So, I went and got my Bitch Planet tattoo today, and someone in the shop asked, “That’s pretty… Visible. Aren’t you afraid of being that obvious?” And I replied, “I’m pulling aggro.”
But the more I think about it, the more this metaphor fucking works. I’m a white middle class woman with low expenses, no criminal record, and I live in liberal-ass New England (or at least, I thought I did before the Trump/Pence signs cropped up like fucking forsythias but that’s a whole other post.) I’m safe. Even if I get in a knock-down-drag-out, I’m not going to be seen as an agitator, or a troublemaker, or the “problem.” I have money for bail. I am privileged.
While I have physical disabilities, they actually don’t get in the way of me feeling like I could get in a scrap. If anything, the opposite. I have this whole other post (yeah I think of more all the time like this) about the genetic evolution of Ehler’s-Danlos Syndrome but suffice to say, you can’t hold on to me and you can’t break me easily. I have martial arts training, but I look harmless, so even if I did get in a scrap, the cop is going to go, “You got in a brawl with a 35-year-old fat woman… Yeah… whatever.”
I have mental health limitations, but they actually don’t get worse from being exposed to this shit - I’d feel way worse and more anxious if I didn’t step in. I’m the kind of person who would just second guess and eat themselves alive in thinking of how they should have jumped in to help someone.
I’m a tank. I’m tough, I’m bendy, and bigots aren’t going to shock me or hurt me.
Not everyone is a tank. This is super fucking important. Some people are healers. They deal with the fallout when someone like me comes home shaking and breathing in a paper bag because holy shit I just took a picture of a guy in a CVS who tried to grab my tit. Some people are DPS - they leap in and fucking maul people with cited facts on Facebook arguments and are physically imposing and probably could punch a bitch out.
It’s okay to be what you are. And it’s also okay to take care of yourself. If you’re a tank, you gotta heal up. You need downtime, or you get hypervigilant and debuffed and you’re too fucked up to help anyone. If you’re a healer, you need to get your resources back so you can do what you love without taxing yourself unduly. It’s like that.
So I’m a tank. And I’ll wear my Non-Compliant Genderqueer tattoo with pride. I wear my “Respect Existence or Expect Resistance” tattoo the same way. I wear them so that the girl with the neutral gender haircut who just wants to fucking ride the bus isn’t as inviting a target as I am. I pull aggro. I don’t want a fight, I won’t start a fight, but you better fucking believe I’ll step in the way.
Taunt, pull, peel, sustain, rest, drop your stacks, and fight on.
Title:Lost In Your Arms (Tales of the Special Branch series, book 1 of 3) Author:Femmequixotic Final Word Count: 257,686 Pairing: Harry/Draco Rating: Oh so fucking NC-17, babes. Like 60K of his has to be sex. I mean it. Characters: Draco Malfoy, Pansy Parkinson, Harry Potter, Blaise Zabini Summary: Three months after their brief encounter, Draco has almost forgotten about Potter–or so he tells himself. Then a Dark wizard shows up on the Auror radar and all hell breaks loose. Draco will have to choose between everything he holds dear–everything he’s worked so hard for–and a few stolen moments of passion with a certain green-eyed Inspector, once his sworn enemy and now something rather different entirely. He’ll make the right choice, won’t he? Who is he kidding? He’ll ruin everything, as per usual. Bad choices and the name Malfoy go hand in hand. (Prequel is here, ~15K.)
Well, folks, here it is. I’ve just posted the very last chapter of Lost In Your Arms, all 44K of it, and the novel’s now marked complete. You can read chapter ten here or (for those of you who I know were waiting until it was no longer a WIP) start from chapter one.
