#it will get the live thread treatment

[stxph-artist]

if I do a hunger games simulator with the bugs, then what??

[godihatethiswebsite]

Tethered Bonds

✽ Poly 141 x f!reader (Omegaverse AU)

A lucky stroke of fate led you right into the arms of your alpha soulmates. But is it everything you dreamed it would be or just the continuation of a nightmare?

Main Masterlist ✽ Ao3

°•. ✿ .•°.•° ✿ °•.°•. ✿ .•°.•° ✿ °•.°•. ✿ .•°

✽ Part Two - The aftermath

So many of you came out of the woodwork for this story and I couldn't be more grateful for all the kind words of encouragement! I'm truly flattered by the amount of love this received for being something that randomly popped in my head on a whim ❤️

I'm glad I was able to get this part out so quickly. It might be a tick before part three, but I've already got some of it worked out. I'll still try to keep chipping away at it while I work on my other series~

Trigger warnings: swearing, angst, depression

“I saw them the other day.”

“...saw who?”

“My scent matches.”

There’s a pregnant pause as your therapist of four years takes the information in, caught off guard by the abruptness of the statement but also the further implications behind the words.

Dr. Miranda has been your life raft and confidant ever since you’d first gone to your family with the appalling reality of your newfound situation. An omega like yourself; she specializes in the treatment and rehabilitation of women who've endured abuse at the hands of their packmates and the dredges of society. Highly recommended by the United Designation Resource Center for psychological trauma.

It had taken you over a week following the incident to gather the strength to confront your fathers on the thorny subject - too ashamed of admittance and too anxious of their response. And even then it was done over the phone in the most uncomfortable video call of your life, the dour atmosphere so at odds with that blessedly clear mid-afternoon sky, its temperate climate and soft summer breeze carrying along an enchanting melody of carefree innocence.

Inside, it was raining.

The wretched bond was a gravity well, sucking you down into a chasmic abyss and siphoning your once bountiful vibrancy. Responsibilities fell by the wayside, locked away in your self-imposed prison as if the globe would simply stop moving if you only ignored its rotations. Not until both your fathers made the three hour flight up north did you muster the courage to finally remove the makeshift barricade guarding your front door, talking through the deceptively difficult act with them on the other end of the phone as the two alphas supported you during the twenty five minutes it took to overcome the all-consuming panic and usher them inside.

They stayed with you for the better part of the month, taking over where depression had failed you in your efforts to function alone. Your parents allowed you space to look after yourself, clearing away the physical filth of your living quarters and, in doing so, sweeping away the cobwebs of your teetering sanity. They scrubbed at putrid greasy plates while you scoured tainted flesh under a scalding hot stream, the dead skin cells contaminated by his poisonous touch spiraling down the drain along with your tears.

The harsh truth of the matter is that there is no escape from your own body. You come screaming into this world given one to do with as you will, to mold and shape based on lived experiences with no regard for the decisions and circumstances made outside your control. There is no space to slip between the weaved threads of time, no hands to turn counter clockwise when you make a mistake. Just a grim acceptance that the life you once aspired to was forevermore out of reach.

There was only so much to be done given your situation. As much aid as your family offered, they were as helpless of bystanders as the soul in your meat suit. Chores were completed, accumulated bills paid, a hearty meal piled high on your plate combating the recent gauntness of your face. You were cherished and fussed over like the wee babe found scattered amongst family photos in your childhood home, cradled in their arms when the horrid presence came calling, dragging a hot poker through your insides and causing mental anguish at all hours of the night. 

The more time they spent around you, the more apparent it was that you could no longer stay there. The closer the proximity to your bonded alpha the more power he held to disrupt your life. 

That's how you landed in Dr. Miranda’s lap. Before you'd even set foot on the tarmac arrangements had been made for a new life in a new city on the other side of the country - spiriting you away on a mission to regain your independence, the distance easing the damage he could do even as the strained bond churned.

Initially dreading having to confess the horrors you’d endured to some random unknown, she’d worked diligently to soothe your broken nerves in both demeanor and environment. A kind omega in her early forties, the subtle crows feet and laugh lines only accentuated her cheerful personality, disarming in her ability to draw out your insecurities and work with you through the trauma in a way that didn’t feel intruding. 

Dr. Miranda was a veritable well of understanding, always encouraging of whatever pace you set, careful of the fragile boundaries constructed to guard your heart from further damage. 

She operated as part of a larger business that provided therapeutic services and catered to all designations alike. You’d been thrilled to find there was a separate entrance away from the cacophony of the common room, bypassing the headache of having to wait amongst strangers and leading directly to her office in the back right corner of the building. 

The space itself was considerably cozy, low lit warmth all plush and homely. The spacious couch against the back wall invited you to stretch out comfortably, decorative pillows available in a colorful assortment of textures - catering to a discerning omega’s personal preferences. A small diffuser wafting light refreshing mists operated as both a handy descenting spray and an emotional pick me up. Every accommodation purposeful, given special care for your emotional easement and wellbeing.

You appreciated the effort she put into making her office feel more like a living room than a sterile setting. It was easier for you to converse when it felt like you were speaking with a friend.

Bit by bit, Dr. Miranda coaxed you from the sheltered recesses in which you’d burrowed; not just a guiding hand through the concrete dust and collapsed rubble, but a mentor recovering your confidence, reminding you of the path you once walked independently and peeling back the suffocating layers that kept you from standing on your own two feet.

In hindsight, you probably could’ve broken the news of your scent match a bit less abrasively - probably should’ve led with it too. 

The pair of you had been engrossed in a topic that was moreso a follow up from your last session rather than anything of actual import. Your brain had been functioning on autopilot the past twenty odd minutes, making sounds vaguely human enough to get by without requiring proper attention. Honestly, most of her words had been drowned out by the incessant buzzing in your ear that had been slowly growing in volume, throat clenching and knuckles flexing, more aware of the sweat dripping down the back of your nape than anything she had to proffer.

Eventually the dam just broke. The words slipped out like grease, lubricated in a film of oil too slick to be contained and begging to be addressed.

There’s a struggle on her face to try and maintain some level of professionalism after the sudden revelation. Knitted eyebrows spiked before smoothing back down, jaw almost dropping until she remembered herself and switched it from an ‘o’ to a relaxed flat line. She mirrored your own position on the couch from her velvet wingback chair, sitting cross legged with an air of casualness. Her only remaining tell was her hands fidgeting in her lap as if her fingers itched to shake you down like a coconut tree or pry your brain open like a valuable specimen. 

Knowing the scarcity of scent bonding, this may have very well been the first time she’s come across this scenario - whether in her personal life or from her spot opposite you in her seat.

“How are you feeling about the encounter?” A loaded question if ever there was one, giving you plenty of breathing room to start the conversation however you needed and giving her a chance to compartmentalize. 

You tried to focus on the initial emotions, remembering that first brush of sweet alpha pheromones on your olfactory senses. The rush of endorphins as your inner omega staked her claim with that first gulp of built up citrus infused drool.

“I didn’t know I could feel like that...” There was a breathy quality to your tone as you visibly brightened, gazing at the plush rug in the center of the room without actually viewing it, a glow to your smile that was soft in your reminiscence. “They don’t prepare you for that first whiff at the Academy. It’s almost like…”

How could you explain in the span of a few sentences what the most ardent poets struggled with over the course of a lifetime? 

“It’s like when someone grows up not being able to breathe properly and they don’t even realize it’s a problem. To them it’s normal to be in a constant state of dyspnea because that’s all they’ve ever known. No one else might be complaining about it, but no one’s asked them about it either. They just assume that's how your lungs are supposed to function and carry on none the wiser.”

Dr. Miranda nodded along, ever patient as you attempted to spew out your thoughts in an at least semi-coherent structure.

“But then, one day, they’re walking behind a guy who’s fumbling with his attempt to shove a small object back in his pocket and watches as it falls to the sidewalk. They pick it up off the ground like a good citizen; strike up a conversation. Ask him about the strange contraption the guy calls an inhaler - learns there's another way to breathe. And so they go home and tell their mom what’s been going on with them and she takes them to see the doctor who gets them one of their own. And when that first dose of medicated mist gets sucked into their lungs…”

The image of a wide eyed innocent gasping in a world full of untold possibilities as if reborn from the ashes of their previous life, no longer chained down by the invisible restrictions tethering them to the globe, eyes glistening full of wonderment at how something so small can be something so cosmically life altering.

With each new breath, they soar.

You’re pulled out of your musings and back to reality as your own lungs expand, something weightless shimmering in your gaze, glassy eyed and perfectly at ease. “Now I know why they call it living.”

The words are floated around the space with a sort of reverence akin to hearing a favored childhood fairy tale read aloud at their mother’s knee. Something wistful and longing and filled with effervescent hope.

“Sounds heavenly...” Her own voice was just as breathy, living vicariously through the moment she herself hasn't experienced. Curling her legs up under herself, Dr. Miranda encouraged, “tell me more.”

“There were two of them,” you went on, smile turning playful and newly invigorated. “The first one was just this big bulk of an alpha. I mean, seriously, he was properly huge!” Animated arms opened wide for emphasis, your grin reaching almost the same diameter. “Built like a fucking linebacker or something. I can only imagine what he must do for a living. Kinda gives off scary vibes, but like… in a non sketchy way? He dresses a bit like a drug dealer, but feels more like a gym teacher. Maybe that’s just me being biased ‘cause he smells like a cupcake, I dunno.”

The energy you gave off was infectious. Dr. Miranda couldn’t help but join in with amused laughter, endeared to the way you were lighting up the room. It wasn’t often she got to see you like this, glimpsing the lighthearted woman you were before the accident. It was a welcome sight after so much negativity. “And the other?”

“Fuuuuck me, Doc.” You groaned good naturedly, head falling back to rest against the spine of the couch as your limbs went limp. “Swear to god he was the prettiest guy I’ve ever seen in my goddamn life. Gorgeous smile. Like, I’ve always been a casual fan of coconut, but after that encounter…” You shuddered. “I just wanna roll around in an entire box of fucking samoas.”

“And do these tasty specimens have names?”

Just like that, you wilted.

The temperature shifted rapidly, a violent change that dragged out of your whimsy and back into a world where life didn’t discriminate between those deserving of heaven and those who broke their way in to taint the ghosts at peace. 

She picked up on it immediately, back straightening as if you weren’t the only one in the room with a chill suddenly dripping down their spine. 

Your admission came from a voice far more fragile than she’d heard in a very long time. “...I never got to ask.”

Recounting the excruciating memory was like shoving needles underneath your nailbeds, bringing up the other person in the room keeping you from wanton bliss, describing the torture you’d endured witnessing them existing with their own omega unaware of the damage she’d inadvertently done. You relayed their moment of recognition and sympathy. The confusion on the poor omega’s face.

How you turned tail and fled like a coward from the scene.

“I panicked,” came the strained confession, stumbled out in a frantic rush that spoke volumes of your frazzled mental state. “I-I didn’t know what else to do! I couldn’t just waltz up to them all willy nilly and throw a wrench in whatever the hell kinda life they’d already built. I mean, she was right there! How was I supposed to fawn over the men who should’ve been mine to keep when they were never mine to begin with?!”

You flinched away from the unwanted flashback of silvery bite marks, the pale white indents plastered on her skin displayed proudly beneath the collar of her coat like an olympic medal. So at odds with the ones mirrored on your own flesh, hidden now under a thick cotton turtleneck that you fought the urge to scratch.

Dr. Miranda listened closely, keen eyes analyzing the familiar body language and monitoring your growing levels of distress. She watched as you picked apart a loose hanging thread with jittery deftness until inevitably too much unwound and fluffy white stuffing poked out between the seams of the pillow clutched like a life jacket to your chest.

“I can only imagine the hurt you must’ve felt in that moment…”

Where once your voice had been full of life, now there was only a grave emptiness. Color had been sucked from your aura the same way it had been from the room. There was no hiding from your devastation in the tiny office, the frayed threads of the cashmere pillow a reflection revealing the true turmoil roiling beneath the skin. It rotted from the inside out, exposing the vulnerable squishy interior and keeping you reliving the same brutal lacerations again and again and again.

“...I hadn’t even considered it a possibility, you know…?” 

Hadn’t allowed yourself the concept of hope. 

“And suddenly it was right there - the answer to all my problems. For a brief moment, I was shown a glimpse of a better life. A future… one where I didn't wake up with earth shattering headaches and relentless nausea and I’d actually have energy to do more than just be a useless fucking couch potato and there could be laughter and healing and–” 

You weren’t sure at which point in your stream of consciousness you’d started crying, nor when you fitfully clawed into the padded fabric, shredding the delicate material as it twisted and stretched in your trembling hands.

