#and I get to just sit in my loneliness and suffer in it

[w3irdo666]

LIGHT IN THE DARKNESS

PART 1/ PART 2/ PART 3

Lucifer Morningstar x Fem!reader

Letter count:2666

Warnings: mention of depression, i dont think anything more.

Notes:I slightly changed the course of events to make it more convenient to write, sorry!!!

Two angels were sitting on a bench in a small garden filled with different types of flowers. In front of the bench there was a fountain with clear, almost mirror-like water, giving the air a slightly damp taste. “I...I’m not sure if I can...you don’t have to be on my side, my idea is stupid-” Lucifer didn’t have time to finish when his words were interrupted by the girl’s soft laugh. She smiled and took Lucifer’s hands in hers, soft as plushie, warm hands, making Lucifer's heart beat a little faster. "Don't worry Luci, I will always be by your side, no matter what happens. It's my decision and your idea is not stupid. If they don't hear you... It will only show their stupidity." Her calm, kind voice added confidence to Lucifer. He smiled and looked away for a few seconds, but then moved his gaze back to the girl next to him. "Yes, you're right.. Thank you." His eyes looked into yours, radiating warmth.Moving closer, the girl hugged Lucifer. It was a warm, encouraging hug. “I will always support you, no matter what. I will always be by your side.”

Lucifer's sad gaze was directed at the new rubber duck he had just made. He sighed and leaned back in his chair. Small, clear as glass, tears formed in the corners of his eyes, remembering his last moments in heaven, before his expulsion. Y/n. This girl was his friend, always supported his idea, was ready to give every part of herself to support Lucifer. Where are she now? How is her life? Is she happy? He does not know. "I will always be by your side, no matter what." Lucifer sobbed, wiping his tears with the sleeve of his suit.These words are ingrained in his head. He no longer really remembers her face, but he definitely remembers how soft her hands were. Her radiant smile.. He almost forgot what her laughter sounds like.Her beautiful, plump scarlet lips, which he always wanted to know what they tasted like. She was a ray of light in the darkness. How beautiful her wings were when she flew with him...Years of suffering, loneliness, depression.. during all this time he tried forget about her, because thoughts about her hurt him even more....

Trying to distract himself, he started making rubber ducks, "how pathetic". He thought.

Somehow finding the strength to get up from his chair, the King of Hell headed to his bed. The bed cracked slightly, feeling the weight of his body when Lucifer fell onto the soft mattress of the bed.

"You can't just go ahead and banish him! How dare you!" Tears flowed down the girl’s cheeks, burning her skin. Her voice almost broke from screaming. But no one wanted to hear her. No one cared.

Lucifer turned over on his back, his gaze staring at the ceiling. He would have continued to lie in deathly silence if the silence had not been broken by the unexpected ringing of the phone, causing Lucifer to flinch. With a quick movement, he rose from the bed and grabbed the phone.

"Daughter..?.... Daughter! Daughter calling!" Seeing the contact's name, Lucifer's sad face burst into a joyful smile and he almost dropped his phone. Charlie, his daughter is calling him! After a slightly awkward conversation, he said that he would be at Charlie’s hotel in an hour. After hanging up, he took a deep breath and smiled. The sadness that had been gnawing at him a few minutes ago was put on the back burner...

Taking a deep breath, he gathered his strength. He would finally see his daughter, after a long time. He couldn't screw it up.

Part 2 in progress!! Hope you enjoyed!! :D

#lucifer x reader #lucifer morningstar x reader #lucifer morningstar #hazbin lucifer #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel lucifer #lucifer hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel x you

[alexlwrites]

As REQUESTED! Here's part 3 of "Yoongi who never had a crush... Until you" from my notes app!

This is a little longer than the others due to my commute to work taking a little longer today, so yall can thank the Sao Paulo train system for that!

As I mentioned previously, I am now open to commissions through my ko-fi! So you can buy me a coffee and request a short scenario, whether it be based on this fic, one of my others, or something entirely new! The link to my ko-fi is in my bio!

Anywho! Enjoy!

----

Yoongi had an on going theory - now proven over many many times - that any and all problems he encountered could somehow be traced back to Jimin.

Beer missing from the fridge? Jiminie. His files mysteriously disappearing from his computer, replaced by a bootleg version of The Sims 3? Jimin. The Plague? Park Jimin, that fucking rat.

And once more, in a house party he had no interested being at, poor Yoongi found himself victim of the consequences of his ill-fated association with that god-forsaken gremlin, now smiling smugly from across the circle where his friends and a few acquaintances sat.

"Everyone knows the rules, right?" Jimin said, innocently like he wasn't the cause of Yoongi's on going demise "You spin the bottle and whoever it points to, you have to kiss!"

Yoongi snorted from his place in a chair outside the circle. At 30 years old, he was clearly above such childish games and would never submit himself to such humiliating and depraved behavior...

"I'm here! I'm here! Sorry I'm late!" he heard and he swore time stopped as you, of all people, sat within the circle next to a Jungkook, smoothing down your tennis skirt as you smiled "What are we playing?"

"Spin the bottle!" Jimin smiled grew, a mischievous gleam appearing as he peared at his frozen friend.

Your eyes looked around the circle, falling on Yoongi's a couple feet behind and he swore even the singular hair in his left toe stood up in alert "Yoongi's not playing?" You asked.

Jimin shrugged in despondency "Well, no-"

"Of course I am!" Yoongi threw himself onto the ground, sending a poor unsuspecting Taehyung flying out of the way with a whelp "I love this game!"

Yoongi did not in fact love this game. He loathed it.

They had played several rounds and his bottle was nowhere close to pointing at you. Instead, he kissed Namjoon twice and slapped Taehyung once for putting his slimy tongue out as their faces got closer.

Was he cursed, he wondered, the face of dispirited desperation, watching as Hoseok and Jin made out in a way that could only be described as disproportionately violent. What could he have done in his past lives that would lead to this punishment, the sheer torture of sitting across from you and not getting to kiss you? Had he not earned your affections? Did he not claim your love through the cosmical power of dibs?

Whatever. WhaTEVER! So it would be, he would die alone. A monk amongst 6 manwhores, a fortitude of loneliness, cursed to roam the earth in his loveless state...

Oh, it was his turn. He spinned the bottle thoughtlessly, mind still wondering about the implications of his slowly returning virginity due to solitude.

Oh.

Oh.

You looked up at him as the bottle pointed straight at your form all the way across the circle and Yoongi swore someone had to call 911 at the way his heart stopped. His condition - simptitis - was worsening by the second.

Someone wheel him into the emergency room - you were crawling across the circle, prowling really, your blouse dipping in a way that left nothing to the imagination, and trust him, he had imagined!

You stopped, kneeling in front of him "Hi, Mr. Min."

Here are some symptoms to look for if you believe you could suffer from simptitis:

-accelerated heart beat

-exaggerated hand sweating

-inability to form coherent thoughts, not to be confused with just being stupid, which Yoongi was starting to think it was his case

-ill timed boners

And, the most common one:

-praise kink

Yoongi seemed to be displaying all of the above at the same time and when you softly asked "Are you okay with this?" All he could do was brace himself and nod.

If Hoseok and Jin's kiss was violent, this one was peaceful, slow, soft and way too passionate for a spin the bottle session. You tasted like sicilian lemon and gin and Yoongi was only but an alcoholic man at your feet, cradling your face to keep you close, refusing to let go of the addictive feeling of your lips on his.

Someone coughed awkwardly and you stepped back, face flushed and chest heaving. You looked deliciously disheveled and Yoongi thought of other circumstances where he could make you look like that again.

Okay, so maybe Jimin wasn't that bad.  Maybe he wasn't the physical manifestation of Yoongi's karma. Maybe that phat assed hobbit was up to something with his seventh grade games...

Oh, it was your turn. Maybe Yoongi would get to kiss you again!

Nope. It landed on Jimin, who wasted absolutely no time in bringing your face down to his.

The betrayal? The bro-trayal?

Back stabbing little tinker bell bitch.

Bugger.

Bugger it all to hell.

#bts fanfic #bts x reader #bts #min yoongi #yoongi imagine #yoongi fanfic #min yoongi x y/n #yoongi x reader #yoongi fluff

[jams-sims]

Because its so late, I think I can say this. As much as I fucking hate purgatory. As a DM to a story I think its the most natural out for characters and Muns. Oh! my character can have either lived or died on the purg island? Do I feel like coming back? If the answer no. Easy out, no over the top feeling, no need to do a final stream if I dont want to. Just a stark sad tragic exit that leaves it mark. Because no one expected people to die on this silly fucking island. But deaths, mark very important and poignant moments. The island is curel and its consuming its islanders.

Max's death is one of sacrifice for his friends and the eggs. He was in a hole of loneliness, I think that loneliness took him as well. But I think qMax's death was a simple stepping stone while q!jaiden death will be a full on turn. See-

Jaiden death is probably the most fitting for her character because it is the most tragic. Q!Jaiden died when bobby died. She speant her days in a home just cluttered with his images and his likeness. She was being used by the Feds and I think deep down she knew that. Her connections were severed do to grief, her platonic husband while also spiraling found hope. He got married had a new kid and while he made sure people put some respect on her name when it came to Bobby. He had moved somewhere she could not get to him.

An in a way, I think that's all she truly needed. Her last connection, Roier was happy living his full life in a castle. An what did she have to go back to? A sunset in a house full of memories in a field of flowers surrounded by nothing. The week spent in purgatory felt like a century of suffering.

Something in her finally broke and maybe she didn't make it to the final part where everyone else was. Maybe she walked slowly, legs and feet numb. An she got to a clearing, the world is doused in chaos once again. An her ears are rinning with sirens. An all of it fades away as she stops, she stops limping along, she falls back into sitting on the cold earth.

She realizes their nothing waiting for her back on the island. What was the rush for? What was all the screaming and crying, the begging the longing. She's tired. She so tired of it all. All of it and what was it for? A new start that would never truly be hers.

She relax for the first time in a long time and the sunset looks beautiful. And she hopes that roier stays happy that all the eggs get to live happy and healthy lives.

She doesn't even hear the explosion. She closes her eyes. An when she opens them she in the air, weightless and flying. She has food she hasn't eaten in a long time. She tells Bobby not to worry, she happy now. Only to feel a swift kick to her shins. As Bobby takes her hand and she gets to tell him about all the thing she did after his passing.

She finally get to go back home.

#qsmp #jaiden animations #qsmp roier #fucking sobbing while writing this #qsmp jaiden #roier

[bitterchocoo]

Pookie please!

At first I'm fine with the open ending of Welt x Reader ome. But then you go on ahead and make a sequel with a cliffhanger. Please my heart can't take it.

I won't force you t continue it if you don't want to. I just wanted to say it's amazingly written. And if you did ever wanted to go back continuing that, I'd be looking forward to it. (Be it more angst or bittersweet ending or even happy one. I'm content because I'm just that starving for Welt x male reader)

The very long awaited part three

Yes, Your Excellency

Part One | Part two | Part Three (You're here)

----------

Welt Yang | M. Reader

----------

"I will gladly play the part, so that you may shine, my sun."

----------

Once upon a time in a kingdom far away..

Lived a princess only 14 years of age.

There wasn't anything this princess couldn't have with a boy just like her serving as her right hand man..

"Yes, Your Excellency."

Those are the words he have said to her multiple times, from the very beginning. He was there as he watch his Lady build an empire from nothing. Her anxiousness... her fears.. her loneliness... her suffering..

He saw it all.

His dear Christine.

She was truly.. the light in his tunnel..

Even after everything, she still smiles and answers to her people. Truly a kind and thoughtful ruler.

And he's more than happy to be by her side. To guide her. And comfort her at her lowers.

She was everything to him.

----------

The Stellaron Crisis brought many disasters and ailments. The suffering the people felt, their loved ones who are clutching their last straws. It breaks his heart. Truly it did.

It breaks his heart that Her Excellency has to watch her people suffer.

Her face which was once filled with joy was replaced by a somber expression. Her tone was so soft and full of life has turned sorrowful.

It breaks his heart... Truly... it did..

How could they.. turned such a beautiful person who's full of life into.. this..

It's unforgettable!

And as her right hand man, he will solve this Crisis and finally... bring back that smile that once adored her face.

He endured many sleepless nights and devoted himself to his research. He doesn't care what it takes. He will save her. The Stellaron Crisis is out of control, what if Her Excellency gets infected by its disease? What if she was suffering from the ailment this entire time! He has to! He has to save her! Whatever it takes!

"You worked so hard on trying to solve the Stellaron Crisis. I can see why you're Her Excellency's right hand man."

The day the Nameless arrived at their humble planet, claiming wanting to help and lend their aid. He was skeptical. How could these... people.. be as what they claim to be? How could he know they won't harm anyone? How could he know they won't harm her?

He didn't say anything as he kept vigilant.

They complimented him. Calling him a responsible and caring man for devoting himself to his research on the Crisis that had plagued his home.

Of course.

How could he not?

When she is also affected by it?

She doesn't deserve this.

She doesn't deserve any of this.

Her beloved kingdom.. on the brink of collapsing..

Oh how heartbroken she must be..

Which is why...

He's taking things into his own hands.

He can't just sit idly and see her suffering like that everyday.

----------

"Whatever it takes?"

"How bold~"

"Then why don't you accept our offer?"

"We can help you!"

Their voices are loud. Oh so loud. They begged and persuaded him. Trying to get him on their side.

"We can give you power.. so you can protect her."

Their offers are very tempting. Very very tempting.

