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miyaagis · 5 months

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i thought the world of you

bearing the boulder of being an older brother was something he never minded, but now all that's left is the mystery of where his well-intentioned efforts went astray. [ part two ]

+ pairing. older brother!choso / middle sister!reader

+ warnings. incest, non sorcerers au, hurt no comfort, liiiittle bit of smut. mdni 18+

he understood your pain, and at the same time he didn’t.

‘what did I do wrong?’ he wondered to himself when he saw your eyes brimming with tears, lips wobbly as you flinched away from him. it had been a while since he last saw you like that, teary-eyed and struggling to breathe. after all, it was him who always held you as you cried when you scraped your knee or failed a test.

that’s what older brothers do, and he took pride in it.

but as he tried to reach out again towards you, he frowned upon seeing you take another step away from him.

“what’s wrong?”

the deep gruff of his voice carried traces of annoyance and concern, not liking the way you were acting. he watched you hug your arms around your middle and look away, so unlike you.

“did you get hurt?” he kept pushing, frustration building up as no words left your lips, “talk to me, baby. i’m gettin’ worried.”

you had always been his pretty baby, the first one to ever make his heart warm up with love and care. maybe a bit more than usual, but as long as he saw you beam with that smile of yours, he’d pay no mind to what others thought. all it took was one look at you, and he swore he’d never allow harm to get its claws on you—his baby.

“don’t… don’t call me that.”

he reeked of her, the familiar scent threatening to make you vomit. it was easy for him to tell since you were scrunching up your nose just like you always did whenever you felt sick.

“don’t give me that tone, i’m your older brother.” he switched to an authoritative approach, his usually patient-self growing restless the more you pushed him away, “is this because of last night?”

the mere mention of it had your blood boiling again, the disgusting memories taking over your mind and making your face scrunch up, “why were you doing that with her!? it was our thing.”

“quit acting like a brat,” he sighed, tired already of your tantrum, “let’s go to the kitchen, you’ll wake her up and–”

“i’m leaving.”

the atmosphere suddenly became tense, and he didn’t like that feeling. he’s a man of few words, yes. but those words rendered him speechless in an instant. just how stubborn could you be? maybe he was in the wrong by not giving you a heads-up, he should’ve told you that it would be a matter of time before she got to experience it with him, just like you did when you were her age.

he could not neglect his other girl, she needed him too. even if he saw how it broke your heart when you caught him whispering words of praise against her lips—the same way he did with you—rolling his hips as his length stretched her walls. her loud cries echoed past the walls of her room, her hold on him tight even when the door opened and showed your shocked face.

he had to dismiss you quickly so it wouldn’t ruin the intimate experience he was giving her, not thinking how it would taint your own instead. and knowing he was the cause of your pain, broke his heart.

both of his baby sisters deserved his attention, and you had to learn to live with it, there was no other option.

however, you made the decision for him. what better punishment than to make him see he hasn’t been the perfect older brother he thought he was? losing you for sure would have him crawling back to you instead of your sister.

or not.

#tw.incest #jjk smut #choso x reader smut #choso smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #choso.xo

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angelatsumu · 3 months

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simon as your allistic husband

hello friends, i am autistic and i wanted a little allistic husband for my own comfort. this may be slightly unrelatable because autism is a spectrum and autistic people experience overwhelm and meltdowns differently. here is my interpretation of my experience (a very small picture of it).

cw: none, autistic reader x allistic!husband!simon riley<3, johnny is a bit overwhelming, overstimulating stimuli + potential meltdown

simon had always been your self-proclaimed protector. he was like a devotee the way he watched you, always keeping an eye on your mannerisms and responses. simon was on his knees before you with just one beck and call, and you knew this to be true in your heart of hearts. your lover, your beautiful simon, was privy to your disability and the way it could render you helpless with no regard for your plans for the day. in an effort to be an “adult”, you might overwork yourself directly into overstimulation or autistic burnout. if you had tried to mask well past your limits in social situations, you found yourself stimming in secretive but painful ways, and perhaps even losing all social awareness as a whole. you constantly cursed yourself for not getting a service dog to help you through these scenarios, but why would you when simon was at your side so quickly? simon knew you like the back of his hand, easily detecting the signs fo your withdrawal or teetering on the edge of insanity. Simon was so equipped to care for you, constantly studying your fidgeting and tone in any situation.

tonight was no different. Simon had asked if you felt comfortable with a small gathering of the Task Force after a bit of time apart, and you willfully agreed. you thoguht you’d checked all of the boxes to prepare yourself for the evening; you’d rested all day, gathered your stim toys and fidget rings, remembered to drink water (with several small reminders from simon), and you even ate an appropriate amount of foods to fuel you for social interaction. Simon was sure to allow you time to indulge your special interests and give you space without overwhelming stimuli. you’d felt pretty equipped for the night, especially since simon had ordered your comfort foods and even prepared a special nook incase you felt a bit overwhelmed. with earplugs in ears and a comfort outfit, you felt far more prepared with the help of your understanding lover. the overwhelming dread that usually accompanied social gatherings seemed to melt away with your anchor who was more than helpful in refilling your cup and taking care of you.

just as everyone was arriving, Simon was sure to dim the lights in the bedroom and set aside a bottle of water with your favorite stims to allow you a safe place. He hated to assume that you might approach metldown territory, but he’d learned that preparing for it is far better for you than simply hoping for the best. He’d taken the liberty of safety proofing the room, giving you a sensory swing and a cushioned corner to prevent you from harming yourself if the meltdown is to worsen beyond his control or interventions. He hummed as he made easy work of it, being sure to charge your headphones and queuing up a playlist you adored to allow you less work during a time of distress. goodness, he loved you so much. he loved doing this gentle and domestic work for you, and he loved the safety that came from his efforts.

it’s now well into the get-together, and Simon has you nestled into his chest. you find the smell of him grounding, and the compression of his arms squeezing around your torso makes you feel safe and comforted. your ears began to sting at the constant and overwhelming timbre of Johnny and Gaz’s bickering, seemingly infiltrating your brain and sowing seeds of hate. you’d tried to fidget with Simon’s dogtags or the hem of his shirt, but the constant booming of their voices had begun to sink its teeth into you. Simon was never loud, and he certainly never yelled in your vicinity without warning. your chest felt tight as you began to feel your clothes rubbing wrongly against your skin every time Simon had a hearty laugh at his coworkers. you squirmed in an attempt to regulate yourself, to move the painful energy you’d been harboring since your nervous system began to fray. the interaction was tiring, draining you of all your humanity as you had to pretend to be interested in the topic of conversation. your breathing shallowed, breaths quick and uneven as you tried your hardest to stave off the boiling under your skin. suddenly Simon’s skin against yours felt wrong, like your nerves were set aflame and stealing the little reserves of normality you’d been clinging to. you didn’t want this happen, you never did. you’d spend every waking moment post-meltdown crying and begging the skies above to “fix” you, to make you less susceptible to these painful experiences. you didn’t want to feel lie this anymore, to hurt anymore.

Simon feels the shift in energy, having stealthily been observing your descent into uncharted territory. he knows where your mind space is, knows that your mind is ricking you into believing you’re too much and that things were easier without you. the way you slightly fled his touch led him to slowly and sneakily withdraw his arms from you, placing them behind his head to allow you to be freed from his grasp. he relishes in the sigh you let out, the way you teeth latch onto his shirt and begin to chew away to calm the nerves. Simon calmly reaches to his right where your spare ear defenders are tucked away, and he slowly slides them over your head. he makes quick work of tying back your hair to lessen the amount of stimuli you had to process. your lover lessens his own chatter, reducing himself to careful nods and short sentences or small laughs to allow you a full realm of recovery. he gives you two taps to your back, a silent inquiry to your current state. you respond with a head shake, signaling that you were far beyond your capacity. simon could tell that your thoughts were being unkind to you, but he was certain he could help you through this difficult period. “they alright,” Price asks, eyes kind as they fall on your frame in Simon’s grasp. the men knew you were autistic, and they were more than supportive to you. Simon sighs, eye soft as he looked at the men and back at you. “Yeah, i think they're just pushing toward overload. ‘m gonna take them to the room, let them get this out,” Simon hums softly, timbre of his voice lowered to create less strain. He gives you another silent tap as a request to carry to your bed, and you nod softly against his chest. his chest dims the lighting of your living room, lessening the stimuli you’ve been taking in. Simon scoops you into his arms and carries you to your bedroom where he gently sits you on your bed. the lights have been dimmed, and Simon slides your weighted blanket closer to you. “Blanket’s here love. ‘M gonna let you have some space, but i’ll be back to check on you soon. ‘M so sorry this happened lovie, but I love you. You’re safe. I am not angry with you, and you’re allowed to feel these things,” He comforts you, placing your stims within reach as your eyes fix on the floor in front of you. He knows words have left you, and he hums before leaving the room to allow you time to process.

thank you for reading! if this experience does not feel very cloe to yours, please feel free to send a request with a different scenario of autism reader x allistic simon <3

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eosincuffs · 6 months

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This drabble is my first writing piece, idk if I’ll make it into a fic. I started writing down some thoughts and an exposition for myself and then I was like, this might make a nice lil prologue. Idk tho im a virgin in this. So if what here’s and obligatory ‘pls leave me be, im learning ;-;’

Dishonourably discharged 141 quartet! (also this is an xReader thought I promise)

0.7k words

Their last mission was an unfortunate, grievous endeavour. A negotiation of high profile hostage releases in an abandoned multi-story factory which turned out to be a trap. Even if it cost the terrorist organisation the lives of extraordinarily important extortion-able victims the notorious 141 needed to be wiped at whatever costs, which meant sacrifices had to be made.

Only no-one, not even himself, expected Price to chuck the bomb-covered man off the ledge, 2 stories down to where the hostages were held. It was a split second decision made to save the lives of his men and deal with the consequences later. And deal with the consequences they did. The explosion ripped apart the lower floor indiscriminate of flesh or rusted steel. The old, battered building caved in on itself momentarily, engulfing everything within into a black hole of scrap, wire and human cadaver.