“I wish I never ran into them at the store... I wish I could’ve kept living in stupid fucking ignorance. At least then they could’ve just stayed made up characters in my head. Anything would’ve been better than this–” you spat angrily, chucking the mangled remains of the pillow on the ground and gritting your teeth through the onslaught of tears. “Having them ripped away from me like some sick fucking joke! Like the universe hasn’t already crushed my hopes and dreams and laughed in my face for wanting a normal fucking life!? Well guess what, gods? You win! Okay?! You fucking win! Take my heart! I don't want it anymore!”

Consoling arms encapsulated your quivering form, the comforting florals of Dr. Miranda’s airy omega scent projecting like a protective blanket and overpowering the tart bitterness of your once sweetened pear turned ashen in your mouth. 

The floodgates opened. They couldn't be stopped.

“I’m just so fucking sick of this!” Your screams of devastation become muffled against the softness of her pink knitted sweater, harsh blubbering sobs broken up by heaving gasps as you mourn the life you’ll never have. “I hate him... I hate him! I don’t wanna do this anymore! I just want my fucking life back!”

There are no words that can fix the lesions of the heart. There’s no comfort of a better tomorrow that she can wax poetic whilst drying your tears. Sometimes grief cannot be mended - only managed. And sometimes that means accepting the bad days with the learned knowledge that not all anger is made of evil. 

Holding you close, lulling you into a guarded safety with a placating purr, she grants you reprieve from the mask that you wear.

Not much more was discussed in the aftermath. The remaining time was dedicated to helping you stabilize from the emotional trauma, bringing you down carefully to avoid dropping into a catatonic state. She’d witnessed it with you before - at the start of your visits. When the grief was still too near and your triggers splayed out like a million mouse traps all primed to go off. Avoiding them was all but impossible in those early days. Three hours of your life were forever lost to time, the only proof of its occurrence the foggy aftermath filled memory of cold dampened skin and sweat soaked weighted blankets clutched tight in a dark room, uncontrollable trembles wracking your form and a bone deep exhaustion as if you’d just ran ten miles.

Dr. Miranda never once left your side.

Trudging your way back to your vehicle, the air inside the car was only mildly warmer than its outer counterpart, sinking into the rigid cloth seats and listening to the laboured clicks of the old engine grappling to turn over in the bitter cold. Snowflakes gathered on your coat began to melt as it finally gave way, puttering to life and filling the space with dense heated air.

You huffed out a loaded sigh, absentmindedly scratching at the already abused skin as you felt his presence poking experimentally across the bond. As if you didn’t have enough on your plate without him adding his delightful input, sniffing around your emotions like a trained bloodhound attuned to your melancholic brooding.

He was a spiteful thing; had been since he first opened his eyes the next morning from his drug induced stupor and found the pretty thing he’d coveted had just up and vanished. You never knew when he’d invade the sanctity of your mind. The flicker of amusement from his end was the telltale proof this was all just a sick game. 

The bonds didn’t allow any actual communication. There were no words passed back and forth, no sudden powers of telepathy. Just intense sensations - emotions conveyed as though tangible and speaking ideas down an invisible phone line. 

The whole point of a mating bite in the first place was to bring a further cohesion to the packs. As an omega, you were the fixed point in space around which all other members orbited. A mediator of sorts; it was your job to smooth the serrated edges of an alpha’s instincts, regulating their emotional needs and nurturing them to achieve a sense of balance - and vice versa. 

An omega’s naturally empathetic nature meant you were frequently prone to becoming easily overstimulated. It was an alpha’s duty to soothe your frazzled nerves. 

He liked to abuse his privileges. 

Sometimes he went days without pestering, others his tiresome machinations seemed unending. The longest reprieve had been just shy of three weeks, lured into a false sense of optimism that just maybe he’d overdosed and freed you from his haunting clutches. His return was a hot knife stabbing into your skull, grinding and drilling like a makeshift lobotomy for the clinically insane.

You were grateful for the miles between now softening the blows. Once he’d begun to feel the strain on the flight to your current city whittling away at the strength of your bond, he’d lashed out in unbridled fury. You’d spent the first leg of the trip huddled on your knees in the airplane stall, his mental punishment sawing into your ribs and expelling the simple breakfast you’d eaten an hour prior. 

Sobs of anguish turned to tears of relief as time went on and his reach stretched thin across the continent. 

The bond withdrawals came afterwards. His presence still lurked in the tether that binds you, but no more than a casual thought in the back of your mind, the quiet voice that whispers on the edge of a canyon daring you to ‘jump’.

The bond withdrawals were now the worst of your worries. It was hard to function on a day to day basis when the same distance granting you a second chance caused you to become physically - sometimes violently - ill. Instances like that, Zofran was your best friend.

Buckling your seatbelt, you waged an internal battle over whether or not to do the responsible thing of making a second attempt at grocery shopping (despite your best efforts over the past two days, you hadn’t yet figured out how to miraculously will food to materialize in your barren pantry). Statistically speaking you were most likely safe from another encounter… unless they’d pulled a you and hadn’t left with their wares either. 

But if you didn’t have the luxury before to keep putting it off then you certainly hadn’t acquired it now.

Math was on your side as you emerged with a full cart of goods and a lack of new therapy material. You’d still been the most skittish paranoid thing ever, scurrying quickly through the aisles like the CIA was out to get you, scanning your periphery and emerging quickly from the self checkout lanes to hurry towards your car. But just because you’d been successful in your venture doesn’t mean you weren’t followed along by fuzzy raised brows and curious - if not judgemental - looks. 

It was an odd notion - being terrified of the one thing that should’ve made you feel secure. It was all you could do to distract yourself from the frustrating realization that this was a game you’d be playing for the foreseeable future unless you shelled out the extra cash to bypass doing the chore yourself.

That would have to be a worry for another time. Right now, all you desired was to curl up in your tiny studio apartment with a home cooked microwaved meal and lose yourself in the diversion that was the food network channel.

But first: caffeine.

You ignored the nagging ghost of responsibility tugging at your ear as you pulled into a parking spot alongside the main road, stepping out of the warm confines of your car and hurrying inside the nestled hole in the wall you frequented a few times a week for a caffeinated boost. 

Large crowds still bothered you even with the reassurance he wasn't there, as if he could somehow physically slink out of the bond formed between you and hide amongst the chittering rabble waiting for an opportune moment of weakness to strike. Thankfully you’d arrived after the mid afternoon rush - although there were still a few stragglers with the same mindset as you eager to escape the frosty air with something warm on an otherwise picturesque snowy winter’s day.

The chiming bell above the door hailed your arrival, festive drink flavors assaulting your nose and instantly watering your mouth. Smoky chestnut praline, rich peppermint mocha, enticing caramel brulee. Cranberry laden pastries, chewy gingerbread cookies; all folded together in a Christmasy mix laced with the pleasant aroma of freshly ground coffee beans. 

Your mind zeroed in on exactly what it wanted, pinpointing the most succulent fragrance amongst the bountiful bouquet, cutting through the sea of heavy pheromones belonging to the other patrons and hitting something raw inside your weary soul. 

The veritable nectar of the gods. 

A rich shot of bold espresso. Sweetly caramelized with smooth, creamy, chocolatey undertones. It zapped your spine with a jolt of adrenaline, awakening your senses while simultaneously soothing them. The first relaxing sip of a perfectly hot beverage. The golden liquid flowed down the back of your throat and alleviated the tangled knots still keeping you on edge, settling like a sturdy hand on your shoulder and allowing you the chance to breathe easy.

Something about the blend had your inner omega preening, ears perked up and startling a small purr from your chest that had you blinking down at your torso in surprised confusion. You’d barely stepped foot inside the cafe and suddenly the craving had expanded tenfold, something ravenous and feral urging your steps towards the counter that you had to fight to withstand.

Shrugging off the intense hunger as a simple lack of shoving something slightly more substantial in your mouth before leaving this morning, you adjusted the strap of your purse more securely on your shoulder and raised your eyes level to the awaiting interior.

Right into the most alluring shade of brilliant azure - sparkling like sapphires and already fixated on you.

°•. ✿ .•°.•° ✿ °•.°•. ✿ .•°.•° ✿ °•.°•. ✿ .•°

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[the-s1lly-corner]

Hey can I request a Jason voorhees x reader oneshot? Jason's jacket is obviously a mess so what if when he is gone the reader suprises him by sewing it up for him and even stitches on "Jason Voorhees ♡"on the breast pocket?

Reader fixing Jason's jacket

I don't currently take one shots currently but I adore this prompt so I'll still hit it with the headcanon treatment :3

Notes: Reader is GN

CWs: Mentions of canon typical violence

It's no secret that the mans wardrobe is a little.. hmm.. well not in the best condition, not to mention that finding clothing that fits him is hard when you guys live in the woods..

But out of all the articles of clothing he owns, his jacket is in the worst condition

Slashes, holes, and a few blood stains that couldnt quite get washed out- not that the man cares all that much.. hes rather desensitized to blood

Unless it's your blood but that's a whole other thing!

Getting back on track, his jacket is ruined beyond repair... or at least that was the notion Jason has subscribed to. He was about to head out and tend to his responsibilities around the camp to prepare for the inevitable rush of kids swarming the place for their summer vacation, when he realized he couldn't find it

Not that he *needed* it... so he heads out to do his thing, letting you know when you expect him to come home

This gives you some alone time to work on your little project that you've been working on for the past day or two, sneaking around your boyfriend so the surprise wouldn't be ruined

It was... a monumental task... you originally thought you'd just have to stitch the tears but you quickly realized that you'd have to get creative when fixing the large holes, so it could still.. fit as it should without stressing the thread..

But it ended up being worth it!

Jason looooves receiving gifts from you, but he has a habit of.. not using them- not because he doesnt appreciate them, but because he doesnt want to ruin or lose the gift in question

When he unfolds the jacket he remains still and quiet for a moment

Though is the quietness anything new?

He tries it on when you ask him to, and it fits like a glove!

He loves it, he makes sure to sign his appreciation to you.. except theres one problem

You know how I mentioned he tends to let gifts sit unused? He... doesnt want your hard work to go to waste...

You can offer to fix it if anything happens, and while he is grateful for the sentiment the guilt would still eat at him

The jacket becomes more of an around the house piece of clothing, something he wears casually when hes not expecting someone needing to be removed

Hes going to make something for you in return, or perhaps search for something. You take such good care of him and he wants you to be cared for as well

[stringsbasement]

Your art of peri and your Villain AU of him? perfection. I read your twt thread and I'm greedy for more, im so serious like If there was a 100k word fanfic of your au I would read it in a heartbeat!! THATS how much im obsessed with the concept

thank you so much! i didn't expect there to be so much interest in my thoughtless doodles and rambles. luckily, i already have a draft for a rant i formulated about this version of peri's possible motivations, and now i have an excuse to share it!!

also, as a bonus, have this silly doodle :)

[his hairstyle is his attempt to separate himself from his parents, but no matter what he does with it, he can never get it to sit without that stray tuft and curl at the very end.

also, his bowtie is in reference to chloe and my initial art of irep before his design was revealed. the latter almost makes it seem like they "swapped roles."]

the thing is, it's hard to imagine peri as someone purposefully wanting to harm others for his own pleasure. for a "bad" au of peri to occur, he'd have to take after timmy, and seek chaos the same way he did

now, timmy is a good person at heart. his fairies love him, and he loved them in turn. that's undeniable. however, timmy was so stressful he affected cosmo and wandas marriage, and they had to retire right after him to rekindle their love and stop being so awful towards each other. timmy was simultaneously one of the best and worst things to ever happen to them

so it's not that much of a stretch to think he'd affected peri during his development, to the point he unknowingly influenced peri's core beliefs, which he'll carry over later in life

timmy used his fairies to escape from his regular life. he was incredibly reckless, and shirked responsibilities till the consequences got him back tenfold. a dangerous, but fulfilling way of living. he might've mellowed out in the later years, but considering he chose to keep vicky around to purposefully make himself miserable and keep his fairies instead of facing reality, maturity wouldn't be a straight or easy path

peri, adopting this way of thinking, believes the best way to live life is taking risks. ignoring your present problems in favor of escapism. he would insist this upon his godchild, and be blind to the complex nuance of dev's situation

dev's parental neglect differs from timmy's, and thus requires different treatment. but peri doesn't realize that, and dev is a child who cannot comprehend how awful he really has it, let alone communicate it in a way that isn't just lashing out and throwing tantrums

for classic peri, this is an annoyance. for this peri though? he'll enable it, because he thinks dev needs to get it out of his system. like timmy. which is in some way correct, but it's a flawed, only temporary solution

and it's in this way a path of deeper exploration opens up about characters similar to cookie, highlighting how flawed the godparent system can be when a child is assigned a godparent who cannot fulfill what they truly need

starting a ghost apocalypse is nothing compared to the wishes that has been granted before. and, honestly, dev taking viozalia's staff to use against her is a clever move. this peri wouldn't be downtrodden like he was in the original scene, but impressed. he would say as such, and dev, being the emotionally starved 10 year old he is, will soak those words up like a dry sponge