----------

The Nameless.. as righteous as they are.. never would he thought one of them could be so interested in him. That man talked to him so casually as if they're old friends, maybe more.

He was never good with names.

But his name seems to stick to him for some reason. The chatter and the gift that man had given. It somehow.. stuck to him in a way he never knew existed.

He felt like he had gone insane.

They're strangers and yet.. it felt like.. they knew each other for so long..

"Oh? What's this?"

"Have you found another?"

"How cruel of you.. to forsake your beloved.."

No... No.. No!! Nonononononononononono!!! He can't!! Her Excellency!! She's—!

"You can't deny it though."

Shut up.. just shut up!

Their voices grew loud as their demans became more tempting by the second.. The Nameless.. as righteous as they may be.. Could he truly trust them..? Trust them to.. solve this Crisis..? Trust them to.. save her..?

Of course not.

How could he? How could he trust them? They're just some random people!! They came uninvited claiming they wanted to help!! Who do they think he is?! He's Her Excellency's right hand! Christine's right hand!

"You know what..? Sure.. I accept."

.

.

.

.

.

"They're nothing but fools."

"No one can save her."

"No one but me."

#seme male reader #top male reader #honkai star rail #honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail x male reader #hsr #hsr x reader #hsr x male reader #hsr welt #hsr welt yang #welt yang x reader #welt yang x male reader #welt x reader #welt x male reader #x reader #x male reader

[not-your-fucking-kacchan]

I want to ruin my life and throw myself into an arc so uhh

Can i request class 1-A but like outcast reader? Angsty yk where theyre always dismissed in training and forgotten

Oooo I like this one lmfao I want so desperately to make reader this feral little cicin mage like from genshin 😭 buts gonna be gn

𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 <3

𝐀𝐢𝐳𝐚𝐰𝐚 𝐚𝐧𝐝 1-𝐀 𝐱 𝐆𝐍!𝐒𝐭𝐮𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐭!𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 (𝐏𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐜) - 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐁𝐞 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐝 𝐁𝐚𝐜𝐤

Aizawa was starting to become a little worried about you. He had been so busy with Shinsou and his problem children to focus much attention and direction to the rest of the class. Every time he would try to work on it, yet another calamity would occur and force his attention back on the main parties.

He was working on this little flaw of his, continuously checking in with and directing the others during training period. He never got to help you, though. It seemed that whenever he would look for you, you would drop from the face of the earth.

You were avoiding him.

You would sit on your lonesome in class and at lunch, with your head kept down. He's never once seen you exchange small talk. In all honesty, he's less worried about your physical capabilities, and more worried about your mental state. He has a bad feeling.

In reality, you just hated this class. Every day, someone would open their big, ugly mouth and out came nonsense that further convinced you of how undeserving they were of being at the top. You were only here because you were recommended. Your quirk isn't nearly as powerful or flashy, either. Why does everyone else get all the attention when all they do is fuck up and ruin everything?!

All of this comes to light during the next sparring period. You were towing on the edge of keeping up with one of the class' best, until you were unexpectedly knocked down. That was your last straw. How fucking dare he?

You were suffering a humiliating defeat as you sit on your knees on the floor, staring into the distance without focus, until your sight was infiltrated by the image of Midoriya. You hate that stupid brat. The hatred in your veins is only fuelled when he offers a hand to you and a pathetic smile.

Within a second, his hand is slapped away and the room goes silent.

"Get the fuck away from me. Fuck you."

The bite of your words is only dulled by the waver of your voice, and the tears in your eyes. Izuku is stunned, as is the rest of the class. Even Katsuki thinks you're overreacting. Kirishima steps in with a frown. "Hey, man... That wasn't cool-"

He's interrupted when you turn around and walk away, brimming with anger and frustration. How is he so much better than you?! You train every day and constantly home your skills, so how did he beat you faster than you could blink?

Maybe you were being a little horrible, but you've never learned how to offset your anger in healthier ways, so for now, you're happy taking it out on others.

Are you really that weak? Maybe, after everything, you're the one who doesn't deserve to be here...

How come they could always be nice to eachother, but they could never talk to you? Why were you ignored or given strange looks when you tried to open up? How come noone wanted to be your friend?

Aizawa, of course, figured you might react in such a way. Loneliness can easily turn into bitterness if you take your eye off it for too long. He needs to help you fix this.

He wants to keep everyone in this class for as long as he possibly can, and allowing you to exclude yourself any more than you have would be dangerous for everyone, including you.

It's with that, that he starts putting people in pairs for everything. He would force you to socialise if it was the last thing he did.

Every day you would argue with your pair, but it was worth it, because when you were offered kindness or compassion, no matter how reluctant you were to accept it, he could see that little spark in your eye. It was the kind of spark that made him aware of your guard dropping. You were actually starting to care about your classmates.

Obviously Toshinori immediately knew what he was doing when he saw Aizawa put you in a group of three since the class was uneven on a specific day, and he would offer up a smirk and subtle glance as if to say "wow, you finally got through to them".

He supposed that it's not your fault you don't know how to cope with your... Emotional baggage, much like Shouto or Katsuki, but he likes to make you very much aware that it's your responsibility to learn how.

When the day comes that you finally think to apologise to Izuku, the boy you've grown an annoying fondness for, he actually starts to cry. He's so proud of you for not staying emotionally constipated like Katsuki, that he actually floods the room and Aizawa has to open the window for him to violently sob out of so that the entire class doesn't drown.

Slowly, you start to grow a kinship with a few people in your class, and you grow especially close with your bubblegum haired friend Mina, and Jirou, who liked to do her part by teasing you out of your shell. Maybe, you could even learn what it's like to love and be loved back.

#mha x reader #bnha x reader #bnha fanfiction #mha #bnha #bnha fluff #bnha headcanons #mha fluff #aizawa x reader #class 1a x male reader #class 1a x reader #1a x gn reader #1a x fem reader #bnha x fem!reader #bnha x gn!reader #bnha x male reader #bnha x reader angst #mha x reader angst

[kairiscorner]

Hii, can I request Miguel with sunshine reader, who actually struggles a lot mentally? Like they are kind, friendly and very playful with pretty much everyone, but they find it difficult to open up about their constant feeling of loneliness and emptiness. And so Miguel sees them at the moment when all their facade is gone.

No pressure ofc, feel free to deny it if you don't feel like doing it🌿

HIII ANON, omg i love this idea SO MUCH, i hope i did this justice :') but here you gooooo

(reblogs are greatly appreciated, it helps get my content out there! if you guys like what you see, please reblog it too <:D)

summary: miguel o'hara could never fully comprehend someone of your caliber; you were just too much for him. you were loud, playful, open, and kind; he thought you were that simple. but when he caught you one day after a mission, seeing you in a light he never thought he could see you in... he realized there was much more to you than you were letting on.

warnings: mentions of self-deprecation (this is an angst, for the most part)

word count: 2,655

miguel couldn't wrap his head around you at first, around you and your psyche, around you and just how consistently tenderhearted and amiable you were towards everyone in the spider society. when he first sought you out, he thought you were the same as him; shattered, isolated, and dissociative from people to protect not only them, but yourself. but oh, was he wrong. he knew your background very well, he knew you suffered many tragedies in your life, be it as a spider person or as a person of your own, you had too much happen to you all at once.

he sympathized with you in many ways, but he knew someone of your aptitude would be remarkable help in his elite force. the first time he met you, however, he was greeted with a completely subverted image of the spider person he expected you to be. you were warm, friendly, sweet, and open.

you were a little shy and anxious around him at first, and he couldn't blame you. it was your first time meeting someone like you, but you were so enthusiastic about meeting him and the prospect of meeting so many other spider people just like you that you couldn't sit or stand still at the thought of meeting them all.

miguel asked himself at first why you seemed so trusting, so eager to meet people when he heard how well people in your life have hurt you in the past. he didn't know the specifics of it because he was busy recruiting other spider people and monitoring other universes, but he knew of the events in your life, at least short, important tid bits of them; and he had never felt more sympathy for anyone else in his life until you came along.

when you were first initiated into the spider society, miguel was a little taken aback at how easy it was for you to make friends. you had a lot of people to talk to, bond with, and impress already, and they loved you!

every single one of them was captivated by how charming you were, how generous you were of your time and services, and how quick you were on your feet to offer yourself to join some of the spider folks on missions, or even just run errands so they wouldn't have to do it alone.

you were, in the truest sense possible, an angel. the spider society loved you, they all believed you could do no wrong. you were always up for helping other people and ensuring their safety and comfort. though sometimes you'd go overboard and not hesitate to sacrifice your own safety and comfort for them, you'd tell them it's okay, you'd willingly go above and beyond for the people you care about.

you kept telling yourself it was okay to lose yourself for other people.

you kept telling yourself it didn't matter, so long it was just you and not them.

that's how your world revolved, right? people came and went as they pleased, you did your best, your everything to keep them, and you'd do it all again in a heartbeat if it'd meant they'd stay. you wished they'd stay if what you had to do was carry their burdens and misfortunes. you were strong, capable, and durable; you convinced yourself you could take it. you saved your city before, time and time again--even if you were battered, bruised, bloodied and thankless in the end, you smiled regardless and were willing to do it all over again.

"don't worry about me, i'm your friendly neighborhood spider person! i'm built for this stuff, i've got you." "oh, no! i'll take care of that for you, i'd rather you rest. let me take care of it, i've got you." "i'll take care of this! you guys do your own thing, i'll do this. ...because i've got you."

endlessly, those three words: "i've got you" is ingrained in miguel's head. he's not exactly tired of hearing it, he's impressed on how keen you are to be useful and pick up your own slack plus others' work. he does think you're a bit of a pushover for that, though, which he is a little disappointed with, but nothing he can do to force you out of that trait of yours.

he does wish you'd say no or stand your ground whenever you were uncomfortable with something, but then again, like all great pretenders, you took every favor and request with a smile and a pep in your step. it was like you wanted everyone to know you live to serve, that you wanted nothing but to be useful to everyone, even if it put a strain on you.

however, when you and your team came back from a mission with significantly more injured spiders than usual, instead of being greeted with your concerned yet reassuring self that'd rush to the side of the injured spiders, you ran away when you got back to HQ, leaving them behind as you looked away in what appeared to be... unbridled shame.

miguel weaved his way through the small crowd that gathered around the injured spider people when he was told they'd all be out of commission for a while, but otherwise, do okay; he had to find you, because he had a feeling something was off about you, something must've happened.

miguel wordlessly searched for you, thinking that if he called out for you, you'd run away and hide even more. not long after, he heard soft sobs and whimpering by a nearby broom closet. miguel halted in his tracks and moved closer to the door. his expression softened and became one of genuine worry, but he still remained his composure as he realized that voice that was choking up tears and sobbing was yours.

he knocked on the door of the broom closet, and soon, the sobbing stopped for a minute. "...do you want to talk?" miguel asked you after that moment of pure silence. you didn't respond for a little while, but you gave in and slowly opened the door, your eyes and nose puffy and red; your lip quivering at the corners--you really weren't okay, and this was a rare sight to behold.

miguel's expression soon cracked into one of worry. he instinctively moved toward you a step closer, but held back in fear of you sobbing again. "what happened?" he asked you in a gentle voice, a voice that promised he wouldn't judge you for whatever answer you give him, because miguel always had that feeling: there were a million unsaid things that were so, so wrong; but you never uttered a word about it, nor cried a plea for any help, and kept all your feelings locked away behind your insincere, forced smile.

you looked down, not wanting to make eye contact with miguel... or anyone, for that matter. you tried to shake your head, deny anything was wrong, but not this time. you had betrayed yourself, your own feelings, wants, and needs for the longest time that they all just came spilling out and being released from you in a much needed sob.

you could feel yourself tearing up again, and you tried to fight it, but miguel shook his head and put his hands on your shoulders. "no. stop it." he said in a concerned yet stern voice as he gazed at you and your glassy eyes, keeping your tears in the best you could. "stop holding it in. please. i know you want to see everyone happy, i know you don't want things to go wrong anymore, but please... don't keep your feelings bottled up. it does you more harm than good." he uttered softly as his grip on you tightened a little.

you heard it. finally, you heard it. those words that you longed to hear, in the many years you've been hurt, lied to, and abandoned by people you loved and cared about; you finally heard permission to cry, to be vulnerable, to be weak for a moment. you finally had a moment of respite from all the pretending you were sick of doing.

in a moment, you went from being composed, yet red and puffed up in the eyes and nose, to a full on sobbing mess in front of miguel. he let go of you when you started sobbing, but you held on to him as you cried. he took that as a sign that you didn't mind him holding you as you cried, you never had that luxury before anyway, being held as you cried, letting go of everything you've been holding for the longest time.

it was relieving, it was soothing, but it was painful. it was a remedy for your wounded emotions, crying your heart out as miguel held you. you knew you might get sick afterwards, crying so hard your heart might break, but miguel pat your back--albeit a little awkwardly--and whispered words of encouragement to let it out, let it all out.

"i hurt them..." you muttered through your sobs. "i told them i had it, i thought i had it, i thought i could take out the villain all on my own." you murmured as your sniffling continued. "i didn't want them to get hurt, really, i promise... but i took one wrong step, and–" you choked out as you cried even more as miguel shushed you and told you it was okay to let it out.

"i... just... i just don't want–don't want to be left alone anymore... i don't want to be hated, i don't want to be talked bad about behind my back; i want to feel like i belong." you whispered as your crying slowly stopped to let you breathe for a bit, taking in a ragged breath as you leaned against miguel, exhausted after letting out exactly what you felt and held in, all this time.

