#unfortunately though it rarely comes up because I'm rarely in conflict and try my best to be honest as an adult

[hadoriel]

I wanna be a fictional character so I can have cool abilities and talents that actually help advance a plot orz

I wanna read theorycrafting posts about myself and be like WOW somebody really cares about me as an orchestrator of fate!! NICE

Can't tell if that would count as god complex, narcissism, nihilism or self esteem issues though

[arknights-imagines]

GOD that mostima post had me FEELING things. I'm glad I'm not the only one who appreciates mostima a lot wahhh ; v ; i was wondering if maybe you could do a mostima/doctor after their established relationship when one of them has got injured or smth? :o I feel like with her belief that she can't hold warmth having to provide it in a dire situation would be an interesting challenge for mostima, and likewise being on the receiving end of it in a situation like that too for her!!

(It's good to be back!!! 😭🥳)

Aaaa tysm anon! 😭🥺 I'm glad you like my stuff on Mostima haha 👉👈 tbh she's grown a lot on me since I've started this blog!! 💕 She's very underappreciated 🥺 Anywho, thanks for the request and I hope I did Mostima justice here~ 🌸

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Easing Worry

Imagine format; no fixed perspective!

Contains: Mostima, reader as the Doctor, gender neutral Doctor/no gender mentioned, established relationship, a few background characters, very brief mentions of an explosions and injuries, fluff with the tiniest bit of angst, Mostima having to deal with her emotions 👉👈

Word count: just over 2k!

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“Mostima, come in! Mostima!!”

Static was all that came in reply despite the amount of times you called out into the communications link. Frustrated, you sighed sharply and watched the blink of the Caster’s tracker on the map of the ruins displayed on the screen before yourself, Amiya and Texas.

Mostima had been dispatched on an Operation to some old city ruins in Kazedel for a Mission; Unfortunately, you couldn’t accompany the Squad she was sent out with, and thanks to her lone wolf nature the Caster strayed from the other Operators who were with her. She must’ve run into trouble soon after, because when you had tried advising her to return to her Squad members through the comms-link, all that came in reply was a commotion and then silence.

“...That’s not good.” Texas’ tone wasn't very telling, but her furrowed brows and tight jaw read unease. From beside you, Amiya spoke up, “Doctor, what would you like to do?”

Mostima’s tracker was still active, which meant she must’ve been alive - still, the pit of worry in your stomach didn't fade in the slightest. When you didn't reply, Amiya decided to take the lead, “We should wait a little while longer. Maybe Ms. Mostima will get back to us…”

You had your rapt attention on the screen before you, and so when no protest from you came, everyone did as Amiya said. Even after some time passed, the tracker didn't move and nothing came through the communications link.

From her spot at another console nearby, Closure huffed loudly, “...our drones can't find her.” When you turned to look at her, she went on, “Doctor, Mostima is definitely alive down there but… we can't see her from up here, and I have no idea what happened.”

Your stomach dropped to the floor and you fell silent; within seconds the worry began eating at your insides, soon creating a suffocating tension around your heart. The thought of something happening to Mostima made you feel ill - more ill than any sickness had ever made you feel.

Amiya spoke in your place again, “P-Perhaps we should send someone. I’ll call one of our other Operators and we can create a plan-” “No, I’ll go.” Everyone's heads snapped to you right away, their faces filled with consternation and slight surprise. As was expected, Amiya shook her head right away, “Doctor, it isn't safe down there-” Though difficult, you shook your head and replied as calmly as you can manage; if it wasn't safe for you, then Mostima was in grave danger and needed to be extracted right away.

Amiya seemed conflicted - however, everyone was well aware of how much Mostima meant to you, and how much you meant to her. Your relationship was common knowledge around Rhodes Island by that point. And so, though she was worried for your safety, the Chimera nodded and stepped in front of the map displayed on the screen to take your place, “Alright, got it. I trust you, Doctor - bring Ms. Mostima back safe and sound!”

Not wishing to waste any time, you began heading straight towards the door of the aircraft; your heart pounded almost deafeningly in your ears as you outfitted yourself with proper protective care and a parachute. Closure opened the aircraft door, and you stepped close to the edge with one thought in your mind;

‘Please be okay, Mostima.’

