#but what’s worse is that now I’m preparing for an evening full of triggers bc everyone wants to let loose

[neutron-stars-collision]

I hate that drinking alcohol had become so normalised that people who don’t want to or can’t drink are being pestered to have just one bc how could they not 🙃

[look-at-the-soul]

Congrats on 500 followers honey! I wanted to ask you if you'd like to write something fluffy about cillian comforting y/n bc theyre having a migraine. I'm sure you'll do an amazing job on this!!! 🥂to more followers in the future 💕

Ange!!

Thank you so much for sending this lovely idea! I read a lot about migraines and now I just want to hug whoever gets one 🥺 I’ve never had one, but recently I felt terrible and I’m sure Cill would make us all feel better.

This one goes for everyone who is sick, especially the ones dealing with a migraine. 💖

🌷A/N: I’m not doctor, nor I have experience with migraines, what I portray here might not work for everyone.

Put your arms around me

Cillian Murphy x reader (with migraine)

Baby I took over your basement for the day. Don’t come in unless the house is burning down, or something bad happens to Scout. Everything you need is right in front of you, or behind what’s in front of you. Love you. ♥️

Cillian left the note on the table and his keys on top of it. Y/N must have gotten yet another migraine.

They’ve tried every single remedy out there and nothing seemed to work, she even went to the hospital once to get stronger meds and monitoring for a day, but it only made her feel worse.

He now knew a migraine isn’t just a headache, it isn’t an excuse to have a day off, and it tore him apart to see the woman he loves suffering, it made him feel useless.

So he went to disconnect the telephone, the front door buzzer and let Scout out to the garden. Then he carefully took a cooking pot, filled it with water and took the pasta out of the bag, making sure he didn’t close any of the cabinets loudly, knowing she could hear every noise ten times the original sound. While the pasta was cooking, he mixed the rest of the ingredients in a bowl, they weren’t sure yet if cheese was a food that triggered the migraines so he changed his recipe a little bit and made the macaroni and cheese without cheese, instead he prepared a special cream full of avocado and spinach both approved by your doctor that provided a good amount of natural magnesium that helped you.

The salmon looked good in the grill and the smell was amazing.

He also cut some dark chocolate bars to give you as snack later, in the right dose, it was so helpful with the migraines too.

Walking down the stairs he opened the door to the basement slowly. Balancing the tray against his body he was proud he managed to make it to the spot where you were hiding under his hoodie with your sleeping mask on, your pillow on the floor, the room in total darkness.

Touching your leg gently to let you know he was near, you managed to crack a small smile.

“Hi.” You mouthed, your world lighting up as Cillian smiled at you, taking his place on the floor next you.

“Hello.” He mouthed back.

Reading lips was the perfect way to communicate while the migraines lasted.

Sometimes you didn’t even need words, just one look and you could see every feeling, every little thing he wanted to say, his eyes weren’t just beautiful and breathtaking, they also showed what was inside of him.

“Brought you some food.” He whispered.

As you were about to say you weren’t hungry, he gave you the look and you closed your mouth, accepting the plastic plate and fork, because the regular ones made so much noise for you to take at the moment.

Everything hurt; the light, the sound the steps makes against the floor, a car honking, sometimes you had vertigo, others you could see blind spots, or have nausea… sometimes however, it was all mixed at once. And all of that also caused you to feel anxious for not being able to control any of that.

But right now, Cillian was the best medicine you could have. He was just so thoughtful, it meant everything to you that he was now used to every single little thing that made you feel better, like not using his shoes around, so he just walked in wearing his colored socks, small things that actually meant everything. Helping you into a seating position, you started to eat the salmon and the pasta he made for you. It was incredible that you couldn’t even stand crunchy food, but the most amazing thing, is that Cillian knew everything by now about it, not like the first time you got a migraine with him and he was using the blender to make a smoothie, killing you for days and feeling guilty about it once he found out.

Cupping his face in your hands you touched his lips with a finger, announcing you were going to kiss him so he wouldn’t be surprised or kiss you back making a loud kiss noise.

Approaching him, your lips found his, feeling how incredible it was to have someone who understood what you were going through. Feeling his kiss back, you also felt his fingers pressing at the base of your skull for a few seconds, a point that might help to get rid of the migraine.

“Can I get you anything else?”

“Just put your arms around me, Cill.”

While your arms found their way around his body, he lifted up the hood to cover half of your face, then he wrapped you in his arms.

Feeling a little better after you ate, a sigh escaped your lips.

“Have some sleep, I’ll be here when you wake up.” He whispered softly while rocking your body from side to side.

Cillian was giving you so much more than he could even imagine, by just putting his arms around you.

****

You can send yours here

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@lyarr24 @datewithgianni @gretelshelby @cloudofdisney @peaky-cillian @onlydeadcells @holacia2 @shelbydelrey @lespendy

[infinitebells]

annoying: chapter 20

 iwaizumi hajime has hated you, his assistant athletic trainer, since he knew you in high school. you on the other hand have bothered him for fun for as long as you knew him, not realizing your romantic feelings for him had manifested in that way. what happens when you two blockheads finally come to terms with how you feel?

a/n: YALL THIS IS IT!!! one of my favorite chapters by far. also it’s barely 12:30 am for me i’m THAT fucking impatient when it comes to this chapter LOL

———

“kou, kou, he texted me saying he’s coming to the house!” you could feel your hands start to shake. panic flooded through you like a river and you couldn’t control anything you did. you could feel yourself pacing around your living room, yet you couldn’t stop yourself.

“okay y/n relax, you have to. panicking won’t do anything.” his voice sounded far away, muddled as though he was underwater.

“i can’t do that,” you mumble, and you hear a worried sigh over the phone.

“okay, alright, do you need me to come over?” his voice sounds a bit clearer now, but still fuzzy. it cuts out completely when you hear a knock on the door.

“oh my god, oh my god,” you say. your hands start to shake even worse and you faintly hear bokuto yelling over the phone but you don’t register it as your finger slides over the end button on the call. you feel like you’re having an out of body experience as you robotically maneuver to your door. nothing prepares you for the sight of iwaizumi hajime standing at your door in black sweatpants and a matching black hoodie. his hair is soaked, water dripping down the dips and curves of his face as he stares at you with dark eyes. both of you are silent, and your hands won’t stop shaking.

“it started raining on my way here,” he starts, still staring at you. it’s not anything of significance, but his voice alone triggers a waterfall of tears streaming down your face as you devolve into loud sobs. your knees give out as you fall to the ground, and you feel his arms around you, catching you and leading you down to the ground with him. you don’t see the way he gently kicks the door closed and sets his head against yours as you continue to cry.

“i can’t, i can’t keep doing this iwa. i change feeling like this, i hate feeling like i’m not worth your love or anyone else’s,” you sob out, and he simply wraps his arms tighter around you.

“i know, i’m so sorry,” he murmurs, sitting and letting you cry in his arms. he runs a hand over your hair while the other rubs circles into your back. you two sit like this, him holding you quietly in his lap as you cry until you can’t cry anymore. when you’re done crying, he’s still holding you. you sniffle intermittently, and he still holds you.

“iwaizumi, i can’t continue to live like this anymore. i really can’t,” you finally say after a while, and you feel him nod against your head.

“i know. i’m sorry, words can’t explain how sorry i am okay? i know things won’t be completely good with us for a while, but i’m begging you at least let me try and make things right okay?” he says, tilting your head back so that your eyes meet his own. you didn’t realize when you were crying that he had been holding back tears of his own until you see his glassy eyes and soft gaze. you nod without realizing it.

“okay, alright,” you rasp, and the tears finally fall from his eyes as he tips your head down to kiss your forehead lightly. your tears mix together as he presses your foreheads together. you shift so you’re facing him in his lap, moving to wrap your arms around him before stopping midair. terror runs through you as you realize he could push you away at any movement.

“you can hug me y/n, okay?” he says, leaning back to look into your eyes once again. he nods reassuringly before grabbing your wrists and moving them to rest on the small of his back. you take it as a sign to lean forward and rest your head under his chin. he hums as you do so, tucking you tighter against him.

you take a moment to do a full body survey, and you notice that your hands have finally stopped shaking.

“please don’t go. i’m still upset with you, but i can’t be by myself right now. but i would text bokuto and let him know i’m okay,” you whisper, and he nods. his arms wrap around your waist as he hoists you up and onto the couch with your legs around his hips and arms around his middle. he sends a quick text to bokuto letting him know you’re okay, before grabbing a blanket take a blanket hanging over the back of your couch and draping it over the two of you. his hands find your back and your head under the blanket, keeping you close to him.

“is this okay?” he asks against your hair, and you nod weakly before readjusting to be more comfortable.

“yes. is it okay if you stay the night?” you weakly ask, and he agrees with a hum.

“of course,” he says.

“thank you, and i’m sorry for making you stay with me,” you apologize.

“you’re not making me do anything. i want to be here okay? it’s the least i can do okay?” he says. your heart skips a beat at that.

“okay,” you whisper. with that, your gaze falls heavy, and you’re lulled to sleep by the steady beat of iwaizumi’s heartbeat thrumming in your ear.

———

a/n pt. 2: ik this is not necessarily the confrontation you guys probably hoped for but it’s necessary to like show that iwa’s finally accepting his own feelings and that like you can’t immediately forgive him bc yknow healing from that kind of pain can take a while. i wanted to make this as realistic as possible but my favs are FINALLY getting someone

———

masterlist

taglist: @babyoomi @honeysunny @halesandy @autumnandhotchocolate @velociraptorenthusiast @fluffyviciousbunny @darlingkuroo @youtuboo @b0bablinds @nerdynstoned @jovialweaselskeletonfan @amboisez @bbyhaji @astral-vroom @miwtze @seijqhigh @mrswhitethornbelikov @atsumubabie @lvrkuroo @navymacaroons @daphnxy @mangobangi @galagcica @its-the-aerieljeane @the-golden-jhope @cece-lives-here @kellesvt @nachotrash @jewlmin @anngelllla @poppi144 @trashy-simp @ysatrap @hogwarts--imagines @mariachiii @thestarsanctuary @indecisivehusky @bakugouswh0r3 @erinoikawa @freyafolkvangr @tetrapot-melon-tea @meiankolia @sya-arts-blog @d0llpie @rintarawr @winunk @roschea-behindthescreens @roselleviennesstuff @chaichai-the-weeb @lady-tokugawa-of-mikawa

[heshoes]

Twin Telepathy

❝And I never thought it would be true that one day I'd have to live without you.❞ In which a connection started at birth remains strong until the bitter end.

Warnings (BC THIS ONE IS TRIGGERING): ⚠️ angst, main character death.

Idk the word count but this one is short

Main Characters: Harry Styles, Edward Styles

There is no smut in this one my loves. I wrote this like 5 years ago and I’m posting it here now. I hope you enjoy and reblog let’s talk about it after you read.xx

5

Age five is when Harry and Edward noticed that they were identical. Age five was the time of development for secret languages, tricks, and pranks pulled on parents, grandparents, and even the teachers at primary school because they could get away with it.

They would even switch classes sometimes.

Harry was always good at maths. He progressed at counting blocks and telling time where Edward was a bit more fuzzy in the subject. However,  Edward could always read and excelled in primary school literature despite the fact that he would throw a tantrum anytime his mum would pull him away from the television in order to for him to read her a bedtime story.

“What time is it Harry?” Their mum would ask knowing full well what the time was herself,  as she took her seat behind the two curly headed boys on the floor who sat helplessly too close to the television. One because he really couldn’t see all that well, the other because he wanted to be close to his brother.

“I’m not Harry! I’m Ed.” Harry laughed cheekily as he told a lie while his brother squinted to look at the cartoon characters on the telly screen.

“Well, Ed,” His mother spoke playing along with his game, “What time is it?”

“Eight o’clock! Time for bed?”

“Thats right!” Their mother laughed, “When did you get so much better at telling time Edward?”

“Uh-oh”

“That’s right, Harry. Uh-oh.” The boy laughed in his mothers arms as she began to tickle and he began to squirm. Edward found it amusing, and because his brother laughed so did he, feeling the same exact joy that his brother did from the top of his head down to his tiny toes. Rushing for his mother in order to save his brother from the tickle monster, Edward pulled Harry from her arms, and for once he didn’t put up a fight when his mother asked him to read to her after he and Harry were dressed in their pajamas.

•••••

10

Ten was the age of growing into your face and the ever present awkward phase that everyone has to go through. By age ten, Harry had to wear braces and Edward wore a pair of glasses thicker than should be allowed. Their pranks didn’t work as well as they used to when they were younger due to the physical tell all’s that adorned their faces, but it didn’t make the boys any less close together. If anything it made them stick together more. Age ten was also the age in which they were constantly bullied.

As the boys walked down the hallways books would be ripped from their hands or feet would be purposely stuck out in order for one to trip. When Edward fell and broke his glasses, Harry had decided that he had, had enough. Edward was angry, furious even, but because he could barely see he couldn’t do much about it. Harry, however, could and the anger that Edward felt radiated off of his twin in hot streams.

“Apologize!” Harry shouted at the much bigger boy, standing his ground though he was much shorter.

“For what?” The boy challenged in a much more condescending tone. He knew what he had done and he was proud of himself for it.

“Apologize to my brother or I’ll– I’ll...”

“You’ll what brace face?!”

“I’ll kick your ass!”

The crowd in the hallway ‘oohed’ and ‘ahhed’ at the use of Harry’s language as he stood in between Edward and the boy who was much taller. Edward had since put his broken glasses in his pocket as he squinted, tugging at Harry’s arm to get him to walk away from the situation, but Harry wouldn’t budge.

Harry wasn’t prepared for what was to come. As the boy lifted his fist to connect it with Harry’s jaw he was cut short. Before any contact could be made, the boy who was much taller was seated forcefully on the ground holding his bloody nose in his hand, looking up at Edward.  Edward looked down on the bully while flexing his hand open and closed hoping that if he shook it hard enough the pain of breaking someone’s nose would go away.

Harry looked at his twin with shock in his eyes and a smile on his face as Ed continued to shake his hand while all three of the boys were escorted to the principal’s office.

“I thought you couldn’t see?” Harry whispered to his twin  in hopes of a quick explanation.

“I can’t see things that are far away, but that fucker, he was pretty close.”

Harry and Edward both began to laugh as they sat patiently in the principals office for their parents to collect them for their suspension from school.

•••••

15

Fifteen was the age of rebellion, girls, and more argument’s between the boys than usual. They had since grown into their faces and their own personalities and though they were still close, they didn’t see eye to eye on a lot of things. Harry had gotten into sports and school, while Edward had gotten into bands and trouble. The one thing that they did both agree on at the moment however was going to Tash Fraser's birthday party. Although she was two years their senior she had still sent the boys a personal invite. She was turning 17 and this of course would help boost their popularity for the year.

They were already high on the food chain at school for boys of only fifteen years old, and since they had grown into their faces and out of their braces and glasses, they had become rather attractive aside from the baby fat that they still had here and there.

“You ask.” Harry spoke, shoving Edward towards their parents room and grabbing the newspaper out of his hands, disturbing him from his place at the table as he read while flicking his brand new tongue ring against his teeth. Harry didn't care if Ed was angered by his rude interuption. He was older after all even if it was only by two minutes. Edward should do as he said.

“Why would I ask?! I just got off of punishment. I’ll be lucky if I can go anywhere. If I ask, dad will take one look at me and say no. No doubt I'll go anyway, but I'd rather do it without having to sneak. Leave me alone and give me my shit back! If you wanna go so bad you ask asshole!” Edward pushed his twin back, both of them equally aggravated by the other.

“We won’t be able to go anywhere if mum and dad hear you cussing! Fat chance on sneaking out with your big mouth!” Harry spoke aggressively above a whisper to his brother, making himself be heard.

Edward pulled his tongue ring between his teeth, playing with it and making Harry cringe before he nodded his head up and down in agreement.

“So what are we going to do?” Harry asked as if he were fresh out of ideas though he really didn’t bother to think of any.

“We’ll make them breakfast.” Edward spoke quickly, thinking on his toes much to Harry’s approval. And so they did, buttering their parents up with toast, pancakes, tomatoes, sausage, and bacon in order to get a simple, “alright” from their mother and father.

“You have to be home no later than one thirty!” Their mom reminded them as they headed out the door, riding with a mutual friend in order to make their way to the party.

“We’ll be home by twelve.” Harry yelled back jokingly earning a slap to the back of the head from his brother.

As the night went on, the music grew louder and the illegal activity had gotten more out of hand. Drinks of the alcoholic kind had been passed around, and though both Harry and Edward had one or two, neither of them dared to get drunk, knowing full well that their mother would be up waiting for them to get back.

“It’s one fifteen.” Harry spoke looking at his silver wrist watch that Edward had gotten him as a gift on their thirteenth birthday. “We should get ready to leave soon.”

Edward nodded his head in agreement as he looked around the crowded room for their friend. Hoping that he was sober enough to take them home. When he spotted him and told him that he was ready to go, their friend agreed to drive them even though Harry had notice the stumble in his step.

“Nuh uh, Edward. He’s drunk out of his mind.” Harry spoke to his twin, but was ignored as soon as the words left his lips.

“I can’t get in trouble again Harry. He’s fine we just live right up the street. It won’t take us long to get home. It’s fine.” Edward began to walk towards the car, but as soon as he took a step Harry pulled him back.

“Ed no! Why don’t you ever listen?!”

“Harry! If you want to stay here and get in trouble with dad because you’re not home in time then fine! Stay! I’ve just been freed and I’m not gonna be grounded again over something as stupid as this! I’ll see you when you get home.”

Harry let his brother go tired of arguing back and forth. There was no arguing with Ed and no point in trying to get him to think clearly when he had gotten an idea of his own.

Twenty more minutes passed before Harry had found a sober soul in the party who was willing to take him home. He hadn’t been drinking again, but he had the worst headache that he’d ever had in his life and it felt like it would split him clean in two if he didn’t get home and lie down. As they got in the car they traveled down the road only to see that it was blocked, a sudden panic started to set in. Harry’s head pounded worse and his mouth went dry and before the police got the chance to turn them in the opposite direction, Harry saw the car that Edward was in wrapped around a tree as if it were a flimsy piece of  aluminum foil.

•••••

20

Today Harry was twenty and though this was considered to be an age of a milestone in life, he didn’t celebrate it in the traditional way. Harry hadn’t celebrated any birthday since fifteen because he saw no point in it. Instead of throwing a party or hanging out with friends, every year since after his fifteenth birthday, Harry would go to the cemetery in Cheshire so that he could be close to his brother.

Today was a day of remembrance.

As Harry sat against the cold granite headstone that represented Edward, he thought of the time that they spent together while he was living. Harry was thankful that he was in a fairly secluded area because he would talk to Ed and tell him about the things that went on in his day and as he thought about his brother, he would laugh out loud when he would remember a prank that they pulled when they were younger, like when Harry dressed up as Edward for an hour at school just so that he could take his maths test for him. Their mum was so proud of Edward for passing with flying colors.

Or when Edward would run into Harry’s room and pretend to be him when they were supposed to be sleeping. Harry had a girlfriend at the time and would sneak out of his room at night to go see her, where they would make out under a tree. Harry realised that he had never thanked Ed for that so he did it now. A simple “thank you” left his lips before he fell silent and his eyes began to water. Because this was a day of remembrance, Harry would also remember the day that he lost his best friend.

Harry remembered the waiting.

Waiting in the oddly cold  room at the hospital with his mum and dad as doctors rushed about doing everything they could in order to save his brother.

Harry remembered the tears.

Tears that rolled down the faces of his family and himself as he rocked back and forth in his chair with with his hands clasped together tightly, saying a silent prayer that Ed would somehow walk out of the emergency room with maybe only a couple of stitches here and there.

Harry remembered the screams.

The deafening screams that came from his mother, his father, and himself when the doctor came out of the operating room and said that Edwards heart had given up and that his poor body was too weak to put up a fight.

Most of all, Harry remembered how he already knew that Edward was gone before the doctor came to announce it. His head had stopped hurting and his stomach was in knots, but he could no longer feel that strange connection that he and Edward shared since before he could remember and since age five, the age that he and Edward realized that they were identical.

Harry sat against Edward’s tombstone and allowed his tears to fall uninhibitedly, ridding himself of the pain that he felt everytime he thought about that fateful day. And though it hurt that he no longer had Edward around physically, he wasn’t sad anymore because he knew that he was there in spirit. The feeling that Harry felt was more overwhelming  because everytime he thought about it, he could barely believe it.

He never thought it would be true that he would have to live a day without his best friend, his brother, his twin.

[sicjimin]

love ur fics, they’re always amazing! could you write a namkook one with 6, 9, 16, 32, with joon as the sickie and jk as the caretaker? maybe make it rly awkward bc Namjoon is the hyung and doesn’t want jk to see him but jk is the only other one home and jk doesn’t like seeing his hyungs in pain and thinks he can’t comfort. it ends up fine and jungkook wants namjoon to sleep with him (just in case) and joon secretly does too? please only do this if u have time, thank you!

6. “Are you okay? You’ve been in there a while.”

9. “I think it was something I ate.” 

16. “I can’t throw up…”

32. “Your belly is really sick, isn’t it?”

A.N : AAHHH my first sick!namjoon !! thank u for requesting hehe i love this idea so much, its so adorable :( and i hope this does justice to your expectations? I'm sorry this took way too long T.T i hope you like this one :D

TW : emeto, graphic descriptions of vomiting

Jungkook perked up from his phone and slightly lift his head when he heard the door opened, followed by a tall figure walk in —a little bit too sluggish, Jungkook afraid that he might trip.

