#there's no way he's not come out of it with chronic pain of SOME kind

[assortedvillainvault]

I've had a little request/prompt in my head for you for ages, bc it relates specifically to your characterization of Blitzwing. You have established that your version is constantly plagued by processor-splitting headaches. How do you think he'd react to the realization that his headache is GONE when he's around his S/O?

Midnight I've rotated this ask in my head like a snowglobe for weeks - thank you for being one of the biggest fans of Blitzwing on this blog, genuinely love your prompts for the guy.

I didn't even realise I'd put headaches in every headcannon but I went back and reread my stuff and. Yeah - chronic headache is now a Thing. Due to the severity of the triplechanger process it felt a bit 'handwavy-poweroflove-sumthin'-sumthin' to render them GONE, but Better? Better I can do. Hope You Enjoy!

Tw: descriptions of migraines/pain, allusions to maladaptive coping with said pain, kidnapping but like. In the Megamind way.

Blitzwing x Reader: 'Headaches'

Ever since the triple changer surgery, Blitzwing has a had a constant, splitting pain in his helm that pain blockers and all manner of defrags won’t touch. (And no it’s not his alters, ha ha funny joke fragging die-)

He’s not sure if it’s somenting physical, and he doesn’t trust Blackarachnia’s surgery technique one iota, but the deed is done. The pain never fades. Sometimes it lances through him so sharply that it forces his audio and visual feed to cut, rendering him blind and deaf at the worst moments.

And on other days it races down his spinal strut and through his wings to the point that even gentle breezes feel like sandpaper, his touch sensors scrambled and sore.

On better days it’s a low, pulsing, grinding ache at the tip of his neck and behind his optics, and at the seams of his faces. One that can be covered up by other, newer pains, or by switching faces so fast he gets dizzy.

Coping mechanisms are coping mechanisms, if you call him out then congratulations for sacrificing yourself to the Decepticon cause for target practice.

Upon meeting you (aka – scooping you off the street for a hostage meatshield and subsequently being told to keep you for a bit), his headache pulsed so badly that his balance teetered and he nearly crushed you in his fist. Great. One more thing to fragging deal with.

Your specific hostage situation didn’t take long, only a few days due to Prowl and his cyberninja sneaky ways, but you left a genuinely lovely impression on Blitzwing in the meantime. Not too screechy, no unnecessary fluids, a sense of slightly unhinged humour?? 10/10 would kidnap again!

So he does.

Little and often, in snatches and starts. And it isn’t immediately obvious to either party, but there’s a...lightness, creeping in. Like sounds are clearer, and his head has room for more stuff. He shrugs it off and thinks nothing of it, distracted and humming along as you chat about anything and everything - kicking your feet inside his cockpit.

Apparently a quirk of both biology and technology, is that the mind will translate emotional and mental hurt into physical hurt. Ease the former...and the physical will begin to follow.

Huh.

It still takes him several months to recognise that with you and you alone, he loosens up and calms down enough that the pain is lower than it has been in years.

Never gone, but better. And that’s more than he’d ever expected.

[diegoshargrieves]

listening to my parents talk about me is so fucking funny. "she's dealt with us for so long that at this point she's done. she's mentally checked out from having to give a shit about anyone. can you believe how corruptible she is just because she's almost an adult and she thinks that we're not her problem anymore?"

like man you are literally so close. so fucking close.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

the girl next door 14

Warnings: this fic will include elements, some dark, such as age gap, manipulation, chronic illness, noncon/dubcon, coercion, and other untagged triggers. Please take this into account before proceeding. It is up to curate your online consumption safely.

Summary: A new neighbour moves in and upends your already disarrayed life.

Author’s Note: Please feel free to leave some feedback, reblog, and jump into my asks. I’m always happy to discuss with you and riff on idea. As always, you are cherished and adored! Stay safe, be kind, and treat yourself.

This lewk but silverfox

Your bleary-eyed sleep drapes over you like a shroud. You sleep sways between bouts of heavy blackness and shallow delirium. You’re vaguely aware of your unfamiliar surroundings even as you sink into the depths of your unconscious. The rustle of leaves and buzz of crickets outside the window blend with the vacuities of your dreams.

You shift; your arm painful as it’s caught beneath you. Your eyelids stay slitted as you move your weight off it and wiggle your fingers, the numbness painful your elbow throbs. The canopy drapes like shadows around the posts and the ceiling is fuzzy above you. Your eyes threaten to roll back again as your drowsiness has you heavy. 

The window casts shades of black and grey against the wall, a silverish blue tint hinting off the mirror. You babble, your throat and tongue prickly and dry, your temples thrumming. You groan as the feeling slowly seeps back into your arm. 

The open door draws your gaze. You move your head to the side to see past your shoulder. You blink and squint. You can’t quite see past your own fatigue. Is someone there? You swear there’s a figure, ghostly in your blurred sight. 

You close your eyes and something creaks, low and soft, as if the house is settling. You peek out beneath your lashes again. The shadow looms closer. It can’t be real. It doesn’t feel real. Your head lolls and you drift back into sleep. 

You wake again. You don’t know how long after. The blanket hangs over the edge of the bed, a cool breeze blowing in through the open window. You’re on your stomach, your arm dangling over the side with the covers.  

The coolness tickles your lower back and emphasizes the bareness of your skin. Your pajamas are low on your hips, the string undone. There’s a warmth nestled between your legs despite the goosebumps across the rest of your body. You roll onto your back, your shirt tangle up by your chest. It’s as if you’ve been thrashing in your sleep. 

The door is open. Not just a little. All the way. 

Your body is achy. You reach to pull the blankets off the floor. As you wrap yourself in them, you feel a wet spot on the sheet. You recoil and feel around your pants. You wouldn’t have had an accident. Maybe... oh no. 

You sit up and set your feet. It takes effort to stand. Your hips hurt and your crampy. It must be your period. 

You cross the room and turn on the light. You shut the door and pull down your pajamas. No blood. You touch yourself gently, delving meekly between your folds. They’re wet and swollen, tender even, but no blood on your fingers. You’ve woken like this before. You know it’s just... your biology. Still, it feel different, more than the usual discharge. 

You shuffle back to the bed and check the sheet. There’s definitely something on it but you don’t know what it is. It seems too far down to be drool. Sweat? You peel apart the quilt and the sheet and heap the latter on the corner of the bed. You shut off the light and lay back down. 

Despite your addled nerves, it doesn’t take much to get back to sleep. You wake only as the tweeting of birds punctures your subconscious. You groan and a gentle tap comes on the door frame. The door is already open as Steve stands in the frame. 

“Uh, morning,” he says, “just checking if you wanted some coffee?” 

You lift your head and stare at him. You sit up and hug yourself, pulling your shirt away from your chest as it clings to your shape. You try to shake the sleep away and wipe your eyes. 

“If it’s okay, yes please,” you answer in a croak. 

“Sure thing, sweetie,” he grips the frame and smiles. He only wears a pair of grey sweatpants and a muscle shirt. The top exposes his muscular arms and the side of his chest and ribcage. The neckline is unhemmed and gives a generous view of the top of his pecs. “Anything else you need?” 

“No thanks,” you scratch your throat and turn your legs over the edge of the bed. 

“You like waffles? French toast? I’ll make a good breakfast for you and your mom before you head out,” he offers. 

“I think that’s okay,” you stand and cross your arms. “Is my mom awake?” 

“I haven’t checked yet,” he says, “I let her have the bed to herself. She was really tired...” he gives a coy look, “and she snores.” 

“Ah, yeah, okay,” you look at him awkwardly. 

“You wanna wash up? Shower’s just down the hall,” he points over his shoulder with his thumb, “I can grab you a towel.” 

“I’ll wait until I get home but uh, could I use the bathroom?”  

“Yep, just down the hall on the right. I’m going to put the coffee on then come back to get your mom, okay?” 

“Okay,” you agree, slowly crossing the room. 

He turns and strides off. You wait until he’s down stairs to go out in the hall. The bedroom across from his studio, the one you assume is meant for him, is shut. You turn right and find the bathroom. 

You lock the door and rinse your face with cold water, trying to ease the tension in your forehead. You sit on the toilet, a tingly heat seeping from you as you let your bladder go. You linger, letting your pee trickle out as you hear Steve coming back up the stairs. You quickly wipe and pull up your pants. 

You wash your hands slowly, listening through the wall. You hear the door then Steve calls your mom’s name. You look at yourself in the mirror. Something feels strange. You don’t know if it was the surreal night or just being in a different place. 

You come out into the hall and see Steve in the bedroom, just by the half-open door. His face is pale as he holds his phone to his ear. He sees you and raises his hand, waving before he gently closes the door. What’s going on? 

You stand there, uncertain, uneasy. Something’s going on. You hear his voice, the tone is tremulous. You pick your nails but you’re too nervous to knock and ask. You don’t want to overstep. You stand stuck in place, unsure what to do next. 

Then you hear the sirens. They’re distant at first but get louder and louder. You turn to the stairs and rush down as they get closer. You go to the front door and unlock it. You open it as the ambulance stops right outside. 

You watch the paramedics as they unload a gurney and roll it up the walk. It has to be a mistake. There's no reason for them to be here. 

They come right up the porch, “miss, someone called us from this address?” 

“They did?” You bat your lashes. 

“Please, move,” the man says but not unkindly, just matter-of-fact, “we need to get inside.” 

You step back and hold the door open. They carry the gurney upstairs and your heart shrivels up. You follow them to the second floor and they enter the main bedroom where Steve is. Where your mom is. You can hear their voices as they talk calmly and Steve’s as he tries frantically to explain. 

“I don’t know... she was sleeping in here last night. She was fine. I put her to bed and I slept on the couch since she was snoring and... she won’t wake up. I tried to... I tried. I felt a pulse but she’s not responding--” 

“Sir, we got it. Why don’t you go catch your breath?” A man says. 

