#difficult to explain 'medical reasons' to a dog

[killerpancakeburger]

Thinking about a Reader who ends up having Scary Dog Privileges with Ghost without meaning to. It just happened.

Then they have to deal with the fact that this comes with duties too.

Tags: civilian!reader, gn!reader, mostly fluff, a bit suggestive, smug!Ghost, smooth!Ghost. 800 words.

Part 2. Part 3.

When Ghost is reluctant to getting sutured in Medical after accidentally opening his stitches, grumbling he can do it himself, who does the nurse call for? Yeah, you.

She could stand her ground, after all she's used to dealing with big, whiny men, but it's much more fun to knock on your door and smile at your bewildered gaze and gaping mouth when she explains the situation in two sentences.

"Ghost's being difficult, mind taking over?" "I'm sorry, what the hell does this have to do with me?" "C'm'on, everyone on base knows he's got a soft spot for you. Don't you want to make my job easier?"

You roll your eyes and slam your hands on your desk as you get up. Groaning as you walk past her— "I'm doing this for you, nothing else, got it?"

Mumbling to yourself "you've got to be kidding me" as you barge into the sick bay. Ghost is coolly seated at the end of a bed, large as life, casual clothes as black as his mask and— oh. You weren't told the wound was on his thigh— you weren't warned that he didn’t have pants on. You can’t help it, your eyes go down, down, your lingering gaze and your flustered silence forming a confession louder than words.

A noise — a scoff or a grunt, you’re not sure — emanates from him, breaks your trance, makes you look up. The amusement in his gaze tells you he noticed your oggling— of course he did. Nothing gets past the Ghost, and you've been remarkably unsubtle. Despite the mask, you swear you can make out the smug smirk on his lips. His cockiness reignites your irritation. Annoyance making you bolder than you really are, you charge at him, crossing the distance between you two in a stride, stopping close— too close. He doesn't back off.

"What's wrong with you?" you snarl. "Nothin'," he retorts, imperturbable.

It's actually the first time you’re overlooking him. You may be enjoying it a bit too much. Nevermind the fact that you've had to wedge yourself between his parted legs to get there.

You frown, unconvinced by his answer.

“Did Soap contaminate you?”

Bargaining to be cleared out earlier was the Scotsman's trademark.

“Johnny throws a fit cos he hates feeling useless. That's not what I'm doing.”

A smirk stretches your lips.

“Oh, no? I'm sure your reasons are much more noble.”

“Doesn't matter. Got what I wanted anyway.”

He's way too self-satisfied for a man in his underwear.

You throw an unequivocal look in the direction of his injury.

“What you wanted? A still open wound?”

“You.”

He replied without missing a beat, as confident as usual. It is both alluring and aggravating.

“And your idea of wooing me is making me upset?”

You don't add “because if it is, that's really fucking stupid” out loud, but you’re sure he got the message through your tone.

“Nah. But you're more honest when you’re angry. Gutsier.”

You only realize he slipped his index and middle fingers in your trouser loops when he sharply tugs at them. Off balance, you steady yourself by catching his shoulders.

Taking advantage of the strip of bare skin between your shirt and bottoms, the pads of his thumbs idly stroke your hip bones. The contact sends electricity through you, shivers of pleasure running down your sides.

“Ghost,” you start, severe, trying not to let the effect his touch has on you show in your voice.

“Simon,” he counters, surly. “Told ya it's Simon when we're alone, didn't I?”

He did, but you didn’t think he was serious. If that's what it takes to get him to listen… you’ll play by his rules.

“Simon. What's the rest of your brilliant plan? I'm here, but I can’t stitch you up.”

“How ‘bout a deal. I'll stop resisting… for a price.”

You raise an amused eyebrow.

“What kind of price?”

“A kiss.”

You snort. You didn’t believe him capable of something so… puerile.

“With the mask on?”

He doesn't move a muscle to get rid of it.

“Take it off.”

You usually wouldn’t obey what sounds like an order so easily, but it's the first time you get to touch the skull. Slipping two fingers between skin and cloth, you slowly roll up the mask all the way under his nose.

You gently trace the scars surrounding his lips. Then, the second you feel him relax, grip on your hips slackening and intensity of his gaze waning, you grab the bottom of his mask and drag it back down vigorously, making the holes for the eyes land way too low for him to see anything.

“If you thought you'd get a reward for acting out, you've got another think coming.”

[osamucide]

R E I D ?!?!!!

casually dropping the divine comedy as ada!reid’s ability ?!?!?! nonono, i need DETAILS, i need THE LORE, i need to know what age he discovered it and if it frightened him or made him feel STRONG !!!

( if you feel like expanding i mean. love you, love ada!reid, smooches )

MINNNIIIIEEEEEEEE ILYSM ILL TALK ABOUT THIS FOREVER IF YOU LET ME

non-exhaustive BSD OC lore drop beneath the cut

I am so excited to explain this ability. Nine Circles of Hell is a multi-layered summoning ability, similar to Demon Snow or Golden Demon in that it ultimately manifests anthropomorphically, but I want to first talk about Reid’s childhood which is when he discovered his ability as I believe that will lead into a better overall understanding of each aspect of it—

Reid was born somewhere in southern Italy to a staunchly devout Roman Catholic family with very close ties to the Italian mafia/La Cosa Nostra. his immediate family immigrated by boat to the eastern United States (probably somewhere in New York/New Jersey) when he was early primary school aged in pursuit of better business/economic opportunities. throughout childhood and into the rest of his life, he struggles with what can be assumed as undiagnosed mental illness—especially depression/derealization/panic—for multitudes of reasons including neglect and early exposure to crime and violence; almost all of them stem from his family’s criminal lifestyle. in his pre-teen years, his dissociative episodes specifically begin to become associated with the manifestation of a fog-like apparition. the presence of the fog, which can disperse and reform, induces further disorientation. this was rather distressing for young Reid.

he has a difficult time understanding the presence and nature of the fog, as does his family, but this will eventually come to be understood as a manifestation of the first circle of hell as referenced in Dante’s Inferno: Limbo.

another thing perhaps of note—Italy/La Cosa Nostra deals with special ability users to a far lesser degree than Japan/Yokohama/the Port Mafia seems to. figuring the nature of the fog, and soon after the hot wind-entity that manifests as a representation of the second circle, Lust (which incidentally appears as he starts puberty LOL), entails a trip back to Italy and connecting with medical professionals associated with the mob (under the inital assumption that he may have been schizophrenic) and later the scarce other local crime families who happen to house and deal with ability users. he hears the phrase “special ability” for the first time when he’s eleven years old.

by this time, the third circle, Gluttony, begins to manifest in what appears to be dirty water—prolonged exposure to the entity brings on uncontrollable feelings of hunger. now that I’ve established these ones as prior to/right at his point of understanding that Nine Circles is an ability, I’ll explain the remaining six circles’ manifestations as they tend to be more concrete and are only accessible to Reid as his understanding of how to control/summon/utilize his ability grows.

the fourth circle, Greed—entity takes the form of illusory manifestations of material wealth and riches. much like Gluttony, prolonged physical contact with the manifestations will result in uncontrolled, judgement-clouding feelings of envy.

the fifth circle, Wrath—manifested as a contorted body made entirely of human hands. the hands can wield weapons or engage in combat on behalf of the ability user.

the sixth circle, Heresy—entity takes a flame form that comes with not only bludgeoning heat but also slight reality distortion meant to disorient targets.

the seventh circle, Violence—an animal, particularly dog-like, form of the entity appearing to be made of blood. attacks relentlessly and ruthlessly, most of the time at will of the user but sometimes indescriminately

the eighth circle, Fraud—the entity may take the form of one human being other than the ability user.

the ninth circle, Treachery—entity takes an ice form that comes not only with bitter cold, but favors targeting those most morally corrupt.

this is where you might be saying woah, Reid, this ability is wayyyy overpowered. and you might be correct if not for the conditions, limitations, and drawbacks which I will now discuss—

each individual facet of Nine Circles has specific conditions under which it may happen, the first and foremost being the user's understanding of how to summon it. Reid's experiences with first summoning each one would be a novel itself probably but a few are briefly listed up there so I'll do another listicle format for the conditions, drawbacks, and limitations.

universal drawbacks of the ability include these: that the manifestation of any of the circles will result in certain levels of emotional exhaustion in the user. no two circles/facets can be utilized at the same time. the degree to which a target is affected by a particular facet of Nine Circles is partially determined by how afflicted they are by the sin; i.e. a crooked business man might be especially susceptible to Greed

the first circle, Limbo—

CONDITIONS: user must enter a state of derealization/dissociation

DRAWBACKS: difficult to maintain if the user is unable to dissociate or is not already in a state of dissociation; prolonged use will cause immense emotional and mental exhaustion

LIMITATIONS: non-offensive facet; better suited for confusing the battlefield, but works indiscriminately when dispersed—will confuse allies as well

the second circle, Lust—

CONDITIONS: user must conjure a mental or physical image of some sort of desire and keep this in mind/on hand

DRAWBACKS: prolonged use can reflect on the user in the form of both emotional and mental exhaustion and intense sexual arousal

LIMITATIONS: can be used offensively only if summoned to the proper capacity (ie strong wind) which must be maintained by the mental/physical image of desire; can be directed, but if strong enough will work indiscriminately, possibly harming allies

the third circle, Gluttony—

CONDITIONS: user must be operating on an empty/mostly empty stomach

DRAWBACKS: user is prone to exhaustion quicker if using this facet due to the necessary fasting procedure needed to summon it

LIMITATIONS: liquid manifestation is user-controllable; N/A/???

the fourth circle, Greed—

CONDITIONS: same as the second circle, Lust

DRAWBACKS: N/A/???

LIMITATIONS: non-offensive facet; better for confusing the battlefield; illusions can only be maintained under conditions (although it is easier to maintain than Lust)

the fifth circle, Wrath—

CONDITIONS: user must feel passionately about the cause they're combating

DRAWBACKS: N/A/???

LIMITATIONS: while the body can wield weapons and engage in combat, its range is limiting and it can be harmed like a regular human body—regeneration only takes place after the ability is dismissed

the sixth circle, Heresy—

CONDITIONS: N/A/???

DRAWBACKS: heat and reality distortion reflect back on the user to a lesser extent than targets, but can still be overwhelming

LIMITATIONS: only those who have physically spoken a lie in the prior twenty-four hours are majorly susceptible—others will not be affected unless touched directly by flame, which is controllable by user but more fluid than say Wrath

the seventh circle, Violence—

CONDITIONS: user must shed any amount of blood to activate

DRAWBACKS: may manifest after major blood loss out of the control of the user

LIMITATIONS: while mostly commandable by the user, high enough levels of exhaustion/exertion might allow Violence to attack indiscriminately, possibly harming allies

the eigth circle, Fraud—

CONDITIONS: user must have and keep the physical appearance of the intended form in mind

DRAWBACKS: N/A/???

LIMITATIONS: taking on the form of another will not grant the entity their powers/ability; largely non-offensive, more ideal for distraction/manipulation like Greed

the ninth circle, Treachery—

CONDITIONS: N/A/???

DRAWBACKS: heaviest reflection on the user due to the nature of the ability. each time Treachery is used, the chances of the facet turning on the user slightly increase

LIMITATIONS: see drawbacks

Reid had discovered all of these by the time he was almost fifteen years old. in present time, the only ones he regularly utilizes are Wrath and Violence due to both their minimal drawbacks compared to other circles and the high level of control he comes to hone over them.

At fifteen is when he was sent to Yokohama, which is another lore drop entirely I think. maybe I should go back to that multichapter fic I scrapped that was basically going to be all of his lore? I've spent quite some time mulling over this ability not only as it unfolds in the world of BSD and in relation to characters, but also how it relates to me—since Reid essentially is me, a lot of his character/ability is informed by (personal moment lolz) how intensely I've found myself to experience emotions throughout my life and how they can both harm and help me and others/what kinds of kickbacks they have when activated. that being said, this is non-exhaustive, just like him as a whole, just like me too. I sincerely hope this was interesting!

[bigsissugi]

Analyzing the Prisoners' Fairytale Part 12: Maiko

Info:

Contains spoilers for LOCKDOWN.

Grammar issues within the official material will be retained for informative purposes.

If you're a staff member, please don't give me any corrections or hints. It'll be much more fun for you if your audience is wrong.

Triggers: Stalking, in-depth discussion of a mental disorder.

Her fairytale:

A story about a loyal dog. Who fell in love with a doe, believing them to be their master. They would do anything for this doe. But the doe held little power. For you see, they had no antlers. The Loyal Dog wished to bring their master power. So they hunted, deer by deer, knocking them out and taking pieces of their antlers. The Dog stitched the antlers together and put them on the Doe's head. When the doe awoke they were overjoyed, believing it was a miracle. They achieved everything they had sought. But when the loyal dog informed the Doe it was their doing… The Doe was horrified and ran away, vowing to never see the Dog again. Now the loyal dog patrols the woods, stalking and following their darling Doe. Ensuring nothing ever harms them.