At 257,686 words, this story is officially longer than Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix which clocks in at 257,045 words and is the longest book in the HP series. (So you can’t say this fic’s too long to read–you’ve all read that book, I know, LOL. *side eyes everyone*) I really can’t believe it turned out this long; when I first planned it, I thought it might be 120K at most. Shows you how much I know. GOD HELP ME I STILL HAVE TWO MORE BOOKS TO WRITE IN THIS SERIES. WTF. I HAVE OUT JKR’ED JKR WHEN IT COMES TO WORD COUNT. IN 10 WEEKS. I CAN’T EVEN. *breathes into paper bag*
This has been a wild ride for the past ten weeks. There were times I wasn’t certain I’d make my weekly deadline, but I did, and I have to give huge thank yous to @noeeon and sassy_cissa for being there with me on this journey and providing advice, sympathy, prodding, plotting, and editing along the way. They are my rocks, and this story wouldn’t have been finished without them.
I also want to say thank you to those of you who’ve been reading along with me. Your love of this story and your wonderful, beautiful, amazing comments have sustained and supported me along the way, and I can’t tell you how incredibly happy each one of you has made me. Your thoughtfulness and insight kept me going during difficult writing moments and influenced this story more than you might think. From the bottom of my heart, thank you for coming along on this ride with me. I hope you’ll join me on the next one. I’m throwing myself into starting chapter one of book two tomorrow. \0/ After I go drink a lot of wine tonight. Because DAMN GIRL that’s a lot of words for 10 weeks.
Which reminds me. LIYA is only book one of three planned for this series. I know. I’ve obviously gone round the twist. But I love these boys and I love Pansy and I love Blaise, and it’s making me wicked happy to write their stories. This is the team of my heart. More than I can even articulate. I fell back in love with them all writing this story, and I plan to be here with them for a little wihle longer.
The next installment will start posting on Saturday, June 3. You can follow me here on Tumblr for updates orsubscribe to the series on AO3. Let’s face it. It’ll probably be long too, lolz.
“I regret it all,” Tim said, the moment it was over.
“Do you?” Bruce asked, voice mild, looking from Tim to Jason—thoroughly unrepentant expression and all, thanks Jason—and then to the wreckage of one of his Murciélagos—they were limited edition, Tim knew, and Bruce loved them a lot—and while Tim’s knowledge of Bruce’s car collection ended there, he’d known enough to guess that the second they’d accidentally keyed the thing in the middle of an argument, they’d already doomed themselves.
Tim’s solution was to live out their final moments before Bruce killed them both by taking it for a joyride. Tim wasn’t sure how the hell he’d ended up suggesting it, except maybe that Jason had been acting reasonably pleasant and it had lulled him into a false sense of security, but the end result was that Jason had apparently been taught to drive by actual, literal demons of hell—the only explanation Tim could think of for how they’d managed to survive some of the stunts he pulled, and why Tim had thought it was a good idea to turn around and ask for a turn and claim he knew how to drive extremely fast roadsters.
Tim knew how to drive. Normal cars that went normal speeds. The Batmobile, even, in a pinch.
But he swore that Jason and his demon driving ways had done something to the Murciélago and then the encouragement being yelled his ear had done the last of it and the end result was—
“I’m really sorry, Bruce.”
Bruce honestly kind of looked like he might cry, and Tim just did not know what to do with that information.
“I’m not,” Jason said, shrugging his shoulders when Tim gave him a dirty look. “Did you look more or less broken up when I died? Or do only cars rate actual grief?”
“Oh my God, stop talking,” Tim said, because there was giving Bruce a hard time and actively courting death after crashing one of his favorite cars, and why did Jason always have to go for the low blows? Could he not just chill out, just once in his goddamn life?
“Tim,” Bruce said, and it appeared he was ignoring Jason entirely which was the wrong move, Bruce, was Tim the only person between the three of them who know how to not be a complete interpersonal mess? Was that not the height of irony? “Sit down and breathe into a paper bag, you’re looking a little white. Jason—”
Jason raised an eyebrow, and he looked absolutely ready to start a fight even surrounded by gathering media, curious onlookers and the sad wreckage of the car, which had lost the fight with the tree Tim had driven it into.
“If you think that being legally dead and partially estranged means I can’t ground you, you’re wrong.” Bruce pointed back to the car he’d arrived in. Alfred was standing by the passenger-side door, looking disapproving and extremely British. “Get in the damn car.”