"Oh, Namjoon-hyung ! You're home already? i thought you said you were gonna stay up late with Yoongi-hyung?", Jungkook greeted the older happily, finally he's not the only one at this big dorm, he started to get bored. The older just hummed as the answer while putting on his winter coat on the hanger and slowly toss his shoes, " Yeah, it went faster than I thought too so I figured to catch some rest. Do you mind if I go to my room and clean myself a bit? I will join you here later"

"Sure hyung, do you want something?", Jungkook lifted himself to walk to their fridge, rummaging for some snacks and soju. He heard a loud " No" from upstairs, but he still decided to grab two can of soju and a big bag of chips. He sets himself back to the couch, when he heard his phone ding with notifications.

Yoongi-hyung : 2 New Messages

Jungkook furrowed his eyebrows, all 7 of them were not too fond of texting if it's not for a really urgent matter. They preferred to talk in person or do it on the gc. That's why when someone is messaging him personally, his mind grows alerted.

Yoongi-hyung : Jungkook

Yoongi-hyung : Is Namjoon already get home?

Jungkook : Yes, he just arrived few minutes ago

Jungkook : Why hyung?

Jungkook already sees Yoongi typing, not even a minute after he pressed send. He once again feels a little bit surprised.

Yoongi-hyung : Watch him for me, he's sick. That's why he gets home earlier. I still need to finish this song, I will get home as soon as possible.

Jungkook furrowed his eyebrows deeper. Hyung is .. sick? but he looks f—. Jungkook clicked his tongue, Jeon Jungkook you dumb. He steals a glance upstairs after replying to Yoongi . It's been 10 minutes and there's no sign the older gonna out soon. An ugly anxious feeling starts creeping up as his brain starts to make the worst scenario ever. What if Namjoon-hyung faints inside and he couldn't scream for help. What if hyung get dizzy and fall and—

"Earth to Jungkook, hello?"

Jungkook blinked and meet Namjoon's tired eyes waving his hand in front of him before plopped himself on the couch along with a sigh. Jungkook gulped, he's trying to act all cool and natural since he knows the older ones didn't like to be coddled too much but he just can't help to be worried. Damn, this gonna be hard for him.

They decided to watch some dramas that airing, but they know none of them paid attention to the storyline. One is too busy stealing glances to make sure the latter is fine and the other one is too busy calming down his stomach that has been rolling up and down since he stepped home. Jungkook takes notes on how Namjoon hands never leave his stomach, buried under the baggy sweater he wears— he always uses that when he's not feeling well— and how his other hands occasionally moved to stifled a quiet burp. Jungkook is itching to ask but he feels awkward too if he suddenly drops the question. He knows that the older gonna say that he's fine.

"Jungkook, I need to go to the bathroom, okay?", Namjoon says a little bit too quickly, not even waiting for Jungkook to mustered a response. Jungkook's train of thought got cut off as his eyes watches the older walk away until he hears the sound of the door closed and later, the water running. He diverts his eyes back to the TV, maybe Namjoon hyung is fine.

Jungkook has already finished his snack but Namjoon is still not back from the bathroom. It's been more than 5 minutes. The worries spiking inside him. He walks to the bathroom and knocks, "Hyung .. are you okay? You've been in there for a long time"

Silence.

"Yeah Kook, I'm fine", Namjoon answered from inside. He tried to sound convincing but his throat has another decision for him as a harsh and quite loud gag escaped. He squeezed his eyes shut because of the force even though nothing come out from the gag—just like how it goes the moment he kneeled there 5 minutes ago. He coughs, his throat feels itchy and it just triggering his gag reflex more. He keeps opened his mouth wide along with his tongue arched, touching his palate, delivering another series of gag. But still, nothing comes out except a trickle of thick saliva. Namjoon wants to cry, there's nothing worse than incredibly nauseous but you just can't throw up. He leaned back from the toilet, placing his back on the wall, and buried his head on his knees. Hands still aggressively rubbing and pressing his stomach, urging the rollercoaster of food inside it to just finish their business and out of his body. Namjoon lift his head when he hears the door opened and feels a hand awkwardly rubbing his shoulder

"Kook, what are you doing there"

"Um ..." the younger trailed off, it supposed to be an adorable sight for Namjoon on how Jungkook can't meet his eyes when he's talking nervously, if his mind isn't clouded with waves of nausea that keeps going on and off in his body. "I just want to check up on you hyung", he adds shyly. Namjoon mustered a strained smile, " I'm fine Kook-ah. Just feel a little bit sick, but I will be fine. Don't worry"

"A-ah, is that so? Um .. I-", Jungkook stuttered. Damn this situation is so awkward, Jeon Jungkook man up! Namjoon hyung need you, just offer something that could make him feel better maybe—

Jungkook's train of thought got cut off once again, changed with a spike of his heartbeat as he sees Namjoon scrambled to the toilet, the older body leaned forward followed by a series of empty gag. Jungkook stunned. His body finally managed to react when Namjoon's gagging stop, leaving the older cough and let out a pained hiss, "Fuck, it hurts"

Jungkook stands up silently and brings a glass of water, seated himself beside his hyung again, "Hyung, try to drink this. Your throat might hurt and maybe this could trigger your stomach"

Namjoon was too out of his mind, taking the glass with his shaky hands and gulped it quickly. His stomach starts to make loud rumbled noises, he's sure Jungkook could hear it, "I'm sorry. This is so gross", he mumbled shyly, gaining giggles from Jungkook, breaking the awkward air between them, " Woah, your belly must be really sick hyung"

"Mhm, it is. I've been so nauseous since lunch. That's why Yoongi-hyung sending me off because i keep dry heaving in the office too. I think it must be something i eat but i don't know what. God, Jungkook, i just want to throw up and get over this", Namjoon practically rambling now but he doesn't care. He's tired of holding himself back and maintaining the hyung image, his body is aching for comfort, and he gonna get it from Jungkook.

Jungkook shifted his body, hands moving to the older backs, giving a slight massage on shoulders and nape, "I'm sorry you're so sick hyung. Do you want me to rub your stomach, it might help"

Namjoon shakes his head. "It didn't work .. i still cant throw—", his words cut off as a sudden splash of liquid hitting the back of his throat and quickly rushing out of his mouth, making some of it spilled on his sweater as he didn't prepare with the commotion. His stomach clenched again as a stream of water he just takes earlier keep spilling from his mouth with such force. As he goes and goes, the clear liquid morphs into a pale-colored and thick liquid. He could feel the sashimi he eats earlier on his tongue. He squeezed his eyes shut while his stomach and throat working on getting out everything in his body.

"That's it hyung, let it out all", Jungkook murmured beside him, hands never stop rubbing and massaging his back.

Namjoon finally managed to catch a breath when the heave tapered off. He flushed the almost full toilet and wipes his lips and nose.

"You're done hyung?"

He shakes his head, eyes trailed on the swirling of the murky liquid below him. He could see the remnants of whatever he took earlier and it's setting his stomach off again. His body bent forward as nausea dragged another stream out of his stomach. Namjoon coughs and winced few times when there's no more lingering taste of food— but a bitter one now. Oh, only bile left, he thoughts while his stomach keeps spasming.

"Hyung, you're empty", Jungkook speaks. Namjoon nods. It took him a few dry heaving and trickle of bile until he finally sagged his body back. Jungkook quickly flushes the toilet before Namjoon could open his eyes, not wanting the older to see the toilet again in case it might set the older off.

"Kook-ah, 'm exhausted", Namjoon hoarse voices trickling Jungkook's ears.

"I know hyung, let's get you to bed, okay? it's more comfortable there"

Namjoon let his body dragged by Jungkook to his room. He's practically half-conscious and moving like a robot right now as he just moves his body as Jungkook pleased. The younger managed to make Namjoon changed his wet sweater and tucked the older into bed. He's halfway to stand up and leave the room, figured that Namjoon wants to have time alone and rest, before a clammy hand grip his wrist, "Stay here"

"Huh?", Jungkook short-circuited.

"Stay .. until I fall asleep, please? I don't feel like being alone", Namjoon mumbled sleepily, but hands still tightly gripping Jungkook's wrist like he is afraid that Jungkook might suddenly disappear.

"Uhm ..", Jungkook clears his throat awkwardly. " Okay hyung .. rest well. I will stay here", he adds gaining a soft hum from Namjoon.

"Thankyou, i'm sorry you must take care of me like that", Namjoon says softly almost like whispers if Jungkook didn't manage to catch it well.

Jungkook could feel his cheeks heated before breaking into a smile, "that's my job too hyung, get well soon"

[sierracolorstheworldofwords]

Yandereplier x anxious reader

An: Idk if anyone is going to read this but if you do and somehow like it HIT that reblog button babey! And also hit me up with a request if u want. Anyway, this was a request from Wattpad, and I have more one shots on there! The name of said wattpad is in my bio! :3 ALSO TRIGGER WARNING: Reader has an anxiety attack! So if that triggers you or anything please skip this! And read some of my other fics bc yes I’m plugging!

It all started with that nightmare.

Yan and you sat underneath a cherry tree in full bloom, each pink petal a promise, each soft flower a gentle declaration of love.

The sky was a beautiful island blue, and the clouds looked like they were painted onto the sky, just for you. You could see patches of them through the dark, curved branches of the tree, and feel the warm sun, sweet like honey, shining on your face.

Everything was.. perfect. You wished you could stop time forever, make this moment into a crystal bubble, preserve it in a snow globe forever.

"I have to tell you something." Yan said suddenly, fingers unwrapping from yours.

You turned towards him, taking in his gentle eyes— a beautiful brown that in the right light, looked red.

"Yeah?" You whispered softly, a love struck smile on your face.

He looked away from you, up at the sky, cracking his knuckles, "You know how I said I'd love you forever?"

"Of course! You tell me everyday—"

He took a deep breath, "That's changed. I found someone else."

You sat up suddenly, looking down at him in confusion, heart pounding fiercely in your chest, "Wh-what? Yan.. Yan that's not funny—"

"It's not a joke, senpai— wait, I can't call you that, anymore, because you're not my senpai. I can't believe I even dated you! You were just trying to waste my time and keep me away from my real senpai!"

"Wh-what?! No!"

"You're so stupid and worthless, all you do is whine and I honestly can't believe I even loved you!"

A pair of legs appeared in front of Yan, a faceless figure standing in front of him. The opposite of you, everything you couldn't be... smart, witty, attractive, actually deserving of Yan's love. You watched Yan sit up, a smile on his face— a smile that used to belong to you and you alone.

"Senpai!"

He got up, hugged the mysterious person, and grabbed their hand, "Let's leave this freak! I missed you so much!" He cooed, leaning on their shoulder, completely love struck.

"Y-Yan! Wait!" You stood up, wanting to chase him, but you couldn't. You were stuck, as if your legs had been welded to the ground below you.

"See senpai? I'm so dedicated to you. I broke their heart to prove how much I love you— do you want me to break their bones too, senpai?"

The world stopped. Everything froze like an icy tundra. You fell to your knees, looking at them going further and further away, seeing Yan going further and further away.

Your heart felt like it'd been pulled out of your chest and beaten with a baseball bat full of nails. All you could do was watch Yan leave, seeing his red hair fade away. You sobbed as your everything—the only person you truly trusted left, laughing wickedly, not even caring about how you felt, not even caring.. not caring at all.

"Yan!" You screamed.

You stood up. Legs finally moving.

Maybe you could convince him! You loved him! You could convince him! You— you loved him!

"Come back!"

You began to run, legs finally working, you desperately reached for him, the world a blurry mess of tears, "YAN! COME BACK! PLEASE—"

But he didn't.

He disappeared. Didn't look back. kept going. Leaving you like an old doll he'd gotten bored of, finding a new toy instead.

You alone. Again.

With no one to turn to. Again.

Nobody to care for. Again.

Nobody caring about you. Again.

Alone. Again.

Blackness crawling into your chest again, loneliness nesting inside of your rib cage, cocooning itself inside you. Again. Again. Again.

Alone.

Again.

You woke up with a soft whimper, heart pounding in your chest as you felt warm tears falling down your cheeks. You closed your eyes, crying softly and hugging your pillow.

Maybe you should call Yan.

He'd be more than happy to comfort you! You sat up, grabbed your phone of the charger, and noticed the time— School was in hour. You sighed. He probably wouldn't even be awake now.

You lay down back down, wondering if you should text Yan.. everything that happened in your head kept ringing over and over again, especially what Yan said. You knew it was a nightmare, but it felt so real. Like it did actually happen.. like.. like it was going to happen. Could Yan ever.. ever find someone else? Someone who was better than you? He probably could, right? Then.. then he'd leave you all alone..

Your stomach curled into a tight, knot, and you felt the familiar fear run like a spiked metal wire in your veins, causing your heart to pound harder. What if it was all gonna happen? Not today or tomorrow, but.. someday? He could easily find someone else. He was so amazing and you.. you weren't.

Yan always said he loved you but.. but.. did he really? You were an anxious mess with too much emotional baggage, and sure, he had his problems, being possessive and clingy but.. but he didn't have the type of background you had. It just didn't make sense why he would choose you of all people. Your anxiety  just made the thought worse, dangling it above your head and maliciously smirking.

You closed your eyes, listening to the voice in your head telling you that Yan was going to leave you, and that you might as well get ready for it. Prepare for the inevitable. Did you really think he would actually wanna stay with you? Really? Really? Look at yourself, you're crying over a stupid bad dream, almost always insecure and almost as clingy as Yan. You were surprised he didn't find the constant need of reassurance from him annoying yet.

You wiped your tears and turned your phone  back on and opened  up your messages, reading a few from Yan—

Omg Senpai! I just saw the cutest person today! You'll never guess who!

....It was you! Love you! <3

A smile crossed your features and you wiped your eyes, of course he loved you. Of course he did. You scrolled up and read another one.

Senpai I can't wait for you to come over this weekend! :3 I'm so excited~! We're gonna watch so much anime and cuddle so much! :D I love cuddling with you, you're perfect cuddle size. uwu

Your cheeks flushed a little, and the voice in your head snickered. You really think he loves you? It asked, swirling in your head like a snake of smoke, all those cheesy messages don't mean shit. Maybe he does love you now, maybe— but don't you think he'll get tired of you?

You frowned, arguing with it. Wondering why Yan would say those things if he didn't mean them. Of course he meant them! You knew he did. He wasn't the type to lie about loving someone. That just wasn't Yan at all!

But how do you know? And maybe he does mean them.. or maybe he did mean them, but he doesn't mean them anymore because you were so annoying and he was just saying all those things to get you to shut up. The voice filled your head, burning up all the messages with questions of why, and how and really? What if it was all a lie? What if he used to like you and now he didn't— You slammed your eyes shut. Covering them with your hands as you gritted your teeth, asking yourself if you really were gonna cry over something so stupid?

How could Yan even love you when you were like this?

Your alarm rang and you gasped, sitting up, remembering you had to pack— today was Friday, you were supposed to go over to Yan's house for the weekend. Would you be annoying? Maybe you should cancel? Say.. say you couldn't come over? But.. he got everything prepared and— you sighed softly, rummaging through your drawer and stuffing clothes into your backpack.

Your phone buzzed, you looked at it before picking it up from your bed, turning it on and opening it. Reading  the message from Yan—

Good morning Senpai! It's Friday and I'm so excited!! Don't forget to pack! :3 Also love you and have a good day! I'll see you soon! Love you! Ok bye

A small smile bloomed on your lips, and you texted back, hearing that small seed of doubt as you did. You ignored it, sending a message that read— Morning Yan-Yan! Can't wait to see you and stay over, and don't worry, I packed up. Love you too and see you soon~

You placed it back on your bed and fixed up your hair before brushing up your teeth and getting dressed, making sure to grab your phone and headphones before you did. Then you went to school.

When you arrived, you met Yan in the cafeteria, he brought breakfast for you, which was an unexpected surprise, and all he asked in return was a kiss. (Which you found adorable, and of course you gave him one.)

The two of you ate outside, watching the sun rise as you talked. You wondered if you should tell him about your nightmare, but you didn't want to ruin his happy mood, or be annoying. Before you knew it, your first class started and Yan walked you to class, giving you a kiss and a hug before running to his class.

The rest of the day.. was.. a day.

Your anxiety kept piling up, and then just found more reasons for Yan to hate you—

looks, grades, the way you speak, how you talk too much, your smile, your eyes, the way you walked, the clothes you wore.. everything.

By the time the day was over, thoughts swirled in your head like a tornado, and when you went to meet him by your locker, it took everything in you to not cry and panic. Your stomach hurt and your heart pounded as your brain kept saying— he's gonna leave. Not be here. You'll be all alone. He won't miss you. He doesn't need you. Can't you be better?

You leaned against your locker, head swirling as your chest felt like it was being wrapped up in a giant fist. Your lungs constricted. Your heart pounded. Palms sweated. Throat dry. The world blurring, people becoming slashed of color, the school becoming nothing but a blur that felt.. that felt like distant waves at sea. Real, recognizable, but not entirely there, dreamlike in a sickening way.

"Senpai?"

Yan.

Your eyes snapped up, focusing on him, the world a buzz of noise. You were so stupid! You just had to go and panic, didn't you? Ruin everything like some sick disease—

"Are you okay?" He asked softly.

You couldn't breathe.

He should've been yelling at you! Scolding you! Punishing you! Giving you a reason to cry! A reason to be scared so why, why was he being so nice?

Air rushed in and out your throat as you tried to speak, words replaced with shallow harsh breaths. You placed a hand on your chest, heart pounding loudly in your ears.

Softly, Yan grabbed your hand, holding you close as everything crashed— crashed, crashed like a boat in the middle of a fearful storm, crashed like a frantic car speeding down the high way and off a cliff, crashed.

Yan pushed people out the way, practically slamming the school doors open before picking you up and cradling you like the gentle cargo you were. Fishing the keys out of his skirt pocket, he clicked the button, unlocked his red Cadillac, before opening the back seat door and placing you there, climbing in next to you and closing the door shut.

You looked at him, the eye of the storm, the patch of sky in the middle of the tornado and—

"Don't leave me Yan!" You sobbed, clinging on to him desperately, hands digging into the soft fabric of his white shirt and you cried.

"Leave you Senpai? Why would I leave?"

You couldn't even answer back, your breathing was too rapid, too much, your nerves felt like they were on fire, and the world wasn't real— or was it real and you weren't? Or was none of it real and you were just floating? And scared? And alone? And—

"Senpai." Yan whispered, his voice a soft breeze, "I'd never leave you, senpai. Never."

You only responded with a gasping sob, throat feeling like it'd been scratched over a thousand times.

Yan placed a hand under your quivering chin, lifting your face turning your face towards him.

"Breathe senpai, breathe— slowly." He murmured, scooting closer and using his other hand to stroke your cheek, "breathe.. breathe.."

You closed your eyes, taking a shaky breath, feeling your lungs expand like blooming pink flowers.

"That's right Senpai, just breathe for me, okay?"

You nodded, swallowing back tears and feeling him shift and wrap his arms around you loosely.

"Breathe out.."

You let out a deep breath.

"Breathe in."

You breathed in through your nostrils, feeling the air travel down your throat as you calmed down and wiped your tears away.

"Better?"

You nodded.

He wrapped his arms tight around you, kissing your forehead, "I'll never leave you Senpai."

You snuggled into his chest, saying nothing.

"I mean it. No matter what that mean voice in your head—who I really need to beat up by the way— says. I love you Senpai. You and only you."

You looked at him, eyes big and wide, vulnerable, begging him to reassure you like always. He practically read your thoughts.

"I mean it Senpai," he whispered, "I really do—

And I don't care how many times I have to tell you, because I want you to believe it, so if I have to say it a hundred or a thousand times then I'll say it. Because I love you."

You gave him a watery smile, warm tears pricking the corners of your eyes, "I love you too Yan-Yan."

He smiled, kissing your forehead, before tucking your head underneath his neck and softly rubbing your back.

“I love you so, so much Senpai," he whispered, "I'd do anything for you, and I mean anything."

Your heart pounded like always when he said those type of things— his words were so reassuring.. you snuggled into his chest, wrapping your arms around him.

"I love you so much— I'm.. im surprised you haven't left me yet, senpai..."

You gasped, pulling away momentarily, "Oh Yan! I'd never leave! I love you too much!"

The yandere smiled, grabbing your hands in his, "That's exactly how I feel Senpai.."

You smiled softly, wiping the last of your tears before hugging him again. The two of you cuddled for a while before you let out a yawn, exhausted from your anxiety filled day.

“Let's go home, senpai! Then we can take a nap!"

You nodded and agreed, crawling into the front seat, Yan followed and started up his car, clearly excited. His cheeks flushed and a smile crossed his face— causing your stomach to flutter like always. Yan didn't even know how beautiful he was, sometimes.. nor did he know how cute he could be. His hand rested on the gear shift between you, while the other one held the wheel as he backed out of the school, once he was onto the road, you grabbed his hand.

"Yan?"

"Yes senpai?"

"Y-you know how you have nightmares?"

"Yeah."

"I had one this morning.." you said softly, sadly, "and it was about you leaving.. and I just thought I should tell you.."

Yan stopped at a red light and looked at you as you continued, "I-it was about you leaving me and finding someone else.."

"Senpai.. I'd never, ever do that. There's no one else as wonderful and amazing and— and ahhh senpai! There's so many things about you that I love.. and I know you're scared of me leaving, but I promise I won't, okay?"