How does the fairytale apply to Maiko?

So far, the love-sick dog is difficult to compare with the prisoners based on the main game alone. However, the doe can be identified amongst the hostages. Maiko's hostage Yui had a sudden success story just like the doe and her bio card implies that her success has something to do with Maiko:

A star who rose up with rapid success…

But just as quickly as she rose up, she burnt out and crashed.

Some idols retire with grace, some idols retire like Yui Apinya. Bitter, restless, critical, harsh and constantly trying to grapple back the stardom they once had. She seems desperate to prove something, mainly to herself. That's your fault, isn't it?

I'm not an expert on psychology by any means but when choosing words to use in this post, I initially opted to use the word "erotomania" in an unserious context. When looking the word up, I learned about an actual mental disorder in which someone believes another person is in love with them even when there is evidence for the contrary. Some of its risk factors and symptoms align with both Maiko's and the dog's characterizations so far:

Subjects of an erotomaniac's love are often of a higher social status than them. The dog believes the doe is above them (their master). Meanwhile, despite both of them being part of the Ultimate system at some point in their lives, Yui's talent is more likely to appeal to the mainstream than Maiko's and unlike Yui, Maiko hadn't made a public appearance in several years before the killing game.

Subjects of an erotomaniac's love are typically unattainable for whatever reason. In the doe's case, she completely cut contact with the lovesick dog after finding out about their theft.

Medical websites describe the average erotomania patient as a shy, dependent, sexually inexperienced female. The dog is heavily dependent on the doe while Maiko is shy and it would be reasonable to assume she is a virgin, considering her stereotypically loser-ish personality and the large amount of time she went without making public appearances.

Stalking is a common symptom of erotomania. It does not need to be explained why this applies to the dog.

Symbolism Explanation

Maiko is a dog: As stated in the fairytale, dogs are associated with loyalty & unconditional love. Maiko demonstrates these by reminiscing on her friendship with Yui in the prologue even though the fairytale confirms she cut Maiko off:

Maiko: Haha, it’s just like my best friend Yui used to say- ‘Sometimes the best way to say sorry is to leave’!

Calling someone a dog is a derogatory way of criticizing their improper behaviour, especially if directed at a woman (i.e. calling her a bitch). By portraying Maiko in such an insulting and rejectable manner, the fairytale reminds us of her insecure demeanour.

Yui is a doe: Yui being represented by an animal typically associated with gentleness and grace opposes her aggressive depiction from her bio (and what people might remember of her personality from the beta). Because of this, I'm assuming her assigned animal reflects Maiko's skewed perception of her rather than her true personality. Also, specifying the gender of the deer by calling it a doe draws attention to Yui's conventionally feminine appearance.

Other idols' songs are other deer's antlers: The fact that the dog's victims share a species with the doe but not the dog means Maiko's victims must have something significant in common with Yui. The most obvious answer to that based on what we know about Yui so far is them being fellow idols.

Initially one might assume their antlers represent money to fund a popstar's career, but there are a number of problems with this solution:

The item being symbolized by antlers means it must be exclusive to people similar to Yui.

Maiko is already rich from voice acting (and owning an Ultimate title if the fairytale takes place after she gained it), which means she can just as easily use her own funds to support Yui's career. One look at her luxurious design will tell you she's anything but stingy.

"Stitched the antlers together" would be a strange way to describe the combining of other people's stolen money.

There is hardly anything connecting Yui with money at the moment.

So what does one require in order to succeed specifically as a popstar? In the context of the music industry, which things can be stolen and combined in order to create something new? The answer to both is original songs.

Her deity:

12- Aphrodite: Bringer of overwhelming, overpowering love. Love so all consuming it becomes dangerous and corruptive, driving one to the point of mania…

Parallels between Aphrodite and the Dog

Both supply extreme love to others, but there is a stark difference in how they go about it. As the Goddess of love, Aphrodite is responsible for inducing romantic and violent passion in Gods and mankind alike. The most infamous instance of this is her involvement in the Judgement of Paris; she offered Helene's hand in marriage to Paris of Troy, to which he accepted. His abduction of Helene kickstarted the Trojan War, which Aphrodite also participated in. By contrast, the dog's self-imposed infatuation caused them to steal antlers for their beloved doe; they are more like the Paris to the doe's Helene than Aphrodite.

Parallels between Maiko and Aphrodite

Due to Maiko not expressing obsessive love in-game yet, there isn't much to discuss that wasn't already covered in the section above. All that's worth noting is the summary describing the violent passion of Aphrodite's admirers as "mania", which affirms my speculation of her clinical erotomania.

Symbolism Summary

Dog: Maiko Doe: Yui Antlers: Songs Power: Fame Other Deer: Other Idols

Retelling through the lens of Dog Maiko

A story about a terminally online loser who's in love with her conventionally attractive friend. Her friend wants to become a famous idol, but she doesn't have her own songs yet. The loser wants her friend to achieve fame but doesn't have any songwriting skills of her own, so she resorts to sampling other artists' songs and arranging them into something new for the friend. Upon finding the song(s) at her workstation, the friend is over the moon and promptly uses it to finally become a legitimate idol. However, some time after that, the loser confesses to stealing from other artists, causing the friend to cut ties with her. The loser cannot accept her friend's rejection, so she starts stalking her.

(Side note: I presume the line about the dog knocking the other deer out only exists to make it physically possible for the dog to chop the antlers without the deer noticing and has no meaning in regards to Maiko's crime.)

What is her crime?

Maiko's Frankensteining of the "antlers" can be most accurately described as Plagiarism while her second crime, Stalking, has been outright confirmed.

What will her verdict be?

Maiko's crime is the one I compared with Alora's in Part 06. Both harmed multiple third parties non-fatally with the intent of helping the person they are closest to. Unlike Alora simultaneously wanting to keep Lillith alive and make a difference for people other than her, Maiko's fairytale portrays her crime as a completely selfish, desperate attempt to earn love. Therefore, the only verdict currently plausible for her is Corrupt.

[dearchloe]

7 december

She didn't have the faintest idea where she was.

There was an odd kind of half-light permeating the room even through the red curtains hanging at the window, which looked like velvet but probably weren't. It wasn't quite daylight and wasn't quite night and certainly wasn't dawn, so she didn't have the faintest idea of what time it was, either. Her schedule had been completely and utterly thrown out of sync by the events of the past few days, and you could have told her it was any time between 4am and 11pm without being disbelieved.

It was all very peculiar.

Not quite so peculiar, though, as the room that she'd woken up in. Ivy had thought it was a prison at first; all she could see in all directions were bars. Unfortunately, the wooden sort rather than the alcoholic sort. She didn't think that wood was the first choice of building material for most prisons, but then again, if it had been a normal prison, she would have come to it in a normal way.

Then, she'd realised that she was lying on a padded surface, and she'd amended her hypothesis to the supposition that she might have been confined to a psychiatric ward somewhere. Honestly, after the events of the past few days, Ivy wouldn't have considered that at all unreasonable, but there was a definite lack of medical equipment, and it was, in her opinion, far too quiet to be anywhere in the vicinity on an NHS hospital. And she knew a bit about hospitals, on account of the fact that her works so often involved them in one way or another. This felt wrong, in that vague and indefinite way which was so difficult to explain. Whatever the reasoning, she was sure she wasn't in hospital.

On the other hand, that didn't help her to define where she was.

Cautiously, she got up onto her hands and knees, and looked down at herself with some consternation. She seemed to be wearing some sort of red velvet onesie, she decided, which was more or less identical to the colour of the curtains. Putting aside for the moment the question of who had put her into it — because she was certain she hadn't been wearing it when she'd fallen asleep — it fitted her surprisingly well, and that gave rise to a whole host of different questions which she thought, on the whole, she wouldn't explore too deeply right now. The priority was how to get out. She could panic about everything else later.

Maybe when she was deciding which of her friends was best to speak to about prosecuting the people responsible.

Turning over, she sighed and began doing her best, as gently as possible, to test the bars. They seemed pretty solid, regrettably, made of the sort of old wood which was almost harder than metal, and well rooted in... whatever they were rooted in. It was underneath her, and she couldn't seem to see it however hard she tried.

As she was engaged in trying to pull the bar out of the way, she heard a sound which sent chills down her spine. It was the sound of a door opening. Quick as a flash, she rolled onto her back, closed her eyes and pretended to be asleep, just barely peeping out between her lashes.

Footsteps sounded on wood, somewhere below the level of her sight, and something green moved past her, so quickly that she couldn't quite make it out. Then there was a pause, and a clunk, and the bars began to descend.

"Wakey, wakey..." cooed a high voice, though Ivy couldn't tell whether it was naturally that way, or whether it was merely because the speaker was using the sort of voice that she usually associated with dogs and the kind of children too young to actually understand anything being said. "Someone's sleepy, huh?"

She did her best to maintain her pretended sleep, but a hand reached out to gently shake her shoulder, and Ivy let out a gasp before she could stop herself. There was no point trying to pretend any longer, and so she opened her eyes, taking in the whole of the sight before her.

The woman was tall, with white-blonde hair protruding from beneath a strange little hat. Her dress was a deep forest green, close-fitting to her considerable curves, and looked as if it was made from the same material as Ivy's onesie. But it was her eyes which were the real surprise; they seemed to be somewhere between a golden brown and a silvery blue, and to fluctuate between the two at random. Ivy, without realising, let out another little gasp.

This was one of the most beautiful women she'd ever met.

Pink lips curved up in a warm smile. "Well, hi there! You must be Ivy."

Pausing to consider, Ivy decided she wasn't likely to get anywhere by denying this fact. "Yeah," she admitted, a little shyly.

"It's great to meet you, Ivy. I'm Jolly."

"You're..."

"Jolly, that's right."

The brunette considered whether there was any way she could point out how weird a name that was without being rude, and decided that there wasn't. She nodded, instead. "Uh. Nice to meet you? But I don't really know..."

"I know, sweetie, you don't know what's happening. That's OK. You're going to be coming to stay with me for a little while. Is that all right with you?"

"I guess?"

"Great!" Jolly held out both hands, and Ivy, after a brief hesitation, took them, and allowed the green-clad woman to pull her towards the edge of the padded surface she'd been lying on.

"Sorry, um... Where am I?"

Jolly laughed. "The North Pole, silly. No, no," as Ivy went to climb down from the edge, "Let's see if you're ready to travel first?"

Ivy blinked, confused on more levels than she could begin to describe. "What?" And then she squeaked as Jolly's hands went to her crotch, squeezing in a very intrusive way at her...

Oh. Oh.

Given recent events, she guessed that wearing a nappy for bed might have been justified, as decisions went, but it would still have been nice to be consulted.

"Someone's a soggy snowflake!"

Ivy said nothing, because the language centres of her brain had shorted out.

She did her best to resist as Jolly pushed her backwards, fumbling with the row of buttons between her legs, but the blonde seemed to have a strength entirely beyond her size, and Ivy had no chance of resisting the hands that exposed a thick nappy between her legs, tearing the tapes and pulling it forward to reveal the yellowed padding within.

It revealed a lot more than that, too, but Ivy didn't really want to think about it.

Icy wipes worked away, and the brunette tried to struggle, but was met with a sharp slap to the top of her thigh and the disproportionate pain which flooded her body was more than enough motivation to keep her still as Jolly finished changing her into a fresh nappy, this one decorated with a large smiling snowman, and buttoned up her onesie again.

"Um..." she managed, timidly. "I don't... I don't wear nappies. At all, actually. But definitely not during the day."

Jolly helped her down, out of what Ivy had to admit now was probably an enormous crib, and kept a tight hold of her hand, leading her towards the door. "We'll explain all that, sweetie. I promise. Right now, though, you've got a super long journey ahead of you, and there are no service stations out here. Trust me."

In the woman's strong grip, Ivy didn't seem to have a choice, and she went along, mute, as she was led through long wooden corridors and out into the biting cold. There, she might have been surprised (if it weren't that she was long past the point of surprise) to encounter a gleaming green sleigh with silver fittings, harnessed to a team of six huskies.

Jolly got in first before pulling Ivy, uninvited, into her lap, and wrapping them both up in a series of rugs and blankets so tight that the lawyer couldn't have got out however hard she tried. And then she took up the reins, gave a sharp whistle to the dogs, and they were off.

Alert at first to the awkwardness of her situation and the beauty of her surroundings, Ivy was wide awake with the cold wind on her cheeks, watching the endless snow slipping past and trying not to think about the warmth of Jolly's breasts against her back. But the dogs went relentlessly on with a soothing rhythm, and the whisper of the runners on the snow and the monotony of their white surroundings were enough to send her into a light doze.