“Please,” Tim muttered into his hands. “My nerves can’t take this.”
Jason snorted, but he went towards the car, giving Bruce a large berth that screamed that he was being a defensive jackass because he was just as terrified as Tim was, just hiding it much better.
Tim looked up, wincing at the expression on Bruce’s face.
“I’m extremely glad that both of you are okay,” Bruce said, which was just getting the obligatory parental concern out of the way before the Doom and Judgment descended. “But I have security cameras in the garage, so I also know that the entire thing was your idea—” sweet Jesus he was done for “—and while Jason is an adult and can make his own decisions, you’re both my sons so I feel it’s necessary to remind you not to be a bad influence on your brother.”
Jason had been getting into the back of the car, but slammed the door closed instead, storming back over. “You fucking WHAT?”
Tim wasn’t sure whether he wanted to laugh or cry.
This is my first preference so I hope it’s okay! It wasn’t requested by it just popped into my head and I had to write it
TW- panic attack.
(Always feel free to talk to me, I won’t judge!)
He knows immediately, he sees it coming because he knows the signs and he always knows what to do. He’ll pull you into his embrace, whisper soothing things in your ear, getting you to try and breathe at the same pace as him, he’ll do anything. He’ll get you water, he’ll hold you and after it’s over, he’ll run his fingers through your hair and let you talk it out, not caring that you’ve soaked him with your tears. He has help, he loved you.
It comes with being a werewolf, being able to smell feeling, sure he could avoid it if he tried but when he smells that panic on you, he knows it not good and immediately get’s into action. He’s calming you down before you’ve even got the chance to get too worked up. Scott would talk you through them, get you a paper bag to breathe into, give you a puff of his inhaler, anything you need in that moment that will help you catch your breath and help you feel better again, he’s willing to try it.
Again with the werewolf senses, he could sense it quickly. He would speak to you a lot, saying things like “Come on baby, count to 10 with me okay?” “I’m so proud of you, come on, your doing so well”. He’d encourage you to breathe, to count with him, to breathe with him, taking any pain he could from you. He’d wipe your tears and let you get it all out, he’d then spoil you for the rest of the night, taking it easy and having a nice dinner.
Straight away he’d notice your heart rate pick up abnormally and he’d swing into action, stopping whatever he was doing, getting to you being his main focus, his top priority was getting you to feel better. He’d take you to that special place the two of you share that you always feel calm, he’d hold you, whispering sweet nothings in your ear, kissing your head and just helping you through, he’d be telling you try and take deep breaths, it didn’t matter if it failed, as long as you were trying, he’d assure you everything was okay and he would protect you, nothing would hurt you or they’d have to go through him.
Once Liam realised what was happening, he would too start panicking, he’d try and calm you down, while not being calm himself, further panicking you. He’d be running around getting everything you needed and more, water and any medicines you needed to take. Through time he’d get better and he'd always stick to the same plan, getting you somewhere quiet where you could follow his breathing and have him hold you until you finally calmed down. Liam never brought up your panic attacks again, you asked him once and he had simply said “Their in the past, we’re in the present. I want you and If they come with you then so be it, I want you, all of you” and you only had to hear him say that to know you were in love.
He’s be clueless. Completely and utterly clueless. He’d sit with you and try to calm you the best he could, rubbing your back not knowing whether he was doing more bad than good. He’d get into the swing of it eventually, holding you and whispering things to you always worked best, so he’d do that, try to soothe you, run you a hot bath with candles afterwards to relax you. Peter might not be good showing love or compassion, but his efforts were much appertained and just the gesture of how much he cared was enough help with the calming down.
One good thing about having an utterly touch-starved demon boyfriend is that it doesn’t take much to keep him happy in a physical sense. Which is great, considering Flug’s preeetty sure he’s nowhere near as ‘exciting’ as Black Hat’s used to sexually.
But God forbid you call this 'cuddling’. If anyone ever comes up with a more evil term for it, you can get back to them.
It wasn’t uncommon that they would find themselves snuggled up together on the eldritch’s bed (because let’s face it, Flug’s is too small) and simply… well, cuddling each other. There’s really no better word for it.