…

The expanse of ruined land was silent; the heavy scent of sulfur and ash was carried in the air, and the dust from the building collapse was only just settling. Convinced that they had successfully killed any threat, the Reunion soldiers took their leave - the aircraft that was hovering over them couldn't mean good news on their end.

Unable to move, Mostima groaned quietly - she had only just regained consciousness, what happened? She didn't quite remember right then. Some sort of heavy weight is putting pressure on her whole body, especially her legs and chest. As she attempted to open her eyes, pain spread throughout her skull like a flood and forced her to screw them shut again. Somewhat paralyzed under whatever was holding her down, the Caster stayed lying on the ground, taking in shallow breaths.

When her ears began to stop ringing, the sound of footsteps followed by a voice calling her name caused Mostima to snap back into reality once more. ‘....Doctor?’; That was right, she was on an Operation you assigned her to, but something had gone wrong along the way. Had you come looking for her?

Finally, she found her strength; it wasn't much, however. Wincing as she moved her body, the Caster lifted her arms and began forcing up the rubble that was pinning her form down as best she could. Your voice tore through the air again - “Mostima!” - and your quickened footsteps neared her. You assisted her in lifting the remnants of the exploded building off her body, insisting that she tried to move as little as possible as you removed the rest of the rubble from her body.

Moaning a little in pain, Mostima shakily shifted her body until she was sat with her back against one of the pieces of debris you had helped lift off her. With the adrenaline now gone, pain began filling her body in so many places that even breathing began to sting; and yet, when you had given your attention to her, her usual soft smile played on the Caster’s lips.

You knelt beside her right away, hands hovering over her form, “Mostima, are you okay?” Grinning still, she managed a nod, “Doctor, hello to you too…” Though she tried, she was unable to bite back the pained wince she made as she lifted her arm to wave at you. Your eyebrows knitted together and your face twisted in a frown - and yet Mostima was smiling at you still.

“What happened?” Your hand had come to cup her cheek, but she shook her head before her fingers could rest on her skin; no matter how much time you two spent together, it seemed her instinct was still to reject any affection you wished to give her. Avoiding your gaze, she began to explain, “During the Operation, the Squad got ambushed. Hm, our guys were actually doing well, we had almost taken care of all of them.” A small sigh bridged her sentences, “But just as things were wrapping up, I saw a few of the Reunion trying to make an escape. I figured that was no good, so I went after them...haha, I guess I walked right into their trap, because the next thing I knew I was under all that rubble.”

While she had been talking, your hands were pressing and running over parts of her body checking for injuries; something seemed to be impeding your thoughts, however, because though you were supposed to be scanning for wounds, your eyes were staring at the ground. Were you upset?

Hoping to lighten the mood, Mostima spoke once again, This time a strained laugh left her, “Ahaha...sorry, I still really don’t get this whole ‘teamwork’ thing.” Immediately, you shook your head, “No… don’t worry, I’m not mad.” She lifted a bow at you.

Your eyes finally looked up from the ground and you reached into the bag you were carrying, unearthing bandages and a clean cloth. The Caster fell quiet as she allowed you to cover the scrapes and cuts on her arms - your touch was so gentle, you touched her as if she was made of precious glass. You took the cloth in your hand then lifted it to her face; this time, however, Mostima didn't shake you off or pull away. Instead, she met your gaze - and what she saw caused her heart to ache.

Your face was riven with worry, only some relief was on your features - probably due to the fact that she was still alive. Mostima’s calm grin faltered, “Doctor….” In all honesty, seeing you so worried over her caused the Caster more pain than any of her injuries did; this wasn't her intention, she didn't mean to panic you to the point that you came down to look for her.

She wasn't used to this, you were both acutely aware of that. Mostima worked alone, Mostima dealt with things alone; before you, every person she held dear was someone she also ended up pushing away. Close bonds - she didn't need them, the Caster told herself, there was no need for them in her line of work. And so she was never raring to work with others, and people she had relationships with barely ever saw her anymore.

