at the same time.

"I don't think you're dumb. I'm sorry if I came across that way. I wouldn't have made an ally out of you if I didn't trust your abilities. And... I wouldn't made a friend out of you if I thought you're stupid. I just didn't want to lose you, that's all", he said. "I trust you too. Wholeheartedly", he said, giving you one of his Monalisa smiles. Sutil enough he may not even be smiling at all.

"Not in the way I trust you. Not by far", you said, finally managing to gather yourself enough to look at him. You may die at any point, Chishiya was kind enough to remind you. So what if he didn't love you back? You had the right to say it and he had the right to know. Even if he scolded you for wearing your heart on your sleeve. Even if he betrayed you.

"Why do you say that?", he asked, frowning. Did you know believe him? After all this time, he thought he was opening up to you. That you saw something more inside of him, the optimism, the sliver of hope he kept hidden for emergencies and you.

"Because I love you. And I trust you. Blindly", you said after being in silence for a while, and the atmosphere of the room shifted. You could feel the hairs in your body standing in attention, the room felt colder, the air felt heavy and sticky when you breathed in and you thought that if you took a deep breath like you've been dying to, you'd choke. You could hear a pin drop. And Chishiya was still as a statue.

It happened in a blink of an eye. Chishiya was tense, his lips pressed against yours and shoulders almost up to his ears, like someone had pushed him into you and he was still trying to process it. You had your eyes wide open, looking around the room, hands up like someone was pointing a gun at you, not knowing where to place them. For a few seconds it was like this, until something clicked. Chishiya kissed you. Chishiya was kissing you. You parted for a second before looking into each other's eyes, bewildered like you had been possessed. And then you kissed him.

This was much more like an actual kiss. It was soft, slow, steady. You cupped his face between your hands and got up on your knees to get closer to him, his hands snaking their way up to your waist. Soon enough, you had to breathe, breaking apart just enough for your mouths to disconnect but staying close. Neither of you thought you could let each other go after what you knew it was about to transpire.

"Chishiya... I...", you were breathless, you brain had turned to mush and you couldn't speak, and Chishiya took the opportunity to kiss you yet again.

You could've been kissing for ages. The games might've been over, everyone dead, the land completely taken over by vegetation at this point. But you were still kissing Chishiya, slow and deep, melting and molding into his arms, straddling his lap. Not letting your hands leave him not for a second, as he did with you. Your hands were on his face, his on your waist. His hands moved up your back, yours into his hair. Your hands on his chest, his in yours.

The kisses started growing hot and sloppy. You needed each other bad. So when Chishiya pulled apart to catch his breath and you couldn't stay away from him, you started to kiss down his neck, hands pulling off his hoodie off like it was offending you, desperately mouthing at the parts of his collarbones and chest not covered by his shirt. And the sounds were driving you insane. The little sighs and moans made you want to beg him to fuck you already but you decided to contain yourself. You wanted him to feel appreciated. Loved.

"Ah... That's good", he whispered, and when you parted from his neck to see his head thrown back, his mouth slightly opened, eyes half lidded like he was intoxicated, you couldn't help but to slip your tongue into his mouth yet again, shifting your hips against his slightly, making you both moan in each other's mouths. "Can I undress you?", he asked between pecks on your lips, and you nodded so hard you made yourself dizzy. "No, no. I need to hear you say it", he said, stopping to look at you looking at him. How you were still bashful at a situation like this he couldn't figure out for the life of him, but he gave you a low chuckle when you hid your face in his neck, only to shiver after feeling your teeth pressed against his pulse point. If the room wasn't so quiet he wouldn't be able to hear the small "Please, Chishiya, undress me" that followed.

His hands were fast as they were precise and in no time you were fully naked in his lap, kissing him like your life depended on it. Your hands made your way down his chest, getting to the hem and making their way up again, now under the fabric, lifting it up and off of his torso, breaking the kiss just long enough to pull it over his head.

You proceeded to kiss every newly discovered inch of his warm skin. From his fingertips, up his arms, his shoulders, nipping and sucking and licking down his chest, over his sensitive nipples, down his stomach and the soft trail of hair that dissapeared under the waistband of his pants.

"Y/N...", he sighed, hand coming up under your chin to pull you off of obsessively mouthing him over his pants. "Y/N...", he sighed yet again when you came up, making eye contact with him and giving him a peck on the lips.

"Can I finish undressing you, Chishiya? Please?", you were desperate, and Chishiya hissed at the thought of what was to come. How could he hold back when you were so sweet, so beautiful, so eager, looking at him like he painted the sky midnight blue and hung the moon and stars up there?

"Yes. Yes, please", he breathed. You touched your forehead to his, fiddling with the ties of his loose pants. Meanwhile, he pressed two of his fingers to your lips, slowly but surely shoving them inside your warm and wet mouth. As you sucked them, you started to pull his pants and underwear down his slim hips, and he lifted his hips to aid you.

Soon enough, you were both naked, you straddling his thighs. There was nothing in between you anymore. He took his fingers off of your mouth as you looked down to take him in, all the parts hidden that you'd been fantasizing about. His chest with a bit of hair, now covered in red splotches from your sucking, his stomach and happy trail covered in love bites, his pale hairy legs, his cock that now slapped against his stomach, not too long but just enough to make your mouth water, with a leaking pink tip, girthy and veiny, nestled in his pubes, his balls hanging low, filled with cum.

"Chishiya, you're so beautiful", you moaned in pure agony. His body, the way he was looking up at you so reverently; he looked like an angel. He wasted no time in using his fingers lubed by your spit to start prepping you, carefully but firmly shoving them inside of you, finger fucking you in efforts to find that sweet spot inside of you.

"You're beautiful too. Ah, that's it, take my fingers inside you", he moaned as you started to move your hips in tandem with his hand. You slowly started to play with his balls, earning yourself a low groan.

"Chishiya. Chishiya", you moaned, convulsing when he managed to graze what he was looking for. "I'm going to- ah! Kiss me, please", he placed his hand in the back of your neck and pulled you to him, his tongue messily meeting yours while you mewled into his mouth and you shivered from your orgasm.

You only parted after you finished riding out your orgasm, after your lungs were burning, and you felt weak and feverish. You looked into his eyes for a little while and Chishiya opened his mouth to speak, only to come up with nothing but shallow gasps and a smile. His heart jumped when you smiled back.

"Chishiya, make love to me, please", he'd think you were in pain if it wasn't your smile. The way you were looking at him.

"Of course", he said, laying you down on the floor on your back, parting your knees, taking a moment to just look at you, making you feel shy. "You're so gorgeous. Are you ready for me?", he asked.

"Yes!", you moaned. You couldn't believe this was happening. Not in the Borderlands of all places.

Slowly, he started to put it inside of you, and the stretch of him was amazing. You blindly reached for one of his hands that was bracketing your head, him holding the back of it to his lips for a second before continuing.

"Almost there. Are you ok? Fuck. Does it hurt?", he said. He wanted nothing more than to fuck you into the floor but he wanted to be gentle with you. Wanted to see you fall apart slowly for him.

"Ah... You're amazing. It feels amazing", you sighed, dreamily; you never felt so full in your entire life, it was an all encompassing feeling, you couldn't do anything but to lay there and feel him inside you. Your eyes meeting his with another dazzling smile, and he almost came on the spot.

"Ah, ah!", he bottomed out inside of you and he couldn't believe how warm and wet you were. "So good...", he started to grind his hips into yours, not really pulling out. He couldn't pull away from you right now, not when you felt so good.

The both of you were in a frenzy, hips grinding into each other desperately, the both of you sweaty and moaning. One of you hands was tightly clasped in one of Chishiya's, the other with their nails deep into the skin of his shoulder, the other hand of Chishiya was gripping your tigh, his arm wrapped around it. Your mouth was open in ecstacy, moaning like an animal in heat. Chishiya didn't know where to place his mouth. Dragging across yours, on your neck, your shoulders, your collarbones, down your chest.

"Chishiya, Chishiya, Chishiya", you wanted to let him know you were about to cum, but your mind was numb and the only thing you could say was his name over and over.

"Are you close?", he breathed out and you nodded feverishly. "Me too. Will you cum with me?", he moaned and it was the most beautiful sound you heard in your life. You didn't stand a chance, clenching around him with a desperate cry of his name while he pressed his hips to yours, pumping you full of his cum.