"you're... so very brave." he murmured as your sobs drowned out what he was saying. he didn't raise his voice at you, and especially not when you were in this state. "but so, so foolish." he remarked as he looked down at you, still sobbing. he sighed as he put a hand on your chin and angled your head to look up at him, the softness in his face ever so present as yours became redder and puffier.

"you're amazing, you can do anything and everything asked of you, and everyone loves you for that. and yet, you can't seem to give yourself a break. you're... you're forcing yourself to become someone you don't want to be." he says in a soft voice. "...i might just be doing that." you say as the realization of what you've been doing to yourself dawned on you.

miguel pulled away from you a little and ran a hand through his hair, still looking at you, but thinking of what to tell you. "if you're scared of them rejecting you for showing weakness or this... vulnerable side of you, don't be. i've worked with many of these people for years, some i've only met recently, but all of them–all of the people here love you." he told you as he watched you wipe the tears from your eyes, still sniffling. "every single one of them, they all have something nice to say about you. but we're all concerned for you," he said as he took your hand in his.

"you're constantly taking their burdens upon yourself. you don't think they realize that? they appreciate you, so, so much; but they want you to stop and think about yourself first." he tried getting his words through to you in a pleading voice. "we're a team. you don't have to go through this alone. and, really..." he said as he rubbed his thumb over the back of your hand, staring down at how much smaller, more vulnerable you were compared to him. "...i wanted to be the one to keep you from falling apart and letting yourself forget who you really are. i know i knew you for, what, a few months? but even before that, before you joined us, before you are who are now, i've seen how you are, how you act--and i've been informed of... tribulations you've gone through, things you keep hidden underneath the surface. you've been through too much for one to bear all alone."

you look up at miguel, and for the first time, you feel something new; you feel as though, despite the troubles you've gone through, the troubles you sometimes inflict upon yourself, you do have someone looking out for you. and it's always been him, ever since the beginning.

"and because... i know what it's like. i know what it's like to have to mask yourself so nobody gets worried about you, so no one thinks you're easy pickings... so you don't hurt or get hurt anymore..." miguel continued as his voice got softer. he took a breath in, and letting it out in an exhausted sigh, as if he, too, were also sick of hiding exactly how he felt and who he was. "it's the things we keep hidden that always show." he said as he looked at your eyes. "but don't... don't be scared to show it. and if not the others... you have me." he said softly, slowly reeling back from you, letting go of your hand gently and widening his eyes as he realized what he was saying. a silence befell you two as you stared at him, in wonder, at this side of miguel; this side he was hiding that he soon showed, that he soon brought to light in front of you.

"can you do something for me?" miguel asked as he broke the silence, looking into your swollen eyes. "please promise me that when you say 'i've got this'... remind yourself that i've got you. i'm right here for you to call, any time you need me." he said with a small smile as he wiped the tears from your eyes. "do you promise me?" he asked you as you slowly nodded, with his hand lowering down to your cheeks and resting there. "i promise. i... got this. i've got you." you said with a small smile. he returned the smile with one of his own. "you've got me." he said as he rubbed your cheek softly.

and as miguel were about to pull away, you wrapped your arms around him, your bright, signature smile returning to your face. your eyes were still puffy and swollen, but they shone, even in the dim light of this tiny broom closet. "thank you, miguel." you thanked him before he could leave, your arms tightening around his waist as you held him close, not wanting to let him go. it wasn't out of fear that you didn't want to let him go, you wanted to let him feel just how much he's saved you from yourself, how good it felt to be told those words for the first time in a long, long while.

miguel was shaken at first when you held him, he... hadn't been held that way in... ever. he didn't know what to do in the beginning, he wasn't sure when you'd pull away, but as the embrace prolonged, he found himself wishing you wouldn't pull away. he soon brought his arms up, then, he brought them close to your back, still hovering his arms in the air awkwardly as you leaned into the hug.

then, in one final swoop, he took the plunge and embraced you back; and miguel had never felt a happier silence than that, embracing you, who finally let yourself show how you truly felt, and how, even if you were scared of being abandoned again, being left alone... miguel was not one of those people for you to fear would leave.

not now, not ever.

a/n: NERIJOBFIURBIUBRIBVVBBNE NGL I FEEL LIKE I KINDA DRAGGED THIS OUT AND DIDN'T EXPRESS EVERYTHING I WANTED TO SAY, BUT THIS AAAAAAAAAA I'M CRYINGGGGG

tags !! @thecoolerdor @miguelswifey04 @luvstarrstruck

#miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara x y/n #atsv miguel #atsv imagine #atsv x reader #atsv x you #atsv x y/n #spidersona #miguel o'hara fluff #miguel o'hara angst

[save-the-villainous-cat]

Hi, it’s the touch starved anon again :D Yes, I did mean that one. :D And I did mean it as an ask, but I didn’t clearly express that, so, uh.. apologies..!

It was a truly cruel way of realisation.

The hero watched how the villain’s fingers twisted the fabric of the hero’s suit. Wounded like this, they were easy prey.

But the hero could only think about these two things: the villain’s hand and their safety.

“Are you okay?” the hero asked, breathless. They had managed to pull the villain with them. Away from the fighting, away from the pain and suffering. The villain took in a deep breath but it didn’t sound healthy.

“You’re here,” the villain whispered. There were tears in their eyes, threatening to drop.

“I’m here,” the hero repeated. The villain’s hand found the hero’s and suddenly, a million thoughts ran through the hero’s mind.

They hadn’t expected this to become a problem. A real problem. They hadn’t expected that their own loneliness would get in their way. That they had to fight against it to gain control over themselves.

“Are you alright?” the hero asked again. They could hear shots in the distance where their team was still fighting over territory.

“I’m okay,” the villain replied. Their other hand found the hero’s, too. And the villain looked into their eyes, so tiredly yet softly.

“You scared me. Like, you scared me a lot back there. I thought you were dead.”

“Got betrayed,” the villain said. They leaned against the wall, sitting on the dirty floor in the warehouse. Their face contorted and the hero grit their teeth.“You came.”

The hero watched them quietly. They wanted to help but they had done everything they could. Bandages, painkillers, reassurance.

The villain’s eyes bored into theirs, as if the hero was the only thing between them and death. As if the villain would die if they didn’t look at them.

“Of course I did,” the hero said. “I could sense something was wrong.”

“Lucky me.” The villain smiled softly and the hero wasn’t sure what they were feeling. Their cheeks were warm and their chest didn’t feel tight. They didn’t feel pathetic or weird.

“Just relax. I got you. Our next stop would be the hospital but I like to think that I’m quite good at stitching by now.”

“You’re very beautiful, you know?” Slowly the villain raised their arm and before the hero could realise what happened, the villain’s hand was on their cheek. “I shouldn’t accept your kindness. Nor your mercy. You’re too nice to me.”

“You’re worthy of it, though.” The hero realised they were desperate. Desperate for the touch, desperate for the words. There was comfort, they realised. Comfort in the villain’s presence. More than usual.

“You think so?” The villain moved and immediately moaned. The painkillers hadn’t come through yet.

The hero covered the villain’s hand on their cheek with their own.

“I sent this whole rescue team to get you out. My boss is gonna kick my ass once he finds out.”

The villain laughed.

And then, gently.

“Can I kiss you?” The hero didn’t even have to think about it twice.

“Yes,” they said and before they could get cold feet, the villain pulled them against their chest and kissed the hero softer than should’ve been allowed.

#I don’t remember what this was referring to so I wrote more touch-starving stuff #NOT PROOFREAD #writing snippet #heroxvillain snippet #heroxvillain prompt #heroes and villains #hero #villain #hero x villain #heroxvillain #an answer for an ask #request

[damianbugs]

i spoke about this briefly before, and i think i have my thoughts more collected now to develop on it; i feel like comics which show bruce comforting his child self in flashbacks of the wayne murder in crime alley understand the purpose of batman a lot more than the ones that have him talking to his parents.

if you've been keeping up with recent batman comics, then you'll notice a theme of bruce getting the chance to talk to his younger self. the important part though, is that it is not because of time travel or some detached third party force — it's the young bruce in batman's head.

it's the him hidden behind the black door in his mind when he's fighting his nightmares —

Batman Knight Terrors #2, 2023. written by Joshua Williamson.

— and it's the him tucked away in corner of his mind after being drugged and tortured with his greatest fears.

Detective Comics #1075, 2023. written by Ram V.

after experiencing something traumatic, the one bruce sees suffering from it isn't himself, but the young bruce wayne in the alley. because at the end of the day, every hurt circles back to that night, to that boy, that he can't save no matter how hard he tries — because that boy never left the pool of blood he was sitting in.

i think people often attribute the existence of batman as something created for his parents. to avenge them, or to be the symbol that could have saved their life had he existed before, to stop anyone else from being killed in the same way. there's some truth to that, however, to me, the answer is a little more selfish.

i think it has always been for himself, but not the him now, but the him that is still stuck in that alleyway, waiting over his parents dead bodies. batman is a symbol of hope and reformation and justice, but at its core, batman is what saved bruce wayne.

as a result, the panels above have a very different feel to say, this moment when bruce sees an illusion of his parents in Superman/Batman #56, 2009. written by Michael Green and Mike Johnson.

it's an emotional moment for sure, but it didn't quite speak to me the same way this absolutely phenomenal moment did in Batman: Blind Justice, 1989. written by Sam Hamm.

of course this moment is a lot more cynical in how bruce uses batman to cope with his guilt, while the other moments focus on batman providing young bruce with the hope to continue that he isn't alone — the sentiment of batman being the one to pick him up from the floor and lead him away from the scene in a shared motif.

it reminds me of that one discussion that batman is a victims power fantasy. his own fantasy! because bruce has — in order to have a semblance of control over himself — separated himself from this event that it is a completely different child at the scene of the crime. it's this fact that let's him reach down, hold the boy's hand and tell him everything will be okay.

this bruce wayne is a child, his child, gotham's child, thomas and martha wayne's child, an orphan to protect.

batman was made for children like bruce wayne, to stop them from becoming like him and for them to hold onto when it does — because batman is still trying to fix a problem that has an endless hole. he can never reconcile this trauma and let the boy in the alley leave, because that's not what batman was made for.

batman was made to protect the little boy, and in order to do that, he must remain in that alley.

there's still a bruce wayne who had to grow up, who learned to fight and love and lose again and again, a bruce wayne who becomes batman. a batman who then, tries effortlessly to fix problems and save people, who goes out everynight because if he doesn't, then that boy in the alley is left there for nothing.

then there comes a moment where he falls through the cracks and he's face to face with the child who can't leave and can't grow up and knows nothing but loneliness and grief — and batman gets to tell this child that life becomes more than just this alley.

the child is happy, if even for a moment, that batman is there. that's what batman is for.

#okay this got away from me at some point #i just. i care about this ridiculous character a lot #i hope this makes sense. i might have lied when i said i had my thoughts in order #please give the comics mentioned a read! #bruce wayne #dc meta #saki comic talks

[luveline]

suicide warning (vent but more introspective than anything) (please don't read if it will upset or distress you, I am in no danger nor will I be in the future)

I'm sure I'll regret talking about this but I've been having this really weird feeling lately. I used to be very suicidal for a long time when I was growing up, and then it got lesser, but for a while there was nothing I wanted so much as to kill myself, and now I'm much better than that thanks to being granted the space and time to get better and the support and love of my few friends and family, but it's been on my mind a lot lately too. I am not going to hurt myself in any capacity, but I guess I feel like there's nothing for me. I used to want to die as like, a response to needing to escape, and then it was because I couldn't handle the extreme anxiety I was experiencing, but these days I don't feel I need to escape where I am nor do I get so achingly anxious, but there is this unamed absence. I don't want to move forward anymore, because I feel like there's nothing to move forward into, I think? I don't have much passion for anything but that isn't me saying I'm not happy! Because I'm so happy when I'm talking to my friend or when I'm with my sisters, but by myself I don't want to really go on. I think I'm wondering if other people know what i mean? I know I've spoken on here before about the loneliness I was suffering with, and I know now that I'm not alone in that. But I don't know if it's normal to feel this way. It's starkly different to how I wanted to hurt myself in the past. I never would, because I love my family and I don't want to hurt them, and I don't believe there's nothing to live for. But not much, either.

I'm not sure if it's dissatisfaction, or I'm just having a moment, but now I finally have all the things I was striving for but couldn't maintain when I was suicidal, a job and education and general wellness, I can't help noticing that there's still something wrong. I'm worried that it's just me, and that I'm gonna feel this way because I am this way. I'm really worried I have nothing to offer to the world or my family and I think I've been trying to compensate for that with the wrong things. Right now I am struggling to feel a connection to everything, or a desire to do one particular thing, is this a common feeling? Not to be silly but is it just depression, or is it nothing like that? I don't want to do anything anymore besides sit in bed, but I'm constantly aware of time passing, and even when I'm in bed I don't actually want to be in bed, I want to distract myself, but I don't enjoy any of the distractions. I guess, altogether, in one big sum up, I feel like I have no value as a person and that my life has nothing for me either.

Again though, I am not in any danger of hurting myself or doing anything like that and this isn't meant to worry anybody, I'm hoping someone knows what I'm feeling is all

[netherfeildren]

FEAR OF GOD : Chapter I : I dreamt that time had ended

Series Masterlist ; Moodboard

Pairing: Joel Miller x OFC

Summary: What was monstrousness? What was it, but a certainty that there existed within you multitudes of desires, needs, guilts, impulses – humanity? At the end of the world, when the dust has finally settled, Joel grapples with what it is to take hold of your own monstrosity – your own humanity – and live with it. And what it is to bear that truth in the palm of your hand held towards the person you love, offer it to them, and have it be accepted for what it was. Courage, above all else, it is courage that is necessary to go on.