She awoke later — she couldn't have said how much later — to find the situation entirely unchanged, the dogs still running on, the light still oddly half-present. Except for the one fairly important corollary that she desperately needed the toilet.

Shifting slightly in her seat, she provoked a chuckle from the woman behind her, and only then fully remembered that she was sitting in Jolly's lap. Her cheeks coloured as the blonde leaned forward to speak to her.

"Doing OK, sweetie?"

"Yeah, I, uh... Yeah." Ivy paused a moment, and then, thankful that she didn't have to make eye contact, blurted out "Could we stop? I kind of need a... a break, you know?"

"I told you before, Ivy." The voice wasn't unsympathetic. "No toilets out here, and you don't want to poison the polar bears, do you?"

"I, uh... No?"

"Just go. Your nappy will take everything you can throw at it, I promise."

The brunette blushed redder than she ever had before. But about an hour later, in the biting cold and with no end to the journey in sight, she had no choice, and she slowly relaxed, finding it surprisingly easy to let the urine flow out into the padding around her nethers.

At least it kept her warm.

There was a laugh from behind her. "See? Not so bad, is it?"

[sparks9793]

How far can we take this AU thing?

At night, when was alone in her bed she’d think about the things she’d done. Hayley never really found guilt anytime she thought back. She did feel like what she was doing was wrong, though. Hayley knew that much, she just didn’t feel that bad about any of it, though. She’d made herself a nice small fortune and did it doing something she loved. Why did she love stealing from unsuspecting idiot men?  

Who knows?  

The tiny blonde had a mostly-typical upbringing. Her mom and dad split when she was five and Hayley saw her dad pretty often like most of her friends with their dads.  

Christi was a good mom. She took care of Hayley. Loved her. Protected her. Encouraged her.  

She didn’t have an unusual childhood. Others who had it far worse turned out normal. She had no excuse. No trauma to point at. No mental health problems ran in the family. No vendetta against men. Nothing to prove.  

She just liked it. There was a thrill that came with it. And the better she got at it, the more fun it was. And Hayley loathed the idea of working a regular job somewhere earning a living wage. A living wage. What a joke. She was earning like a CEO and not once did she ever have to put out for anyone she didn’t want to. Everything was on her terms.  

The tiny blonde could sleep in as late as she wanted. Skip a day of work if she chose, never needing to call anyone to tell them she was taking a sick day. She could do two in one day if she was on a roll. Or could abandon ship if the man she started chatting up turned out to be someone Hayley could actually see herself fucking. Because she did draw the line there.  

If she started to become interested in the guy, or he was attractive enough, and he invited her back to his place Hayley would have a choice to make. She could stay the course, drug him, and then steal his watch and his money or she could just have a fun night with an attractive man at his place. The tiny blonde wouldn’t steal from someone she’d slept with. She had some moral boundaries.  

Hayley was nice, though. She wasn’t like a bitch to anyone. But she guesses ask any of the men she’d stolen from and they’d have a different mind about that. She had a small handful of friends. She didn’t like letting people get too close, though. For good reason. Because when she got close it became harder to hide her dark secret. People always asked what she did for a living. What an intrusive question to ask anyone. Hayle always made up some lie about working online and inputting data for a medical corporation. Something that pointed to her making just enough money that would explain her nice clothes and expensive purses, but also that would have her home during the day.  

Her best friend, Brian knows her secret. Probably her mom as well. Also, Joey who buys her stolen goods but that’s a different story. But that’s it. In the whole wide world, has one person that she’s told directly what she does (again, not counting Joey). Because she couldn’t hide it anymore. And Brian is still around. He’s her best friend. Now her mom, well, Hayley never told her but she knows. She’s not dumb.  

The bank wouldn’t take big ass deposits like that at a time or there’d be some kind of flag on her account and it would get reported to the HMRC (protocol), so Hayley generally would only deposit £3,000 at a time. Which also meant she had a large stash of cash in her apartment at all times. She tried to space out the deposits. Had multiple bank accounts at different banks, and went to different branches in different locations but cash was difficult to work with at times. It was the only part of the job she hated. Dealing with all that cash. Especially when she preferred to save most of it. She usually bought herself nice things, but most of the money she didn’t touch. Hayley was serious about her future plan of buying a house for cash and getting lots of dogs.  

Tonight, she planned on going to the Connaught again. The last time the tiny blonde was there was six months ago. She’d gotten a big hit with a B-list celebrity and she didn’t want to show her face around there for a while just in case he found her there or anyone recognized her somehow. Six months seemed like a good amount of time to wait.  

Hayley stopped at her favorite café and picked up a ginger tea and scone to go. Then she walked to St. James Park to drink and eat her breakfast slash lunch in the sunshine.  

She wondered who would be at the bar tonight. The Connaught was usually crawling with celebrities (lots of money). Hayley knew how to handle them all. It really didn’t take much though. Look cute, act dumb. Usually. There were a few times she’d encountered a celebrity or wealthy man who was looking for someone with substance, but that wasn’t what she was going for. The tiny blonde searched for the ones who wanted one fun night and nothing more.  

Hayley was sitting on one of the benches near the pond and sipping her hot tea when a shadow appeared blocking the sun from her body. She looked up to see a tall man looking down at her. Instantly she sat up straight. He was very attractive.  

“Hi… I was hoping you could point me in the direction of The Ritz hotel. I seem to be lost…” he looked at his cell phone and then held its screen to her face and Hayley laughed, placing her tea down next to her.  

The tiny blonde stood up and smiled and noticed he didn’t have a watch on his wrist (old habit), “You’re definitely lost. But not too lost. The nearest Ritz is gonna be like a 9-minute walk from here. It’s that way,” she pointed in the direction of Mayfair, though it couldn’t be seen from where she was.  

“Fuck. Well, thank you, I guess. I’m new here and went for a walk and found myself enjoying the sun and now here I am. Lost puppy in a big city.”  

The man had thick, dark curly hair, honey-colored eyes, richly pigmented lips, and a jawline that could cut rock. And he was American. Clearly from out of town.  

Hayley held out her hand and introduced herself and he quickly wrapped his big paw around hers and she saw the tattoo on his forearm. His clothes didn’t indicate that he was well-off. But sometimes it was hard to tell. Some rich guys didn’t give a fuck. This one didn’t. If he was, in fact, wealthy.  

“Taylor. Nice to meet you. Is hard finding a friendly face in a new city. Do you live here?”  

“I do. Not far from here. What are you in town for, Taylor?” the tiny blonde asked, keeping eye contact. She didn’t know if she should size him up for a job or see if she could get him to take her back to his hotel for a fuck. This guy looked like he could fuck. Tall and broad, deep voice, and big hands. A charming smile.  

“Ahh, just work. Plan to be here for about a month. Staying at The Ritz while I’m in town,” he smirked at her and that was all Hayley needed to hear to know he was interested. Yeah, she’d fuck him.  

“Is that so? For a month huh? Here, let me give you my number, you know, in case you need anyone to show you around. A friendly face like you said…” Hayley gestured toward his phone so she could put her number in and he unlocked it and opened up his messages app.  

She was bold. The tiny blonde had no problem picking up a guy to sleep with. She just needed to be somewhat straightforward. Her jobs were different. Playing coy was the game when they wanted to feel like they were in charge. But when it came to actually fucking someone, she was in charge and she wanted them to know it.  

“Seems quite forward to give your number to a complete stranger, Hayley” he spoke her name, wrapping his lips around the vowels in the most sensual way. That mouth of his could do some damage. she swallowed.  

She laughed and shrugged, “Not really. It’s just a number. Now, what you do with it is up to you. If you’re bold, you’ll use it.”  

[ratsplendor]

Do you have any tips for balancing medical realism in your writing without it sounding long winded? I LOVE the inclusion of the specific medications, and care necessitated for Fiddleford. And I feel like it's such a difficult balancing act. Some folks' writing is way inaccurate, and others cram walls of grey's anatomy jargon for realism's sake. Often to the point where it's hard not to skim. So Im super impressed with how you managed to find that line. Thanks in advance!

oooh this is a good question!! + i think it's pretty much the same for most technical things. one of the biggest challenges i had when i started trying to put together original novels is that i got *really* bogged down in the science of it all, to the detriment of the narrative. like, i could hardly even get started with an actual story bc i was too busy thinking about what was plausible + how to prove it. so when i have the chance in fanfic, i try to practice dialing it back, whether it be medical, legal, or scientific stuff. this is what i've found works for me:

voice comes first: esp. if you're writing from a character's POV, try to think about what they could reasonably be expected to know. in love by the milligram, Stan has *some* medical knowledge, but isn't a professional. if you want background, he has a drug manual he stole from the Goodwill in Bend + that's how he's deciding on Fidds's meds. god forbid they go to an actual doctor and just lie. so he can throw around terms like "Diastat" and "lorazepam" but having to witness an actual seizure makes him super anxious. he's got the textbook knowledge, but not the professional detachment.

when it was from Fidds's POV in "hair trigger," he was all about the functional. so his main concern was 1. surviving, and 2. inventing a thingamajig so that Stan can monitor him from a distance if necessary. he just throws it out casually because it's not the main concern for him.

by the time of "sleeping dogs," Fidds's care routine is just a daily thing for Stan. the meds at night, knowing how to anticipate when he'll be loopier/dizzy based on when he takes them, seeing a memory episode coming in advance--it's all very normalized for him, but also a lot of mental load going on in the background. since he's not thinking too hard about it, he's not really explaining it unless Ford is asking. it's part of his day, and it's not *nothing*, but neither is it something he has to remind himself to do.

so basically, by focusing on what characters know AND what they'd give a shit about explaining, you give yourself some freedom to leave things vague.

focus on impact/utility: what function does it serve the reader to explain this thing? i didn't explain Stan having a drug manual because he wouldn't give a fuck if anyone knew he did or not. he took care of it, he fixed the issue. he has no qualms about forging prescriptions, so any further discussion on it is way too granular. now maybe there'll be a scene where Ford is like "hey guys. maybe we should go to an actual doctor instead of flying by the seat of our pants" and Stan gets all offended about how he has a book, and which of us has actually been dealing with this shit huh?!? -- but that mostly serves the purpose of creating friction + a sense of history, not over-explaining.

know when to trust your readers (or when you're okay with distrusting them): idk if you read "cottonmouth" but there's a whole scene in there where i talk about nuclear reactors. idk wtf i'm talking about. it's a sex metaphor. i spent like an hour intensely browsing Wikipedia for that paragraph; a nuclear physicist would probably find it slapdash at best. but i wrote that story for the sex, and i have a pretty good inkling that most readers are there to read the smut and not dive into the particulars of fission vessels.

similarly, sometimes i stick a technical term in there that does 1 of 2 things, depending on the reader: 1. they get curious and look it up and find out Diastat is a rectal medication for seizures and then *that's* in their head now, or 2. they think "oh, medical thing" and it bolsters the sense of realism. trusting readers to direct their own experience/find out what they don't know, if they feel like they need to, once again frees things up.

i have a lot of Thoughts on the medical-show-realism vs. wacky-slapstick-pseudoscience debacle because when it comes to disability/chronic or acute illness representation, a lot of the time you're hoping your reader will take something specific from it. sometimes you want to raise awareness. other times you just want to represent the internal sense of self vis-a-vis health conditions, health as a neutral part of life, and disability as just one part of a person and their relationships. so i think it's really about having a clear sense of your character and your intent, then adjusting the level of show-vs-tell from there.

[augustsphobiablog]

Why people feel fear.

Long post so this will be cut from here.

At least 60 percent of adults admit to having at least one unreasonable fear, although research to date is not clear on why these fears manifest. One theory is that humans have a genetic predisposition to fear things that were a threat to our ancestors, such as snakes, spiders, heights, or water, but this is difficult to verify, although people who have a first-degree relative with a specific phobia appear more likely to have the same one. Others point to evidence that individuals fear certain things because of a previous traumatic experience with them, but that fails to explain the many fears without such origins.

If people didn’t feel fear, they wouldn’t be able to protect themselves from legitimate threats. Fear is a vital response to physical and emotional danger that has been pivotal throughout human evolution, but especially in ancient times when men and women regularly faced life-or-death situations.

Many people experience occasional bouts of fear or “nerves” before a flight, first date, or big game. But when someone’s fear is persistent and specific to certain threat, and impairs his or her everyday life, that person might have what’s known as a specific phobia.

Personality traits such as neuroticism appear to increase one's likelihood of developing a phobia, and a tendency toward frequent worries and negative thoughts may also increase the risk, as may being raised by overprotective parents, losing a parent, or sexual or physical abuse. Most likely is that people follow multiple pathways to fears, not least among them the emotional response of disgust.