But with you, her usual method of pushing away until the other person gave up didn't work. And soon, thanks to your persistence, warmth began blooming in her heart - and she was helpless to stop it.

Unfortunately, Mostima was just as helpless when it came to expressing all the warmth she held for you in her heart. You caused emotions she contended with, and so her first instinct was to pull away or push you back; and that usually just left both of you feeling hurt. The Caster didn't believe in her capacity to encompass love or warmth - but you did.

Finally, Mostima found her voice once more, “Doctor...angel.” She corrected herself, instead using the nickname you rarely ever heard from her. It was mushy, cheesy - and yet butterflies filled your stomach every time she used it. Once she was sure she had your attention, the Caster spoke, trying her absolute best and allowing all of her words to come from her heart, “I’m sorry, I know I must’ve scared you really bad. I didn't mean...to worry you.”

Your face softened at her words; placing the cloth down, your hand found its way to hers. When she interlaced her fingers with your own, you smiled gently. Relieved to see you more at ease, Mostima squeezed your hand as best she could considering her loss of strength before continuing, “Unfortunately - in case you haven't noticed - I’m terrible at this. Haha…you’re really unlucky to have fallen in love with someone like me. I push people away, I push everyone away.” Her smile had gone, and now her face was filled with serious, genuine sincerity. “But I don’t want you to go away, you’re the first person in a long time who I’ve wanted to stay with. And I know I’m not good at showing it…”

Gathering some of her strength, the Caster shut her eyes as she lifted your hand to her lips and placed a gentle kiss on your fingers. “But my dear Doctor, my sweet angel - I care so much about you. Actually, scratch that... I love you, I love you so much.” And she trailed off, relaxing with her lips on your hand and losing herself in the moment for just a second or two.

It felt indescribably warm to just shut her eyes and pretend it was just you and her in the entirety of Terra. While it was hard to take down all her walls, it was so much better than deflecting your affections and was worth it for the way her heart grew in her chest as she allowed herself and you to be compassionate towards one another.

When your hand moved to cup her cheek, Mostima leaned into your touch rather than pulling away. When her eyes fluttered open, her gaze fell upon your effusive smile; “I love you too, Mostima. I promise I’m not going anywhere, no matter what.” Your words prompted her to chime with a light laugh, “Hehe, I guess there’s no getting rid of you, huh~?” You shook your head in reply - when your grin widened, she couldn't help but mirror the expression.

Facial features softening and becoming sincere, she left another kiss on the inside of your palm, “I’ve never had anyone like you...Sorry if I’m not always cooperative. Thanks for looking after me, Doctor.” A warm, passionate grin came to your face as you replied, “Always, Mostima.”

The area that surrounded the two of you was in a ruinous state, that same heavy scent still hung in the air and injuries were still littered all over Mostima’s body. And yet; upon seeing your smile, her body filled with a heartened feeling.

[ill-be-istj-if-no-one-else-is]

1) Hey, i also would like to get typed by you. i'm not sure what kind of information you need for typing though, so if you cannot type me by this then i'd understand of course. i usually am reserved and quiet around people and it's very important for me to have at least a little time for myself every day, or else it would be hard for me to function. responsibilities and being with people exhausts me thats why i need some time to recover from that on a daily basis.

2) i'm much less reserved when i'm around people i trust like my family or close friends but i still feel drained if i spent more than 5 hours with them without pause, even with them. compared to most people, i'd say i'm very sensitive and easily feel offended or hurt unfortunately. but thats why i also am very considerate towards other people and dont want them to feel as shitty aswell. i dont like hurting other people so i prefer avoiding any kind of conflict. i really do try to treat others           

3) the same way i would like to be treated. its the best thing you can do because it makes you feel good and other people too. i don't like to work and i'm actually a lazy person (my room looks messy because of it) but when i know that something is important and i have to do it, then i suddenly am very hardworking - i'm like "if i have to do that shit, then at least with good results and success" and i like setting the biggest goals possible for me so that i can improve myself and i think its          

           4) its nice and important to try to reach as much as you are capable of in life, because that not only means a better life but also more interesting experiences along the way. i enjoy organizing things and making a to-do list for the next day in my mind. i rarely forget important things, no matter how detailed they are. i also got told that im very reliable by my teachers in school and now also by my boss and i also got told that im very patient in situations where they would lose it           

5) i also have negative characteristics of course, such as being waay too sensitive as i said and also dwelling on hurtful things that happened to me for centuries and im often shy and very self-conscious    

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Hi anon,

Before I start, for reference to future people reading this: if you have questions about what is useful for typing, I have tried to provide some guidance in the FAQ! I also recommend going through the answered ask tag (not in full, just a good skim) to get a feel for questions I’ve answered and what people asked, especially if you (like me) tend to do better with examples rather than description.