-OR-

Big bad Joel Miller falls in love and doesn't know how to deal with it.

Rating: Explicit 18+

Content Warnings: Mentions of suicidal ideations, unprotected sex, oral sex (M receiving), vaginal fingering, breeding kink kinda, Emotionally Constipated Joel Miller ™️

A/N: Hello, this is my first foray into posting my writing publicly. To be honest, it feels fucking weird and scary, but alas, here I am, pretending to be brave. Art is Botanica No. 23 by Gail Potocki.

Word Count: 6.2K

Read on AO3

CHAPTER I: I dreamt that time had ended

I'm most dangerous when I’m hungry. I’m most hungry

when I’m hurting. Seems like I’m always hurting. Nothing

but teeth. Nothing but the same words calling out to me

in my sleep. Grief asking its ghosts not to leave. Please.

It’s not up to me when I get to stop crying. Or hurting. 

Or holding memories in my mouth, gentle as bees

I promised not to eat, but oh, the hurt is so sweet.

- Saeed Jones, from “Date Night,” Alive at the End of the World

Loneliness and being alone were two things you’d always thought to be one and the same — a pair sitting side by side on the spectrum of human suffering. Now, at the end of the world, you knew differently. You’d gotten in bed with both. A kind of intimacy that made your bones ache.

After Beth, your sister, you’d been alone – out beyond the protection of the community you now called your own in Jackson – where you’d carved a little place for yourself. Then, you’d been so entrenched in your grief and shock, that you’d not been lucid enough to really feel loneliness at all. You were alone, but were too far gone to feel the specific melancholy of loneliness. It was all a vicious, almost unthinking, clawing for survival. That creature out beyond the walls was you, and sometimes you liked to pretend and tell yourself you left her out there, but in moments of stark honesty, when you let go of the lies you comforted yourself with, you don’t feel very sure.

Looking back, it’s almost a surprise that it never occurred to you, in those delirious days, in the aftermath of watching Beth get ripped to pieces by infected, to ever think to follow her in death. You think you’d just been too numb and shocked at the time to even consider the tidy solution a bullet to the head would’ve provided you. You can’t even tell if you regret the lack of foresight at that time or not. You suppose now, looking around yourself, at the somewhat full life you’ve settled yourself into, you’re grateful. 

But in Jackson, in Jackson you’d found loneliness. Despite being surrounded by a community that wanted to help you from the first moment, to care for you. Most especially because, in the light of this new life, you remembered everything about the aftermath of your sister’s death – with vivid clarity. The details were glaringly bright in your mind, and the peace and fullness of this new life you’d been afforded made those memories hurt all the worse. 

Your father had been a physician, a surgeon, before the outbreak, and early on he’d decided it was essential to pass on what he could. That he needed a protege. You fit the necessity nicely. You’d had a mind that absorbed knowledge at a rate that wasn’t necessarily useful in a world like the one you’d now found yourselves in, but he’d made good use of it, made a tool of you in the manner of an extension of himself. He’d started early trying to train you as best he could, given the circumstances. You’d had a fairly peaceful childhood up until you were eighteen living in the San Francisco QZ, given his position, and at around twelve years old he’d started a demanding study regimen. He was determined to make you into the closest semblance of a doctor he could through his own personal means of teaching. You’d always been well suited to a life of taking orders, doing what you were told, being who you were told to be. At the end of the world it was easier, you’d found, to do and be what you were told to – it came easily to you, and after all, your father knew best. You liked the security of being able to follow a set of directions without the anxiety of conjecture or uncertainty. A clearly laid out path was a safe path, and you found comfort in that. So you’d learned what he’d told you to learn. He said it was necessary, and so it became a necessity to you. Practiced what he’d told you to practice. And eventually, become what he wanted you to become. After your mother and father were killed in a raid shortly after your eighteenth birthday, it was just you and Beth, and you’d taken on your studies and training yourself. It wasn’t as efficient, especially after the QZ had fallen and you were forced to leave, could have been more thorough, but you felt well versed in the knowledge you’d gained thus far. Secure in the fact that you had the ability to help people as best you could with what you knew. It gave you purpose and allowed you to follow that path that’d been laid out for you. Provided some sort of comforting reminder of your father, your childhood, as well. The two of you had wandered for several years up until the time of her death. 

When you found Jackson after Beth, after days and days of wandering, of savage fear and a desperate clawing to just stay alive, just make it a little further, it was like coming upon paradise. An Eden safer and more cherished than anything before in all history. Connie, their resident doctor, who they were so lucky and grateful to have, had taken you under his wing. Connie and his nurturing comfort. Doing everything he could to build on the knowledge your father had instilled in you over the years. All the knowledge and practice he was so desperate to pass on to you. To build on your foundation. Doctors were few and far between, hard to find and even harder to keep, and Connie was old. Now well into his seventies, he was tired. His mind and body, nowhere near as agile as they’d once been. Your arrival in the community had been seen as a benediction, once he’d found out what your father had started in you. It was difficult to build a comprehensive curriculum, to find the right means of practical training in a world like this, but the two of you had managed fairly well. A deal had been struck with the leaders of the community to provide donated cadavers when they became available, if the families so allowed, if they had families. This allowed the two of you to practice hands on general surgical techniques he felt were essential for you to know. He’d tried, so far, to build a curriculum that was generally comprehensive – general surgery, obstetrics and gynecology, and internal medicine. In your spare time you read everything he’d ever found on botany and herbology. Everything else you supplemented with a collection of texts and scientific literature he’d been collecting since the outbreak, and had guarded and cared for fiercely . He saw his collection of medical texts as the key to the preservation and furthering of knowledge, and you agreed with him. After losing your father you couldn’t have asked for a more caring or dedicated mentor. 

But not only was his caring practical, for he’d brought you back to life with his patience. He’d lead you out of that hazy numbness you’d lost yourself in after Beth. Something you’d have stayed lost in the rest of your life if not for his guidance, the loss of her so devastating it was something molecular. The feeling left you so tired, almost emaciated in your grief – the only instinct was survival, no thought for perpetuation or preservation. And then, of course there was Ellie and Dina, Tommy and Maria. All who’d done their best to welcome you into the embrace of their friendship. You were grateful for them in ways you couldn’t ever put into words.

And yet, and yet, despite all this good; a caring community, a giving teacher,  loyal friendships, things you now knew you’d die to keep and protect, you were lonely. An aching kind of desperate loneliness, it’d blanketed you with a film of numbness that you hadn’t even really noticed, until one night you’d gotten home to the lovely warm house that’d been assigned to you, a place you’d been able to make a home, to realize, you had no one that was only yours. No one waiting for you. No more sister, no parents, no blood. No one to give yourself to. No one you’d always belong to, no matter what. 

You’d felt a level of desperation in that moment worse than many of your worst moments in this horrible thing the world you knew had come to be. 

But then there was him.

Joel.

Joel who was cold and stern and who had, at first, seemed so wholly disinterested in your existence you’d never thought there was any way he’d ever even think of looking at you as more than the girl he went to for stitches every now and then. As anything more than the person who patched up his never ending litany of scrapes and bruises. But who, at first sight, you’d seemed to take in and then never again look away from. Who you’d felt you’d known, recognized, at first glance. It was everything about him, really. His countenance – the air about him, slightly threatening, but in a way that told you you’d always be protected, safe,cared for if held in the circle of his embrace. And then his physicality – his face, his body, his smell . The feel of his skin beneath yours when you were closing or covering his wounds. The broad, thick planes of him, his long legs and tall frame that towered over your own. The man could overtake you if he chose to. You’d look at him and couldn’t help but think how hard he’d fuck. And you thought about that often. What it’d be like to cradle the heavy weight of him between your thighs, inside of you. What his skin would feel, taste like beneath your tongue. How you’d map the smattering of sun freckles on his chest and shoulders. And his eyes, deep and dark, and you knew they saw everything. That they were ever aware of what was going on around him. Wondered at what they’d feel like roving the hills and swells of your naked body – just for him. That he could probably see the yearning coming off of you like heat waves off the hot pavement. 

Joel who seemed to care fiercely about Ellie, who he saw as his daughter from the little you’d been able to garner from her and others about their connection, and not much else. He’d come to you on more than one occasion after Ellie’d been into the clinic for attention demanding an update on her condition, asking if there was something wrong. Ensuring she was alright, that she’d remain alright. And being completely taken aback and offended when you’d refused to disclose patient information. There was a rift between them, so it seemed, not that anyone had been brave enough to talk about it aloud. The unspoken elephant in Jackson was the current  ongoing estrangement between the two. Something that, without knowing him beyond being his doctor, you could see hurt him worse than anything you could’ve ever treated him for. And there was Tommy, his brother, and his wife Maria – who it was also obvious he appreciated and cared for.

He was cordial and helpful and always willing to be a good neighbor to those in the community. But he was set apart. A man estranged in a way you could see was self imposed. You could recognize it for what it was, the same shroud of loneliness that blanketed you. And what was it they said about the experience of loneliness? It creates a vicious cycle that only further perpetuates itself the more alone you become. You start to reek of it the longer you enshroud yourself in it. Contagion spreads. But then one day, you’d seemed to distract him from maintaining that self imposed exile long enough to entice him into looking at you, even if for a second, really looking at you. 

It was like this: he’d never looked at you. Until he did.  And then it was like fire, like a natural disaster or disease, like cordyceps . Uncontrollable, and as hard as you both tried, or didn’t try, it could not be put away once it had been set upon. You’d circled and circled each other – blood in the water – him in reluctant silence, you almost desperately, until you’d come together in a clash of limbs and tongues and teeth, and then he was shoving you onto your desk in the small space of your examining room and then shoving, hard and savage into your cunt, and that was it. You’d given him as much as he was willing to take, and if he’d wanted to take more, you’d have given it willingly and gladly. It was not a question of how much you were willing to do, or how much of yourself you could part with. If in that instant he’d asked you to open your vein to him and let him drink you think you might have invited him to gorge himself. The way he’d moved in your cunt that day, hand wrapped around the column of your throat as he drew a thin helpless sound out of you – like he owned it already, like he’d always owned it, and it’d just taken him a second to come and claim what’d always rightfully been his. The way he’d brought his fist down, hard, on the desk beside you as he emptied himself inside your pulsing walls, growling the start of your name between clenched teeth before it turned into a guttural wordless snarl. You knew there was a part of him angry at you in that instant. Furious at how fucking good it felt to take him inside you, to finally give in, to ravage and take and fuck the way both of you had wanted to for so long.

You’d wanted him with a kind of anguish that frightened you for the fervor of it. Something you’d never experienced. There’d been others before, well, one other, but that now seemed laughably pale and tepid compared to this. A blight of inconsequential nothingness in your past, that had in no way prepared you for what you’d come to experience with Joel. This was something to cause terror if examined too closely. But he’d peered at you one afternoon, opened his arms to you and invited you in, and how were you ever supposed to resist sinking your teeth into his flesh? Ripping out a piece of him all for yourself.

He’d promised that’d be the only time. That it could only ever happen that once. You’d both taken the lie for what it was. You knew this couldn’t be stopped once it had been started. 

You’d always been a girl willing, glad, to do as you were told. To abide by the space allocated to you, to take what you’d been given with gratitude and accept your limitations. But loneliness makes monsters of even the best of us sometimes. And in a world now filled with monsters, it was easy to assimilate into one if given the opportunity, to let greed render you into what it may.

-

Joel watches your wonder at the sight of the little bird through the window, and he considers his own monstrousness. Your naked form is draped over his bed, tangled in his sheets, the loveliest thing he’s ever laid eyes on. The soft afternoon sunlight swirling along the planes of your skin, warm and buttery, and he accepts that he’s been deformed by his own brutality and violence. That he’s done a lot of truly heinous things in this life, but taking a little bird like you for himself, is perhaps the worst. The sparrow flits away and your eyes follow it– up, up, up. There’s a soft gleam in them, and his heart and gut twist at the sight of you moved by the sparrow. It’s been months of this, of the two of you tangled together. He hopes he never sees an end in sight, but at the same time, feels it pull at him. A vicious self sabotaging need to bring his fist down on this tenuous house of cards you’ve built together. Watch it smash into pieces. 

There’d been times where he’d look at an infected, right before killing it, and felt an understanding so poignant.

That is what I have become. 

He never needed to have been bitten to lose himself. To have been overtaken by something beyond his control. The viciousness of life had done it for him. Infected him all the same. 

He was better now. He could acknowledge that. Ellie, and all that came with her, had served as a balm to his ragged edges. Jackson and its people. Having Tommy back, and the family he’d built with Maria.  But he wasn’t naive. He’d known his day would be up eventually. His reckoning with Ellie would come, and it had. Nothing stayed buried forever, and eventually she’d discovered what he’d done. To keep her alive, to keep her for himself. 

Perhaps his greatest sin was always trying to keep the women he loved. Always a failure.

Sarah, Ellie. You. 

And now here he found himself again, on that same field in the middle of the night, surrounded by the end of the world, and clutching his whole life in the circle of his arms. Failing. Losing again and again.

Ellie had always been his reflection. A more hopeful, innocent mirror to all his cynicism and violence. But the same, nonetheless. 

But you. You were his opposite in every big way that mattered.

Good and soft and honest. Strong.

And yet, there could be violence within you, when you so desired it. You’d let him have a peek of it on occasion.