(slightly off topic: i like to think a little quirk this peri would have is, instead of looking to da book of rules for guidance, (cosmo, wanda, and his classic self do this multiple times in the show when in unique situations,) he'd be searching for anything that states what can't he do. "what to do when your god kid tries to start a ghost apocalypse... nothing? sweet!")

this would naturally allow him and dev to bond a little more. even if it's just shit talking other people and how they're totally better than everyone else

it doesn't mean they get along splendidly. dev is still pissed that he can't make the wishes he wants, and peri overcompensates by allowing him to throw himself into situations that just narrowly avoids sanction. because, oh yeah, peri would not appreciate being forced to follow the rules which includes wiping the godchild's memories after the godparent's term has passed

(if anything, he'll find a loophole out of it. he learned from the best, after all)

this is also where peri's spoiled nature would shine through. being offered everything just because he was a baby would make anyone entitled

he and dev are too similar for their own good. they have have access to anything they could ask for, but are unable to get love from one person they want it from. it's almost pitiful

to keep those thoughts out of dev's (and his own) mind, peri resorts to pushing dev out of his comfort zone, which would ordinarily be a good thing, only, he goes way too far to the point of regression

you know, it really doesn't help that dev looks a lot like timmy. i mean, look at them...

that's timmy with slicked back hair and a white jacket. c'mon

but even with all of this, peri doesn't really become a villain. he's antagonistic at most, with his strained relationship with his parents and his help in making things harder for hazel. luckily, the latest episode has given me a few ideas

when peri inevitably comes to care for dev, he'll obviously has to do something about his constant unhappiness. dev has a point in complaining about the fact hazel has two godparents and he only has one, even when his life is "worse" (another unhealthy way of thinking,)

hmmmm. so how can dev have two fairy godparents, and how can peri break da rules without putting himself at risk?

who other than a mirror of peri's own self?

a shift inevitably took place, one where peri became more intense and irep more soft. it's so subtle it goes unnoticed until thousands of years have passed

irep has become timid, soft, and well-meaning. if peri either quits his position or gives way for another slot and puts dev under a sort of split-custody, dev will be able to use anti-fairy magic, which can completely bypass any of the rules regular fairy magic is withholden to

irep will get what he wants as well. in this post, i answered an ask in which i speculate that irep genuinely does want a godchild, and the love and appreciation that comes with it. that much would stay the same for this au

and, well, unlike irep, peri has always been willing to share

this would make way for a bunch of whacky hijinks, potential plots, and new threats. consequences piling up until they become too huge to ignore. not to mention the full implications of a fairy and anti-fairy switching roles. of course, this is just a fun idea i came up with on the spot, and i haven't thought it out too much, so pointing out any plot holes that would come from this is appreciated!

i have more to say, mainly about peri and his parents' initial separation, as well as the parallels that can be found with this version of peri and hazel, but i feel it would be best to end it here :)

thank you for making me write all of this!

[fursasaida]

1. next time somebody wants to make fun of Foucault for saying schools are prisons just know this thread is full of teachers saying this sounds so great, they do the same kind of work and love it, or they "always wanted to work in a correctional facility" and will look into this line of work

2. slightly more sympathetically, this is a demonstration of the abolitionist argument that in a neoliberal carceral society, prisons become the only government institution that the state is willing to direct resources to, and so what should be generalized social service programs like mental health treatment or continuing education get hung on its framework like ornaments on a christmas tree. this is how you get proposals for new prisons that include things like community meeting rooms in the building, because no one will find a community center but they will fund "amenity designed to sell a prison to a community." that is 100% a big part of what these teachers are responding to: having actual resources and a system that doesn't expect them to be an entire family, community, supply closet, and institution in one human body. but like, how is your response "prison school rules!" rather than "hold the fuck up"

(of course there's some talk about learning about how the other half lives and not being so quick to judge etc etc but. come on)

[david-talks-sw]

When a Star Wars writer engages with the material but not the narrative.

I'm writing a long post about the Jedi and the clone troopers and there's a whole section that I had to remove because it was too long:

Karen Traviss' take on the Jedi and the clones.

I already wrote about why Karen Traviss' take on the Jedi and Yoda doesn't track with what George Lucas had established in his narrative of the Prequels. Since then, I've been able to do more research.

It's no secret that one of the reasons Traviss listed for criticizing the Jedi in the Expanded Universe books she wrote is their treatment of the clones (or at least what she understood it to be).

In 2008, she wrote a now-deleted blog post about it (it was really long, so I'm only including the part relevant to my point, if you want the full context you can look it up, this is old stuff).

So if you ask me, in the above quote, Traviss is essentially doing the equivalent of saying:

"Batman is a psycho elitist who beats up the mentally ill and indoctrinates kids, turning them into child soldiers for his unending crazy vigilante war on crime, and if you can't recognize that then you scare the living crap out of me."

Like... you can argue that, and a couple of comics have argued that.

But by and large, the general consensus is that Batman is a superhero, the Robins are his sons and daughter, and the "mentally ill" are in fact the Joker and Two-Face aka mass murderers.

So if you make that argument, that's you applying your real-life values and conclusions to a narrative that deliberately doesn't acknowledge those points, in-universe, in order to tell the story it wants to tell.

It's counting on your suspension of disbelief, defined as "the avoidance—often described as willing—of critical thinking and logic in understanding something that is unreal or impossible in reality, such as something in a work of speculative fiction, in order to believe it for the sake of enjoying its narrative."

The Jedi accepting the clones and the clones being slaves isn't a "delicate point". It's barely a point at all!

It's never addressed in the film (because of course it isn't, the Prequels are about Anakin and the Republic, not the clones).

It's only addressed once by Slick, an unreliable narrator, in The Clone Wars.

That's it. Hell, in 2008, when The Clone Wars writer Henry Gilroy was asked to comment on the relationship between clones and Jedi, he explicitly said he'd "rather not get into" that particular point.

I recently got Mythmaking: Behind the Scenes of 'Attack of the Clones' and nowhere is that detail touched on by Lucas at any point.

Nobody wants to touch on that point with a 10ft pole, because it's not relevant to the story.

So while Traviss acknowledges the Jedi are fictional characters, she doesn't follow that thread through to the end by acknowledging that fictional characters don't have free will, they must abide by the story and the whim of the writer.

She's engaging with the material, but refusing to engage with the narrative. She's having her cake and eating it too.

My reason for saying all this is that in the book Star Wars on Trial, she elaborates on her thought process upon discovering this detail.

Shortly before to this, she acknowledges twice that she knew nothing about Star Wars, beside seeing the original films in her youth.

Another writer who saw the new films and saw Mace Windu argue against there being a war...

... the worry on his face at the prospect of the Jedi being thrown at the Separatists...

... and the sheer melancholy on Yoda's face upon announcing the Clone War had begun...

... might have instead wondered how the Jedi, so opposed to war, could've ended up being generals.

Because while we don't see the Jedi openly protest the use of the clones in the film... they're not exactly giddy about it, either. All they can do is watch powerlessly as it gets voted by the Senate.

"The Jedi are there. But the Jedi aren't really allowed to be involved in the political process. They're there, but they can't suddenly step up and say, "No, no. You can't do that." They have to let the political process go." - George Lucas, Attack of the Clones, Commentary #2, 2002

We also don't see them take on the role of generals, either.

We only see them begrudgingly lead troops on Geonosis, specifically.

But they're not referred to as "generals" yet.

Another writer might have imagined a scene where after Geonosis, Mace Windu talks to Palpatine thinking the Jedi will go back to their roles as diplomats, and that what we saw in Attack of the Clones was a one-time thing to save Obi-Wan, but Palpatine politely goes:

"Ha! No. Didn't you hear? The Senate was so impressed by your performance on Geonosis that they voted to make you all generals in the GAR. Now, get back to the front."

Another writer might've elected to write them having that "big moral debate" she mentions.

Instead, Traviss immediately jumps on the "Jedi are elitists" train.

Because her personal experience with the military makes her sympathize with the clones and her personal belief is that - while the story may frame the Jedi as "the good guys" - nobody is that good a guy, real life people aren't that pure and selfless. There's gotta be something off about them and aHA! That's what it is!

That's her choosing to take that line of thought instead of one more in-line with the story, because she perceives it as unrealistic. But like... Star Wars isn't real life, it's a fairy tale.

That's like saying:

"The hunter in Little Red Riding Hood commits animal cruelty by cutting the Wolf open. He should've let nature take its course, the wolf earned that meal fair and square. If you think the hunter should've saved Red Riding Hood and her Grandma, then clearly you're the kind of monster who thinks one life is worth more than others."

... no?

The story's narrative clearly portrays the wolf as the villain of the tale and frames the Hunter saving Red Riding Hood as a good thing.

Disagreeing with that narrative is absolutely fine, but anybody who acknowledges the wolf is the bad guy in the story isn't automatically an animal hater and/or a bad person. Just because you say "the wolf is the villain" doesn't mean that you think that, in real life, killing wolves for shits and giggles is good.

Conversely, the narrative of the Prequels asks you to suspend your disbelief and not consider the implications that having a clone army entails. Because the use of clones doesn't have a direct impact on either Anakin or the Senate's stories.

Edit: I finished the post this one here originally spun out of!

You can find it here:

[ponderingmoonlight]

Nanami losing it completely when (y/n) gets severely injured at Shibuya

Shibuya Arc scenarios that live in my head rent-free pt.lll

Part l with Gojo and Geto here Part ll with Toji here

Pairing: Nanami Kento x reader

Word Count: 2,3k

Synopsis: After receiving a message with your location, Nanami rushes to your side, showing no mercy with the man who laid his hands on you.

Warnings: I literally shed a tear while writing this so be prepared, sooo much hurt, comfort at the end, you wanted this and I wanted it too this is one of my favorite fics I have ever written

His gaze is empty as he stares down at the bloody shell of his friend. Severely injured by multiple blade slashes, completely covered in his own blood, his life hanging on a thin thread.

“You have some nerves…”, he mutters.

Nanami clenches his hands into fists. Whoever did this will pay for it with his own life, he will make sure of that. But right now he has to get his friend out of here, provide him with better medical treatment, check on the other assistants, make sure that they are alright, eliminate whatever is responsible for Ijichi’s condition. What if that thing hurt the others too? Fuck, how the hell did all of this happen? And where the hell are you?

“(y/n)”, he breathes out.

His heart sinks when reality starts to hit him.

You.

You were also stationed here. After all, you aren’t a jujutsu sorcerer but a skilled combat fighter with impressive powers. You were right here, right here with Ijichi.

“Don’t worry about me, I’ll be alright!”

Fuck, fuck, fuck. His strong arms lift Ijichi’s numb body up with ease, thoughts racing. If something happened to you, if these fuckers harm a single hair on you…

He runs as fast as he can, fueled by nothing but thick fear and all the emotions that wash over him like a wave. He might lose it all. His friend, everyone else, you. The love of his life, the only woman who truly fascinates him, his best friend. And he hasn’t even told you all that. No, Nanami never shared his feelings with you, not when his fear of losing you is so great. But right now, with the death of his friend in front of his blank eyes, it dawns on him.

After this night, he might lose you forever.  

“Please be alright, I’m coming for you (y/n).”

-(y/n)'s POV-

Your whole body burns like a thousand fires, blood soaking your black suit. Everything aches, you feel like fainting, your sword lifelessly lays on the crimson floor. Is this really how your life comes to an end? Through the hands of someone like him?

“You fucker”, you spit out along with some blood, fists still ready to hit him again.

“Huh, why so rude? I’m just playing a little”, he replies sweetly before beating you in your guts again, his blade narrowly missing you.

It can’t go on like this, you can’t take any other hit. Your puny figure lands on the floor harshly, body desperately screaming at you with every fiber.

But you can’t stop now. After all, Nitta and all the other assistants are relying on you. Right now, you have to be your own hero.

“Standing up again? I’m starting to get bored to be honest. Why can’t you just die already?”