“I’m sorry, I usually... I’m not like this. I was in the army, I know... I know CPR--” 

“It’s okay, sir, just let us get her out of here. We’ll take care of her,” the paramedic says. 

Your eyes fill with tears. The world around you dulls and static scratches in your ears. Steve comes out as your lips part and you gape at him dumbly. He comes to you, touching your arm as his voice garbles in your fuzzy brain. You blink at his chest and suddenly, you’re pressed against it. 

He hugs you tightly as he rocks you. You hear his heart racing. Or is that yours? 

You sniffle, too weak to pull away from him, “is my mom okay?” 

He pets your head and coos, “I don’t know, sweetie, but they’re gonna help her, alright? She’s going to the hospital.” 

“Hospital,” you echo numbly. “Hospital?” 

[yandere-kokeshi]

Yandere Ghost with a chronically ill darling

Warnings: yandere behavior, talks about being ill & doctor visits, and medication.

A/N: I’m chronically ill, and when reading fics, I feel quite left out due to my conditions; because of it, I decided to write my own! Hope you guys can enjoy <3.

It makes him more emotional than what’s prepared for him. Starting fresh, he’s a soldier– a man of dignity and wants to help people. But when learning of your illness, whether that’s you telling him, or finding out for himself, he wasn’t prepared to find days when he can’t help; rather playing the ‘waiting game’. Simon has to learn that even with your illness, pain is normal — and it’s something he didn’t expect he’d be getting used to. 

While it makes him sad that you’re constantly in pain, it does make him feel a bit of sense of relief and pride; you can rely on him, Simon Riley only, and have him take you places where nobody should be doing. 

His large and calloused hands come with goodness, which means back-rubs, or any kind of massage you’ve asked for, will be delivered in full. Simon getting into your knotted muscles, kissing your tender skin. 

Simon is constantly hovering, and while he doesn’t mean to do it, he fears you’ll hurt yourself. The privilege of washing by yourself in the shower is taken away, but instead with him. 

Adores it when you ask him for things, especially for affection, or that cup of drink you had left on the counter once you sit down. He always ensures that he never gets annoyed, and no, he won’t get angry if you want him to save the cooked-food for later due to your extreme nausea; the beloved man of yours had promised to take care of you, better than anyone.

He’s always willing to carry you. When feeling fatigued, extremely nauseous where you can’t see straight, he hikes you up on his back or comfortably carrying you bridal-style, and sitting you in a comfortable place. And no, he doesn’t care if it happens in public. 

Routine is quite important — and he swiftly learned that from the start. In the early mornings, he has you up and ready by 9AM, helping you get dressed if needed, and helps take your medication with peppermint tea. His hand is rubbing your thigh in an affectionate sparse, supporting you with how you take it. Breakfast is served next, a good nutrient plate that’ll leave you full and maybe wanting a second plate. Then, move on reminding you of the doctor visits – easily driving you there with quiet music playing in the car. 

Speaking of doctor visits, Simon is extremely confrontational and can get aggressive towards doctors who give you the doubts, or any type of attitude that ends with ‘not believing you’. 

Nothing makes him angrier when it comes down to you being upset. He’ll bicker with the doctor, explaining that no you aren’t faking it, and yes, you’re in a lot of pain. Towards the end of the visit, his intimidating size and demanding threats end up working for the damn doctor(s) —  his eyes narrowing at them as they escort you for another checkup. And suddenly, within the next few days that pass, they’re gone.

Flareups are a hard thing, especially if it affects the way you walk, talk, or your very mind. With this said, Simon treats you like glass, insisting you rest, and you let him take care of you. He ensures to cuddle you, letting you use his arm as a pillow, creates warmed baths that he’ll help wash your body with, and is constantly reminding you of how attractive you are, even with a sweaty body. 

Hospital visits are annoying, and sometimes devastating. Laying down in the uncomfortable bed, continuous beeping of your vitals, and nurses walking in-and-out are exhausting. But, Simon is beside you, holding your hand and kissing it; whispering praises and asking if he can do anything to ease your boredom. Of course, he tries to ease your body aches with some horrible-but-good jokes. 

Leaving for work is the hardest part for him. Whilst he knows you can handle yourself, having been doing it most of your life, he still hates leaving you alone; ‘what if’ questions spiraling in his mind about accidents that could happen. 

Because of this, he often calls you — and leaves you text messages of “You doin’ okay?”, throughout the day when he can. And if you don’t answer? He gets really anxious, about ready to come back home to see you for himself. 

—

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© yandere-kokeshi 2023 — Do not copy, modify, edit, repost, or use my works for ASMR readings, tiktoks, or other content.

[r0-boat]

Would you be willing to write something about the kings finding out the mc has chronic pain? Specially nonstop headache type of thing, like they find out after a run in with someone from paradise lost. Basically the mc getting called out for hiding something from them

This is so interesting thank you for letting me write this!

Please let me know if I get any thing wrong stuff like this makes me nervous to write, but I still try anyway!

Whb Kings reaction: Mc with a chronic pain

Sfw a little angs

Mc's chronic pain comes from headaches

Terrified. Utterly terrified. He's already scared enough because one day he feels like he will just lose control of his rage and hurt you. Every time he sees you in pain He just wants to take out his rage somewhere else. Rage that he can't do anything, rage because you're suffering, wrath because he knows angels will use this weakness in some way.

Satan

Is he overreacting? Perhaps. But it comes from a place of worry and genuinely cares about you. He acts like a pissed-off cat when he finds out you've been hiding it from him, sitting crisscross, his arms folded, staring blankly at a wall in the corner, not speaking to you until you apologize. He doesn't like that Lucifer is pretty much The only one able to help you, but he doesn't trust anyone more than Lucifer for your health, so he's probably going to get over it.

Mammon

He doesn't quite understand why you kept this from him. His pride is mostly more broken than his feelings. He takes great pride in taking care of you in all your needs. All of them. He cannot take care of your needs when he does not know. You must tell him everything from now on please...

"are you sure there is no immediate cure? I'm sure there is something no matter how expensive I shall cover for it."

A proposal you adamantly declined. Mammon pouted, but thankfully did not pester you further. If it wasn't for Lucifer having all your health care already free Mammon would surely cover.

Salty little worm, but puts aside his salt for the sake of your health. But he must come to all your visits. He has to be in the room with you at all times, glued to your side like your shadow. He must know everything about your health from now on. Your punishment for keeping this from him!! He must know everything that Lucifer knows EVERYTHING. 70% is because he wants to help you when something happens. The other 30% is because he wants to be the closest one in your life and is jealous of Lucifer because he knows more about human anatomy and can be the only one who can help you, but he can't do anything about it. After all, he needs Lucifer because he is pretty much the only doctor who can help you who knows about humans. But that doesn't mean he can't voice his complaints.

Leviathan

And oh he will every visit grumbling something about something about anything.

He understands why you kept it from him. He straight up says "it's okay your secret safe with me I'll forget it 5 minutes later anyway."

Beelzebub

At least he remembers that you need to see Lucifer every now and then, and his subordinates make sure they carry any painkillers or any prescription you need. Beelzebub makes doctor's visits and sitting in the waiting room a lot more fun, anyway. You can't help but laugh when you see him absolutely mesmerized by the fish tank. Bael has all of your scheduled appointments and each prescription down to the milligram memorized, and he will spam your phone if you have an upcoming appointment.

Lucifer

He already knows. He had been waiting for you to tell him. And once you tell him or try, he cuts you off and says, "I know."He knows more about human anatomy and is studying more about human health, mainly because of you. Of course, he would put you under a special microscope and be extra attentive to any signs of your health. You kind of forget that he is technically a doctor, and he can spot your health far better than you can.

Lucifer becomes extremely hovering, especially when it comes to your health. Sometimes it bores on nagging. But he just wants you to be healthy, humans are quite fragile and their life goes away in a blink of an eye He would do anything to make you live as long as you can.

[chosokamosbf]

(N)SFW JASON TODD / RED HOOD HCs.

☆ 18+ only/no minors.

WARNINGs: 18+, gn (gender non-implied)! reader, daddy/mommy kink, mentions of abuse (jason nor reader are doing it), minor mention of blood, sub/dom, pain play, fear play, "prey/predator," brat taming, reader is referred to as "prince(ss)" and "sweetheart" once.

WORD COUNT: 900-ish+

Based on canon, I firmly believe he's on the ace spectrum, specifically demisexual. And even then, he rarely experiences sexual attraction at all for his partners. This isn't because he doesn't love them (enough) or any other assumptions similar to that; it just doesn't happen much.

Furthermore, as much as he'll indulge you here and there if you do, (sexual) intimate moments with Jason would be far and few between, making them all the more important to him.

He's a switch, leaning on dom and top. Mostly because he likes the control and is more comfortable that way. Getting him to be submissive instead is a gradual endeavor. He doesn't hate it; it just takes a lot of patience and trust.

First and foremost on actual kinks, I think Jason has a thing for "daddy," both on the receiving and giving ends. He likes the title, and he's definitely the type to whisper something like, "C'mere, sweetheart. Give daddy a kiss." in even private, innocuous moments just to mess with you.

(Note: I don't think he'd have as much of a mommy kink because—y'know.)

Rough sex is a top favorite of his. This goes hand in hand with play wrestling as a form of foreplay, breathing heavily down on his partner just to continue that energy into bed with sweat-slick bodies. It's less about "winning," and more about being allowed to confide in someone in a way and the fun that can come with it. He wouldn't be against being the sub in this situation either, even if his partner is weaker than him, because he knows how important control can be in bed, so he'll let them win. Sometimes. He trusts you, and he wants you both to feel good.