It felt like you both were locked together, standing still against each other like a statue for ages. You didn't know how long until your soul returned to your body but when it did, you knew yours and his were intertwined. "Hi", you breathed, and he smiled. Not a quirk of his lips, a full fledged smile, teeth and all. "I should clean you up", he said, using his shirt to clean the cum seeping out of you, being mindful of how sensitive you were. "Hurts?", he asked. "No, I'm fine", you said. After dressing you and himself, discarding the shirt and zipping his hoodie with nothing underneath, he held you to his chest.

"I believe there's good in this world too", he said.

"Hm?", you asked, sleepy, your cheek pressed against his chest, with his arms around you.

"I believe there's good in the world too. Maybe less than you but I do. Believe that there's good out there. I'll go back with you, if we get lost I'll find you. And then I'll make love to you again, and hold you close, to remember that there's good in the real world too", he said. "I love you too", he said, squeezing you to him.

[courtmartialme]

whats your fav thing about rizas personality? like something that makes your brain tingle and might possibly be unseen/ignored by others?

that’s a very mean question anon how am i supposed to choose One favorite thing about my wife :(

there are a few… what comes to mind is her lack of self preservation, her kindness, and how she’s so selfless it may circle back to being selfish. there’s a scene in ishval where riza tells roy what’s happened is her fault for trusting the alchemy to him in the first place but not in an accusing tone. she doesn’t blame the men in her life that abused her trust and thinks she’s the one responsible for everything, even though those men were older and supposed to look for her. it’s kinda frustrating that she never gets openly mad at roy or at her father, but also such a fundamental part of her character too so even though it’s frustrating her acting like that is.. what i would expect from the character that acts like that in other situations too…!!!

despite roy already having broken his promise to her once, she decides to trust him again and to follow him into hell. it’s always emphasized how roy is idealistic to a fault, but riza is too. saying that flame alchemy drives good men insane… she has every reason to hate everyone and everything and to want to see the world burn but she stayed gentle and believes in change…!! where roy has hardened she stayed kind and you can see that in every thing she does… she’s so full of love and kindness and hope..

there’s so much more… how charming and funny she is, saying stupid shit with a straight face. if you look at manga the times riza is the one saying something silly and roy looking at her like 🤨 probably happen more often than the opposite LOL like there’s no way this person gets to hold the shared braincell imo. how she always respects the elrics, despite always acknowledging they’re kids she still respects them as they coworkers, and tells ed about ishval despite not having any obligation to but because she thought he deserved to know…. ah

basically it all comes back to riza being GENTLE and KIND and FULL OF LOVE, everything she says and does comes from that to me. how she has traits that are usually virtues but taken to an extreme become flaws. her being like that is my favorite. so sometimes i see it ignored to make her nagging and mean especially towards roy, even as a joke it annoys me a bit because she’s never like that…

her being like that is why i’m adamant about her being always at the receiving end of love and kisses and etc .. she gives out so much of herself without ever expecting anything in return i think she deserves to have others give to her the same love and devotion and feel responsible for her wellbeing like she does for others. she only sees worth in herself when she’s being useful to others so i think everyone needs to love her until she realizes she’s wrong

TLDR:

[realkavehgf]

♡ I must confess...

a/n: I said I was gonna take a break but since I impulsively made this self-indulgent fic, I might as well share my cringe to the world!! AHAHA I finished and proofread at 3am so you might see a few errors here and there. This is a late Valentine's fic! I was supposed to finish this on the day itself but school...

!!! I am not a writer, I mainly draw artworks, so this isn't as good as the others out there, but enjoy the product of my lil brain!

content: 1.3+k words, reader pov focused, reader confesses, reader is an absolute simp for kaveh(cough), a part that implies that reader draws, giving kaveh cookies, kaveh is a pretty popular guy, fluff, just fluff. not sure if it's ooc but it's not that bad if it is! friends to lovers, kavehxgn!reader, modern HS au! Self-indulgent, but it's pretty much general so dw!

Fic under the cut! (⁠ ⁠╹⁠▽⁠╹⁠ ⁠)

After school, holding a small box of cookies and a Valentine's card behind your back, you prepped yourself. Today was the day. Today, you were going to tell your best friend that you liked him— that you really, really liked him.

Waiting outside in the courtyard, standing near the bench that you two would usually sit and hang out on, you waited to see that pretty boy blond that made your heart skip a beat for every little thing he did with you... Probably excluding the nagging he would do every so often when he was worried about you.

After a while, he called out to you, "I'm here! Sorry for the wait!" momentarily rendering you frozen in place. His bright voice ringing out, slightly out of breath.

Kaveh sat beside you with a smile, arms full of chocolatey sweets. "There were some people who gave me a few things on the way here... And I couldn't really refuse them, you know." He tittered awkwardly.

It was to be expected for someone like him to receive confessions, treats, and whatnot during this special day — he was kind, considerate... and, you could say that he was well liked by those who knew him.

He placed the chocolates and letters on the bench carefully, and... You were going to add to the amount of treats he was going to have to finish. Hesitance took root, you gulped. Palms starting to get sweaty as your heart pounded in your chest, and all of that... Just because he was there.

"Kaveh..." You muttered, before clearing your throat, hands firmly behind your back as you faced him, "I have something to tell you."

He blinked, caught off guard. "Oh? Um, what is it...?" obvious that he was drawing conclusions in his mind — his cheeks were growing redder and redder by the second. As always, being an open book whenever he was with you.

Though, from that reaction of his... Could it be?

"You probably already know what I was going to tell you..." you grumbled under your breath, turning your head to look at something else, your face burning from embarrassment.

"No, no..." He spoke up, voice softening, "Tell me."

This guy is going to cause you a heart attack one of these days, damn it! Speaking oh-so gently... You could only imagine his expression as he watched you squirm about, eyes glued on the nearby trash bins trying to calm down.

"Alright, I..." You started, "I-" you stuttered, "I...!" oh, you just couldn't!

You heard him come a little bit closer, making your heart drop to your stomach. "Look at me." He spoke firmly, yet tenderly.

Slowly, you turned to face him, finding a visage that reflected your own — a blushing mess. "That- that's better..." He whispered, giving you a bashful little smile.

You let out a soft whimper as you two locked eyes... Oh that ruby gaze you could just get lost in— no, no, damn it. Damn it all! Why is he like this?!

"Okay, okay..." You took a deep breath, closing your eyes, showing him the gifts you had prepared. "I... like you." Voice growing weaker with each word that you let out.

And there it was — the feelings you held in for months on end, out of the bag.

A few moments of silence ensued, the beating of your heart growing louder, almost deafening in your ears—

Until you felt a pair of arms wrapping around you, squeezing you tight. Not even taking the gifts first, huh....

He giggled, sighing of relief, refusing to show you his face. "I hope you're sure about that..." He muttered, letting his warmth envelop you, hiding his face from you. Your legs trembling from the sensation.

"Uh- mhm, I'm sure." You reassured him, unable to return the fluffy embrace as, well, you were holding the box of cookies and card in both your hands.

He pulled back slightly, glancing at the things you made him, "Oh, right! Sorry, let me take these real quick." he said, taking the sweets and the card from your grasps.

Checking the card's contents, he chuckled, "'For you'... and, is this supposed to be me?" He asked, showing you the card that you made for him — and yes, that was him in all his doodled glory. It wasn't as good as his own silly scribbles, but that unwavering smile of his indicated that he didn't care, and he absolutely loved it.

He placed your gifts on the bench, separated from the rest that he received earlier. "Ahem," he cleared his throat. His hand on his face as he looked at you.

Silence... Before he'd walk back towards you, wrapping you with his arms once more. "Thank you... I... really like you too." He admitted awkwardly, hushed. "So, I'm... very happy." He continued, hearing his voice tremble ever so slightly.

You returned his hug with your own, squeezing him back. The butterflies in your stomach fluttering about rapidly — you couldn't help but to lean on him.

"I'm happy too..." You whispered back, basking in his affection, catching a whiff of his cologne mixed with the scent of the sunny day that went by... It tickled your nose in a good way.

...

"... You better not be crying," you quipped, as he didn't speak after a few seconds.