One moment of inattention. One second of giving in to your pain is enough for him to stab his blade through your shoulder, slicing your flesh open with ease. You see stars, the overwhelming pain that starts to radiate through your entire body simply takes your breath away. All you can do is stare at him with wide eyes while a silent scream escapes your lips.

You’ve had so much planned. Damn, you wanted to finally confess your feelings to him. Nanami Kento, the man you admire more than anyone else on this planet, the man that showed you there’s still class, who gets on his knees when talking to you, who makes sure you feel save whenever he’s around. God, how much you love him.

Your face hardens in determination. No, you can’t die without at least telling him once about your true feelings towards him.

With a swift motion you steady yourself again before kicking him with so much force that he crushes into the wall backwards, laughing hysterically.

“Finally you show me what you’ve got!”, he screams out in please while you pant hard.

It’s obvious that you don’t have much left, hanging on a thin string. The amount of blood you’ve lost due to your countless wounds is critical, you don’t need Shoko to know that. If help doesn’t arrive soon, you’ll die right here.

You could call him. Nanami’s number is just one swipe of your finger away. You could call him and tell him where you are, that you’re in big trouble and that you need him just like he told you.

“(y/n), if anything goes wrong, don’t hesitate and call me. I can’t afford to lose you. Promise me to look after yourself.”

He stared so intensely at you back then, his words made your heart skip a beat. But you can’t call him. After all, Nanami is on a much more important mission with countless life relying on his broad shoulders. It would be selfish to expect him to save you while so many people are dying.

“I’m sorry, Kento”, you mumble to yourself, voice nothing more but a fade away whisper.

No, don’t cry right now, don’t let the enemy see that you suffer. Nanami wouldn’t want you so feel this way. Stand your ground one last time, fight back as hard as you can.

One last distress signal. One last way to warn and protect the rest of the team.

“I’ve told everyone where you are, moron”, you shout at him, a maniac grin plastered on your face.

“Ow, how nice of you! Then I’ll hang your body up uhm…right there so they can see you when they come here!”, he remarks with sparkling eyes.

“I’d love to see you try”, you bark back.

-Nanami's POV-

“It’s (y/n)’s location”, Nitta huffs while Nanami bandages Ijichi up and Nobara is busy contacting help.

His heart stops for a second. This means you’re still alive and able to use your phone. But why would you send your location?

“She must have found something…”, Nanami ponders out loud.

“Do you think she needs help?”

Nitta’s voice echoes through his mind. To be honest, he doesn’t care about why you shared your location. All he wants to do right now is find and save you.

“You both stay here with Ijichi. I’ll go looking after (y/n).”

“Can I-“

“No”, Nanami immediately interrupts Nobara’s request.

“You stay here and wait for aid.”

And with that, he’s gone again, following your location blinking on his phone. Please be safe, please smile at him like you always do when you see him, eyes lighting up and making his heart melt. God, just be save.

His feet carry him to your location with ease but let him stop abruptly at the trail of blood in front of the building you are positioned in. Nanami feels like throwing up, the worst scenarios flooding his mind while he stares at the crimson colored floor. He should have accompanied you. No, he shouldn’t have allowed you to come to Shibuya in the first place.

With his head still spinning, he storms into the building and his world stops.

There you lay, in a puddle of your own blood, completely covered in bruises while a man raises his blade against you, just about to sink it into your precious body.

“I wouldn’t do that if I was you.”

That voice. That all too familiar voice that brings tears to your eyes. Is he really here? Did he get the notification? A single droplet rolls down your cheek while your hazy gaze meets his. He looks so different, absolutely threatening.

Nanami rolls up his sleeves and walks towards both of you. Fuck, you’ve never seen him like this, his aura almost suffocates you. It is clear that he’s absolutely furious.

“I’ll tell you one last time. Back off.”

“Or what?”, the man above you challenges.

“Or I’ll make you regret that you were born.”

His voice makes your blood freeze. As if in slow motion, Nanami loosens his tie and wraps it around his hand.

“Huh, you’re not wearing a black suit, but I guess I’m still allowed to ki-“

He isn’t able to finish his sentence. Nanami’s fist rushes forward in god-like speed, slamming the man off you, through the window, into the next building.

“I’ll be right back. Hold on, sweetheart”, he mutters.

With one last glance at you, he steps out into the cold night, only inches away from losing his temper completely. Who does this man think he is to lay is hands on you and his friends? This is unacceptable, this is unforgivable. Nanami will make him pay for every minor wound conflicted on your striking body, he will make him regret his whole life before ending it.

“What’s the number and locations of your allies?”

It isn’t enough to only kill him. No, every single one of these fuckers will pay for what they did today. For killing countless assistants, for almost ending the life of his friend.

But most importantly, for hurting the love of his life.

“I don’t know!”, the man hollers at him, trying to slice him open unsuccessfully.

Nanami stares at him with dead calm eyes while he tries to hit him another time, his patience slowly starting to fail him.

“What’s the number and locations of your allies?!”

His hands are clenches into tight fists. One more word. One more word of nonsense coming out of his mouth and he’ll kill him.

“I don’t k-“

Enough. One punch is enough to send that fucker through the next window.

You can’t help but admire the way Nanami walks up to him, his forearms flexed in a way you have never seen before while his broad shoulders seem to crush you with his confidence. He looks absolutely threatening, like a menace.

The blond-haired man tries to escape, but in the matter of seconds, Nanami grabs his ponytail and lifts him up.

“What’s the number and locations of your allies?”

You hold your breath, eyes wide open by the sound of his voice. This isn’t the Nanami Kento you know, the tender man with cool temper that never loses it. But oh, at the moment you feel like he’s possessed with the way his muscles flex underneath his shirt, the look on his face so furious that you have to swallow.

“I told you, I don’t kn-“

Another hit and the blonde lands on the ground, a dumb smile plastered on his face. You know that look all too well, he has planned something…Where is his blade?

There it is, on its way to slash Nanami open. You don’t hesitate. Despite the way your shoulder screams at you and begs you to stop, you grab your sword and throw it, deflecting his blade deftly just before it reaches Nanami while crying out in pain.

“You little bitch, stay out!”, he screams at you.

Nanami snaps. He grabs his throat roughly, chocking him without any mercy.

“You have some nerves, calling her a bitch when I’m standing in front of you. How dare you to even talk to her, to lay your hands on her body? On my way here, I found several of our assistant supervisors dead. That was you, wasn’t it? And now you dare to raise your voice against my girl?”

“I-I’m sorry”, the blonde stutters.

It happens faster than your tired eyes can follow. One last blow of Nanami’s fist sends the man out of the building, out of sight. This killed him without any doubt. Your eyes begin to water uncontrollably when a wave of relief washes over you. Despite all the blood you’ve lost, you’re alive. Nanami is here, he saved you.

“Don’t stand up, (y/n). You’re losing a severe amount of blood”, Nanami’s calm voice instructs before he kneels down in front of you.

“Kento”, you whisper his name like a prayer, tears rolling down your cheeks as the pain becomes unbearable.

“I know, sweetheart. You did really well, I’m so proud of you. Without your selfless efforts, he would probably have claimed even more victims. I still don’t call it good that you didn’t inform me about this situation.”

His hand caresses your bruised cheek gently, making you lose it completely.

“I didn’t want other people to get killed because you were busy with me”, you cough out.

“(y/n), no matter how critical the situation is, I will always look after you. You are the greatest treasure of my life and I…”

“I love you!”, you cry out, pressing your head against his head.

All these countless nights of dreaming about him holding you, all the stolen glances, the pondering. You just can’t take it anymore. Maybe it’s the blood loss or the immense pain that seems to speak out of you, but you’ve had enough. Fuck getting rejected or losing him because of your dumb feelings, you need him to know.

“I love you too, sweetheart. When I saw you laying here in your own blood I felt like dying myself.”

All you can do is stare at him through glossy eyes. Did this words really just leave his mouth? Of all the possible answers you imagined for this moment, “I love you too”, definitely wasn’t one of them.

“Let’s talk about this later, shall we? I need to get you out of here, you need medical attention”, he continues.

“I will pick you up now, okay?”

His hands glide under your knees and back, lifting your aching body up with ease and pressing your frame against his chest.

You groan out, hand cramping around his shirt.

“Thank you for saving me. And for loving me.”

His heart skips a beat, the lovely look on your distressed face almost making him forget how to breathe. How is it possible that a perfect human being like you loves someone like him? His arms wrap themselves tighter around your body.

“Don’t thank me for that, sweetheart.”

He will never let you go again. Not at Shibuya, not anywhere else.

[sturnioloshacker]

silent treatment - a vinnie hacker short

a/n: requested by anon; lowercase intended

summary: reader gives vinnie the silent treatment after he breaks a promise but they eventually make up

8:54pm

where in the blue hell is he? makeup applied carefully, outfit picked with confidence and pride, i sit at my dining room table with my phone tightly in my hand. i was promised to a date by vinnie, tonight at 7:30. we were both supposed to be going to the restaurant that we had our first date at to celebrate reaching 1 million subscribers on youtube. 

“it’ll be an amazing night for us.” he murmured to me the night before while tracing shapes on my back. 

“i know i’ve been busy with multiple fashion week events, but i’ll make it up to you sweetheart.”

i sigh, unlocking my phone to see i’m still left on delivered. time slowly ticks by as i grow more upset over my boyfriend breaking his promise. in a state of frustration and sadness, i head up to vinnie’s bathroom and begin my night routine, my patience hanging on by a thread. after ruining my makeup and crying in the shower, i flop onto my side of the bed. 

“princess!” i hear vinnie shout as he barges his way into the house and up the stairs, sounding frantic and out of breath.

“oh you’re here, thank the lord.”

i didn’t turn to face him, i didn’t want to face him. i stay rolled over facing the wall, pretending to be asleep. did i forget, vinnie thought, or was i genuinely asleep? brushing the thought away, vinnie stripped himself of his clothes, shimmied his plaid pyjama pants over his legs and slipped in beside me under the duvet. whispering goodnight to my ‘sleeping’ body, he reached around to wrap his arms around my torso to pull me closer. feeling my body tense, he knew i was awake. usually, when we cuddle, i relax in his embrace but tonight he pushed my buttons and i’m not having it. 

“y/n?” he murmured. 

“I’m going to sleep on the couch.” i muttered under my breath.

i get up out of bed and take my pillow with me. 

“hey, wait!” 

“i don’t want to wait anymore! i waited almost an hour and a half for you and where were you?! nowhere to be seen!”

i feel my chest cave in at the anger i’m feeling. i don’t want to look at vinnie, not even be around him. after weeks of not seeing him, he promised me one of the best date nights only to let me down. silence falls upon the both of us as I walk out of vinnie’s bedroom and to the couch in the living room. 

i didn’t get much slept last night, multiple thoughts raced through my mind. vinnie didn’t get much sleep either. the guilt was taking over his body, eating away at him as he groggily rolled out of bed. he couldn’t fathom the fact that he had broken his promise. time had just slipped away as he was trying on different outfits for the fashion week he just came back from. 

“morning.” he mumbles as he makes his way into the kitchen. 

i don’t reply, i just leave the kitchen to head to the living room to eat my breakfast. 

vinnie was hoping that i would leave all this behind and just talk to him like i normally do but i had other ideas. it’s not that i wanted to over dramatise the situation but i’m so hurt that i don’t want to sweep how i’m actually feeling under the rug and just forget about it. i’m used to him going to get fitted for the fashion week events he gets invited to but he’s normally back home at a certain time, especially when he has things planned for us to do. as much as i support him for what he does in his life, i want him to do the same thing for me but i feel like he's not.

“we need to talk.” vinnie said, disturbing my silence as i bit into my toast.

“baby, i’m not doing this silent treatment shit. i know i broke my promise to you and i’m so fucking sorry and i just need you to talk to me so we can sort this out. please, i need to hear your voice, i miss you.” the desperation in his voice echoing throughout the room.

“what’s there to say, vincent?” i snap.

his eyes widen as i use his full name. 

“you broke a promise that you know real well meant a lot to me, to both of us. i was all dressed up for you, my makeup was applied the way you like it, i wore the heels that you adore, i doused myself in the perfume you love, i was ready to celebrate 1 million youtube subscribers but you weren’t here, vinnie, and that broke my heart. you should know that i cried, i drowned myself in my own tears while i showered my happiness away. i'm happy for you when it comes to your modelling career and your fashion event status but i also want you to be happy for me in my youtube success and support me just as much as i support you. i feel as though i'm not getting that and it really hurts.”

the words hit vinnie like a truck, the guiltiness growing even more, just eating away at him like a flesh-eating animal. 