Based on this, I’m definitely going to type you as an introvert and a feeler; thinkers can absolutely be very sensitive but they tend to be less in tune with how sensitive they are. That said given the exceptionally high level of introversion and sensitivity discussed this is also at the point where I’d say that if it’s feasible for you to get checked for social anxiety, it certainly wouldn’t hurt - I am not diagnosing it and am totally unqualified to do so, but you’re ticking the boxes that make me say “ask a person who is qualified to do so”.

From your enjoyment of planning and organizing and being detail oriented, as well as your ‘do unto others as you’d like to be done to you’ I think you’re likely an ISFJ. Fe users tend to treat others as they’d themselves like to be treated, which often comes from a place of good intent, but does make some typical extroverted-judging assumptions, and your reliability and sense of duty both fit high Si. It’s possible that you’re an ISFJ 9, which would contribute to some of the perceived laziness when it comes to your own space as well as the avoidance of conflict, but it’s not certain.

I also in this case recommend reading up on Gretchen Rubin’s four tendencies, which I like as a shorthand to understanding why people meet certain goals and not others. Basically, it’s the four options for whether a person meets external expectations (job or school assignments, familial obligations) and whether they meet internal ones (personal growth goals). It’s quite common to have someone who lets their own internal obligations, like cleaning their room or committing to self care, slide, but who stays on top of external obligations out of a sense of not wanting to let others down.

[fexalted]

@asdmabel said: MULTIPLES!!! OF!!! THREE!!! MULTIPLES!!! OF!!! THREE!!! MULTIPLES!!! OF!!! THREE!!!

hahaha why am i not surprised

posting it like this bc readmores on ask posts sometimes don't work on mobile? and this is gonna get super long, so (also warning for talk of self harm / child abuse)

3 is a fic where ford, post-bill betrayal, uses the copy machine to make a clone of himself that can perform the surgery to put the metal plate in his head. it's in 2nd person (bc i'm incapable of writing anything else), and in the clone ford's pov

Ford opens an eye, squinting against the overhead light. You shut it off so he doesn't have to strain to see you, and he blinks groggily, taking in the room around him with a bleary gaze before settling on you.

You're about to tell him that the surgery went well, everything is fine, he's going to be okay, but Ford speaks before you do, shattering what little composure you have with one word.

"Stanley?" he breathes incredulously, his voice weak and cracking.

You're not sure if you have a heart anymore but you feel like it just stopped regardless. He's delusional, clearly the anesthesia hasn't worn off completely yet, and he's mistaken you for your—his—brother.

"I... I'm—" you start to explain, but stop suddenly. Ford's eyes are hazy and unfocused but hopeful, and you find you can't take that hope away so quickly. You might as well let one of you believe that Stan is actually here for you.

So you clear your throat and put on your best impression of Stan. Which, admittedly, is not very great; you're a little out of practice.

"Y-Yeah, Ford. It's me. It's Stan."

"Stanley," he says again, softer this time, more like a sigh. He reaches out for you and you flinch back, jerking your hands away instinctively before he can notice the number of fingers on them, and his face just crumples.

6 is the note of cut parts from other fics! which means i get to share the original ending i had started writing for make me believe again!! :D

...which i maybe shouldn't be so excited about, considering the subject matter, oops. in the initial draft of the fic, stan had also self-harmed in the past, and this ending was attempting to address that. i didn't get super far with it bc it was giving me some hard mood whiplash and i couldn't figure out how to fix it, but here it is anyway

"Hi, I'm Steve Pinington! Are you sick of bandages that are hard to remove? Then what you need is the Rip Off!"