By some miracle, although festering with wounds and decorated with jutted broken bones like arrows out their skin, the 141 lived to tell the tale. Undoubtedly, this would get them discharged for “on the field injuries”. And yes, they were supposed to be medically discharged . It was disappointing that their military careers (their sole drive in life) was over, but, yes, they were supposed to get a fat pension, full healthcare coverage for immediate family, veteran discounts for everything from groceries to mortgages and awards for their sacrifices. They were supposed to live the rest of their lives relaxing, hunting, pursuing unfinished dreams and/or hobbies.

Except the son of one of the hostages rallied the other victim’s families together and incriminated Price for manslaughter. The boys weren’t about to throw their Captain under the bus, disputed the charge despite Price’s pleading, and got incriminated by association. It wasn’t fair, but they were never going to win a trial against a pack of multi-billionaires, no matter the accusation or its validity. There was one small mercy though; because of their connections in the military they were dishonourably discharged instead of imprisoned (and considering that blood and money turn the world, it would probably been for a lifetime). Their records and achievements were wiped, awards taken away. They were left unfit for any veteran benefits and with chronic pain and injuries as the final nail in the coffin, unwanted souvenirs from that god forsaken mission.

Overtaken with hatred and disappointment from both the traumatic event and the experience of their metaphysical lives ending the men unwillingly closed this chapter: abandoned, empty, changed.

Ghost much like his callsign disappeared in the first week after they split, no contact, no goodbye, no nothing.

Gaz went to live with his relatives, trying to figure out his next step.

Price hunkered down with a former military friend and his family.

Soap moved back into his elderly, struggling mother’s small cottage. It’s the reason he went into the military in the first place, to help support his family.

They all knew these were temporary arrangements. The army was their life; no branch or association would take them now, not with the bold, damning DD stamped on their papers. But very little quality employers wanted mentally traumatised men whose chronic and psychic pain rendered them unable to do blue collar work. Yet, non had the education or the drive to be employable in a more specialised, less physical sector.

Was this the end?

Maybe. But the sun shone on Soap’s meadow, illuminated his life and showed him a new way out. He was at the right place, at the right time and managed to bump into you. You really should have just kept walking. Taking pity on the blue-eyed puppy, kicked in the teeth over and over by life’s unforgiving boot should have been a noble act. But feed a dog once and it will keep coming back, and unfortunately, this one has a rabid pack.

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cursedvibes · 4 months

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I think Yuuji getting through to Megumi and finding out he has no will to live anymore would've been more impactful if we saw more of him during his possession than the three panels stretched over nearly 40 chapters where he's always just lying on the floor crying.

We initially get input that he's trying to fight back against Sukuna after he was hit with Jacob's Ladder, but then he's essentially just a footnote. "Btw, Megumi is somewhere in there and he's suffering." But we don't really see it.

I think it all comes down to that the moment that really broke him, the Yorozu vs Sukuna fight, should've given him more focus and Tsumiki. If that moment really hit and we saw him give up, his lack of presence for the rest of the chapters wouldn't be such a big problem.

The Yorozu fight was really just focused on her and Sukuna and their history. You get a mention that Sukuna is doing this to break Megumi and oh no, Tsumiki would die too, but really it's about Yorozu's character and Sukuna learning to handle 10 Shadows. Everything is about them, their jokes and then as a last addition we get "oh yeah, Megumi is sad because someone who has his sister's face died". Everything is already over at that point there is no tension, we don't feel with Megumi because the focus is on other people who vaguely look like him and Tsumiki. Looks are the only real connection to the sibling drama here and I think Yorozu and Sukuna don't even look that much like them. That should've been better balanced.

Take Yuuji's breakdown in Shibuya for example. That makes him want to die as well and throw everything away. We're there with him, how he goes through briefly raised hopes to crushing defeat, how his face distorts as he sees Nanami and Nobara die before him. He's going through anger, fighting with grit teeth for as long as he can until he just curls in on himself and wants to die like his friends. We hear his thoughts, we can emphasize with what is happening. Even when he finds out what happened while Sukuna took over, we see the memories swarm his mind, he desperately clutches his head, claws at the ground, throws up. It's utterly heartbreaking. And that is because we experience it with Yuuji. We don't just cut to him lying on the floor unresponsive and that's the only feedback we get to his emotional state, not even some thoughts.

Megumi clearly saw or felt what happened while Sukuna was in control of his body (I mean, if we didn't have the editor comment like in the volume release you could also think the Bath just numbed him, but I'm not gonna be that picky here). So show him struggle during the fight against Yorozu aka the body of Tsumiki. Show his reaction to being rendered mute and powerless, unable to even lift a finger to hinder Sukuna. Show me his thoughts, he clearly has them. Show me how he eventually came to just give up and wait for death. Just something, anything. All of this I mentioned I am just inferring, we don't get to go through his emotional journey that is clearly very important to the story. All we see is the aftermath with no additional context and then nothing for another 20 chapters or so.

For that matter, show me Tsumiki, if there's anything left of her at all. That is who Megumi tries to fight for after all and she's a victim in all this too. She might've gone through the same things Megumi did, she might've experienced similar pain, but we simply don't know. What would Megumi even be fighting for? Was Tsumiki just dead or gone ever since Yorozu woke up in the hospital or did she witness what was going on as well? Was the Yorozu fight just pointless in that regard because clearly Tsumiki was long gone anyway and Sukuna is essentially just burying a dead body? This fight could've actually been quite dramatic. It claimed to be that due to Megumi and potentially Tsumiki suffering in the background, but it was in the end completely inconsequential. Sukuna and Yorozu would've fought anyway, if Megumi and Tsumiki were there or not, and Yorozu would've always lost. Since except for some throwaway lines and the end panel there isn't really any acknowledgement of the emotional stakes, they fall completely flat. It's about Yorozu and her understanding of love and also a bit about Sukuna's backstory and all this is nice and interesting, I certainly enjoyed it, but this should've laid the groundwork for what is happening to possessed-Megumi as well.

Same with the Gojo fight. Was Megumi effected at all by seeing Gojo there, was he affected by what Gojo said, his disregard for Megumi's body that made Yuuji and Hana question if he even cared? Did he feel anything when Gojo died? Was he still capable of sensing what was going on outside at all or did he sleep through all that. For that matter, how did those 5 Unlimited Voids affect him? His brain should be toast by all accounts. Did he blame Gojo for anything? This could've added some much needed emotional stakes and depth to the Gojo vs Sukuna fight, but again, we don't see anything, just a repeat shot of Megumi crying on the floor.

Megumi went through some pretty significant character development and I assume that is going to go even further now that Yuuji has made contact, but that all happened off-screen. Especially "Tsumiki's" death and its impact should've been shown to lay the groundwork for what happens now. All we got so far is: what happened made him sad. Like yeah sure, I can imagine, but can't we get more than that? That's like skipping the majority of Shibuya except for Nanami and Nobara's deaths and then going right to Yuuji lying on the floor and Todo giving his inspirational speech without showing us even a hint of all the struggle and emotional turmoil Yuuji experienced in the meantime.

I'm not even a Megumi fan, it's just something I noticed while reading. Honestly, the last 30 chapters or so I pretty much forgot about Megumi. Yes, I want Yuuji to save him, but as for Megumi himself my thoughts were always just "well, I guess he's doing badly, who knows". It was all very abstract and hypothetical when it didn't need to be.

#had to think about this because I saw Megumi's and Yuuji's breakdown in Shibuya compared a lot #obviously they are very similar but I think this further emphasizes how Megumi's situation feels like: *insert suffering here*#jjk spoilers #jjk leaks #jjk 251 #fushiguro megumi

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celepom · 1 year

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For Transgender Day of Visibility, here’s several books about Gender that I haven’t recommended before (I Think)!

Fine: A Comic About Gender

By Rhea Ewing

As graphic artist Rhea Ewing neared college graduation in 2012, they became consumed by the question: What is gender? This obsession sparked a quest in which they eagerly approached both friends and strangers in their quiet Midwest town for interviews to turn into comics. A decade later, this project exploded into a sweeping portrait of the intricacies of gender expression with interviewees from all over the country. Questions such as “How do you Identify” produced fiercely honest stories of dealing with adolescence, taking hormones, changing pronouns—and how these experiences can differ, often drastically, depending on culture, race, and religion. Amidst beautifully rendered scenes emerges Ewing’s own story of growing up in rural Kentucky, grappling with their identity as a teenager, and ultimately finding themself through art—and by creating something this very fine. Tender and wise, inclusive and inviting, Fine is an indispensable account for anyone eager to define gender in their own terms.

Galaxy: The Prettiest Star

By Jadzia Axelrod & Jess Taylor (Illustrator)

It takes strength to live as your true self, and one alien princess disguised as a human boy is about to test her power. A vibrant story about gender identity, romance, and shining as bright as the stars. Taylor Barzelay has the perfect life. Good looks, good grades, a starting position on the basketball team, a loving family, even an adorable corgi. Every day in Taylor’s life is perfect. And every day is torture. Taylor is actually the Galaxy Crowned, an alien princess from the planet Cyandii, and one of the few survivors of an intergalactic war. For six long, painful years, Taylor has accepted her duty to remain in hiding as a boy on Earth. That all changes when Taylor meets Metropolis girl Katherine “call me Kat” Silverberg, whose confidence is electrifying. Suddenly, Taylor no longer wants to hide, even if exposing her true identity could attract her greatest enemies. From the charming and brilliant mind behind the popular podcast The Voice of Free Planet X, Jadzia Axelrod, and with stunningly colorful artwork by Jess Taylor comes the story of a girl in hiding who must face her fears to see herself as others see her: the prettiest star.

To Strip the Flesh

By Oto Toda

A moving collection of six short stories that explores what must be stripped away to find the truth and celebrates the beauty of embracing who you are. Chiaki Ogawa has never doubted that he is a boy, although the rest of the world has not been as kind. Bound by his mother’s dying wish, Chiaki tries to be a good daughter to his ailing father. When the burden becomes too great, Chiaki sets out to remake himself in his own image and discovers more than just personal freedom with his transition—he finds understanding from the people who matter most.