Like the sun that burned his eyes from their sockets. 

Violent, but necessary for survival. 

You’d dedicated yourself to saving lives and healing, for Christ’s sake. All Joel’d ever done was destroy and kill. Even what he and Ellie had was on the precipice of death now. 

And despite all of this. Despite everything he’d done to push you away. To hurt Ellie, no matter his intentions, he wanted. Savagely.

He wanted Ellie to understand why he’d done what he’d done. To forgive him. And even if she couldn't agree, then to just accept it. To set it away and let things be between them. To let it go . 

What a selfish fucking thought, Joel Miller.  

But he couldn’t help it; the goddamn world was over. Couldn't they just accept the bad things they’d done, or not done, and put it all away. And yet, at the same time, he could not hold it against her. Not even fault her. Because he knew her– he’d always known that the road would always inevitably lead them here. And still, he’d made the choices he’d made. In a way, he knew he deserved her ire. And so he bore it. Accepted it. Waited. But then– something new. You had come. 

And he wanted you.

With a violence he’d never felt in a life filled with little other than violence. He could sanctify you with the fervor of his wanting. If he wondered at your own desires, he’d ask if there wasn't ever something you’d wanted so bad it pushed you into the depths of selfishness. A selfishness that bordered on cruelty to the outside world, but you just could not help yourself. You just had to reach out and take. He wanted to be that thing for you, that thing that turned you cruel and selfish. 

And maybe that’s what this was, him taking you for himself; cruelty– like taking Ellie’s choices from her. But he couldn’t have helped it. He’d tried. God, he’d railed against this vicious want. But after the first time he’d touched you, tasted you, hell, the first time he’d fucking looked at you; all sense of choice had been taken from him. 

All that was left after that was what would happen. What was inevitable. The thread that connected them was deep and dark and red. Not to be ignored. 

The two circumstances were one in the same. And he couldn’t help but compare the present destruction of him and Ellie to what would become an inevitability between the two of you if he tried to be with you in any real way. Things always ended in one place for him. 

And he’d ripped out so much of himself to cure the pain of Sarah’s loss, he now felt he had nothing left to offer, and what little he did, had gone to Ellie. The feeling of inadequacy was suffocating. Of missing some essential part of himself. He didn’t know if he was capable anymore, of that, of giving himself to someone new. 

But he was afraid.

“C’mere, Birdie.” You crawl into his lap. 

“Birdie?” A sweet, shy laugh. There was something about you, so akin to that sparrow. So small and fragile, but with the enviable ability to fly away if necessary. Within yourself, within your heart. There was a space within you he found unreachable to him. And he hated it and envied it all at the same time. Raged at himself for even wanting it in the first place. Knew that it only existed as a form of self preservation, of protection, against him. And the sound of your voice – lilting like the song of that sparrow – it fucking haunted him, it haunted him, it haunted him. Maybe he was a little like that bird, as well. Hollow. 

Sometimes he just wanted you to hate him. To yell and scream and gnash your teeth and fucking demand something from him. Demand he let go of his cowardice and hesitations and fear. But he knew that very well of self preservation also allowed you to intellectualize his actions, parse together his motives and follow the thread to his root. Understand him in a way he shied away from. 

He existed in different spectrums of himself. Different shades of a past that all coalesced into this man he was now trying to be and remain. Which was, perhaps, the hardest part of it all. To maintain that semblance of a good man he was fighting his hardest to be. A good father. A good brother. Helpful to his community and neighbors. Open to the world. It was fucking hard. Falling into old habits, letting the past crest up like a wave and drown him, that was the easy route. Staying on the straight path was the true test. And he knew– he knew how much he had to hold on to now, and all the responsibility that came with that. To cultivate and maintain his relationships, his friendships. He was appreciated, respected in this place he’d made a home. He’d lived a long time without respect from anyone, the world – or himself. He wanted to hold on to that.

But he was also aware that there was something missing. Something he still wanted, and before he’d met you, he’d been unsure of what that was. But the feel of a woman beneath him, around him– someone to know him as a man, and not a father or a brother or a friend– yes, that was definitely missed. And then, not just any woman, but you, you, you. Your appearance in his world had changed things for him. A burst of blinding light, an inferno creeping in his veins, without preamble or warning – the intensity of it almost unendurable for its sudden unexpectedness. It was empirically impossible for one to turn away from a change of that magnitude. 

He thought of Tess sometimes. Her easy companionship. Her friendship. It was simple being with someone who never expected anything from you except to not get yourself killed. To stick to what was expected of you and not fuck up too badly you couldn’t keep your end of the bargain. But then… that wasn’t necessarily the truth of what they’d had either. Something still difficult for him to confess, even after all these years. And anyways, he was too old for that now. Shied away from getting into something like that again. A small curl of self consciousness making the appeal of it unsavory now. And this, between the two of you, he couldn’t codify it. Didn’t know what to make of it. Knew what he wanted of himself, of you. Knew what he would like to be able to give you and to take from you as well. Saying it out loud, confessing that, following through on it, was harder though. 

Birdie, Birdie, Birdie

You reach up to scratch gently through the underside of his chin. The soft, thick bristles catching beneath your nails. Just one more inevitable thing in a world full of inevitabilities. 

Sarah. Cordyceps. Ellie. Taking you for himself. His unwillingness to accept a thing, never made it any less true. Stubborn ass that he was, still after all this time, he could not kick the bad habit. 

You settle your plush bottom into his lap and weave your arms around his neck, his hands coming up to curve around the bend of your elbows, pull you in tighter, as if he could stitch you to his very skin with the intensity of his wanting. 

“You’re like a little bird,” he nuzzles the soft space behind your ear, sucks on the edge of your jaw, breathes you in. “My Birdie.” The soft sound you make goes straight to his hard cock and you spread your legs wider across his lap, grind yourself down onto him.

-

You bask in his attention, mind hazy and floating. You’re drunk on his touch, his scent, the sound of his voice, and you feel like you need to give him something. Give him some more tangible piece of yourself. Something you wish he could put in his pocket, tuck in his memory, carry with him always like a small, smooth stone, the weight of it knocking gently against his thigh as he moved about the world. You slink down the bed, settle yourself between his strong legs.

His middle is soft and thick, and you press a kiss to the swell beneath his belly button, further down to nuzzle into the soft thatch of hair around his cock. You breathe in the heady musk of him, and he’s restless, verging on aggressive beneath you — his control held on by the grace of a snapping thread. You take him in hand, show him you’re merciful, and give the hard thick length of him a slow tug. His size is obscene, held in your small hand, you can barely get your fingers around his girth; it makes you cunt clench and weep jealously. You gaze up at him, and the look in his eyes is feral, teeth bared in a gleaming snarl at you. You often think that he unmoors you, but in this moment, you have the power to unmake him. 

You press small kisses to his thigh, the jut of his hip bone, nuzzle your nose at the soft skin there. And then finally, you offer him your tongue, tap the broad, dark red head of him once, twice, and then soft little kitten licks, across the crown, down his shaft. Not yet ready to give him the reprieve of your hot suctioning mouth. You lift yourself up on your arms to hang your head over his erection then, letting salvia pool on your tongue you let it dribble down in a long obscene thread onto his waiting cock, slide down. “ Fuck – fuck, fuck,” he growls then, savage: “Fucking swallow it or come up here, and give me that cunt. No more teasing, Birdie.”

You bend back down to tongue the slit and he hisses, snaps his teeth together; he’s harder than a fucking rock. You start to jack him slow and tight in long pulls, from the very base, up, up to twist your fist around the weeping head, pressing soft kisses to the tops of his thighs. And then finally, finally you wrap your puckered mouth around him and start to suck, hollowing your cheeks and laving your tongue all around the thick girth. It’s sloppy and so wet, your saliva dribbling down to slide over his balls and into his hair. Messy little girl . He grips the back of your head, fingers fisting in your hair. You look up at him in permission, and he starts to fuck your mouth in earnest. The muscles in your throat tightening around his head with every thrust. “Shit, shit, that’s good.” He lets his head fall back, and you take in the strong column of his throat. You can feel your pussy leaking onto the sheets beneath you at the sight of him and you squirm, rubbing your thighs together to relieve some of the ache. He’s so fucking hot. And you want him so badly, always. 

He feels your desperate squirming between his thighs, “Play with that little cunt, baby. I know it hurts.” You moan in response, suck him deeper, swallow around him as you slide your hand under your belly, down between your thighs and play with the wet mess there. You cup yourself and start to rock your hips, you know he’s watching your movements, the rise of your ass, letting the heel of your hand grind against your throbbing clit and then slide down to your entrance, dip your middle finger in to penetrate you there, gentle and shallow. You pick up the pace of your grinding, everything is so slick and wet, and your mouth opens on a shallow gasp, his throbbing length slipping out of your mouth and falling wet and heavy onto his belly. The two of you watch each other as you fuck your hand slowly, and then he’s rolling you over with the strength of his thighs, quick as a viper, as he manhandles you to his liking. He’s sliding on top of you, and then he’s got you on all fours, face pressed down into the pillows and ass up, up in the air, pulling on your hips and spreading you wide for his eyes to feast on. You feel his big hands grip your ass cheeks and pull you apart, your pussy wet and aching, you’re sure he can see your hole clench desperately. He bends to give your flesh a sharp, painful nip and you keen in response, his tongue soothing over it after. 

“Please, Joel – please.”

“What do you need, baby? Hmm?” he croons. “You need my cock to fuck this little pussy?”

“Please–” you cry, a mess of tears and spit covering your face. 

He runs a gentle knuckle over your soaked, puffy lips. “So red… so needy… Say it, wanna hear it.” He gives you his thumb, catching just over the edge of your opening, your mewl is high and whining.

“ Please, please, please–”

“ Tell me, Birdie.”

Hitching breath, he pulls out his thumb, swipes over your clit, just barely. “Please, fuck my pussy.”

And then his hand is gone and he’s giving you the whole unrelenting length of him in one quick thrust, and he’s fucking huge and harder than stone. Pressing up against your cervix until it hurts and holding there, and you want more, more, more. It feels so fucking good and you’re so wet – dripping down your thighs, you can feel it pooling in the crevices behind your knees, mingling with the collected sweat there. It’s lewd. Your walls clamp down on him, tight as a fist, and he lets out a snarl: “Don’t move.” A shudder wracks through him and you can feel him throbbing inside you, holding him heavy and hard in the deepest part of your cunt. You mewl, high and desperate, “Don’t move, don’t make a sound—” You can’t help the whimpers, he pulls them out of you forcibly.

“ Fuck–” and then he’s ramming into you relentlessly, over and over, kissing your womb on each thrust, and you see stars behind your eyes. His hands hold you open to watch where he impales you. “Prettiest little pussy, fuckin’ perfect and tight, Birdie” he says through gritted teeth. He pulls out suddenly, bends to swipe a long wet lick from your clit to your asshole. Oh, he’s filthy. You can only moan in response, flushing red and hot from the crown of your head to the tips of your toes. Your breasts are heavy and aching, the tips furled into tight points. And then he’s fucking back into you. “Gonna fuck it full of my come, baby. You want that? Want me to stuff you full, pretty girl?”

“Yes– please, please. I need it–” His hand slides up the length of your back to curve over your shoulder, pulling you back onto his impaling cock harder. His balls slap sharp and wet against your clit, and then you’re coming around him, something so deep and sensitive inside being rutted against unrelentingly. Your cunt pulls tight, almost painful, a hot little furl around him, milking his own orgasm out of him. He groans deep in his chest, torso folding over your back pressing you deeper into the mattress, and you can feel the heavy throb and jerk of his cock spitting inside of you. The fist in your hair jerks your head to the side and he swallows your pleas, tongue licking deep into your mouth. “Good– good girl,” kisses the tip of your nose, your brow. 

-

“Little bird… s’soft” he whispers later. “ Who’s gunna look after these fragile wings that dream so big and want to fly so high?” The tips of his fingers ghost up and down the length of your spine, over the fine wings of your shoulder blades. His skin is rough, his trigger finger thickly calloused, and each pass makes you shiver. 

“Can’t you?”

“Don’t think so,” he mouths at the tender nook behind your ear, along your hairline, “Ain’t got it in me. Not gentle enough, don’t think.” But how could that be true when no one in all your life, in all the world, had ever touched you as softly as he was now?

“My Birdie,” he murmurs, and he’s still semi hard inside of your sore, stretched out cunt. Leaking out of you. Messy. The both of you had stopped being careful a while ago. Stopped caring, really. And you know it’s an unspoken point of resentment in him, the fact that he can’t control himself. That he feels an instinct to fill you and mark you. To make you his in the most primal way he can. The fact that he can’t pull away from you, in this most precarious of moments, despite all the other ways he can, it chafes . The both of you look away from it, like so many other things between you – turn your faces away. Unwilling to stop, and do the right thing. Unwilling to consider the possible consequences. 

Sometimes you wonder if the thought of those consequences appeal to him. Appeal as a form of subjugation. If that were to happen then he’d be forced to stop forcing himself to push you away. He’d be able to keep you the way you know he really wants to. 

It is a delirious and precarious situation, the business of believing in something that’s constantly denied to you. 

You wrap your hand around his thick wrist and bring it to your nose, breathe him in deep, press a kiss to the tender skin over the blue hued spidering of his veins. His heady scent of soap and sweat and musk, all mingled with your own scent on his skin. It makes you clench tight around him and he groans deep and wanton in his chest, grinds his hips further into you from behind. 