Degradation/praise wise, he'll give either out depending on the moment. He's going to tease and utter dirty shit like, "C'mooon, prince(ss). You're sounding like a real whore for someone who didn't want it a couple minutes ago—" if you tried to struggle against. It depends more on the moment than position because he could be pounding into you and huffing out praise right next to your ear with what little air he's catching, to riding you, telling you to keep up while his head is already thrown back.

He enjoys pegging a lot, but as always, it's going to take some convincing to get him to comply.

Brat taming is another go-to of his, along with sub/dom. On the other end, it seems to be a near equal opposite—he's not into it, and it can get uncomfortable real fast. There's a few times he'll indulge himself, and they're all after more intense days to sort of solidify the trust he has in you. You're not going to hurt him; he's still in control in a way.

He doesn't seem like he'd like being on the receiving end of any sort of pain play. He already deals with chronic pain on a day-to-day basis. To have it overwhelm one of the few aspects of intimacy that he loves and simultaneously take his head off things for once just doesn't seem like it'd be enjoyable for him. No, on the giving end—

(Note: I'm not into pain play myself, nor do I even know what even makes it enjoyable for people, so I'll be segmenting this with fear play and "prey/predator.")

It wouldn't be something he'd ever bring up, far from it, but if it's what you like, he'll gladly take a knife in a steady hand to softly trace it down from your stomach to your underwear. In a smile almost cruel, he'd drag it across just enough so a few drops could be licked back up if you asked nicely enough again.

Jason knows you're just asking for it if you're weaker than him and bring up the idea of a different kind of foreplay. He'd pick a place, somewhere with a lot of spots you could try to hide away and run to (an abandoned office of sorts is the best go; he's not going to risk infections).  Just for him to stalk, pin you down with ease. If the spot he found his little prey in isn't satisfactory (or clean) enough, he'd have no qualms settling you over his shoulder like a sack and manhandling you where he wants it.

He definitely isn't going to go too far, though. As well-trained as he is, he's going to be especially attentive after any scenes involving that. Sadism isn't a big one for him. He'll enjoy it in the moment but then feel real guilty afterwards, so, just as a reminder, aftercare goes both ways.

I don't know why some people think he's into "dark" (ex. pedo stuff such as ageplay and actual rape.) kinks when he's canonically and literally has hunted down murdered several (sexual) abusers before. If you try to break boundaries, he's going to be reconsidering the relationship, and quite possibly if he even knew you as a person.

On a lighter note, consent is a big thing for him, and he's also big on aftercare. A go-to would be a bath for the both of you (stuffing the sheets in the washer right before and bandaging any "scratches" if need be.), then cuddling. Depending on whether he has the energy, he'll pop something in the microwave real quick. (Takeout is usually a last resort because the last thing he wants while enjoying the afterglow with a partner is social interaction with a stranger.)

If you wear make-up and it gets ruined by the end, like in the latter part of the previous section, if he can, he's going to help you wipe off the mess and maybe help you reapply it as a form of care.

[killerpancakeburger]

Soap giving you a massage...

TAGS: Soap x GN! Reader, Fluff, a bit suggestive, Civilian! Reader, Anxious! Reader, mention of chronic pain.

WORD COUNT: 750

A/N: Trying out a new format! But with a bit of a story in the middle lol.

Soap who notice you tend to roll your shoulders, stretch your neck, and pinch the muscles there at the end of the workday. You explain that, being an anxious kind of person and working at a desk, you end up with neck, shoulders and back pains on a daily basis, despite correcting your position and stretching regularly. Massages are the best remedy but they don't exactly come cheap, and trying to do them to yourself just isn’t the same.

Soap who look up massage videos and ask some tips to the military physiotherapists provided by the army.

Soap who tries to practice on his teammates of the Task Force. Price being the most sore out of them, he agrees quickly. Gaz does too after some begging. Ghost resists until he learns it's for your own benefit, only then he relents.

Soap who show up five minutes before the end of your shift to be sure to catch you, taking in your grimace of pain as you stretch out. 

Soap who enters your office casually and asks how your day's been going with a bright grin, hardly containing his enthusiasm at the idea of surprising you with his “gift”.

Soap who take advantage of the fact that after greeting him, your eyes return to your computer screen while you're turning it off, and easily sneak behind you.

“Ya sore?”

“Same as usual,” you shrug.

“How ‘bout this?” he questions, putting his hands on your shoulders and pressing his thumbs in your trapezius muscles in a circling motion.

You tense at first. The contact is not unwelcome per se, but it is unexpected, so you can’t help but stiffen.

“Johnny, what are you doing?”

“Helping,” he pouts. “Does it not feel good?”

You stay silent, focusing on the contact.

His hands are deliciously warm; his fingers are gentle, yet firm enough to really be felt. His touch is stronger than yours, but it's a good thing. Pulling, pushing, pressing, kneading skin and muscles.

Common sense would dictate you put an end to this compromising situation right now, but the treatment feels too good to stop. 

Concentrating on the dance of his fingers and the relief they bring to your aching muscles makes it hard not to give in; to close your eyes and forget about what isn’t his hands on your skin.

You come back to reality when he calls out your name. You hum in response.

He chuckles at your reaction.

A carefree, warm kind of sound, distinctively Soap in nature, that you were always fond of; but when echoed so close to your ear, it sends a shiver of pleasure down your spine, a twist in your stomach, a throbbing between your legs.

“Take it ye like it then?”

His tone is pleased, playful.

Your face bursts into flames as you realize his proximity; eager fingers digging into your skin, clever mouth a breath away from your ear, his sultry voice caressing you everywhere at once, baryton smooth like silk. It is a small mercy that he's standing behind your back, sparing you from his piercing blue eyes; a mercy that he can’t see how flustered he made you.

“Gimme some reviews. Don't hold back, Ah can take it.”

You bite your lower lip at that sentence, I can take it, holding back from asking what else he can take from you, as a taunt.

“It's great. You’re doing great,” you reply flatly, trying to sound unaffected. 

“That's it? I know ye have a better way with words.”

Teasing and feigned sulkiness interlace in his comment.

Soap who cheekly mentions that he purchased a massage oil, but if you prefer to keep your clothes on, it's fine.

Soap who respects your boundaries, kneading the sore spot in your lower back without going one centimeter lower.

Soap who hardly contains his comments but enjoys silently how malleable you are in his hands, how your eyes are closed under his ministrations like a cat, the way you hum in pleasure every now and then.

Soap who suggests you take a nap in his bed before heading home after seeing how blissed out and groggy you are after he's done with you.

Soap who's been pining after you for a while and, after all the touching, all the noises you made, and the kiss on the cheek you gave him as thank you when he wasn’t awaiting it, needs to excuse himself to the bathroom to take care of the problem in his pants.

[star-anise]

now, hold still—

I'd kill for some resources on body image in the context of disability, chronic pain, and having grown up with a complicated and intense medical history. I think I've exhausted my local library's offerings. Yes, I'm seeing a counsellor who focuses on this, and he's probably got recs, but I'm pacing my cage and lashing my tail in between sessions.

"Body image" has a particular connotation most of the time, because it comes out of the field that deals with eating disorders. Which is great and I'm glad for the people it works for, but its basic principles and assumptions are for completely different problems than the one I have.

I can't track down who said it first, but in my reading I keep coming across this narrative of, "I saw my body as something to be disciplined and controlled, an object only seen by external eyes. Now I've learned to take joy in what my body can do and experience, and to see it as a site of pleasure."

...Sounds fake, but okay.

My body is a site of pain. It cannot do or bear the experience of many things. I have to exercise a huge amount of discipline and control just to get out of bed every day. I can't imagine my body being a visible object that other people might find pleasing; it's incredibly hard to look up from my continual tooth-and-nail fight getting my body to let me live to imagine what someone who doesn't live with all this shit might see.

When I was a child, I learned to hold myself very still. For a hairdresser, or photographer, or a dentist, or someone who wanted to measure my height, or an injection, or a doctor who wanted a demonstration of how one of my joints looked, or an X-ray, or an IV inserted, or a CAT scan, or to have a cast taken off, or a PET scan, or to have a wound treated, or an MRI, or to have a pin pulled out.

And you know, I got proud of that. I felt like a brave warrior in a fantasy novel. I learned to take deep breaths, and take myself in my mind away from the anxiety and unpleasantness, until I could shut down my reaction to it. So that I didn't flinch or scream or cry. Because there was something wrong with my body, and doctors knew how to fix it.

When I was getting assessed for fibromyalgia, this new doctor told me he was going palpate areas in my back, arms, and knees. I get a lot of massage; I knew what was coming. I slowed my breathing, concentrating on the long outbreath. I took myself away from my reactions and thought continually, obsessively, about letting my body droop, weightless, like the moment when your aching limbs meet a solid surface and fresh cool sheets.

"Hm, I dunno," he said. "A lot of this checks out, but your trigger point exam was totally negative. Most people, when I touch those points, they have a big reaction. Some people even scream and jump off the table."

"Well, no," I think I said. "If I'd done that, it would have hurt way more, for like, hours." And I was polite about it, because you have to be polite to doctors; doctors know how to make you feel better. But what I felt at the time, and still feel today, is a kind of outrage I labelled was unreasonable the moment it was born: You wanted to hurt me, and it's my fault for not letting you?

How do you learn how to ask for things, when you've taught yourself to lie still and cry quietly because the nurse who said they'd be right back is helping someone who suddenly needs the help more? How do you express yourself, when you've spent your whole life gritting your teeth?

The problems I have about my body are not about being attractive or thin. They are, however, about being small. Learning to cry less, scream less, and ask for less. About feeling like my body is a burden to anyone who comes to know it, and like that's a burden I can't ask other people to take on unless I'm staggering under the weight of it.