You turn to Stanley, eyebrow raised, your expression a cross between confused and amused. "Steve Pinington?"

"Look, I uh, I couldn't use my real name, okay?" he explains, rubbing the back of his neck as his face and ears turn red with embarrassment. "Anyway they're not even supposed to be playing this anymore!"

"Please tell me that mustache is fake."

"Unfortunately, it isn't."

"Oh my god," you say, unable to stop a laugh from bubbling out of you. "How is that thing real? You couldn't even grow peach fuzz when we were teenagers!"

"Yeah, well, a lot of things have changed since then, haven't they?" Stanley snaps, and your laughter dies instantly. "Sorry," he adds a second later. "Just wasn't really in a good place back then."

You bite your tongue, your heart sinking. He wasn't just embarrassed, he was uncomfortable, and you just made things worse. And right after the two of you had started to truly patch up your relationship, no less!

You guess you both have more to talk about than you thought.

And you know you shouldn't ask what kind of place he was in then, but you're concerned and you need to make things okay again and he's rubbing at his arms and if you don't ask now you never will, so—

"Stanley," you start, hesitantly. "You don't have to answer this, but... The scars, on your arms. Are they...?" You can't seem to get out the final words, but thankfully he seems to get where you're trying to go.

"Some are from fights," he says. "A lot are, actually. You make more enemies than friends when you owe money to the wrong people. But, uh, some of the scars... I made."

Your heart shatters. "Stan..."

"I stopped, though!" he says quickly, before either one of you gets too emotional. "I stopped. I've been good about it, too. It's why I don't hide 'em. Feels like it helps to see how much they're healing or somethin', I dunno. Thought it might help you to see 'em, too. To know you're not alone, y'know?"

"I think seeing them has worried me more than anything, honestly," you say. "But I appreciate the thought behind it. I'm glad you're doing better."

"Right back at ya," Stanley says.

You don't ask him why he hurt himself. You don't really need to guess.

9 is a fic about stan and his conflicting feelings about filbrick (aka, the fic where i throw all my own dad issues). it's a bit of a mess bc i rarely have the energy to write in it so let's just skip to the end where ford gives stan a hug

"It wasn't your fault," Ford says. "You were just a kid, Stan. You didn't deserve any of that, and I'm sorry."

"Oh," you choke out, and you think you're crying? Your hands are shaking and there's a lump in your throat and your vision is blurring and yep those are definitely tears on your face. "Oh," you say again. Welp, this is embarrassing. You quickly try to scrub the tears from your eyes so you can save face in front of your brother, but Ford takes your hands and pulls you into a hug instead.

"I'm sorry," Ford says again, voice wobbling slightly. "I should've stood up for you back then. I should've protected you like you always protected me."

"That's—" you sniffle against Ford's shoulder, which is rapidly becoming soaked because of you. "That's not your fault, either. You were just a kid yourself. You got your fair share of it too."

"I know," he says. "I just..."

"It's okay."

"It's really not."

You try to laugh and end up making some sort of pathetic sob, half-stifled and choked off before it can escape your throat. Another sob slips out before you can hold it back, then another, and then you're all but bawling like a baby into your brother's sweater, while Ford rubs your back in gentle circles and you cling to him with a tight, trembling grip.

and last but not least, 12 is my brain trauma au fic, which i've already sent you a very stan-focused part of, so here's a smaller, still stan-focused bit (i promise this fic is actually about ford at least half the time shdksjdk) that i am very happy with

So maybe your grip is a little too tight when you take hold of both his hands, and maybe your voice is a little too loud and panicked when you tell him to look at you and breathe, but he listens, and he looks, and he breathes. And you grab his glasses and the two scrapbooks off the nightstand, and you flip through the pages together in silence.

And by dawn, the look of blank fear in your brother's eyes has been replaced by exhaustion and guilt and shame. He slumps against you, forehead pressed to your collarbone, and through the cracks in his voice come whispered apologies—for waking you, for scaring you, for forgetting you—and you drape a protective arm around his shoulders and shush him and tell him it's alright. He remembers again, and that's all that matters.

You have weathered your first storm at sea.