“And you know what else? The oxytocin release that this kind of physical contact produces even reduces blood pressure, lowering the risk of heart disease.” Flug rambled on, arms wrapped around the body next to him and absentmindedly fiddling with the collar of his partner’s coat. He’d been listing off random facts about the benefits of cuddling for a while now.
“Is that right?” Black Hat murmured, one of his own arms lolled around the doctor’s shoulders, lightly stroking Flug’s arm. The eldritch looked immensely relaxed, a nice change of pace from his norm.
“Mhm– Oh! And guess what else!” Flug’s eyes lit up as more info popped into his head. It was adorable, really. “Oxytocin has also been known to reduce anxiety and stress! And sharing a bed with a partner also lowers cortisol levels, which is a stress hormone!”
“Fascinating.” The demon rolled on top of Flug, grinning as he loomed over him. “Very good for you, then.” He purred, bending down to trail light kisses along the scientist’s shoulder and neck, getting a small shiver out of him.
“Hehe. Well, I-I guess you’re not wrong.” Flug laughed quietly, closing his eyes in a complete state of peace. “Another fascinating effect of oxytocin is its ability to improve emotional perceptiveness in others. Helps people recognize facial expressions and emotions and stuff, it’s really quite interesting.”
“Really?” Black Hat paused, looking up thoughtfully. “… Huh.” He grinned down at Flug again, going back to kissing him. “Good for me too, then.”
Flug chuckled under his breath, slipping his arms once again around his partner to hold him close. His eyes shot open as yet another fact came to mind. “Oh! And statistics say that 57% of….” He trailed off when he saw the other man smirking at him now. The scientist blushed and averted his eyes. “Ehehe….. I’m talking too much, aren’t I…..”
“If I wanted you to shut up, I’d tell you.” The demon snickered between smooches.
“H-Heh… I guess you would, wouldn’t you…” Flug replied, eyes slowly closing again.
Still, Flug fell quiet for some time. They both did. But it was far from an uncomfortable silence.
Black Hat took the time to lightly trace his fingers over Flug’s body, his sides, arms, shoulders, and chuckling at how easily he could make him shiver even being fully clothed. What a sensitive little scientist.
He leaned down, leaving one, two, three kisses along Flug’s face and neck, then paused all of a sudden, a thought crossing his mind.
im on mobile so idk if you have rules but if you take requests would you ever write fluh having a panic attack nd blackhat helping?
Despite what Demencia said, Flug didn’t have panic attacks all that often. Besides, she was thinking of ‘anxiety attack’ when she said that, which Flug had never experienced. Two different things.
But that didn’t mean he’d never had a panic attack. Once or twice or- a handful more. Flug was starting to think he might have some sort of panic disorder, it might help to explain his skittish nature, somewhat.
The problem about panic attacks, at least by Flug’s experiences, was they tended not to have any cause. They just happened.
The screwdriver bounced off once- then twice. He couldn’t understand why he suddenly couldn’t hold the tool straight, he’d been doing fine so far. He dropped the tool- it bounced again, off the table onto the floor- Flug grabbed the casing, twisting it around and trying to push the wire to sticking into the device-
He dropped the whole thing, clenching his chest. He needed air- he gasped in as much as he could, but it wouldn’t go down- it trapped itself somewhere in his throat, rushing out and leaving him breathless- he hit the table before he knew he was moving forward, trying to keep himself up and his last meal down.
The world spun around him suddenly- he was on the floor, crawling, bumping into a wall and curling up, hiding from them the eyes they could see him had to get away-
Nobody would know if he just died under this table. 505 might find him, but who knew how long that would take with all the bear was expected to clean. Demencia might assume he was sleeping and just draw on his bag- couldn’t- had to- he tried to uncurl himself, couldn’t move- had too-
Flug didn’t understand. Couldn’t understand. The word bounced off his head, meaningless. Something moving- near-
Black Hat lowered himself to one knee slowly, eyes locked on the mortal. His scientist was wound up tight in a little ball, shaking like a leaf and looking at nothing.