He scoffed, "Er- hmph, no I'm not." his voice coming out nasally, oh.

Wait, was he actually crying?!

You pulled away, catching a glimpse of his flushed face, tears of joy, you hoped, trickling down his cheeks.

"Hey, don't look at me—!" He managed to say with a chuckle, before getting cut off by you cupping his cheeks, and wiping his tears with your thumbs, causing him to look at you, wide-eyed.

"No, no, I'm gonna stare, and stare real hard." You teased, giving him a bright smile. His cheeks heating up even more from your words. "You're so dramatic sometimes—" You continued to joke, but now was his turn to catch you off guard.

He took one of your hands, and pressed a soft kiss on your knuckles, his lips lingering a little too long. Smiling charmingly afterwards despite him tearing up just a second ago.

You stared at him, flabbergasted, oh you definitely kept your word... He bested you yet again...! You grumbled, the thumping in your chest growing louder in your ears, but you couldn't look away from him.

This... is so unfair!!

"You were saying?" He let out a light laugh, "So cute..." he remarked, causing shivers to run up your spine.

"Damn it..." You pouted, pulling your hands away, and taking a few steps back. "That was so uncalled for..." you grumbled.

He merely laughed, "You've done worse, you know! I'm sorry!" before leading you to take a seat on the bench, next to the pile of sweets.

"Alright... Why don't we eat yours first?" He offered, taking the box you gave to him in his hand, looking at you for your approval.

Recovering from what just happened, you cleared your throat, "Sure, sure... I don't mind." flashing him a smile.

He nodded, opening the tin box of cookies, he beamed, "These look delicious..." he muttered, his eyes twinkling at the confections sitting on his lap.

He reached out his hand to you, offering you the first bite. Making your heart skip a beat — it wasn't the first time he offered you food, but when it's this setting...

"No, you eat it first!" You waved your hands dismissively, but stubborn as he was, he continued to offer it to you. Not taking no as an answer.

But to be fair, if you continued to resist, it'd turn into a back and forth of insisting the other should eat the biscuit first... So you accepted it, and took a bite.

"Mm." Unsurprisingly, it was good. You picked it out yourself, after all!

Seeing your reaction, Kaveh picked up a cookie as well, taking a bite. Hearing a delighted hum leave his lips, you let out a sigh of relief that you weren't aware you were holding.

You continued to look at him as he savored your gift with a smile.

Everything has calmed down, and both of you were aware about each other's feelings now. But whatever that would come next would be for tomorrow, because right now, both of you would savor this memorable moment — the taste of the sweetness of cookies, each other's company...

... And the brokenhearted admirers of Kaveh watching from afar.

[dumpster-dive-reading]

A weird overview of the "Human Domestication Guide" shared universe

I was browsing AO3 the other day looking for fics centered around hypnosis, I kept finding stories with cool looking prompts and a shared fandom: Human Domestication Guide/ Original Work

The premise for a lot of them was really promising: a bunch of aliens using mind control on humans to make them their pets? So, I checked it out.

In two days, I've spent probably 14 hours reading HDG fics. I have work to do, I can't be doing this! If only those plant aliens could give me some ADHD medication, amiright?

I think that the premise and where authors choose to write with it is kind of an interesting dynamic. What sounds like a great concept for a psychological horror/ thriller is a community that writes a lot of fluff. I love it.

I think a lot of the concepts for HDG are used for wish fulfillment. The main character is trans, and is suddenly given access to gender affirming healthcare and compassion. The main character is sick, and is suddenly cared for without compromising themselves (more on this later). The main character is lonely, and suddenly their thrust into a very loving and compassionate environment.

That's where I think a lot of the appeal is for HDG. Above everything else, the hot plant people just want to love you, and care for you, and help you become your best self. It touches a craving within all of us- the desire to be loved.

But after reading a fair amount of HDG fics, there's one question that keeps nagging at me: Would you really want to be a floret to an Affini?

The thing about the affini is that they don't see sophants as their equals. They keep other species as pets. They use drugs to bend a person's mind to their will, sometimes without the person's consent. Are you okay with that? Are you okay with the consequences associated with it?

Becoming a floret to an Affini means that you're bound to them. It ties you to their presence, to the extent that it is incredibly difficult to live without them. In "A Danger to Oneself and Others" we get a really good look at what a floret is without their Affini. It's not a pretty picture. After being forcibly taken from the plant people, the florets are shattered. They huddle together in a group and cry, incredibly depressed, in a state of confusion and chaos. Even the ex-military Clara ends up breaking down a few times, and is only able to save them out of a desire to protect the other florets and get them home. "Stages of Succession" describes a stubborn general being domesticated almost exclusively through their implant. The human finds that they need to spend a certain amount of time with their Affini every single day- going from one hour to two in the early parts of the fic. They end up looking into the Affini's eyes, and end up in a hypnotic trance. After that, they end up craving looking into the Affini's eyes again. Despite their hatred for the Affini, the human ends up craving her touch, to the point that it becomes painful to be away for too long.

On top of that, the person will often end up very dependent on their Affini. As in "they take care of every one of my needs" levels of dependent.

That's a powerful general, and an Affini that isn't using their xenodrugs.

Plus, there's the mental manipulation that Affini can do. They can block out certain thoughts, and put ones into a person's brain. It's used in Wellness Check to prevent the main character from self depricating. They can create, edit, remove, and restore memories. In Wellness Check, the main character loses their memory of becoming a floret.

That's one of the most terrifying concepts in HDG: the idea of being controlled without being aware that you're being controlled.

There's another short called "sleepy bitch" where the character has narcolepsy and just really wants to sleep all the time. They end up turning into a cat, much to the shock of their friend. It's clear that they like being a cat, but still. Their friend also becomes a cat, and the Affini ends up tying their minds together, making the narcolepsy spread to her friend.

...but at the same time...

It's clear that the humans in HDG are better off after the Affini invade. The terran world is objectively kind of terrible: it's like super-ultra-mega-death-capitalism. Fighting for the Terran defense sounds objectively terrible. "Lost in Eden" describes the conditions on a good terran warship: it's falling apart, cramped, bad food, full of transphobes and toxic masculinity, oh yeah and the entire ship explodes because it's in disrepair.

It isn't the only mind control we see either. "Black Start" describes Terran war conditions, where the solider has little to no memories and has been hypnotised. They then end up being influenced by another alien tech, which takes over their mind and conditions them into becoming a robot. Even after the human is rescued by the Affini, the robot is still there. They say they don't mind, that life is better this way.

It's still kind of terrifying.

To lose all of your indiduality and be sworn into a obedience and subservience to your master. To have someone control your thoughts, to the extent that if you ever have a thought they don't agree with they make you unaware you'd ever thought it. To be formed into a pet, sometimes striped of your ability to do anything at all.

But you're loved. Isn't that worth it?

[mrcspectr]

Hey bestie I just had a thought that's a little small and insignificant but its consumed my brain and its because I'm looking at those icons you just reblogged. But you know, I'm looking at Marc and Steven's jackets, and they look really similar. I know they aren't the same jacket, but like... there are similarities.

Anyway, Marc's jacket get ruined and he seems upset about it when he's changing clothes in the car with Layla, albeit briefly. But, that made me wonder if Steven's ever fronted in the mornings before he knew about Marc to find that his favorite shirt was now gone, or stained, or covered in odd holes that look like they could've been made by knives or bullets (but that's loony talk, innit?) I wonder if he's ever wandered into the museum without his nametag because the jacket it was attached to disappeared in the middle of the night. I wonder how many times he's had to get it replaced. I wonder if Steven ever fronted in the midst of a shift at work and looked at himself in the reflections of the display cases, thinking, "Huh... that's odd."

I wonder how often he checked the laundry and found these weird shirts, pants, jackets, etc. that he definitely doesn't remember owning. I wonder if he ever tried them on and felt a little silly because obviously, this wasn't something he would've bought for himself. I wonder what he did with them after the fact. Did he shove them in a drawer and forest about them, his skin crawling like there were eyes watching him from somewhere unseen? Or maybe he just closed his eyes, and just as suddenly as they appeared, they were gone again.

I wonder how much attention Marc (and even Jake) had to pay to Steven's wardrobe in order to mask as him in public. I wonder how many times Marc ruined something of Steven's on accident, and how many times he beat himself about it after the fact. I wonder how often he mixed up his clothes with Steven's and scrambled to fix it before Steven would catch on.