Specific phobias.

A phobia is a distinct fear or anxiety about a certain object or situation, exposure to which consistently provokes fear or causes distress in the sufferer. The fear experienced is almost always disproportionate to the true danger the object or event poses, and people with specific phobias generally know there is no real reason to be afraid and that their behavior is not logical. However, they cannot avoid their reaction.

Phobias fall into five broad categories;

Fears of animals, such as fear of dogs (cynophobia), spiders (arachnophobia), or bugs (insectophobia or entomophobia). These fears, known as zoophobias, also include the fear of bats (chiroptophobia) and of snakes or lizards (herpetophobia).

Fears of the natural environment, such as a fear of heights (acrophobia) or of storms. These phobias also include fear of fire (pyrophobia) and fear of the dark (nyctophobia).

Fears related to blood (hemophobia), injury, and injection, such as a fear of needles (trypanophobia) or medical procedures including dentistry (dentophobia).

Situational fears, such as a fear of flying (aerophobia), a fear of public speaking (glossophobia), or a fear of riding in elevators, which is itself a type of fear of closed spaces (claustrophobia).

Others, such as a fear of vomiting or choking.

Phobias can manifest at any time, but tend to emerge in childhood or adolescence, and the symptoms are often lifelong. In some cases, exposure to the feared object or situation (the phobic stimulus) can cause full or limited panic attacks. As many as 9 percent of Americans annually experience a specific phobia, according to the DSM-5, and women are twice as likely as men to have a phobia. It’s not uncommon to have multiple phobias;

three-quarters of individuals diagnosed with a specific phobia have more than one and the average sufferer has three. The onset of a phobia can sometimes be traced to a specific event, like surviving a plane crash or being attacked by a dog. But for many more people, the origin of the phobia remains unknown. Some people with a specific phobia change their lifestyles to avoid their triggers, moving to a region where certain animals are rare, for example, or where there is no subway.

Fear often takes forms other than specific phobias. For example, social anxiety disorder, which is also known as social phobia, entails a deep fear of other people’s judgment, evaluation, and rejection that limits sufferers’ enjoyment of life. Individuals with social anxiety may avoid situations in which they will be exposed to the scrutiny of others, such as giving a speech, eating in front of others, meeting new people, or engaging in group conversations.

The biochemical reaction.

Fear is a normal response to many situations and comprises two primary reactions: biochemical and emotional.

The biochemical reaction to fear causes our bodies to respond to perceived threats in the environment.

This produces automatic physical reactions such as sweating, increased heart rate, breathlessness, and dilated pupils. These bodily reactions prepare the body to either combat the threat or run away from it – this is called the ‘ fight or flight ’ response.

In response to a threat, the sympathetic nervous system, part of the autonomic nervous system, is activated by the sudden release of hormones.

The sympathetic nervous system then stimulates the adrenal glands to trigger the release of hormones, resulting in physical reactions. These hormones are;

• Epinephrine (adrenaline) – Provides energy to the major muscles of the body so they can respond to a perceived threat.

• Norepinephrine (noradrenaline) – increases alertness, arousal, and attention. Connstricts blood vessels that help maintain blood pressure during times of stress.

[quiet-curiosity]

I happy we found out new dentist & they were so focused on creating a calm office environment - therapy dog, weighted blankets, really kind staff

Because I got some kinda scary news there- they definitely explained it in a way that was reassuring - but now that it’s night time, and my gums are a little sore from being poked- my medical ocd is really being difficult. But I’m not going to google it. Or ruminate.

I used to have really bad ocd about my teeth - I would scrub them as hard as I could for like 10+ minutes every day in high school So it’s definitely a trigger (& one of the reasons for my dental issues right now- the other is I guess it’s common for people with EDS)

[crazy-pages]

Uhhhh, yeah. Duh. That would be why people are pointing out she's doing this to a cis woman who was raised as a girl for her whole life.

Her actions would be reprehensible even if Imane was an out and proud trans woman, or to an openly intersex woman. And her view of femininity is that of oppressive white supremacy seeking to reinforce rather than break down sexist limitations placed on women.

But she typically masks that better.

It was obvious for a very long time that Rowling was pretty transphobic and horribly anti-Semitic if you just read her books closely, and there was a period of years where she was blowing on all the dog whistles and hanging with "feminists" who invite neo-nazis to their rallies. But it took more than that to get the general public to realize this about her. It took years after transphobes started fear mongering about bathrooms for the general not-overtly-transphobic cis population to realize how much bullshit that was.

And that's because dog whistles work! Bigots use them for a reason! It takes long-term immersion in a community or a movement to recognize dog whistles automatically. Most people don't know enough about politics to understand the political value of 'respectable' ushers at the gate for new recruits, or why those ushers would pretend in public to be less bigoted than they are. So explaining dog whistles and peeling back justifications of bigots of any stripe, but right now in particular transphobes, is just difficult to do with people who don't live this daily.

You have to explain how dog whistles work, explain specific dog whistles, explain how they shift rapidly over time, provide enough evidence to convince somebody that each time this person used a dog whistle it was intentional. You have to strip back the justifications and provide the underlying meaning, a thing which requires both a deep understanding of the lived experience of the people being targeted it and the ideology of the people using the dog whistles. It is legitimately difficult!

There is a reason that Rowling's reputation fell apart in queer and Jewish activist circles well before it fell apart in general. (And why even now plenty of people who aren't very online have no idea about any of this stuff about her.) It's that so long as people like her sat behind their screens of plausible deniability, so long as they focus on dog whistles, they can effectively keep up the respectability they need to be most useful to their movement. And they can mask where their movement is going so otherwise uninvolved people don't freak out about it (as they should).

But that broke down when Rowling went full transphobe online. It broke down when she went full Holocaust denial. And even as she served as a rallying martyr for bigots, that breakdown is actually what helped a lot of people understand the dog whistles and the bullshit of justifications around transphobia. I know a lot of queer people and Jewish people were upset that it took so long for the rest of the world to figure it out, but that's how this stuff works! Bigots use dog whistles because they function!

Until they fuck up.

And that's what we're seeing. Rowling fucked up, again. Transphobes are fucking up, again. This time in a way which is thoroughly deconstructing all of their carefully built up edifices of justifications and deniability.

Transphobes using women's sports to pass transphobic laws to serve as social exclusionary measure and legal precedent is, unfortunately, a rather inspired tactic. Most people just don't have the in-depth medical knowledge to understand that it's nonsense. Heck that medical knowledge didn't exist until very recently and it is still evolving. Any issue which has an intuitive but wrong answer on one side and an answer which requires being able to parse PhD level human biology papers or having experts who trust who can on the other side, is always going to get a good chunk of the public on the intuitive but wrong side.

But this, the fact that Rowling targeted a cis woman who was raised as a girl, assigned female at birth, has a normative testosterone level, and whose only denial of femininity comes from a discredited institution with a well documented history of racist nonsense? And specifically that she used the excuse of protecting cis women from violence in an olympic level boxing match?

This is it.

This is the mask off moment which gives us a crack to crowbar open in the women's sports argument transphobes try to use.

Pointing out that the person who was targeted was a cis woman in every way which transphobes claim to care about, that by their own claimed justifications of trying to protect women they should be defending her? That's incredibly important. Pointing out that this is all rooted in nothing but racism and narrowly defined white supremacist definitions of femininity? Pointing out that the supposed desire to protect women from violence is actually just denying cis women the validity of their choice to participate in martial arts?

This is going to be how we tear down every goddamn transphobic attempt to use women's sports to slide in transphobic laws for the next half a decade. By pointing out the moment where they went full mask off and targeted the very cis women they're claiming to protect, the moment which tells the light all their supposed justifications and defenses.

Is it fair that we need a moment like this to defend trans people?

No absolutely not.

But bigots don't use dog whistles to play fair. They don't pretend to be protecting cis women in sports to play fair.

So you better believe that next time I'm in a family reunion and my terf-ass aunt starts talking about protecting women's sports, I am going to drag her naked bigotry and the ridiculous of her position all around to show everybody she was trying to convince just how absurd her position is. And I'm going to do it by pointing out the woman Rowling targeted was as cis as they come.

“It’s so crazy JKR is misgendering a real cis WOMAN who was raised as a GIRL her whole LIFE what a dummy” is such a dogshit argument lol stop ceding ground to the idea that cis women have a more legitimate claim to womanhood because they were “born and raised” a woman and that’s why it makes this misgendering “more” ridiculous somehow. transphobes being constantly wrong about who is “actually transgender” is not their trans clocking radar ‘misfiring,’ they are proudly, openly, and successfully terrorising the public into accepting a very narrow & particular white suprematist notion of gendered divisions in society. JKR is not ‘mistaken’ she’s a fucking white supremacist who hangs out with other white supremacists & advances white supremacy through the language of transphobia. why is anyone still acting like she’s “making mistakes” where have you people been

[doomspaniels]

Gwyn is invited to... softly, gently... resume Guinevere Appreciation Time. Soooo happy!

[whitesparrows97]

Not quite the same – Part 3

Pairing: Wolf Hybrid!Jungkook x Dog Hybrid!Reader

Summary: You had always thought that your home with your family was the final stop. After your owners abandon you and a storm drives you into the nearby forest, you think things can’t get any worse. At least until you run right into the arms of a pack of wolves.

Genre: Hybrid AU; angst, smut, fluff

Rating: 18+

Warnings: None

Word Count: 5.3K

Previous / Next 

At some point, you didn’t know if it was already morning or still night, you were woken up by an unpleasant feeling on your forehead. You blinked, which was incredibly difficult for you, and tried to recognize something in the dark room. Two silhouettes stood in front of the sofa you were lying on and for a moment you were confused as to where exactly you were. This was not your room, other unfamiliar smells entered your nose and your heartbeat would have quickened if your heart wasn’t beating up to your neck anyway. Your hand reached for your chest, which ached with every breath. 

“Y/N?” you heard someone ask, because without realizing it you had squinted your eyes again. “Hey, it’s all right. It’s me, Jungkook.”

A hand rested on your shoulder, so gently that you weren’t sure if you were imagining it. Maybe this was all just a fever dream. But the name, Jungkook, rang a few bells in the back of your mind. 

“Jungkook,” you mumbled, but your throat ached as you spoke. When you swallowed, it hurt too. 

“I’m here, you don’t need to speak,” he explained, and all at once his voice was much closer. As you turned your head and cautiously opened one eye, you saw him kneeling on the floor beside you, his worried gaze on you. Something fell from your forehead and onto the sofa. Out of the corner of your eye, you couldn’t make out what it was. “No, no, lie back down,” Jungkook said quickly, carefully turning your head back before placing something on your forehead again. You thought it was a cool washcloth as you felt the water running over your temples. 

“What happened?” 

“You caught a fever last night, so I went to get Seokjin-hyung.”

Ah, so that was the reason you felt so miserable. You tried to sit up, but your arms gave way under you, causing your head to fall back onto the pillow. 

“Please rest,” Seokjin now said as well. “I’m afraid we don’t have a thermometer here, but your temperature is definitely too high. How do you feel?”

“Not good. Everything hurts.”

“Do we have any more medicine, Hyung?” 

Seokjin didn’t answer, so you assumed he either nodded or shook his head. Seokjin’s next statement suggested the latter. 

“I’d better get Namjoon to join us, let him decide if we’re driving into town or…”

“Or what?” Jungkook asked after a few moments. 

“Or if we sit it out. I can make some tea and soup,” Seokjin offered. 

From Jungkook’s tone, you could hear that he wasn’t thrilled about Seokjin’s plan. “She has a high fever, hyung. At the very least, she needs medication if we can’t see a doctor.”

“And where are we supposed to get those?” a third voice interfered, making you open your eyes. With much effort, you raised your arm to hold the damp and now warm washcloth to your forehead and turned your head. Namjoon was standing in the doorway. “We don’t have any money, neither for the medicine nor for gas. Not to mention we can’t just walk into town without an owner.”

“But we can’t just wait and hope she gets better,” Jungkook objected. He had turned to the other two hybrids, but your gaze fell on his hand, which was still beside you on the sofa. “What about Marten?”

Namjoon shook his head. “He almost got busted last time. He said he couldn’t risk helping us again.”

“Shit,” Seokjin muttered. “But understandable after RCH showed up at his place and turned the whole place upside down.”

You listened to the conversation that was just going around in circles and finally cleared your throat. It hurt to speak, but maybe you could prove yourself useful, and not just a burden, after all. “Did you bring my backpack inside?”

Jungkook nodded. “I put it next to my bed. Why? Do you need anything? Can I bring you something?”

Now you nodded, “Could you bring the whole backpack?”