“Look at me Flug.” Black Hat said as clearly as he could, holding out his fingers and snapping them twice. When the man didn’t respond, Black Hat knew it was a touch to late to stop the worst of Flug’s attack.
He crawled under the deck, removing his coat as he did so to drape over Flug. The coat dwarfed him- hiding him. Black Hat pulled Flug closer, letting what parts of Flug shown through the coat hide against his chest, slipping his hands under both his coat and Flugs lab coat, beginning to rub and soothe the tense muscles.
The man slowly began to stop shaking as much, clenching to Black Hat’s shirt.
“Good… Good doctor.” Black Hat muttered, drifting his hands up to Flugs shoulders. “… now, you’re wearing a paper bag on your head. Breath into it.” Black Hat commanded. “These have never lasted long, haven’t they? You’ll be fine.”
He didn’t think Flug could really understand a word he was saying.
“In… out… remember you’re exercises, doctor. Why a human needs to practice breathing as always been beyond me, but you have no excuse not to fail them now.” Black Hat tugged the edges of the bag down, pinching the bottoms closed on either side of Flug’s head. The bag began to expand and collapse with Flug’s breaths.
He counted along himself, letting the bag go to allow the rush of clean air back inside, allowing Flug to rebalance himself, then did it again.
Flug’s breathing soothed out, bit by bit, his body finally stilling as he simply laid against his boss. Black Hat kept a close eye on him, slowly pulling off those goggles, watching for any signs of resistance, before the bag swiftly followed.
Flug’s eyes still held a touch of panic, but he breathed out slowly and gave his boss a fake smile.
“Tha-thank you J-jefecito.” Flug muttered, tugging the others coat higher onto his body and snuggling in.
A/N: I had the idea of the second part, but I needed this part for the second part to make sense. Bare with me.
You and Zach had been talking for quite a while. Before Hannah had happened, even before Jeff. You never really ran with the crowd, you didn’t care about the drama and theatrics of high school. You just wanted to pass your classes, graduate and be who you strive to be. When the school heartthrob and basketball star, Zach Dempsey approached you in the library for help on the biology exam and your number, you didn’t believe it. You thought he had come on a dare or some type of bet; seven months later, you had created a pretty decent relation.
It wasn’t romantic, though it felt like it sometimes. You both flirted with one another. You would hang out in person and in public. You got a long with his sister, went to his basketball games, and he helped you in communications class. It wasn’t until your close friend Sheri brought up the nature of your relationship with him that you realized that you really did like Zach.
You noticed that your lifelong best friend, Clay Jensen, wasn’t himself lately. He had crazy mood swings, was intensely detatched, barely spoke to anyone, but Tony Padilla, and was recently suspended for drugs. You took it upon yourself to surprise him at home. You knew he’d have to be home.
You knock on his door, and was greeted by his dad. He sent you up to Clay’s room and you thanked him graciously. When Clay saw you, he took his headphones off.
“(Y/N), what’re you doing here?” Clay breathed. You lifted a paper bag up.
“I brought snacks,” you smiled. You had gotten Mike and Ikes from the Baker’s shop. He let you and you sat on his desk chair.
“How are you?” You cut him off. He nodded, not saying anything but shrugging. “Seriously, Clay? Fine, I won’t pressure you.” You dropped your head. You looked back up at him through your brows. He was still silent.
Out of the window, the sun was setting. You opened his window, and climbed out onto the roof.
“What are you doing?” Clay came to the window.
You smirked mischievously at him. “Come out here and find out. You can bring your Walkman, if you’d like.”
A few minutes later, the sun had completely set. You had gotten Clay out and on the roof. He didn’t talk at all, other than to react to your stories.
“And I know you probably don’t care, but since your not talking, and Sheri never let’s me speak more than five words,” you began. You fiddled with the tips of your hair. “I think I like Zach. You know, Zach Dempsey, the basketball star.” You felt Clay’s energy shift. You looked toward him and saw a worried and sad expression.
“(Y/N), you can’t,” Clay whispered. You cocked your head to the side, letting it fall into your palm.