I wonder how many times that fish died and Steven never noticed.

Just thoughts. I don't know.

Bestie, in retaliation I am here to tell you that this is very much not a small thing, because I am constantly thinking about the lengths to which Marc had to go to maintain Steven's life, when he put next to no effort in maintaining his own.

Also I just finished writing a scene about Marc and Steven sharing clothes, are you hiding away in a pocket of my brain somewhere actually.

I can imagine Marc sort of panicking a little the moment he's ruined one of Steven's novelty button up shirts. Like he rolls his eyes some every time he picks one out, and he tries not to be caught dead in any of them but sometimes Khonshu's nagging is insistent and he doesn't always get the chance to wear what he likes, in the moment. So when he takes a knife to the gut, or a bullet to the shoulder, yeah it hurts for a second, but the pain isn't at the forefront of his mind every time, it's.. fuck, how am I supposed to find another one of these? My sewing skills are shit, it's not like I can just. Fix it.

And I don't think he was necessarily perfect every time. I'm sure there were nights that he stumbled into the flat, too exhausted to stand, where he'd just fall into bed not considering the way Steven might wake up. But Steven had a hand in it too, where his mind would play tricks on him and fill in the gaps so he didn't look too closely. Must've tripped and caught on something, that's why there's a tear here, a loose thread there. Bugger, I loved that shirt. And he'd toss it in a huff, none the wiser.

I think Marc must've been much better about not keeping his things in Steven's flat, but he'd definitely have some of Steven's things in the storage locker. Maybe he'd buy extra of something and keep it away in a different wardrobe, changing there after a mission so that he wouldn't draw attention when he headed home. Feeling that familiar itch of, this isn't me, I'm leaving me behind as he got closer and closer to the flat. But the times he made mistakes, the times he'd leave things.. he'd scramble to the front, stuffing shirts under floorboards, pants under the mattress. The things that did bring him some comfort, that actually made him feel like himself, hidden away like everything else.

I think about Steven, grabbing one of his jackets in a sleep deprived haze and looking in the mirror in confusion. And Marc watching in silence, a small, sad smile on his face.

Looks good, buddy.

[rasshu-benaio]

勇 Slight Adornment 勇

MDNI - Stalking - forced kisses - Injury - Blood - racist/xenophobic language - #gyutaroxrasshu

(THIS IS A SECRET INTERACTION THAT WAS NOT PUT INTO THE ORIGINAL FANFICTION so it might be a bit off BUT THIS IS WAY AFTER GYUTARO AND RASSHU MET FOR THE FIRST TIME BUT BEFORE THEIR “SECOND” MEETING I.E. his stalking phase)

Walking back home underneath the hazy midnight glazed moon, Rasshu steps in between the crunchy leaves to reduce her whereabouts. She knew that she was inherently safe within the confines of her own secretive land but she always hated drawing attention to her self regardless. Even if she had a good chunk of power behind her kicks, she often liked to abscond from such worries to reduce any injuries that would come forth… so typically, she walked back to her estate dodging most of the leaves on the ground, almost making no sounds at all but for some reason… she felt off. Her bare arms gave a tingling feeling as her brain kept telling her that something is off. But this happened every blue moon, most notably after a mission was completed. Rasshu was always the paranoid type and she never truly felt “safe” but shes grown accustomed to it in her years. But even if she was so accustomed to the feeling, tonights’ paranoia was strong! After all, she did survive a harsh battle with a particularly persistent upper moon demon… she knew that any hashira that encountered those demons developed a deep trauma from it if they lived from it. And all she wanted to do was get home and rest to be completely honest.

After such a long walk, she finally walked up the sleek steps of her home. But when she put her hands against the cold exterior of her door, a rush of impending doom filled her head making her feel nauseous immediately! Quickly entering the heavy doors, she shut them behind her and locked them before leaning against them. Holding her head, her back slid down the door until she was on the cold wooden floor. The nagging sensation was so intense, she never truly felt such a wave of nausea in a long time… maybe she was stressed from all of the recent missions she’s been going on… or maybe it was because of that mission against that unsightly demon where she was closest to death… Finding strength, she crawls up to her feet and makes her way upstairs towards her small office like room. Opening the large window to let in fresh air, she turns towards her chair and gently settles into it as the air inside of it flushes out underneath her weight. Swiveling to her desk, she lights up a lantern and takes out a piece of paper. Thinking to herself he mutters out her letter while she writes…

Rasshu: Master Daichi, please forgive me and my request but I think i may need more time to recuperate as I am not functioning as well as i should be. I may not be showing up to any meetings nor accepting minor missions as I simply cant even preform the simplest of…

Trailing off, Rasshu’s eyes tighten on the door in front of her as her body stiffens up but then she frustratingly snaps back to normal. She cant even focus on her damn letter she’s writing! The stress is getting to her and she cant figure out how to escape it! With her frustration building up, she storms out of her office to go boil a pot of tea but without knowing, a set of spindly fingers glide along the office window that was left open…

Meanwhile, the uneasy hashira waits down stairs as she listens to the tea boil. The sound of bubbling water seems to take her mind off of her worries and when its time, she pours the tea into a small cup. Cupping her hands around the warm cup, her cheeks warm up as her frustration and fear’s seemingly melt away… Warmth was always something she resonated with so surely it would be the one thing to make her feel safe. Taking a sip of the tea, she nodded to herself as she went back up stairs to finish her letter to her leader but when she went inside the office, the letter was missing. She left the letter in such a rush, she came to the conclusion that a gust of wind from the window must’ve blown it somewhere… putting down her cup, she looked for the letter around the office but nothing came up but then something urged her to look outside. Walking towards the window, that sensation built up again but she ignored it as she poked her head out to see. Nothing. With a grimace, Rasshu closed the window feeling dumbfounded for losing the letter in the first place. But then something grazed by her waist as the impending sense of doom peaked beyond control! Instinctively, she turned around ready to beat down whatever she felt until her eyes met a pair of eyes she never thought she’d see again… those tired eyes…

A tall, muscular but unnervingly malnourished demon stood at the office door as his expression was filled with disappointment and disgust! A constant stench emitted from his body, the grotesque smell of road kill thats been baking in the sun for days! And in such a small room, it reached Rasshu fast, making her stomach curl up in a knot! The demons eyes trailed along the slayers office room growing angry by the second as he clawed his neck.

Gyutaro: how privileged are you to live in such a luxurious house… to have so much land!… to have virtually everything you’ve ever wanted!… it disgusts me that such a foreigner like YOU… someone who shouldn’t be HERE… had more luxury than someone like me!?

Rasshu: Y-you’re supposed to be-

Gyutaro: Dead?… right…? Heheheeheehee… You slayers are so pathetic… thinking that stronger demons like me can be beheaded like the rest… the nerve… And to think I let you behead me… urk… I KNOW WHAT YOU SHOULD DO! WHY DONT YOU CALL ON THAT SAKONJI FELLA TO SAVE YOU!? I THINK ID LOVE TO MEET YOUR LITTLE BOYFRIEND!…

Rasshu, thinking: boyfriend…?

Watching the demon go into a personal tirade, Rasshu shifts her body slightly as she readies an attack but suddenly the demon glares at her sudden movement and stabs her torso using a pen laying on the desk! Rasshu winces at the speed as she doesn’t remember him being THIS fast? Hunching down, the slayer holds her side as she puts pressure around the pen lodged in her to stop any bleeding. Simultaneously, Gyutaro looks at the pathetic hashira glaring back at him… he’s jealous of her lavish lifestyle, he’s jealous of her status in life, he’s jealous of her because he never could obtain what she had… but it will all change when she’s dead, wont it…? unhooking the bloody sickles from his baggy pants, he steps closer to the injured hashira as he takes in her fear. Its the one thing that gives his life joy after all. Caressing her soft face, Gyutaro coos with delight as he puts a sickle to her neck but with a sharp pain, half of his vision blackens out as a pen is lodged into his eye socket! Hissing out, Rasshu scrambles up and snatches his sickle from his hand! Stabbing the demon with his own weapon, she jams the sickle into the demon’s back as her hand burns with poisonous marks! Snatching the pen out of his face, he roars aggressively at the little pest of a woman as he grabs for her! Barely escaping his grasp, Rasshu barges out of the office and sprints to her bedroom to grab her katana. Running down the hallway, the hashira hears a thud behind her as Gyutaro ravages the halls trying to get to the hashira! With the room insight she grabs the doorknob but then she blacks out as shes tackled to the cold hard ground!