Right now, what I've got is this:

Remember, you weren’t the one who made you ashamed, but you are the one who can make you proud. Just practice, practice until you get proud, and once you are proud, keep practicing so you won’t forget. You get proud by practicing.

[icaberries]

What if the Vinsmokes were in the Wano Arc?

Go read Part 1 here but TL;DR the Vinsmokes regain their ability to feel emotions and escape Germa with Sanji and the Strawhats.

Mostly headcanons with a side of canon plot.

They’re still modded physically, but now their pain receptors are active so they’re dealing with the ramifications of years of neglecting their body. Ichiji is partially blind from using Valkyrie, Niji has burn marks all over his body, and Yonji has chronic pain in his wrists. It's a struggle, but they feel like they deserve it after all the torment they inflicted.

Ichiji comes across traditional tattoo shops in Wano and decides to get new tattoos on a whim. The ‘1’ tattoo he had before had been his first rebellion against his father and now that he’s free he wants to add more to it. He gets tattoos for all his siblings along his other arm—a pink butterfly for Reiju, a blue lightning bolt for Niji, a green clover for Yonji and a yellow sun for Sanji. It helps to ground him when the Feelings™ get overwhelming and reminds him that he’s not alone in this world. 

The drama in Shokugeki no Sanji with Sanji’s soba stall still happens, only this time he’s backed up by the rest of his siblings who glares at the soba competitors in submission. 

Reiju is first in line when the soba stall officially opens. She’d had to fight her brothers and the Strawhats for it. Robin is a close second but only because Reiju was distracted by her. If you know what I mean ;) 

The handcuffs left marks on Sanji’s wrists. Surprisingly, it’s Niji who asks why Sanji’s hands are so precious to him and Sanji tells them about Baratie and Zeff. There’s something about the sparkle in Sanji’s eyes as he talks that draws them in, the way he speaks so highly and softly about his found family on the East Blue. They wonder, if somewhere down the line, Sanji would speak about them with that same fond tone. 

Niji gifts Sanji a pair of dark brown leather gloves, long enough to cover the marks on his wrist. Sanji wears it to the raid and Niji is quite proud of it and claims he must be Sanji's favorite brother now. Until Ichiji chimes in and says that Sanji’s hairstyle as Stealth Black/Soba Mask is more similar to his and confidently declares himself as Sanji’s favorite brother. Ichiji and Niji argue for hours.  

(It’s actually Yonji who's the favorite. Sanji only has one little brother and he’s got a soft spot for him.) 

Just imagine Law, Basil Hawkins and X Drake watching Soba Mask. Now imagine them seeing a group of brightly-colored siblings cheering on Soba Mask, while they themselves look like Sparking Red, Electric Blue, Wench Green and Poison Pink. It’s a good day to be a North Blue fanboy in Wano. 

AND NOW FOR SOME ANGST!

They witness Sanji awakening his modifications and for a brief moment they’re happy that Sanji caught up to them like he always wanted, until they see the horrified look on Sanji’s face. He looks so afraid to turn out like them, to the point that he’d ask his own crewmate (Zoro) to take him down if he ever ended up like them. They’re not even mad. They’re just sad and guilty that Sanji felt that way. 

There’s a brief lull in the battle and Reiju pulls her brothers aside to tell them about their mother and her sacrifice. She told Sanji that story so he’d remember that his life was worth living and being kind. Now she’s telling the same story to Ichiji, Niji and Yonji so they can remember the same thing. Sora wanted them to live and be good. 

After his fight with Queen, the brothers hug it out. Reiju may or may not have taken a picture.

Right after that, the brothers now hug Reiju! Because she deserves it alright! Years of pretending for Judge, of keeping her brother's in check and dealing with their mother's death, Reiju did her best to be there for all of them. Now she gets to see her little brothers grow up into the good people their mother wanted them to be and she can finally stop pretending. She can be herself again <3

(I love Reiju sm yall but that's just the eldest daughter syndrome talking)

The road to redemption is paved with triumphs and stumbles. It’s just fortunate for them that Sanji has a good sense of direction. 

AND NOW BACK TO FLUFF!

Yonji continues to cement himself as the favorite when he calls Chuji the cutest thing in the world and proceeds to share his snacks with the little guy. Niji and Ichiji never stood a chance. Little brother is strong and is hitting all of Sanji's buttons.

The worst part of regaining emotions though? It’s not the gooey mushy feelings of love, or the cold guilt and shame over their past mistakes, it’s the annoyance they now feel whenever they witness Roronoa Zoro flirt with their oblivious brother. They can’t stand him. Unfortunately, he makes Sanji happy so they’re forced to seethe on the sidelines while Zoro picks another fight/flirting session with Sanji. 

Reiju doesn’t tell them that it’s not just Zoro they have to worry about. Trafalgar Law keeps finding an excuse to check Sanji over for his “health”, a jaguar mink keeps asking him out to smoke together, don’t even get her started on Basil Hawkins and X Drake asking her for her blessing. That’s not even counting Sanji’s other suitors who aren’t in Wano right now. Their baby brother is quite the popular guy.

[chaifootsteps]

Hey I saw someone on Twitter saying you’re transphobic because it said in your Twitter bio “IDW Arcee is still a guy” even though the character is canonically trans. What’s your take on that? I’m not attacking you or anything I just genuinely want to know the context of all that.

Oh boy. Strap yourselves in kids; time for Chai's villain origin story.

So basically, IDW Arcee made his debut under the pen of Simon Furman, the dude who created Arcee in the first place. Simon Furman has a small massive chip on his shoulder over the notion of girl robots, but we're going to be talking in mostly Watsonian terms for now. IDW Arcee as he comes on the scene in Spotlight Arcee is the victim of a nonconsensual forced sex reassignment, we see right off the bat that this destroyed his life.

He's wracked with trauma and dysphoria over this, on a do-or-die quest to take out the mad scientist who did it (he succeeds and tortures said scientist for seven years straight), and is implied to suffer chronic pain.

This got a lot of criticism, but Simon Furman insisted it wasn't meant to be transphobic, just the opposite. When someone pointed out that this was a story about how traumatic it was to be assigned a gender you didn't feel was the one you should have, Furman agreed with this take.

Eventually Furman was shooed out and John Barber was brought in as writer, and nobody seemed to know how to deal with Arcee's backstory. So they just kind of...didn't. They wrote around it for eight whole years, never really acknowledging it, but frequently alluding to how traumatized he was from it. The only person to ever roll up their sleeves and tackle it head on was Mairghread Scott, the only person IMO to ever do justice to IDW Arcee.

By the way, this panel made me weep. This issue also includes a fleeting, but notable moment where someone refers to Arcee with they/them pronouns, and at the time, I was extremely excited for this.

Shortly after this however, the comic came to an end and John Barber decided -- in the very last issue -- to bring in an expert. And by this, I mean he found some trans lady on Twitter and let her write Arcee. The last issue has Arcee concluding that the whole sex change was consensual and the violent murder spree was the result of, I quote, "bad meds."

Yeah, basically Arcee killed all those people because the Spiro was a little off.

I got into a lot of internet fights with people over this back in the day, criticizing it for being worse than what we started with, but also frequently pointing out that it wasn't Twitter lady's fault, as she wasn't the editor-in-chief at IDW and that there's a very good reason professional writers aren't supposed to do this sort of thing. In return, I got accused of hating trans women and still get some real ugly things in the inbox about it to this day. It was the first taste, bitter as wormwood, of what I as a trans man could expect from my own community.

Regardless of all that, Arcee is probably the most important fictional character to ever enter my life. He helped me realize I was trans, got me through some dark days, got me through heartbreak and top surgery. He saved my life a few times, and every so often he continues to. I owe so much to him.

If writing a very gentle fix-it fic where Arcee has a long talk with Anode (one of the trans lesbian bots from the vastly superior sister series James Roberts wrote) makes me a transphobe in these peoples' eyes, so be it. I don't care what they think. They never reached out to baby trans Chai and held his hand and kept him breathing.

Arcee did.

[piratefalls]

i'm incapable of keeping these short. it's my burden to bear. also, extra long and also early this week because next week is kind of up in the air.

list one. list two. list three. list four. list five. list six. list seven.

a hundred thrown-out speeches i almost said to you by ivysunna

Henry sinks down into his desk chair, groaning. “How could this happen to me? I meet the most beautiful, charming man to ever grace the earth, and he just happens to work for the store my company is planning to run out of business? In what universe is that fair?” “In none of them, darling,” Pez murmurs. “Did you tell him, by any chance?” “Of course not! What was I supposed to say: ‘Hi, I’d really like to take you out to dinner, and by the way, my family owns Mountchristen Books, the company currently running all small family-owned bookstores out of business? I hope that’s ok?’” “Maybe not in those exact terms…” “It’s doomed,” Henry moans, burying his face in his hands. “My relationship with Alex is ruined before it could even begin.”

Weighted by stripyjumpers

Alex gets Henry a very thoughtful birthday gift.

Minty Fresh by inexplicablymine

How do you ask someone you so ardently adore, to spend the rest of their life with you? To have and to hold, in sickness and in health. To ask a question. To ask the question. It’s the singular most defining moment of a relationship until the (hopefully inevitable) wedding bells. It’s defining, it’s definite, it’s dreadful.

What Forever Looks Like by politics_and_prose

The last thing he’s expecting once they’re home and settled in is Alex to say, “I think I’d want our kids to come by the shelter whenever they could.” Henry, completely caught off guard with a mouth full of pizza, asks, “Huh?”

just give me a minute by smc_27

Alex isn’t obsessed. He just thinks Henry is fucking beautiful and perfect and smart and so, so talented. He just thinks Henry’s fingers look gorgeous on his piano. He just thinks they like the same things and have similar opinions. And he just thinks if they could be in the same place at the same time, they might like, have something. Okay, he’s a little obsessed. Or: Alex is trying to be a GROUPIE here, but his kindness keeps getting in the way.