You nodded, biting your lip.

"I really do mean it, senpai. I love you so much. I— before I met you.. I.. I didn't feel anything at all, and I'd always have to pretend to be happy.. b-but.. when you came into my life.. I felt.. I felt so.. happy—" tears welled up in his eyes, and he turned towards the stoplight, realizing it was green with a nervous laugh, "I'm such a baby— the lights green!"

He pushed the break with his foot and continued driving to his house. You couldn't help but feel your heart pound, not out of fear.. but out of pure love for your Yan-Yan. Your stomach looped itself into playful knots as his words played over and over again in your head.

"Yan.. I feel the same way. Ever since I met you.. I.. I.. know what it's like to be happy.." you whimpered, eyes welling up again, causing you to wipe your tears, "and that's why I get so anxious— and why you get anxious too.. because we're so afraid of losing each other but.. but.. I.. I know that I'd never leave you.. and I'm starting to believe you'll never leave me either.. and I'm sorry it's taking me so long to believe it.. I'm always used to people leaving."

You saw Yan smile softly, and then his smile widened, brown eyes shining with determination, "Well senpai! I'll just have to make sure you believe it! Because I really mean it, I won't ever leave you!"

You smiled again, cheeks flushing, "Thank you Yan.. I— I love you so much."

His face turned red as his smile grew, "I love you too Senpai."

Soon enough, the both of you pulled into his driveway and got out the car, going straight to his bedroom and changing into pajamas. After that, the both of you snuggled underneath the covers, exchanging love struck glances and soft kisses, until.. you both eventually fell asleep in each other's arms.

[noctomania]

Just having a moment

Dad already had been fighting a lung infection for a while when the pandemic hit. After about the first year, I think, of the pandemic his health has steadily gotten worse. It's been one thing after another and now we're looking at a situation where he may be facing the end of his life. He can't breathe well on his own and he has an extreme phobia of wearing a mask so he's been apparently a bit difficult during the pandemic in terms of wearing a mask, but also now that he needs a mask to help him breathe. The only way they could get it to work was sedating him (with his permission) so he can wear it.

I'm at work rn but I'm not *here* really. I couldn't tell you anything about the last hour. Ive not cried, the only time i really felt close to crying was bc I was hearing my sister cry on the phone. I'd known this was coming and I guess either I'm prepared? Or just hasn't really hit yet? Idk. It's complicated bc my relationship with my parents lately has not been great, we don't really talk. I still haven't talked to my stepmom. I don't know how to explain why I feel a way towards them. Bc it's not like a blunt obvious issue yanno? It's just they have a culture about them that I don't deal well with i guess.

I don't know that I'll be able to speak to him before he passes, idk what the next steps are, and I can't be there so I'm just stuck knowing that things are going south and that I have nothing to do but sit and wait for the inevitable. It's not that I don't feel anything, I feel sick and tired and frustrated. But also plain overwhelmed so I can't even get the energy to deal with any of that feeling. I do care, I just deal with things differently bc I have to.

Anything to do with family immediately triggers a ton of shit I don't want to think about yet think about all too often. I can't shut shit off. And what's worse is there is also a part of my brain saying I'm selfish and petty and that nothing but other people's issues matter and all that shit. That if i had real problems I wouldn't be where i am. But then i remember I'm only where i am bc I have fought so hard to keep from giving up even though I have wanted, dreamed, fantasized about not having to fight anymore and just giving up.

Do you know how infuriated i get with myself when I am triggered by a fuckin pill bottle bc I feel like I'm the one who made myself mentally ill? But i have to give myself grace and remind myself that I'm not in a tunnel and that isn't Destiny - i just need to let the moment pass and the moment pass and the moment pass. That nobody makes themselves miserable on purpose. That not all issues have a place to lay blame. That the important thing is to try to take care of myself. Which is hard when I'm not getting the prompts I should or don't understand them or whatever.

When i last talked to dad he said he'd always been proud of me. Idk why or how. I'd never really thought about whether or not I make them proud. Idk why. I've felt just difficult, inconvenient, a financial drain. When i moved into their house they put me to work as soon as it was legal, when it was exhausting me bc I was in school and literally hurting bc my feet are shit, I was shamed for quitting. When I was turning 18 i was given an ultimatum to either go to college - which I did not want to do bc I had no idea what I wanted to do & it was a lot of money - or move out and find a way to live off of what a queer 18yo in texas fresh out of high school could find to sustain them. Somewhat homeless during college, as every holiday and summer break it was like ok who is going to let me sleep on their couch while the dorms are closed? Eternally grateful to those who put me up here. Can think of at least 3 households who did. I hate accepting help. It was humbling and I always tried to be a good guest. I never felt like I was good enough and always felt like a burden despite never being treated as such by these households. They treated me as family.

That continued as college ended going from couch to a full time live-in temp job to scrambling to find an apartment that I couldn't really afford when ppl couldn't put me up anymore. Applying to over a hundred jobs. Then landing an overpriced room in a precarious situation I was too naive at the time to navigate that also almost landed me on the street. When I reached out to my parents just for guidance on what I could do, they took it as me asking to move in with them (which i never asked for that i recall), said they couldn't help me, and that I'd have to sign up for the military if I was struggling (which was illegal at the time bc of the trans ban they clearly didn't care to know about despite knowing their son is trans) Anyway...

Idk what there was of me to be proud of. What did I do? What you told me to do? Is that what you're proud of? My submissiveness? Ruining my life for your opinion?

He also asked if I was happy. Happy? In this world? In this pandemic? I said I'm content bc at this point I didn't feel allowed to complain about anything but certainly couldn't lie. I wasn't allowed to feel vulnerable about what I'm facing every day. Someone always has it worse.

Well no shit someone always "has it worse", bc that's not a real standard. Am I not allowed to say it's hot out bc people in hell don't get snow cones?

Part of self care I've had to learn is that grace with yourself and taking yourself seriously. This is a very hard thing to do for some of us. Some of us will let ourselves get to a point where it's worse than had we dealt with it earlier on. Some of us struggle with knowing what it looks like to ask for help or where or how or even allowed to. Or even necessarily to know when we should.

I'm trying to balance the self care with trying not to be self-absorbed. I'm trying to still differentiate between the two as somewhere along the way I'd been taught they are the same when it comes to me but nobody else. I'm trying not to believe this whole post is self pity bc it's really just relaying the facts. I just can't help but imagine the shit being talked about me behind my back bc I know it happens.

Idk there's no real end to this and i should be more focused at work. I just needed to dump this off.

[silverquillsideas]

sheith is pedophilia shrio was an adult and keith was a child when they met, waiting for someone to be 18 is just as fucked up bc u still have feelings for a CHILD

LOL okay here come the antis with pitchforks 🔥🔥🔥

Let me define what I (a 3rd year med student) and the rest of the scientific community, consider as "pedophilia" :

According to DSM of Mental Disorders, American Association of Psychiatry, pedophilia is defined as "intense and recurring sexual urges or fantasies about prepubescent children that are acted upon, or causes the person in question interpersonal distress"

It's a full fledged psychiatric disorder that hampers a person's normal functioning in their day to day lives, and needs medical or psychiatric attention.

With that out of the way, are you now prepared to define Shiro, an exceptionally balanced, healthy, mid-twenties young man (belonging to a futuristic science fiction universe where magical stuff like 'quintessence' exist that makes one immortal, just to give an idea of the level of high fantasy that's the world of Voltron) with the label of a "pedophile" just because a certain group of real life fans engage in an even more alternate fictional scenario where Shiro and Keith are a romantic pair?

I'm amazed by the hyperfixation of people on something that doesn't exist, in a fictional world, and something that in no way affects actual adults with pedophilic tendencies. As in, I'm pretty sure someone within the target demographics of VLD (approx age group 11 to 16) are not going to get ideas in their head, like, "Oh, okay, Sheith is a thing in the fandom? Guess what I'm going to do when I grow up? *Hit on children* because apparently, that's my only takeaway from this entire show"

Keith and Shiro met when Keith was a teenager, and Shiro was, yes, as you pointed out, an adult. But think about it, even if Sheith was canon (which it clearly isn't, in case you didn't realise), I don't think a 18 or 19 year old Shiro first saw Keith and immediately went, "Oh I like this teenage random guy, who I just met, romantically, because I am a total nutcase with disregard for normalcy".

Shiro and Keith developed a deep friendship above all else, and had enormous mutual trust and respect for each other. And I loved that about them. I have no complaints that they were not paired up in canon, because their dynamic works beautifully, as it is.

But dear anon, shipping is entirely fictional, and removed from the canon or real life rules. I'm pretty sure the fans who ship any other pairings, in any other fandom, also know this.

The people who scream about pedophilia, are teenagers, or worse, adults in their twenties or thirties who are more concerned about what unidentified, random, tumblr users, or strangers online, think about a certain aspect of fictional stories, or how they choose to engage with characters therein.

If you're uncomfortable with Sheith, or any other ship that you think will trigger you, please, my advise is, BLOCK the tag, the blog, the person who posts such content, and not go LOOKING FOR stuff that bother you.

The hot take is that : peace out, move on, grow up. Because no one should be a self entitled moral police, or have the mindset to shove their opinions down random people's throats about what they can or can't enjoy in a fandom, concerning a work of fiction.

It's everyone's space, where, at the end of the day, people go to relax and have fun. Not spend hours arguing with immature people with no sense of distinction or boundaries.

Thank you. FYI, all pointless asks/replies to this post will be promptly ignored, so don't bother. Block my blog if you want. Have a good day.

[thelastspeecher]

Hi, like your werepire ficlets! You mentioned in "Odd" that Ford almost killed Angie with wolfsbane in the werepire universe. Stan's reaction is understandable; So what's, Fiddleford, the protective brother's reaction to his friend almost killing his sister. Can't really see him stopping Stan. Was Fiddleford there when it happened, or did he find out afterwards? Would Stan & Angie stick around after that? I feel a sister-protecting-Ford-deflecting robot would be appropriate after that.

Well, Anon, you are in luck!  I was inspired by this ask to write that scene (which is actually something I’ve been meaning to do for a while).  To answer your questions that won’t get answered by the ficlet below: Stan and Angie stay in a motel a couple nights after the Incident, to get some space and allow everyone to cool off.  And Fiddleford loosens up his “I don’t really like this vampire guy hanging around Angie so much” feelings, bc he knows that Stan can protect Angie better than he can.  Fidds also refuses to cook for Ford for a few weeks.

And without further ado, here you go.  A free ficlet ;)

              Fiddleford could hear theshouting as he pulled into the driveway. He stifled a sigh.

              Great.  Those Pines men are at eachother’s throats again.  He turned offthe truck’s motor and stepped outside.

              “You coulda killed her, Stanford!”Stan’s voice screamed.  The pickup’skeys, held loosely in Fiddleford’s hand, fell to the ground.

              Her.  There’s only one “her” inthe house.  He bolted from the truck,not bothering to close the door in his haste, and tore into the house, slammingthe front door open.  Stan stood in theliving room, pinning Ford against the wall. He normally tried to hide his enlarged fangs, but they were on fulldisplay in a vicious snarl.  Fiddlefordlooked around frantically for Angie.  Hecaught sight of her, curled up in a ball on the floor a few feet from Stan andFord.

              “Banjey!” Fiddlefordshouted.  Stan and Ford looked over,startled.  Fiddleford ignored both ofthem, instead rushing to Angie’s side. Her body shuddered with deep coughs and loud wheezing.  “Banjey, what’s wrong?  What happened?”  Angie let out another wheeze.  Her eyes were watering.  Fiddleford’s heart stopped.  He recognized these symptoms.  “Where’s yer epi?”

              “Epinephrine won’t help her,”Ford said.  His voice was slightly strainedby Stan’s arm against his throat. Fiddleford whipped his head around to glare at Ford.

              “Yer not a medical doctor.  I know my sister!  She has a serious food allergy.  It looks exactly like this!”  Ford’s face paled.

              “She- she does?”

              “Yes!”

              “Right pocket,” Angie wheezed.  Fiddleford grabbed the EpiPen from the rightpocket in Angie’s jeans.  As he preparedto inject her with it, Ford shouted.

              “Wait!”

              “No, I don’t give a flyin’ darn ‘boutyer opinion, Stanford-” Fiddleford started.

              “The thing that triggered theallergic reaction is in the room.  Youneed to remove her before the epinephrine will be of use.”

              “Stanf-”

              “I’ll help,” Stan said.  He let go of Ford, who promptly fell to thefloor, and strode over.  “C’mon, Ang.”  Stan picked Angie up carefully and took heroutside, Fiddleford close behind.  Helaid her on the grass.  Fiddleford kneltbeside her and immediately used the EpiPen. Angie let out a loud gasp.  Herbreathing steadied.  After a few moments,the flush coloring her cheeks began to fade.

              “We’ll take you to the ER, don’tworry,” Fiddleford said calmly.  Angienodded.  Fiddleford stood.  “Stanley, you claim to love my sister.  Why the hell were ya wastin’ precious timearguin’ while she couldn’t breathe?” Fiddleford demanded.  Stan took a step back, visibly surprised bythe venom in Fiddleford’s voice.

              “Look, I didn’t-”

              “Ford’s fault,” Angiewheezed.  She sat up.  “It was Ford’s fault.”

              “I told ya not to eat the fancygranola he bought last week-”

              “No-” Angie started.

              “And save yer breath,junebug.  Ya need every bit of air ya canget right now.  Stan can explain thingsto me.”  Fiddleford looked at Stan.  “Well?”

              “I have no clue what happened,”Stan said.  “I was working on my car whenI heard Angie start screaming.  I raninside, and Ford was shoving something in her face, and she was completelyfreaking out, coughing and sneezing. She- she got worse while I was trying to get Ford to tell me what hedid.”

              “I didn’t mean for things to gothat poorly,” Ford’s voice said.  Fiddlefordspun around.  Ford had followed themoutside.  He had the grace to look sheepish.  “If I had known she was severely allergic tosomething already, I would have tried something else.  Lycanthropes don’t typically have such strongreactions to wolfsbane unless they ingest it.”

              “Ya shouldn’t have been tryin’ todo anything that would cause any sort of harm to- wait.”  Fiddleford stared at Ford.  “Lycanthropes?”  Ford nodded.

              “Angie’s a werewolf.”

              “A- Stanford, I told you not todiagnose my sister with some spookum disease!”

              “Fidds,” Angie said softly.  Fiddleford looked down at Angie, stillsitting on the grass.  She lookedaway.  “He’s right.”  Fiddleford sunk to his knees next to hissister.

              “What?”

              “He’s right.  He- he figured it out.  I’m-” Angie’s eyes suddenly filled with tears. Stan crouched next to Angie.

              “Ang,” Stan said.  Angie shook her head wordlessly.

              “Stanley, is- is she really-”Fiddleford started.  Stan nodded.

              “Yeah.  We figured it out pretty fast.  As far as we can tell, she got bit by awerewolf that she thought was a stray dog that needed help.  When she transformed for the first time, shewas too confused to turn back, and got stuck until I found her.”  Stan swallowed.  “We think she was trying to go home, sinceshe got all the way to Missouri from California.”

              “Oh.  Oh, dear. Oh, my poor baby sister.” Fiddleford stroked Angie’s hair. Angie let out a small sob. Fiddleford grit his teeth and stood. He glared at Ford.  “StanfordFilbrick Pines, what is wrong with you?”

              “I had to-”

              “No!  You didn’thave to poison my sister to prove she was a werewolf.  What, ya couldn’t wait until the next fullmoon?”

              “Fiddleford, I didn’t expect herto react so strongly,” Ford said, holding his hands out placatingly.

              “Ya shouldn’t have exposed her tosomethin’ ya thought she would react to at all! Even if ya thought she would just sneeze once!  Yer too foolhardy, dammit!”

              “Fiddleford-”

              “Clean up everything in the housethat could hurt my sister.  Now,”Fiddleford said firmly.  “Stan ‘n I aregoin’ to take her to the hospital.”  Fordpuffed up for a moment like he was going to argue, before deflating andsilently nodding.  He went backinside.  Fiddleford turned his attention backto Angie.  “Why didn’t you tell me?” heasked.  Angie slowly got to her feet withStan’s help.

              “I didn’t want to complicatethings,” Angie said.  “You were alreadydealin’ with a lot.  Yer missin’ sistershowin’ up out of nowhere with no memory, said sister havin’ a vampire fer aboyfriend, said vampire bein’ yer research partner’s estranged twin.  I didn’t want to add to it.  And…” Angie looked down at her feet.  “Ididn’t want you to fuss over me any more than you already were.  I’m fine. Mostly.”  She coughed.

              “You were worried ‘bout how Iwould react,” Fiddleford said.  Angienodded.  “Well, that’s fair, since I ain’tquite sure how I’d react findin’ this out under dif’rent circumstances.  But with everything that just happened, youbein’ a werewolf is the least of my worries.” Angie let out a wheeze.  “Case inpoint.  We need to take ya to the hospital.  Like ya always do after ya use yer epi.”  Angie rolled her eyes.

              “I know, Fidds.  I know.”

              “C’mon.”  Fiddleford helped Angie into the passengerseat of his pickup.  She immediatelyleaned against the window, her eyes closed. Fiddleford looked at Stan.  “Allthis time, I’ve been feelin’ a bit weird ‘bout a vampire bein’ the one torescue my sister.  But if she ain’t humanneither, it’s prob’ly fer the best it was you and not some Joe Schmoe.”  Stan grinned toothily.

              “Wow, that was almost acompliment,” Stan said.  He soberedabruptly.  “But I think so too.  Can’t imagine how a normal human wouldareacted to Angie turning into a wolf a few weeks after meeting her.  Me? Weird shit like that’s my bread and butter nowadays.”  Angie rolled down the window.

              “Are you two gents ever goin’ totake me to the hospital?” she called.  “Orshould I just walk there?”

[ursoself-satisfying]

do you think eugene is maybe scared of long boat trips? i was thinking about it the other day, maybe he plans on going on holiday with his s/o and the only way to go abroad would be on a boat right? but maybe he would get a little (a lot? im not an expert on this) ptsd while being on the boat and his s/o supporting him but not fully understanding because lets be honest, no-one apart from the soldiers fully understand this sort of stuff, and maybe there's another veteran on-board who helps him?

Before we get into it I wanna say I totally agree n that unless u actually have experienced that ur rly not gonna understand what the person is going thru n this applies to all kinds of trauma but just bc u dont understand doesnt mean u cant do ur best to or that u cant still love support n help them handle it n it doesnt mean they're not gr8tful for ur involvement even if u dont understand,, writing for post war eugene is always tricky cus I dont wanna assume ik how any of this goes or the extent of what it entails i havent done this I've barely done any research its heartbreaking tho n unfair n I just wanted to say all that before u get into this cus it's a combo of both asks but also more of a touchy subject than I feel like I've addressed here so that's just a heads up but enjoy!!