“You know what I think you’re missing?” he murmurs into the sensitive shell of your ear– your messy hair moved by his breath. “Besides more of my cum–” He laughs – and oh, he thinks he’s so damn funny– another thrust, sharper now. Regaining strength. He grasps the inside of your thigh and pulls you open, hooks your leg back and over his hip. Moaning low, you say, “What’s that?” You wind your hand up and back to clutch his hair while he starts to fuck you slow and deep. You want all your conversations for the rest of time to be just like this, whispered into each other’s ears always. 

His other hand slides down your belly, to slot his fingers over the place where he fits inside you, feeling the tight stretch of it. He cups you there and anchors you to roll your hips more deeply on to his hardening erection, the mound of his palm grinding into your oversensitized clit. This sort of stamina’s not normal for an old man, you want to tease. But then he says: “Some selfishness,” a little bit like a question. A little bit like an admonishment too. And you pause, he’s serious and it makes you afraid that it’s also posed like a warning, just for a second. “Be selfish, Birdie. Be selfish for me, just a little bit.” For me, he says, and it appeases you, comforts you. You think you may agree. 

“Who says I’m not already?”

Chapter II

Netherfeildren Masterlist

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fic #joel miller smut #joel miller/reader #joel miller/you #tlou fic #tlou fanfiction #the last of us #the last of us hbo #the last of us fanfiction #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fanfiction #joel miller the last of us #FOG fic

[pumpkzsafeplace]

anon questions 💌: selective mutism in age regression.

selective mutism is when you feel comfortable talking in certain situations- but in others you can't. it can be linked to many things and can just become apparent or stay with you your whole life

i've suffered with selective mutism since i was a child, so here are some pumpkin tips to help <3.

it's okay ⭐

one of the first things i'd like to say is that it's completely okay and valid to have selective mutism. i suffered a lot with it through school and got my fair share of weird looks & hushed remarks.

just remember that it's completely valid, okay <3. we can't control, we don't force it to happen- it just does and it's something we have to live with. don't try and let the mean comments consume you okay? you're not a chore & you're not a burden either.

i thought i'd be lonely forever because of how broken i was- and now i have a positive page that helps people and a adoring boyfriend & caregiver of three years- things do get better <3.

❀•°❀°•❀ notebooks! 🌙

notebooks helped me a lot in school. i was not very verbal with strangers- i think our head master thought i was mute my entire school year & so to communicate with teachers i would use my notebook or leave little comments for them to read at the end of worksheets etc. notebooks can be used to draw illustrations of what you mean, leave notes, start conversations, be a silent form of communication between peers. it's honestly a life saver & helped me through some dark times <3.

❀•°❀°•❀

having a comfort person & space ⭐

my comfort person was a small group of friends i got to know near the end of my school year. before that i would eat & exist alone in either the school libary or in the corners of the school where no one really went. i think one of the downsides of having selective mutism is the loneliness that can follow- especially in an evironment where you need to talk first to create a bond. but just know that you won't be alone forever! your comfort people will come & honestly make you feel like you're euphoric 24/7. having a comfort person/place is almost like a safe heaven when things go bad. they can help order things, communicate your needs, and just protect you on those dark and overwhelming days <3

❀•°❀°•❀ apps & other things that can help. 🌙

when i was in school- i unfortunately didn't have the kind of support that i do now.

but for young honeybees- there is a mountain load to make those dark days a little less scary! there are plently of others but these are my two favourites! > AAC apps: Augmentative and alternative communication apps are avaliable to anyone that suffers with mutism in any form! i tend to use them a lot when i'm overstimulated & having autistic meldtdowns.

one of my favourite apps to use is Leeloo which is avaliable on android & apple! it's been a life saver and for the free version you get a healthy amount of free phrases <3.

> communication cards: these are a great for schools or any environments that don't allow technology! you are bascially have a handful of cards with basic communicational phrases and point to which one you'd like to express!

for me personally, these help best when i'm having panic attacks as the motion of going through and understanding each question helps me take control & ground myself a little easier <3

❀•°❀°•❀ pushing through the guilt. ⭐

the guilt of not being deemed 'normal' was one of the biggest things i had to overcome when i was younger. seeing people my age communicate with strangers so eaisly used to fuel so much anger and fustration because they use to do it so flawlessly- whilst i had to sit in front of a mirror and practice on repeat. but as i grew older and gotten to understand myself a little easier, i've realised that i was born into a world created and designed for people who don't have or suffer with what i go through. so why am i forcing myself to reach unexpected expetations when instead i can put myself & my mentality first and heal <3.

do whatever makes you happy, jump threough hurdles you want to go through and push to make a difference however you want! you don't have to had concured the moon to be somebody in the world.

sometimes just complimenting a stranger can make you the hero you want to be <3.

gif isn't mine

#agere community #sfw agere #safe agere #sfw little community #age regression #sfw little blog #sfw age regression #agere blog #agere little #sfw little post #age regressive #agere #agere lifestyle #age regressor #age dreaming #sfw regression #agere post #agere caregiver #sfw little one #sfw little stuff #sfw interaction only #sfw littlespace #sfw furry #ageregression #sfw #sfw blog #age regression caregiver #sfw caregiver #caregiverlife #little community

[yevmarie]

Light My Fire | Chapter 5

Masterlist

< Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 >

Plot: having lost everything you are drowned in depression, which had happened to you a year ago. Now you need to struggle with the apocalypse as well with no sparkle in your heart. But there is one man who can light your fire to live.

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Female Reader

Word count: 2.5k

Pronouns: you, she/her

Warnings: angst, mentions of depression, swearing, smoking, vomitting, Shane gaslighting, soft Merle (in his own way), hurt and comfort, fluffy Daryl, differences from the main plot may occur, bad English (not my first language).

If I miss something, please let me know. I hope you enjoy :).

Taglist: @your-shifting-gurl @bae-live-0 @richardsamboramylove55 @deansapplepie

The sourness gathered in your jaws, and cold sweat soaked your tank top. You realized you were almost throwing up because of the anxiety overwhelming you. Barely hearing a familiar voice calling your name, as it was ringing in your ears, you ran several feet, stopping near one of the trees and vomiting. Daryl came up to you, seeing your pathetic state.

“Are ya okay?” the archer’s voice sounded concerned. You breathed heavily, shaking your head.

“What’s goin' on with ya?” the man couldn’t stop but continued asking, hoping he could help you somehow.

“Nothing,” you replied, not wishing him to be immersed in your problems. He’s a great buddy but not a friend to spill everything on.

“Merle’s on a run tomorrow. Should he bring a pregnancy test?” Daryl shifted from one leg to another and started to chew his fingers. Every body movement showed how he was nervous and regretting what he’d just said. He understood it wasn’t his business, and this probably would make you push him away.

“Who taught you manners, Dixon?” you spat the remaining bitterness out of your mouth.

“Ya’ve been looking like shit for a fortnight,” the man bit his lower lip. “Being pale, crying, now throwing up. Thought ya…”

“I’m not pregnant, Daryl. Just a rebound effect and anxiety,” you straightened up, wiping your mouth with your forearm, and went past the embarrassed archer, getting back to the place you had been sitting the whole day.

“Wanna talk 'bout it?” he stood behind your back, keeping his distance, ready to leave you alone.

“Dunno,” you closed your face with your palms. “Just not sure you want to hear complaints from a stranger,” you sobbed as your own words hit your weak point: your fear of loneliness you’d been through this time.

“I’m not good at labels, but ya’re not a stranger to me, Y/N,” Daryl stood for a while, then decided to walk away before he heard your “okay.” He slowly came back to you to sit beside you silently, as if you were an animal he was hunting for, and any noise could scare you.

“So, if ya don’ need a test, then could he find medicines for ya?” Daryl turned his face to you, hoping to see yours.

“Thanks, ain’t no need,” you faced him with a sad smile. “I’m afraid it’ll do worse. I just need time, and this will go away. At least I hope so.”

You both looked into each other's eyes, sitting silent for a moment.

“Who hurt ya?” Daryl’s low, raspy voice sounded soothing, and his blue eyes still pierced yours.

“A lot of things and people,” you gasped, looking somewhere away. “I lost my parents a year ago, which led to depression. My boyfriend couldn’t bear it anymore and broke up with me half a year later,” your tears spilled, recalling Shane and Lori in the forest, then thought about Rick who would be there, and nothing similar would have happened. “I lost my best friend, almost my brother, right before the outbreak. I…” your voice cracked, “I’m so fucking tired, Daryl,” his heart flipped seeing your face grimace because of the pain you were suffering from. To his own surprise, he hugged you, gripping you by your shoulder and stroking it a bit clumsily but gently. You laid your head on his chest, which made Daryl tense his muscles for a moment, but he overcame the tension and relaxed. “I will not make it. I can’t. I’m fed up with everything. I did have hope I could overcome, but… I’ve seen something today I shouldn’t have to,” you silenced for a moment, not sure if you want to continue talking about it.

“I’ll hold any secret of yours if this is an issue,” Daryl’s voice became almost a whisper, while he didn’t stop comforting you, which he himself found so natural though still strange.

“I found my ex fucking with my best friend’s wife… Widow.” your lower lip quivered in pain, and your eyes stung with the new wave of tears.

Daryl frowned as he figured out who you were talking about. “Shane? Your ex?”

The man felt your nod and the warmth of the tears dropping on his shirt.

“He’s a dickhead and doesn’t deserve your tears,” Daryl’s hand gently squeezed your bicep, slightly gripping you closer to him. The archer was shocked by his own words and body movements as if he was not in control of himself. Everything wasn’t typical for him though he instinctively wanted to make you feel, if not fine, then a bit relaxed. You reminded him of a small kitten curled up in his big palms, shivering and crying. Such a small and fragile creature that needed protection.

“Thank you,” your whisper completely melted Daryl’s heart.

You were sitting silently for several minutes which seemed like an eternity. There was only him, and you were caged in his warm hug, sitting on the ground and hearing cricket sounds. This was enough for you to finally calm down. His body warmth and his natural scent mixed with tobacco and hand strokes were so soothing that it made you feel safe. You closed your eyes, relaxing into his hug.

“Talking about Merle. Could I ask him to find me a tent then?” you asked in a sleepy voice.

Daryl nodded. “Mhm. I’ll ask. And ya can sleep in mine today if ya want. I’ll be at Merle’s,” the archer’s low voice vibrating in his chest where your head was leaning made you feel dizzy.

“Thank you, Daryl,” you raised your head, aligning too closely with the man’s face, as his brain didn’t work out to lose the hug quickly. You met his crystal blue eyes, and his hot breath near your lips. Daryl, feeling butterflies in his stomach, forced his arm to loosen the hug so the awkwardly small distance became longer.

“Ya need ta eat and sleep, Y/N,” Daryl stood up on his feet and offered you his hand. You laid your arm in his and stood up clumsily, almost losing your balance. Daryl held you by your bicep. “That’s what I’m saying.”

“I’ll eat tomorrow, want just to sleep,” Daryl nodded, and you both walked towards the camp.

“Daryl,” you gently grabbed his hand, making him look at you.

“Wha’?”

“Can we get around the camp?” you looked up at him sheepishly, leaving his arm. “I don't wanna see either Shane or Lori now,” Daryl nodded in response, and you walked in another direction.

When you approached the archer’s tent, Daryl kneeled and unzipped it to take a blanket and make sure it would be cozy enough for you to sleep.

“Here it is,” the archer stood for a moment looking at you, waiting for you to get inside the tent.

“Thank you,” you replied in a sheepish voice.

“Stop it, please, ‘s nothin’,” Daryl felt uncomfortable as you were too thankful for such simple things, as he thought. In reality, he hadn’t just gotten used to it as no one had ever said these words to him.

“Good night,” Daryl whispered gently.

“Good night, Daryl,” you smiled at him and got inside the tent.

—

You woke up quite early when the sunlight was only showing on the horizon. The morning was quite cold because of the forest and water nearby. The air was so humid that it was hard to breathe in.

You covered yourself with a blanket and headed to Lori and Carl’s tent to grab your bag where your essentials were. You made it successfully without much noise and headed back. You put your bag on the ground and went nearby to find some wood and stones to set a small fire.

After the preparations, you took the jezve out of the bag with a coffee package and a bottle of water left from the previous brewing. Should be enough for two. You put some coffee in a jezve, poured some water, and put it on the fire.

When the coffee was brewing, you had a look at the camp which was still sleepy. You heard the sound of footsteps on the dry leaves and turned around to see Daryl walking out of the forest. You met his gaze, which made you smile gently. He was coming up to you, biting his lower lip and holding a flower in his right hand.

“Good morning, Daryl,” you said silently and put out two small cups to pour the coffee.

“Morning,” he sat in front of you with a grumpy face as he was too nervous and gave you the flower. “Sorry for being an asshole, Y/N.”

You chuckled and took the flower, tucking it behind your ear and giving him a cup in turn. “That’s okay, Daryl,” you replied, blushing, as he was so freaking cute, and it made you smile wider.

Daryl held the cup and wasn’t quite brave enough to look up at you. “Didn’t know I deserved this,” his gaze still somewhere on the ground.

“You are always welcome here until supplies stop,” Daryl finally looked at you, seeing you smiling. He blushed a bit and chuckled in response. You both felt so calm and relaxed.

“Morning little birdies,” Merle’s voice hit you both. You saw him going out of the tent, stretching his muscles after the night's sleep.

“Morning. Coffee?” you replied calmly, smiling while noticing how Daryl’s expression changed, the reason of which you didn’t get.

“Nah, thanks,” Merle replied to you and grinned at his brother, messing up his hair. Daryl jerked at the touch. “Got some business today. Looking for a tent for some stunning lady. But it can be unnecessary till she lets me know she could stay in mine before I go,” the man winked at you before you choked on the coffee.

