i will gladly suffer if it will cause you to suffer even more

muse-multiverse  asked:

DAI companions and advisers reacting to Teen!Lavellan post trespasser getting black out drunk after finding out that the elven religion is a big ass sham built on slavery and brainwashing? Especially the andrastian companions, to whom they ask "are you happy now?" (because I am a horrible horrible person :3)

Cassandra: The question cuts her to the core, and in that moment the Seeker cannot help but remember every time that she could have supported them –encouraged their beliefs rather than questioning their faith- and she feel sick. Was she so desperate for the Chantry to be salvageable and her mentor to be avenged that she was willing to cast her own Exalted March on their lives? The answer to that frightens her, but where that might once have caused her to lash out she instead holds her peace. At this young elf’s side she has learned patience and understanding, even against her instincts. And so she does not respond to the question as they expected, but simply folds them into a stilted hug.

“Who could find happiness in the face of such pain? I am sorry for all that you suffer, and will be with you through this as you stood beside me when my own faith was shaken.”

Varric: He’s by no means a Theologian, but no one in the Inquisition is better suited to handle misplaced drunken anger. It’s not a situation that can be handled with a story about Hawke or some tale from Kirkwall though, and so the dwarf grabs a pint of his own and sits next with a tired sigh.

“I walked away from the Stone, you know. Bartrand never really did, I don’t think, but it never mattered to me. It was part of Orzammar and the whole backwards way of life they have below the surface. The Maker and the Chantry…they were sort of trappings of surfacers and so I stepped into that at first. And…shit, I don’t know if the Maker is really there or not, but I’ve also never had to stand there and have someone I trusted tell me that he’s a murdering lunatic either.” He downs some of the alcohol and pats them on the shoulder. “I’m not happy about this, Kid. No one is. But you fixed our religious shit when it was broken, so we’ll do what we can to return the favor.”

Solas: While he’s not there in the aftermath, Solas felt their despair in the crossroads. Everything the Dalish had taught them is turning to ash before their eyes, and in truth a part of him weeps for the Da’len. For one so young they showed such wisdom and understanding, and to cause pain in what they had always trusted in brings him no joy. But it was for other young elves that he had made his choices in the first place, and he must follow through for them now. And yet the sight of them in pain and crushed will haunt him for many nights to come.

Vivienne: She is not, but the question does not offend her. The young elf before her has proven to be a true friend more than once, and despite their years she has always trusted them to make the best decisions. More importantly in this particular moment is the fact then when her world was falling apart –when Bastan was dying before her and nothing she was trying was going to work- they h right there for her. Fighting dangerous animals in dragon ridden territory for a mage whose believes are in contradiction to their own. But Madame de Fer has watched them grow from a young elf more frightened by their surroundings than they wanted to admit into a confident Inquisitor learning to navigate power and political turmoil like they were born to it.

But now they need someone who isn’t so deeply involved, and she has been made of iron for far longer than they have. “I am angry, darling. Angry for you, angry for what has happened. I will stand for you in this, even if you don’t want me to right now. None of us are happy for your suffering, my dear, but we will help you to make it right.”

Blackwall: Thom Ranier once stood on the side of a road in Orlais and lost faith in all he believed in, and now –decades later and hopefully wiser- it hurts to watch the same thing happen to a younger and far more innocent person. Their pain resonates with what he had felt when Gaspard betrayed everything he had fought for, when the Gray Wardens had crumbled beneath him. Bht there was no one to catch him then—he is standing both arms ready if they stumble.

“Never happy for that, lad/lass. But here for you, when you are ready to be again.”

Sera: The resulting argument is loud and painful and full of words that neither of them mean, but when the dust has settled and the wounds have healed the fight is the best thing that can happen. They might be far more elfier than she ever wants to be, but Sera has always cared about the little people. And right now, with only one hand and no sobriety and so much pain in them Sera can only see them as someone who needs a Red Jenny at their back.

“Nobs and gods and all doesn’t matter. We’re going to fix it, yeah? We fixed the sky and we can fix this.” And when the inquisitor finally breaks down it’s on her shoulder.

Dorian:  Maker how many times has this been him? Sitting in a tavern and too drunk to think or speak anything but exactly what is burning through him in that moment. And its more than he can bear. Lavellan probably doesn’t know what is going on before he is hugging them tight. He can’t stand to see them hurt, and quite honestly his faith has never been a huge part of his life. But he knows that they are hurting, and for the teen who has been strong enough to stand before Orlesians and Fereldens and Magister Halward fucking Pavus Dorian can find some strength to stand for them.

“Happy? No. But I am here for you, and whatever you need. You are so strong, and I am sure you can do this. I know you can.”

Iron Bull: He’s lucky enough to be spared the pained questions, but that means that all he is left with is grief. And if he has lost the Qun then Bull is right there. He knows exactly how he feels, exactly how it feels to have everything you believe destroyed through what you care about. And he would never trade the Chargers, he’s made that choice and will gladly live with it. But they are so young and so shaken, and all he wants to do is wrap them up like the Tamassran he truly is and take care of them.