He took a deep breath. He told you to wait and headed back into his room. Possibly a minute later, he came back with his Walkman. He handed it to you and ordered you to put the headphones on. He pressed play and heard the voice of a dead girl.
Warnings: angst(ish), a use of the swear word f*ck, FLUFFITY FLUFF FLUFF
Author’s Note: Yeah so this is the second part of Moments and also the monthly song challenge! I used the song Only Us from the musical Dear Evan Hansen, and of course, this is really really late (again). My apologies! But I hope you enjoy! :)
Can I have 6 and 100 with Yoongixidol Reader? Please 😁😁😁😍 I really Love your writings!!!
YOONGI X READER
FLUFFY (FT. ADORABLE YOONGI)
Word Count: 717
I was panicking. Scratch that; that’s an understatement. I was having a full on panic attack in my dressing room. The only thing I needed to complete my look of anxiety was a brown paper bag to breathe in and out of. My prayers were answered when my boyfriend Yoongi burst through the doors.
He closed the door slowly behind him and locked it and then proceeded to stride over to me myfigure crept up against the wall with my chin tucked behind my bent knees.
“Y/N..” He soothed, brushing my hair as I try to fight back some sniffles. “C’mon babe, it’s not like it’s the first time,” he says moving to sit next to me and putting an arm around me.
I nod. He’s right. I’ve performed on stage numerous times, but never at an award show with my peers sitting in the audience and my family and friends watching on T.V.
“I know. It’s just there’s so much that could go wrong to night. I’m not in a group like you, so I’m all alone up there and it’s just terrifying. ”
“Stop that. You’re not going to mess up-”
“I might not. But it’s the possibility that I could that scares me.”
Yooning huffs and gets up off the floor. “C’mon,” he says extending his hand out to me. I shake my head stubbornly. “No. I just want to sit in this corner forever and die. They’ll call me idol-corner lady and I’ll sing facing in the opposite direction because I can’t handle their stares.” I know I’m being dramatic and most of what I’m saying is being swallowed by my hair but it’s just how I feel right now. Yoongi isn’t having it though. He pulls me up and takes me by hand out the door. I whine as we walk down the narrow backstage halls which earns me a few glances which I ignore. I can’t afford to be self-conscious about my looks either.
Eventually we reach Bangtan’s dressing room and Yoongi pulls me inside and sits me down on the couch in the centre of the room. I greet the others who are around either sleeping, on their phones or getting ready.
“Y/N! Hey how are you?” Taehyung says giving me a big hugh which I surely needed. Yoongi brushes him off saying, “She’s fine. Fine.” Even though of course i’m kind of the opposite of fine?
Yoongi gathers the members to sit around me on the couch and he stands before us. “Everyone. Y/N is performing tonight and she is nervous because she will be alone on stage. So we are going to have a pre-performance where she can have the best company there is; me” He says smirking at the end. The boys whoop and cheer and Yoongi pulls me up. He plays my song and motions for me to start singing. I’m not nervous singing in front of the boys though. I’ve been dating Yoongi for a while now so I’ve gotten used to them and began to feel very comfortable around them like I would brothers.
I sing and do my choreography, turning back and laughing at Yoogi’s generic girl-group dance moves behind me. He twirls me and mouths the lyrics “I love you” to me which gains cheers from the small crowd we have in the dressing room.
Yoongi being to pop out of from behind my sides making me laugh and then he twirls me again. He tries to mirror my choreography at the break but he’s failing miserably and Namjoon and jin are hasty to call him out on it. He slyly flips them off though and turns his finger into a dance move, pretending to do the disco.
Eventually the song ends and we received a standing ovation and I get reassurance that I’ll do amazing later on during the real performance.. Everyone comes over and embraces me in a group hug so tight i can barely breathe but I don’t care. Eventually we are hugging for a bit too long and Yoongi shoos everyone away from me.
Yoongi sits down and pulls me next to him. “Thank you.” I say, laying my head down on his shoulder. “Anything for you. You’re my soulmate and you will do amazing.”
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