Sir Callie and the Champions of Helston

By Esme Symes-Smith

In a magical medieval world filled with dragons, shape-shifters, and witches, a twelve-year-old hero will search for their place as an impending war threatens. A thrilling middle-grade series opener that stars a nonbinary tween and explores identity and gender amid sword fights. My name is Callie, and I'm not a girl. I am here as Papa's squire, and I want to train as a knight. In a world where girls learn magic and boys train as knights, twelve-year-old nonbinary Callie doesn't fit in anywhere. And you know what? That's just fine. Callie has always known exactly what they want to be, and they're not about to let a silly thing like gender rules stand in their way. When their ex-hero dad is summoned back to the royal capital of Helston to train a hopeless crown prince as war looms, Callie lunges at the opportunity to finally prove themself worthy to Helston's great and powerful. Except the intolerant great and powerful look at Callie and only see girl. Trapped in Helston's rigid hierarchy, Callie discovers they aren't alone--there's Elowen, the chancellor's brilliant daughter, whose unparalleled power is being stifled; Edwyn, Elowen's twin brother, locked in a desperate fight to win his father's approval; and Willow, the crown prince who was never meant to be king. In this start to an epic series packed with action, humor, and heart, Callie and their new friends quickly find themselves embedded in an ancient war--the only hope to defeat the dragons and witches outside the kingdom lies in first defeating the bigotry within.

I Think I Turned My Childhood Friend Into a Girl

By Azusa Banjo

It's a familiar story: a popular high school student gives their plain friend a makeover and transforms their life. But this time, the path to a new life isn't quite so straight and narrow. Kenshirou Midou has loved cosmetics all his life, keeping his obsession secret from almost everyone except for his childhood friend Hiura Mihate. One day, Kenshirou gets permission to practice applying makeup on Hiura, and the results are earth-shattering: Hiura's appearance transforms from a plain, undersized boy to a pretty, petite girl, and Kenshirou discovers just how freeing it is to apply his passion! Yet he's not the only one who finds the process liberating. Hiura likes the makeup, and the subsequent dress-up in feminine clothes, and decides to start wearing the girls' uniform to school. Kenshirou doesn't understand if he's unlocked something in Hiura, or if he's simply seeing a new side to his childhood buddy that he never noticed before. What are these feelings bubbling between them now--is this attraction truly new?

My Androgynous Boyfriend

By Tamekou Wako and her androgynous boyfriend don't exactly have the most traditional of relationships. She spends her days working hard in the world of publishing, while he spends his time obsessing over fashion and makeup--all with the goal of making himself beautiful just for her. This romantic slice-of-life story is about love, relationships, and breaking with tradition!

#Transgender #LGBT comic #queer #gender #graphic novels #manga #transgender day of visibility #book recs

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thus-spoke-lo · 1 year

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Pain Management // Trafalgar Law x afab!reader // NSFW/18+

Previous Chapter // Next Chapter Series Masterlist // AO3 Link // Playlist

Chapter 1: A Thorough Examination

Chapter Summary: No longer able to deal with the chronic abdominal pain that's plagued you as long as you could remember, and having exhausted your available options for treatment aboard the Sunny, you suggest traveling with the Heart Pirates as a way to gain access to some of the best medical care in the New World. Your new captain is willing to give his all in helping determine the cause of your issues, and offers his help to treat you.

Chapter CW: afab!reader [no pronouns used]; descriptions of pelvic pain; menstruation mentions; reader receives a gynecological exam [pelvic/breast]; allusions to hysterectomy; slight medical/glove kink; slight praise kink

WC: 2.9k

A sudden flash. A deep, searing pain that cut through your insides.

You doubled over, the feeling of a phantom knife stabbing you near your core. The wrench in your hand fell, a loud clang ringing through the air, and you dropped to your knees on the floor as the air was punched out of your lungs.

“Hey, you alright?” Franky turned off the welder and lifted his goggles, a sudden worry settling into his expression.

“No, but I will be,” you grunted. “Just give me a minute.”

“Should I get Chopper?” he asked as he started to get up from his position on the ground.

“No, really, it’s alright.” The wave of misery was subsiding, leaving behind only a vague feeling of queasiness. “He can’t do anything for me.”

It was almost your entire adult life that you’d experienced these phantom pains, and you struggled to have anyone tell you the reason. It was most certainly tied to your monthly cycle, of that you were sure, but the way in which it incapacitated you mentally and physically was becoming more of an annoyance and a hindrance than anything else, rendering you disabled at the most inconvenient times.

Chopper had done the best he could since you’d joined the Strawhats some time ago, giving you pain medicine he formulated himself. But as time went on, and the pain pills could only dull the worst aches, Chopper conceded that perhaps, despite his training, he didn’t have the equipment or the specific experience needed to properly diagnose and treat you. As you lay in bed one night, biting your pillow with every shockwave in your abdomen, it occurred to you there may be a way to get help yet.

“So wait. You wanna leave and join the Heart Pirates?” Luffy asked, his eyebrows knitted in confusion as you told him your plan over breakfast. “But why?”

“Not leave as in forever. It’ll be like…an internship,” you said cheerfully.

“What’s that?” His head tilted slowly to the side, as if it would help him process your words more effectively.

“It’s a temporary assignment,” Nami clarified from her spot next to you at the table. “Not forever, just for a while to learn some things that can help us.”

“Ohh, I get it now.” The look on Luffy’s face said he absolutely did not get it, but you pressed on.

“It would be a great opportunity to learn how a submarine functions,” you continued, a smile plastered across your face. “Just think of how much I’d be able to help Franky if he needs to build any specialized vehicles for us!”

“Well as long as Traffy thinks it’s fine, I think it’s a great idea!” Luffy grinned in a way that said he still was not entirely clear on what exactly you were doing or why, but that he trusted your judgment.

As you packed your bags the following week, waiting for Law and his crew to meet you at the port, you wondered if you could even trust your judgment. Sure, it seemed that “Traffy” had been fairly easy to convince when it came to bringing you aboard (after all, what’s one more warm body and willing set of hands?), and sure, you were a pirate after all, and deception was perfectly in your wheelhouse, but was it worth the ruse?

You boarded the Polar Tang, waving goodbye to the captain you’d just lied to and nodding hello to your new captain who you’d also just lied to, and wondered if Law or his crew could smell the dishonesty on you. There was no need to wear your paranoia like a coat, you told yourself over and over as you were shown to your quarters—you were going to keep your head down for a while, learn the ins and outs of your new underwater home, and bide your time before knocking on your Captain’s door to beg for help.

----------

“Come in.”

You were surprised that Law even heard you knock; you had barely touched your knuckles to the door. “Captain? I was hoping I could possibly talk to you about something.”

“Everything okay?” he asked, eyes still on the papers in front of him as you pushed open the metal door.

Your eyes drifted towards the ceiling as you considered where to begin. “Not exactly.”

“Is it a problem with someone?”

“No!” You waved your hands frantically in front of you. “No, nothing like that at all, everyone has been so kind to me since I’ve been here.”

“That’s good to hear.” He set his pen down on his desk and turned his chair towards you, his daunting gaze settling on you. “So what brings you here, then?”

“It’s—it’s a medical issue.”

He leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest. “Well, what seems to be the matter?”

“You see, I have this pain in my abdomen, like right here”—you gestured to a spot near the apex of your thighs, just off to the left—“and it comes and goes. But it’s been happening for, well, about as long as I can remember. Sometimes the pain is worse than other times.”

“I see.”

“Chopper gave me some pain medicine for it, but it only does so much, and I feel like either the medicine has stopped working, or whatever this is might be getting worse over time.”

He sat back in his chair and removed his hat for a moment, running his hands through his soot-black hair as he thought. “Did he ever do a pelvic exam?”

“Uh, no.” You shifted from one foot to the other before leaning against the door frame. “I don’t know that either of us really thought much about that.”

In truth, despite the fact that Chopper was never anything but professional with his medical care, having treated injuries and disorders you couldn’t even begin to imagine, you felt incredibly uncomfortable asking him to complete an internal pelvic exam. Sure, he was more than capable, and perhaps you could have found a way to make yourself feel at ease, but the concept of having one of your crewmates stick their fingers inside of you and root around, right before having to sit and stare at them across the dinner table, left a peculiar taste in your mouth.

Law laced his fingers behind his head and crossed one leg over the other. “Why don’t you come by the exam room tomorrow, let’s say same time, and we can do a little more…exploration?”

“Sure, sounds—sounds good,” you nodded, tripping over your words—you had felt yourself grow a little warm at the particular way he’d said exploration, drawing out the word in his low, rumbling voice. “I’ll see you then. Thank you, Captain.”

“You’re welcome,” he said, returning his stack of papers. “Let’s hope we can figure out what’s wrong. I’ll do everything I can to get you some relief.”

I certainly hope so, you thought to yourself.

----------

The exam hadn’t even started yet, and you were already deeply regretting asking Law for help.

You perched stiffly on the elevated table, paper crinkling under you, the undersides of your thighs sticking to the exposed bit of vinyl. You pulled and tugged at the thin cotton gown that had been left for you on the side chair (accompanied by a scrawled note, “I’ll give you ten minutes to change, don’t worry”), feeling like no matter how tightly you had tied the thin straps at the neck and waist into haphazard knots, you were still at risk of sudden exposure with even the most minute movements.

Not that it mattered, you reminded yourself—your captain was about to be knuckle-deep in your vagina in a moment, what did it matter if he caught a glimpse of your ass cheek or a peek of your pubic hair before he got started?

“Safe to come in?” a voice said from the other side of the door.

“Yep, I’m decent,” you responded. “Well, as decent as I can be.”

Law entered the room, flashing you a brief smile as he shut the door behind him and moved to the sink to wash his hands. “How are you doing today?”

“As okay as I can be, I guess.”

“Any pain right now?”

“Mm, not at the moment.”

“That’s good to hear,” he said as he fished two latex gloves out of a box on the counter. You watched with an inappropriate fascination as he put them on, slowly pulling them down over his long fingers, letting the band settle on his wrists with a light snap. There was no denying that many a wandering thought of yours had involved Law’s strong hands and slim fingers, and how they’d feel exploring every inch of you, every dip and curve of your body; this, however, was not the time for indulging in fantasy.

He walked over and stood before you, his slim hips almost touching your knees. “I’m going to start by giving you a breast exam, is that okay?”

You shrugged, trying to maintain some sense of detachment. “Sure.”

He pulled your gown down your shoulders, placing the fabric in your lap. He palpated your breasts with his warm, gloved hands, then moved two fingers in circles on various spots. As he moved one hand to the side of your body to feel under your arms for any abnormalities, his thumb brushed against your nipple, pebbled from the cool air of the room.

“Sorry, I know it’s a little cold in here,” Law smirked as he walked back over to the counter and quickly scribbled in a notebook. “Everything seems good there, no concerns.”