Waking up, her body aches as shes laying on the ground of her room with Gyutaro exploring her belongings, breaking things, ripping up clothes, doing whatever he pleases… She looks around as she notices her face bandages torn up below her body and an awful aftertaste coating her jagged teeth. As she shifts up, a creek in the floor boards makes Gyutaro turn to look at the dazed human. Making a sly remark about how she tastes putrid, Rasshu realized what he did to her while she was out as she covers her mouth in disgust, but that disappoints the demon even further… Getting closer to Rasshu, he leans in to her face; his eye’s focus in on her bright red irises as he scowls as her. It seems like her disgust seemed to hurt him unlike the mounds of other insults he got daily and nightly. Was it because she was inherently a foreigner, someone who should be beneath him. Either way, he was angry now as he grabbed the hashira’s sides with aggression, he was confused about his own emotions towards this useless woman. He thought she was gifted with beautiful skin and vibrant eyes but on the other hand, he believed that she could only amount to the trash he stands on.

Tears pricked out from the injured hashira’s eyes as she desperately clawed as the demon’s ugly face! Rasshu gagged out as Gyutaro grinned and forced another foul kiss into her mouth as he just felt like it was his right. She was here just to suffer like him, she was pretty enough but thats it, she was just a pretty object just like all the other pretty humans he ate, but for some reason he didn’t want to eat her. He felt his heart jump for pretty women and handsome men before but he always got over it after a few minutes of mulling it over. But what she did… he cant ignore what happened so long ago when he was defeated, she felt regret for him and caressed his face with such a loving touch… longing to feel that caring touch again drove Gyutaro to insanity as he grunted in his kisses, lapping up her taste as she hit his back for air. Rasshu wasn’t afraid of him but she was afraid of this demon’s intrusive actions; he treated her like he wanted to kill her, but his body desperately clung to hers like he wanted her.

Breaking the kiss, the hashira panted angrily as she glared at the skinny demon confused but he was still angry?! What was wrong with him she thought to herself as she squirmed in his arms. Gyutaro looked down at the woman as he looked for any sign, any sign that he had a chance to be loved by this damned woman but it was hard… her skin was too dark to see any noticeable blush and he couldn’t tell if her heat was from embarrassment or rage! Why couldn’t she just be like a normal Japanese woman; something he was used to, not some foreigner that probably had no intentions of loving some ugly freak… like him?

The awkward silence held up as Gyutaro’s heavy breathing mixed with Rasshu’s shaky breaths. With wide eyes, the hashira stared at the demon waiting to be killed but it never came. Just more silence followed breath after breath until the demons posture lowered more in a depressive manor… something clicked in the demons eyes as he let go of Rasshu’s back, letting her drop to the ground completely as she held her stab wound. Slowly getting up, the tall demon’s body creaked and cracked with his movements as he stepped back with a cold expression. then with a huge show of power, he flexed his calves as he shot out of the bedroom and left the rattled hashira alone…

After a few minutes of processing, Rasshu wiped her mouth as she could still feel his aftertaste deep in her throat… What happened, why didn’t he kill her…?

(I had this in the drafts for MONTHS and its still in drafts! One day ill post it GRAHAHA! P.S. i made this in March 2023 i think)

[iridawn]

Untitled Dysphoria One-Shot

this is definitely more of a personal one, but... eh, whatever. (vent piece, maybe? not really, though...) short, simple, but i just wanted to get it outta my system.

i've wanted to do something like this for jewel box for a while -- and i still might -- but i've been a bit hesitant, so im doing it here. dawn's transness is something i hold very close to my heart, and it's a bit personal whenever i write dysphoria stuff like this, regardless of who i'm writing it for and all that jazz.

it's just... i dunno. i wouldnt wanna do it for a published jewel box chapter cause part of me's kinda worried about it coming off poorly, or anything along those lines. i dont wanna write something that people would be upset with, that's not my intent. i did want to do it at some point, though. it's an idea i really liked, and it's a bit more of a personal thing, is all. hopefully you enjoy it, as heavy as it is

but anywho. dawn has a bit of a crappy morning, and her girlfriend comforts her in whatever way she can.

tw for dysphoria

God.

Dawn looked in the mirror as she felt the dread on her forehead.

She had just gotten up, so her hair was a bit messy. She was going to do that, but…

Perhaps she just had woken up on the wrong side of the bed, but she did not like looking at the person in the mirror. Not at the moment.

Look at that stubble. God, you need to shave. And your face is so… masculine. The way her face was shaped was something that always stuck out to her when she was feeling bad.

And now she was noticing the rest of her body. The parts of it that she hated. The amount of hair on her arms, the fact that she didn’t really have the same body type as a cis woman…

Dawn hated spiraling. She really, really did. She knew it was not healthy in the slightest, and she knew it only led to bad things. But it was so hard to ignore. And she hated putting herself up to these standards, but it was just hard to ignore.

The parts of her she wanted to be feminine were masculine, and there were options for it, but they felt so far away, still. Dawn was still only about two or so years into her transition, anyway. And sure, she had been doing things to help alleviate that pain a little. To make it not as bad, y’know?

Stuff like makeup. Doing her nails every so often. Maybe she’d try a new hairstyle or two.

But every time, that nag in her head would sometimes come out.

“You still look like a man.”

She knew it was ridiculous. She knew that she still had so much time to go, that there were still incredible things that could happen to her and were going to happen to her, and that she had a lot of support. Dawn knew all of these things, and she knew that these thoughts never helped.

And yet, they persisted.

All Dawn could do is stare in the mirror blankly, her brain pointing out all the things about herself she didn’t like.

She wanted to move, she wanted to just do something else, hell, maybe she’d actually shave. Dawn always felt pretty good after that. She just wanted to do something to get out of this spiral she was in.

But all she could do is just stare at the person in the mirror, and how that person’s body was not the body she wanted to have, and she wasn’t sure if she’d ever have it.

All these parts about her were difficult to straight up impossible to remove. And to think, if fate had been different, hell, if she had spoken up a bit more, she wouldn’t have to worry about any of this.

Dawn loved being trans, and she was so happy to be who she was. That part of her identity was a huge part of who she was, too, so it’s not like she hated it. Far from it. She wouldn’t change any of that for the world, but she still couldn’t help this spiral she was in. Sometimes these moods of dysphoria just hit her like a truck, and though she knew they were ridiculous, it was hard to ignore.

Was it stupid? Yes. Very.

But it was also entirely out of her control, it felt like. She wanted to stop her brain from thinking like this, but… unfortunately, that’s just not how things seemed to work for her, most of the time.

Fuck, it was bad today.

I don’t deserve the things I have, because everybody’s just putting up with it. They’re all being nice to me, because they don’t want to lie and tell me they actually think I’m just a man masquerading around in a dress. I feel disgusting. I—

“Dawn.”

Dawn snapped out of her thoughts, jumping a little as she looked to her side to see a very worried looking Irida.

“…Are you okay?”

Dawn wanted to say something to reassure her. I’m fine, Irida. No need to worry about me, just woke up a little funny, that’s all. She wanted to say that, to make Irida not worry about her. Give her a smile, a hug, and a very nice kiss. To blow this entire thing off, and just have a nice morning.

But Dawn just stood there and stared at her, the worried expression on her face almost making her feel worse. She looked down at the floor of the bathroom for a few seconds, before looking back up at Irida.

“…’m okay.” Dawn’s voice was weak. She tried to give a weak smile to Irida, but couldn’t really muster anything more than a very slight curve of the lips.

Irida’s frown remained, clearly not believing Dawn. But she simply walked forward and wrapped her arms around Dawn, pulling her into a hug. Dawn remained motionless, but Irida rested her head onto her girlfriend’s shoulder, the warm embrace helping Dawn become a bit more grounded.

She slowly wrapped hers around Irida as well, her eyes beginning to tear up. She didn’t make any noises, she just held Irida close, enjoying this comforting embrace.

“…I think you look beautiful, Dawn.”