“Easy, imekari. We can’t fix this right now, we can’t make this better. But we will.” And his bg hands are gentle as they rest on their shoulder, very subtly pushing the alcohol away.

Cole: “So much hurting and everything is gone, why would he do this why why why.” The pain is so much, and Cole doesn’t know how to stop it. But he sits with them and after awhile that’s enough.

Josephine: She just wants to hold them. Oh how many times has she said, out loud, that she thinks they are the Herald of Andraste or that it would be easier if they were the herald of Andraste? How many times has she not dismissed their beliefs, but simply forgot about them in the face of her other duties. They are younger than Yvette but already so burdened with responsibility and she could have been helping instead of making it worse.

She probably doesn’t say much and might have to leave to hide her ters, but the next morning the Inquisitor wakes up in a darkened room with everything needed for a hang over and a letter in Josephine’s hand outlying the first political steps needed to stop Solas and the promise of her total support.

Leliana: Its a hard question for the most Andrastian spy master who ever walked the earth. If she still truly believes that the Maker spoke to her during the Blight then she is, in a way, even more sympathetic to them. She knows what it is to face your gods and come out changed from it. And they are so young, younger even than the warden was. Her protective instincts are in full force, and it comes out in her answer.

“I am happy you came back. I am happy we have the chance to protect you now, when we couldn’t afford to before. I am so happy that you are safe. The rest can be fixed.”

Cullen: Maker’s breath where does he even start? How many times did he cry out to the Maker, to Andraste, to anyone he thought would hear him in Kinloch. For a long time he thought no one answered, though later he was able to accept that the Warden was very likely an answer to those. But while most Andrastians are raised from birth to believe that the Maker has turned his face from them he knows that the Dalish have different beliefs. And finding out that your gods are actually evil rather than locked away but general caring can’t be easy. Still…

“Happy that you aren’t actually the Herald of Andraste? Actually yes.” At their incredulous look he reddens and rubs his neck awkwardly. “It’s such a burden for one so young, and we know you don’t believe, so this means that you can finally just go back to beig you and have as normal a life as is–”

At that point the inquisitor is probably just holding onto them and blubbering because they haven’t had anyone really encourage them to give up the role, so he just awkwardly pats them on the back and starts to lead them to the door.

–Mod Fereldone

Imagine meeting your son. (Part C)

A/N: Part 5C! Holy crap, okay. So it’s 3:52AM, I just finished this and I cried like a baby. Well, I’m crying like a baby which is why I’m going to leave this here and do the links tomorrow. Enjoooooy! ❤️ (Also, I feel like strawberry Jell-O now.) You can read the related mini-series and the previous parts here: (Mini-series: ‘Perfect’ - Masterlist; Mini-series Spin-off: ‘Fated’ - Masterlist; Chapter 7: ‘Baby Steps’: Part 1/Part 2/Part 3A/3B/Part 4A/4B/4C/4D/Part 5A/5B)

The closer your contractions got, the more nervous you and Chris became. You were in a lot of pain so you tried to focus on that pain to distract yourself from the fact that you were about to have a baby. You channeled your writer’s mind, convincing yourself that this was an experience you could use to better your writing. You did things like that all the time, you found you coped better if you saw what you feared doing as an experience to help with your writing. The last time you went to the dentist, you told yourself you were a spy who’d been caught and was being tortured for information. Chris thought you were insane, but said if it worked to relieve you of your anxiety that came every time you had to go to the dentist that you should “do you, boo.” So now that you were having ridiculously painful contractions- which had become five minutes apart- you convinced yourself you were being stabbed so you could later utilize the pain to write something in the crime/thriller genre.

Chris couldn’t do what you were doing, he was too focused on you to think of anything else. You were in absolute agony, whimpering every time you had a contraction. It’d been three and a half hours of five minute apart contractions, yet still no progress. You wished it was easier, that after your water broke you’d just start pushing and a baby would pop out of you. Unfortunately, it was not; you were going to suffer for quite a while before your son arrived. Chris was glad your parents were around to keep the two of you company, but he really wished his mom was too. He glanced at his watch, it wouldn’t be long now. It was 11:56AM now, and her flight was arriving at 12:15PM. Your dad left for the airport half an hour ago to pick Lisa up for Chris as neither you nor Chris wanted him to leave your side. You needed him with you every step of the way, there was no way you were going to do anything without him.

“What do you need, sweetheart?” Chris asked, gently brushing away the tears that had rolled down your cheeks. You couldn’t take the pain anymore, your distraction was losing its effect because no story was worth what you were going through. “Do you want me to get you something from the vending machine? Do you want me to go get you a packet of Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups?” He asked you and you nodded quickly, hoping chocolate would help subside some of the pain.

“Oh no,” your mom stopped Chris, “no. I don’t recommend eating while in labor, sweetheart. It’ll be dangerous if they have to end up putting you under, you could vomit and choke.” You frowned with a pout, and Chris gave your hand a light pat. “If you really need to eat something, you’ve got to keep it light. You shoulder only eat things that won’t make you feel worst than you already do, and we all know chocolate is not one of those things.”