“Oh. That’s good.” You nervously smiled at him and lifted your gown back over your chest, crossing your arms tightly over you, trying to warm yourself and convince your traitorous nipples to relax. As you watched him with his back turned, you ruminated on the way his thumb had grazed you—it was so brief, but almost tender, in a way you could almost swear was intentional.

“Okay, I’m going to do a pelvic exam,” he said, sitting down on a wheeled stool and scooting it towards the end of the table. “Go ahead and lay back for me, and place your feet in the stirrups.”

You reclined onto the table, and fumbled at correctly placing your heels in the metal rings. Your knees drifted together as you felt the cool air of the room waft over your exposed vulva.

Law sighed. “You have to spread your legs for me if I’m going to examine you, you know.”

“Right, sorry,” you muttered as you let your thighs drift open. In the time you’d known Law, even before your new venture aboard his vessel, you’d thought on occasion what it would be like to have him command you to spread your legs; this, however, was certainly was not the way you’d had in mind.

“I’ll be gentle, I promise,” he said, the rumble in his voice vibrating your core.

Stop it, stop it, stop it, you chided yourself. Stop making this weird, he’s your doctor. You can have your stupid little crush later, when he’s not shoving a piece of plastic in you.

He inserted a speculum into your vagina and you felt yourself stretch with every little click-click-click as he adjusted it. “Doing okay?”

“So far, so good.” A tight smile stretched across your lips despite the fact you assumed he couldn’t see your face.

“You’re doing so well for me,” Law said, his voice low and reassuring.

You felt a perverse swell of arousal at his praise. You clenched your jaw and balled your hands into fists at your side—why now, why with a piece of plastic holding you open like a prized poultry being stuffed for dinner, did you have to let his voice make you feel any particular type of way?

“I’m going to put my fingers inside you now, okay?”

“Okay.” You exhaled slowly.

You stared at the ceiling as he slid two fingers inside of you and poked and prodded at your walls. The vague discomfort of the speculum and the probing of his fingertips certainly did well to erase the feelings of desire you had experienced moments earlier.

“I’m going to press on your abdomen, see if I can feel anything abnormal. Tell me if anything hurts.”

He pressed his two fingers up while he pushed his free hand down on different spots on your abdomen. When he reached one particular spot, you felt a searing pain rocket through your body, like a red-hot knife dragging through your insides.

“There!” you said through gritted teeth. “Pain! Right there!”

“Okay, okay. You’re okay.” He pulled his fingers out of you, and wheeled back to the counter. “You can sit up now.”

“So, what does that mean?” you asked as you gathered yourself, swinging your legs back over the side of the table and pressing on that tender spot in your abdomen, trying to soothe it and will it to calm.

“Well, it’s one of a couple of things, based on the way you reacted. I can’t exactly be sure without further research.”

“Isn’t there anything you could do in the meantime?”

“Well, I can give you some pain medication to ease your symptoms.”

“That’s it?” You scoffed, having heard that phrase so many times before. “But—but Chopper already did that, and it doesn’t help anymore. There’s nothing else you can do?”

He paused, twirling a pen between his long fingers as he thought for a moment. “Surgical intervention would be a possibility.”

“Okay, that’s fine then,” you quickly blurted, seeing relief on the horizon. “Just take out all the parts that are causing me problems.”

He sighed. “It’s not quite that simple.”

“I mean, it is, isn’t it? Couldn’t you use your devil fruit to just, you know, remove stuff?”

“Yes, possibly.” He scratched at his chin, and his gaze met yours. “But we don’t know exactly what’s causing the problem. I’d still have to open you up and have a look around first, and that might cause more issues than it would fix. And depending on what I find and what we have to take, you may also need hormone replacements, just to help you function correctly. And frankly, I don’t have access to those, not out here.”

You didn’t care that the desperation in your voice was nearly tangible. “Look, I’m sure I can make do without the hormones, I’ll just learn to deal with it. Captain, I’m serious, just take whatever is in me out of me if it’s going to be a problem. Please. I can’t do this anymore.”

He stood up and leaned his long body against the counter, and stared down at you. It was unnerving how vulnerable you felt, sitting nearly-naked on the vinyl table, thin fabric barely keeping you from being fully on display for him, angry tears beginning to bead at your lash-line, your face hot with frustration. The pain had gone on too long, and here was the only man you knew that could help you, trying to find ways to deny you the solution (albeit the least ideal one) to your troubles.

“Here’s what I’d suggest,” Law finally spoke after what felt like hours of silence, as he stared at you, barely blinking, running his tongue over his teeth. “I have an idea for an intervention that could help relieve some of your symptoms without having to resort to surgery just yet. If it works, then we’ll just continue treatment; if not, then we’ll consider opening you up and seeing what’s inside. Does that sound acceptable?”

“I guess so, sure.” It felt like you didn’t have much of a choice; you were at his mercy, and probably would have agreed to just about anything if it would bring you some relief.

“Good. Come by tomorrow, same time.” He paused. “And be prompt.”

“Of course, Captain.”

He handed you your pile of clothes from the chair across the room. “Take your time getting dressed, this room won’t be needed for a while.”

“Thanks,” you said, waving weakly at him as he walked out and closed the door.

You winced as you zipped your pants back up—all the poking and prodding left your insides tender, and a twinge of pain rocketed through your core. Maybe you just should have stuck to pain medicine, you thought to yourself as you re-hooked your bra, your mind still lingering on the way his thumb delicately brushed your nipple.

Maybe you just should have continued taking the pills Chopper gave you when things got especially bad, and kept your mouth shut, and stayed back on the Sunny, and maybe—maybe—found relief eventually from some gifted doctor on a faraway island one day, if you were lucky. But instead, here you were—miles under the ocean, trapped in a metal tube with the weight of your decision and the only doctor who might be able to help you find relief.

You shuffled back to your station to finish your day of work, wondering what sort of treatment Law had in mind.

#lo writes #trafalgar d waterlaw x reader #law x reader #trafalgar law x reader #one piece x reader #tw medical kink #tw dubcon #water and ice #trafalgar law smut #one piece smut #trafalgar d law x reader

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bratzforchris · 4 months

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In Sickness and In Health

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Summary: In which Tara and Jake discover Johnnie has a chronic illness, but know they'll always be with him, no matter what <3

Pairing: (platonic! I do not ship the trio in any way) Johnnie x Tara x Jake

Warnings: Chronic illness (nothing graphic and no bodily fluids :)), Jake and Tara are still dating here

Word Count: 2k

A/N: In this fic, Johnnie has a chronic illness called PFAPA. You can read more about it here for more background :). I also have this chronic illness, so it's based on my experience <3 Thank you for reading!

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Chronic illness was the worst thing to hit Johnnie’s life since, well, ever. His condition was especially painful and rendering, and he hated being bound to the couch or his bed for days on end, zapped of all energy. You see, Johnnie had PFAPA, which caused him to have extremely high fevers, sore throats, and just overall feelings of being unwell. Although it was mostly a childhood syndrome, he was one of the rare but very unlucky few that it had lasted into his adult life.

Johnnie had learned early on in life that being a sick kid meant being a pitied kid. He hated the pitying looks people gave him and the quiet “you’re so strong” murmurs. They made him feel like a zoo animal, separated from the rest of the world, with people cooing at him in sympathy and then going about their day. It wasn’t even just the adults, though. Right up until the time he dropped out of high school to pursue his YouTube career, the other kids had stared at him and whispered about “the boy that was always absent” whenever he walked down the hall.

And so, he hid it. The only people that knew of his illness were his mother and siblings, and his ex-girlfriend when they had been together. Even then, the only reason Johnnie had told her was because she questioned why a) he was so warm and b) why he wasn’t getting up, especially when it was a repeat occurrence. He was very lucky that his chronic illness wasn’t terrible. He still had some symptoms from day to day, like a weakened immune system and joint pains. But it was the periodic flare ups that practically killed him. It was one week out of every month, almost like a period. Johnnie would run insanely high fevers, getting up to 105 F (40.5 C), have awful joint pain to the point it hurt to move, have a pounding head and a sloshing stomach, and an extremely sore throat to top it all off.

Fast forward to now, and Johnnie was currently living with Jake and Tara. He loved his best friends with everything in him, but at the same time, he didn’t want them to view him as weak or childish. Stupid logic? Yes, but there was no arguing with Johnnie. He was good at hiding his flare ups at first. He would coat his face in foundation and eyeliner to hide the dark eyebags from restless nights, and he would take enough ibuprofen to subdue a horse. He still didn’t feel great, but it was manageable enough to hide from the two. This, on top of his usual “emo” personality and occasional mental health struggles that kept him in bed for days at time was enough to make Jake and Tara not have a clue.

All secrets get found out eventually, though. You see, Jake was a loving, wonderful boyfriend; whenever Tara would ask for pain medicine for her period, there he was, already in the car and speeding to the local pharmacy. He was also a great friend, and would buy an additional bottle for Johnnie, who claimed he “liked” having an extra bottle of tablets on hand so he didn’t have to go into Tara’s bathroom should he need pain reliever. At first, Jake brushed it off, knowing Johnnie was definitely a tummy ache boy. However, after about three months of this, he realized Johnnie would ask for the pain reliever almost at the exact same time Tara would need it for her period. Like clockwork.

“Eh, whatever,” he thought to himself, entering their house with a CVS bag. He had seen Johnnie naked more times than he’d like to admit. His best friend definitely didn’t have a period. “I’m back.” he called, entering the living room.

Tara and Johnnie were sat on the couch, watching some sort of trashy reality show. Tara was curled up in fetal position from the awful cramps she was currently experiencing, while Johnnie was huddled up under a huge blanket, currently experiencing one of his worst flares up in over six months. Neither seemed particularly interested until Jake dropped the bottles of medicine into their hands. Johnnie immediately ripped into his, dropping three tablets into his hand and swallowing them dry.

“Someone’s in pain.” Jake raised a brow at his friend while he opened the bottle for Tara, handing it to her along with her water and a kiss on the head.

“...stomach ache…” Johnnie mumbled, not thinking Jake was going to call him out on it.

“I can’t find my fucking heating pad.” Tara whined as Jake began to hold her, sitting between the two.