Dawn’s hug around Irida tightened a little at those words. Sure, it was a very small gesture, and it’s not like it immediately fixed things. But it made her feel a little better, at the very least, and she was thankful for that more than anything else.

Irida pulled back, looking into Dawn’s eyes.

“Honestly, it’s like every single day, you get a little prettier. It blows me away, really… that I got as lucky as I did, to fall in love with you.”

Dawn looked at Irida with a slightly weak smile, her eyes still watering. Irida wiped a few of the tears on her cheek, a weak laugh coming from Dawn. Another simple gesture, but it was sweet.

“…Thanks for getting that.”

“No worries at all, Dawn.”

Dawn sighed, pulling Irida in once more. “…Sorry you gotta deal with me like this.”

“I’m not dealing with anything, Dawn.” She gave Dawn a kiss on the cheek. “I care about you more than anything, and I’ll always be here for you, no matter how you’re feeling or doing. And if you’re not at your best, then I’ll do whatever I can to help, regardless of what it is.”

“…thanks, hon.”

Dawn squeezed Irida a little tighter once more, tears still on her face. She wasn’t sobbing, but they were still coming out. Irida hummed lightly, rubbing Dawn’s back gently.

They stayed in this embrace for a bit, their eyes closed. It was helping Dawn ground herself, and she was thankful for that. She still didn’t feel her best, but having someone as wonderful as her girlfriend to help her calm down was very helpful.

“Do you want to head back to bed and just cuddle for a bit?”

Dawn looked up and nodded. “Would be pretty nice.”

“Okay, Dawn. Whatever works for you.” Irida gave a genuinely happy smile to Dawn, which made her heart do leaps.

She hated being down like this, but having Irida there to help her through it would be a huge help. It always was.

They’d find ways to help Dawn cheer up later, but for now, Dawn just wanted to take things easy.

With that, Dawn led the way back to her room, and to their bed, to just relax for a while. Cuddling with Irida was always a nice pick-me-up.

They'd work through the rest of the day later. She just needed to relax, for now. And she was grateful she would do that with the love of her life.

[tangleweave]

13. what themes/motifs do you hope other people notice most about your character?

[ Questions For Muns | Accepting ]

I'll run through the list of characters, because I love each of them individually and for different things. I may slide into what the muses want noticed about them even more than what I want noticed, because they will sometimes speak more loudly than me. 😅

-> Beta Ray Bill: Not only is he the most honorable character this side of the universe, and possessed of a deeply embedded code of chivalry, he also has precision of language. Rarely does he use contractions, and his dialogue lacks colloquialisms. This theme is a nod (rather than an explicit statement) towards his use of All-Tongue, an oft-overlooked gift from Asgard, which allows him to speak to anyone he pleases, despite perhaps not having a given person's language on file or even any cheek flesh. Really, I hope that he's seen as being the most classic mensch.

-> Agent Coulson: It would be a given to mention his sense of duty, particularly towards his teammates but also to SHIELD and to the world. I try to write him with his focus bent towards that at virtually all times. But there's also always a certain sense of wistfulness present in his undertone. For all that he's done to save the world, it's a constant nag at his soul that he's done so little to take care of himself. He wants far more connection than he actually has, but that desire didn't truly begin to manifest until later in life. So there's always a streak of sadness running through him that colors his interactions.

-> Groot: There's a comic cover of Jean Grey reading his mind and perceiving a full paragraph behind the words "I am Groot." The theme here is that he has a vast breadth of thought and emotion, and that it's all complex and highly nuanced, but rarely appreciated by those who can't understand him. I love that theme and it's what I strive for when I write him.

-> Spider-Man (Peter Parker): He's got youth and optimism on his side, not to mention a depth of intellect that's brutally difficult to beat. But Peter behaves like a social idiot because he perceives himself as "just Peter", whereas when he's Spider-Man, he feels far more confident in his anonymity. So I try to present them both as differing personalities, but unavoidably entwined in brains and observational wit. I also put forward a theme of each of them setting up personal boundaries with others, because he has a bit of a complex about what happens to those who find out about his dual identity... but it makes him terribly lonely, and that has a habit of showing through as well. I want him to be a sympathetic character.

-> Dr. Strange: I try to stick to a theme of him reflecting on his prior career every so often even while conducting his sorcery. This is not to make him sound like he's stuck in his past, but most portrayals of Stephen are heavily informed by his trauma -- not just the accident that destroyed his hands, but the loss of all his family to illness and injury, every one of them before their time. He became a doctor to save lives and spite Death itself, because he couldn't stop it from taking the ones he loved the most. That figures strongly into what he does now. He's still a doctor. Just not the sort that gets a million-dollar degree at the end. And I hope that shows through.

-> Venom (Eddie Brock): This is probably the easiest of all of them. I have always wanted Eddie to be seen as very rough-cut, but earnest and genuine with his feelings, and willing to share them with whoever he's interacting with. And while media interpretations show his Other as a representation of his id running amok, I prefer to theme Him as Eddie's conscience. The extra voice in his head telling him when the right moment for XYZ is, or whether he's about to act on an astoundingly bad idea. Their relationship isn't as antagonistic in my portrayal as it is in the films or even the earlier comics. They're supposed to be supportive of one another.

-> Vision: What I hope gets noticed most about Vis is how he employs knowledge, curiosity, and insight to counter emotional instability. I want it to be clear he understands he's not terribly gifted at offering physical comfort since his body is made of vibranium and he has neither animal warmth nor heartbeat... but he can still offer a wealth of compassion if he's permitted. He also seeks to be overwhelmingly respectful towards anyone he meets. (Does anybody doubt Camelot would still stand today if he'd been a member of King Arthur's court?)

[whiteboxerbriefs]

Chapter 1: The Power of Emotional Intelligence

Reflection:

Emotions enter the spinal cord where it first enters the brain. Then it moves onto the Limbic System where you feel emotions. Finally, it enters the “I Think Rationally” part of the brain. Emotional intelligence heavily relies on effective communication between the rational and emotional parts of your brain. I think most of my issues stem from the fact that I never let these emotions get to the last part, the “I Think Rationally” part of my brain before I react. This causes me to inflate my ego and use my pride as a way to overreact as opposed to first letting the emotions settle in and have a way to be able to think rationally about them.

“You do control the thoughts that follow an emotion, and you have a great deal of say in how you react to an emotion- as long as you are aware of it.”

I often found myself being jealous sometimes. Jealous that she was choosing to spend time with those she loved and me disliking her male friends. Even if I had met them before and understood that they were good people, the emotions of being jealous piled on and I became increasingly anxious. When she would bring them up in conversations with me in the simplest way, I found myself to be upset. But I shouldn’t have, her lifestyle and way of life includes people who aren’t me. She has fostered a way to become happy by finding a group of friends who care about her as much as she cares about them and that is something that needs to be supported and understood by me.

“We move through life learning how to read and write, but too often, we lack the skills to manage our emotions in the heat of the moment to successfully address the problems we face.”

I grew up in a household where two parents constantly bickered. Never said I love you to each other. Vacations were spent with one parent or the other. Never together. My mother would nag constantly. My father became angry. I knew it wasn’t love, but I found every reason growing to try and justify that that was love, since it was the only love I had ever experienced before as a kid. I’m older now, and I see through my parent’s downfalls, but at the same time longing for any of that to change only hinders my own personal growth as a person and especially as someone in a relationship. No girl wants to be in a relationship with someone who isn’t emotionally available to care and protect them. I’m taking my time and reading through this book and reflecting to really help myself because I’m tired of hurting the girl of my dreams over and over again.

“Self-management is your ability to use your awareness of your emotions to stay flexible and to direct your behavior positively. This means managing your emotional reactions to situations and people.”

Being self-aware isn’t enough because I failed to practice self-management. Because I thought of myself as someone who is so self aware, my commitment to practice self-management was nonexistent as well. I am trying to learn the ability to size myself up quickly and grab the reins before I head in the wrong direction with my reactions to things that potentially tick me. I refuse to be emotionally hijacked due to my failure to think rationally after feeling emotions.

“Conflicts explode when people don’t manage their anger on frustration, and choose to take it out on other people. Relationship management gives you the skills you need to avoid this scenario and make the most out of every interaction with your partner.”