“Merle,” Daryl almost growled at his brother.

“Wha’? If yer a pussy who cannot stay with a hottie in a tent, god knows I won’t miss the chance.”

“Merle,” the archer’s voice started having furious tones.

“Jus’ kiddin’ lil brother, keep calm,” Merle patted Daryl’s shoulder. “But if you change your mind…” the man paid attention to you still coughing. 

“Almost died,” you cleared your throat, wiping the tears. “You’d better invite me for a date first,” you exhaled, hoping the spasms relieved. Merle sighed and walked up to you.

“If the younger wastes time, I promise, ‘ll do this,” the man took your hand and pecked it, looking into your eyes. “Have a good one, princess.”

You were watching Merle go away and then looked at Daryl, who was looking on the ground, already holding a cigarette and fidgeting his fingers.

“Daryl, are you okay?” you asked the man whose mood changed drastically compared to what he had before. The archer simply nodded and stood up.

“I’ll be tomorrow, want ta check another perimeter further from ‘ere. Maybe I‘ll find somethin’,” he mumbled, taking his crossbow.

“Take care, Daryl,” he looked at you, admiring you sitting in his blanket with the flower tucked behind the ear. Your eyes pierced his with an exhausted look. The archer nodded, biting the inside of his cheek, and walked away.

—

You were helping Carol in the kitchen. The woman couldn’t hide her happiness seeing you around, telling how nervous she was. You were just shyly chuckling in response, also feeling awkward as Shane and Lori were passing by you time after time. Sometimes Carl was trying to talk to you, showing you the pictures he drew with Sofia, and you were happy to talk to him, but Lori always called him, finding a new reason every time.

“Is it me or she doesn’t want you to communicate?” Carol asked silently, standing beside you to cut a few vegetables.

“You’re right,” you replied, glancing at the woman who was sitting near Carl, who was reading out loud.

Your attention was caught by a new sports car that arrived at the camp, making so much noise. Shane already ran up to the car, seeing it was Glenn, happy like a kid finding a new toy.

Then a van arrived at the camp. People around seemed cautious until they saw your group going out. You smiled with relief.

“Carol, I’ll be later. Maybe my new tent has arrived,” the woman nodded to you, and you went to the van almost running. Reaching out to the side of the driver's seat, you saw Merle was missing.

“Where’s Merle?” your voice got an anxious tone, your eyes roaming between people to find the answer when suddenly you saw another man wearing a sheriff's uniform going out of the car. “No way,” the air was caught in your throat as if you forgot how to breathe. “Rick!” you whispered.

“Y/N,” the man’s hoarse voice hit you, causing tears of happiness. You jumped into his embrace, caging him in your arms. Here he is, safe and alive as if nothing had happened before.

“I thought I’d never see you again,” your voice is trembling because of the tears washing your face. The man tugged you closer, his hand on the back of your head.

“I can’t believe it,” he whispered and turned his head to see if there are Lori and Carl when you felt his heart started almost jumping out of his body. You relieved the hug and saw Rick going towards Carl, already running to him. Shane standing near the sports car turned pale.

“Where’s Merle?” you repeated the question, seeing T-Dog and Andrea hesitating to answer.

“There was a problem in Atlanta. We needed to cuff him. He was behaving dangerously,” T-Dog mumbled, wiping the sweat appearing on his forehead.

“What?” you silenced. “How could you..?” You couldn’t find any words, feeling the emotions boiling in your chest.

“We didn’t have a choice,” Andrea’s voice caught your attention.

“What the hell does it even mean?”

Your blurred vision started to be clear when you saw yourself already screaming at Glenn, asking him to give you keys.

“Y/N,” Rick was coming up to you, “What’s the problem?”

“You cuffed a person in the city full of walkers, are you serious?” you were quickly cut off by Shane chuckling.

“Rick, don’t pay attention. She’s just hanging out with him and his brother.”

“Mind your own business, Shane,” you barked in response.

“Rick, should we cuff her as well? She absolutely went nuts without her pills,” you made several running steps toward Shane when felt Rick’s hands gripping you tightly.

“What did you just say?” you yelled at the man, trying to free yourself from Rick.

“One fool makes many. Ah, no, two fools.”

“Hey, hollyrolly, which part of 'Mind your own business' didn’t you get?” you barked in response to Shane, whose facial expression turned furious.

“Shut up, you both!” Rick shouted, “Y/N, let me explain,” the sheriff cupped your face so that you could see him and listen.

< Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 >

#daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #daryl x reader #daryl dixon / reader #daryl dixon / you #daryl dixon x you #daryl / reader #daryl / you #daryl x you #daryl dixon fanfiction #Daryl dixon series #The Walking Dead #the walking dead series #the walking dead fic #twd #twd fanfiction #twd fanfic #norman reedus #daryl dixon fanfic #twd daryl #daryl dixon x female reader #daryl dixon x y/n

[igotanidea]

Be careful who you bring home : Morpheus x reader

part 2 is up

request/summary by anon: you know how people get pets for emotional support? reader with anxiety or fear of loneliness finds a big black cat in a park and she is just: yeah, you are coming home with me. cat happens to be post imprisonement!morpheus. he wants to argue, but she quickly takes him to her apartment which is conveniently close to the park. reader cooing to cat: who is my little baby and Matthew seeing it from the street and laughing at his boss. with 142 for reader (maybe he said something while being a cat) and 153 for morpheus.

142 was "it's just your imagination", 153 was "put me down" I might have changed the request a little bit but I hope you'll like it. Also thete is a bit of a twist/ crossover in the story. Wonder if you'll get it :D

***

„Have you ever considered getting a pet?”

The girl in her mid-twenties, dressed in comfy, black clothes sitting in front of the therapist frowned in confusion.

“A pet” she repeated “and why would I need that?”

“You know, it is proven that they have positive effect on people who suffer from depression and anxiety, so maybe this would be a good idea for healing process”

“Do you give such advice to all of your patients, doctor Raynor? Did you give such advice to Bucky, as well?”

“We both know he is not that kind of guy.”

“Really, why not?” the girl shrugged “he had some goats in Wakanda after all.”

“Stop joking around.”

“Jeez, fine. I won’t get a pet. In my current mental state I can barely take care of myself, let alone any other living being. Any other words of wisdom coming from you?”

“Not with this attitude. You may leave for now.”

“You know if I was paying you that would be the shittiest session not worth a dime.” She grabbed her coat and without a word, hands in the pocket left the room and not-so-pleased therapist.

A pet. Good joke. A four legged animal who would wake her up in the morning and at night asking for food or caress. A being that would turn her life upside down since it would require constant care and supervision to avoid destroying her apartment. Nope. Thank you very much. She was good enough by herself. Determined to get her head and broken soul back together and get clearance to get back to SHIELD and field operations. She missed that, but apparently beating up a bunch of bad guys leaves you in emotional trauma and in need of recover. Bullshit! She was an agent, for god’s sake, not a crying mess. Her attitude was far from cheerful and optimistic but just today she had to curb her murderous thoughts since one of her nieces were supposed to visit. Jemma was five years old and was still going through her princesses, pink glitter and unicorns faze. She was a challenge to be around, but definitely worth it. Her father, agent’s sister were supposed to drop her in straight to the house, but just a minute ago she got the message about the change in plans. Since the weather was beautiful and it was not often this time of the year, he took the chance for a little walk in the park and decided to meet his sister there instead of in the four walls. As she approached the park, she noticed her family amongst other walking people. Jemma was running around, picking leaved and jumping into the pools with loud, happy squeals. She could not hold back the tiniest smile on her face.

“She’s gonna get all wet and dirty and then who will tend to that?” the girl mocked while coming closer

“Hm, don’t know. I think at this point she would be someone else’s responsibility.”

“Hello, brother.”

“Hello sister” he hugged her tightly “how you’ve been? Life still kicking you in the guts?”

“I mean, when it doesn’t? You know my line of work….” Her brother was convinces she was just some regular office worker dealing with boring documents, since that was simply safer for everyone.

“Right, so mundane and ordinary…..” he rolled his eyes

“Auntie!” Jemma turned around and run straight to her favorite relatives not caring about the mud she left on her trousers while clutching to her legs.

“Hi, cupcake. Don’t you have to much energy?”

“I have so much to tell you! About the rhyme I’ve learned and some new letters I came across and my friends and everything” little girl jumped around in excitement “And I know a new magic trick dad showed me. But I still don’t quite understand it….” she frowned

“It;s ok, cupcake, we can work on that.”

“Oh, thank god. Like I said, your responsibility now. Good luck.” Girl’s brother was quick to get himself some freedom “just don’t give her too much sweets, you know how she gets after that”

“Yeah, too well. See you in a couple of hours then. Come on, Jemma” she took her niece’s little hand sticky with some mysterious substance “ let’s go home.”

If only it was that easy. They only took a couple steps when the little one broke out from aunt’s grip.

“Look, auntie, a cat!” she run over to the bench where unusually big and beautiful animal was soaking up the sun.  Before he realized what hit him, he was squeezed and carried by a little pair of still sticky hands and it was visible he did not like it.

“Jemma! Leave that animal alone. It may hurt you.”

Do not refer to me as “it”. I am a male personification. And put me down! Immediately!

She could swear she heard something in the back of her mind, but let it go. After all, cats do not talk and she was in therapy for mental trouble so it was probably just her mind playing tricks on her.

“Can we take him home, auntie, he’s so sweet, please” little girl pouted

“No. Of course not, look at… him. He is very good looking, so most probably belongs to someone. Not a chance he’s a stray cat. “

“I can’t see anyone looking for him” a couple tears showed up in Jemma;s eyes. “Please, auntie, please….” Great, now she was crying out loud getting the attention of few pedestrians.

“Ok, fine, fine, just please stop crying.”

“Thank you” Jemma stopped her actions in a second and smiled widely showing the jags in her mouth. “I will carry him so don’t worry about it, auntie” she held the cat even closer not caring about him writing in her embrace.

“Just be careful so he won’t hurt you” she warned following her niece, wondering what the hell she got herself into.

I will not hurt this little mortal.

At this point, the older girl was pretty sure she was going crazy. And to think that Raynor wanted her to have a pet to help her mental health, not deteriorate it.

***

“Auntie, look, I made him pretty”

“Mhm, great” she did not even bother to look up from some records she was currently reading “wait, you did what, Jemma?” a second later she came to realization what a five-year-old girl can mean by saying “made pretty”.

“Look, auntie” said five year old was quick to get the cat out from behind and proudly present it. Despite her rather gloomy attitude the older one could not hold back a laugh. Black fur was now embellished  with colorful glitter and was wearing a crown. If it wasn’t for the lack of resources at home Jemma would probably extend her imagination even more.

“Oh” she cooed “look who’s pretty boy” her grin was now getting wider and wider. She was no expert on animal behavior but the look on its face clearly indicated it was not happy with the situation.

“I wanted to give him a braid, but the fur was too short” Jemma saddened

“Don’t worry sweetie, it looks just perfect. Like a ….”

“Princess!” Jemma squealed and turned around with the cat still in her embrace.

“Don’t you both dare. This is humiliating”. Once again there was this little voice inside girl’s head.

“Ok, honey, why don’t you let go of the cat now. I got a snack for you.”

“Chocolate cake?” Jemma asked innocently while playing with her fingers and shyly looking at the floor

“Apple and carrots”

“That is boooooring. And I don’t like carrots” Jemma whined

“Well, too bad for you. I heard veggies give you strength. And then your skin looks healthy and shines almost like the cat’s fur. Wouldn’t you like to look beautiful?”

“I’d rather be smart” Jemma retorted taking her aunt aback with maturity of this sentence “but I guess beauty can help in future. I saw on TV that pretty girls always have what they want so whatever” she shrugged and rushed towards the kitchen where the snack was already waiting for her.

“Unbelievable” her aunt shook her head “but she’ll be busy for a while, so how about we get you all cleaned up, huh?” she picked the cat from the floor and walked towards the bathroom ignoring the writhing animal, who was not happy about forced wash.

Put me down! It demanded again and the girl stopped looking him straight in the eyes trying to check out if she was really going nuts.

“Oh come on, girl, get yourself together. It’s just your imagination.”

She walked straight into the bathroom and started gently combing out the fur. Surprisingly, her action bring the animal comfort because surprisingly to both of them he started purring.

***

Two hours later, tired and sleepy Jemma was picked up by her father and her aunt could finally let the cat out into the wild. It was impossible earlier since the little girl was checking on him every five minutes, refusing to drop this action.

“Sorry about today. “ she muttered opening the door “but hey, on the bring side at least you have a nice story to tell to your fellow cats. Besides, you really are a pretty animal.” maybe it was another impression or the flicker of lights, but it seemed like the cats fur became a bit reddish and he squinted. “go, now, find your owners, get home safe, fella.”

It was just a couple of hours, but the girls was actually starting to think that maybe, hypothetically, Raynor was right about this whole “emotional support pet” stuff.

***

Morpheus bristled and crossed the street. Only on the other side of the road he changed back into the anthropomorphic personification of dreams.

“Um, boss?” his loyal yet rebellious Raven perched on the branch, tilting his head slightly. If he was still human he would probably laugh himself silly.

“Not a word, Matthew. Not a single word about it. To anyone” he reached for his sand and completely ignoring further words of the bird transported them back to the Dreaming “Do I make myself clear” he made sure before entering the palace.

“Sure thing, boss. But it was funny don’t you think?”

“Hold your tongue, Matthew!”