Johnnie winced, biting his bottom lip and holding the warm fabric closer to his body under the blanket. He felt awful for taking Tara’s heating pad, but he had been desperate for relief from his aching joints. Thank goodness Jake had become focused on massaging Tara’s stomach so neither one of his friends would see his guilty face.

The boy immediately stood up, clutching the blanket and heating pad to his chest. “I’m in pain and I’m going to bed. Night.” he said rather grumpily, already stalking to his room.

Tara was pulled out of her pain induced haze to giggle. “It’s like Johnnie has a period.”

“Something like that.” he called back.

Morning had come for the household and Tara was on a mission. She was going to find her heating pad. As much as Jake’s massages had helped last night, he would be gone today to film something with Scuff, so she needed the warm glory. She had searched high and low in every part of the house except Johnnie’s room.

“Johnnie? Can I come in?” she asked, rapping her knuckles lightly on his closed door. “I need to look for something.”

No answer. Tara knocked again, and then waited. Had he gone with Jake to film? Finally, she twisted the door knob, speaking before she stepped inside. “If you’re in there, I’m coming in!”

The sight Tara saw made her heart shatter. Johnnie was curled up in bed, making sure her heating pad was placed strategically on his knees and wrists. Although the boy had three different fans blowing on him, he was wrapped in heavy blankets, snoring softly. The icing on the cake, though, was the look on Johnnie’s face. He just looked sick. His skin was more pale and ghostly than normal, save for a few, red acne spots. His eyes were ringed with purple and despite his heating pad and blankets, he was shivering. He looked overall unwell.

Tara bit her lip, debating what to do. She really, really wanted her heating pad, but at the same time, Johnnie looked so comfortable. However, as she turned on her heel to leave Johnnie’s room, the floorboards squeaked under her feet and Johnnie groaned.

It only took a few moments for the boy to blink open his eyes, and when he did, he flipped shit. “Get out.” Johnnie snapped, his voice hoarse from the flare up.

“I’m not mad about the heating pad, Johnnie,” Tara said softly. “We all get sick. I’ll get a new one.”

“‘M fine. Get out.” he snapped again, clearly grumpy from the lack of sleep his condition was causing.

“Are you sure?” Tara moved closer towards the bed, examining his sick form. “You don’t seem fine…”

“Tara, seriously. I’m fine. Just get out.”

As much as Tara put out a nonchalant attitude to the world, she really cared about her friends, and seeing Johnnie clearly in a lot of pain was hurting her. She gently moved to lay a hand on his forehead, but before Johnnie could swat it away, she recoiled and cursed.

“Shit, Johnnie. You’re burning up.”

“I know,” Johnnie groaned, reaching over and grabbing a thermometer from his nightstand. Based on the way it looked, it was clear Johnnie had been flaring or ‘feeling sick’ for a while. There were empty popsicle wrappers and tea mugs, water bottles, vapo rub, and a variety of medicines and thermometers. Johnnie quickly took his temperature and then shrugged. “104.2 (40.1 C). Lower than last night.”

“Dude,” Tara looked almost dumbfounded. “You gotta get to a hospital. That’s like, scary high.”

Because of the fever and lack of sleep, Johnnie rolled his eyes, a sour tone pouring off his tongue. “I’ll be fine,” he rolled towards the wall. “Just gotta sleep it off.”

“Johnnie,” Tara said firmly. “You are not sleeping this off. You’re going to a hospital.”

“I’ll be fine. ‘M just cold. Maybe I’ll break my own fever record.” he groaned, using his arm to shield his eyes from the sun.

“That’s it. I’m calling Jake.” she said, whipping out her phone.

Johnnie bolted up, cursing softly at his aching joints. “Do not call Jake. I swear to god, Tara. Do not call Jake.”

“Johnnie, you’re clearly extremely ill. You need medical attention or you’ll get super sick…more than you are now,” she added, turning to leave. “I’ll come get you when he’s here.”

“I haven’t gotten super sick in 25 years and my fever’s been higher than this.” Johnnie mumbled.

“What do you mean?” Tara stopped in her tracks.

Johnnie groaned, cuddling back under his comforter. “Since I was born. I’m chronically ill. Google it or some shit. I’m too tired to explain now.”

“...oh.” Tara whispered quietly. “I didn’t know. Is this like an all the time thing or?”

“It’s called PFAPA. Go look it up,” Johnnie already sounded almost asleep again until his voice suddenly wobbled. “But please, don’t tell Jake.”

Tara sat down on Johnnie’s bed, rubbing his thigh. That’s how she knew he must’ve been feeling pretty bad. Johnnie rarely liked physical contact unless he was feeling sick. “Is there a specific reason you kept it from us? It’s okay if you don’t wanna share.” she whispered, taking on a motherly role that few people ever saw.

“Because you’ll pity me and I hate that shit.”

Tara frowned. “I understand. Thank you for telling me; that’s probably really hard. Do you need anything?”

Johnnie hesitated for a few moments before speaking quietly. “I want a popsicle. For my throat.”

His friend smiled, standing up and pulling the blanket further over him. “Specific flavor?”

“Grape.”

Tara smiled as she left Johnnie’s room, going into the kitchen. She decided to put the kettle on to make Johnnie some tea, knowing tea helped her own sore throats. As the water boiled, Tara pulled out her phone, googling the syndrome Johnnie had mentioned. She grimaced as she read the WebMD article; it sounded extremely painful, like having the flu every single month. Once the water had boiled, Tara made Johnnie a mug of tea and then pulled the freezer open for a popsicle. Her heart practically shattered when she saw a surplus of popsicles, shoved to the back of the freezer.

Bringing Johnnie’s sickness spread upstairs, Tara saw that he was practically asleep when she opened his bedroom door. But as she handed him the popsicle and tea, he sleepily mumbled “You can tell Jake.”

“Are you sure?”

Johnnie nodded tiredly, already sucking on the popsicle. “Mhm.”

“Huh,” Tara said, but she didn’t question it. “Okay.”

She sent Jake a quick text, hoping he and Scuff were near done. Although his temperature was “normal” for Johnnie, she didn’t feel very good about letting him lay here and burn up. Surprisingly, Johnnie didn’t protest when she sat down at the chair at his streaming desk. He just continued to softly sip the mug of tea.

“Jake’s on his way.” Tara whispered softly.

The sick boy just nodded, laying his fluffy, black, bedhead back on the pillow. Tara didn’t hear anything more for a few minutes, until soft snores wafted from Johnnie’s bed. It seemed like it was only a few minutes later when she finally heard Jake come into the house.

“I’m bac-” Jake was practically yelling until Tara shushed him.

“What’s wrong with him?” Jake asked, tipping his head towards Johnnie.

“He has a chronic illness,” Tara explained softly. “We can talk then.”

And until then, Jake and Tara would be there to support their best friend, sitting quietly and watching over him as Johnnie slept.

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veryripebanana · 2 months

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Yall know like "the indominable human spirit trend"? But like this one is from human perspective.

"Fuck... "

Wrath, Pain, Agony, Fear.

"Fuck this..."

My vision blurred, my leg limping, i feel blood crawling down my body from head to toe, mine and theirs. They kidnapped my family and I, and while i was sitting there, locked in forced paralysis but conscious enough to hear, see, and feel their pain as these fucking bastards do their wretched experiments on my family. My wife, FORCED TO BREED AND CARRY OUT SEVERAL DIFFRENT LIFEFORMS WITHING MINUTESALL WITHOUT EVEN A DROP OF ANESTHESIA! My children forced to live several thousand, even MILLIONS OF DIFFERENT LIVES in a short span of time just to see how it CHANGES THEIR MENTALITY...

EVERY NIGHT, THEY WERE CAGED IN WITH ME, I HEAR THEIR CRIES, THEIR WAILS, BEGGING, ASKING, TELLING ME TO HELP! But how can i? These demons injected something in my spine that rendered my entire body immovable...

"WHY? WHY ONLY ME? Why was i disregarded in these torture trials that my family had to go through? Put me in there instead! Let them go... please... i beg of you..."

I can't talk, but i hope my thoughs can go through to them all...

...

Days later, my family were killed. I guess the stress was too much for them... my children had their brains explode from the inside, my wife had her body so messed up she mutated and barely even looked human at the end...

The doors of the cage open.

It's my turn.

They dragged me out and put me in a chair, injected something in my spine again and moments later i gained control of my body once more. But i was restrained. Locked in place with braces on my hands and feet in the chair.

"The fuck is this shit? Medieval interrogation? All these goddamn tech you used to torture my family and now just this?! I didn't know even a superior lifeform's tech can only last a pathetic amount of time."

I wanted to anger them. I wanted them to want to kill me.

"Human, you are now named no.4 as the fourth and final testing on human species limitations and biology. In our next experime-"

i spat on its face.

"No.4, coordinate without resistance."

"Bitch please motherfucker, kill me. Do your best shot." Kill me.

"Precisely, your testing will revolve around the fragility of bare human body without external armour."

Fuck. Well, i wanted this.

Several carts go in the room, with racks filled with diffrent types of artillery, blunt weapons, and spears, all with diffrent abilities ranging from medieval spears to modern guns, from heat that can go against the core of a star to absolute zero temperatures, from bombs that condenses matter into nothingness to bombs that delivers an impact close to a meteor strike. All were tested and all wounds were healed.

Every. Single. Day.

I lasted for weeks, months even. In agony, hoping that they one day make a mistake and target my brain.

Unfortunately for me, they did, but i did not die. And fortunately for me, the shakles that bind me from the chair came loose, now i can stand.

Beaten, and tired, i tried to go for one of the guns and shoot myself on my own. When i finally got one, one of them saw, and they opened fire.

Lasers, or bullets, or projectiles i don't even know at this point peirce through my body one by one, i fell.

But i did not die, my body is littered with holes and blood gushing throughout them.

And i had a gun.

One thing i learned after all these time was, their weapons wasn't easy to reload and it takes time to fix 1 magazine into one artillery weapon. But mine is loaded, so i opened fire.

I shot one in their "head", they got up.

I shot one near the area of their "heart", they got up.

I shot one near the area of the neck, gotcha bitch.

One by one, i went through all 20 of them in the room, one shot kills to their "necks". Some finished reloading their guns and shot me and some managed to break one of my legs and arms but then again, it is only I who walked out of that room, alive.

And i took another reloaded gun just in case.