Omg eugene my bby

I def think hes still afraid of boats big time,, so when the two of u decide to go abroad for ur honeymoon it's a big decision for u two to make one w lots of beforehand discussions n considering all ur other options but in the end the push of ur families n the pull of the convenience of a boat eases u both into the decision, even tho nothing about it u kno is going to be easy,, Eugene is p nervous cus I mean the nightmares have lessened n u both have been learning how to handle his flashbacks n the like but u had never tried anything like this yet so on one hand it could be a good time to test the waters but on the other hand neither of u have any idea how itll actually go

Even just in the car on the way there he starts to get shakey n then on the dock it gets a bit worse but ur hands r on him somehow the whole time either locked in his or on his leg or arm or stuck in his pocket n that comforts him, ur touch anchors him n keeps him from drifting to worse thoughts it keeps him thinking about u instead,, its till hard tho just thinking about it being back on that boat forcing himself to remember hes going to France n it's not occupied n hes not alone n hes going to get to see the sights w his wonderful wife n thoroughly enjoy those bright French mornings n that it's going to be quiet, no more bombs or raids or alarms just u n him under thin sheets hot n sticky n just together n safe

But first,, the boat

On the boat? It was rough,, every bit of turbulence n every odd sway made him anxious n as much as u tried to entice him to enjoy more of the boats activities like a cabaret show or even just playing some chess out on the deck n tho u could get him out a few times n he did enjoy himself,, he spent most of his time in the cabin trying to ignore the fact he was on a boat at all,, the rest of his time not being coaxed out by u he spent napping in a deck chair w u often lounging beside him n watching over his sleep carefully, also making sure he didnt burn n lathering her exposed skin in sunblock as much as u could as he slept

U two kept busy in the cabin tho I mean it was ur honeymoon after all ;;;))) so he ravaged u as often as he could bc not only were u a comfort but also a distraction,, u did other things as well tho like laying n listening to ur favourite radio shows or playing guitar to him or sketching him or dancing together or once even doing a silly little fashion show where he def tripped after putting on ur heels

He did have a few attacks tho but u had prepared as best u could n even if some of ur cabin took a beating in an outburst u had always managed to talk him down n he spent a lot of time in ur arms

His breakdowns btw would come suddenly when something would trigger him like a sudden movement or a splash against ur window n then he would get angry n scared n become protective of u until his aggression bubbled over into hot tears drowned out by ur soft words of confirmation trying to tell him u were on a modest cruise liner n u were going to Europe n that the guns n the bombs n the tropical climate were all far away n u would pull him into a cold shower w u n he would often (fuck u hard first then) just cling to u n cry until he could calm down n fall asleep n if he stirred in his sleep u would repeat the process until he could sleep soundly

He was gr8tful to finally be off the boat n back on land tho n once in Paris the two of u could rly enjoy ur honeymoon beginning w breaking in ur hotel bed ;;;)))

But then the two of u got to see the Eiffel Tower n the Seine n the Louvre n Notre dame n it was all so amazing!!!! U spent half the time w ur head in ur sketchbook n he spent all his time taking photos of u w ur head in ur sketchbook lol

The photos were brilliant n sweet n excessive n there were def a few of u bare n freshly fucked (pardon my french) w the Parisian skyline out the window behind u, the morning like shining thru ur messy hair like a halo,, but there were also many of him from the perspective of u kneeling over him n many more of both of u playfully holding up the tower or picnicking in front of a cathedral w u plucking at ur guitar or him w a bottle of wine at his lips

It was all v picturesque n romantic n perfect n u thought he deserved nothing less n he thought the same for u ::""))

U spent about 4 weeks there together n he had throughly used his time to fuck u in every way possible n use every toy u brought with but then it was suddenly time to go home n u were concerned about eugene being back on the boat but he seemed less nervous when u got on n he admitted to feeling a lot better after the first trip n this time he actually went out w u n u played board games w other passengers n danced in the halls n sang w the cabaret n he still sunbathed n napped n made love to u n wrecked ur cabin n u still listened to all ur radio shows n drew n sang but ur lives felt more full somehow after this experience

Oh n u def showed off everything u had bought is Paris n as much as he loved that silk dress on u he loved peeling it off u even more ;;;)))

He rly did feel better when u were finally home to ur little cottage for the first time together as a globetrotting married couple ::"")) he felt better that he hadnt handled it nearly as bad as hed expected n urs n his trip abroad left u feeling loved n cultured n more experienced in life plus u both had taken a huge chance n now u were better for it n felt more capable n confident that he was getting better n it was an affirmation that u would take care of him n that u would always be there for him, just as u had said in ur vows ::""))

He was happy to consummate ur new marriage in ur own bed for the first time tho lol n on top of that gr8 feeling it was just gr8 that he felt less held back w u there w him especially after the boat experience

So yeah a quick note I rly do think he would be terrified of ever stepping foot on a boat again n would refuse it n be vvv adamant about not doing it again for a vvv long time but I think he could be worn down n would EVENTUALLY be ok w it but maybe not this fast n tho I dont feel like I go into much detail here he def has a hard time on the boat as well like hes just agitated the whole time n probably was prescribed some medication for it if just some motion or sea sickness meds n maybe anxiety but i would say it prolly makes him drowsy so hes kinda out of it which keeps him calm but doesnt stop certain flashbacks n maybe he lashes out n hurts someone once in a while cus it's incredibly traumatic returning to that environment but anyway yeah he would be v fidgety n not like it but in this scenario hes willing to take a chance given how well hes been recovering n how much he trusts u n how much u have helped him n the option had pull so that's why but rly I dont think irl he would have gone back on a boat anywhere near that soon but this is romantic fiction so ::))

Also I have a v specific image of who eugene is w if u cant tell lol so I'm sorry for that specificity but I'm so whipped for him n his gal I lov sm I hope u enjoy n guys I'm so motivated to finally write out the storyline I have for him I'm gonna finally get out his fic ok I promise

[bigowlenergy]

Notes on Gender, Ethnicity, and Culture

At the heart of the etoneki conflict/drama is nothing more than culture clash.

Eto may be amazing at studying others and have replicated humanity well enough to be a respected author among humans without anyone finding any clues to her ghoul nature, not even Haise in RE: - but she is still someone who was raised by ghouls. Her base nature is as a ghoul, from the 24th ward specifically. Naturally, there’s going to be some confusion between her and Kaneki, who was raised by humans.

But that leaves the good good question of what those differences should be. Clearly, some should be tiny, but there NEED to be huge misunderstandings bc I live for that kind of drama. Also, it’s a slowburn, so. that’s how it is.

this is long, and tagged for spoilers for a good reason. nothing specific, but if u like being surprised by the plot in ur grapefruit, go no further as of chapter 5

1) Ghouls have ABO while humans do not. Sure, there was a decently long time where Kaneki lived among ghouls, but can u picture early chapter Touka willingly sitting him down and giving the birds and the bees and the grasshoppers and also the spiders Talk? I think not. Maybe Kouma? Itori would. Like, they’d both kill him dead with it, but they would. And knowing the contexts within another culture doesn’t mean that you have assimilated those words/concepts to your own yourself, or that you actually know every single social detail, especially as it applies to others.

...but Eto does. And human gender/sexuality is fairly simple on the whole, except when it isn’t, so she has a leg up on him there.

plus, the way I have the ABO structured, it makes a bit more sense for him to be less aware of it, since his gender, as perceived by ghouls, is the most privileged one. Especially since its associated with deliberate power gain, which he totally played into during the later half of the first TG, so it would be a natural assumption for ghouls to make that he understood that he was acting exactly as his gender is socially expected to. and in a way that would socially cement his powerful omega status.

Tsukiyama would totally say something about it, since with the whole affluent family thing he’d probably be very aware of gender and social dynamics, but anything shuu says can be followed by “and he called me a cabbage in French last week, so okay shuu, whatever poetics ‘omega’ means to u, go ahead, have your fun buddy.” Banjou, who was involved with Rize, would be too worried about offending him or making it embarrassing to say anything. and as a ghoul even lower than shuu, he’d be super conservative about getting up in an omega’s business. It would just be this ambiguous open secret that everyone but Kaneki is totally, painfully aware of. the gasmask trio find this hilarious. Hina is a wee bab whose parent was a doctor for ghouls, so she just accepts her big bro as is.

so there’s eto’s expectations to be basically an underling to someone powerful as a normal, comfortable relationship dynamic, pitted against kaneki’s human-embedded inclination toward monogamy and not something that feels like weird bdsm domination stuff. they each are expecting a certain treatment from one another, and not getting it. eto feels neglected, since he isn’t all in her business and allowing her to settle in the shadow of his power and just ride things out, and kaneki, with only human expectations for sex, gender, and whatever the hell just happened, expects the worst from her as the “““male”““ in the relationship who manipulated him.

the conflict is that neither happens.

all of the power is on his side of the court, but in human terms, it feels like the opposite - vis a vis, human misogyny and all the horrible expectations for a sex and reproduction based marriage system that go along with that.

which is why i’ve inverted all that to make myself feel better :)

2) i kicked knots out bc idk about that business, but there have to be other physical differences. there have to be, or its boring. and then again, since both are hybrids, what should either have?

i’ve decided eto will have all physical differences or a learned equivalent due to ghoul socialization, while kaneki should have none but whatever was forced on him through his kakuhou - ie, pheromone stuff, but nothing more.

ghouls can purr, bc i am weak to that shit. Kaneki is aware of this. it’s just a Thing that they do. he’s read to Hina and she’s fallen asleep purring before and it was adorable. irimi purrs very quietly when she cleans things. uta is a purr machine when he makes masks, and it knocks yomo out unless he’s drunk, then he just purrs like a truck engine from the floor near uta’s desk for three hours. touka hasn’t purred since ayato left

eto purrs when she’s satisfied with her writing flow, which is one of the main reasons she prefers to work alone in her apartment and keep shiono out. otherwise, she doesn’t mind company. she also purrs when happy, like most ghouls. kaneki does not. i can site Haise’s RC scan on this: since he never took damage to the throat, he never had a chance to heal ‘more ghoul’ in that area.

so the exchange of a happy eto, deeply content with their uneasy peace, purring to express such delight, meets a blank wall that doesn’t agree. her social expression of happiness clashes up against kaneki only maybe leaning toward physical affection and being quiet. he can understand that she is happy, and she can understand that he can’t respond in the same way, but the dynamics of their relationship make her doubt her actions and get instinctually afraid of doing something wrong and upsetting someone much more powerful than her who also decides if she is allowed to reproduce with him or not. and stops purring and gets unsettled. kaneki is only confused and maybe she doesn’t like being touched? time to touch less. oh no, she did do Something Wrong and now omega is mad at her!! interpersonal drama escalates on both sides >:3c

ghouls have great night vision. kaneki also does and you know why. youve read the series. full ghouls have tapetum lucidum in both eyes, but eto only has it in her single ghoul eye. her vision is unbalanced in the dark but due to her learning to compensate for the slight reduction in light capture on one side she gets by just fine. it also parallels nicely with arima’s poor eyesight and learning to compensate for it.

ghouls are crepuscular while humans are diurnal, but this doesn’t matter since neither of etoneki know what a sleep schedule is. and the 24th ward doesn’t experience day/night cycles, so they have their own issues with sleeping when safe, do not sleep when not safe.

ghouls tend toward pack structure, but not in a rigid way where there can only be one omega/powerful ghoul per unit. as long as everybody gets along personally, its fine. omega don’t see each other as competition. alpha toss themselves at their feet without prompting. they’re not a scarce resource. alpha don’t even really fight over omega unless completely affected by heat and rut cycles and unable to grasp the concept of maybe next time. but even that is rare, mostly only those who are jealous as a person attempt this. if alpha fight over an omega and one wins, the omega might just kill them for taking away some of their prospects, or might be impressed by the show of strength. or annoyed by it, bc they want weak underlings. depends on the person. (eto is more than a bit possessive, at least for his first heat.)

more on this point as i think of it.

3)  I haven’t specified kaneki’s personal gender identity for a reason. that reason is that i’m not sure what direction i want to go. this is strictly for maman, not Sugar, which is trans girl Sasako forever. for this piece of feti/sh garbage? whom knows! (I know. and until word of god says otherwise - i’m god - every character is trans.)

but really, there’s options. and i love them all.

A) kaneki was trans all along. hide is best bi bud. aunt was a bitch, but nothing worse than canon since he was closeted at the time, although he doubly prepared to never speak to her again. (true neutral)

B) woke up a ghoul and with new parts. why believe a species change but not a sex change, eh? heightens the early game confusion and search for id as a person whose major ids have changed against his will. (lawful neutral)

C) gradual transformation. like how he came into his strength as a ghoul slowly. read a doujin like this once. was okay. quality art, big titties, 8/10. ngl would read the sequel. (Perhaps I am writing the sequel? aren’t we all just chasing our Brands across the lonely internet, hopping from one computer virus to the next? maybe u die reading hentai, or u live long enough to see urself post to ao3.) (chaotic neutral)

D) heals himself a new set of parts due to intense damage. see the haise RC chart, which has a ton of pathways around the hips/torso area. parallels with cutting eto in half?? (also lawful neutral)

E) started happening as a transformation when eto’s pheromones triggered his heat cycle for the first time. boy would he be pissed at her X2 lmao (lawful evil)

F) transformation during #240 time due to losing all memory and only having instinct to structure his body with, and just enough RC pathways to make a hormone based transformation possible. Chiba would have had a field day, but also would have torn out his horrible bowl cut in confusion. get rekt bud. not even #240 knows wtf goin on (neutral evil)

G) maybe he just wanted a vag! thought about that?? learns he is supposed to be able to manipulate his flesh like his kagune, which he is canonically great at, and just Goes For It. it works. he is a strong, dependent idiot who don’t need no dick. (iconic)

H) same as above, but that’s just what Haise does when he has the reigns. looks deep into his pastless self and asks ‘do i have to put up with this cis nonsense? not today.’ (chaotic iconic)

I) it happens suddenly when he activates his kakuja for the first time. queer the monster transformation u wish to see in the world. just. so confused. but also there’s Guilt to be felt about banjou and amon and such, so that’s back burner. (chaotic evil)

okay, so in like fifteen minutes i was able to name 9 perfect opportunities for ishida to carry though the motif of 1)iding with female ghouls 2)paralleling with canon trans man mutsuki 3)litcherally having a female ghoul organ donation fiasco 4)being associated with vacillating between masculine yang and feminine yin black/white 5)having a narrative that revolved around accepting his body and learning to find his own strength and id that is different than what he was born with - but coward ishida stopped sixty miles short of the mark. fool. I Cannot Feast Upon Crumbs, Sir. Sir, You Have Given Me Airplane Peanuts For Supper. Sir, I Am Starving And Antagonistic At Best.

(i shouldn’t call him a coward. three huge series magically having the same Wife And Kids ending all during the time shinzou abe is in office? probably not a coincidence. hope they got a good payout for it. i’d sell out for that $$$ too tbh)

eto is just an alpha. her human social id is a Normal Human Female Who Is Totally Cis and Straight for maximum social acceptance and ease of integration, but that’s only her mask. her personal id is an alpha, which is cis by ghoul standards, and she uses she/her pronouns bc she feels like it. she has the power to id as above alpha, but she enjoys the social invisibility it gives her, since she can blend in the background whereever and noone looks at her presumably weak ass twice. like chie, but for nefarious purposes.

....does that make her the equivalent of a ghoul feminist? i’m getting Too Deep

4) the wards can be isolated and far apart, and its been explored in canon with the Three Blades family and the white suites - congrats u 2 - and ghoul organizations that have a home ward having distinct cultural differences from one another. small ethnic groups and isolated diaspora? natives? subset?? of whatever the 24th ward ghouls - sorry, tokyo humans - are.

this sort of thing is only tangentially related to kaneki. if someone with a texas accent teaches someone to speak english, that person will have that accent, whether they’v ever been to texas or not. so he has some of the social mannerisms of a 20th ward ghoul, but generally still has a lot of ingrained human attributes to confuse them.

5) i’m still fascinated by the half finished thought about there are just some ghouls who become binge eaters in canon. like Rize wasn’t special for it. I think shinohara mentioned this?? but. it makes sense. general food insecurity, lack of permanent social support, total oppression, absurd power levels, plenty of humans to take it out on...ye.

and kaneki has the kakuhou of an adult binge eater. there’s cool hints of the kakuhou being parasitic, so a mature one would def fall into the biological fulfillment of binge eating for strength and carry that genetic knowledge into a new host. and from there, it would induce cravings, serotonin reward systems, and all that good stuff to get what its come to like.... like, mayhaps, a cordycepts? ;)

well, i’ve put ‘binge eater’ down as just a general omega trait, since it feels authentic to do so, so we’ll see what i do with this in the future. i will also see, since i too am ignorant of my own self. what will my horny subconscious do next? i am usually the last to know.

anyway,

peace

[welovekpopscenarios]

Friction (Fallout!AU Woozi x Reader)

Admin: Mimi

With your rifle damaged, you had no other choice than head to the nearest city to get it repaired. You didn’t expect the person doing the job to be such an insufferable jerk, however. But things become interesting the more you get to know the man repairing your weapon. Fallout/Post-Nuclear War!AU.

Fandom: Seventeen

Genre: Fluff, Angst

Pairing: Woozi x Reader

Warnings: Language, mentions of violence, Woozi and Reader being assholes to each other

Word Count: 3955

A/N: Will I ever stop writing for Seventeen? No. Will I ever stop writing game au’s? Probably not. As I said in my Mingyu one, don’t get put off by this being a Fallout AU, it isn’t that central to the story, and I hope it’s still enjoyable for everyone to read, but just ask me if there’s anything you’re confused about, I’ll be happy to answer! I wanted to write for Woozi bc I absolutely adore him and why not write for your bias wrecker haw haw help. But yeah, this is a classic enemies to lovers trope bc I’m a sucker for that type of stuff. Also just picture Jihoon being like, a weapons mechanic or whatever and being sweaty and working hard and ugh stop it. I really hope you give it a chance and enjoy it! Happy reading, ily all!

 - PART 2 -

The heat of the sun bore down on your skin, sweat pooling into nearly every crevice of your body as the sun seared into the leather bonds and cotton long johns that sat on your frame as a pathetic excuse for armour, leaving you more than irritably sticky and exhausted. The gravel crunched beneath your boots as you made your way through the tore up streets, dodging stray pipes ready to slice your head off from their position in the walls and climbing over car wreckages whose engines have long been silenced over 200 years ago, eyes half-heartedly scanning the corners for raiders or thugs ready to point their pistols at you and steal the caps stashed at the bottom of your rucksack.

Not that you felt like you cared at the moment, to be quite honest. The blaring sun and the hours long walk, sneaking past enemies and taking out the ones who caught you have, to put it frankly, completely drained you faster than you drained all your water supplies in a single day. A raider could easily pop out from whatever hidey hole he’s dug himself, put a shiny one right between your half-closed eyes, and you’d thank him for putting you out of your misery. You were that tired.

And what made this hellish journey even worse was your destination – and your problem. Some time ago your favourite rifle took a tumble from your position on the broken, open second floor of a house you were staying in one night, and when you hopped down to retrieve it, you were heartbroken to find it smashed at the barrel, trigger bent sideways, and completely useless.

Normally you would just toss the weapon aside and grab the newest one you could find, making do, a common occurrence in the wasteland. But this rifle meant something to you, it was special. It was your first one, given to you by your father before he…well. It was important to you, and you needed it fixed. Unfortunately, you didn’t know how to repair the thing, and so that brought you to start your trek towards the last place you wanted to be.

Diamond fucking City. "The Great Green Jewel" of the Commonwealth.

Diamond City – while a hub of trade, services, security and life – was also home to complete nutters and crazies, and that wasn’t even counting the ones trying to kill you yet. Brawlers, thieves, con-artists, and now synths were apparently added to the mix, the city was a complete shitshow, to put it kindly, and to put the icing on the sweetroll, it was all controlled by a racist asshole who liked to keep his civilians as obedient as he thought he could. But, that being said, the city was the only successful one in the Commonwealth, booming with activity, and the only one you somewhat trusted closest to you.

And so you walked for days on end; starving, parched, and sick of it all. Your lips were cracked and drier than the trees standing in the countryside, feet more swollen than a Super mutants head, and limbs moving slower than a Brahmin cow. But still you walked. And by the grace of whatever sadistic deity left above, you reached the entrance of the city, the guards shifting in their positions and shooting you suspicious glares. The one directly outside the gates lifted his gun to you, standing straighter, prepared to shoot you down where you (barely) stood should you try anything. Not that you had the energy, even if you wanted to.

“Hold up,” he grunted, shoulders hunched into a defensive position while you wavered in place, swaying slightly side to side in order to keep yourself upright. “Who’re you and what’s your business here?”

You tried to reply, you really did, but all that came out was a lousy croak of your name, followed by a short coughing fit. “I’m here for weapon repairs,” you managed, breathing heavy, and so completely done with this conversation already. As if you were going to make the city any worse.

The guard shuffled, moving his balance foot to foot, as he mulled you over, eyeing you head to toe. A guard taking watch on the rafters whistled to grab his attention, the young mans’ eyes flitting upwards to him in surprise.

“Let em in, Kookie. They ain’t gonna cause any problem, and they’re just here for business. Just let em through,” he ordered, the toothpick in his mouth moving with each syllable that rolled off of his tongue, scratching at his back lazily as he leaned against the railings. The guard – Kookie – furrowed is brows in uncertainty, eyes flickering between your deadpan face and the other guard. He licked nervously at his lips, fingers fumbling around his rifle.

“But, Johnny, Mayor McDonough said-“

“McDonough said keep the bad ones out. And my excellent judge of character says they ain’t a bad one,” he drawled, fixing Kookie with a look that screamed ‘are you that dumb?’ “McDonough also don’t want anything stopping business in his city, especially a greenie guard. That’ll look very bad on you, kid.”

Kookie look like he wanted to say more, but what could he say? He was only new, and Johnny has been manning the entrance for years. He has to trust his superior. Nodding in satisfaction at Kookie’s compliance, he turned his gaze to you, flashing a smile enough to rival the Cheshire Cat’s you’ve seen in those books your father showed you when you were little. “I’ll open up the gate for you. Head on in, dollface. Welcome to Diamond City.”

You were too dead to make a comment on the nickname, instead throwing a lacklustre salute in Johnny’s direction and ignoring Kookie’s scowl as his eyes followed your form, heading deeper into most popular civilisation in the Commonwealth.

What struck you first was the lights, the entire city lit top to bottom in various types – open flame, bulbs, neon signs, even floodlights – the entire city illuminated and glowing, which only served to highlight the mass of citizens sprawled throughout the area. The noise levels were high, something you weren’t used to unless it was from the occasional scream of pain in the distance. The noise was filled with chatter, people actually having conversations, or promoting their trade from their stalls scattered throughout the centre, and music from the city’s radio station echoed throughout the space faintly, creating an almost happy atmosphere as you walked to the centre.

It was completely alien to you, to see this many people together and not have them try to shoot you, or watching them fight, or any other negative you could find in the book. It also made you do a double take on the city’s reputation. While you were cautious of the metropolis, a seed of mistrust planted firmly in the pit of your gut, you reasoned that the city wouldn’t have stood for as long as it did if it really was full of lunatics and thugs. Maybe this place wasn’t that bad.

Maybe.

When your jaded eyes landed on what looked to be a restaurant in the very centre, manned by one of those Protectron robots and wearing what looked to be an absurd chef’s hat placed neatly on his metallic head and stirring a large pot, you nearly wept with relief, dragging your heavy legs and plonking yourself on one of the stools, burying your head into your arms on the counter in front of you and heaving the longest sigh you think you’ve ever made in your existence.

"Nan-ni shimasho-ka?"

You slowly raise your head from its place in your arms, eyes searching around the area for the person who addressed you, only finding one guy sitting a seat away from yours, slurping on noodles contentedly.

"Nan-ni shimasho-ka?"