You had barely finished the question before Jungkook had leapt to his feet and hurried up the stairs. Again you tried to sit up, and finally you managed to sit up and lean your back against the backrest. Jungkook was back by your side a blink of an eye later and he held the backpack out to you. 

“Could you check for my wallet? I’m not sure if they packed it, but maybe we’ll get lucky.” 

“Y/N…,” Jungkook mumbled as he understood what you were asking for, but you shook your head decisively. As decisively as you could, because you didn’t think you were particularly persuasive at that moment with sweaty hair and washcloth on your forehead. 

Jungkook hesitated for a moment, trying to find doubt in your face that wasn’t there, before opening the backpack and looking inside. You hadn’t taken a look inside yourself because you had been too busy trying to find your way back home. That’s why you didn’t know what was inside. Maybe fresh laundry and something to eat, if you smelled it correctly. Then Jungkook pulled out the brown wallet and held it out to you. 

“Thank you.” You threw him a slight smile and accepted it. As you opened the clasp, a picture fell towards you. With clammy fingers, you picked it up from your lap where it had fallen and looked into three happy faces. The joy on your face in the photo left a bitter taste in your mouth. Never would you have thought that such pure happiness would someday turn into deepest sadness and disappointment. Was there anything at all in this world that would last? Or would everything turn to dust sooner or later?

“Are these your owners?” Jungkook brought you back from your thoughts before you could sink too deep into them. 

Silently, you nodded before putting the picture aside. “Doesn’t matter now anyway,” you said quietly, looking into the compartment with the banknotes. Without counting, you took them out and held them out to Namjoon. “Here.”

The latter glanced between you and your outstretched hand with the money and back again. “We can’t accept this,” he finally said, crossing his arms in front of his chest. 

You scoffed. “Why? Are you too good to take my money?” You lowered your arm again as it became too heavy and instead placed it on the sofa beside you. “Consider it a thank you for letting me stay here. After all, I’m eating your food, so you could use the little extra money.”

Jungkook had reached for the money and started counting it. Then all at once he turned to Namjoon, his tail thumping loudly against the sofa. “That’s almost a thousand dollars.” Jungkook sounded surprised, but to you the number had no meaning. You had often run errands for your owners, however, you had never had any money of your own and therefore had never learned to handle it.

For Namjoon and Seokjin, however, the amount did have meaning, if the raised eyebrows and slightly open mouths were anything to go by. Then Jungkook turned back to you and carefully took your hand to return the money. However, you pulled your hand away. 

“Y/N, this is too much. We can’t accept it,” Jungkook said. 

Exhausted, you sank deeper into the sofa and closed your eyes for a moment. Your upper body ached and you wondered if it would be better if you lay back down. 

“We can’t spend it anyway,” Namjoon added after a moment’s hesitation. “We can’t be around people. There are so many who call the RCH when they see unattended hybrids.”

“I have a pass,” you said, holding out the wallet to Jungkook. In it was the credit-card-sized certificate that you were a registered hybrid, allowed to do shopping and errands even on your own. 

One of the men drew in a sharp breath and Namjoon muttered, “This changes things.” 

“It doesn’t change anything,” Jungkook objected, “if she’s too weak to get anywhere.”

Your eyes popped open again. “I’m well enough for that.” 

Jungkook’s eyes met yours and he scrutinized your face, your eyes half-closed and your lips slightly parted because you were having trouble breathing normally. 

“I’m not sure–”

“But I am,” you interrupt him, albeit with a small smile on your lips. “I’m gonna be fine with this. I promise, Jungkook.”

He looked at you for a moment longer before placing his hand on yours. His hand felt hot to you, but it was pleasant to feel the warmth on your cold fingers. To feel the weight on your body, even if it was just your hand. This time you didn’t pull it away. 

“I’m coming too.”

“I think it’s better if Seokjin goes with her,” Namjoon said. “You can’t drive a car and the three of you will draw unnecessary attention.”

Jungkook opened his mouth to object, but you turned your hand so that your fingers intertwined with his. That made his attention turn back to you. “It’s okay. Seokjin and I will be back sooner than you think.” 

When you looked at Seokjin, he threw you a smile. 

“Then we’ll do it this way,” Namjoon sealed your plan. “Best get going before dawn, then you’ll be back before most people are up.”

One thing was still burning on your tongue, though. “Do you mind if I freshen up first?” The t-shirt stuck to your torso and was soaked through with your sweat. A disgusting layer of sweat had also formed on your skin, which you were desperate to wash off beforehand. 

Namjoon nodded, to your surprise without hesitation. “Seokjin, could you put on some warm water? Then I’ll get the tub ready.”

Namjoon disappeared into the hallway and you heard water start to flow. Seokjin fired up the stove in the kitchen. 

“We don’t have running hot water,” Jungkook explained to you, “but at least we have running water, which is more than we could have hoped for.”

You didn’t mean to, but inevitably your old life crossed your mind. All these years you had taken it for granted that hot water came out of the tap at the push of a button. Yet you should know better – with your backstory. But apparently you quickly forgot the bad times when better ones came. 

“Let’s go to the bathroom,” Jungkook said as you continued to stay silent. “Can you stand?”

“I don’t know.” You were unsure because you felt weak even sitting down and had no idea how you were going to make it to the bathroom. 

“I’ll help you.” 

Before you could stand up, Jungkook had wrapped an arm around your waist. “Is that okay?” His face was suddenly so close, just a few inches away. From up close you could make out the pointed canines, and for a moment your gaze lingered on them. Then Jungkook quickly closed his mouth. 

Without addressing the situation, you nodded and put an arm around Jungkook’s shoulders. You expelled the air as you had to support your body weight with your feet all at once, but before your knees gave out from under you, Jungkook steadied you. His fingers were digging into your side and you were more than happy for the support he was giving you. In more ways than one. 

“It’s just a few steps,” he tried to encourage you, but even the few meters felt like a marathon. Putting one foot in front of the other, you both slowly started moving. You had just arrived in the hallway when you were already breathing heavily. 

“Can… we take a short… break?” New sweat had formed on the old one, which made you shiver in the chilled air. Now your muscles were shaking with more than just exhaustion. 

“It’s just a few more steps.” 

Black dots formed at the edge of your vision and you knew the feeling, knew what it meant as a sudden nausea overcame you. “Jungkook, I need to sit down for a minute.”

He could only watch as you slid down the wall onto the floor. You tried to take a deep breath until the room stopped spinning. Only then did you look at Jungkook. “Sorry, I got a little dizzy.”

“Are you okay?” 

You nodded. But instead of Jungkook helping you up so you could walk the rest of the way, he slipped an arm under the back of your knees and one wrapped around your waist. Before you knew it, he had lifted you up. The sudden difference in height made your stomach flip, like the one day your owners had taken you to an amusement park and you had been on countless roller coasters. Your ears still hurt when you thought about the cold air in them. 

He carefully set you down in front of the bathtub. You still felt the slight pressure on your skin that his hands had left. 

Namjoon turned off the faucet when the tub was half full. “I’ll get everything ready for you to leave once you’re done,” he said, leaving you alone with Jungkook.

It was quiet in the bathroom, only the soft splashing of water lapping at the edges of the bathtub filling the room. 

Jungkook cleared his throat. “I hope you were able to–”

“I’ve got some hot water here,” Seokjin almost sang as he entered the bathroom with a large, steaming kettle. 

Jungkook avoided your gaze as you looked at him, and you wondered what he had wanted to ask. Instead, you watched Seokjin add the boiling water to the cold water in the tub and the level slowly rose. 

“There,” Seokjin said, extending a hand into the water before nodding in satisfaction and standing back up, “that should be warm enough.” He smiled at you. “I’ll go ahead and pack up and then wait for you. Take your time though, it’s only four thirty and we still have some time before dawn.”

“Thank you, Seokjin,” you returned quietly, and Seokjin disappeared from the bathroom. 

The warm water slowly warmed even the small room and a bead of sweat made its way from your hairline down your temple. 

“I’d better leave you to it.” 

When you turned your gaze back in Jungkook’s direction, you saw a slight flush of red on his cheeks. You just hoped you hadn’t infected him. Especially since you didn’t even know why you had suddenly gotten sick. It must have been the hours of wandering around in wet clothes…

“Can you stay, maybe?” 

Jungkook’s head whirled around and with wide eyes he looked at you. 

“I just mean that you’ll be around in case something happens,” you clarified. Only now did you realize that your question could be misunderstood. 

Almost inaudibly, Jungkook expelled the air. “Of course,” he replied, smiling, “I wouldn’t have left you all alone anyway.”

That reassured you. The fact that you had just almost fainted worried you a little. You hadn’t felt that way in years, and you didn’t want to be found unconscious on the bathroom floor. Once all those years ago had been enough for you. 

“I’ll be waiting outside. If you need help, let me know.” He pulled the door shut behind him, but left it open a crack. Like your owners had done when you had once again been unable to sleep because of a thunderstorm and they had left your bedroom door ajar. 

You shook your head to dispel these thoughts and struggled to pull your t-shirt over your head. It stuck to your skin, which didn’t make it any easier, but a short time later it was on the floor next to the tub and your other clothes you had been wearing. Your arm trembled as you rested your hands on the edge of the tub and slowly lowered one leg into the warm water. It was hot, but not scalding hot, so you pulled your other leg behind you and tried to let yourself slide slowly into the water. 

Your legs gave way and before you knew it, you were underwater. Your head hurt where you had hit the edge of the tub and, coughing, you straightened your upper body so that you could breathe again. 

“Are you okay?” Jungkook sounded concerned and you could make out a shadow in the gap between the door and the door frame. 

You coughed out the last of the water you had swallowed. “Yeah,” you croaked, “I just slipped.”

“Can I come in?”

You agreed, and not a second later he pushed the door open. You pulled your legs up to your torso and tried to take a breath. 

“What happened?” He took the two steps toward you, that’s all it took for him, and dropped to his knees beside the tub. 

“I slipped,” you repeated, as if it was not a big thing and not as if a thick bump was already forming on the back of your head. 

“Did you hurt yourself?” Jungkook’s gaze scanned your face, your bare shoulders, and your arms, which you had crossed over your knees. Your cheeks were warm anyway, but under Jungkook’s insistent gaze, they began to glow a little hotter. 

“I’m fine.” You threw him a smile, even though you would have loved to burst into tears and be hugged. 

Jungkook looked over your head – or at least you thought he did, until he cautiously raised a hand and his fingertips gently brushed the wet fur of your ears. “Can I ask something?” He spoke softly, but his voice traveled pleasantly loudly through the small room. You nodded silently. “You’re a golden retriever, aren’t you? I’ve never seen a dog like you before.”

You watched Jungkook’s arm, stretched out beside your head, and out of the corner of your eye you could see the veins snaking across his skin like a network of their own. His fingers traveled lower, over your hair, to your cheek. His eyes followed his fingers, watching as they touched your skin and as the skin beneath grew a little warmer. Then he looked up at you, questioningly. His hand sank to the edge of the bathtub.

“Uh,” you answered quickly, “I’m not really sure. I know I have mostly golden retriever in me, but I don’t know the rest.”

Jungkook’s eyebrows lifted in wonder. In the early days of hybrid breeding, more and more mixed breeds had appeared. People had experimented more, had become bolder, and had tried to push the boundaries of nature. Just a few years before you were born, this had led to torture breeding and riots because people could no longer control the hybrids. Since then, the breeding of hybrids was under strict regulations. 

“Did you grow up with the family that abandoned you?”

You could tell from Jungkook’s face that he already knew the answer to that question. Still, you shook your head. “I lived in a breeding house for the first ten, eleven years,” you explained, trying to suppress the images that came into your head. “That’s where I met my best friend. Thanks to him, I got out of there before it was too late.” Too late in breeding houses meant either that the supervisors deemed a hybrid capable of procreation – or not. No one had ever told you what happened if you didn’t meet the requirements, but you could guess. 

“I ended up in a shelter where it wasn’t much better. But my owners adopted me a few years later.”

“And that’s where you were until yesterday?”

You nodded. “It never occurred to me that I wouldn’t have a home someday. When I was adopted, I thought that would be my forever home.” You sighed. Your head was pounding, whether from the warmth of the water, because of the nerve-wracking conversation, because you just hit your head or because you’d caught a fat cold, you didn’t know. You rested your cheek on your knees and closed your eyes for a moment. 

“But you’re not alone anymore,” Jungkook said, “I hope you know that.”

You didn’t want to open your eyes, afraid that the tears forming behind your eyelids would roll down your cheeks. Instead, you turned your head and buried your face in your knees. You hoped that Jungkook would dismiss the sniffling as a symptom of the cold. 

“Okay, I’ll leave you alone again. If you need anything, you let me know, all right?” 

You nodded and continued to stare at your thighs. 