Now i wander this ship, it looks barren but I do not think so, there were 24 diffrent aliens here based from them all taking turns trying on the experiment with me and especially my family. And i took note of one, one special alien, one with the most colored garments out of them all. I assume it's the captain.

I wandered the ship for a few minuites before...

A message, on repeat, i couldn't understand hut i assume they already know where i am.

...

I walked for a few more minuites and hear footsteps, fuck yes.

I see one of them, a scout i presume being guarded, alert and alone.

It engages fire and i fire back in return, after a lengthy exchange we were both out of ammo, but now it's wounded. I rushed into it with my hand clenched into a fist, but i was fainting, loosing my hold on my body.

I was drifting in and out of consciousness.

"Finally" i thought to myself...

So what the fuck is this? Why am i engaging in brutal hand to hand wild fight with this bastard using both my arms and legs. My broken appendages flopping around but i do not feel pain from any of them. I fight, and in the end, i grabbed my gun and stabbed it into the fucker's neck.

"let me die"

Toughts racing through my head, begging, yearning for my demise. Yet my very own mind cages me in this flesh, for what?

it says "to fight."

I reach an open room, i went around and look what i saw, the last three motherfuckers hiding in the dark. Too bad my eyes have already adjusted to it.

1 of them attempt to shoot me, 1 of them rush to me, and the last, well it just sat there.

Again i was shot, grazed by bullets, beaten with the other one, but fuck, if i can't feel shit i will let them express pain for me.

I grabbed a nearby glass and shattered it, then stabbed the one near me with a piece of glass and used it'sbody as temporary shield as i walked towards the last two...

The other? Well it just ran out of bullets.

I stabbed it again in the "neck", i was now panting, i start to feel everything again, it's like something is wearing off...

I slowly dropped the glass and the alien to the ground, but i will not let the last one go.

I walked, to the best of my ability and through the pain of many broken bones, i walked.

Nearer and nearer i can see that shit shivering.

I slowly go near it, and it pushed something near its "head".

-translator on-

"Please, i am sorry. I beg of you let me go..." it said.

"Fucking cliché bitch", well we all know what the fuck I should do right?

But this time without breaking eye contact, in fact i widen them, let this shivering little cunt look into my bloodied unyielding eyes as i slowly, very very fucking slowly push that shard of glass into it's "neck" as i watch the light from its eyes wash away in blood.

"Finally..."

It only took a few steps away but, as expected i too fell and enjoyed my peace at last, in this drifting, lost, and soulless spacecraft that i pray never reach the sight of any living organism ever again.

#the indomitable human spirit #tiktok trend #short story #humans are weird #humans are space orcs #space

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rfswitchart · 4 months

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A Lesson From Owl House That Gets Overlooked

So, I don't know if you know this, but I used to have a tendency of bottling things up. I was scared of people being angry and upset with me, so I pushed everything way down and tried to not let things get to me. And the things I've been through are horrific at the kindest appraisal. I think you know why I'm bringing this up... So let's not waste time and just talk about the two most self-conscious characters in the series; Luz and Willow.

I don't know if you noticed this through the series, but Luz internalizes EVERYTHING. Even before Hollow Mind and the whole "I accidentally helped a genocidal maniac carry out his wicked plan" thing, Luz was quietly baring the burden of grief and trauma. We don't know the full scope of the bullying she endured, it was probably hellish and certainly isolated her. Not only that, but she was carrying the pain of losing her father, which she also internalized.

Because of this, along with the bullying and the lack of support from adults in her life (save for Camila,) Luz doesn't really have a great support system until she meets Eda and King. And even then, it took Willow, Gus, and especially Amity for her to really open up about things.

Meanwhile, Willow was browbeaten by virtually everyone in her life. Amity, Boscha, teachers, everyone looked down on her, calling her 'Half-a-Witch,' forced into learning Abomination magic by her dads instead of the Plant magic she excels at. And of course, instead of that pain manifesting as grief and misery, Willow's internalization of her emotions turns to anger, frustration, and self-loathing as we see the first time we meet her.

Of course, she befriends Gus and Luz and things start to get better, but they depend on her strength and wisdom too much, which allows her to mask her feelings in favor of helping and supporting her friends. We see that it doesn't help that much, especially after Amity once again hurts her by accidentally burning all of her memories.

Granted, things worked out between them, but Amity (subconsciously, as she was genuinely concerned and cared about Willow) was looking down on her much later. And yes, Willow gets to be in the Plant track and becomes the Flier Derby captain of her dreams. However she's still hard on herself, still keeping herself from letting things out... Oh, did you guys not notice that in For the Future? Because Boscha was egging her on and antagonizing her in a moment of weakness, Willow was going to probably hurt or even kill her bully out of sheer anger.

Yeah, if that scene played out any further and she wasn't rendered unconscious by sleeping nettles, Willow was going to do something incredibly bad. I think Elijah (not-so-average-fangirl) saw that too, which is why she said "Willow, are you ok?" during that scene. I know from personal experience that Willow was at her absolute breaking point and when you realize that, it's terrifying. She was going to let out her anger violently on someone who deserved it, but not to the extent that she was clearly going to go with it. It's also why Willow does indeed breakdown after that. She can no longer control her emotions, especially after seeing her dad puppeted and the guy she clearly had feelings for die in her arms...

Of course, we know how both Luz's breakdown in Reaching Out and Willow's breakdown in For the Future resolve. They both talk about it or let out their emotions, and they do so in front of the people that matter the most to them.

For Luz, she tells Amity about her dad. She cries over it in front of her and they resolve their first real fight since going out. Then, they both make flowers and cast them off over the Boiling Sea, continuing the tradition of Luz and her mom without being in the Human Realm. Amity's also the one that tries to comfort Luz the most after learning about Belos, because even if our hero isn't feeling great about what happened, she still someone who truly loves and supports her.

For Willow, it was a need for someone who doesn't rely on her telling her that it was ok to let it out. Someone who could stop her and beg her to never call herself 'Half-a-Witch' again. Someone who truly understood all the pain she was going through and was willing to both support her and let her vent. Now who could that be...?

Of course, Gus did obviously help in that scene, but Willow needed to hear it from Hunter. She needed someone who has only ever seen her as strong who didn't depend on her for support to just say 'you've been holding in a lot, haven't you?' Granted, I won't say you need romantic love to let your feelings and pain out to, but I am saying that a strong enough and supportive enough person can help with that. That's why Gus being there in the Willow breakdown was important. That's why all of Luz's friends telling her that helping Belos wasn't her fault was important. The most important thing about bottling emotions is to have someone there to talk to, be it friend, family, lover, or therapist.

#the owl house #luz noceda #willow park #mental health #bottling up emotions

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rosesloveletters · 5 months

Text

warm blankets and soft snuggles.

Pairing: 1971 Willy Wonka x Fem. Reader

Word Count: 1,561

Warnings: periods, use of generic over-the-counter pain medicine.

Summary: Reader has difficult periods and Wonka provides care, comfort and snuggles.

Author's Note: I wrote this mainly as an excuse to think about cuddling him <3

Edited.

divider created by @/saradika on Tumblr.

We laid on our bed, the covers pulled up to our chins to protect us from the chill of winter. Even though the heat was kept on inside the factory, Wonka kept our living space much cooler because he couldn’t sleep if he wasn’t cold. He liked the room to be several degrees below comfortability so that he didn’t overheat under the pile of blankets you had added to his modest bed, which in your opinion, was the best way to warm up: in the arms of a lover, beneath half a dozen blankets.

The comforting warmth of his touch lingered on your skin. His arms were wrapped around your body, drawing you closer as you held each other tightly. You felt a deep sense of peace wash over you as you nuzzled into his chest. In that moment, all your worries melted away, and all that mattered was being held in the arms of the one you loved. Cuddling with Willy Wonka was like a dream come true, and you cherished every second of the time you spent with him, whether you were held tightly in his arms like this or shared space somewhere else inside the factory. Nothing mattered aside from the time you spent together; what you did during that time was only as special as the company you shared.

“How are you feeling, dear?” Wonka crooned into your ear. His hand drifted to your lower abdomen and massaged gentle, soothing circles on your stomach. The warmth from his hand seeped through your shirt, down to your skin and you let out a quiet moan of contentment at his touch.

“Better, with you here,” you replied and felt him smile against the back of your head.

You had been suffering from a bout of cramps the likes of which rendered you immobile and confined to your bed if you weren’t ingesting painkillers on a regular basis, as instructed by the label. You had not wanted to venture out of your warmth cocoon for a snack so that you would not upset your vulnerable stomach when you took your medication, so Wonka had pried himself out of your death grip on his body – you squeezed him just a bit tighter with every wave of cramps that hit you – and went to the kitchen to fetch you a granola bar, then the bathroom for your pills and promptly back to your shared bed.

He had to coax you to take a few bites of the granola bar; you weren’t keen to eat anything when you were in so much pain, but your stomach would punish you for it if you took any pain medication on an empty stomach and so you forced down several bites until Wonka deemed it safe for you to take the pills.

You swallowed two painkillers and sipped the water you kept at your bedside.

You blinked gratefully at your beloved as he said patiently by your side. His hand was placed lovingly on your knee and he watched you attentively as you trembled and winced in pain.

Wonka was understanding and he knew it took time for the pills to take affect; you would have to endure some more pain before the medicine kicked in.

He sat by your side, eventually getting back beneath the duvet so that he could get warm. He wanted to be here for you if and when you needed him, even if that meant shirking his responsibilities for a few hours or perhaps the whole day. As company owner, he could do that, and he would if it were necessary.

Wonka was not unfamiliar with the stress and the pain that women endured due to their menstrual cycles. He considered it something which he could learn a thing or two from, especially since he did not experience it himself, but had to glean information secondhand. He was always curious to learn new things and share in experiences that were presented to him, so he took every opportunity given to him to learn about you and your body.

He made mental notes of the things you wanted when you were feeling the effects of your monthly cycle and within his vast repertoire of knowledge, he had come to the realization that you mostly just wanted his presence.

You craved physical touch and wanted to be as close to him as possible, which he found quite endearing and somewhat unexpected. He had never given thought to anyone wanting to share in quiet, intimate moments of affection with him, not because he felt unworthy or unlovable in such a way, but because he never made it a priority and it therefore became rather unexpected.

An unexpected, albeit pleasant, surprise.