“i know i did, and i said i’m sorry. i understand that i hurt you and i didn’t mean to. there was just so many outfits and i lost track of time. it’s not like me to lose track of time, especially when i plan things. i'm truly sorry, my love. i want to be apart of your youtube journey, i want to support you the same way you support me. please let me make it up to you, please.”

the tears welling in his eyes, the sincerity in his words and the heartbroken look on his face had me tearing up. 

“were the outfits nice?” 

“honestly, yes. i’ll wear one to our date to celebrate your 1 million subscribers.” a smile tugging at his lips as he remembers the one particular fit that he knew would have you giggling like a little schoolgirl whose crush noticed her on the playground. 

“i was just upset, you know?”

vinnie nods, reaching out to take my hands in his. a light squeeze of my hands motions for me to continue.

“we haven’t seen each other in a couple of weeks and haven’t spent a night together in so long. i was all dressed up for you and i was ready to celebrate this amazing milestone of mine with you..”

i laugh at how pathetic and embarrassing i sound. 

“sorry, i probably sound so stupid right now.”

“no you don’t, sweetheart.” 

taking my plate from my hand, vinnie places it gently on the table in front of me and carefully pulls me up and into his arms. it felt nice to be wrapped in his arms again like this. i missed it so much. he presses a soft kiss to my temple before speaking up again.

“i’m so sorry, princess, it won’t ever happen again, i swear.”

all is forgiven with a sweet kiss on the lips and everything goes back to the way it was: absolutely perfect.

[feinv]

can i kindly req for a arthur morgan x hyperfem reader.... pov he is just so so so in live with her...

arthur morgan x hyperfem!reader.

a/n. introducing my other hyperfixation on this blog. hope this won’t flop. if you don’t wanna see this you can block these tags! hope you like this dolly <3

arthur morgan is a romantic.

spending the majority of his life being without a significant other, he kept repressing all those emotions. and repressing just made them stronger.

but lucky for him he has you!

he doesn’t understand why a sweet thing like you would even look at his direction. but you did. and he wasn’t a fool to let you go after that. he absolutely gives you princess treatment. will do like. literally anything just to see you smile.

arthur loves taking you to beautiful places he encountered while riding around. seeing your eyes sparkle and that pretty smile you flush him is enough for him to die a happy man right there next to you.

he is absolutely feral at how adorable you look. like all the time. we all know 1800s underwears were like just a plain white fabric. but you still managed to stitch them up in a certain way and add a few small bows to make them look cuter! he is honestly so amazed that nothing ever stops you from doing your girly things, and he is always there to tell you that you did a good job and it looks perfect <3

he loves showing you off, especially when he knows he has the pleasure of calling you his. he will do any dirty job and hard labor just to get money and buy you anything you want.

he knows it's hard feeling beautiful when you have limited resources in a camp. so he would buy you whatever clothes you want, whatever jewelry and accessories you look at for more than five seconds when he takes you to a town. (he might even steal some really expensive ones and tell you he traded for those)

of course he would think you look gorgeous even if your entire face was covered in dirt and mud. but it matters to him that you feel happy and confident in yourself. and it's his mission to fulfill that goal for as long as he alive.

every time he would bring back a little something that reminded him of you — a book, a small painting, perfumes that smell just like you, and everything else in between.

he would help you with chores however he can just to ease some of your work and have more alone time together. the boys would tease him for being "a housewife," but he wouldn't give a shit. he might as well do every single of your chores if it meant he would have you all to himself in the confines of his tent.

showers you in compliments. all day 24/7. he knows the words will eventually fail him because he physically cannot tell u how infatuated he is with you and how flawless you are to him. but he will try either way.

“you are so beautiful, darlin'. my pretty girl,” while his fingers gently tuck hair away from your face, his thumb soothing your soft skin. and you would blush and avert his gaze because like :< but he would simply pepper feather light kisses all over your face before connecting your lips in such a tender kiss you would forget that’s a 6 feet tall ripped cowboy.

his side bag and some of his clothes in general would have small hearts or bows engraved in them with pink thread. every time he looks at them he gets reminded there is someone waiting for him to come back. and his heart just swells at that thought.

would also sneak you away from the camp to a pretty field where the two of you could just stargaze together or lay on the grass for hours. you would ramble about your day while he sketches you, your sweet voice literally making him float in the clouds.

arthur morgan loves being around you, being with you. you don't even have to be doing anything together, he just loves having you near him, close and safe :3

©️feinv, 2024.

[ask-the-prose]

Writing Mental Health With Compassion

I've gotten a few questions regarding depicting characters with mental health challenges and conditions and I wanted to expand a little more on how to depict these characters with compassion for the real communities represented by these characters.

A little about this guide: this is, as always, coming from a place of love and respect for the writing community and the groups affected by this topic at large. I'm also not coming at this from the outside, I have certain mental illnesses that affect my daily life. With that, I'll say that my perspective may be biased, and as with all writing advice, you should think critically about what is being told to you and how.

So let's get started!

Research

I'm sure we're all tired of hearing the phrase "do your research," but unfortunately it is incredibly important advice. I have a guide that touches on how to do research here, if you need a place to get started.

When researching a mental health condition that we do not experience, we need to do so critically, and most importantly, compassionately. While your characters are not people, they are assigned traits that real people do have, and so your depiction of these traits can have an impact on people who face these conditions themselves.

I've found that reddit is a decent resource for finding threads of people talking about their personal experiences with certain illnesses. For example, bipolar disorder has several subreddits that have very open and candid discussions about bipolar, how it impacts lives, and small things that people who don't have bipolar don't tend to think about.

It's important to note that these spaces are not for you. They are spaces for people to talk about their experiences in a place without judgment or fear or stigma. These are not places for people to give out writing advice. Do NOT flood subreddits for people seeking support with questions that may make others feel like an object to be studied. It's not cool or fair to them for writers to enter their space and start asking questions when they're focused on getting support. Be courteous of the people around you.

Diagnosis

I have the belief that for most stories, a diagnosis for your characters is unnecessary. I have a few reasons for thinking this way.

Firstly, mental health diagnoses are important for treatment, but they're also a giant sign written across your medical documents that says, “I'm crazy!” Doctors may try to remain unbiased when they see mental health diagnoses, but anybody with a diagnosis can say that doctors rarely succeed. This translates to a lot of people never getting diagnoses, never seeking treatment, or refusing to talk about their diagnosis if they do have one.

Secondly, I've seen posts discuss “therapy speak” in fiction, and this is one of those instances where a diagnosis and extensive research may make you vulnerable to it. People don't tend to discuss their diagnoses freely and they certainly don't tend to attribute their behaviors as symptoms.

Finally, this puts you, the writer, into a position where you treat your characters less like people and story devices and more like a list of symptoms and behavioral quirks. First and foremost, your characters serve your story. If they don't feel like people then your characters may fall flat. When it comes to mental illness in characters, the people aspect is the most important part. Mentally ill people are people, not symptoms.

Those are my top three reasons for believing that most characters will never need a specific diagnosis. You will likely never need to depict the difference between bipolar and borderline because the story itself does not need that distinction or to reveal a diagnosis at all. I feel that having a diagnosis in mind for a character has more pitfalls than advantages.

How does treatment work?

Treating mental health conditions may appear in your story. There are a number of ways treatments affect daily life and understanding the levels of care and what those levels treat will help you depict the appropriate settings for your characters.

The levels of care range from minimally restrictive and minimal care to intensive in-patient care in a secure hospital setting.

Regular or semi-regular therapy is considered outpatient care. This is generally the least restrictive. Your characters may or may not also take medications, in which case they may also see a psychiatrist to prescribe those medications. There is a difference between therapists, psychiatrists, and psychologists. Therapists do not prescribe medications, psychiatrists prescribe medications after an evaluation, and psychologists will (sometimes) do both. (I'm US, so this may work differently depending where you are. You should always research the specific setting of your story.) Generally, a person with a mental illness or mental health condition will see both an outpatient therapist and an outpatient psychiatrist for their general continuing care.

Therapists will see their patients anywhere from once in a while as-needed to twice weekly. Psychiatrists will see new patients every few weeks until they report stabilizing results, and then they will move to maintenance check-ins every 90-ish days.

If the patient reports severe symptoms, or worsening symptoms, they will be moved up to more intensive care, also known as IOP (Intensive Outpatient Program). This is usually a group-therapy setting for between 3-7 hours per day between 3-5 days a week. The group-therapy is led by a Licensed Professional Counselor (LPC) or Licensed Professional Social Worker (LPSW). Groups are structured sessions with multiple patients teaching coping mechanisms and focusing on treatment adjustment. IOP’s tend to expect patients to see their own outpatient psychiatrist, but I've encountered programs that have their own in-house psychiatrists.

If the patient still worsens, or is otherwise needing more intensive care, they'll move up to PHP (Partial Hospitalization Program). This can look different per facility, but I've seen them to be more intensive in hours and content than IOP. They also usually have in-house psychiatrists doing diagnostic psychological evaluations. It's very possible for characters with “mild” symptoms to go long periods of time, even most of their lives, without having had a diagnosis. PHP’s tend to need a diagnosis so that they can address specific concerns and help educate the patient on their condition and how it may manifest.

Next step up is residential care. Residential care is a boarding hospital setting. Patients live in the hospital and focus entirely on treatment. Individual programs may differ in what's allowed in, how much contact the patients are allowed to have, and what the treatment focus is. Residential programs are often utilized for addiction recovery. Good residential programs will care about the basis for the addiction, such as underlying mental health issues that the patient may be self-medicating for. Your character may come away with a diagnosis, or they may not. Residential programs aren't exclusively for addictions though, and can be useful for severe behavioral concerns in teenagers or any number of other concerns a patient may have that manifest chronically but do not require intensive inpatient restriction.

Inpatient hospital stays are the highest level of care, and this tends to be what people are talking about when they tell jokes about “grippy socks.” These programs are inside the hospital and patients are highly restricted on what they can and cannot have, they cannot leave unless approved by the hospital staff (the hospital's psychiatrist tends to have the final say), and contact with the outside world is highly regulated. During the days, there are group therapy sessions and activities structured very carefully to maintain routine. Staff will regulate patient hygiene, food and sleep routines, and alone time.

Inpatient hospital programs are controversial among people with mental illness and mental health concerns. I find that they have use, but they are also not an easy or first step to take when dealing with a mental health condition. Patients are not allowed sharp objects, metal objects, shoelaces, cutlery, and pens or pencils. Visitors are not allowed to bring these items in, staff are not allowed these items either. This is for the safety of the patients. Typically, if someone is involuntarily admitted into the inpatient hospital program, it is due to an authority (the hospital staff) deeming the patient as a danger to themselves or others. Whether they came in of their own will (voluntary) or not does not matter in how the program operates. Everyone is treated the same. If someone is an active danger to themselves, then they may be on 24-hour suicide watch. They are not allowed to have any time alone. No, not even for the bathroom, or while sleeping, or during group sessions.

Inpatient Hospital Programs

This is a place of high curiosity for those who have never been admitted into inpatient care, so I'd like to explain a little more in detail how these programs work, why they're controversial, but how they can be useful in certain situations. I do have personal experience in this area, but as always, your mileage may vary.

When admitting, hospital staff are the final say. Not the police. The police hold some sway, but most often, if someone is brought in by the police, they are likely to be admitted. They are only involuntarily admitted when the situation demands: the staff have determined the person to be an imminent danger to themselves or others. This is obviously subjective, and can easily be abused. A good program with decent staff will do everything they can to convince the patient to admit voluntarily if they feel it is necessary, but ultimately if the patient declines and the staff don't feel they can make the clinical argument that admittance is necessary, the patient is free to leave. It should be noted that doctors and clinicians have to worry about possibly losing their licenses to practice. They don't want to fuck around with involuntary admittance if they don't have to, and they don't want potentially dangerous people to walk away.

Once admitted, the patient will have to remove their clothing and put on a set of hospital scrubs. These are mostly made of paper, and most often do not have pockets, but I have seen sets that do have pockets (very handy, tbh). They are not allowed to take anything into the hospital wing except disability-required devices such as glasses, hearing aids, mobility aids, etc. Most programs will require removing piercings, but not all of them, in my experience.

The nurses will also do a physical examination, where they will make note of any open wounds, major scars, tattoos, and other skin abrasions that may be relevant.

The patient will then be led to their bed, where they will receive any approved clothing items from outside, a copy of their patient rights, and a copy of the floor code of conduct and rules, a schedule, and any other administrative information necessary for the program to run efficiently and legally.