You faced forward, the lights on the Protectron gleaming as he spoke, the waves in his voice bouncing with an electronic twinge. You shot him a confused stare, but he was unperturbed as expected of a robot, continuously stirring his large pot of noodles automatically.

“What?” you asked, positively baffled. Were you too tired to understand basic speech now?

"Nan-ni shimasho-ka?"

You heard a chuckle resonate near you from the only other occupant at the noodle bar. He shot you a friendly grin when you turned your head, still chuckling in pity at your expression.

“Just say yes,” he told you ominously, and while you narrowed your eyes in distrust, you did as instructed.

“Ye-es,” you dragged out the word, confusion lacing your tone and a brow raised on your dirtied face. The robot’s metal claws picked up a bowl from the table, monotonously spooning noodles into the chipped ceramic dish and pushing it towards you when he was finished.

“That’s Takahashi, he cooks the noodles here,” the man explained, inclining his head to the robot who happily stirred his pot. “The noodles cost 20 caps, just put em in the box on the bar.”

Nodding in understanding, you took the sufficient caps from your bag, placing them in said box and promptly digging in, practically inhaling the food your stomach cried out for in the past few days, barely even feeling the burn on your tongue as you swallowed the savoury substance, eyes nearly falling shut in happiness.

“Thanksh man,” you mumbled around a mouthful, too impatient and hungry to stop eating and address the guy who helped you. He smiled slightly at you as you ate, spooning his own a lot more gracefully into his mouth.

“No problem, I was confused when I first got here too. I’m Scoups,” he introduced, hand reaching out to shake your own, his nearly encasing yours whole with how large it was. You returned the greeting once you swallowed. The red glow from the fairy lights strung around the tarp of the noodle bar cast shadows on his smiling face, a genuine smile, such a rare sight in the wasteland. “So, what brings you to Diamond City? Looking for a place to stay?”

You licked sauce off your lips, swirling your noodles absentmindedly in their bowl. You nodded, nails tapping against the table. Scoups bobbed his head in understanding, folding his thick arms on the countertop. “Do you know anyone who can repair weapons?” you asked, and Scoups grinned, mischief swirling in his dark orbs.

“Look around,” he laughed, a wave of his arm accentuating his words, your eyes roaming the space that was littered with all types of services – from mechanics, armourers, merchants, even a hairdresser. “The better question would be where can’t you get it repaired. Pick your poison. But if I were you, I’d go see Woozi. He’s the best in the City for a reason. I’ll take you to see him after you’ve finished eating. You look exhausted.”

You smiled at him in gratitude, one he returned amiably, and finished your meal, listening to him as he explained the layout and manners of the infamous Green Jewel that was Diamond City. A short while later with a belly blissfully stuffed and feeling rejuvenated, you followed Scoups as he led you to one of booths in the city, this one covered with various bits and pieces from weapons hung around the sides and a simple metal sign with ‘Woozi’s’ carved into it hanging high above. Scoups didn’t walk the full distance to the stall, only pointed out its location and mumbling a ‘good luck with him, you’ll need it’ and a ‘see you later’ before he was heading off in the direction of what looked to be a bar.

Edging closer to the stall, you could see the parts more clearly, the grey of the booth littered with scopes and barrels along the walls, some weapons sitting on display on random boxes for all to see, looking in better condition than any gun you’ve ever seen, even shiner than anything you’ve ever seen. Standing at the entrance, the stall was smaller than expected, only bearing the essentials and locks for protection. Sitting at a workbench was who you suspected to be the man himself, fiddling with a shotgun and a look of utmost concentration upon his face that could only ever be found on the most skilled marksmen.

Sweat lined his forehead, falling from his hairline and down his temple, and the occasional oil mark was splattered across his face, on his cheeks, chin, even the bridge of his nose. His teeth bit into the skin of his lower lip, the flesh red and plump from constant worry, and his eyebrows were furrowed almost angrily, as if frustrated with his work, twitching every so often in annoyance, nostrils flaring with every heavy breath that ached to leave his chest. He was definitely one of the better-looking men you’ve seen in the wasteland – a strange feeling in your chest spreading through your tired limbs the longer you stared at him. He had a strange allure, certainly, a man dedicated to his craft with an air of no nonsense about him that was a well needed trait for survival. And that tingly feeling in your stomach was certainly strange, perhaps even more alien to you than the city you stood in.

“You’re in my light.”

Huh?

“What?”

A sharp exhale left the lips you’ve been focusing on far too much to be normal just moments ago, his gloved hands placing the shotgun down carefully and shifting in his stool to face you, pulling the gloves off finger by finger as he stared at you with an expression that almost made you flush with embarrassment, as if you had just done the most stupid thing possible.

“I said,” he spoke deliberately slow, like one would when dealing with a child who didn’t understand what they’ve done was bad, and it had sparks of annoyance flashing through you. The nerve of this guy! “You’re in my light. Or are you deaf? Too many beatings to the head?”

You now understood why Scoups wished you luck when dealing with this guy. You needed it, because each passing second only made you want to punch this guy so hard he’ll be headed straight for New Vegas on the other side of the country.

“There’s light everywhere, jackass,” you retorted, glancing around and at the sky. It was still midday, still hot as hell, and just when you thought you were feeling better, you get sent to this jerk who’ll be responsible for fixing your rifle. If you’ll even let him, at this point. “Or are you that petty?”

Woozi looked untroubled by your comment, resting his left elbow on the table and leaning his weight on it, a smirk playing at the edges of his lips. A smirk you wanted to kick right off his pretty face.

“I need to be able to see what I’m doing. You don’t get to be the best in the city by doing a half-assed job,” he boasted, looking as smug as a raider who just found a huge box of caps on some poor helpless traveller he butchered.

“Then I suggest find a candle and some matches, day light doesn’t last forever,” you suggested cheekily, pleased with the scoff he gave and downturn of his lips. God, this was infuriating. You don’t know why you’re getting so worked up over this. “I need my rifle repaired,” you settled for getting straight to the point. The sooner you could get into a bed, the better.

“Well, no shit. It’s kinda what I do,” he sassed, his stupid perfect brow raised and dark eyes scanning your form, head to toe. You squirmed under his scrutiny, suddenly conscious of the dust caked on your face, the scars littering your body, the dirt hidden beneath your nails. It was foolish, really. Things like good looks and hygiene weren’t a priority anymore, but for some reason you felt like you should have at least scrubbed up a bit before coming to see this man.

Which was absolutely ridiculous. It’s not like you had to impress him.

Certainly not.

You barked out a sarcastic laugh in response, face dry and showing no semblance of humour whatsoever. “Funny, twerp,” his lip curled into a snarl at the insult, “I know that. I was told to come here because you were apparently good. Scoups sent me.”

“Scoups?” he questioned in faint surprise. He hummed, regarding you thoughtfully before eventually sighing in resignation. “Show me this rifle of yours, and I’ll see what can be done,” he sat up straighter, hands facing palm up and awaiting your prized possession. You reached into your rucksack for the rifle that lay sadly at the bottom, dragging it out carefully and placing it into his hands, watching as that concentrated expression from before returned to his face, looking much older than you expect it to be.

His slender fingers toyed with the weapon, running up and down the barrel, pushing the trigger around and giving it a shake, an awful rattling noise resounding from the simple action and simultaneously putting a grimace on both your face and Woozi’s. After another moment of inspection, he placed the rifle down on the table next to the shotgun and left his stool to rummage through crates of spare parts and tools, metal clanging bouncing against the walls of his booth.

“I’ve never seen a barrel that badly smashed before,” he observed, planting various tools onto the surface of the workbench, the table soon filling with wrenches and screwdrivers and pliers, more than you’ve ever seen in one spot before. Taking a seat once again at the table, he placed the shotgun to the side, focusing his attention on your rifle again as he brought it to eye level, a tut of frustration leaving his mouth. “I can fix the trigger no problem, but the barrel is another story. If I was you, kid, I’d just dump it and get a new-“

“No!” you blurted out, panic putting a fresh weight on your chest. You needed this to get fixed. Woozi stared at you in bewilderment, eyes wide in confusion and fingers stalling their movements. There was a beat of silence as you simply stared at each other; Woozi silent as he awaited and explanation, and you silent in shame, heat crawling up your neck. “Please,” you plead, voice near mute but heavy with desperation. “This gun means a lot to me, and I really need it fixed. I can’t do without it. Please.”

It must have been the waver in your voice, or perhaps the shake of your hands, or even the dulling of your eyes that had Woozi’s hardened stare softening until was just blank, returning his gaze to the weapon in question. His tongue poked at his cheek and you watched the action, a cold feeling freezing your body in place as you waited in horrible anticipation. He glanced at you out of the corner of his eyes, swiftly looking away when he met your saddened expression, a faint blush blossoming on his skin, and then he was rolling his eyes, huffing out a quick breath and turning his body around.

“It’s gonna take some time, and a lot of supplies,” he announced, his glare having lost the venomous edge it had and instead just a plain old bothered expression similar to an old man’s. “But, I might be able to get it fixed. No promises though,” he added quickly, but you were too elated to really care, body sagging in relief and a grin stretching ear to ear on your muddy visage.

“Thank you so much,” you beamed, that heavy weight lifting off your chest and your heart feeling brighter for what felt like the first time in months. The blush on his face grew darker as he saw you smile, his own smirk growing on his lips as he gave you a sly look.

“Gonna cost you a good amount of caps too so don’t look too happy, sugar,” he drawled, and your joy began to deflate slowly like air out of a tire. Right, the cost. Shit.

“What’s the damage?” you inquired, forehead creasing in worry as you thought of the little cache in your bag. Fuck, you didn’t need this to burn a hole in your savings, you still need to find a room to stay in and get food and drink. Woozi examined his tools and the rifle, mentally calculating the effort it would take to repair it.

“Giving the time and supplies I need, I’d say around…500-600 caps.”

“500 fucking caps?!” you shrieked. “I don’t even have half of that! And I still need to find somewhere to stay!” Fucking hell, you really couldn’t get a break, could you?

Woozi made a hissing noise that sounded like it was half in mock sympathy, shrugging his shoulders in a ‘what can you do about it?’ sort of motion. “Well, I guess you’re gonna have to find some work around the city then. Plenty that needs to be done, I’m sure. In the meantime, I’ll be slaving away over your precious rifle. But it’ll be done. I’m not a genius for nothing. So, will you have the money or does this conversation end here?”

Your fists clenched at your sides, once again supressing to urge to knock his teeth out of his skull, and clearly, he could tell, smirk growing and eyes narrowing in a challenge. “I’ll have the money. Just…please fix that rifle. I’ll pay you when you’re done.”

“Don’t worry, your rifle will get repaired. But I only accept half up front, and the rest when the jobs done,” he explained. Ah, just another bit of Deathclaw shit dropped on top of your day. This’ll leave you with a dent in your caps, hopefully you can find some work soon, or else you’ll be broke and living on the streets without any way to pay for the gun you’ve walked miles to sort.

“Fine,” you grumbled, hands hurriedly pulling the box out from the bottom and pouring them directly onto Woozi’s workbench, watching as some toppled off the edge and onto the floor of his workshop, loud clinks ringing in their wake. At least you still have that other little bag of caps hidden in your spare clothes. Woozi looked pissed at the mess you made, chest blowing up and deflating thickly as he tried to contain his anger. After all, he couldn’t really say much, you had given him the caps.

“There should be around 220 caps in that,” you announced, closing your bag and shifting it on your back. “I’ll have the rest when you’re done. Bye”

And then you were off, walking back into the throng of people of Diamond City, eyes open for any opportunity for work and shoulders slumped in misery. Woozi was baffled by you, to say the least. In all his time working in this God-forsaken shithole of a city, he’s never met anyone quite like you, quite so…like him. He’s met compliant, kind customers, and he’s met outright assholes who he almost refused to service if the pay wasn’t worth it, but you were different. He got a kick out of how much he pissed you off, how your lovely face would scrunch up in irritation, and tasted his own medicine when you threw it right back at him. Definitely more than meets the eye, with you. But as he stared at your rifle, thumbs rubbing against the dents and cracks, he figured that he’d be done with you soon once this was over and never have to see you again.

Oh, how wrong he was.

And oh, what an interesting week this will prove to be.

[eeveelutionsforequality]

@mod vape, do you have any tips for dealing with hypersexuality or addiction? bc uh. getting off hurts. idk if it’s specifically because ive been doing it so goddamn much or because of the fucking legion of medical problems i have, but it’s DEFINITELY making my abdominal pain worse and i dont know how to stop gjdfjhk.

Well, firstly, go to the doctor about that pain - there are injuries, illnesses, sexual dysfunctions, and all sorts of things from that could be causing a pain like that (it could be a pulled muscle, a cyst, maybe you aggravated a pre-existing health issue, etc), and it's best to rule out anything too dangerous as soon as you can, and to treat anything treatable. Even if it is tied to or caused by overdoing sex/masturbation, just mitigating that habit isn't guaranteed to fix it.

I was getting some pretty bad pain from even small dildos/vibrators, and I decided to go to the doctor in case it was something dangerous - thankfully, it turned out to just be a sexual dysfunction (basically spasms and tightening of the muscles in the vagina, in my case caused by trauma). I was supposed to get therapy for it, but I never went because I was having another therapy at the time and my carer was like "But what if they cancel each other out!?" and I was like "That's not how it works..." Sometimes it acts up but I think I've got it mostly under control. I've also had to go to the doctor for sprained/strained wrists more times than I would like to admit... I used to be like "Oh I played my guitar for too long" or "Oh I think I leant on my walking stick for too long" and now I'm just like "Wanker's cramp".

Trust me and my plethora of injuries when I say that doctors are professionals, they went to medical school, they see genitalia on a daily basis, they've seen eyes and ears and giant sores full of puss... it's really rare to get a doctor that will look down upon or judge you for that. Sure you'll get the odd "You should masturbate less", "Here's a big speech about the risks of STDs and pregnancy", "Have you told your therapist about this", but it's more of an "I'm contractually obliged to impart medical advice" than an "I think you're gross" 99% of the time.

Secondly, I do have tips, but I'm still hella bad at dealing with my own issues - I still smoke more than I want to, drink til I puke, sleep with strangers, lose days to laying in bed alone, have an aching pain in my wrists, etc. Obviously I don't have all of the answers, so I can't promise that they'll be the best tips in the world - it's worth doing some more research of your own, and it might be worth talking to your doctor/therapist if you can't manage it on your own.

You haven't given much detail about how specifically it affects you or what the addiction is to (sexual stuff in general, masturbation, casual sex, porn, etc), so I'm going to try to cover as much as I can (like dealing with sexual thoughts about people in your life, limiting the number of times you masturbate, etc) and I hope that at least some of what I say is useful to you.

Okay, so the first tip I have is: try not to slip into the mentality that cold turkey is the only way to go if it's not what you want - thinking "I can't have this. I'm not allowed this." can increase cravings. Thinking "I'm allowed this later... if I stay motivated not to do it now and if I only do it in moderation, and it's gonna be great." can make waiting out those cravings a lot easier, provided you have the self-control to not slip back into a bad habit after once.

Ways to avoid slipping back into bad habits include: having time (or number of the thing) limits for when and how long you are allowed, having something to do afterwards that takes your mind off it (for example "once I've done it once, I have to get up, take out the rubbish, email my boss, read that global warming article, and get ready for bed"), other rewards/punishments (put a book you really want in your Amazon basket then click "save for later", if at the end of the fortnight you've accomplished your goal then buy the book, if you fail the fortnight resets and you have to wait two more weeks - set smaller goals with smaller rewards, and larger goals with larger rewards), keeping and going over a diary so that you can see what worked and what didn't, if there's a pattern to failures, progress even if you're not meeting goals (at which point try to make the upcoming goals a little easier since you're expecting too much of yourself), and so on.

Secondly, and it's the most generic tip ever but it's SUPER important for addictions because they can damage your pre-frontal cortex... healthy diet, exercise, meditation, mental exercises, getting some sun, and other daily tasks are super important.

You need to get into the habit of something like reading or pottery or drawing for at least half an hour to an hour every day - turn off your internet, games, distractions, and maintain concentration on what you're doing. This helps repair the effects that addictions can have on your pre-frontal cortex and dopamine receptors by activating the parts of your brain that work towards maintained motivation and focus for smaller or distant rewards, which in turn will help your brain work normally again, which in turn will increase motivation and willpower.

Cooking more difficult meals will have similar benefits and a healthy diet improves your overall health. Exercise does the same even more effectively than either, and it has the added bonus of energizing you, increasing your focus on other tasks that you do afterwards, various health benefits, lifting your mood, and helping you be tired by the end of the day so that you'll be able to sleep easier - insomnia is a really dangerous trigger for any addiction, but especially a masturbation or sex addiction, because you're in an environment that is associated with that behaviour and the behaviour makes it easier to sleep afterwards, so you've every reason to start doing it if you find yourself unable to sleep.

Which brings me on to another reason why keeping a diary is especially important - you need to isolate your triggers. Establish what happened immediately before the behaviour, what you were thinking, and what potentially led to the behaviour. Then you can work towards either avoiding those triggers, lessening them, being mindful of them, or training yourself to exhibit a different behaviour in response to them - for example, if having a shower triggers you to masturbate, try singing in the shower instead, training your brain to react to showers with the urge to sing instead of the urge to masturbate.

You might also want to try sleeping meds, so that you can take them, read until they start to kick in, and then immediately go to bed and try to sleep - that way there's less of a gap between going to bed and falling asleep where something could happen.

Routine can also be really helpful for some people - you're supposed to fall asleep between about 10pm and 1am for optimal sleep, and you're supposed to wake up between 6 and 8 hours later. Get out of bed as soon as you wake up to avoid lethargy, and either exercise or go for a short walk, or do something that starts your brain and body working for the day. After that, prepare breakfast, don't watch TV or distract yourself while you eat. Continue the day with a routine that works for you, and you could set a time at which you will masturbate (or maybe a date you're allowed to go to the club and pull... how you work in routine if you have a long-term sexual partner is something you would need to talk to them about) that doesn't interfere with your routine.

Avoid bars, pubs, clubs, tinder, grindr, and anything else that can be a trigger for that or makes quick hook-ups easy - I know that I can go to the pub near me (because there'll be nobody there for that, it's an "old people come here to watch football" pub), and that I can go to a pub or bar with friends if I'm having a good day, but making sure that my flat wasn't within walking distance of a club and deleting dating apps was really helpful to me (it meant that even if the temptation was there the effort required to act on it was too much and took too long, so I'd catch myself).

I also log off any tumblr that I'm following people on that post NSFW, porn, sexual stuff or anime stuff if necessary - just like how I log off any tumblrs where I follow political blogs if I'm getting overwhelmed by that. But it is still good to have a tumblr for NSFW stuff, to have somewhere that you can express certain things, reblog things, feel less alone, enjoy things that you enjoy - don't demonize the side of you that likes sex, don't lock it in a cell in the back of your head, just tell it that it can't control you.

I'm also working on not putting myself in as many situations that can make me feel like I'm being too flirty or as many situations that cause too many uncomfortable or sexual thoughts at a time when they're stressing me - like, I don't come online as much when I'm drunk now, I don't have as many sleepovers, and I don't tend to maintain physical contact for as long (like, I don't hold hands as often as I used to), for example.

That said, you can't live out your life hiding from people who your brain might think something sexual about - isolating yourself is unhealthy. Humans are social creatures and social interaction is good for us, talking to people about our problems is good for us, distractions and fun are good for us. I find structured social plans make things easier - so, I like plans like "lets cook together then eat the awesome meal", "lets go see a movie", "lets go to the town center and taste hot chocolate from as many cafés as we can before I puke", "lets go to the fair" and things like that (that said, agoraphobia is awful and ruins like 90% of my social interaction). Keep people in your life who you're comfortable with and who make you happy.

Remember that what you're thinking or mental images that pop into your head aren't evil, it doesn't mean that you have a crush on them, that you actually want to do sexual things with them, that you can't be their friend, or anything like that... they're just thoughts. You didn't choose them. Just let them pass.

Your surroundings and triggers are incredibly important things to stay on top of though, be that to mitigate stress in social situations, or to prevent you from engaging in more sex/masturbation than you want to or than is safe for you to.

Don't spend your day in the same place that you masturbate - even if you don't live alone you can avoid being in bed when you're in your room, you could get a sofa, beanbag, comfy chair, gigantic cushion, or other comfortable place to sit in your bedroom so that you don't have to be in your bed, and put that in a part of your room with different posters/decoration to those around your bed.

Lots of things can become associated with certain behaviours in your brain, from sitting in a certain place to feeling a certain emotion. Try to avoid being too exposed to those things at times when you don't intend to be doing something sexual, and replace them with other things that make you happy, keep you distracted, and aid in training concentration and willpower (maths games, board games, card games, puzzles, reading, cooking, exercise, drawing, writing, etc).

Even things like separating any porn or sexual pictures in your phone into a hidden folder instead of having it pop up when you go to look for pictures, or keeping magazines or the pornhub bookmark out of sight, can really help with lessening the regularity with which things pop into your head.

Finally, and I've hinted at it throughout this, mindfulness and meditation are things that many addicts find incredibly helpful. It's really worth doing some googling, watching some YouTube videos, and learning those techniques (and it's good to be doing research in general into ways to help addictions or hypersexuality disorders, because there are quite a few schools of thought and there are probably a lot of things that I've missed).