A lot of the anger was anger pent up from letting it sit inside on the surface before it finally exploded out of nowhere. Our last facetime call before we broke up ended when I exploded my frustration of being anxious when I should’ve just took a step back first and understood that she too was interested in what I had to say but doesn’t read my mind at the same time. After all, we were on FaceTime so she couldn’t truly understand how anxious I was feeling trying to plan the perfect Valentine’s date for us.

What are signs of a Highly Emotional Competent Person?

1. They have a robust emotional vocabulary.

2. They’re genuinely curious about everything, people in general.

3. They understand their strengths and weaknesses

4. They’re a good judge of character.

5. They let go of mistakes and move forward to correct themselves.

6. They embrace change, even if they long for the past, they know that the future is brighter.

7. They’re assertive.

What are signs of a Low Emotional Competent Person?

1. They get stressed easily.

2. They make assumptions quickly and defend them vehemently.

3. They often feel misunderstood.

4. They don’t know their triggers.

5. They get angry.

6. They blame others for how they make them feel.

7. They’re easily offended.

“If you typically yell when you feel angry, for example, you have to learn to choose an alternative reaction. You must practice this habit many times before it replaces the urge to yell. But each time that you success, the new pathway grows stronger and eventually, the urge to yell is so small that it’s easy to ignore, and in time, disappears together.”

Within my relationship with her, there were times that angry outbursts got to the best of me when it could’ve been easily avoidable. Every time I had gotten angry, I immediately regretted it and apologized but that shouldn’t even have happened in the first place, had I only found an alternative to yelling or being mean or name calling. By that point, I had already hurt the person I love the most in this world. I could’ve just closed my eyes and thought of my favorite snacks or something. Or envision her smiling at me.

[greenelight]

it's   been   a   rough   day   ━━   he   can   tell   just   by   the   way   @scareal1ty   enters   the   store.   it's   written   all   in   her   face   ,   in   the   way   she   carries   herself   ━━   shoulders   sagging   ,   gaze   fixed   downward   ,   a   hand   clutching   to   the   strap   of   her   bag   as   if   it   were   a   comfort   item   ,   something   she   needed   to   hang   on   to   ;   a   life   line.   mason   frowns   as   he   sees   her   ,   feeling   his   own   heart   tug   in   sadness at the sight.   most   days   wren is   usually   so   positive   ━━   a   light   in   an   otherwise   dark   world   ,   but   he   knows   even   the   brightest   lights   had   to   dim   every   so   often   &   there   is   no   doubt   that   today   had   been   a   rough   one   ,   perhaps   either   because   of   work   or   perhaps   other   reasons   that   mason   wouldn't   dare   poke   &   prod   her   about.   mason   knows   how   she   may   feel.   he   too   has   his   days   where   he   isn't   feeling   his   best   ,   wishing   he   could   just   be   at   home   &   curl   in   on   himself   until   he   was   nothing   but   dust   in   the   wind.   those   were   the   days   he   often   thought   about   past   traumas   ,   his   time   with   brad   .   .   .   to   wren's   credit   ,   at   least   she   managed   to   get   out   of   her   own   house   ,   a   feat   that   even   mason   struggled   with   back   when   things   were   really   bad   for   him.

he   was   already   working   on   her   drink   the   moment   she   walked   in   ,   but   he   was   lagging   behind a bit   ,   distracted   by   the   sad   aura   about   her.   a nagging part of his brain   told   him   he   needed   to   do   something   to   cheer   her   up   ,   but   what   could   that   even be   ?   looking   around   as   he   waits   for   the   milk   to   steam   ,   he   spots   the   cannister   of   whipped   cream   sitting   out   from   the   previous   drink   he   made   &   then   an   idea   comes   to   mind.   finished   off   her   drink   ,   mason   walks   to   the   bar   &   places   it   on   the   counter   ,   just   a   few   seconds   before   wren   had   arrived.   but   before   he   can   let   her   say   hello   &   take   her   drink   ,   he   flicks   off   the   top   of   the   cup   &   then   sprays   a   health   amount   of   whipped   cream   on   top   ,   letting   it   get   to   a   disgustingly   tall   height   before   it   flops   onto   the   counter in a sad heap.   he   then   finished   off   his   work   by   spraying   a   bunch   of   sprinkles   overtop   it   &   he   then   slides   the   drink   closer   toward   wren   ,   waiting   for   a   reaction   &   eventually   she   gives   him   a   positive   one.   ❛   how   is   it   you   always   know   what   i   need   ,   huh   ?   ❜   wren   asks   gently   &   mason   merely   shrugs   ,   grinning   that   all   knowing   cheeky   smile.   ❝   you   looked   like   you   needed   a   laugh   &   lucky   for   you   ,   i'm   great   at   making   an ass   of   myself.   ❞   good   thing   his   manager   wasn't   here   to   see   the   mess   he   made   of   the   bar.   he   could   easily get   this   cleaned   up   before   she   got   back   &   she   would   be   none   the   wiser.   ❝   let   me   get   you   an   actual   drink   now   that   my   evil   plan   worked   ,   ❞   mason   assures   with   a   chuckle   ,   taking   the   now   messy   drink   &   dumping   it's   contents   into   the   sink   before   tossing   the   cup   into   the   waste   bin   altogether.   ❝   the   usual   i   take   it   ,   right   blondie ?   plus   ,   if   you   want   to   add   a   helping   of   ❛ wanting   to   vent   , ❜   i'm   happy   to   add   that   free   of   charge   ,   but   no   pressure.   ❞      he   winks.

[josiebelladonna]

billie eilish syndrome: term i invented last night, used to describe someone who is so obsessed with being “real” and “authentic” that it actually comes across as fake. hard to spot if untrained, as they’ll often use words like “depression” and “anxiety”, but the key is to watch their behavior closely. you know someone has it when you see them and you get the weirdest feeling in your gut, like there’s just something “off” or too good to be true about them and part of you wants to fuck around and find out the truth

notable offenders: the namer, billie eilish. too many things about her either don’t add up or don’t make any sense, namely “follow me for my music and not the way i look” and yet here she is, often showing her tits and there’s this nagging feeling that you just got short-changed somewhere along the way; and “i write all my songs”, but compare her lyrics to the great writers of yesterday and even today like lana del rey and phoebe bridgers, they feel very one-note, overly obvious, and even lame, like imagine some poet somewhere getting overlooked by the attention they deserve over a pathetic line like “i don’t relate to you.” (if i was them, i’d be pissed). just because you write your own lyrics doesn’t mean they’re good—or that you yourself wrote your lyrics, finneas is always credited and songwriters often go unnoticed in the credits. for all we know, there may be 10 other people behind her in penning her songs. industry plants are like that.

another example is gipsygeek (alex skolnick’s… girlfriend? wife? who the fuck knows and i don’t really care, either). i stumbled on her blog last fall and everything about it just gave me this pit in my stomach, because, just like billie, nothing about her adds up. claiming to be in love with him and yet it’s just far too difficult to even talk about him out in the open. at this point, she’s tricked everyone who follows him into thinking she’s actually decent with her stupid, obnoxious image, with that ridiculous name that just looks racist—re: she may as well just use the “n” word—not wanting to be seen in public especially with him, doing really two-faced shit like claiming to be shy and yet talking to his followers as if they’re her own and having this really holier-than-thou attitude that is far too blatant to ignore. i mean, the fact you have to actually go to her profile on instagram in order to find anything about her because alex barely talks about her should tell you something—well, not this summer, anyway. every other post from him since june has her tagged in it… oof. saying that hits wrong is an understatement. that’s nearly right up there with those people who talk about their relationship every 10 minutes, simply because he barely did it in the past. what, you didn’t talk about her before and now because she was there when your mom was in the hospital she’s got your full attention? don’t say i didn’t warn you, alex.

a third example is xxgreendruidessxx, formerly known as daveighmustaine. now, i’ve talked about her more than i would like, but all i’m gonna say is one thing about her that still sticks out to me is her obsession with “real women”. “real women do this”. real women don’t give a shit about what you think.