Group sessions include group-therapy, activities, coping skills, anger management, anxiety management, and for some reason, karaoke. There is a lot of coloring involved, but only with crayons. A good program will focus heavily on skills and therapeutic activities. Bad programs will phone it in and focus on karaoke and activities. Most hospitals will have a chaplain, and some will include a religious group session. I've never attended these, so I can't speak for them.

Unspoken rules are the hidden pieces of the inpatient programs that patients tend to find out during their first visit. There is no leaving the program until the doctor agrees to it. The doctor will only agree to it if they deem you ready to leave, and you are only ready to leave if you have been compliant to treatment and have seen positive results in the most dangerous symptoms (homicidal or suicidal ideations). Noncompliance can look like: refusing your prescribed medications (which you have the right to do at any time for any reason. That does not mean that there won't be consequences. This is a particularly controversial point.), refusing to attend groups (chapel is not included in this point, but that doesn't mean it's actually discounted. Another controversial point.), violent or disruptive outbursts such as yelling or throwing things, and refusing to sleep or eat at the approved and appointed times. All of this may sound like the hospital is restricting your rights beyond reason, but I've seen the use, and I've seen the abuse. Medications are sometimes necessary, and often patients seriously prefer having medication. Groups are important to a person's treatment, and refusing to go can be a sign of noncompliance or worsening symptoms. If someone is too depressed or anxious to go to group, then they're probably not ready to leave the hospital where the structure is gone and they must self-regulate their treatment. Violent or disruptive outbursts tend to be a sign of worsening symptoms in general, but even the best of us lose our tempers from time to time when put into a highly stressful situation like an inpatient hospital stay. The hospital is supposed to be a place of healing, for many it is. But for many more, it is a place of systematic abuse and restriction.

Discharge processes can be long and arduous and INCREDIBLY stressful for the patient. Oftentimes, they won't know their discharge date until the day of, or perhaps the day before. Though the date can change at any time. The discharge process requires the supervising psychiatrist to meet with the treatment team and then the patient to determine if the patient had progressed enough to be safely discharged. Discharge also requires a set outpatient plan in place, such as a therapy appointment within a week, a psychiatrist visit, or admittance into a lower level of care. This is where social workers are involved. Patients are not allowed access to cell phones or the internet. They cannot make their own appointments with their outpatient care providers without a phone number and phone access. Some floors will have phone access for this reason, others will insist the social worker arrange appointments and discharge plans. Social workers are often incredibly overworked, with several patients on their caseload.

The patient cannot be discharged until the social worker has coordinated the discharge plan to the doctor's approval. Most often, unfortunately, the patient rarely receives regular communication regarding the progress of their discharge. I've been discharged with as much as a day's notice to two hours notice.

Part 2 Coming Soon

This guide got longer than expected! Out of respect for my followers dashboard, I will be cutting it here and adding a Part 2 later on.

If you find that there are more specific questions you'd like answered, or topics you'd like covered, send an ask or reply to this post with what you'd like to see in Part 2.

– Indy

[nubeinvernal]

Please read and share

A few years ago my older brother was diagnosed with a tumor that turned out to be cancerous. He underwent surgery, received radiotherapy and took two years of chemotherapy. After the operation there were no traces of the disease for a long time.

Unfortunately the cancer returned while he was studying with a scholarship in Brazil. Now he needs a treatment that includes a medicine called bevacizumab, he needs 4 doses a month, but we cannot buy even one. It is an extremely expensive medicine, each dose costs 963 USD.

We are a very humble family from Perú. We live rented in a poor neighborhood and my parents were not able to finish school. Everyone in my family works every possible hour to cover the expenses of this illness and try to buy the medicines my brother needs.

With a lot of help from our community and kind-hearted people on the internet we have been able to buy some doses, although not on the dates that the doctors gave us. It is the only thing that has been possible to do.

Here you can see one of the receipts that the laboratory gives us with each purchase of two doses that my brother needs. The price is 6740 soles, which is equivalent to 1926 usd. He needs these two doses every 15 days.

I write this to beg you for help in getting my brother to continue his treatment. The doctors have recommended a year of treatment to try to shrink the tumor and be able to operate on it again. This is his only chance to keep fighting. Please please help him.

Gofundme does not work with my country, I can only use Ko-fi and paypal.

Ko-fi: https://ko-fi.com/nubeinvernal

Paypal: Nubeinvernal@gmail.com

In this link you can read the thread I made since my brother was hospitalized, there you can have a more extensive view of our history.

Any help is welcome, any penny you have left can make a difference. If you can't donate, please share. Thank you very much for reading and I hope you have a good day.

[the-little-ewok]

The Little Spoon

Poe Dameron x G/N Reader

Rating: M

Wordcount : 1600 (ish)

Warnings : Fluff, mentions of getting caught during sex/heavy petting, rife with teasing innuendos, soft softness, spooning, brief mentions of food, Poe being an adorable menace.

Prompt / Summary : Burying your face in their neck, listening to their heartbeat, spooning at night. / After a difficult day you and Poe try something new in the bedroom.

A/N : Anon who sent me the prompts - i dont know if fluffy was what you really wanted but… i kinda went pretty fluffy cute with this. If you were hoping more for a NSFW request please send me an ask and i’ll do an alt fic for you :)

If you enjoy this fic please don't just hit the like button. Hit the reblog button and tell me your thoughts! Support your content creators with reblogs!

-------

"Stop!" You half whine, half laugh, burying your face in Poe's neck.

"I don't know if he'll ever be able to talk to you again without blushing!" Poe laughs, clearly finding the fact his newest squad member walking in on you both in a, well, compromising, position, hilariously funny, and your embarrassment even funnier.

Since then poor Leru had been unable to look at you without his cheeks lighting up red, and losing all ability to speak.

"Take it as a compliment it affected him so much," Poe shrugs, taking the whole situation in his stride, as usual. "You can't change what happened, and besides you can't hide out here forever."

'Here' was the grassy bank outside the, what now seemed all too small, base entrance. You had escaped out into the humid night air as soon as your shift was over, convinced everyone you encountered knew the story and was staring at you.

Of course, they already knew that you and Poe were close, but perhaps not quite how close. There had never really been time, during the middle of a war, to consider what you were. And now you were together, both of you wanted to enjoy it without too much fuss. At least while you settled into a new routine, and Poe to his new role as General. So really, getting carried away in what should have stayed an empty office, after Poe had returned from a long mission, was not the best of plans.

But oh, he had been so distractingly hot. The way he'd smiled, his eyes flickering up and down your body, the way he'd pulled you tight against his chest, the way his lips had brushed against your skin.

It was hard to regret what happened. But you did regret getting caught.

"I can stay here as long as I like," you challenge his statement, folding your arms.

"I could just order you back inside," he shrugs with a sigh, making out it would be a huge inconvenience for him to do that.

"You wouldn't dare!" You twist to glare at him in challenge, as Poe leans back to look at you, a serious expression creasing his brow. He slowly raises one eyebrow, before he finally gives in, bursting into laughter.

"No, you're right. I like continuing to live without a vibroblade in my chest, so I guess orders are off the table!" He pulls you back into his arms, holding you tight against him.

"How about I very politely request you come back inside? We can grab some food and get an early night?"

"I don't want to go to the canteen,” you mumble, picking at a loose thread on your trousers, unable to remove the idea that everyone would be judging you.

"You know, I don't think anyone else knows? And even if they did, firstly, it's not like they saw anything personally, just second hand, and secondly, if anyone says a damn word I'll have their ass hauled in front of me faster than they can blink!" Poe states passionately.

"That's sweet. But we agreed on no special treatment."

"Not special. I'd do that for anyone talking inappropriately about anyone. You get absolutely no special treatment. I've never given you any special treatment." Taking your chin he tilts your face towards him before he places a soft kiss against your lips.

"Hmm, so you offer that to everyone, do you?"

"Well, everyone is a little broad. More like a select group. You, Finn, Rey, Snap, BB, that really cute medic we met in Yavin," he shrugs with a teasing smile as you roll your eyes. “Now stop overthinking.”

Poe was right, you were over thinking, and as annoying as his teasing could be, you know it comes from a good place in his heart. He simply wants you to see that it's not all bad. Nothing you could do now would change anything that already happened. All you could do was, as Poe does, make the best of the situation.

Still, the embarrassment gnaws a little at your thoughts, though quieter, still there for now.

"Can we eat in your room?"

"Only if we are naked," Poe grins, making you dissolve into laughter.

"Stop that, right now!" You warn through giggles.

"I've been away for almost a month! I've been storing it all up. You are in for a lonnnnnng night, baby," he winks, and for a moment, you`re laughing so hard you forget anything had gone wrong at all today.

~

"I'm sorry," Poe offers later that night, his fingers trailing up and down your back as you lay in his bed, curled up against his side, his heartbeat drumming in your ear as you lean your head on his chest, half asleep.

You hum in question, wondering what he's talking about.

"Earlier. It was my fault we got caught like that. I should have waited. I was just excited to see you and being impulsive. I’ll try and keep my hands to myself for a little longer next time.”

You lean up on your elbow to look at him, frowning in confusion and feeling the tendrils of guilt in your own belly that he feels he's somehow to blame. The last thing you wanted was for Poe to feel he couldn't be his usual, affectionate self.

"There's nothing you need to apologise for. We were both willing participants. I was excited to see you too. You’ve no idea how much I missed you."

Poe's hand slides around the back of your neck, pulling you down to him as he mumbles, "I missed you too, baby," against your mouth before he kisses you.

When he finally lets you go, you have to take a moment, feeling a little giddy, whether with love or lack of oxygen, you aren't sure.

"Anyway, I like you being impulsive," you assure him with a soft smile.

"Then I rescind my apology," Poe chuckles as you snuggle back down against his side, trying to get comfy again.

Except now you have a problem. No matter where you place yourself, you can't quite get comfy enough to fall asleep. Something just feels wrong.

You let out a noise of annoyance, sitting up.

"Turn over," you instruct, laughing as Poe raises a questioning eyebrow, his lips upturning in a familiar grin.

"Is this going a sex thing? Because you know I can stay awake a little longer. I'm sure I can help tire you o-"

"Get your mind out of the gutter," You laugh, cutting him off and pressing your hands against his arm, trying to manually roll him over, onto his side.

"So it's not a sex thing? I'm disappointed," Poe sighs over dramatically, ignoring your pathetic attempts to move him.

"I want to cuddle you!" You explain with an exasperated sigh.

"Oh, that's what we are calling it these days? Okay, well, we can 'cuddle' as much as you like," he grins, eyes crinkling with amusement as he makes air quotes at you. You make a show of dramatically rolling your eyes in response.

"No, Poe! I mean I want to hold you!"

"Hold which bit?" He wiggles his eyebrows as you try and bite back your laughter. You close your eyes and take a deep breath, telling yourself you are grateful he's home and he just needs to get this out of his system.

When you open them again you fix him with a stern look.

"Alright, alright!" Poe holds his hands up in surrender, clearly deciding he might be pushing too far now. "You want me to be the little spoon?" He asks, obviously having known exactly what you wanted from the first time you asked.

"I want you to be the little spoon." You nod in confirmation. Poe's expression softens from teasing into something that makes your chest ache with love. It's as though the seriousness of the last few years of war drop away, and the boy Poe used to be, stares at you with hopeless adoration.

"I like that idea better," he says simply, before he rolls over with his back to face you. "But I'm still open to the sex thing." He adds, making you snort as you try to contain your laughter, knowing it will only encourage him.

Once Poe is settled, you curl up behind him, wrapping an arm over his chest, tucking your legs in behind his, cuddling up close to him as you press your face between his shoulder blades.

"Don't think I've ever been the little spoon before. I like it," Poe sighs contentedly, his hands resting over yours wrapped around his chest, holding you in place.

You smile and press a soft kiss to his back, "I like it too."

A near silence settles over you both, the only sound in the room your steady breathing as you hold each other. You can feel your eyes finally starting to drift shut, but you also know Poe is not asleep yet, as his fingers continue to gently caress your arm, almost distractedly.

“What are you thinking, Flyboy?” You mumble sleepily against his skin, not wanting to fall asleep if he has something on his mind.

"I was just wondering," he mumbles quietly, “if you think Leru is thinking about us right now?"

"Go to sleep!" You sigh against his back, feeling him shake with barely contained laughter.

"I definitely think he enjoyed it a little bit."

"Sleep!" You hiss, refusing to play into his teasing again.

There's a moment of silence, one in which you think that he's given up with the teasing and finally decided to get some rest. That is until -

"Do you think he wants to join us sometime?"

"POE!"

You can't help but smile as his laughter fills the room. Insufferable, infuriating, pain in the ass. You had missed him, so very much.