Ignite My Heart by absoluteaudacity

“So, I’m making you an account and we’re going to swipe right on some men and you can thank me later,” Pez says. -- The 'We met on Tinder' AU

i hit my peak at seven feet by HypnosTherapy

He told Phillip first. It was a tremendously stupid idea he can only excuse by the fact that he was thirteen at the time. He thought his brother might help him talk to their parents. He didn’t know how to articulate it feels like there are hands closing around my spine and twisting or sometimes my legs hurt so bad that walking feels like I’ve got glass buried in my feet. He trusted his brother, and even more than that he wanted the desultory and relentless agony to go away. Phillip didn’t tell their parents. He told their grandfather. --- Now that he’s taken a step back from public life, Henry can relax. Without constant pressure to stand up straight and smile through the pain, some cracks start appearing in his facade. Alex starts to notice. (AKA 3 times Henry dealt with chronic pain symptoms by himself + 1 time Alex was there to help.)

A Multitude of Instances by orphan_account

Henry’s taken notice of one of Alex’s verbal patterns.

A Stork Beneath London Bridge by MarvelMerlin

Henry was supposed to be enjoying his first fully American Thanksgiving, filled with first hand witnessing of the Turkey Horrors and strangely sweet vegetable dishes. But in a single whispered phrase the world turns immaterial, Alex is his only anchoring point, and the black suit carefully packed over every single trip is being laid out on the pretty pink bedspread.

Back, Bring it Back by @sparklepocalypse

Scowling, Alex closes the laptop and sits back in his chair in his guest suite at Buckingham Palace to rub his eyes beneath his glasses, then runs a hand through his gray-streaked curls. He’s the youngest American President since Obama, has helped usher in groundbreaking legislation protecting workers’ rights and shoring up long-outdated social justice policies, and has actually made headway on tax equity, and the instant he’s in London the entire focus is back on the worst day of his goddamn life. (A soulmate AU futurefic that pivots away from canon after Alex storms the castle, but aside from two tiny movie-specific details would work in both bookverse and movieverse.)

kiss it better by lem0nademouth

Alex had a long day. Henry is fine with making it a long night.

First Pillow Princess by lovelythething

While they had talked about spicing it up in the bedroom, it seemed despite being two guys who wanted to change the world, they easily slid into normalcy with each other. But they weren't in the bedroom. They were on a well-worn sofa, high on exhaustion, and blessedly all alone.

please don't ever become a stranger (whose laugh i could recognize anywhere) by coffeecatsme

Alex’s love language is physical touch. Henry knows this—has known it from the first moment he’s met Alex, all wild curls and bright eyes and a smile that could breathe life into Henry’s little, fragile life. He’d stuck out a hand at that first meeting, dejected when Henry didn’t even take it. Found a way to poke and prod Henry every single time they’d met after, sharp jabs hitting his shoulder and rough hits shoving him around. Now, Alex’s fingers are gentle as they lace around his. His arms hold him tight to his chest. His hair tickles the nape of Henry’s neck, and the couch is entirely too small for the two of them but Henry doesn’t have the heart to kick him out. Or, 5 times Alex clings tight to Henry and 1 time Henry finds out why.

Just come along, baby, take my hand by kiwiana

“Uh, yeah, because you put on a sex dungeon show.” “It’s not a sex dungeon show. She’s helping people prioritise their sex lives and make space for it, in whatever form they may want it. It’s reinforcing emotional connections.”

Lay All Your Love On Me by lucy_in_the_sky

A lot has changed for his and Henry’s public persona since the emails leaked. Gone are the days they could shamelessly flirt with teasing touches and love-sick stares across crowded ballrooms, back when the whole world wrote off their relationship as a “bromance for the ages” since obviously they’re both incredibly heterosexual and are simply the best of friends. Now, wary of all the eyes suddenly scrutinising their relationship, they’ve taken to spicing up their sex life in different ways to still feel the thrill of clandestine hookups in the middle of important events and public appearances. Hence the whole ‘Alex wearing a vibrating plug that Henry controls while at a public function’ thing. And Jesus fucking Christ, it’s the hottest thing that’s ever happened to him.

Closer To You by bibliosoph

Some sexy times! Thanks to Len for the prompt! Happy belated birthday, Beth! This terrible smut is for you!

Just Business by bleedingballroomfloor

“I just need you to know that this is strictly a business relationship.” Henry blinks. His brain is taking a minute to process everything — meeting Alex. Dozens of pictures lining his office walls, each featuring a different persona of his. Brochures upon brochures, prices upon prices. It’s a bit overwhelming. “You’re asking for a lot here,” Alex continues, “and that means we’ll be spending a lot of time together. A Golden Tux. You’re asking me to pull off a Golden Tux, Henry. But I need you to know that this is just business.” Henry knows he’s asking for a lot. A best man. A wedding party. Time with his family. He knows that this should only be about business. He knows. (He also knows that Alex is very, very attractive, and he knows that this will be a long four weeks with Alex.)

choke me like you hate me (but you love me) by anonymous

What’s left for them to do? Something slaps against the skin of his chest. Ah. A classic. 

Really Fucking French by everwitch

Henry likes his men direct. It is, in part, why he so often indulges in setting his location on the apps to Paris — although the gratifying results he yields from that exercise are definitely partly down to a significant selection bias as well. But if Henry had never swiped on Parisian men, he'd never have connected with Antoine; dark curls and dimples and an absolutely lethal smile. Antoine is absolutely perfect. Too perfect. It's a pity that he must be a catfish. The man in Antoine's photos, however? He is very, very real. Or: the self-indulgent Paris romp we all need after this trying time.

from the mouths of babes by cricketnationrise

3 times Lina Claremont-Diaz-Fox didn't know what Henry does for a living and 1 time she absolutely does.

nobody panic, but i've broken my leg by annesbonny

He collects his phone from Cash who's been holding onto his possessions, and shoots off a text to the group chat between pained breaths. nobody panic, but i’ve broken my leg. Then he slips it away again before he can read June's outraged response. In which Alex Claremont Diaz breaks his leg at a charity Lacrosse game.

Subtle promises by viciouslyqueer

Alex breaks the kiss. His hand falls away. Henry blinks his eyes open, unsurprised. He’s panting, they both are, breathing heavily after kissing like they don’t need oxygen to live. Alex is watching him with flushed cheeks and red kissed lips, an unreadable look in his eyes. “Hey,” he says quietly. “Can we… Can we stop?” “Yeah,” Henry says immediately, anticipating the question. “Of course, love.”  — In which Henry starts a conversation and Alex realizes he's loved no matter what.

Most People Exist by SprigsofViolets

Henry Fox is a nurse at the New York Cancer Center. He’s happy with his job, content enough with his life, but it all gets turned on its head when he connects with a patient with a brain tumor—Alex Claremont-Diaz. ——— Henry is a nurse, Alex is a patient, I suck at summaries.

Never a Guarantee by clottedcreamfudge

Henry – Prince Henry, third in line for the throne of Windsor and Alex's goddamn betrothed – has very soft hands. Alex knows this because he is literally holding them in his, both of them standing in front of just about everyone with a title in either of their two kingdoms, while a man in an extremely large hat has them repeat oaths and other things Alex has been learning by heart since he got engaged. * Looking back on their time at the altar, Alex should maybe have read a little more into the way Henry kissed him like it was the last time.

Boy, I Fancy You by allmylovesatonce

When Alex has a break off of work, he decides to get away and spend that time in London. On his first day there, he meets Henry and sparks immediately fly between them. As they spend the summer together, touring the city and enjoying each other, Alex continues to keep a very big secret about himself: who he really is.

Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy by cmere

"Would now be the moment," Henry says, breath catching, "to tell you about a little fantasy I've had concerning you and horses?" Alex snickers. "Uh, I don't know, babe. If this is going the way it sounds, I'm not sure you should say anything you won't be able to take back." "Oh, Christ, shut it," Henry says, laughing, still not stopping the motions of his hand. "The horse aspect is nonsexual." "Okay, well in that case. Yes. Obviously." Alex grips his own thigh, refusing to give in and touch Henry, or himself. For now. As long as he can stand it. As it turns out, Alex isn't the only one who has a thing for his beloved on a horse. Henry's birthday seems like a good time to make use of that new information.

Tattoo Guns & Roses by schmulte

Henry comes to Austin to escape. When he opens a tattoo parlor across the way from a flower shop run by Alex, they learn to work together to protect their neighborhood and their hearts.

under the tuscan sun by stutteringpeach

The villa is, in a word, perfect. Set into the hillside and built in the classic Tuscan style, all brick and white-washed walls, with just one small bedroom and an en-suite upstairs, a cosy sitting room and a tiny kitchen downstairs. There’s a large table on the patio where Henry can already see himself drinking tea in the morning and writing late into the night. There’s even a pool. There is, however, one slight problem. There’s someone else here.

love me forever (fix me right) by sherryvalli

Alex has the perfect life. The perfect job, the perfect apartment, the perfect boyfriend. Everything’s perfect. He’s never been happier. Except for the fact that his boyfriend’s dad fucking hates him.

my eclipsed sun by weather_stained

“Alex, is there any way you can come? We’ve sent our security over, but if…if I’m right about what’s upset him, I have a feeling Henry’s not going to want to see anyone but you.” “I’m already booked on the next flight out.” Alex zips up his pack and slings it over one shoulder, keeping Bea held to his ear as he bounds down the stairs. Cash is waiting for him in the car, ready to chase Henry across the Atlantic for the second time in four years. It’s almost nostalgic—or it would be if he could stop shaking. After an important meeting with Mary, Henry is nowhere to be found. Alex drops everything to make sure he's safe.

tread softly (because you tread on my dreams) by helenblqckthorn

His stomach drops though when he realises he’s still hard. Shit. Think of Gran, think of very unattractive old lady wrinkles, think of England— Henry's point of view of the Red Room scene (or: the Hamilton portrait scene)

in time of daffodils by iphigenias

“Alright, alright, I get it. The solemn duty of academia calls.” Alex laughs as Henry play-shoves him, curling a hand protectively over the rim of his mug to stop it spilling. “So are you mine now?” “I’m always yours,” Henry answers, devastating and matter-of-fact, like he so often is. Alex hears himself make a groaning sort of sound before he’s putting his coffee down on the windowsill and climbing over the back of the sofa to get right on top of Henry, who laughs, muffled into Alex’s shoulder. “Careful with the—” Henry starts to say, but Alex’s knee has already nudged the laptop from the cushion to the carpet, where it lands with a dull thump. “Never mind,” Henry sighs, and the tail of the word catches into Alex’s mouth as he turns their bodies just so, so they’re kissing.