“And not only after you slip,” Jungkook added and you could hear the smile in his voice. Then you listened to his footsteps and the door, which clicked softly as Jungkook pulled it shut behind him. You took another deep breath before you lifted your head and the tears finally found their way down your cheeks. 

. . .

Someone had put your backpack in front of the bathroom door and you were glad to finally wear your freshly washed clothes again. Even if the sweat ran down your back again when you arrived in the living room. It was lit by the fire in the stove, just like the night before, and as you looked out the window, you saw the sky gradually turning gray. The perfect time to leave. 

Seokjin was zipping up a backpack when he caught sight of you. “Are you ready?” He had hidden his ears under a cap, only his tail you could see poking out of his jeans. 

You nodded, even though you could barely stay on your feet. However, you felt much better after the bath. 

“Do you think you can make it to the pharmacy by yourself?”

“Yes,” you said, even though you weren’t sure at that moment. But what alternative did you have? 

“I can come too,” said Jungkook again, who was standing next to the front door. There was no sign of Namjoon, perhaps he had gone back to sleep. 

Seokjin slung his backpack over his shoulder and stepped toward the door. “Namjoon is right, Jungkookie. Two of us are faster and draw less attention.”

A contradiction was on Jungkook’s lips as his gaze fell on you. You were struggling to find the sleeve of your jacket. Your upper arms were burning as if you had carried numerous heavy boxes up several flights of stairs, but you grit your teeth and got it on the second try. 

“If all goes well, we’ll be back in two hours,” Seokjin said, opening the door. Immediately, the cool morning air poured into the room and shivering, you pulled your jacket tighter around yourself. 

“What if it doesn’t?” 

“Namjoon knows what he has to do.” With that, Seokjin left the hut. 

You followed him, but Jungkook held you back by your sleeve. “Take care of yourself.”

“Don’t worry so much about me, Jungkook. Seokjin will be there if anything happens.” You threw him a sincere smile. “I’ll be fine.”

“I hope so,” he replied with a sigh, then let you go through the door as well. 

. . .

Jungkook had been pacing around the living room for hours, or so it seemed to him. In the meantime, Jimin had also woken up and was watching the other from the sofa. Namjoon had disappeared into the forest shortly after you and Seokjin had left and would probably not return for a few hours. Although Jungkook needed someone to talk to. He needed his pack leader. 

“Jungkook, you’re making me nervous,” Jimin whined, throwing away the book he had been trying to read. “Sit down, please.”

“I can’t, they’ve been gone far too long,” Jungkook muttered to himself, turning on his heel to walk back in the other direction. When he reached the window, he peered through it to see if he might have missed the sound of the engine. But nothing, the driveway was still as empty as it had been thirty seconds ago. 

“Nothing will have happened, why don’t you sit down first?” 

Jimin sounded annoyed, which was the only reason Jungkook did what he was asked. Nonetheless, he had his gaze out the window. Until he suddenly felt a hand on his knee. Only now did he realize how he had been nervously bouncing his leg up and down. 

“Thank you.” Jimin let himself sink back into the sofa. 

“Sorry, I’m just worried,” Jungkook muttered. 

“I can tell.”

Jimin’s undertone made Jungkook’s gaze slide to him. He only smiled slightly, however. 

“What?” Jungkook heard for himself how annoyed he sounded. He didn’t know himself why he was so agitated. He trusted Seokjin to bring you back safely, but he didn’t trust the people you would come in contact with. 

“Nothing, nothing,” Jimin replied, picking up his book again. Remarkably interested, he flipped through it to the page where he had left off. 

Jungkook leaned forward and snatched the book from the older hybrid’s hand. The latter cried out in surprise. “Hey!” He tried to reach for the book, but Jungkook held it behind his body out of reach. “Give me my book back.”

“Not until you tell me what you mean by it.” They looked at each other for a moment until Jimin finally dropped back into the sofa with his arms crossed. 

“Fine, as you like.” He raised both eyebrows as he uttered the next sentence, “You sure seem to care about her. In such a short time, too.”

“Oh, shut up.” Jungkook threw the book at Jimin with a little more force than necessary, but Jimin caught it and just laughed. 

“You’re the one who wanted me to say it! Then don’t complain if you don’t want to hear it.” The corners of Jimin’s mouth continued to twitch upward, and Jungkook eyed it with a scowl. But then he lowered his gaze to his feet and let Jimin’s words sink in. 

He knew that Jimin was right. 

The day before, when he had seen Namjoon walking towards him and the others with you on his arm and had watched you fall, he had come running straight towards you. He understood Namjoon and also understood why he was so cautious. On the other hand, Jungkook sometimes felt that his empathy fell short for that. He would never hold that against Namjoon, because he knew that a leader had to be tough in the right situations. 

But you were different, you weren’t a threat. If anything, they were a threat to you. And yet you were so open to him and gave them all your belongings without thinking about it – no matter how Namjoon had treated you. You had that in common, that you were perhaps a little too naive at times. He could see in your eyes that this had also let you fly on your face a time or two. 

Jungkook was about to respond, when suddenly the door opened and he was about to jump up and ask what had taken so long, when he realized that it was Namjoon who stepped through the door. Disappointed, he let himself fall backwards and the sofa creaked under his weight. Eventually it would collapse, sooner rather than later. And that was only because Taehyung had jumped on it a few months ago. Since then, the frame had a big crack in the wood. He could still hear Seokjin complaining to this day. 

“Hey, where have you been?” asked Jimin, straightening up. 

Namjoon stood in the middle of the room and glanced at the kitchen. Then he turned to the two younger hybrids. “Are they still not back?”

Jimin shook his head while Jungkook’s gaze rested stubbornly on the grain of the tree trunk that served as a coffee table. 

Namjoon thought for a moment and opened his mouth to say something before his gaze fell on Jungkook and he changed his mind. Instead, he said, “Well, nothing will have happened.”

Jungkook snorted at that statement and jumped to his feet. “Come on, why don’t you say it, Namjoon? You think that she betrayed us and that’s why they haven’t come back yet.” Jungkook was about to walk past Namjoon, but he held him back with a firm grip on his shoulder. 

“Stay here,” he said in a firm voice, “We’ve talked about this before, Jungkook. You don’t throw things at someone’s head and then take off without resolving the issue. That’s no way to treat family.”

Jungkook backed away. “Then why do you treat her like that? She didn’t do anything to you.”

“Because I have to protect my family,” Namjoon explained, as if it was the easiest thing in the world. And for him, it was. “You must understand,” he continued, and this time his voice was softer, “after what happened with that bastard.” His expression hardened again. 

Jimin made an approving noise from the couch. 

Jungkook slumped his shoulders. “I can understand that, but Y/N is not him.”

A sad smile stole onto Namjoon’s face. “I know.” He paused for a moment. “She’s like you.”

This statement made Jungkook stop his tirade and pause. 

“She really reminds me a little of you.” Namjoon shook his head with a slight smile as he traveled back a few years in his mind. Then he took a few steps towards the sofa and eventually sank down onto it. “It’s been over seven years, but the look on your face when Jimin came stumbling through the door of our old house with you in tow is something I’ll probably never forget.”

“We were looking for shelter,” Jimin recalled, and the two men looked at each other, reminiscing. 

“It’s only thanks to you two that Seokjin is still with us.” 

An uncomfortable silence settled in the room and none of them said anything. Jungkook could hear a low thumping upstairs, and out of the corner of his eye he saw Namjoon’s and Jimin’s ears twitch as well. 

“Is Taehyung still sleeping?” asked Namjoon with a new lightness in his voice. He was glad to be able to change the subject. 

“That’s right, it’s usually our Jungkookie who sleeps this late,” Jimin said with a grin in his direction. 

Namjoon laughed; softly, but he laughed. Then he patted his thighs and stood up again. In the sparsely furnished room, he looked even more imposing and taller than he already was. His black tail, streaked with gray-brown sprinkles hung relaxed down his body. 

He waited until Jungkook returned his gaze. “I’ll talk to her. And I’ll be nice, I promise,” he quickly added when he saw Jungkook’s expression. 

Jungkook visibly relaxed. For the first time in hours, his shoulders and the muscles in his ears loosened. “Thank you.”

And in that moment, Jungkook understood again why he had stayed then, all those years ago. Why he had put all his trust in Namjoon’s hands, put all his future in a hybrid whose pack consisted of no more than one other wolf, who was badly injured at the time. 

Emotions welled up inside him and his eyes began to burn, but then a sound outside made his head fly to the side. The sound of a car engine. 

A/N: It makes me really happy to see how you seem to enjoy the story this far, so I hope you liked this chapter as well! If so, please do let me know! Anyway, I hope you’re all doing well. Stay safe everyone and see you soon! 💜

Written 2022. Do not copy, translate or repost without permission.

[that-one-weeb-but-it-transformer]

Can you do tfp ratchet bulkhead and Starscream human s/o with POTS(or just a chronic illness if that is to specific)crying because they’re tired of family and doctors telling what is and isn’t wrong with their body and giving them unhelpful advice.

I’m sorry if this is too much but I’m going through this right now and I really just need some comfort. It’s cool if you don’t feel like doing this one though.

The Bots with a S/0 that has POTS

Notes: I'd love to do it for you! And homie if you ever need a hug. I got you. I can understand how difficult things like this can be so if you ever just wanna talk even if its a hello how are you. I'd be happy to talk to you. Also have a hard time writing Starscream I never know why

Characters: Bulkhead, Ratchet, Starscream

⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶

⊷⊶⊷⊶Bulkhead⊷⊶⊷⊶

Doesnt exactly understand POTS no matter how much you explain it to him

He knows though, if you go up. Theres a possibly of you going down hard

He's a sweet soul so he's always asking how your day was

And some days. Its just bad

Some days when he picks you up he can already hear the arguing before you even get out the house

"Take your meds!"

"They don't work!"

"Be reasonable Y/n!"

"They don't work!"

Bulkhead even knows they dont work. And you're brusing easier.

So what does he do to try and cheer you up?

"Hey why don't me make your bruisies into drawings! Miko does that with my battle scars!"

It makes you feel happy that someones actually trying to make you feel better

He acts like you dont even have anything wrong with you

Well he accomidates the best he can. Like sticking his foot out when you start to fall over to atleast catch yourself on something

Miko recommended him they should tucktape pillows to his peds

You called him crying just wanting him to pick you up after a mentally abusing day

You're doctors are trying to put you on a Home IV and you heard your parents talk about simply just admitting you to the hopsital

Bulkhead gladly picked you up and you dont wanna talk about it

Okay thats fine

"Oh! Miko picked up your favorite! Its in my glove box!"

Chinese hot dog buns with a bottle of water. Full of salt. And a great comfort food for you

Two in one

Especially when you've been crying alot

"Are you gonna stop being friends with me if my family puts me in the hospital?"

"What? Why would you think that?"

"People dont like being friends with problem people..."

"Ah! That's a bunch of scrap." He defended, "You're awesome!"

He's text book defenition of emotional support

He checks up on you regularly as you often take naps

Knows your whole medication list by the dinosaur stickers you label them with and your whole when you gotta take what

He helps you decorate your medicane bottles, makes them less intimidating some times

You actually draw little deerpy bulkheads on your medicane caps now

When you have to go get refills he'll drive you and the pharmacist thinks the bottle Decor is cute

Calls you a good influence to the little kids who get scared of medication

Its all thanks to Bulkhead really: he's there for you

⊷⊷⊶⊷Ratchet⊶⊷⊶⊷

Actually

He had to find out himself, or more of force it out of you.

All the brusies and the suddenly going pale. He knows your secretly taking pills too

He doesnt exactly know what your doing

But he knows you're hiding something

"What are you taking?"

"What? Nothing." Y/n spoke dry swallowing the pills as quick as Y/n could, no one had to know.

"What are you taking."

"Nothing Ratchet."

"Y/n."

Y/n eyes rolled, "its medicane."

"Are you sick?"

Y/n looked at him and nodded shortly, "in a way yeah"

And thats how he learns about you having POTS

He ask how your doing physically and not much about you mentally

He tends to stay away from connection in general due to the past but with you he wants to be invested but doesn't completely at the same time.

But once you call him real late at night crying he's emotionally invested.

He's a doctor yeah but knows squat shit about human bodies, so it's more of you see Ratchet as a "friend" (yeah right your invested) than a doctor

"They wanna put me on a home iv." Y/n told him, all curled up in his passenger seat, "I already know it won't work. I've tried it before."

"Perhaps diffrent Medication?" Ratchet suggested.

Y/n shrugged, "I...I'm tired of med's Ratchet."

"I know." He spoke, "Are they giving you any other options?"

"Service Animal. More Meds or an IV." Y/n told him, "Dad just wants to leave me at a hospital."

Ratchet's in silence, he sitting in thought, "Perhaps that's for the best. Perhaps not a hospital. But to leave."