The tension in your body slackened and you relaxed, reclining in his arms as he took up the spot behind you, spooning against you as the medication seemed to be taking effect.

This had all taken place almost an hour ago and Wonka had been holding you since then.

His solid body was warm against your back. You were tucked in to him, held fast by his arms which wound around you and his large hands were splayed out on your stomach. It had taken the two of you some time to feel comfortable in such a position, but the reward was worth the time spent earning his trust.

“You may rest for the day if you would like, dear,” he whispered, snuggling in a little closer as he unwrapped one arm from around you and brushed your hair away from your cheek so he could give you a little kiss, “I’m certain you’ll feel much better tomorrow if you take it easy today.”

As much as you didn’t like to stay in bed, you decided it was best to take his advice and let your body rest. After all, Wonka always had your best interests at heart and if he worried for your well-being, it only came from a place of love.

“Thank you, darling,” you responded, “I won’t push myself today.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” he grinned, giving your cheek another quick peck, “if you need anything, absolutely anything at all, I’ll be happy to give it to you if it is within my ability to do so.”

There was nothing Willy Wonka would not do for you if it were possible. With Wonka, there was no such thing as an impossibility; all you had to do was say the word and he would deliver, typically in the most creative, and sometimes unusual, way possible.

“Well, I wouldn’t mind a chocolate bar or two,” you let out a soft giggle and you regretted your current positioning because you could not see his toothy grin even though you knew it was there.

“I suppose I might be able to find something that is to your liking,” he joked, pausing then to add, “I might actually have a couple of bars stowed in my coat.”

He often had chocolate bars that he kept on him, in one of the various pockets of his coat.

He would get up to check in a moment or two, but for now he wished to savor the warmth of your body against his.

It was not often that he lingered in bed. When you were waking to begin your day, Wonka’s had already begun, and on a regular day he would have been down in the Inventing Room since dawn.

“Thank you,” you thanked him even though he had yet to produce any treats for you.

“You’re welcome, my dear.”

His arms tightened around your midsection and his nose rutted through your hair. His body laid flush to yours, his front connected with your back. He felt content to hold you like this, letting you rest with his arms around you protectively as you shared the warmth of the bed with him.

His scent reached your nostrils and you inhaled, breathing in the smell of rich cocoa, brown sugar, maple drizzle and a hint of citrus with earthy undertones.

His comforting embrace took your mind off your discomfort and now that your medicine had taken affect, you were feeling even better.

During your time of the month, you were content to be held in the arms of your lover. There was nothing more you could have wanted from him aside from his empathy and his embrace. You did not need any other comforts, although nothing he did for you went unappreciated. Knowing that he was there for you and wanted to ease you through your struggles filled you with happiness and made your heart melt like warm chocolate on a hot summer’s day.

Your love for him flowed like his chocolate river in the factory below, rich waves washing over you and pouring onto him in the refreshing gush of a waterfall of emotion.

He pulled you in tight, soaking up all the affection and giving back as much to you as you did to him.

Wonka thought his life was sweet before he met you, but as it turned out, his chocolate was bitter in comparison to the candy-coated sentiments you shared with him each time you vowed your love to him in midnight whispers.

He was not one to over-indulge, but only you could satisfy his sweet tooth and Willy Wonka wanted all of you.

#willy wonka #willy wonka and the chocolate factory #wilder!wonka #willy wonka 1971 #willy wonka x reader #willy wonka x you #willy wonka imagine #willy wonka and the chocolate factory imagine #gene wilder #biblio :: 📖

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gatheringbones · 7 months

Text

[“Several contributors to A Woman Like That acknowledged that exploring the territory of their own coming out in writing was unexpectedly difficult. Seasoned writers told me how arduous, even painful, it was to explore coming-out memories that had long been held under pressure at a depth. One novelist said that her family’s rejection of her as an open lesbian had been too agonizing to revisit; she was unable to complete her story. Another, author of a soul-searching memoir and surely no coward, wrote a haunting piece about her first erotic experience with a woman, but withdrew it when she remembered that the words “lesbian and bisexual” would appear in the book’s subtitle.

These are indeed powerful words. I am deeply indebted to the writers who are free to embrace them.

Many writers in this collection recall childhood desire, embryonic lesbian hunger, and the innocence and mystery of those feelings on the brink of collision with the straight world. One writer asserts that she was “born queer,” while another confesses to the sin of “converting”—implying that, contrary to current rules of political correctness, some feel they have chosen to be lesbians. Some write with youthful ebullience and wit of adventures as “sex-positive” lesbians, with almost a gasp of surprise at the seeming absence of oppression in their lives. A handful write of uncommonly loyal families that nurtured independence in childhood and remain a source of strength to their unconventional daughters. Some contributors write of harsh punishment rendered for sexual nonconformity and of the survival skills and moral intelligence they have wrested from their experiences. Two write of their incarceration in mental institutions as young gay women, and of the exhilaration of release. Another, stunned by the abrupt firing of teachers rumored to be lesbians, learns that even a “progressive” environment may be unapologetically homophobic; her knowledge of danger ultimately empowers her to speak against injustice. One writer, who tells of coming out to the sons of whom she has lost custody, speaks of having cracked open their small universe—a shattering, but one that allows light and the possibility of new knowledge and connection.

A number of writers in this collection tell coming-out stories that are not about a single defining moment but rather about a continuum of experience. They recall many passages—a gradual shedding of false selves, an ongoing process of self-discovery and self-naming. One writer, nearly deported from the U.S. for her outspoken political writing, equates coming out with the freedom to explore deeper places in her own psyche. A writer in her seventies tells movingly of her failure to name herself a lesbian at a reunion of those who as children were transported to safety in England to escape the Nazi death camps. Next year, she resolves, she will come out to them. Another, Another, in the form of a diary of a week in the present year, reminds us that, regardless of how secure our identities, we are forced to come out as lesbians each time we intersect with the heterosexual world, or remain invisible as we have been for centuries.”]

Joan Larkin, from a woman like that: lesbian and bisexual writers tell their coming out stories, 2000

#joan larkin #lesbian literature #bi literature #terra preta #horror! horror! horror!#currently reading

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darlingshane · 2 years

Text

secret ingredient

Michael Berzatto x Pregnant!Reader

Rating: T

Word Count: 1,9k

Summary: Michael has a crush on his pregnant neighbor and uses food as a tactic to win them over.

Content/Warnings: Pregnancy, Friendship, Mutual Pining, Fluff, Food, Eating, Complicated feelings.

-- Read below or at AO3.

Michael has had a huge crush on his neighbor – you – ever since he met you a few months ago when you moved into the unit across from him. The problem with his infatuation is that you’re very pregnant, and right about to pop. He doesn’t mind that at all, no. Good news is that the father of the baby is out of the picture; bad news is you’re not interested in seeing anyone right now. That’s what he’s gathered from all the times you’ve hung out. So, he basks in the friendship you’ve offered, hoping someday you’ll see him differently.

In all Michael’s hope, he uses his best tool at hand to win you over. More specifically, he targets and makes his case to your stomach; and every night, he brings you food from the restaurant after closing. It’s not just a conquering tactic. As a friend, right now he just wants to be helpful cause the last month has been very challenging for you. You’re two weeks away from your due date, and your girdle pain has severely become more unbearable, rendering you useless for the most part of the day. The only thing he can do to make your life a little easier is bringing a dish particularly crafted for you, so you don’t have to waddle to cook something for yourself or order something subpar from any other place.

Once the shop is closed, when all the staff has left, and the lights go out, he comes out of his office, slings on an apron and directs all his attention, and puts all his heart, on cooking something to make you feel better. It’s been a learning experience cause your cravings have shifted often and what you loved yesterday might not please your stomach today, so he does a different thing every day. Tonight he’s going for a grilled chicken sandwich. He takes his time marinating the breast before grilling it. He tops it with lettuce, tomato slices, onions, and pickles; he knows you’d never say no pickles. Then, he layers all the ingredients in a toasted sesame bun and wraps it before heading home.

He can tell by the time you take to open the door you’re getting more exhausted every second closer to the end of your pregnancy. He hands you the sandwich, and you almost rip it out of his hands by how good it smells. It makes him chuckle as he closes the door behind him and sits with you for a while to watch you slowly savoring the food he prepared.

“How’s the little guy doing?” he gazes at your rounded belly.

You shrug, chewing your food, enjoying the amalgam of flavors caught in your taste buds, “I think he wants to get out.”

“Yeah?”

“Hm-hmm, I’ve had two contractions in the past hour.”

“Shouldn’t you call your doctor or something?”

“I did. She said to time them, and call again if they get more intense and closer.”

“What about that Braxton guy?”

“Braxton Hicks?” you snort, “it didn’t feel like that.”

“Why are you so chill?”

“I’m not,” you quickly reply, smoothing a hand over the stretched shirt covering your pregnant belly, “I’m trying to stay calm, so he’d chill a little.”

“May I?” One of his hands hovers over your belly, and you nod shyly.

You swallow the lump in your throat as he places his palm on the topside of your tummy. It’s not the first time he’s done that, but every time he does, it makes your stomach flutter all the same. Michael puts the same love in that gentle touch, as he does in all the food he brings you.

He came into your life like a blessing in the middle of one of the worst times of your life, and his friendship has made life more bearable in these past few months. How in the world you got pregnant by some asshole instead of someone like Michael goes beyond comprehension. It feels like the ultimate joke. Though, there are bigger things in your mind right now than considering dating in your situation, you wish you’d met him sooner.

Whatever feelings you’re harboring for the chef, you have to put them aside. You’re heavily focused on bringing the little guy growing inside you into this world safe and sound, and starting something with Michael in this crucial point of your life would only make it more confusing for you and for your baby boy, and you can’t have that.

It’s pretty obvious, he likes you back. Who’d hang with a pregnant idiot like yourself this much if it wasn’t interested in something more? Even your most loyal friends aren’t as concerned as he is. He listens to all your complaints, makes you laugh, and most importantly– he feeds you. Every fucking night for the past couple of months you’ve been spoiled by having a personal chef sating all your cravings. If that's not love, then what is?

His beautiful lips curve up when the baby kicks right below his palm. He leans closer and in a moment of temporary confusion, every rational thought leaves your mind, and you tilt your head and press a kiss against the corner of his mouth. It takes him by surprise, and his bottom lip trembles as you pull your head back slightly.