What to Wear by @whimsymanaged

Henry is going to a dress-up party but has nothing to wear.

How wonderful life is (while you're in the world) by mlvdybug

The corner of Henry’s mouth. It’s disappeared now, covered by the oxygen mask fixed securely around his head, but if Alex concentrates hard enough, he can see it sprawled out in front of him. Every ridge, every bend and edge and turn of it.  He knows Henry’s heart. And that’ll be enough.  (or: the one where henry gets shot and alex is a goddamn mess.)

Baby, it's Halloween and we can be anything by sheisraging

Alex is furious. More furious than he should be about the whole thing, but still. Plans were made. Money was spent. Costumes were purchased—not even rented—purchased!

you make it look so easy, i know it's not by anincompletelist

Bea’s to his left, speaking frantically on the phone with who Henry hopes is the fire brigade or someone else trained to deal with these— situations. In front of him, Pez is fumbling frustratedly with the water hose, showcasing his colorful vocabulary with a flourish of jerky hand movements and chaotic pacing. On either side of the fence, his neighbors are peaking over the sides to ask if everything’s okay, and Henry feels the resolution to make a good first impression crumbling and slipping rapidly out of his grasp. Even David watches on from inside the house, his sage eyes and patriotic bowtie appraising the scene and looking back to Henry as if to say I told you so. And the fryer — the fryer itself is up in flames, thick gray smoke swirling up into the air and soaring high above the tree line now. In the distance, the echo of sirens. Henry may faint right here, in the middle of his backyard at his new home before he's even unpacked, with all the neighbors and his family and friends watching on, on his first official American Thanksgiving. It is, by all means, not what he’d envisioned for the day. 

'til the walls did crumble and by ninzied

So much for using the wrong fork at dinner. He’s pretty sure this is a thousand times worse. Hundred-thousand? Nora could give him the exact number. Also, he’s pretty sure there’s still buttercream on his ass. . Or, Alex has his bisexual awakening in a bathroom at Buckingham Palace, and also finds leftover cake in Henry’s hair. The two things are not not related.

Bisexual Disaster Alex Claremont-Diaz by TuppingLiberty

Five times Alex wears an amusing bi pride shirt to Brooklyn Pride, and one time both he and Henry do it.

Moon Bride (To Have and To Hold) by SatinBirds

When the man is brought before him, it’s as if the whole world stops. Clad in delicate gossamer, his apparent frailty is accentuated by the sheer fabric. It is likely a cheap attempt to entice him, yet it only elicits displeasure from the king. He already wishes to dress this fragile figure in the veil of his people, cover him from invidious and lustful eyes.

once, successfully by vibrantsaturn

ACD okay, so. full disclosure and just so you know, i'm not into men or anything HYou're literally on Grindr right now? ACD ok??? and i guess people who are lactose intolerant can't walk down the fucking dairy aisle, huh???? i'm just looking, man or, Grindr, once (un)successfully, etc., etc.

kiss me through the phone by violetbaudelairequagmire

[Unknown Number] *Attached image: a shirtless, tanned torso, cropped at the top of shoulders, holding up two brightly patterned ties* which 1? Excuse me? or, Alex accidentally texts the wrong number and then just never stops.

Risotto + Melanze + Dolce (a love story) by villiageidiot

Alex doesn’t necessarily need a job—a full course load (plus some) is more than enough to fill his time—but he hasn’t had much of a social life since starting law school, and his coffee habit could use a few extra dollars. When June tells him the restaurant is looking for help, particularly on their Thursday Spaghetti Special night, he halfheartedly agrees. Everything that happens thereafter is technically her fault, a fact he likes pointing out any time she tries to yell at him for something, like serving uncooked garlic bread, or accidentally making a grown man cry, or breaking public indecency laws. Or: Alex works at an Italian restaurant and is very bad at it. Henry is a customer and doesn’t seem to mind.

until next time! if you'd like to be tagged in future lists for whatever reason, let me know!

tagging: @starkfridays, @stilesgivesmefeels

[by-ilmater]

piggy-backing off of this post by @galedekarios and because i have been suffering through a chronic pain flare up of my own for the past week or so (thanks, genetics), i've been having a lot of thoughts about gale post orb, in a lifetime where mystra removes it.

because i firmly believe, regardless of how powerful mystra's magic may be, there's no way gale had that kind of destructive, consuming power in his body for that long and didn't suffer some lasting effects from it. at a base level, the visible scar it left on his body feels more or less permanent. it may fade with time, but it will never fully disappear. more than that, it hurts. when it's cold or rainy out, it aches, and he has to apply a soothing balm to help with the dull throbbing in his chest.

but the orb's power wasn't neatly contained to the area under that scar. it was in his blood, throughout his whole body. this is what causes the full body aches and stiffness and pain. gale will go for weeks feeling relatively fine, maybe a short tired spell here and there, or a sore spot or two in his neck from spending too much time reading. and then he wakes up one day and getting out of bed feels like a herculean task. he feels like he'd been trampled by a deep rothe the day before, or like he ran the border of waterdeep without stopping. his body aches, his joints are stiff and sore, and his skin feels like it's on fire, like the inside of his robe is covered in tiny spines. and he has no way to predict this, no way to feel it coming on.

I like to hope that tav and tara are there to take care of him during these times. he absolutely fights them, tells them to stop fussing, he's a grown man, dammit, an archwizard! but tav just gently tells him to shut up, draws him a hot bath, and washes his hair while he drifts off in the lightly scented warmth.

[jo-harrington]

Magnificum et Horribillis (Eddie Munson x Reader)

Pairings/Relationships: Older!Eddie Munson/Reader

Warnings/Themes: Angst, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Philosophical Themes, Allusion to Chronic Pain and Depression, Vague Smut, Life and Death as Abstract Themes, Suicidal Ideation, Big Feelings Ahead BEWARE

Note: This started as a poem for @somnambulic-thing but it evolved into fic. Because I kept writing more and of course it did. Will also give a little shout to @deathbecomesthem because they’re always here for my little sad girl writing.

You can find my masterlist here.

Please do not interact if you are not 18+.

Enjoy!

---

There are more bad days than good.

You are more bad than good.

A nidus of wicked thoughts and words and feelings that wrack through you, body and soul.

Pain.

Some ancient angel or large primordial bird put you together one brittle, misshapen twig at a time until, from the abstract, came you. And since then, you were a bitter pill that seemed to poison and infect those around you. It could have been the end for you time and again but the void spat you out, unable to stomach you.

Even Satan rejected you.

Or so it seemed.

The thoughts always weighed heavily on your mind, inescapable. But that's why you were where you were, staring somewhat unseeingly at the person across from you.

A stranger in a waiting room, fiddling with new patient paperwork.

“Edward?” The receptionist called.

“Eddie,” he insisted as he turned toward the little window. “It’s Eddie.”

"I forgot to give you Dr. Bishop's questionnaire."

He’d shot you a tight-lipped smile as he’d stood and you let it bounce off of you, not out of disinterest but from too-slow reflexes. Everything about you was too slow, layered in sludge, and corrupt. You blinked and watched him then, from your perch, waiting for your own name to be called. Watched the heavy way he carried himself. Legs slightly weak, whether his muscles couldn’t support his body or his troubles...you couldn’t be sure.

Possibly both.

Beautiful and broken.

You recognized that in him.

Beautiful because he was broken.

Just like you.

Dr. Crane opened the door and called your name now. You offered Eddie a similar smile as you walked past him.

Offer him a silent kindness.

You didn't know it yet, but this was the reason you were turned away from the gates of hell.

A second chance. For both of you.

It would be alright.

---

You held your hands out over the sticky table beside his. Comparing them. Size, shape, rings, and shakiness.

Yours worse because of your nerves, his because of his pills. Somehow he still can keep his still enough for his job at the sign shop. And you when you’re typing reports or writing up notes during meetings.

“It’s because they have a purpose,” he said sagely. “When we’re doing things they have a purpose so they know they can’t shake.”

“When did you get to be so smart?” You tease.

“Shut up.”

The waitress comes with your lunches and your hands try to retreat to your side of the booth but Eddie grabs one of them and runs his thumb over your knuckles as the plates get dropped and drinks refilled.

She comes with one more dish and begins the pomp and circumstance. You shoot a glare across the table at him; he always had to have some kind of spectacle about him, even now that he was, as he proclaimed, older and “mellowed out.”

You could only imagine how he was as a kid or in high school.

“I ordered flaming saganaki while you were in the bathroom,” he explained.

“I hate you.”

“You know you’ll have some.”

And you did.

These were special times. Cherished times between the two of you, where the dread of the world couldn’t reach you through the buffer of forks clacking on plates and ambient noise of people talking around you at other tables.

Late nights with Eddie at the Greek diner; holier than church.

“You know,” he said tentatively between mouthfuls of food. “You don’t have to have a purpose.”