"You mean like take a break from my family?" Y/n questioned, "I guess..."

So Ratchet let you room with him for a few days.

Its kept secret.

You're very happy that you're not as bad as you usually are. And was happy to see Stress was making your dizzy spells worse and more frequent.

Luckily you're relaxed with Ratchet and he asked genuine questions about what your illness truly is

So he makes sure you eat, drink lots of water, always keeps tabs on you.

And to enforce you eating and drinking, he forces himselves to take scheduled breaks

Those forced breaks allow both of you to relax and even allow Ratchet to work better.

But sometimes you still gotta just like lay down.

Even if its on his work space.

"Are you alright?"

"Just a bad one is all."

And he leaves it at that. Sure he still watches over you but he's not gonna baby you

Not over something he knows you have in control

But occasionally he does become helicopter mom

⊷⊶⊷Starscream⊷⊶⊷

Could absolutely careless to be honest

The veichons probally cared more about you than anything

That was in the beginning of course

Until he realized alot of the veichons started taking random ass breaks with you

Litterally sat in the hallway with you while you're tryin to even out

High altitude on the nemsis especially if your on the dock makes it worse

He teases you about it: saying fleshies are scared of height

But like no bro. Your about to litterally pass out

Thanks Breakdown for atleast be like "ayo. She's litterally dieing."

He finally sees this is a bit more than a height issue

No shit

He finally starts taking notice seeing you napping alot in Knockouts medbay

"Great. A screamer and a neglecting mech is in the medbay." Breakdown grumbled.

"Ignore him," Knockout spoke waving off Starscream.

"Excuse me-"

He's basically ignored by the others.

Breakdowns basically your big brother and Starscream being neglectful of Y/n's health does not make him happy

Starscream finally comes around to ask you what the hell is actually happening.

But it turns into and arguement: you dont wanna tell him, and you're tryin to just keep tears back from before he picked you up w/ a ground bridge

"Doesn't matter."

"It quiet obviously does if you're little medbay group is all over it."

"Oh please." Y/n grumbled the stopped, Y/n feeling Rocky, "shit..."

Y/n immediately takes a seat, right there in the middle of the hall.

"Becoming Dizzy?" A passing Veichon spoke.

"Yep."

Food was tossed a packet and a bottle of water by the veichon, both being terribly thrown Y/n's way.

"Thanks." Y/n spoke leaning over to grab the bag and water then looked up at Starscream and sighed, "I have POTS."

"You have what?"

So there you are explaining it to him

He's upset you didnt explain it to him sooner.

You shrugged as you ate the pretzels

No he's like genuinely upset

He's been watching over you this long and just now knows about this

How does he even research POTS? He did search it up but he just got pots you cool with

Soundwave helps, in the side research

Though he doesnt have much space to store you snacks, he knows the medbay has snacks for you

He also knows that you're most comfortable in the medbay as you're often sleeping more than 1/2 the day

So. He's often visiting the medbay even more than usual now

Even if your sleeping alot more and he doesn't get to talk to you as Much as he wants to, your health is more important

Keeps you away from the flight deck

Because if you suddenly get dizzy and tip the wrong way well.

He doesnt need a spark attack

[star-anise]

I read your post about trauma and I'm trying to make sense of my parents treatment of me as well as my own diagnoses. Is anxiety itself trauma? Or a result of trauma? Its the stress response itself not calming down. I think I was and am emotionally neglected. My parents are not sympathetic. I'm adhd anxiety depression my whole life. That post about learning new social situation techniques really resonated. What are the treatments for neglect? Besides plain old cbt and mindfulness and anti anxiety meds

Trigger warning: Child abuse, child neglect, emotional neglect

Anxiety can happen because of a wide variety of reasons, from medical to situational to genetic. It could happen out of the blue to a totally healthy adult. Or it might be a symptom of trauma and a bad childhood. PTSD used to be classified as a kind of anxiety disorder, but we now understand it's a lot more complicated.

I'm very sorry your family aren't sympathetic and don't get what's up with you. I want to make it very clear that it is not your fault that they aren't sympathetic.

It's not your fault for not explaining things clearly enough. It's not your fault for not being a more lovable child. It's not your fault for being emotional or oversensitive. It's not your fault for not communicating your needs in a way they can hear. Their treatment of you is not your fault.

That's important not just because it feels good to be absolved of blame. It's not a meaningless platitude. It's a nicer coating on what can sometimes be a very bleak truth. That truth is:

There is nothing you can do to make your family be sympathetic to you.

I am so, so, so sorry. You can spend your entire life turning backflips, you can learn interpretive dance, you can become the world's leading expert in your field, you can get hit by a car and find out you have cancer, you can be as sympathetic and understanding about their reasons for neglecting you as they could possibly want, you could do everything in your power to be a good child, and none of that will ever give you the power to make your parents be sympathetic to you and what you've been through.

Sometimes parents do learn and grow and change and work to repair the damage done while their kids were children. But that's because of their own issues and experiences and reasons, not because of anything their children have done. Many parents keep being oblivious and neglectful even when their children have become everything a parent could ever hope for.

Actually, an amazing number of my adult neurodivergent friends have had the absolutely excruciating experience of hearing their parents say, in essence, "Hey adult child! The other day someone I respect way more than you told me about [your condition], and I was astonished! They told me that thing you've been telling me for years, and it blew my mind. I now realize that this is a real part of your life! Wow, it sure would have made a difference if I'd done that thing you've been begging me to do for years now, huh? Hey, have you heard about this handy behavioural technique you've been doing every goddamn day of your adult life? It sounds like it would really help!"

Like, even if your parents ever Get It about your specific disorders and conditions, they're extremely likely to salvage their self-esteem by refusing to ever seriously acknowledge how much it's hurt that they've failed you.

And what that means is: You have to plan the rest of your life as if they will never be sympathetic.

That might mean never giving them any say over your medical care or personal life choices. It might mean not living with them, not turning to them when you need a supportive community, or not letting them play a large role in the lives of any children you yourself may have. It might mean having to build your own support network that doesn't include your family at all, because you can't count on them to care when you're in distress. It can really suck to have to keep giving up the dream that one day you'll be able to count on your family to nurture you emotionally, but I promise that it sucks less than being continually disappointed with no backup plan.

Researching emotional neglect can be really difficult because a lot of the best research psychology as a field has achieved on the topic comes from really extreme forms of neglect and abuse. Exactly the kind of neglect and abuse that society waves in the face of the "merely" emotionally neglected: "So what if you didn't get hugged enough! You had enough to eat, a roof over your head, and they never hit you! They weren't even mean or malicious! Stop whining!"

And... look, if you've just broken your legs and you're in a wheelchair, who would you rather learn about using a wheelchair from: someone who can easily walk everywhere all the time, or a double amputee who's been using a wheelchair for years? The first person can probably get around more easily, but the second one can tell you a lot more about the specific challenges and skills that will be central to this phase of your life.

That's the frame I propose for research: Your life might not have been as bad as the case studies you read (though it's probably worse than your family is willing to admit, because invalidation is itself a form of emotional neglect, and this is so common there's even a poem about it) but the issues they encounter and the skills they require are probably useful to you, too.

With that in mind, check out books about early childhood neglect and trauma like The Boy Who Was Raised as a Dog by Bruce Perry, which talks about the parts of the brain and developmental stages that can be impaired by toxic stress in childhood, and the various forms of treatment that can address each one.

As far as CBT, remember to focus on behaviour, not just cognition. Reading about using touch to self-soothe is good, but less powerful than using that knowledge to find a blanket you love to touch, and wrapping yourself up in it whenever you're upset. Neglect means that you failed to get repeated, predictable experiences of being comforted. Healing therefore means getting that practice in as an adult: Creating thousands of daily, repetitive experiences of being cared about. Caring about yourself, and finding people who will care about you.

Maybe also give Dialectical Behaviour Therapy workbooks a try? They're designed for Borderline Personality Disorder, which can be seen as a specific subset of complex trauma. Like, if the effects of childhood abuse and neglect were a rainbow, BPD might be red-orange. But what makes DBT useful is that it has examined which skills and coping mechanisms vital to emotional health people with BPD most commonly weren't taught/never learned/need more practice on. The curriculum might not overlap completely with your own needs if you fall into the yellow, green, blue, or violet aspects of C-PTSD, but it's a good starting place when you're inventorying skills and habits you want to strengthen.

Good luck? I hope this helps!

[blue-theservicedog]

In case you’re wondering, this is from a January 19 policy update. River Dog Gear has a post about it which I’ve linked below. I know there are more because there was an uproar about this on Instagram at the time, but honestly I don’t remember which shops I follow were on Etsy at the time. Technically, at least at the time of this post, we didn’t know what the reasoning behind this policy change was, and I don’t remember if we were ever told definitively by Etsy—I don’t make gear so I certainly wasn’t—but the general consensus among the SD community on Instagram was that they’re trying to prevent fakes.

Meanwhile, here’s one of the ESA vests I found that was the reason I made this post:

(Image Description: A screenshot from Etsy’s mobile app. The screenshot shows a listing for a red dog vest similar in shape and design to a classic service dog vest, complete with a small handle on the back. The vest in the listing photo is seen side-on and has two patches on the side. One is a white circular patch by the handle with a red medical symbol reading “E.S.A. Dog.” The other is a black rectangular patch along the trim that reads “Emotional Support Animal.” The listing is on sale for $31.96 USD and is titled “Emotional Support Animal E.S.A. Dog Harness | Reflective Vest with Pocket and Pull Handle.” The listing is by the shop All Access Canine, written as one word—AllAccessCanine. The vest’s average rating is 4.9 stars. End image description.]

So you can presumably see why I’m upset—a vest like this is almost guaranteed to be used by someone who either doesn’t realize ESAs don’t have public access rights in the US (they don’t even have flying rights with most airlines anymore) or someone hoping people will see the red SD-style vest and not think too hard about it.

Honestly, I’m furious. It’s that much more difficult for service dog gear makers—most of whom are service dog handlers themselves—to sell their gear online without the help of Etsy, but they’re still hosting listings like this. One of the things that the SD community on Instagram talked about a lot when this first was released was that no one is going to pay the $60-100 USD for a custom vest if they’re going to lie about it. They’re going to buy something like the vest pictured above. This will only do more harm to our community than good.

This post isn’t about the validity of ESAs, by the way. ESAs are great. My sister has an ESA. Blue is temporarily going to be labeled as an ESA by my university since he’s being owner trained in a state that doesn’t have SDIT access rights. I can explain this more in another post if people are curious. But ESAs do not have public access rights and do not need vests with flimsy pull handles or patches labeling them as ESAs. Stuff like this is why people outside the community have no respect for either ESAs or service dogs. Clowning by ESA handlers will not be tolerated.

Absolutely infuriating that Etsy drove away service dog gear makers because they can’t prove that the gear is going to an actual service dog, but are absolutely fine hosting service dog-style vests and patches as long as they’re for ESAs.

[alaskasmonsters]

Gentle Hands | Shigaraki Tomura

with a quirk like shigaraki’s, physical touch had never been something another person had trusted him with. the fear of what he could do proved to be too great to get close enough. everyone was scared to touch him...everyone but you.

part two 

pairing: shigaraki tomura x gn!reader

w.c: 3. 223

warnings: canon-typical violence, mentions of blood, descriptions of injuries, shigs is touch-starved :c

a.n: this took me way too long to turn out like this...i seriously don’t know what happened along the way but this was meant to go an entirely different direction...idek.

Shigaraki’s room was enveloped in darkness. The only source of light coming from where you had carefully cracked the door open after several unanswered knocks. It barely illuminated the small space inside, only revealing the silhouettes and rough placement of the furniture.

You’d never been inside of Shigaraki’s room before. There had never been a reason.

As the league’s personal medical support (or nurse, something Dabi liked to refer you to) you’d mostly only talked to any of them if there was an emergency that required your help. Then they’d meet you in the “living room” (you hesitated using homey words like that in connection to the hovel the members of the league had resided in the last few months).

Not that you didn’t get along with them, but you couldn’t really say you were particularly close with any of them. Criminals liked to keep their distance. Distance meant safety, it was the first rule in the handbook basically. Shigaraki was no different. He was the most mysterious of them you’d say, even more distanced with you it seemed. Saying there was no reason to grow attached to a NPC, like you were a dog that would be returned to their rightful owner soon anyway.

It didn’t bother you much. You knew the man needed his personal space, he had his reasons to be suspicious of new people, to be hesitant to let anyone too close...they all had.

That’s the price they paid in a life like that, or maybe they had already been like this before they ever became villains.

Entering Shigaraki’s room now and without permission was probably the closest you’ve ever come to being disintegrated, you thought as you carefully peeked inside. The guilt from intruding already crawled up your stomach. You wouldn’t normally do this, but you were worried after Kurogiri had told you about an “incident” this morning.