a big symptom of it, besides the above, is an overall spoiled personality that is often subtle unless you really look, like really stop and look. billie has been absolutely inescapable the last couple of years, to the point loudwire is even talking about her and to the point where even the commenters are like “enough”: utterly spoiled by an already brain-dead industry that feels really gross but don’t expect me to give you sympathy, though, because you’re playing right into it. you would think after knowing alex as long as you have that you would, at some point since 2012, put on your big girl pants and grow the fuck up and have a photo with him, especially when he says it’s something he’ll remember forever AND ESPECIALLY WHEN YOU RUN A BUSINESS! completely spoiled by a gentle sweet jewish man who really did seem in love with you at some point and somewhere along the way you abused the goodness of his heart to the point i want to look at you and say “how dare you” before i slap you, hard, several times. and i don’t recall the green druidess ever being satisfied with anything, like i remember every other thing she said was a complaint. yeah, you bet i’m kicking back watching hurricane idalia coming for the south and her neck of the woods. i got my tropical system and my karma, now it’s your turn.

another defining trait of billie eilish syndrome is the lack of visibility elsewhere: billie may be a superstar here in the states but the rest of the world either can’t stand her or have never heard of her (canada doesn’t even like her: i’ve been seeing a growing number of canadians who are just as fed up with her as me). see the whole thing about having to go to gipsygeek’s profile just to see her. xxgreendruidessxx may have a dickload of reads on her fics but she’s fading fast, though. i haven’t seen anyone say anything about her in months. you also get a sense that they’re hiding something. it’s a bad sign when wikipedia changes every time you turn around. someone refusing pix with their partner is not shyness especially when they have a presence of their own, there’s no way around that. and face it: you mention something that happened to you on a public forum like tumblr, people are going to ask you about it.

there’s no cure for billie eilish syndrome rather than for you—you, not the person afflicted with it—to be cautious and have a keen eye. it’s exactly like when someone says they’re a badass: they are always not a badass. if someone says they’re authentic, they either are not or they are but in the worst way. what’s really scary about billie eilish syndrome is the writing on the wall will often present itself when you’re already neck-deep with them: i unhitched my wagon from billie when she did that ~girly~ photoshoot and i started seeing things she said in the past that got me thinking. the green druidess stabbed me in the back and then tried to cover her tracks by calling me the bad guy when i started paying closer attention to her past behavior. and… i am not a person of prayer by any means but i pray for alex every day. really, i wish i was like christine in seasons grey and that i can get him away from her.

when you do get away from them, you often have this feeling that you were just lied to and used from here to timbuktu, and you really have to resist the urge to not get back at them, whether it’s writing something scathing or wanting to strangle them. it’s in the vein of a grift except they didn’t take money from you, but some of your sanity: i barely go into fanfic tags anymore because of the green druidess. modern music honestly kills me because i know billie’s gonna be mentioned at some point. and i just want to tell alex, “RUN AWAY. NOW. BEFORE SHE DESTROYS YOU.” (she’s already on her way to destroying him, too: ever since he came back to the fold in early june, it was like someone flipped a switch, this is not the same alex we all know and love. something happened to him when we weren’t looking, and it wasn’t just mama.) at least i hope they didn’t take your money.

[anonymousexywoman]

reflecting

Today, I am confronted with my mortality. It is a funny thing how this empty feeling has followed me everywhere. Whether it is a looming shadow in the dark of my room as I desperately grasp for slumber, or the night sky becoming bleaker as I drive home from a gathering with my friends, it is incessant. And truly, it won’t stop. I feel this way only every so often, maybe every few months, but when I do, the walls of my mind come crumbling down and nobody can stop it, for it is my burden and mine alone. Not my friends, and especially not my family, but just me, trapped in my own head. After all, nobody could ever truly understand one's mind except oneself. To be frank, I don’t know why I’m alive. And even if I did, I wouldn’t understand. I never asked to feel this way. 

I don’t believe I’ve committed some horrible sin in my lifetime to feel like this, especially considering the fact that this feeling has been nagging at me since I was twelve years old. As of late, I have been racking my brain trying to figure out the circumstances that led up to my current state. Maybe it was the fact that most of the other kids didn’t really get along with me in elementary school, whether it was because I was weird, or they were bigoted, or so on and so forth. Maybe it was my parents, who had me dabble in dance, sports, arts, and even learning my mother tongue, but never quite pushed me towards pursuing anything, and by the time I found passion in music, I had already reached that decisive age where the wonderful workings of my mind decided to reject any and all feelings of real, vibrant happiness, and consequently, my motivation. Maybe it was the teenage girls, who I could never quite fit in with, whether I was “too white” or “too brown” or “too political” or “too annoying.”

However, in light of my cynicism, there was some good in these times. In fact, I’m sure there was lots of good, but how fortunate my mind is that I am plagued with the burdens of a teenage girl who doesn’t know the things she’s grateful for, and doesn’t understand how to appreciate them. God, if there is one, gave me friends, a family, an intellect, and a semblance of musical and artistic talent. But such a deity also decided to bestow upon me a thorn-covered lens that reveal the friends that never stayed for more than a couple years, the family that saw me as a trophy and chalked my unceasing misery up to teenage frustration, the intellect that only functions in those fleeting moments where I feel like a normal person, and the talents that never fully culminated in my constant melancholic state where I was incapable of doing anything. 

But how funny human emotions are that when I am finally able to suppress these feelings, I forget about them entirely. At least, almost entirely. Maybe that’s what’s wrong with me. The past August was the last time I reached the pinnacle of this wonderful melancholy in face of my mortality, and once the feeling subsided, it was like I had woken up from a bad dream that I couldn’t quite remember. “What was I so sad about?” was enough to convince myself that there was no sadness to feel in the first place, despite those fleeting months of artificial happiness having a lingering sense of dread in the back of my mind that I couldn’t quite place, and wouldn’t quite be able to place until the melancholy returned once again. 

Which makes me think, was there ever a point where I was truly happy? No, there wasn’t. Not that I can remember in this unfortunate state, at least not since I was twelve. Maybe there was a point where I was truly happy, and I had just missed it. Maybe it was last summer, or the summer before, or the fun times in the ninth grade, or the seventh. Maybe I’m being pessimistic, but today I will allow myself to be. That’s why I’m writing this, after all. Six years, a third of my life, all lost as I strain to remember the good parts of my childhood since I was twelve. Every part was tainted. Maybe when I visit the psychiatrist on Thursday, they’ll give me a pill that can mend my memories and this broken state. 

But maybe not. And to me, that’s the scariest thing in the world. I don’t know if it will get better. Maybe it eventually will, but I wish it would now. By now, I thought I would be okay. But I really don’t know. Maybe I’ll be okay if I find a prom date in the next three weeks- my last chance of salvaging a good memory from my childhood. But maybe not. And that’s the fun of it all, my life is full of maybes. These recent revelations made me realize how much I long for stability, permanence, and understanding. I am stuck feeling that if the first eighteen years were terrible, there is no reason for me to move forward, and the rest of my life is pointless. And maybe that is just a culmination of my unsatisfactory childhood. But really, all I wanted was real happiness. That’s all I'll ever want. I’ll just foolishly continue to hope that it comes soon.

[allthethingsineversaidoutloud]

January 1, 2023

I always feel like I am waiting on something. Every day I have this tingling feeling in my stomach like something is coming, something is just on the verge of happening.

I don't know if it was the years I spent waiting for the promises he made me to come true or the years I spent telling myself that things will be better tomorrow, or next week, or next year.

I have this perpetual sense of something on the horizon, something I need to be ready for.

I try to remind myself to be present. I know nothing is coming. I have left him, there are no more promises to wait for. I have all I need to survive. I have money, I have food, I have shelter. There is nothing that could be "better" unless I want to get picky about what I have, which I don't.

I don't know what this waiting feeling is for. Maybe it is the rut my brain is in. Maybe it is the survival mechanism that got me through the five years of unrealized promises. Maybe it is the survival mechanism that got me through the times when I had no other choice but to wait for better things.

It could be a combination of those things. I can't remember a time in my life when I wasn't waiting for things to get better.

But I don't want to feel that anymore. I want to feel gratitude in where I am because I have come far. I want to wait for nothing, for no one anymore. I want to be in the moment I currently exist in.

It's when I am aware of the nagging feeling of wait in my stomach that I can stop it, but so often I don't recognize it immediately and I waste hours of my day in this feeling of discontent. As if what I am doing in the moment is trivial.

I am tired of waiting. I am tired of this longing.