“No?”

“I thought so for a while after…” he trailed off and you shifted in your seat.

“You don’t need to talk about it.” You told him. “We agreed that we were starting fresh. Together.”

“Yeah but I know how you are in there,” he grinned and tapped the side of his head. “Thinking of how you can be more purposeful, so maybe you’ll forget everything going on. I thought that way too, after everything. Keep busy. Play the guitar. Make the effort to see my friends. Otherwise they’d forget me. And all it did was…make me tired. Did too much, burned myself out.

“To rest is sometimes the greatest purpose you can have.”

Eddie shot a pointed look across the table.

“Ok,” you nodded. He was right. You had been thinking that. Fleetingly.

His brow got tighter.

“What? I said ok?!” You held your hands out. It was more than a fleeting thought. He grabbed fries off your plate and shoveled them into his mouth to distract from the awkward moment.

But he got his point across.

He knew you too well. Even after a few weeks. Two sides of the same coin.

Was it too early to say you loved him?

---

You’re so strong.

It echoes in your head as you lay there, too tired to scream and cry anymore, too much feeling, too much emotion.

You are simply too much for your body.

It was a bad day.

You told that to your mom on the phone and she came over anyway. "You're stronger than anyone realizes, even you." What a slap in the face. You didn’t need to be strong. You needed to be left alone to rot here for a little while. Broken body, broken mind, broken soul.

She didn't understand that, she never did.

And so you screamed it at her.

The culmination of how she could fix your life, you just needed to listen to her, when she refused to listen to you. You had always been this abstract concept. A doll for her to dress up and play pretend with, not a human.

Years of pain you didn't mean to reflect back at her, but you did anyway.

Because you were weak.

Because it was a bad day.

"Something's gotta change," she shook her head as she stormed out. "There's something seriously wrong with you."

You knew that.

But it still hurt.

And then she called Eddie.

"She's just worried about you," he laid down next to you.

"Can she stop?" you asked. "Her obligation to me is over. She's not a mother anymore. She's been released from her sentence."

"Wayne--"

"I don't want to hear about Wayne," you wrenched your eyes shut, squeezed them shut, because you could feel the poison building in you again and you knew that you couldn't control it if the beast deep inside you wanted to attack. You couldn't do that to him. "Wayne is great. And even if he wasn't, it's not the same. So please..."

"I just..."

You turn and stare at him with wide, pleading eyes.

"Please Eddie."

He's never seen you like this; you wanted to hide this part of yourself from him. You wouldn't blame him if he ran away.

And as your body gave up on you again, you expected the bed to shift and the door to squeak open and slam shut.

But it never did.

"Alright," he whispered and shifted closer. Not touching. Just...closer. The heat of him brushing the length of your body. Enough for now. "I get it."

---

If the diner was holy, this was a place of insurmountable divinity.

Whispered words floating over skin and evaporating.

An orgasm secondary to a confession.

The closeness to one another, in body and in spirit, meant more than anything.

“I thought it was going to be over,” he muttered against your cheek. “I wanted it to be over. Finger on the trigger. A friend stopped me. And I hated him for it.”

You’re silent as he uses you, just as you’ve used him a hundred times. You open your mouths and swallow one another’s sorrows. It’s your own form of soothing and healing. Like licking a wound.

A doctor, a therapist, a friend could only hear so much. This was an act of consuming…becoming…

Was it healthy? Probably not.

But neither of you were.

“I’m exactly what they said I am.”

You feel his tears now. Or yours. They’re one in the same here. You are one in the same. Magnificent and horrible, the two of you.

“I’m nothing. I’m a freak. I’m a monster.”

“You’re my monster,” you whisper.

He spilled himself inside of you and all of his sorrow, expelled, warmed you from within.

---

You stared at the casket.

There was no hole in your chest.

No pain, no fear, no anger, no sorrow.

No numbness either.

Simply peace.

Death was peaceful. An old friend. Even if He wasn’t here for you this time.

You and Eddie had joked, the many times when you dragged him and the single time he dragged you to funerals like these, how yours would be.

Everyone mourned in their own way. You both liked to laugh.

“I want the full weekend at Bernie’s treatment,” he whispered conspiratorially. “Call my friends Gareth and Jeff and have them walk me around the room.”

“I want,” you upped the ante then, “you to make a life accurate paper mache model of me for the casket and halfway through the memorial, you beat me with a stick.”

“Can I put candy inside? Like a piñata?”

“You see the vision,” you kissed him proudly, happy that you found someone who found humor in your twisted ideas.

And you both liked to be unapologetically yourselves.

“You know those songs?” He started.

“The ones you think I don’t know about?” You rested your head on his shoulder. “Yeah.”

“Don’t throw em out or anything if I ever…” he shrugged. “Yeah. Make copies of them at the library or something.”

“Maybe I’ll get them published, like poems. The Unfinished Works of Edward J. Munson.”

“Like Mozarts Requiem.”

“So you do listen to my tapes.”

“When you aren’t home and I need to clear the ol’ nog, yeah.”

“Knew it,” you grinned triumphantly. There was a beat.

You wanted to ask him to look through your pictures, to remember you for who you were and not some idealized perfect thing like other people spoke of in a eulogy. You wanted him to remember you for the raw and wild thing that fought and spat and hissed and also loved and loved.

But you didn’t need to say it, because you knew he would.

You saw each other. Honored each other. The good and bad. The beautiful, broken, and incomplete.

He would make sure, if the time came, the world would know exactly who you were. Because he knew.

You took his shaky hand in yours and squeezed.

“You ok?” Eddie asked and pecked a kiss onto your head as you watched the casket be lowered into the ground.

“Yeah,” you smiled.

It was a good day.

[lilacxquartz]

Don’t Make Me Feel Alive | Chapter 1

Kenjaku (Pseudo-Geto) x Fem!Reader

[This fic contains Shibuya Arc spoilers and is updated every Saturday.]

ABOUT: Diagnosed at an early age with an illness that slowly deteriorated your body; you went from being a promising sorcerer to a retired husk of your once former self until he found you, offering you an opportunity to live instead—not that you had a choice to refuse.

CHAPTER SUMMARY: You used to be so powerful before your illness claimed you and right on your deathbed, rather than finally meeting your end, you met your salvation instead. Or did you?

TAGS/THEMES: (in the future chapters) »yandere, chronically ill reader, forced dynamic, non-con, dub-con, violence, caretaking, unrequited feelings, sorcerer reader, dead-dove, mixed pov, potential interpretations of dubious sorcery«

1. Beginning.

You were born with a disease; a terrible one too.

At first, you didn’t really notice it in your youth as the progression was initially subtle, the signs not really quite there just yet and for that duration, you were bustling with potential, a promising sorcerer with a powerful technique—a future so bright and aglow with promise.

However, all good things must come to an end and that’s exactly where you were headed.

Even if you were once sculpted with such strength and vibrancy—the illness drained away all the colour from your once saturated existence, replacing your present day life with a film of bleak monochrome, anchoring away at your body, soul and mind.

Not even your cursed technique known for its electrifying power was capable of reigniting the spark lost within you; your body relented against you, forcing you to succumb and deteriorate with not a single thing you could do.

It was a little humiliating in a way—like a bitter pill that you weren’t quite ready to swallow and yet here you were, forced to face reality whether you wanted to or not.

It felt strange being on your deathbed in your mid twenties, but it wasn’t all too bad.

The doctor who oversaw you did her best to offer comfort, assuring you that it likely wasn’t your time just yet, but she didn’t feel what you did, she didn’t understand your body the same way that you did. It was close, almost time for you to go, but strangely you didn’t quite mind. Whether it was your final week or your final day, you felt excited; you wanted to rest.

This was a sickness that made you feel weak after all, so tired and terribly sore.

So when you felt that strangely alluring pull invite you to a place you probably shouldn’t quite tempt going to just yet, you found yourself unable to resist the promise of a good sleep. Maybe even, with some luck, it could last forever and you would never have to live out your days in pain again.

To finally be devoid of suffering.

To drift off into oblivion, lost in an eternal void.

And yet, as you succumbed to the total darkness that otherwise awaited you, there was a strange sensation that manifested in the waking world—an interference of some kind? It felt as though unseen hands reached out to grab you, interrupting you from going under a final time and pulling you back to the surface, forcing you to live another day.

Your eyes reluctantly opened, feeling that something was off.

You were being monitored—watched by something, someone.

Your eyes focused on the person who stood before you, meeting with his chilling gaze from a stare so vacant and devoid of humanity, that he could have been the devil himself.

The stranger greeted you with cold indifference, bordering contempt as he continued to guide his gaze, the palms that he had initially planted firm against your chest now slowly moving away, having successfully done something that you couldn’t quite understand; your body still felt sore and yet, the pull of the void wasn’t so strong anymore.

Did he just give you life?

“It would be such a waste of a good technique if you were to die right now, you know,” the stranger spoke, his voice calm and deliberate, laced with a threat that he kept hidden well.

“What good is it if I can’t use it?” you croaked in response.

His lips curled into an amused smile as he heard your question, those soulless eyes finally ablaze with life, a flicker of something almost human.

“You can. Or, at least, I can make it so that you will be able to again.”

“Impossible,” you denied, knowing fully well that your body didn’t work the way you wanted it to, no matter how many times you have tried before.

“Don’t be so sure,” he persisted, his voice ringing almost melodic as he continued to fill your mind with ideas you couldn’t quite believe, “don’t you want to live your life again?”

You sighed into a nod, however not trusting the stranger just yet. There was something incredibly off-putting about him, seeming just a little too calculated and methodic, as if danger lurked behind his promising words.

“I mean, I want to, but…” you began.

“Sleep on it,” he told you, seeming to tease you as his widening grin revealed his teeth, “you were about to anyway, weren’t you?”