It had left Shigaraki badly injured and hiding himself in the darkness of his own four walls, since they had returned. Kurogiri hadn’t told you any details, but you could tell whatever happened had been bad, judging by his concerned tone when he’d requested you to look after the man. He asked you to heal him even if he were to refuse and you had agreed immediately, although you doubted you’d get close enough to Shigaraki if he didn’t want it.

The darkness was thick before your eyes, you could hardly tell the difference between the bed and the rest of the room. Not even the tv’s light was burning...you had expected Shigaraki to play a game if he really were as frustrated as Kurogiri had made it sound like.

The only reason you spotted a glimpse of where the man was located was due to the way the light reflected off the white strands of his hair. He was on the ground behind his bed.

“Shigaraki?” you called his name softly, not sure if he’d already noticed you or if maybe he’d fallen asleep.

You got no answer.

“Kurogiri sent me. Can I come in?”

You waited a minute, probably longer, but when there was still no answer you let out a heavy sigh.

“I’ll take that as a “I don’t mind either way”.”

You squeezed through the small space between the frame and the door, not daring to expose the man to more of the light he seemed to be so sensitive to. At least you guessed that that was the reason he was sitting in the darkness. Maybe he was just feeling emo, Shigaraki seemed the type.

You closed the door behind you, plunging the room into darkness again. This turned out to be a bad idea, since now you were both without sight and you had to slowly and carefully approach where you remembered the bed to be. You could only speak of luck you hadn’t bumped into anything before you made contact with the bedframe, using it to navigate closer to where you suspected Shigaraki to cower at, sliding down to sit on the ground as well.

You sat in silence for a while, making sure he didn’t want you to leave after all, but Shigaraki stayed quiet, the only sign he was still next to you was the sound of his ragged breathing.

You debated what would be the best approach. Should you scoot closer? Maybe you should start with telling him Kurogiri had sent you? Or maybe you could let the two of you stay in silence for a little while?

Approaching Shigaraki when he was in a vulnerable state was similar to a wild animal that had been injured. You had to be careful about it.

“You hurt your hands,” the words slipped your mouth.

Not careful enough.

Had you seriously gone with the worst approach you could have possibly chosen? Good job, Y/n!

Shigaraki didn’t curse you out so you guessed it was fine after all. Maybe his hands were off worse than you had initially thought...

“I want to fix them, if that’s alright but i’d need a little bit of light to do so,” you explained, keeping your voice quiet and calm.

There wasn’t an answer for several minutes. You started to grow restless, thinking that maybe you had overstepped a line, maybe it was better if you left again…

Before you could though you heard a grumbling agreement, barely audible, much closer than you had expected. A second later a dim light illuminated the small room.

You had to close your eyes to adjust to the sudden brightness before you could finally look at Shigaraki, who was sitting a few feet away from you, his back leaned against the matratze of his bed.

He looked miserable, his face was lowered so he couldn’t meet your eyes and his features were hidden by the messy white locks.

But what shocked you most was his hands. He had spread his fingers, palms up, on his lap so you saw the actual damage that the attacker had done.

His palms were blood-smeared, cut open, some cuts running so deep you thought you could see parts of the bone peaking out from between the damaged skin.

You felt bile rise up your throat at the view.

It looked painful, cruel. As if someone had tried to ruin his hands in the most painful way possible.

You inched closer, eyes trained on the damage.

Shigaraki tensed up as you scooted closer and you stopped immediately, looking up into his face, making sure you didn’t overstep again.

He was still avoidant of your eyes, shrunken in on himself with his shoulders hunched. He looked like a scared child to you...

“May I?” you asked him, desperately hoping he’d say yes.

His eyes only flickered between you and his hands once before he gave a soft nod.

You carefully reached out to grab the backside of his hands, meaning to pull them closer for you to inspect. The way Shugaraki froze at your touch made you pause and you realized with dread that you had forgotten to ask if it was okay to touch him. He must be in pain, of course he was.

You quickly removed your hands again, giving him a concerned look.

“I’m sorry Shigaraki-kun, did i hurt you?”

He frowned at your question, eyes quickly jumping between your expression and your hands just inches beneath his, waiting to reach out again if he’d allowed it.

He seemed conflicted for a second, but then he shook his head.

You chose not to question it, only giving a soft nod in response before reaching out again. This time you gently wrapped your fingers around his wrists instead, drawing his hands closer so you could inspect them better.

The light was still too dim to see the most gruesome parts of the injury, but even without it you could easily get an idea of what had occured.

The wounds were too deep, the blood that came out of the slashes in a dark flow...this wasn’t caused by a normal knife. Rather by another person’s quirk, one related to mutilation because how else would you describe the cruelty of the wounds inflicted.

It probably made it impossible to heal by itself, too.

Whoever did this had wanted to make Shigaraki’s quirk absolutely useless, damaging his hands beyond repair in the most cruel way.

And while you did know he’d caused a lot of pain with those hands, the idea someone had tried to mutilate them made you sick to your stomach.

You let out a deep breath, trying to calm yourself down as you leaned down to hover just above Shigaraki’s hands.

Thankfully the league of villains had you and your quirk, seeing as you could heal almost everything, as long as the wound was still fresh and cells weren’t too damaged to manipulate.

Dabi had been the one to introduce you since he’d found you years before when you first started helping him with his unfit quirk. You weren’t a villain, only by association, but you’d always had a soft spot for difficult cases. You hadn’t been able to heal his scars then, since the cells were already dead and the injuries were old and your quirk wouldn’t let you revive anything. But you’d suggested to take care of all the newer wounds

Now you were working with the league of villains or maybe helped out was a better way to phrase it, considering the only method of payment you’d receive was fast food.

You focused your attention on Shigaraki’s injuries, leaning even closer to be able to see everything up close. It was necessary to use your quirk appropriately.

“Ready?” you asked, eyes searching for Shigaraki.

They were wide and attentive. He looked nervous if you had to guess, although he would have denied it if you had asked.

He gave you a nod and you smiled at him, giving his wrists a reassuring squeeze. You decided to ignore the way his eyebrows knit together at the gesture. You imagined he didn’t like touch very much.

You shift your attention to his left palm first, removing your hand from where they had gripped the man’s wrist to let it hover over the injured skin. The tell-tale sign of buzzing spread through your skin as you focused all your senses on the damage you’d been inspecting.

The sight of the cuts running oh so deep, the smell of iron stinging your nose, the feeling of broken and ruined skin and bones and muscles.

A green light, slowly growing brighter and bigger, more intense in color too formed and enveloped your hand. Your fingers inching closer and closer to the bloodied and ripped skin. Just right before your hand would touch his you stopped, the light now extending until it was enveloping his hand as well.

Shigaraki’s fingers twitched, his wrist tensed under your touch. You pressed down on the juncture to reassure him you’d hurry up.

You watched his skin pulling bac, his hands shaking a little when you concentrated on repairing the muscles that have been torn apart before.

It was a slow process, you knew that. You were known for officiency not speed, after all. And you were aware it hurt, probably just as terrible as when the blade had ripped through his skin in the first place. Regenerating injuries like this would usually take weeks and months, a dozen operations and it still would never go back to the way it once was. Doing it your way, basically forcing the cells to regenerate, speeding up the natural process and enhancing it...it took energy from both you and him.

His breathing was ragged, his arm was shaking in your grip, more intense than before and you hated it, hated knowing he was hurting and you couldn’t do anything to make the process go smoother for him, make it hurt any less.

All you could think of was running your thumb over the inside of his wrists, trying to reassure him like that. Trying to signal him that it would be over soon.

You didn’t know if it helped but you certainly felt his body freeze up for a moment. Maybe that was just because of the procedure though.

You watched the skin grow over again, slowly, and leave behind a slightly bloodied but smooth skinned palm. Shigaraki sank back into his seat, letting out a small huff as the pain stopped.

You took the time to inspect his palm, letting your fingers glide over the smooth skin and noting how it all seemed to be back to how they were originally with joy.

“Does your left hand feel okay? Flex your fingers a little.”

When he stayed still you looked up, Shigaraki’s gaze already focused on your face. There was something unreadable in the way he looked at you. He almost looked confused.

You bit your lip, glancing between his hands and his face as dread slowly rose in your stomach.

“You can flex your fingers...right?” you asked nervously.

What if you made a mistake? What if you messed up with his muscles?

Shigaraki’s finger twitched, before he bent them. Spreading them apart before creating a fist. You quickly pulled your hand away to leave him the room to move around a little, returning to tap his skin once more when you saw he was done.

“You feel that?” you asked, less nervous now that you knew that he could still move it.

The only answer you got was a grunt but that’s all you needed.

You moved on to his right hand then. Clasping his wrist with one hand to stabilize him and raising your other just above his palm. You repeated the procedure once more, green light enveloping both your hands as your face was set into a deep frown of concentration.

You stroked his wrist with your thumb once more as soon as you felt Shigaraki tense up again.

He was trembling even harder this time and you couldn’t tell if it was only because he was already exhausted or because this hand had been through more damage.

All you could feel was that the level of damage must be similar, the time it took you to fix the connections of the muscles felt about the same. Then his skin grew over slowly.

You repeated your check up, smoothing your fingers over the skin of his palm and telling him to flex his fingers. He reacted quicker this time, clenching and unclenching his fist a few times.

You gave his wrist a last squeeze before you let go, satisfied and happy you’d done a good job. Of course you wouldn’t know for sure until a few days later when Shigaraki was able to tell you if his hands were giving him any problems. But for now Shigaraki looked a lot better.

His pale face had filled with a little bit of color again, although his eyes were weirdly unfocused as he lowered his head to inspect his hands. You watched him in confusion, as he flexed his fingers again. Wasn’t he sure if you’ve done a good job? Did he feel pain?

“Is everything alright? Wait, lemme see again.”

You leaned forward, softly gripping his hands to pull them closer to inspect once more. Shigaraki froze up at the contact again and you frowned when you saw that the skin was all smooth and fixed, giving no reason for the man to act so tensed up.

You searched his eyes, only finding him already staring at you with an undefinable look in his eyes. You were just about to open your mouth to ask him about it. Not necessarily why he was acting so weirdly, but more specifically what haunted him.

Before you could do that, he surprised you with pulling his hands back before opening his palms which were facing upwards.

You watched in confusion.

He stretched his fingers, raising his hand upwards. The motion made you cock your head to the side. He was looking at you with narrowed eyes, clearly expecting something from you. Thinking you knew what he tried to ask of you you placed your hand on top of his, noticing him spreading his thumb apart to not touch you with all five of his fingers.

Shigaraki searched your face for a reaction but you didn’t know what kind of reaction that was supposed to be.

“I knew you were kinda crazy but that’s another level.”

“Excuse me?” you gaped at him.

“Only a crazy person wouldn’t be afraid to touch me.”

Gears started turning in your head and your cheeks heated up at the realization that that had been the reason why he’d frozen up. He wasn’t used to touch. He had been probably overwhelmed having your hands all over him.

“Oh...I guess I trust you wouldn’t disintegrate my hands.”

He raised an eyebrow at you.

“I’m useful aren’t i? Maybe I'd be more worried about a foot or knee cap but I kinda need my hands for the healing.”

He hummed in agreement, seemingly satisfied knowing you weren’t a total moron.

Although to be quite honest you weren’t so sure if you’d flinch from his touch even if it was directed towards your face. You didn’t know if you had it in you to mistrust him. When it had come to this point you didn’t know, somewhere along the way you had just stopped questioning your growing positive feelings towards the leader of the league of villains (and the other members as well).

Sometimes you liked to think both of you had mutual respect for each other. Enough to not randomly disintegrate the other person, that was.

“I’m sorry i made you uncomfortable, though. I should have asked beforehand.”

He snorted, fingers flexing under your grip, bending to run them over the palms of your hand.

“I don’t mind,” he muttered.

You didn’t think it was all he had wanted to say, but whatever else tried to leave his mouth was held back by Shigaraki biting his lip. You didn’t question it.

The man continued exploring your skin and you  spread your fingers a little wider to give him more access. It was fascinating to you, how curiously he was exploring your skin, like a small child eager to experience new sensations. He had cocked his head to the side, eyeing you from beneath his hair, calculating, waiting.

He reached for your hand and you let him. Let him grip and turn it, until he could easily intertwine his fingers with yours, hesitant and careful to touch you, mindful to spread his pinky to not touch your skin.

You felt your cheeks heat up at the gesture, curiously glancing up at the man that was so hesistant with physical touch usually.

“Shigaraki-kun?”

He shook his head, eyes focused on your hands

“Tomura.”

You smiled, surprised but satisfied for some reason.

“Tomura,” you whispered, closing your grip around his hands.

Taglist: @crystal-lilac​