Meditation, like reading and exercise, helps train your mind into maintaining focus, not reacting to distractions and urges, relaxing, letting thoughts pass by, and being less hectic and loud - it also has health benefits, can help you sleep, can help you take time from your busy schedule to yourself (an urge that may have been previously feeding the addictions instead, as they can be linked to a need for control), and can help you work through thoughts or anxieties.

Mindfulness helps in various ways too - for example, smokers found that being mindful (observing, essentially) helped them quit because it led to them paying more attention to how bad the cigarette tasted, and it also allowed them to non-judgmentally observe the cravings that they felt, observe why they were feeling those cravings, and allow them to pass by. It's about letting your thoughts exist, letting things exist, acknowledging them, but not letting them control you.

You can study mindfulness for yourself - research it online, read one of the many books about it, watch YouTube videos, etc - or you can go to the doctor and ask for a therapy that teaches mindfulness (I found learning about it in my own time more helpful, and have had more success with that, but I think that was mostly related to not having a great therapist - plus, online gives me more opportunities to look into the how and why, to see how other people do it, to look deeper into it, to take as long as I need, while therapy was just an elderly lady snapping at me for using my phone and telling me to imagine that my thoughts are clouds and distracting me constantly).

So yeah...

Step 1: Go to the doctors for that pain, it's probably something minor but it's better safe than sorry.

Step 2: Do more research, Mod Vape doesn't know everything.

Step 3: Keep a diary and try to isolate what things are triggering you, what you're feeling beforehand, and be mindful of what you're thinking, what you're feeling, and what you're gaining/losing from the experience.

Step 4: Try to keep yourself away from things that trigger you, but also remember that you don't have to entirely abstain from valuable things - you can train new reactions as responses to those things, you can work on self-control, and so on.

Step 5: Work on your routine, diet, exercise, habits, and hobbies, so that you can improve your willpower, motivation, and health.

Step 6: Research and practice meditation and mindfulness.

Step 7: Set and work towards small goals, rewarding yourself for successes and keeping track of your progress.

Step 8: If you can't control the addiction or behaviour, if the thoughts are becoming difficult to live with, if these problems continue to cause you distress, there is no shame in seeking professional help. You don't have to do this alone.

Remember that chemical imbalances and other neurological issues can cause such things - if you can't manage it alone, that could be a warning sign that something serious or physiological is going on. Not being able to quit doesn't necessarily mean that somebody's "not trying hard enough", and instead of beating yourself up talk to somebody who can do blood tests, scans, or whatever else is necessary to make sure that you're okay and that you overcome your struggles.

~ Vape

[queen-scribbles]

Last Night Tavi

Based on several prompts from @haledamage for the PoE Fic Swap 2017. On AO3 here.   I couldn’t decided, so used three in one fic:

 Tavi and Aloth have to share a bed, for REASONS

Drunken shenanigans

Aloth is always biting his lip. Tavi finds it very distracting

 (Heavy on the drunken shenanigans bc TAVI, light on the bed sharing. I'll have to rectify that in another fic.)  

 There wasn’t much in this world that Tavi considered distracting. (And yes, awareness of her surroundings was distinctly different from being distracted) High on that very short list, however, was the way Aloth bit his lower lip whenever he was concentrating or deep in thought or both.

Very much like he was doing right now, in fact. His gaze was fixed on the mug sitting in front of him, as if hoping to find the solution to whatever problem he was worrying in its depths. Even as Tavi set down the small wooden fox she’d been whittling, finally accepting there was no way she could concentrate with him doing... that, he sighed a little, brows drawing into a worried frown.

“Whatcha worryin’ about this time, city slicker?” Tavi asked, pocketing her knife and figurine before taking a drink from her tankard.

He turned to look at her, gaze lingering on the bandage wrapped around her hand and arm. “Not so much worrying about anything in particular as it’s truly sinking in how close a call today was.”

She shrugged, unable to stop a glance of her own at the still-red cut along his cheekbone. “We’ve fought more’n that before.”

“Yes, when there were six of us,” Aloth countered. “Not two. You said yourself, Tavi, if you’d been alone you probably would have run.”

“But I wasn’t alone. I had you.”

“And it was still a close thing.” He picked absently at a nick in his mug rather than drink the contents and bit his lip again. “You... you almost bled to death-”

“And you got poisoned,” Tavi cut him off bluntly. “But we’re still alive, and far as I’m concerned, that’s all that matters.”

“I do seem to recall simply mentioning that I prefer you alive,” Aloth said with a wry smile. “Perhaps I should be more specific in the future.”

“Perhaps you should,” she laughed. She finished off her drink and motioned the barmaid for a refill. “Don��t get me wrong, I am pretty fond of livin’. Even more fond of you livin’. But my point here, city slicker, is we survived this one, so there’s no benefit on dwellin’ on how badly it could have ended. We’re alive, if slightly worse for wear,” she acknowledged, her knee twinging as she shifted in her chair.

“So let’s just get on with the business of living?” Aloth finished for her, reasonably safe in his guess at where she’d been going with her little speech.

“Zacktly,” Tavi nodded, only feeling the slightest bit tipsy. “I’ll drink to that.”

He chuckled fondly. “You’ll drink to just about anything.”

“S’true,” she agreed easily. “But, c’mon, survivin’ attempt number twenty three on my life’s as good a reason as any.”

“Very true,” Aloth conceded, smile finally reaching his eyes.

Still, Tavi knew he was still nursing his first round as she was starting in on her third. But that was probably a good thing. One of them should be sober, and it sure as shit wasn’t her.

>><<

She was awakened by a headache, and with one of the worst hangovers she’d had in years. Since I left Silversteel. The thought dredged up memories that made her head hurt worse, and Tavi groaned as she forced her eyes open. It took a few seconds to blink things into focus, despite the aid of the morning sunlight streaming through the window.

Focus brought with it more confusion. As her vision unblurred, Tavi was greeted by the sight of a nightstand, bare walls, a fairly solid door, all the trappings of your typical inn room. Including an undisturbed and very empty bed between her and the door. How... Where...

Hylea’s tits, even forming full thoughts hurt. But the old ingrained instincts triggered by unfamiliar surroundings kicked in, and Tavi rolled onto her back and started to push herself upright. She was stopped halfway by two things-- another splitting pulse of headache, and the sluggish realization she’d rolled over almost on top of Aloth, who had somehow managed to fit himself between her and the wall despite the narrowness of the bed and was sleeping with one arm wrapped around her waist. Well, had been sleeping. Tavi’s flurry of motion dragged him awake as well.

To his credit, he woke much more smoothly than she had, despite nearly getting a face-ful of elbow. “How’s the hangover?”

She just groaned and flopped one arm over her eyes as she tried to sink further into the pillow. “Mornin’ t’ you, too, city slicker.”

“That bad, hm?” he asked, voice pitched low in sympathy.

Tavi groaned again. “No talking...”

The bed creaked and Aloth’s hair brushed against her shoulder as he reached over her to retrieve something from the nightstand. “Fortunately, I’m prepared for this eventuality,” he whispered, and pressed a small glass vial into her uninjured hand.

Sighing at the effort, she shifted her arm and pried open one eye just enough to squint at him. “I’ll bite. What is it?”

“Something for your headache. I had a feeling it was going to be bad,” Aloth said, letting his arm rest across her stomach again, fingers absently rubbing soft circles just above her hip.

Only half believing it would actually work, but willing to try anything at this point, Tavi reluctantly sat up, flicked out the stopper, and drank it fast enough the bitter taste barely registered. It took a couple minutes, but whatever it was did dull the edges of her hangover, at least enough she could remain upright without too much effort. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” Aloth nodded, sitting up as well. He shifted position so he was perched cross-legged and facing her. Tavi very nearly kissed him for not making her look toward the window to talk to him.

“So,” she began, keeping her volume low in consideration of her lingering headache, “why’re we crammed in this bed together when there’s another perfectly good one right there?”

“I... may have been worried about you,” he said slowly, looking sheepish.

“Why?”

Rather than answer, Aloth picked at the blanket for a moment before meeting her question with one of his own. “What do you remember from last night?”

That couldn’t be a good sign. “Nothin’ past round three. Why? What’d I do?”

He bit his lip, and Tavi got so lost staring at his face she almost missed it when he started talking. “Quite a lot. I’m not sure where to begin...”

“How ‘bout you just go in the order things happened, city slicker,” she groaned, flopping back into the nest of pillows.

“As you wish,” he shrugged, fingers idly playing with the ends of his hair as he began. “You were fine through the first three rounds, as you know, but round four was when you started threatening to stand on the table and sing-”

“Oh no.” I have a bad feeling-

“-and five rounds was when you actually did.”

FUCK. “Oh no. I sound like a rusty hinge when I’m sober, I pity all of you who had to hear that. What did I even sing?”

“Well.” Aloth winced sympathetically. “I’m not entirely sure. You weren’t really singing words for the majority of it.”

“Fuuuck,” Tavi groaned. “Please tell me you didn’t let me drink anymore after that.”

He hesitated. “I wasn’t going to. But you kept insisting just one more, just one more, and you’re even more stubborn drunk than you are sober, so... round six was when you almost started a bar brawl.”

“That sounds like me,” she conceded with a wry smile. “Haven’t done it in years, but... did whoever I went after deserve it, or do I need to go make a heartfelt apology sometime today?”

“You could say the former...” Aloth hemmed.

Tavi sat up and squinted at him. He’s so easy to read. “Which of us did he compare to a plaything?”

Aloth’s surprise was there and gone in a flicker, followed by a sheepish smile as he tugged on a narrow lock of hair. “How did--  Me. Followed by offering his services when you were ready to have a real man.”

She scowled. “Berath’s bony ass, tell me I decked the bastard.”

“Twice,” he nodded. “That’s when his friends realized what was going on and looked ready to get involved, so we were... asked to leave. I was also worried you were going to tear the stitches in your hand,” he admitted, “I would’ve stopped you anyway.”

“And that’s why I love ya.” Tavi glanced down at the bandage covering her knuckles and winced at the fresh bloodstains peeking through. “Might be too late for that, but I ‘ppreciate the thought.” She pulled him closer by the front of his shirt and stole a quick kiss before letting go. “Any more drunken shenanigans, or did I behave myself after that?”

Aloth gave her a skeptical look. “Tavi, you don’t behave yourself when you’re sober.”

“True.” She raked her uninjured hand through her hair. “Continue.”

“There isn’t much more, don’t worry,” he assured her. “You kept going in zigzags, and tried to walk along the rim of the fountain in the middle of the city.”

“D’you mean what I think you mean by tried?”

“You fell in,” Aloth confirmed, biting his lip to keep a smile in check, and a pulse of something warm and fluttery curled in Tavi’s gut. “Or, well, started to.”

“Bullshit,” she groused. “I have excellent balance. Even when I’m drunk.” Tested it plenty of times, too. But that way lay thoughts she didn’t want to think.

He shook his head. “It was nothing to do with your balance and everything to do with trying to rest your entire weight on a leg that suffered a crossbow quarrel to the knee less than ten hours beforehand.”

“I was just a mess last night, wasn’t I?” she muttered.

“Yes. But I didn’t mind. Not if...” he hesitated. “Tavi, was yesterday really the twenty third time Those People tried to kill you?”

“Yeah,” she nodded. “Usually didn’t hafta deal with that many, though. Like I told you, there was only one other time that was such a close call. That time I ran--well, hobbled off and hid--but yesterday I didn’t have to. And I still walked away from it ‘cause I had you with me.” She reached over and brushed her fingers against his arm just below the bandages wrapped around his bicep. “Dunno what I’d do without you, Aloth.”

“Fall into fountains, I expect,” he teased, wry but quiet, reaching to cover her hand with his own.

Tavi snorted and rolled her eyes, hair falling back in her face as she laughed. “Asshole. I thought ruinin’ touchin’ moments with sarcasm was my thing.” She cocked her head and shot him a questioning look. “Though if I almost fell in the fountain b’cause my knee gave out, how’d we get to th’ inn? I can’t imagine walkin was easy for m-” she narrowed her eyes at him. “No.”

“Piggyback isn’t that hard, Tavi,” Aloth shrugged. “And I’m-”

“Stronger than you look, I know. Still manage to forget it all the damn time.” She tucked her hair behind her ears again. “Anyway. Was reliving my drunken shenanigans an attempted dodge, or just a really roundabout way of explainin’ why we’re sharin’ one bed rather than each in our own?”

“The latter,” he said. “Given your... other shenanigans, as you put it, I was worried you might wander off without supervision and do serious damage to yourself or others.”

“An ignoble fate for the Watcher of Caed Nua,” Tavi deadpanned, playing with the loose end of the bandages wrapping her forearm.

“It was less big picture concern and more me not liking the thought of the world without you in it,” Aloth admitted, smiling as he leaned forward to still her hand.

“Aw, that’s sweet,” Tavi murmured, half teasing and half serious. “So, what, you squeezed in with me and wrapped an arm around me to keep me in bed?” She smirked. “City slicker...”

Aloth rolled his eyes at the look she was giving him. “It was nothing like that and you know it-”

“Yeah, but you’re fun to tease.”

He ignored her interjection, though his ears did go pink. “I simply figured on the slight chance you didn’t remain dead to the world until morning, you’d wake me as well, and I could, well...”

“Keep me out of trouble?” Tavi supplied with a grin.

“Basically, yes.” Aloth looked away, out the window, biting his lip.

Gods damn it all, he is way too distracting when he does that. “Thank you.” She waited until he turned to face her again before continuing. “It’s been a really long time since I had someone who cared so much about what happened to me. It’s nice.”

“I could say the same to you,” Aloth said quietly. He shifted position, leaning closer. “I very much appreciate having you in my life.”

“Stop bein’ flowery an’ kiss me already, Corfiser,” Tavi growled playfully, sitting forward as well, the unraveling bandage forgotten.

“Very romanti-” Aloth started to tease, before she curved her hand around the back of his neck and tugged him into the desired kiss.

“How long do we have this room?” she whispered, resting her forehead against his.

“At least one more night, but Tavi-”

“Relax, city slicker, I’m not thinkin’ anything like that,” Tavi assured him, hand sliding from his cheek to rest against a suddenly tense shoulder. “It’s not like this is the first time we’ve shared a bed without anything frisky goin’ on. Wonderful as that whatever-you-gave-me was, I still have a headache. I was askin’ more to know how long I have before I have to act like there’s not a xaurip playin’ drums in my skull.”

“Oh, well, in that respect you have plenty of time,” Aloth replied. “But there are things we should do.”

“Like what?” Tavi asked, stealing one last quick kiss before she laid back down in the soft cradle of her pillow.

“Like a return visit to the healer so he can rebandage your arm and hand.” His fingers brushed over the bandages in question, loose and dingy after her antics the night before. “And we really should tell a local authority about what happened so they can dispose of the bodies, at least.”

“Or,” Tavi countered, eyes closed. “Or. We wait for th’ fuckin’ banging in my head to go away, go back ourselves, and pile and burn the bodies. I know you know spells that involve fire.”

“A compromise, then,” Aloth said, voice lowering in pitch as he lay down next to her. “We wait a few more hours for your headache to lessen, if not go away entirely, then inform the authorities but take care of the bodies ourselves.”

“Deal,” Tavi agreed without hesitation. “Long as we can just lay here in silence for a while first.”

And that’s exactly what they did.

[cescalr]

Not-Fic (TW, AU from the get-go)

Fair warning there will be stalia bc w/ me that is inevitable and there will be scira and there will be marrish so thanks and if you don’t want in on that action buh-bye

okay, first time writing not-fic, it’s 00:57 am, let’s GO-

So, Idea(TM). This is au form the get-go, btw, so fair warning.

 So. Let’s say, early on, like - really, early on, I’m talking before Stiles’ mom died and Malia’s family got into that car-crash, but after 2004 (hale fire, etc.) Stiles get’s bored, or something (maybe he hasn’t been diagnosed with aDHD yet, or maybe he has and he’s just bored, whatever works for you) and sneaks out of his window. Now, this is before theo, before scott - during the time I headcanon as his friends being Heather and Erica - but he doesn’t want to disturb them, see, because their lives are nice and idylic for the most part, so Stiles goes out into the woods alone.

Now, Beacon Hills is a small town, sure, but big enough for two school districts; heather goes to a different school to them later, after all, so we can assume she did as a kid, too. I’m going to say that Malia and Kylie also went to this school district too - Heather’s schoolmates who she’d maybe mention in passing, perhaps. Stiles might not know their names; Might think of Malia as Leah, maybe he can’t remember if it’s Kylie or Kyle – doesn’t matter, point is that he has a vague notion of who they are; the Tates – this family what lives on the other side of the preserve to him, in the preserve which is mostly unheard of besides the hales, and we all know what happened to them.

Puts a dampener on people thinking of living in those woods, that sort of thing.

Getting back on track; Stiles goes into the woods, goes for a walk.

Now, let’s go over to Malia. In this universe, the Tates went the way of the Whittemores and out-right told their daughter she was adopted (as you should) – she’s about the right age, so it works. And unlike the Whittemores, it works out – she doesn’t hate them, she loves them; they raised her, and that matters more in her eyes.

But that doesn’t mean she isn’t an adventurous child. Malia lives in the preserve – she probably takes walks around it all the time, knows where her father puts his traps and his bait and stays away, understands the safer parts and steers clear of the husk that was the Hale house.

So maybe, out of pure co-incidence, Malia had a shit day at school, or something, so she sneaks out the back door – Kylie’s asleep, her parents are out (on a date; does it matter?) and the Nanny’s pretty chill (some might say too chill), so she just waves sarcastically as Malia tiptoes out the door (sorry sorry bad late night puns) – and wanders off in a vague direction. Malia, by this point, could most likely find her way around the woods pretty well – if not able to find her way home, she might go to the landmarks; the stump, that old cellar, and if she has to the Hale house, to work her way back home that way.

So Malia’s in the forest, and so is Stiles.

Maybe, because although Stiles isn’t a stranger to the preserve at night he isn’t as at home as Malia, Stiles gets lost. And he wasn’t as prepared – doesn’t have a map, doesn’t have specific routes or know the whereabouts of the hale house, the cellar or the old stump are in relation to the town, so Stiles gets lost.

Malia likes her walks (or runs, jogs – any of that sort of thing, really) so she takes longer that night, in order to clear her head. Makes for the stump in an old, well-worn path her father takes her on sometimes, when he goes out hunting (she’s assured it’s legally), and gets there slower than she’d normally do so.

When Malia arrives, this kid is there too.

Stiles is sort-of just sitting there, fidgeting, thinking whelp because his dad’s not great due to his mom’s… state, and he doesn’t want to make it worse by having him think Stiles was – kidnapped, or something, so he just sort of panics.

Let’s say Malia’s approach is quiet. She doesn’t mean it to be, but in the woods something sings within her and it happens anyway - especially on nights like this one; bright full moons, high in the sky – so it is. And Stiles – young, not so trained – flails, a bit, yelps, maybe.

Malia tugs him to his feet, brushes him down and demands his name.

“Stiles.” He responds, bewildered. Malia’s a protective girl, see – she doesn’t know who this is, though he’s her age… but also he’s some kid lost in the woods, and she’s protective, so she wants to know what the hell he thought he was doing.

“Exploring.” He says. “Clearing my head.”

And she gets that.

Yes, for different reasons, but she still gets it. Stiles doesn’t want to go home yet – his dad is probably still at work and anyone paid to care for Stiles never really lasts long in that job; too loud, too restless, too much of a trouble-maker, not worth the effort or the money or the time, Stiles hears behind his dad’s sighs (and their angry little notes left behind, sometimes with the agreed money attached to it still) (which, although guiltily, Stiles sometimes takes) – so Malia and Stiles sit down on the stump, and they talk.

Let’s fast forward – because otherwise this is gonna be hella long and no to that, rest would be after the cut if I knew how to do those -

So, a few months or so down the line, and Stiles is on that hospital roof.

We all know what Claudia does, so we won’t dwell on the details, but suffice to say Stiles suppresses more than just that one incident.

And when he sees Malia next, she quizzes him, and when he answers she frowns – because the tone is different, the answers are altered – something’s missing but what? – but, but, Stiles seems lighter than he has in a while, even if he’s still down trodden from… all of this; his mother’s illness, and whatever else that entailed which he never told her before even he didn’t know any longer – so Malia waves off his question, and, troubled, things move along.

Theo, then Scott. Heather leaves, Erica leaves. Theo leaves – abruptly so.

Stiles is… angrier than anything else, about that last one. He’s resigned to Heather and Erica – initiated it himself, for the latter.

But he’s angry about the last one. Malia listens to him vent and agrees, and a month or so passes and the boy is all but forgotten.

(But not really.)

Stiles and Scott get along like a house on fire, and Malia’s really glad – really, except Stiles can’t visit the stump as often or at all, these days.

She doesn’t really let that stop her. Gets a bike - begs her mother for one, really – visits the two boys and this friend group is three, not two.

It’s still two at school, though.

Not much else changes, at first, really.

Claudia dies.

Things change drastically.

It’s less Malia visiting Stiles and more Stiles dragging his asthmatic friend halfway across the preserve to visit her. It’s less laughter and more solemn silence. It’s less bonding and more antagonising – Stiles is looking for a fight, appears to want one desperately because he’s just so angry at the world.

There are stages of grief. Stiles skipped denial – it’s not hard if you were there when the other person died, after all. Saw it happen with your own two eyes.

You can’t deny that.

But the anger doesn’t last either. Not long. Not at the world, anyway.

After that, it’s not really anger. He’s still on a hair trigger, of course – Jackson’s nose can attest to that (he’d tried to take Scott’s inhaler – again) – but he’s not really angry.