“Y-yeah, but-”

“Then do so,” he said, taking a step forward, “dream.”

The strange man’s words felt strangely hypnotic as you found yourself exhausted once again. A part of you wondered if this was some sort of hallucination already, perhaps one of those dreams that people could have as their bodies closed up shop, even if you did clock it as unfortunately real.

You closed your eyes as you let the pull of the void take you under once more, feeling the strangely familiar touch of unseen hands tugging away at your body once again, pulling your soul back up to the surface, preventing you from fading away. It was again that you felt haunted by a looming danger, your eyes blurring to focus awake.

When you finally properly awoke, you took immediate note that you weren’t in the hospital anymore despite being hooked up to similar machinery.

Where exactly were you?

As you sat up to make sense of your surroundings, your eyes scrolled around the room in a surge of desperation—your gaze begging for a clue, only for your stomach to drop as your body froze. Right by the door, he stood there, that same man from before with his creepy, unsettling smile.

“I will be honest with you though, you might not like what you’ll have to do,” the strange man spoke, his words flowing as smoothly as they did before.

“Which is…?” you asked, sounding a little resigned. Of course there was a catch, there always was.

“You’re going to be helping me with something.”

You blinked, “And that’s bad?”

“Given your prior alignment, I’d say so,” he smiled as he took a step closer, his fingertips brushing against your cheek, “but worry not, you will live should you accept.”

“But what if I refuse?” you dared to ask, your voice barely a whisper as his touch seemed to dampen your ability to speak.

“Don’t be silly,” he replied with a softer tone, his black eyes boring into yours as he intensified his unrelenting gaze—his smile falling flat, “I wouldn’t let you.”

(Not even if you tried to do so again and again.)

Next Chapter.

[immortalsys]

Kaeya (angst) Headcanons !!! yayy

Tw religous themes

- He has a golden eye, which he hides beneath the patch. Around it, there's a burn scar, but his vision recovered itself through the use of khemia. His tears are golden, too.

- When he first arrived in Mondstadt, he had a strong, "strange" accent which faded over time. His way of speaking was also odd; it resembled the vocabulary of ancient Mond. This also faded away.

- Being near Statues of the Seven triggers chronic pains in his joints and weighs down his body. Looking at them results in eye-pain, especially the golden one. This pain lessens when he lowers his head in respect.

- The Statues terrified him as a child. Even as an adult, there is a primal, creeping anxiety blossoming anytime he gets close.

- Additionally, the Wind has been a suspiciously reactive element; near Statues, it wraps around him, both as comfort and silent warning. It becomes icy and sharp on days he bitterly thinks of home, warm and soothing on restless nights he spends patrolling.

- He does not pray. However, he isn't blind to signs either.

- He's forgotten some of the spoken language and runes of khaenriah. They still manage to haunt his dreams almost each night, follow him in Domains.

- speaking of; He hears echoed cries in ancient domains. Begs to save them, to free them of their agony, to stay. He does his best to ignore them.

- His own vision hurts. Wearing it at all weighs his body down, though using it not only creates joint pain, but lines of corruption zapping up his skin as well. They fade quickly, yet leave a hollow agony behind.

- He always knew Venti was Barbatos; what else would make him freeze in terror like that but a God? ... Over time he's come to relax in his presence, the alcohol certainly helps.

- He's had nightmares about That Night with Diluc so many times he can't remember what really happened anymore

- Speaking of; he dreams of Mondstadt burning down a lot. Of having to choose one day. Of the kids he grew up with back home, of them screaming for help. Of the faces of the elders, calling out for him. Their golden boy, their hope, their future.

- Klee reminds him of young Diluc. Maybe that's why he's so lenient and protective of her.

- He has written over a dozen letters to Diluc but never sent any.

- Helping out elderly in Mondstadt makes him feel more genuine and fake all the same; and too often, their faces merge with one's of the past.

- He knows Diluc visits Crepus' grave at least three times a year. His father's birthday, deathday, and Dilucs own birthday. Kaeya watches from the cathedral, legs itching to man up and join him. He's never managed to build up the courage to do so.

- The cold of Dragonspine is surprisingly soothing to his pains. He guesses that's also the case for Albedo, and why the Researcher stays there majority of the year.

- Speaking of; Albedo. He feels some kind of kinship with the man. They've talked a bit, but he's never been brave enough to bring up Khaenriah.

[kiestrokes]

i like had this thought in the back of my head of like what ateez would be like with an S/O who has a physical illness bcs i actually have one which causes a lot of pain to my bones and i'm like in a constant state of pain and discomfort, been going on for about 12 years HELL YA ✊🏻, if i don't keep up on my meds (currently don't have the proper meds so it only tides me over for a little while-) then im basically fucked so IDK i feel like there isn't a lot of stuff written about this kind of stuff (im a sucker for shit i hardly ever am able to read abt) ALSO IM NOT 100% SURE IF YOUR REQS WERE OPEN BCS I DIDNT SEE ANYTHING POSTED ABT IT SO- YA- if you don't want to write it obviously you don't have to !! no pressure at all lovely

ATEEZ Caring for You: Chronic Illness Edition | SFW

Pairing: ATEEZ x Gender Neutral!Reader/You/Yn Rating: SFW Genre: fluff, slice of life, headcanons, imagines, scenarios. Warnings: chronic illness + immunocompromised talk.

🗝️ Note: Hey atiny anon! You actually asked the right person; I have fibromyalgia combined with a few other annoying chronic illnesses. Because you can't just have one 😓 I hope that you can find a decent fucking doctor and get on the proper medication soon. That's the biggest part of the struggle, finding a physician that will listen and is competent enough. I hope this was enough, I tried to assign each member a caring task that I felt fit them! Has not been beta-ed.

Disclaimers: This is a work of fiction; I do not own any of the idols depicted below. 

Seonghwa 

He’s here to help you prevent all the chronic pain that he can. Booking you massage visits. Trips to the hot springs. All the arnica rubs. Silly little games the two of you play, to keep your mind off the pain and depression spirals. His favorite is seeing who can build their new Lego set the quickest. Hwa is the biggest advocate for you, he would never return a dish at the restaurant when its wrong. But he will fight for you at every appointment, every pharmacy, wherever you need him to. Because he knows you've grown tired of fighting all the time.

Hongjoong

HJ's specialty is flexibility. You have a sudden burst of energy? He’s down to go explore that new pop-up market with you. You’ve come down with a bout of bone numbing pain? That’s cool, you’re getting changed into comfy clothes and piled up on the couch. Swaddled in your heating pad with all the snacks. Where he falls asleep on your shoulder. HJ never gets frustrated with your rapid change in mood or plans. Nothing but the most understanding partner you could ever have asked for, and boy is he so cute and snuggly when dozing on you. Small hands seeking your face for drowsy kisses that soothe your aches just a smidge.

Yunho

The quiet presence, the one who knows what you need before you say it. Passing you tissues, making you a cup of tea and most importantly holding you so that you can cry. Shedding angry tears about how frustrated you are with your own body for betraying you. For feeling weak. For missing out on things. He's gently calming every frayed nerve in your brain. Reassuring you that you're exactly where you need to be in this moment, and he will bring all of the fun to you. And he does, in small, manageable doses.

Yeosang

His way of caring for you is through caring for your outside. All the skin masks, hair treatments, skin softening lotions because if you feel cruddy, at least he can make you feel cute and comfortable. They do heal though, in their own way. The extra moisture of the humidifier and every cream and essence he buffs into your skin helps keep some of the aches away. Subsiding the itchiness of the nerve pain, just a little. And you can’t get over how cute Yeosang looks in each animal themed headband or with his hair tied back into teeny space buns or how nice his hands feel every time they glide over your skin.

San

Where Yunho is quietly attentive, San is passionately attentive. You cry, he cries (while holding you). Quite literally your pain, is his pain and he’s here to be with you through each step. No judgment is ever passed when he has to pick up your extra chores around the house. Because to him, that is the smallest act of service he can perform for you. San is the one who wishes he could take on your pain, that he could fight it and destroy it and it pains him that he cannot. So he will simply have to do everything else.

Mingi

He thrives on making you laugh and smile through tough days, because he understands feeling burdensome. Mingi never wants you to feel that way, he wants to make sure you verbally know that your presence is needed and welcome. His favorite thing is cuddled up in bed with you wrapped in your heated blanket watching shows. You looking so small in his arms, giving him the feeling of protecting something. He reassures you constantly, because he himself seeks constant reassurance. Mingi never tires of this, he will reaffirm every single self deprecating thought with a compliment even on his worst days.

Wooyoung 

He cares for you with his skinship, which is incredibly healing. His happy heartbeat encourages yours. His strong hands make you feel loved and needed. Who would cuddle him if not you? Woo often reminds you, whispering the phrase into your ear as he traces his nails through your hair, or while rhythmically drawing circles on your spine. Making you float into dream land and anchoring you in the moment with him at the same time. Woo also loves making you whatever dish you’re craving, knowing you need energy to fight off fatigue and pain. And cooking is one of his many, many love languages.

Jongho

Needing to hoard all the extra rest you can get; you seek out solace at Jongho’s place for nap time. Jongho has taken notice, he’s also taken inventory as to which blankets of his you prefer, the pillows that keep you asleep the longest, what temperature you prefer the room to be based on what you’re wearing. All your favorite snacks before or after. New blackout curtains. He’s made his place your ultimate nap zone. New heated blankets. Duplicates of your fave lounge wear and socks. And he takes his payment in cuddles. Holding you tightly in his bed or sprawled on the couch. Sometimes he falls asleep himself and flips you onto your back to bury into your side like a full-sized teddy bear.

© COPYRIGHT 2023 by kiestrokes All rights reserved. No portion of this work may be reproduced without written permission from the author. This includes translations.