@somest1 @pinksirensong

#the sandman #sandman #morpheus x reader #sandman x oc #morpheus #the sandman imagine #morpheus x oc #morpheus fanfiction #dream of the endless #dream of the endless x oc #dream x oc #dream lord #dream lord x oc #the sandman netflix #lord morpheus #lord morpheus x oc #dream of the endless x reader #the sandman x reader #matthew the sandman #matthew the raven #meowpheus

[drkmgs]

It had my heartbroken.

Wednesday Addams x Reader

Warning: mild Angst

part 1 | part 2 | part 3

"They weren't mine but when I lost them it had my heart broken."

Wednesday wrote that as her ending sentence in her old chapter. She carefully took out the paper and added to her neatly packed pages. She sighed. The room felt bigger than before, she could definitely feel your absence. She never thought she would be fond of your shenanigans or you in flesh.

She hate to admit but she misses you. awfully. She misses how you would annoy her while she's writing, your cringe phrases that could lead her to murder, your infuriating laugh and your dreadful back hugs whenever you see her in the halls. She misses you so much that she started to hallucinate, she would see you in every classroom, hallways, at the Weathervane, and even in her room, but she knew it was just an image of you in her mind, she didn't make an effort to talk to you. Though sometimes you would talk to her like you usually do.

Now is the perfect example. You were on her bed, on the phone, scrolling through social media, humming in satisfaction. Then you remembered you weren't alone.

Y/N: Oh, sorry I was humming. I didn't realize it.

Wednesday: T-there's nothing to apologize for. You can continue humming if you want too.

Her voice cracked, it broke her heart. She needed that comfort from you but she knew you were merely an image in her head. She tried to shake the image away in her mind but it only makes it worse.

You were now standing in front of her. Looking down at her, whilst she is sitting on her stool. You gently crease her cheeks, she leans into your touch. Feeling the warmth of your hand against her very own cold skin.

When will she realize you're not just a hallucination, that you're real, that you were on the edge of death but cheated in some way? When will she realize, how much love and affection she showed, whilst thinking you were dead.

You had to play along with this idea. Preventing her to do something else. You were glad to see her doing just fine, but when loneliness strikes her, you couldn't just watch from afar. You soothe her by appearing every time she needed you. You would play your memories with her, to remind her about the happiness that she has given you.

She wrapped her arms around your waist to feel more warmth of you. Inhaling your scent, wood sage, and sea salt. Your scent is therapeutic to her, it did calm her down. You had your hands on her head slightly pressing it against your body and gently stroking her hair.

It was time for you to go before anyone else's sees you. You gently guided her to her bed and made her lay on it. She's holding your hand, not wanting you to leave. You whispered little things to her, it was soothing her to sleep. Soon enough she slipped into slumberland and you kissed her on the forehead to say goodbye.

You slowly pulled your hand away and made your way to the door. When you opened it, you were greeted by a tall woman with silver blond hair.

Principal Weems: I have been looking for you. How is she?

You took one last glance behind you and closed the door. You cleared your throat to compose yourself.

Y/N: She's doing fine while I'm beside her, but she's completely lost when she's all alone, she'll slip into something worse. Moth- I mean Principal Weems, let me tell her the truth. I can't keep roaming around the school like a ghost.

Principal Weems: We have talked about this, Y/N. How would you even tell her you aren't dead? How would you tell her you cheated death? She saw you get stabbed with Nightshade poison. You died in front of her, we held a funeral for you. Even I, your mother. I am in shock to see you come back from the dead. Don't get me wrong, I am truly happy you're back but we still don't have answers to what questions they may have. Staying low and hidden will be the safest thing to do right now.

Y/N: But I can't keep watching, how she suffers alone, not even knowing her partner is alive and kicking. Mom, I love her. I want to be with her so badly.

You couldn't hold on to your tears anymore. You are already sobbing when your mother pulled you into a hug and rubbed your back to calm you down.

Principal Weems: I know, darling. I'm sorry.

#wednesday addams #wednesday addams x reader #wednesday addams x you #wednesday x reader #wednesday x you #wednesday #wednesday series #wednesday netflix #jenna ortega #jenna ortega x reader #principal weems #larissa weems #drkmgsstories

[drdemonprince]

I deeply agree that weve got to meet people where they are at, and that there are multiple factors to consider in a masking situation. But I’m gonna be real as someone who was deeply disabled by covid something still urks me about the way people have been discussing covid protection with you. It is all so overwhelmingly from the perspective of someone not sick. It’s all about how one made the choice to not mask in certain situations and how doing otherwise would ruin ones life, and that’s like, sure, makes sense. But I don’t get that choice. That choice was taken away from me. And I am not making a ill-informed strategic decision in shaming others, I simply have no empathy for the hurt feelings of the people who put me on my deathbed, to be quite fucking honest. I am all for strategic discussions but I am not here to be tone policed by people talking about their choices that I don’t even get to take, sitting here struggling to even type.

Thanks for sharing this. One of the big tension points with COVID is that the target behaviors that need to be changed are located within people who are, statistically, not the most vulnerable -- and so, on a tactical level, we are tasked with extending compassion and aid to people who might not show the same consideration to us as disabled people, if we want to be safe.

As HIV spread throughout queer, sex worker, and intraveneous drug user communities, it was often these very communities that organized in order to influence behavioral change within their own ranks. Gay bars handed out condoms to gay men. Gay sex clubs facilitated fisting nights so people could have safer sex. Needle exchanges run by current and former drug users helped keep drug users safe. The people most likely to be infected were also the people whose behavior could be positively influenced to protect them, and thus protect the community as a whole.

That's not quite the calculus here. In order to protect disabled and high-risk people, we need EVERYONE to be on the same page with regard to COVID mitigation strategies. We need people who are not themselves high risk to mask, test, get vaccinnated, improve ventilation in their homes, etc.

Now, many of these "low risk" people are not actually low risk; the data is pretty abundant at this point that it is in actuality quite hard to pin down who will develop long COVID and who will not, it can happen to just about anyone. And indeed, even many people who know themselves to be high risk are still taking significant risks regarding COVID right now -- because they are forced to go to work in kitchens and grocery stores and live with roommates who travel and etc or because they are so filled with despair they are risk resigned.

So trying to demarcate who is a disempowered victim here and who is an inconsiderate abled person is not actually so easy -- we must resist the urge that has been drilled into us to issue moral judgements about whom is righteous and whom is deserving of suffering. That is not a disability justice politic. No one deserves long covid, no one deserves to die, no one deserves to overdose, no one deserves to get AIDS, no one deserves to perish because they could not handle the loneliness of social isolation either. We must believe that all disabilities are legitimate and in need of accommodation here, and that includes mental ones that make strict mitigation adherence hard for some. (hello, hi, i have crazy risk-taking brain disease, and even so i care about COVID mitigation, and i need community care too).

EVEN SO, it is undeniably true what you are saying, that we are focusing more on the actions and choices and hang ups of the people who have some freedom to choose, and not the people who have been at home for years at this point, completely isolated, because they are high risk or disabled by COVID already.

I would always caution people to remember that there very much are folks who are high risk and have long COVID who are still forced by economic circumstances out into public life every single day. so we can't equate who is at home and who is out in public taking risk with how disabled or sick someone is. But still, I digress, and on the whole you are right, we are concerning ourselves with people who have the freedom to choose how they respond to COVID, and doesn't that seem unfair?

Sure it's unfair! But the people who have the ability to choose how they respond to COVID risk are the exact people whose behavior we are trying to influence here! We want more people to mask, get tested, get vaccinated, socialize outdoors, etc. And so we do have to put considerable resources and messaging into reaching those people and influencing their behavior if we wish to protect disabled and high risk people.

Someone has to do the work of listening to their concerns, educating them, validating their feelings, giving them access to masks and tests, and removing barriers to them taking those kinds of desired actions. a LOT of people have to do that work. You don't have to do that work as someone who is chronically ill, but I'm gonna do it. and I wish more of my comrades would join me in it, for your sake too! We need to be doing the footwork of getting all your neighbors masking so that it is safe for you to go outside!

We also DO want to protect those people who are taking big risks. Their lives do matter just as much to me. Many of the people who are disabled with long COVID were them once. The fact that someone takes a risk does not mean they deserve to get sick and die. Again that is a fundamental cornerstone of a disability justice politic.

But yes, I hear you, it's annoying from where you are sitting to have to hear people who get to out in public and take big risks complaining about how they are sad when they get criticized. You don't have to listen to these conversations. It shouldn't be your job to hold those conversations. But they do need to happen.

[plan-3-tmars]

"You're Just Sitting On The Train" - Double MV Analysis

There's a conversation between the two main character's in a podcast I love called Red Valley which reminds me of the imagery in Double.

"You know when you're on a train, and it's held up, and you're just stuck in the middle of a field while they get the leaves off the line or whatever, and you're going to be hopelessly late, there might be awful consequences to get stressed about but... there's literally nothing you can do about it. It's not your fault. Hopefully you've got a book or something. You're just sitting on the train."

The conversation in context with the scene is about being able to put your problems and stresses, like being late for work, on someone else's shoulders. Let them take responsibility for what's going on so you can feel some relief. It got me thinking about Mikoto and Orekoto (who I'm just going to call John thanks to Neoplasm) and I want to talk about what I think the meaning of it is!!

Trains have many, many different meanings - like almost a ridiculous amount of different interpretations can be made - but I think the meanings that are the most important while talking about Mikoto are trains representing the passage of time, destiny and loneliness.

Loneliness:

While on a train, or waiting for one, you are surrounded by people. However as shown here, most keep their head down and don't speak unless spoken too. It gives a sense of loneliness, you are surrounded by people yet completely alone.

I think this could apply to Mikoto's situation and was possibly a stress factor for him. It is implied from his T1 interrogation questions that Mikoto was popular enough, knowing a lot of people either now or back in high school, but he doesn't seem to open up to any of them. He lies to his mother that everything's okay in their phone call and bottles up his stress. Because of this he is dependant on John to function : "But if you persist, I guess it's my job to keep things on an even keel."

The Passage of Time:

This shot showcases how long the train actually is, it flies through each carriage insanely fast, blurring slightly from the speed alone.

It's been extremely clear since T1 that Mikoto suffers heavily from dissociative amnesia, something that is a very common symptom of DID, and I think the fact this shot blurs could be representing that.

Trains representing time and how humans view the passage of time is probably one of the most popular ways they appear, we tend to think of time as one thing that moves forward constantly in a straight line, similar to an uninterrupted train on a train track, but for Mikoto (and John) time is blurry, hazy. It may seem like things move too fast to keep track of (pun not intended) or individuals with DID can sometimes describe it as feeling like you're missing hours, fronting in a place or room you know you weren't in before and being unaware of the events that led up to you getting to this point.

This feeling of missing hours is relevant to this specific scene as after the camera moves through the train the first person we see is Mikoto - not John, who was in the doorway.

Destiny:

Trains are always headed to a specific location so they can also be associated with life's journey, or in other words, fate and destiny.

Both Mikoto and John are shown as the passengers on their train, not the conductor. They are not in control over life's events, just sitting on the train and this is extremely stressing - especially for Mikoto. John says things like : "another day with that hardly barely there of a smile // You're going to break // You're overdoing it, you're already broken". Mikoto seems to find it hard to deal with life's events, aka the train ride, and perhaps feels like the end destination is unattainable at times of stress.

This point is stressed further imo by the fact that we can't see outside. The windows of the train are either white or black for the majority of the MV, sometimes light or 1 image makes itself known but never a full image of what's actually outside.

Bonus: The Train's Maps!

The map's of the train are shown glitched out, also possibly hinting to the feeling of the train's final destination being unattainable, or could also be referencing hazy memories, but I think this specific detail is about John.

We see the maps glitching out when John sings the lyric : "I don't even know the reason why I'm here." I think the maps glitching could represent the feeling of the loss of purpose.

John was 'born' in order to protect Mikoto, to help carry the burden of whatever is stressing him so much, yet instead of helping Mikoto he ended up being scared of him ("hey, now I saved you right? So why in the hell are you crying?") and it was John's actions that landed them in Milgram - an environment that Mikoto finds extremely stressing, to the point of there being a chance he goes dormant in T3.

Trains are created to arrive at a certain destination, so a train with no idea where it's going (glitchy maps) has lost its purpose.

Despite being an alter 'born' to protect, John has accidently caused Mikoto more harm when he tries, so he questions his role in the system.

Edit: Journey into the Subconscious

After staring at the MV a couple more times I think there's one more train theme I forgot to mention that fits here too, which is that trains can sometimes represent a journey into the mind.

I think there's a chance that the train could represent the system as a whole, or more specifically headspace. The only people on the train are John and Mikoto and the fact we never see what's outside gives a sort of surreal, dream like atmosphere, almost as if this was happening in an environment with no psychical appearance.

The lyrics sung in Double seem to be more directed at Mikoto than the actual audience, and from the last line "I'm so sorry" we can deduce that this song is something of an apology and explanation of John's actions that he wants Mikoto to hear.

#im not rlly 100% certain on any of these points but i wanted to throw them out here to see what others think #also just wanted to write atleast 1 thing on Double because god damn it was SO COOL #also i am in no way an expert on DID - any info here is based on my own research so if there are any inaccuracies pls lmk!! #also yes thats another podcast referance in my milgram analysis. i like sprinkling them in when i find the excuse to talk about them #also sorry for calling orekoto john but im sticking with it cuz that reminds me of john doe from the malevolent podcast #and he is my blorbo #milgram #mikoto kayano #red valley pod