Now, Stiles comes to the stump alone, and lets himself cry on her shoulder.

Malia wants desperately to know how to help, but also knows what would be needed, and knows she doesn’t have that.

So she sits. You’d think stiles would cry like he does everything else, but not really. It’s silent, mostly – nearly always, and when it’s not it’s more loud, shaky breathing than anything like sobbing – and when he pulls back, wipes his eyes, there are tear tracks on her t-shirt.

“Sorry,” he says.

“You need to grieve.” She responds in kind – quiet; trying not to disturb the strange silence of the woods.

So things change. It takes a bit, but Scott’s eventually brought back.

Malia still doesn’t visit the Stilinski household, but they start going to Scott’s after a sharp scare with his asthma the last visit.

“We don’t have to.” Scott says. “I’m – I’m not incapable of moving, guys.”

“Humour me.” Stiles says drily.

“I know that,” Malia replies. “We know that. But that doesn’t mean we should have been – careless.”

Scott seems to consider them both equally, and nods.

It’s not brought up again.

Let’s fast-forward a little.

Malia finds out about the dubiously-Sheriff’s drinking.

“No, Malia.” Stiles says – firm, unyielding.

He’s got a vice-tight grip on her arm, and Malia’s trying to tug herself free.

“I just –“ She placates – or tries; voice to curt and upset-angry to be convincing – “I just want to talk to him, alright? Just have a few words, nothing bad, I promise.”

“Nope.” Stiles draws out. “You sound murderous Mal, not letting you near like that.”

Malia gives one last tug but Stiles isn’t budging so she deflates, sighs and says,

“Fine.”

The next week the sheriff’s job is finally put on the line. He starts getting sober, and Malia quietly fumes as Stiles seems glad.

(Should have been the son, not the job – that’s Malia’s thought process. Stiles is more worried about Noah’s liver.)

So. That’s all that dealt with, but what about the car crash?

As these sorts of things happen, it happens on a normal day.

Normal night, rather. It happened at night, if I remember correctly.

The day had been downright dull in it’s normality – Malia hadn’t yet seen Scott or Stiles, and the argument happening in the car was an old one.

Then It happens.

Malia doesn’t remember much, of course.

“I wish you were all dead.” Runs through her mind, and she runs.

Now – in the other world, a world where she didn’t appear to have any really close friends, or any friends who could in anyway relate, coyote!Malia went of into the woods for eight years.

In this – still too scared of her dad’s reaction – she doesn’t go home, but she goes somewhere else.

Malia hangs around three places. Four, in her visit to the car crash (whenever the flashing lights aren’t there – which only happened her first visit – a mere few human-hours since she’d seen it last).

It lasts for about three weeks.

The case goes cold – because of course it does – but Stiles convinces Scott to carry on looking.

And Malia – confused, unable to think in the way she used to – knows these people are Important; has flashes of too-bright images of darkened woods and light, airy homes (and one, memorable, quiet-dark time in the Stilinski home (how she’d found out about the drinking)) and thinks

Friends.

More importantly, she thinks – in so much as she can, as a coyote – about a boy who confessed some of his darkest guilts to her, and thinks -

Someone who knows.

Malia liked Scott as a human. As a coyote, he smells ill, like some fungus is creeping into him, stifling him.

Malia snarls at him until Stiles convinces Scott to back up enough so that she can’t smell him (Stiles says Scott might as well go home since it’s so far that Stiles can barely hear him) and then she stares at the boy in front.

In comparison to the images she knows, he’s grown. Not much – but Malia is suddenly, scarily aware of how much time has likely passed and how little she’d noticed.

“Hello?” Stiles questions. Curious; Malia hadn’t been sure if he would.

Maybe he can tell something’s up – Malia might’ve thought that if she’d been human.

He smells – Like guilt. Something else that she doesn’t recognise and raises her hackles; it changes something intrinsic to what she remembers, it’s sharp and manmade and wrong to her senses. He smells like someone she knew when Human, and that – that works.

She snarls when he makes to move, moves herself when he freezes.

The boy – Stiles – stares at her and his breath hitches, for a moment – Malia doesn’t know why, not really, but he must have seen something.

“What the hell am I getting into here?” Stiles asks himself rhetorically, raises his hands in a gesture she… can’t quite remember the meaning of but relaxes her slightly anyway, lowers himself into a crouch.

“Hello.” Stiles says. “Your eyes flash blue – quite literally. Did you know that?”

It takes a moment to register. Malia stops her movement forward, cocks her head at him.

Stiles nods, slowly. “They do, you know.”

Tentatively, he steps forward, one hand outstretched but - … unthreateningly.

“There you go.” Stiles mutters. “Please don’t bite my hand off. Nice coyote with weird magic-flashy-blue-brown eyes.”

Malia – somehow, not knowing she was capable in this form – manages a snort.

Stiles blinks. “Oh. Okay, uhm. That was funny? Right, sure. You – uh. You understand me?”

Malia steps forward, lets Stiles tap her lightly on the head with his hand, and lowers hers, slowly, then lifts it in an imitation of an action she remembers as human.

Stiles does the head thing to himself – up and down, the corners of his mouth pulling down in consideration.

“Right.” He mutters. “Strangely intelligent coyote with weird magic eyes. This is normal.”

Malia huffs and butts his hand with the top of her head.

Stiles blinks at her, frowns. Seems to peer closer than before, as if looking for something.

Something like recognition.

Stiles fidgets in consideration, seemingly working out how to phrase something.

“Say,” he starts, casually. His hand relaxes slightly, starts properly petting her head.

“You, uh, wouldn’t have seen a missing girl around my age, in these parts? Brown eyed, brown-haired, a tiny bit taller than me?”

Malia pulls her head back, paws backwards and barks sharply eyes wide.

Stiles jumps, slightly, but stills himself, looks at her askance and warily – looks and says, “I’ll take that as a yes.”

Malia barks out an agreement – a warning, too, but an agreement nonetheless – and steps backwards.

“Do you have any idea where she might have gone?”

Stiles is either brave or foolish, because if Malia had been a second away from biting him at the first question she’s even less so now.

But there’s something in this – Stiles, something in the eyes he has that makes her not do that.

Malia nods, slightly, eyes glaring bright blue.

Malia paws the ground, carefully, makes a shape in the leaf-litter on the forest floor.

Stiles looks at the arrow, at her, at her eyes and says.

“Well damn.”

So see, it’s like this; Stiles obviously has no fucking clue as to what’s going on. But he knows, can feel it in his bones, that this is his friend -this coyote is Malia, and he has no idea what to do about that or how to fix it.

Over the weeks following – Stiles is eleven, now, it took a year to find her after the authorities gave up – Stiles tries his absolute best to find out as much as he can from the internet.

This goes about as well as you’d expect; half the shit he finds is obviously fake, the other half all conflicts with each other and the only thing that he knows better now are the behaviours of coyotes.

And that’s more from personal experience with Malia than the internet, so Stiles gives up on that venture and sets on the task of finding this out pretty much on his own.

“So.” Stiles says, one day during this whole thing. “You’re a coyote. You really shouldn’t be a coyote – in fact, it should be impossible, but here we are so that’s a fact, and I just wanted to state that. You are a coyote.”

Malia flicks her tail with impatience and stares back at him flatly from her perch on the old stump.

Stiles huffs, drops down to lean against the stump. Malia rests her head on his shoulder and stares at the notebook he’s holding.

She can’t read a thing.

Malia huffs and moves backwards, growls at the offending object.

“Yeah, see, there’s another downside. You can’t easily communicate, you can’t read, your emotions are all out of whack, nothing’s good about all of this so that’s why we’re gonna fix it.” Stiles says, determined.

Malia barks with unease at the prospect, but in this universe, with the company – with the weeks, months of Stiles talking her through her guilt and his guilt and all of the guilt (really, there’s a lot of that going around) she’s not as adverse to the idea as she was in canon, perhaps.

Not accepting – she’s not really any better off – but not as adverse, so there’s a start.

“So, you’re a coyote.” Stiles restarts. “Hopefully just a shapeshifter of some form, or you might try and kill me on full moons? Which I’m not looking forwards to, by the way.”

Malia snarls.

“Yeah, see – my point exactly.” Stiles blinks at her. “That’s terrifying.”

Malia yips and bats his head with her tail, yips more as he splutters.

And this continues. Stiles still avoids visiting on full moons – which she’s fine with; those days she runs free in the woods and hunts.

Stiles isn’t exactly pleased with the animal carcasses she sometimes brings him (or leaves at his back door step, what the hell Malia) but she seems proud? So he quietly disposes of them when she’s none the wiser.

Eventually, Stiles browsing the library has it’s uses.

“Found it!” He exclaims triumphantly, bursting through the treeline surrounding the stump.

Malia barks at him – he was unexpected, she’d been sleeping, what the hell Stiles – and he drops down, to excited to be either scared and or repentant.

“Right, yeah, sorry –” Stiles says, distracted (and completely insincere but she’ll let that slide) “But I’ve found it.”

Malia glowered at him.

“Right.” Stiles paused. “Extrapolate, Stiles. Okay, so, turns out you’re a werecoyote?” He winces. “Though that was obvious, really. The uh, the blue eyes are from guilt.” He adds, quietly. “Over your family.”

Malia snarls at him, backs up because she doesn’t want a reminder, but settles down after that reaction, a litter further away, this time.

“Thought you should know.” Stiles says.

Malia, slowly, nods, and Stiles moves along.

“So. Yeah, that. Right, well – there’s a cure.” He looks up. “Not for the – werecoyote…ism? I mean, it’s not lycanthropy, because you aren’t a wolf… never mind,” Stiles shakes his head. “Not important. But there’s a cure for you being stuck like this.”

Malia yips… curious. She tip-toes forwards, cautious, settles down across from Stiles.

A kind of… permission, even if she can’t give it vocally.

“Alright, okay, you want to know.” Stiles says.

“You just need to find something that can bring you back. Or alternatively find an alpha to yell at you and force you back, but I don’t really think that would help? Your psyche probably wouldn’t like it, is all.”

Malia growls at the idea of being forced human, and Stiles nods.

“We’ll find something.” He says.

Malia… is inclined to believe him.

Now, this is why this is not fic; I have no actual clue on what would bring her back. I’m highly certain that they’d try her dad, but that it wouldn’t work – that it, for a while, would probably make things worse. So that ends up as a bust.

Let’s go with the idea that, well, they don’t manage to find something that makes her turn human.

But, after a few years, after more bonding and getting to know Scott and Stiles all over again… one day, Malia just... is. Human. Again.

She’s not over what happened – she’ll probably never be over it – but it’s different now.

There’s a kind of focus, in the back of her brain – who shot the bullets that left the casings? – and she can’t find that out as a coyote.

Whoever caused the car-crash caused what followed. Malia’s blame, while still mostly on herself, has, in part, transferred to them.

Stiles is the one to find her. She’s cold, and tired, and mostly confused, and after a quick “Malia?!” Stiles is giving her his jacket and his shirt – tied around her waist for privacy, jacket zipped for the same (also for warmth) – and sitting her up, brushing the hair out of her face and almost laughing – she can smell it, the relief, and then (it’s almost contagious) she’s laughing too, and it’s definitely hysterical but it’s real, and she can feel it, properly, and for now – besides the guilt and the fear and the anger that she feels simmering – that’s enough.

It takes some time for Malia to adjust. She’s not ready to go home or re-join everything – not yet, so Stiles accepts that, uses pocket money he saves to buy some cheap underwear for her (presented with a large helping of embarrassment covered with a false calmness belied by the reddening of his neck and, obviously, the thing in his scent that lets her know regardless) and sneaks her some of his and her old clothes to wear (she doesn’t ask how he got them out of her house, he doesn’t say) and eventually, when Scott starts getting suspicious, they tell him.

It's Scott, in the end, who convinces her to talk to her dad. Stiles was content with letting her choose her own pace, but Malia knows she was using that – using his relief at her being herself again – to stay as far away from her problems as possible.

And Stiles was, quietly, aiding and abetting this, because in the end he’s sure he’d have done the same in her place.

But Malia, with Scott and Stiles as support, goes home.

She’s not as behind as she would have been – and definitely not as behind as she should be, because Stiles has been lending her his notes from the past years, his textbooks he doesn’t use and some stuff bought second-hand he thinks she might like (alongside all the food) so she’s not even as far behind on pop-culture as she would have been.

It’s Stiles who convinces her not to tell her dad about the whole coyote thing. Since she’d been undecided before, and she was highly certain that he probably wouldn’t believe her even if he did tolerate it for a while, so she agreed, and she didn’t tell him.

There is no Eichen House in her immediate future, in this ‘verse.

They’re thirteen. And life goes on.

Malia, with the other two’s help, tries and tries and eventually, learns how to control this thing she has.

Stiles takes her aside, one day, tells her about anchors.

“Just – since we’re doing this, and all, full moons might actually be a problem? So all I’m saying is you need to find a way to anchor yourself to your human side. What little that book says on it is that it can be literally anything – like even a really nice goddamn rock that you found when you were like, two, or something, I don’t know – but the point is, it can be anything.”

This Malia – this Malia, who met Stiles but is younger, met Stiles but it’s a different Stiles, met Stiles but their situations are changed – doesn’t make it Stiles.

(I feel, in this verse, that there are three blatant options with vastly differing outcomes; her guilt, her revenge – on the person who shot the gun at the car – or her sister.

This Malia will not make it the first or the third option.

She’ll make it her revenge.)

(And it will work, for the most part. It will work enough.)

They’re fourteen, and Malia’s dad takes her aside, and (drunk) says – “I know who your father was related to, if you want to find him.”

“Alright.” Malia says. She does, actually, want to find him; because maybe he’s the reason she’s not exactly human.

“Tell me.”

(She doesn’t think to ask about her biological mother. Even if she had, he wouldn’t have known anything – but she doesn’t think to ask because she expects the father to know who the mother was.)

Stiles is more help at sussing out the timelines and all that jazz, at figuring out which Hale could be her dad.

“Well, there’s only one living, male, able-to-have-kids Hale left in the county. So he’s the only potential we could visit anyway.”

Malia frowns at Stiles. “Great.”

He shrugs, and says – “Wanna catch a ride with Melissa to the hospital?”

Scott’s mother is uncertain, tells Malia not to get her hopes up but drives them there regardless – and Stiles (knowing the way well, as he does) leads Malia easily to the long term care ward.

“Peter Hale.” Stiles announces. “You’re not gonna like this.” He sighs.

“I know what happened to him, Stiles.” Malia says. “But we have to check if he can respond before we forcibly take his blood to discretely take a dna matching test.”

(That Melissa will quietly perform. She can’t guarantee how well it’ll be done, but they didn’t exactly get the blood with permission.)

Stiles sighs. “Quieter, Mal.”

The two enter the room. It would be another few months before Peter’s wolf is able to move around, so the two are fresh out of luck in trying to talk to him.

They leave with no answers and a hidden syringe, they leave with more simmering frustration than they entered with.

So, the test comes back positive – she’s Peter’s biological daughter.

And that’s it. For a bit, that really is it. Things go pretty much as they did previously.

Up until that night. Up until Stiles hears about two joggers finding a body in the woods, and doesn’t end up dragging the friend who ‘wants to get a good night’s sleep’ (and is asthmatic).

He climbs up to Malia’s window, knocks on and says:

“Two joggers found a body in the woods.”

And thus – the first major change; Scott does not get bitten.

Another change – Stiles doesn’t own up to being there to his dad. Malia shifts, fully (because, in this universe let’s just say she can for the hell of it. This is fanfiction, after all – and if she could when she’s nine I have no doubt that she can at any other age) and tackles Stiles, then – carefully – drags him off in another direction.

“Ugh – ow – Mal, really – stop, god.”

Malia does, of course. She doesn’t shift back – her clothes are strewn somewhere she doesn’t know – and yips at him.

“Yeah, yeah.” Stiles huffs, checks his arm. “Thanks for not chewing through the jacket. Explaining that to dad would have been… fun.” Stiles adds.

Malia barks in understanding and then – tackles Stiles again, covers him as much as possible and whimpers when the deer run over them, stampede, but her bones heal what Stiles couldn’t easily so she’ll take that instead.

“Mal” Stiles barks – scared – pushes her off of him and checks her over.

“You really need to stop doing that.”

He huffs when he finds that – whatever was hurt – nothing is broken now.

Whatever Malia would say is interrupted by growling, by Stiles’ “Oh damn.” And her own instincts.

Whatever it was didn’t expect a coyote to launch itself at it, nor did it expect said coyote to be a werecoyote, and said coyote-girl to tackle him as much as is possible.

They tussle. The larger one relying on his strength and his burning anger, and Malia relying on speed and a clear head.

Whatever it is didn’t appear to expect Stiles to take advantage of it’s hyper-focus on Malia.

Stiles buries a stick – sharp and big enough to hurt – in the thing’s shoulder.

It howls, and this is the kind of thing Stiles had expected from werewolves – not his friendly, slightly broken (but no less – and likely more – than he is) fellow Beacon Hills resident.

Malia takes her chance, and clangs the not-wolf over the head with a big rock.

Multiple times.

Eventually, after more dodging and more stabbing (from Stiles) the thing falls unconscious.

Stiles grabs his phone from his pocket, fumbles for it, and snaps pictures as the thing transforms.

Malia quickly – before the transformation can finish – grabs a bunch of the leaf-litter and drops it over the now clearly a man’s groin.

“Oh, right.” Stiles nods. “Good idea.”

There’s a pause. Stiles flicks on the flashlight – so that he can see – but Malia’s silence is one of shock.

Shock doesn’t really silence Stiles, though.

“Oh. Shit, it’s Peter.”

That was kind of deadpan, for the moment. They glance at each other and let out a hysterical burst of laughter.

Malia’s not healing her cuts and bruises as quick as she normally would, and Stiles has human healing (for the most part) so the little nicks from scrabbling around in the dark and not quite dodging away in time are still there and still fresh.

There’s a little blood on all of them.

Malia sighs, and the silence is broken.

“I should –” Stiles says, aborted, then takes of his jacket and then his over-shirt. Holds them like he knows what he should do with them but isn’t a huge fan of the idea.

“He’s my… biological dad.” Malia lets out. “I’ll do it.”

Stiles gives her the shirt. She ties it around his waist, takes off her jumper and does the same but in reverse.

Stiles puts back on his jacket and turns back around at Malia’s “Done.”

“Right.” He says. “Now to get him somewhere – more secure.”

Malia remembers the cellar she used to use as a landmark. The one that was, now that she thinks about it, suspiciously close to the burnt-up hale house.

Malia puts this aside, picks up one of Peter’s arms and slings it around her shoulder.

“Little help?”

Between the two of them, they get peter there within the hour. It wasn’t not far from where they were, anyway.

Neither of them question what they find inside the cellar. They pick up the old, rusted chains and the old, rusted cuffs and lock Peter to the bars lining the back.

Malia never came in here, as a kid. She’s rather glad she didn’t, now.

(She’s still a kid, really – but not, truly. Not after what she’s been through.)

They kick back, for a bit. Chat about school, no matter how inane that is. Malia teases Stiles about Lydia (Something that seems less relevant to him these days than it did back when they first met – but she still does this), and Stiles teases her about ‘French Boys’ and they chat. Anything and everything is what they talk about – aside from the elephant in the room.

Or, rather – the terrifying, likely mentally unstable Alpha werewolf chained up in the corner, with as little room to move as what made them safe.

It takes a bit more time – Malia takes out a baseball from her pocket when Stiles really starts to fidget and they start tossing that around for a bit – but they hear a groan.

Stiles catches the ball and snaps his head towards Peter. Malia’s eyes are wary, but curious.

Peter’s eyes are blue, naturally. That’s the first thing that Malia properly notices about him – cataloguing the differences rather than the similarities.

It’s a groan of pain, they can tell – but his eyes are unseeing.

“I’m guessing the magic side of him is healed but the human side might very well be dead.” Stiles murmurs.

Malia thinks the same. Still, the two aren’t going to let that stop them.

They take it upon themselves to get Malia’s biological father’s human-self back to full health whilst making sure his wolf-self is sufficiently cowed and unable to go around attacking people in the woods at night.

Because that’s both rude and likely to get them all caught. It’s also evil and leads to death, which is their main point of contention with the whole thing.

The fact that, for all they know, he killed the girl in the woods.

So yes. That night, they make a pact and go home.

Malia is the one to take Peter food in the morning – they’d agreed – but Stiles shows up anyway.

“I don’t think you should go alone.” Is all he says about it, but Malia… agrees, in a way, so the two wander off, arrive an hour before school is due to start.

Peter is still chained up, but he’s sitting. A different position to what he was in last time.

This immediately makes them wary.

(Because of course it does.)

“Okay, maybe not as dead as I’d thought.” Stiles amends.

Malia nods, slowly, but approaches regardless.

“Hello.” She says – can’t help but flash back to when she was treated like this; like a cornered animal. That first meeting.

(She admits that is almost what she was, then. But also not really.)

Malia isn’t a huge fan of the parallel.

“I’m Malia. You don’t know me, or at least I doubt you do, but I’m your biological daughter. It wasn’t the best technically first meeting; you trying to kill me, but we’ll work past that and get you in a state where you can explain to me everything, alright?” She asks – knowing that there would be no answer, but having to do so regardless because… well, it makes her feel less like she’s talking to a corpse.

“Might have to force-feed him.” Stiles sighs. “I can, if you want. Mom…” He paused. “Well, I’ve told you before.”