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Please support this by reblogging if you enjoyed it! I live for comments on your thoughts and remember the only way to keep writers writing, is to reblog their work and tell them what you think of it!

[stormberry-12]

Hellooo how are you this fine evening..

I wanted the ask if you could make one for jj where he does something that upsets the reader and she’s crying and sad and jj gets the silent treatment the whole week but he starts to cry hard and beg for her to talk to him and reader can’t help but comfort and hug him and give him all the love that she has and jj is all pouty and sad in the end

It’s fine if not <3 :)

didn't mean to ~ jj maybank x reader

pairing: JJ Maybank x Kook!Fem!Reader

warnings: language, angst, arguing, silent treatment.

notes: thxs for the request! Sorry I haven't posted in forever guys, im doing final exams at school rn and stuff. Also, sorry this is so short. But anyway, I loved this concept and also hated the way they solved JJ and Kie's fight in Season 3 so I tried to recreate it here with a better ending. Sorry, this took so long lol, much love!

"I mean, it would all blow up anyway. You know? Like... Look at you. You got your new threads on!" JJ exclaimed. "Look at me. What do I got? This? This piece of shit?" He threw something out of frustration, panting. You looked back at his run-down house, the eviction notice nailed to the front door with bright yellow police tape crossing over it.

"Getting kicked out of this place in three weeks anyway. shit, I don't even got parents right now. Why would you care? Why would you care? I'm just some loser that..."

"JJ..."

"You don't care. No, you don't!"

"I do care!" you shouted, getting frustrated with his attitude.

"No, you got parents that live in Figure Eight, you know?"

"That's not my fault."

"That's your future." he countered walking towards the water, hand running through his hair in frustration.

"Look, if you need us, we're gonna help you. I'm... I'll help."

"No- It's that right there! Okay? Like... It's so easy for you to say that." he whirled around to face you, yelling, "You know why? Because you're a Kook. You're a Kook, Y/n!"

"Yeah... I'm a Kook. I was such a Kook when I was living in a cave with you for a month! Soaking in the Kook life!"

"That's not what I'm talking about. GOD!" he exclaimed, reaching for his bike, he swung his leg over the seat.

"Jayj, don't leave." you pleaded, the engine of his bike revved and he started to drive away,

"JJ, WHAT THE HELL?" You screamed after him, tears rolling down your face, "MAYBANK!"

You were pissed the fuck off.

The first day after your fight you hadn't seen JJ, you cried for a couple hours, indulging in your favorite ice cream watching a sad rom-com, really getting in your feels.

Kie texted you to ask you what was up, the pogues had gone fishing that day but you never showed, to angry and sad to show your face to the world.

'Ask the blond kid,' was all you responded. you watched as her three typing bubbles flashed beneath your text.

'shit head's not here either,' she responded. 'wtf is going on,'

'fight. he called me a kook.'

'oh shit,' was all she said.

A few days later you walked around the chateau and dug through John B's fridge, you were fully aware of JJ's presence on the couch but still continued to ignore him. It was closing in on a week since you had last uttered a word to him.

Grabbing a chilled beer you walked past JJ and to the front door.

"Y/n," he said, voice cracking.

It wasn't the first time JJ had tried to talk to you this week and once again you ignored him. You slipped your shoes on and walked out onto the porch, slamming the door behind you. You flinched at how harsh it was but brushed the feeling away as you took a sip of your drink.

You sat at the edge of JJ's hot tub, the disco lights twinkled in the water, and the beer started to make you feel nauseous. You set it down and let out a shaky breath, blinking away tears that made the colorful lights spur in all different directions.

'Oh stop it Y/n' you told yourself, you would not cry anymore over this boy, if he didn't want to date a 'kook' that was his problem.

A long time must have passed, you had slid down fully into the hot tub finishing off your drink and basking in your own thoughts. The sun had set and the tides changed across the water.

"Go!" You heard someone on the deck grunt, you looked up to see John B pushing JJ out the door towards you locking him outside. JJ made his way down the stairs awkwardly and stood at the edge of the hot tub across from you, not getting in like he was looking for your permission.

"What do you want Maybank?" you asked quietly.

"I-uh," he sniffled and you focused closer in the dim light to see tears streaming down his face. "I made you a bracelet,"

He mumbled in the softest voice that made your heart clench and reached out to hand it to you. You looked at it closely, intricate little hearts knotted into the design, made with your favorite colors. And of course, the sea blue strings that you had told him reminded you of his eyes countless times. You didn't know what to say. Until you heard the soft sobbing coming from his lips, he thought you didn't like it.

"No, JJ..." you cooed, wrapping the bracelet around your wrist and tieing it in a crisp knot. You slid yourself through the water and stood in front of him taking in his state. He looked at you with pleading eyes and you wrapped your arms around him. He collapsed into you, wrapping his arms around your waist and burying his face in your shoulder. You felt butterflies in your stomach at his touch and lifted a hand to stroke his hair. God you loved this boy so much.

"I-i'm sorry," he cried, "I called you a kook, I'm such a dick, It's all my fault..."

"No, Jayj-" you whispered.

"Yes,"

"No, I am in the wrong too, shouldn't have ignored you like that," you whispered.

"But I called you a kook," he said again.

"And then I was acting like one, it was wrong,"

You stood there in silence hugging each other, you you feel his breathing slow and he recovered to look up at you.

"Please forgive me," he said.

"Always, as long as you forgive me," he nodded frantically at you causing you to giggle.

"Thank god that's over," you heard Pope say in the distance.

"Yeah, pass me one of those?" Kie said, taking a beer out of the cooler, the rest of the pogues walking toward the hot tub.

You all settle down in the warm water, JJ snuggling into your side, looking at your bracelet sweetly for the rest of the night. You kissed the top of his head, knowing what ever happed in the future you could always get through it with him.

[starmuselove]

HADES : MY FOREVER LAMENT PAC

What they miss about you and consequently how they act 'cause of it?

Hello my mystical babies, I was just chilling looking out in the morning cause it was raining and the ambience was so good I just sat there for quite sometime taking it in. And I was feeling my creative senses tingling, so I decided for a somewhat romantic moody suave reading. So I hope you too are able to enjoy this like I could enjoy the rain.

Disclaimer: Take a deep breath, have some fun and pamper yourself as you read this. If it doesn't resonate with you now, it's not time for you to read this yet, maybe read it at another time. Have a lovely day!

𝕯𝖊𝖈𝖐𝖘 𝖀𝖘𝖊𝖉: ℜ𝔞𝔦𝔡𝔢𝔯 𝔚𝔞𝔦𝔱𝔢 𝔗𝔞𝔯𝔬𝔱 + 𝔗𝔥𝔢 𝔚𝔦𝔩𝔡 𝔘𝔫𝔨𝔫𝔬𝔴𝔫 𝔗𝔞𝔯𝔬𝔱.

ᴘɪʟᴇ 1

Quote: "I Hope that someday, Somebody wants to hold you for twenty minutes straight and that's what they'll do. They don't pull away. All they do is wrap you up in their arms, without an ounce of selfishness in it"

9oW, The Fool (R)(3oC) ° 4oS, Mother of Wands, 5oP

One word I'm getting - Pookie. They're a softie aww. They miss your light-heartedness , your innocence you bring in their difficult world. The positivity that you have, which you encourage them with. How you guide them with it, with hope and faith. They could consider you their sunshine/source of strength.

They could probably get silent, introverted and moody when you're absent. A bit defensive and moody for little things cause they haven't talked to you for a long time lol. It's like the bird being defensive about her little ones, so cute. They might have a life crisis, like their life has been frozen one side and they're just existing or surviving. They would want to fight people sometimes 😭Their brain don't work well at those times when missing you guys(I'm giggling here sorry luvs) They definitely pout and sulk. They might be a little dramatic with it.

RANDOM: Infinity, Yellow, My Sunshine My only Sunshine, Pookie, Pookie Bear.

ᴘɪʟᴇ 2

Quote: "How could I not love eyes that see me in all of my forms of beautiful?"

9oS, The Emperor ° 7oS, 8oC, Justice

We've got two groups of people here- First, They miss the foundation and structure you provide to their life. It's like you are their rock. You might be a person who is self sufficient and knowledgeable. You absence is definitely very noticeable for this person. They could feel like their nightmares are coming back to swallow them whole again, you could have saved this person from relapsing into bad habits.

They might want to travel to see you. Even if you are cities apart, catching a flight just to see you. They might feel very dejected and might even start praying to the spirits to bring you back to them soon. Yeah, the separation might make them realise what's right and what's wrong. They could reassess the things they could've done or happened to deliver you the fair treatment or what you deserve.

In Second type, Some of you might be reading this for your ex? A further division in that- for some of you, they don't really have nothing positive to say they miss you, they're probably thinking it's good riddance. They are happy they could explore other options with you gone(this sucks :(( )

If it's indeed an ex that does miss you, they would try to show off how they would love you and take care of you to persuade you to get back with them.

RANDOM STUFFS: Structure, Building Blocks, Driving, Car, Meeting,Aloy/Aloha, Thrice, Moon Gazing, Snow.

ᴘɪʟᴇ 3

Mild mention of 18+ themes below.

Quote: "No, we're not soulmates. This is not divine intervention. And this is most certainly not a chance. I willed this. I knit the threads of fate myself until it wrote our name. I love you intentionally. I love you with every bit of conscience I was born with."

5oS, Ace of Wands,Page of Pentacles ° The Moon, 3oP, 5oS.

First thing I got was they don't wanna live without you, life seems meaningless in your absence. They really seem to love you a lot. This is my fun/adventurous couple, pranksters, very active couple. They miss the mind blowing sex and the play fights they have with you. The navigator and manifester energy that you bring. Tbh this pile really values what you bring to the table, they see you as a very valuable person in their life- more like invaluable. I also think you might be their dream person manifested in real life.

Like i said before they find any victories that happens in their life to be meaningless without you around. They want it to share with you. The quote too says similar stuff- they want YOU to be with them and vice versa. They turn into this self doubting phase. They might feel like people around them are gonna do things behind their back, to destroy them. I think you might be the person who restored their faith in people maybe that's why your absence could give such impacts. They could be the type of person to call people around you to check on you or if you were ever in a position of no contact.

RANDOM:

Tiger, Cheetah, Cub, Matching Couple items, Despair, Torment, Pink Gun, Dildo, Toy , Children's Gift, Night, Insomnia, Discord.

This is a part of my HADES series of PACs. Like, reblog or even comment so I can get your feedback. My ask box is open to express feedback too. Negative behaviour absolutely won't be tolerated!

[aphroditelovesu]

The Lost Queen - VII

— summary: You woke up near a military camp without remembering how and why you got there, you didn’t understand why they were dressed like ancient Greeks, all you knew was that you weren’t safe and you needed to get out of that place as soon as possible. Too bad for you that you found yourself attracting unwanted attention from the Macedonian King and he won’t let you go so easily.

— genre: yandere, dark!au.

— warnings: time travel, obsessive and possessive behavior, murder, mention of torture, kidnapping, angst, fluffy (very rarely), dub-con, possibly smut.

— pairing: yandere!alexander the great x female!reader, yandere!generals x female!reader.

— word count: 2,003.

— tag list: @devils-blackrose, @faerykingdom, @hadesnewpersephone, @mariaelizabeth21-blog1 , @kadu-5607, @zoleea-exultant, @borntoexplore11-blog

— the lost queen series masterlist.

Chapter 7

Time was against you.

The more time passes, the more blood he loses and the more the chances of mortality increase.

You needed to be very careful and be as thorough as possible. Any wrong move or touch would result in Cleitus' imminent death.

The issue of medicine was also complicated and archaic and this only complicated everything. You weren't a doctor, but you knew enough about the human body and health care that you believed you could help save it. Your biggest concern, however, was the infection that could arise and how to treat the wound in his abdomen correctly and not make his situation even worse.

Those nights spent watching Grey's Anatomy could come in handy.

You almost laughed at that thought, but it was true. You tried to remember medical procedures and the biology books you had read in high school. You had to remember what was written.

You looked at Doctor Philip and frowned. He seemed more confused than you and that was because he studied medicine. Of course, not the medicine you knew, but still medicine even if archaic and probably with many flaws.

Obviously, Cleitus needed a hospital, with proper medical treatment. The only problem is that you were in the 4th century BC and not the 21st century and there were no conventional hospitals and there was the bonus that you were in a camp during a military campaign.

All the odds were against you.

The thought alone was very discouraging, but you weren't going to give up. You would do everything in your power to make sure this man lives and in the end it would all depend on how well you did.