“Sorry,” you mumble, tearing up at how stupid you feel after doing that. A second after, your apology is wiped away when his mouth sweetly presses against yours once more. It lingers for a hot minute before having his lips bouncing against yours several times, bumping your nose with his as his face tilts to the other side.

Your heart races when his mouth parts wider, inviting you into a deeper kiss. You accept and shyly send your tongue to meet him in the middle. His hand is still on your tummy, and you tentatively place your palm over his knuckles. You feel him smile as he kisses you ever so slowly until you feel another kick lower in your abdomen, and you jerk your face away.

Wait… it’s not a kick, you quickly realize. You hum lightly in pain, as that semi-familiar cramping from earlier that flares at your lower back and wraps all around your abdomen, and you even feel it reaching your thighs this time. You clench your teeth as Michael takes his hand away and soothes your back instead until it passes.

Relaxing once the pain has dulled, you lean back against the backrest and inhale deeply.

“I don't know how to fit you into my life right now, Michael. I wish I could.”

“Honey, don’t worry about that right now. Was that–”

“Uh-hm,” you check the clock in your phone to calculate the time since the last one, 18 minutes. They’re too far to tell if you’re in active labor. Could still be false, but you doubt that, cause like everything else in your life, nothing ever turns out like it’s supposed to. “I think you should go.”

“I’m not leaving you alone right now.”

“You’re too damn stubborn, you know that?”

“Said the kettle,” he scoffs, “do you really want me to leave?”

You think for a beat, and shake your head, trying not to burst into tears, “I just don’t wanna be an inconvenience. I got myself into this, I should deal with it alone. You’ve done too much for me already… I could never ask you to do this.”

“Sweetheart,” he exhales, “you’re not, and you shouldn’t have to deal with this alone. Nobody should. I’ll go if you don’t want me here, but know that there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you, got it?”

“Got it,” your lips turn up slightly, and he mirrors your response.

“Then that’s settled.”

You swallow the lump in your throat and go lay down on your bed for a bit and see if it passes while Michael makes himself useful washing your dishes and putting away the half sandwich you left unfinished.

He truly is heaven-sent. He checks on you every few minutes and brings you water, and later sees that his car has enough gas to take you to the hospital. He sure would do anything for you, without question. Much like you said, he doesn’t know how he’d fit into your world, either, but he wants to figure out. The fact that you’re having a baby is not the most scary thing about you, it’s the thought of not having you at all is what terrifies him.

Your baby boy wants to get out tonight, even if you’re not ready. The non-stopping contractions, coming increasingly closer every time, tell you that it’s time to accept he’s not slowing down and that you need to get to the hospital.

Michael drives you. This wasn’t on his plans tonight, but he doesn’t wanna be anywhere else, to be honest.

It comes out naturally for him to take care of you during this long process that lasts thirteen hours. Though he's never had to face anything like this, taking care of family is part of what makes him– him. And you, whether you are together or not, feel like family to him.

The feeling is mutual, even if you haven’t come into terms with it yet.

When the big moment comes, he never leaves your side. He holds your hand, tight, until the baby is out. It’s then that he steps back for you to meet your son. That’s a sacred moment he doesn’t want to interrupt.

Once you're both settled, he leaves for a few hours to check on the restaurant, and comes by later with a bouquet of flowers and a big teddy bear.

“Hey,” you beam, glancing at Michael from the bed, holding your little guy tucked like a burrito in your arms.

“Hey, sweetheart. How are you feeling?”

“Tired but good. We’re good.”

“So, this is Rhys,” he places the gifts down and comes closer to take a good look at the newborn.

“This is Rhys,” you repeat.

“He looks like you.”

“God, I hope so,” you gently touch Rhys’ chin, and he scrunches his tiny face.

“You did really well. Both of you.”

“Thank you,” you gulp the lump in your throat, and gaze at Michael, “I couldn’t have done it without you.”

“Of course, sweetheart.”

“Listen, I uh… I need to ask you something. You can say no, but I was thinking of giving him Michael as his middle name. I didn’t have one when we came here, and it’s fitting. You were here with us all night, you’re one of my best friends and I just… I don’t know. It doesn’t have to mean anything other than that. I know what happened last night was confusing, and I’m not asking you to marry me, just… I want him to have your name if you agree.”

“Wow,” he swallows, flabbergasted, “really? He can have it if you want, sweetheart. You didn’t have to ask.”

“Okay, good,” you exhale, “cause I was already getting used to how it sounded.”

“Rhys Michael,” he pronounces slowly, “yeah, sounds good.”

“You wanna hold him?”

“Maybe later. He looks so cozy in there. I don't wanna upset him.”

“You won’t.”

“Are you sure?”

You nod, and he gently picks Rhys up from your arms and sits on the chair next to the bed.

It’s such a weird, overwhelming feeling seeing Michael cradle your baby in his arms, and it saddens you that his own father wasn’t here to meet him, but at least he’d have Michael as an ally, a cool uncle, a best friend perhaps… whatever he decides to be, you know it’d be good for both of you.

#jon bernthal #michael berzatto #michael berzatto x reader #the bear #the bear fanfiction #fluff #darlingwrites

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kiame-sama · 1 year

Note

Since you're happy to ask for requests, and I am happy to give them;

Silva and Kikyo sharing a darling?

- If Silva and Kikyo were to ever share a darling, it would be a darling who is weaker than them (not to difficult to imagine as they both are deadly and able to slaughter with ease). Their weaker darling is most likely someone they noticed first in passing, perhaps someone who lives in a village or city near the mountain.

- Upon first seeing their darling and learning they share a mutual interest, they will begin to plan the ideal way to kidnap the chosen darling. Several changes will be made to the parts of the estate they occupy in order to prepare before they even grab their dearest. Kikyo will have an invisible fence set up in various locations to keep their darling where they want yet still allow some freedom of exploration. Their bed will be replaced with a larger one, an extra 'pet-bed' being added just to allow their darling space to decompress after kidnapping. Staff will all be made aware that the new addition is to be kept to certain parts of the estate, yet butlers are expected to have minimal contact.

- When they finally take you- their darling- it will be quite easy for them to subdue and render you unconscious without actually harming you. You will be fitted with a collar that is lightweight and closer to a lace design to sit comfortably around the neck. This collar may look like a simple thing but it has nen properties and it will shock you should you get too close to the invisible fence. The shock is not intended to cause pain but to be a deterrent from trying to push set boundaries.

- Silva and Kikyo are quite aware that being kidnapped and kept as some kind of pet between the two assassins is a frightening experience for you, so you will be given time to adjust. You will still be kept in certain parts of the estate, but they will not force you to join them in their bed for at least a week, letting you stay on your 'pet-bed' for a while.

- It is unlikely you will escape from them simply because they are stronger than you, so you are mainly viewed as a declawed cat or a toothless dog; harmless. Any attempt at escape will be met with punishment and removal of a privilege- such as choosing your food or being allowed outside. Even if you do try to be aggressive and fight for your freedom, you really aren't much of a threat to either Zoldyck.

- Eventually you will be expected to adjust to your new life and join them in their bed, allowing them to coo over you and touch you as desired. They will only be so tolerant of your distant behavior for so long before making you do what they want. At some point between the manipulation and you being around them, they will choose to force you to spend time with them.

#kiame-sama #yandere #x reader #yandere x reader #reader insert #tw yandere #hxh yandere #yandere silva #yandere kikyo #tw kidnapping #tw polyamorous relationship #tw poly #yandere silva x reader x yandere kikyo

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glimmeringtwilight · 2 years

Note

I kindly ask for any loose Dottore hc’s you have running around in your head 😔🤲

Oh definitely! Forgive the formatting I'm too lazy to move this to gdocs lol

Cw: needles, drugging, biting, unhealthy relationships, medical malpractice, doctor/patient relationships

Dottore likes to bite-- that's a given, but it's troublesome when he does it to you after a shot, dragging teeth over the sore patch of skin and lapping up the beads of blood that well up.

It's terribly unsanitary, especially after all the care he takes to sanitize the area, but he seems unconcerned about the threat of infection. It's nothing he can't easily treat, anyway.

For all his sadistic tendencies, you're usually incredibly healthy. You can't remember the last time you were sick-- not as a result of Dottore's "medicine," that is.

Of course, you can never tell when Dottore's giving you actual medicine, or when he's decided to give you something different. His smile is always the same as he flicks any air bubbles from the syringe; always the same mocking warning of "this might pinch a little." If you didn't have a fear of needles before, you do now.

Depending on how well behaved you are, he's... tolerable. "Well behaved," of course, means no getting skittish and trying to run or squirm away whenever he administers a shot. He doesn't mind if you're afraid of him, but he prefers fawn or freeze responses to fight or flight. He'll try to coax you into responding the "correct" way to fear, but, failing that, he has plenty of sedatives at his disposal.

You learn pretty quickly that sedation isn't a mercy. Oftentimes, it just means you're paralyzed while he does whatever he pleases to you-- whereas when you're good, he'll check up on you; ask how you're feeling, if it hurts, etc. If you've been good, sometimes he'll take pity on you and stop. Sometimes he'll give you anaesthetics or painkillers.

He also does that thing that doctors do, where they completely lie about the level of pain you'll experience. Sometimes "just a pinch" is truly just a pinch, sometimes it's a burning, white-hot agony.

If we want to get into modern au.... I think modern au Dottore would like you sickly. He'd prescribe you something to keep you frail and weak and sick, just enough to keep you reliant on him until he can convince you to try in-home care-- so that when you have another flare-up, you can be treated in the comfort of your own home.

What he neglects to tell you, of course, is that once you invite him in he intends to stay. Your sickness worsens tenfold with him there, rendering you bedridden, and you realize-- too little too late-- that maybe you were never sick to begin with.

He'll maintain the façade of doctor and patient even as he changes the locks in your own home, confiscating your phone and locking up anything that can be used as a weapon. You sometimes hear your neighbors at the door, talking to him, and you wish you could scream-- tell them what's happening, beg for help, anything to put an end to this nightmare--

You know better, of course. You made that mistake once, and what followed was silence, then the tell-tale sound of dead weight hitting the floor. He'd come into the room with a smile, dragging your semi-conscious neighbor by the feet behind him, and explained that he's lucky he had the foresight to keep tranquilizers on him at all times.

He'd made you watch, that time. You learned not to scream again.

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