Malia nods, quietly. Steps to the side but not back – ready to stop Peter from lunging for Stiles if he were to do so.

Stiles gets Peter to swallow the food, carefully, then gets him to swallow the drink.

“I think we might have to somehow get him on a tube or something.” Stiles says, concerned. “You can’t really make it all the way here from your school, and I won’t have time to do this and eat at lunch.”

Malia nods. “I’ll look into that.”

Stiles inclines his head.

The two go their separate ways, after making sure Peter was as secure as possible, and then disguising the entryway, over to the high-schools in their respective districts.

The first day goes… mainly the same. Stiles doesn’t tell Scott about what happened the previous night. Scott doesn’t hear Allison talking to her mother, but he pretty instantly crushes when he sees her.

He doesn’t give her a pen until she asks, and so that whole thing is slightly less creepy.

(Yeah, okay – I admit, that whole thing would have been a little creepy if I were either of them? Like, ‘how does this guy (whose pretty cute tbh) know I needed a pen??’ and ‘what the heck how did I hear her damn (she’s pretty) why am I being so creepy rn??’ so yeah, I actually found that whole scene both cute and creepy. Creepy-cute.)

(It’s weird. Movin’ on.)

So yes. Similar first day.

Similar; not the same. Duh.

Scott isn’t a werewolf. When he’s in goal, he’s still pretty shit (as he was perma-benched pre-show, it’s assumed he wasn’t actually any good at lacrosse – not the bits what require you to move a lot, nor the ones that require you to move little.) and doesn’t overhear Allison (who isn’t a jerk even slightly about skill at sports, unlike S1 Lyds) ask who he is, or whatever.

He’s also never played goalie? So I’m guessing he’d be bad at it regardless of skill at the rest of the game. Scott misses catching almost every shot.

He catches one or two out of sheer dumb luck.

He does manage not to take any in the face, though. There’s that.

He misses the one Jackson throws, and Lydia cheers for her boyfriend.

(One thing before we move on. That girl that appears in the first ep, talking to the two of them? I think her name is Sydney, but that’s what I’m gonna call her from now on btw, even if it isn’t, just as a heads-up. Anyway, I fucking bet that she’s prol’ly thinking something along the lines of ‘… right, Stilinski. ‘Beautiful people herd together’, never heard so shallowly accurate – I mean, look at Scotty and you and that girl you hang around with – I mean, objectively, you’re all fucking masterpieces.’)

After lacrosse practice, Scott goes to Deaton’s clinic for work, and Stiles heads off into the woods.

He meets Malia at the stump, and slowly they make their way to the cellar.

They’re lucky they went slowly (out of reluctance, perhaps) because they’re found – just as Derek came across Scott and Stiles, ‘trespassing’ on his property (which probably isn’t anymore? I don’t know property laws but that thing does not pass regulation) and Stiles doesn’t need to exposit info because we all know this shit.

“You’re Derek Hale.” Malia says. “My biological father’s your uncle; would that allow me to ‘trespass?’”

Stiles snorts. Malia’s always been blunt – as a child it was… well, because she was a child, and as a teen it’s because that’s the kind of person she is, really.

Blunt, and truthful. Harshly so.

Derek doesn’t seem to know what to say to that. Instead, he says;

“My uncle isn’t in the long-term care ward anymore. Why is that?”

“Well, that’s because he’s somewhere else.” Stiles says amicably.

Malia nods, serious. “The time I saw him last he was safe.” She said. “All cared for and shit.”

There’s a pause.

“You know where he is, don’t you?”

Hale is suddenly in front of them, and Malia is suddenly in front of Stiles.

Her eyes flash brilliant blue and so do Derek’s in response.

“Fucking hell, does it run in the family or what?” Stiles lets out, resigned.

Derek looks… surprised, for a moment.

Then, of course, his face closes off.

“That is none of your business.” He says, gruff. “Do you have any proof that Peter’s your father?”

“Yeah.” Malia says. “Look at me.”

Derek looks at her, sighs.

“Fine.”

Abruptly, he turns. “Come.” He commands. The two move to follow, but his arm snaps out and not-so-gently shoves Stiles backwards.

“Not you,” He says. “Just my relative. My kind.”

“Malia Tate. And this is Stiles, by the way, and he’s been far more helpful that you and ‘your kind’.”

Derek almost looks to almost snarl, but leaves it. Turns, and walks.

“Go.” Stiles breathes, right next to her ear – trying to keep it low enough so that Derek won’t hear.

“I’ll do the thing, yeah? Find out what he wants.”

And then Stiles is gone, Malia listens to him jog off and hopes he won’t get lost again (But they know the route well, after so long – she’d taught him in the years, about orientating yourself in these woods) for a moment, before following – what, her… cousin? Or something? Malia doesn’t begin to understand that system, so she shrugs goes with ‘biological cousin’ and leaves it at that.

After this – Scott is still at the vets, but he doesn’t need to check any wound so he hears Allison’s first knock.

Scott opens the door, and the interactions are for the most part exactly the same. Scott and the dog is a little different, but Scott’s good with animals – he’d have to be, as a vet-to-be – and coaxes it in and out of the rain.

The both of them are sopping wet and they laugh at that – have the same conversation as in the actual show, Scott still sort-of creeps on her changing her top, and that whole thing is pretty much exactly the same.

(it is now 4:43 am. I have taken breaks, but damn I’ve been at this for a while. Stillll going, though, glad I slept through most of the day rn so I’ll have the juice for this tbh. Speaking of juice…)

Next day is different. Scotty doesn’t wake up in the woods, in fact he wakes up at home and goes to school in his normal fashion.

It’s back over to Malia and Stiles for the changes. To makes this easier, let’s back-track to when Malia wandered off with Derek.

Derek takes her to the Hale house. Unfortunately for him, Malia’s spent a fair amount of time with the one and only Stiles Stilinski, so she’s learned to be able to talk circles around the actual answers people want without ever actually lying.

(It’s an art form, really. She hates lying on principle, so it’s a useful alternative when that sort of thing is necessary.)

(Malia doesn’t know Derek, doesn’t know what he wants. She doesn’t trust him not to do something stupid.)

She leaves Derek with no more answers and in a huff – him, not her – and sprints off to the tree stump.

Stiles is there, tossing around the baseball she left with him the previous night.

He chucks it to her and she catches it with a “thanks,” he nods and they get up and they leave.

(“How’d it go?” Stiles asks. “Well enough. He’s frustrated, knows we know but is unaware of Peter’s location.” Stiles nods. “And you?” Malia asks.

“Well enough.” Stiles returns, wryly. “Didn’t get bit, forced him some food and drink – a lot, really, but I think he needs the strength – and all that. Left after I was done, ‘cause there was no point sticking around.”

Malia nods, and that’s that.)

(Stiles didn’t lie; he left after he was done. He just left out the part where he talked at Peter for a bit. He wasn’t exactly nice, but it had to be said.)

Alright, so.

Seems anti-climactic, but that’s the first day from the first ep. Done. Let’s go to the second day in the first ep.

Back with Scott – he goes to school as he usually does (from his house) and doesn’t get called out (and harassed) by Jackson about his new-found lacrosse skills, because he has exactly none. Still.

Back with Stiles – he hears about the second half of the girl still being missing. But the fibre analysis on the first half (or the lower; take your pick) came back, and they found wolf hair.

When Malia reads the text she slams her head against the desk. Honestly, she’s very uncertain on how ‘her kind’ manage to stay hidden with shit like this.

And like the dent in her desk. Malia winces and places her folder over the dent, leans on it and smiles convincingly at the other students present.

Stiles asks Malia if they should tell Scott. Malia is uncertain he’d believe without a full demonstration, so they decide to wait until things are a little less hectic and he hasn’t gotten other stuff on his plate to do so.

Today is a Friday, and it’s a day that has a party, a party at which Scott has a date, and Stiles doesn’t really want to ruin that, so they let them (Scott and Alison) be.

The two go to the party, though, because it’s not invite-only, and also they might as well find something to celebrate.

They hang around the edges for a bit, Malia convinces Stiles to dance with her for a while, then they hang around the edges some more.

Stiles is the first to see Derek – Malia is the first to sense him.

“Where?” She asks – the crowd too thick and the scents too overwhelming – and Stiles nods to a corner where the man is spying through the fences.

“Right.” Malia huffs. “Let’s stop him from getting arrested, yeah?”

The two discretely wander over to the corner. Malia has since taught Stiles a modicum of subtlety, so this actually works, and they don’t draw attention.

“What do you want?” Malia hisses.

“As you can tell, we’re kind of busy.” Stiles says drily.

“It’s a full moon.” Derek’s voice is as flat as always.

“Duh.” Stiles rolls his eyes. “I have a lunar fucking calendar; we know.”

Derek narrows his eyes at Malia – blatantly blanking Stiles. “Can you control the shift?”

“Dude.” Stiles says. “Really?”

Malia glares flatly at Derek. “Yes.” She says, slowly. “I’ve had this for years, now, what the hell – why wouldn’t I have found this yet?”

“You can’t learn everything from a book.”

Derek snaps – almost… disgusted, Malia thinks, at the thought.

“We didn’t.” Stiles says. It’s flat – lacking the mirth he’s had throughout the conversation. “Though, to be fair, History of Lycanthropy was a good starting point. We were lucky my mom was into that stuff, though – to be fair.”

“I thought you found it at the library?” Malia said. “Yeah.” Stiles nodded. “I did. I found it at the library at the directions given to me from a few receipts in my mom’s stuff.”

Malia looked at him flatly.

“… Okay, so yeah, I left that out, so what.” Stiles muttered – rubbed the back of his neck; uncomfortable.

Malia huffed, let it go.

Derek looked – well, he had limited facial expressions so far as Malia could tell (though, to be fair, she hadn’t known him long) – so she didn’t really know what he looked, but he definitely wasn’t happy with being ignored.

“Oh.” Stiles said. “You’re still here. Right.”

Derek glowered in Stiles’ direction, and Stiles held his hands up and stepped backwards.

Malia’s eyes flashed in Derek’s direction.

“Just get out of here, cousin.”

Derek paused, looked at her as if trying to find the resemblance.

“Don’t rip anyone apart.” He says – maybe trying for dark humour, Malia has no idea – and then disappears into the night.

Malia quietly growls after him then huffs.

(“Punch?” Stiles offers.

“Gladly.” She says, and takes the drink.)

Things that DON’T Happen, and as a result…;

Scotty ain’t bitten, don’t rush out on Ally, she don’t get driven home by Der, who don’t take her jacket and hang it in the woods for Scotty, who doesn’t go to the woods bc he ain’t bit, so no big werewolf hunters reveal, that’s still (shhhuusssshhh) secret. Also thus no big ‘Ally A’s fam is kinda evil soz not sorry haha’ reveal (tho her dad ends up being like, aside from her, the only semi-chill one) so NO-One (except Derek but whenever in s1 was he ever forward and helpful and truthful he can’t do all at once too much broody-brooding for that)… on the good side… knows… dun Dun DUN.

(I mean, Pete also knows but lmao if you think he’d help normally, let alone in his state)

AND THAT’S A WRAP. For episode one and pre-canon, I think this is actually pretty neat??

Like I don’t think I botched too much shit up, guys. Sorry I didn’t go into much detail with Scotty, but I don’t think much about his pre-series life would have changed??? So yeah. Feel free to flesh out this AU with headcanons, I’m not done ‘til I’ve not-ficced the whole series.

It is 05:22 in the morning and I feel like I’ve accomplished something??? Lmao that’s probably because I need sleep.

‘Night, all.

[mysplaced-pen]

Hello! Hope you are doing fine :) could you write a story with Zen x MC where MC had years of suffering bc of her parents? Mother and father were mistreating and hitting her bc they were extremely strict and drink too much alcohol. One day she ran away from home and left everything behind. Even her older brother didn't help her. She also got a handicaped sister who she took care of since childhood. Now she can't see her and Zen is the only person who understands her and helps her ease the pain

hey anon! to be honest I’m still a bit sick, but thank you :) also, thank you for the request! It was…a lot, but I had some fun with it. It goes along with zen’s route, for the most part, leaving out Echo Girl.

oh, and since you didn’t specify ‘handicapped’ I left it kinda vague, hope that’s okay ^^;;  side note: im hoping this was your imagination but pls don’t hesitate to talk to me if you wanna 

I hope you like it!! Requests are open

Word Count: 2017(well isn’t that ironic)  Trigger Warnings: alcohol, hitting(.. i can’t word things), past abuse ,cheesy zen

Edit: sorry cuts hate me;;

 “You’re late.” Her father’s voice. “I thought we made it clear that 8 o’clock was your curfew.” Her mother’s now. Which wasn’t good—she could handle one of them, but both was just annoying. She had hoped it was one of those days where they would pass out by 7:30, but apparently she wasn’t that lucky. Still, she was 5 minutes late… “Do you have anything to say for yourself, MC?” No, she didn’t. Even if she did, it’d be useless. “Nothing, huh? How ungrateful…we were giving you a chance.” Sure, mother, call it a chance. “Look at me, young lady.” MC reluctantly followed her father’s words, knowing full well what would happen. It wasn’t the first time—and it probably won’t be the last—but she grew used to it. One slap for every minute she was late. This time, it was 5. The least she ever got was 2, the most 15. Her father did the hitting while her mother counted and poured both of them another drink. Scotch this time…must be a Thursday. When that punishment was over, a bag search. That was the easy part. Her mother would take the bag from her and shake it until everything spilled out on the floor. A pack of gum, her house keys, loose coins, a $10 bill, and a tube of lip gloss. They’d take her $10, give her one last, hard slap for “worrying them”, and send her upstairs. MC didn’t even care about the money, she had something more important in a hidden pocket she made. A girl learns things over the years.

While she went upstairs, she passed her older brother’s room. He used to be helpful, but he caved. Now, he was practically like them. Just as drunk and rude, the only difference being he didn’t hit her. He stayed holed up in his room, only going out for school and the occasional party he gets invited to. MC had half the mind to wonder if those parties made him any different. He wasn’t important, though. What was important, was her sister. She meant the world to MC, especially since she was the one to take care of her when they were kids. There was…an accident when MC was 7 and her sister was 5 that left her practically under house arrest. These days, she barely ever came out of their shared room. It wouldn’t surprise MC if their parents forgot about her. “Psst, it’s me.” MC whispered, opening the door just enough for her to slip through. “I got you something.” Her sister moved the blanket from her face and turned to her. “Is that why you’re late..?” MC shrugged, taking out the small bag apple slices from the hidden pocket in her bag. There were only 4, but she knew it would make a big difference. “It was worth it.” She said. Walking to her sister, MC carefully opened the bag and handed her a slice. “No it wasn’t MC,” her sister said, taking the slice anyways. “You shouldn’t get beat for fruit…” MC sat at the edge of the bed, getting a slice out for herself. “We shouldn’t get beat, period. But that’s our life, right?” Her sister ate the slice slowly, savoring it. “It doesn’t have to be. You could get out of here.” “And leave you?” MC responded automatically. “I couldn’t.” MC’s sister shook her head, “You can. And you should. One of us deserves a decent life.” MC popped the whole apple slice in her mouth and handed the rest to her. “Do we?”

When the day came, MC was definitely not prepared. “Go!” Her sister whisper-yelled from their bed, motioning her to the window. “We planned this, remember? Out the window, to the back, and do not stop until you see the third gas station.” MC nodded, opening the window. It was pointless to be quiet, their father was coming up the stairs as they spoke. MC started to put a foot out the window when she turned back to her sister. “And you’re going to stay in bed, and pretend you’re me…oh, this is ridiculous, just let me take it-” “No!” Her sister cut her off. They heard their father’s voice down the hall. “I didn’t answer your question back then, but the answer is yes. One of us does deserve a decent life. And you’re our last chance. So go!” The voice was getting closer, and MC was still not completely sure about this, but she knew her sister meant that. And out the window she went.

It had been 4 years since she left. At first, she tried to keep contact with her sister. Even if that only meant flying paper airplanes to the window. But she was found out one day by her mother, who yelled at her to never come back. MC didn’t know what happened that day or after, but they didn’t threaten her to come back. Part of her was relieved at first, another knew exactly why. It was confirmed by her mother, who had told her, “don’t you dare come back here, MC! It would be a huge disappointment to your sister, huh?” They hadn’t forgotten. Which meant who knows what for her sister. “If I see you near our house again, then you will come back. And it’ll make things so much worse.” Was the last thing she heard from her mother, complete with a smirk and a vodka bottle in hand. Vodka meant she was extra strict and dangerous, but it also meant somewhat honesty—much worse than lies. That, and it was Monday.

Ever since then, MC had nightmares. About what had happen to her sister, about if they would force her back there, how bad things really were. They did seem to get a little better, however, when she joined the RFA. That was also kind of forced, but the RFA was full of nice people. Nicer than pretty much everyone she knew before. There was one person who, uh, was a little too nice at times, but MC found herself drawn to him. Sure, the others were just as nice. She thought that Yoosung was cute, Seven was amusing to talk to, Jaehee was kind, and Jumin was even funny sometimes. She even liked V, though she rarely saw him. But Zen was…weird. In a good way. Her nightmares seemed to not be as frightening when she talked to him before going to sleep. He called every morning just to talk, made sure she ate—like everyone else—and now she had more pictures of this guy on her phone than she did herself. Seven told her he was kind of into her. Yoosung agreed. Jaehee was skeptical, but MC could understand. She was just getting to know this guy, just like she was with the rest of them, it’s not like she could fall in love through a messenger. But then he sprained his ankle and she was in a car Jumin sent on her way to his house. She was nervous, even dressed up a little bit. Okay, maybe she could fall in love through a messenger. Maybe.

Wait, did MC really find love over a messenger? Because she was supposed to leave his place an hour and a half ago, but here they were eating dinner together and laughing over something he said. It was easy around him, MC thought. And he was happier again, though she didn’t even have the chance to mention the cat food model job—sorry Jumin. After dinner, he took her up to the roof. It was a beautiful night, with stars practically everywhere. There, he spilled his life story to her. And at first, MC was surprised at how similar they really were, but she took her time to listen. This was important to him, she could tell. Plus, the blush on his face was cute. Damnit MC, focus. “It’s strange,” Zen said, “I feel as if I’ve known you for a long time…you’re strange.” MC smiled a bit, “Well…maybe it’s because we have kind of similar stories.” Zen looked at her, tilting his head a little. “What do you mean?” “It’s a long story…” “You listened to me, it’s my turn to listen to you.” He said, returning her smile. Now MC was blushing. “Alright…here we go.”

She took a deep breath and told him everything. From the accident with her sister, to the alcohol, to when the beatings started, her older brother, all the way to the day she ran away. Even the nightmares and the day she was yelled at by her mother. Somewhere along the way, she started crying. Not long after that, Zen started crying too. When she finished her story, the two of them were a mess. “MC..” Zen said, regaining his composure first. “How long…have you been keeping all of that in?” She shrugged lightly, “What, 4 years? It doesn’t matter, they’re not what I’m worried about-” “It’s your sister.” He said, cutting her off, but she nodded. “…I can’t see her anymore. I don’t know what they’re doing to her, what they already did to her, I just left her!” Zen quickly took her hand, intertwining his fingers and holding it tightly. “MC, listen to me. Nothing that happened was your fault. I have no doubt that your sister is proud of you and does not regret your decision. She’s happy that you left.” MC looked at him, her tears coming to a stop. “But they’re probably hurting her…” Zen sighed and brought up their hands, kissing hers gently. “I know…but whatever you do, you can’t go back.” She nodded, the blush coming back slightly. “You’re right…and I’m sorry, you have family problems too. I fully support you in your decisions, you know that. If you want to go back or not.” Zen smiled, “ Don’t be sorry. And I know, princess. Thank you. Oh, it’s late…you should probably go back to the apartment…” MC blinked, “Oh, yeah…Jumin’s driver is still outside…” He helped her stand up, hands still together. “I’m sorry if it seems like I’m kicking you out, but I honestly feel like I might faint just holding your hand.” MC laughed, following him back inside. “Please don’t. Your ankle still isn’t fully healed.” They continued talking while they walked towards the door. “It will be by tomorrow, I know it! Anyways…text me when you get back safe, okay? Promise?” MC nodded, “I promise.”

It was late by the time MC got back to the apartment, but she didn’t mind. She texted Zen as promised and joined the messenger when she saw he was on. Yoosung was on too, and the three of them talked for a while, but he went off once one of his guild members called him for a raid. Then it was just the two of them.

‘That boy..anyway I’m glad you made it back safe, MC. Make sure you rest up’

‘I will, you rest up too. You’re going back to the doctor tomorrow. Goodnight Zenny~’

They both left the chatroom, but he called her right after. “Can’t get enough of me?” She said teasingly when she answered. “No, actually. I can’t. Haha” He said, “I really just…wanted to thank you. For coming over, letting me share my story, and letting me listen to yours.” “I should thank you for having me…you made dinner.” She heard his laugh again, “That’s nothing, babe. I just made dinner. You made my day.” MC laughed now,  “Are you always this cheesy?” “I prefer ‘romantic’, but either way the answer is yes.” She rolled her eyes, smiling. “But seriously…thank you. And sweet dreams, my love. No nightmares tonight. It’ll just be you and me in the land of dreams.” He hung up after that, but he still left MC with a smile. And that night, there were no nightmares, like MC had a clear head for once. She really did just dream of the two of them, back on the roof and looking at the stars.