Cleitus shouldn't die now and you were aware that saving him could change history even more, but you didn't care. Everything had already changed and you needed to save him.

You had to do it.

You washed your hands with the water that was there and the soap available. It wasn't the same as it was in its time, but it should help eliminate at least some bacteria.

You closed your eyes and counted to ten in an attempt to calm your nervousness and opened them again. You took a needle and sterilized it in beer. It wasn't what was recommended, but there was nothing else available so it would have to do.

Cleitus was lying on the cot, Philip was checking his temperature. You approached the cot with the needle and thread in hand, along with a wet and dry piece of fabric that was supposed to imitate gauze.

Philip looked at you suspiciously, ''What are you going to do?''

''Sew him.'' You replied as if it was obvious. You sat down on a chair placed next to the cot and grabbed the beer. You stared at your patient, Cleitus' tanned skin was pale and a wet cloth was on his forehead, as if it was trying to fight off a fever.

He was in a lot of pain and you would only make him feel more.

Your hands were shaking slightly and you cursed yourself for it. Taking a deep breath and praying to whoever was listening to you, you carefully cleaned the blood from the cut that was still bleeding, praying that internal bleeding wasn't happening.

You could stop external bleeding, but not an internal bleeding.

After cleaning up the blood that would get in your way, you threaded the needle and prepared to sew him up. Philip tried to help guide you, but you already knew what he was talking about.

You knew more about medicine than he did.

Trying to ignore Philip's babbling and the panic settling in your body, you pierced Cleitus's sagging skin and began to stitch him up. He was still and expressed no pain, but you knew he was hurting. The right thing to do would be to anesthetize him, but that was not an option available to you.

You managed to stabilize the tremor in your hands and finished the sewing, cutting the rest of the thread with a small knife. The wound had been closed and sterilized, Philip seemed satisfied and said that Cleitus could recover.

But you knew it wasn't just that.

A deep cut to the abdomen was dangerous and there were many risks to consider.

The cut had been closed but there were many things that could go wrong. An infection, internal bleeding or sepsis could occur. Or this could all happen at once.

The only thing left to do was pray and make sure he wouldn't die, at least not alone.

It felt like days had passed.

You had lost track of the time since you had treated Cleitus.

Your eyelids were heavy and you just wanted to sleep, but you knew you wouldn't be able to sleep, not until you were sure he would live.

In a way, it was your fault. You were to blame for him being in such a state.

Although it seemed unrealistic, you were sure it was your fault. Alexander had his share of guilt that was greater than yours, but you still felt so fucking guilty.

You blamed Alexander too. Oh, and how you blamed him.

What was wrong with that man? By god, why the hell does he want to marry you? He knew you for what? A day or less? And you weren't politically attractive.

Not in terms of beauty, you thought you were quite beautiful.

But not politically. You literally appeared out of nowhere, with just the clothes on your back and probably looking like a ghost and he wanted to marry you.

It seemed like a very bad joke.

Cleitus had been the only sensible one, you recognized that. You were too shocked to react and you blamed yourself for it. Maybe if you had said something, Cleitus wouldn't have been stabbed.

Or he would have been the same way.

There was no way you could have predicted it, but you wished you could go back in time again and reverse this situation. But you couldn't do that.

Or could you?

You shook your head, trying to get those thoughts out of your head. There was no point in thinking about things like that, you didn't even know how you ended up in this place, much less how to travel through time again.

Or did you know? Now, alone with Cleitus in a strangely silent environment, you were finally able to think and analyze everything that had happened a few hours ago.

This all started after you bought that book, you were sure of that. And that book was supposed to be magical, it was the only explanation, even if your mind screamed otherwise.

You have always had a scientific mind and have always sought answers based on science and this has always worked for you. There was nothing that science couldn't explain.

Except that.

Science confirmed that time travel existed, but only into the future and not in the way you were experiencing it. Albert Einstein's theory of relativity was always something to be credited with and you trusted him.

Now you weren't so sure about that.

Science went down the drain in this case. Maybe it was some god playing with you or you went crazy. But you dug deep into your mind, looking for any traces of what might indicate why you were here.

And that was when you remembered that strange man who had approached you before you went to the market.

You shivered when you remembered his words.

''The shadows of fate surround you... The world will never be the same for you, girl.''

Could he be the real culprit of your current torment? Possibly. In fact, him and that damn book were the things you could blame right now and only the gods knew how desperately you needed to blame someone or something.

You felt anger course through your body and you wanted to scream at someone. Preferably the culprit, but anyone would do in your moment of understandable outburst.

You felt tears in your eyes, but this time, they weren't tears of despair, but of pure anger.

You didn't try to fight back the tears, but let them fall and wet your face and the top of your blood-stained chiton.

All the emotions you had been suppressing finally exploded. The anger, the sadness, the fear, it all came at once like a devastating wave. Your eyes burned a little, but you didn't care.

After hours of anguish, you allowed yourself to freak out once and for all. And it felt like a weight had been lifted off your shoulders after letting all your emotions out of you. You buried your head in your chest and folded your legs, trying to hide like you did whenever you were scared.

''(Y/N)?'' You raised your head and tried to focus your unfocused gaze on whoever had spoken to you. It was Perddicas. You smiled a little at his presence.

He approached you and gently touched your bare shoulders. You shivered a little at the sudden contact, but didn't try to push him away.

''Hey...'' You mumbled with a choked voice.

''How is he?'' He murmured, patting your shoulders.

You held back a sob, ''I'm not sure.''

Perdiccas just looked at you fondly with those beautiful blue eyes that you felt like you could get lost in them for hours.

''And how are you?'' His voice was a little louder than a whisper. He was trying to comfort you and you appreciated it immensely.

''Not great.'' You simply said, still looking into those mesmerizing eyes.

A hint of pain flashed across his handsome face. ''I'm sorry to hear that and for what happened to Cleitus.'' He mumbled and you could swear there were tears in his eyes.

''It sucks.''

He laughed nasally, ''Yes.''

No exchange of words was said after that. And it wasn't necessary, body and facial language said everything that needed to be said.

You were very close, closer than would be considered appropriate or comfortable but you didn't care. You needed this comfort, desperately and Perdiccas could offer you that.

He wanted to offer you this.

You knew it from your first interaction with him.

You leaned your face closer to his and his breathing became heavy, You didn't back away however. Your eyes were fixed on the general's full lips.

''(Y/N)...'' Perdiccas murmured, looking at your face with desire and affection.

Hearing him say your name like that sent waves of pleasure through your body. Your faces were close, very close.

''Perdiccas...'' He got goosebumps when he heard you whisper his name.

You no longer had any doubts.

Against all the common sense you had left, you sealed the distance between you. Your lips met in a shy and superficial kiss, but one that quickly became passionate.

You moaned softly and wrapped your arms around his neck, bringing his warm body closer to yours. Perdiccas touched your waist and squeezed lightly, deepening the kiss. Your tongues touched in a shy and passionate way, your mouths became one.

You reluctantly broke apart after the lack of air hit you. You opened your eyes and blushed when you saw his lips swollen from the kiss and his breathing a little labored. Yours was no different.

You took a deep breath and touched his face tenderly, stroking it softly. He was really very handsome, the kind of man you were sure you'd see in one of those magazines, maybe like Vogue.

''(Y/N), you...'' Perdiccas couldn't formulate a proper question, still very surprised and excited by the passionate kiss. He wanted to kiss you more and maybe even more than kiss.

You smiled at him.

You threw yourself against him, looking for the necessary comfort. Perdiccas hugged you tightly and kissed your neck, stroking your hair. You closed your eyes and gave yourself what you wanted most.

— lady l: You didn't expect that kiss, did you? Me neither. The idea for the kiss came up at the last minute and I had to write it, so... Yeah, we had a little kiss between our girl and Perdiccas. Will I mention the consequences this will have? No. Anyway, I hope you liked it and forgive me for any mistakes and bad writing on the medical treatment part lol, don't repeat that! If you have been stabbed, seek medical attention! Love you all and see you in the next chapter ❤️.

[jeonaissance]

Divorced in Ghana - Part 1 :; J.JK

- Summary: It is said that in the Republic of Ghana, couples who want to divorce must wear the same wedding dress and suit on their wedding day and divorce at the same wedding venue.

- Pairing: Jungkook x f!reader

- Based on the song "Divorced in Ghana".

- a/n: You should listen to the song I pinned, it will give you a better experiment!

Their love has lasted for eleven years, seven years of dating, four years of marriage. A life so fulfilling that outsiders can only say: "They may be meant for each other."

One year before they married, Jungkook and Y/N moved to Ghana together to live and work. Perhaps they are both doctors, with the same goal, so they are so attractive and understand each other, just a glance quickly knowing what the other needs.

The peaceful life in Ghana gradually passed, although the work is tiring, they always give each other words of encouragement, comfort, and steadfast faith. It can be said that, in a foreign land, Jungkook and Y/N are each other's most solid spiritual foundation.

But their happiness gradually shook when Jungkook was accepted by the hospital as the main doctor. His workload was twice as much as the others because there were only three neurosurgeons in this hospital.

Y/N also worked hard but she gradually felt the connection between her and Jungkook more and more delicate. She tried to talk to him a lot but he would almost never be home when she finished work or when he was home, she had to work at the hospital.

At this time Jungkook was also in a state of stress, many sleepless nights, long hours of treatment made him tired. Sometimes when he went home, he would sit on the sofa and sleep.

Y/N was worried about his health so she always tried to stay at the hospital a little to find him, bring him some food but recently she noticed that he rarely touched the food she prepared.

This state had lasted for more than three months and made someone remember. The two of them were getting busier and busier, they barely had time to sit together and talk, thinking and looking back at their marriage like a thread that was straining to endure.

…

“Jungkook, I just asked if you wanted to go out with me, what did I do that made you suddenly angry with me?” Y/N said angrily.

“Enough Y/N. I don’t want to talk to you anymore, go out.”

Jungkook turned his head back to his desk, it was clear that he didn’t want to talk to her anymore.

“You’re getting more and more difficult to understand, I think I can’t understand you anymore, Jungkook. I have to talk to you clearly today.”

The anger in her grew bigger and bigger, she walked to his desk.

“I told you to go out. I have a lot of work today.”

“I’m not going!”

Jungkook pressed his temples, feeling a little upset.

“Don’t you find the most important thing is our marriage? It’s been three months, we haven’t talked, we haven’t had a moment of intimacy, even just looking at each other was so difficult. What else do you think is important? Is our marriage not as important as your pieces of paper?”

She glared at him, her voice filled with regret and resentment. She felt like he was taking this marriage lightly, her heart was breaking at the thought of it.

“Y/N! You are annoyed, you know that? Get out! I don’t want to see you right now!”

Her eyes flashed with surprise. Did he just say she was annoyed? It turned out that she wanted to talk to her husband, but it was just annoying to him?

“Am I annoyed? Okay, I’m going.” Y/N grabbed her outer shirt and walked out.

Jungkook was also angry, he didn’t follow her and was no longer in the mood to continue working.

…

Tonight, she drank and then dragged her steps home. She knew that even if she called him to pick her up, he would never mind picking up her phone.

“Where are you going? Why do you smell like alcohol?” Jungkook saw her entering the house and asked her worriedly.

“Ignore me.”

Y/N went upstairs and fell tiredly onto the large bed. She thought that eleven years of love would be enough to make all the mess between them disappear, but it seemed like it was getting harder and harder.

“Y/N, are you asleep yet? I brought you some hangover soup.”

Y/N got up and opened the door.

“I have something to tell you.”

“Can we do it another time? I’m not in the mood right now.”

She immediately refused, she really didn’t want to talk to him.

“Real quick.”

She sighed and nodded: “Go ahead.”

“My love for you is no longer like before. I can no longer feel the love in me when I look at you. We are together, confronting you like this is like a habit. Y/N, we both deserve better, right?”

Y/N was silent, she couldn’t understand what he was saying. They have been in love for eleven years, right? His words were as gentle as a breeze, making the waves in her heart even more intense.

“I want to divorce.” Jungkook fatefully told her.

“Eleven years together… Doesn’t it mean anything to you?”

Jungkook gasped, he spoke softly.

“Eleven years to me is everything, something that is created inside me. But, if we are only together because of responsibility, because the vain hope of a day not far away made us hurt and resent each other. That’s not fair to either of us. I don’t deny our past, and I can’t forget what you gave me. It’s just that this love has changed and sometimes no matter how much we want it, love can’t conquer everything.”

“Do you really want a divorce…?”

Jungkook sighed, nodding seriously.

“Yes, I want a divorce.”