“That’s true, baby,” Chris agreed with your mom, and you silently did too; you liked chocolate, but chocolate didn’t always like you. It wasn’t like you were allergic or intolerant, it was more of a psychological reaction because you preferred to clean eat and chocolate was part of clean eating. “You can have Reese’s after you have Jack, as a celebratory snack.”

“So what can I have?” You asked, then screwed your eyes shut as another contraction hit you. It wasn’t even just the contractions that caused you pain, it was everything; everything hurt at that point in time. “Other than ice chips because I’m sick of chewing ice chips,” you told them, taking another few deep breaths.

“I’m going to go see if I can get you some Jell-O,” your mom offered, patting the back of your hand. “Watch her and call Dr. McCullough if anything changes.” She told Chris and he nodded. “And don’t you try and convince him to get you that chocolate bar, young lady.” She told you before she took her leave because she knew the both of you all too well.

“She’s good,” Chris chuckled softly when he saw you roll your eyes. “But honestly,” he pulled your hand to his lips. “I don’t need much convincing, I would do anything for you right now.” You opened your mouth to ask for chocolate, only to get shot down. “Anything that doesn’t make you feel worst than you already do. How are you feeling?” He quizzed, lowering your hand back onto the bed.

“Conflicted,” you answered, pulling your hand away from his touch so you could wipe the tears from your eyes. “Like I want this to be over, but I don’t think I’m ready to have the baby.” You told him and he gave you a sympathetic smile. “Chris,” another fresh set of tears filled your eyes. “I don’t know if I can do this. I know I said I wouldn’t be like Pam, but-“ you started to cry, “I don’t think I can do this. It hurts so bad already, I don’t know if I can take anymore.”

“Hey, it’s okay.” He got off his chair and sat down next to you on the bed, wrapping an arm around you. “Everything’s going to be okay, I promise. Look-” he huffed. “I can’t promise you it won’t hurt because we both know it is, but I promise I’m going to be right here with you. Okay?” He waited for you to nod then kissed the top of your head. “I love you, sweetheart.” He whispered into your hair as you leaned into him.

“I love you too.”

Your mom came back with strawberry Jell-O about ten minutes later, and you ate that while you weren’t suffering from contractions. Around 1:24PM, your contractions became even closer at four minutes apart, and your dad arrived with Lisa. The rest of Chris’ family, and yours weren’t due until the 15th of March which was a Sunday, the day after Jack’s original birth date. They figured you were already panicky enough, you didn’t need a room full of people while you were trying to push a baby out of you.

The next few hours leading up to 4:14PM- when your cervix was finally dilated enough- your contractions progressed at a steady pace to the stage your doctor needed you to be at. Chris joked, saying “Jack must know I needed Mom here.” You managed a light laugh, then went back to freaking out because you knew you were about to start pushing. The nurses checked your pulse, blood pressure, and temperature, then strapped a monitor to your abdomen to check Jack’s heart rate. You and Chris couldn’t stop smiling when you heard Jack’s little heartbeat. As scared and nervous as the both of you were, you were excited to bring a little life into world.

Your delivery took about ninety minutes, and all ninety minutes was engulfed in immense pain. You cried, you screamed, you swore, and you squeezed the life out of Chris’ hand- but you did it, all without pooping on the table or having an episiotomy. Your afterbirth was fairly easy on you too, it took no less than five minutes. You’d read birth stories online about women having trouble with their placenta, and you were glad you weren’t one of them. But that it, you were done. You were no longer pregnant, you no longer had to suffer contractions or push because- Jack was here and you were a mom.

“Here’s your son, you two.”

Chris felt his heart skip a beat when Dr. McCullough held up Jack for the two of you to see. You were a little too distracted by the pain to zero in your blurry vision on your baby, but Chris saw him. Chris saw Jack; he covered in blood and gunk, but he was absolutely beautiful. You cried out of joy when Chris said, “you did it, he’s beautiful, baby” and kissed your forehead. The nurse quickly wiped your son’s face then bundled him up so he could meet his parents for the first time.

You were hesitant to take Jack at first because you’d never held a newborn before. He seemed so small and fragile, and you were afraid you’d hurt him. But Chris, and everyone else in the room assured you “babies are a lot stronger than they seem.” Chris sat beside you as the nurse carefully placed Jack into your arms, and the moment you held him- you understood why people wanted children, why you would gladly have a second in a heartbeat. Everything you’d been so afraid of faded and everything just fell into place. You were a mom, the baby in your arms was yours. You started to sob which worried Chris until he realized you were smiling. He wrapped an arm around you and kissed the top of your head, his other hand gently interacted with one of Jack’s.

Your son was beautiful with eyes as blue as Chris’; you had hoped they would be and you were glad they were. Now every parent believed their baby was the most beautiful baby they’d ever laid eyes on, but you knew for a fact that yours was. He was utter perfection and you couldn’t believe you were finally in your arms after nine months of waiting. Neither you nor Chris could stop smiling, or crying at the sight of Jack. He was real, it wasn’t just a vivid dream. You’d just had a baby boy, the two of you were parents.

“Hi,” you smiled at Jack, who you swore smiled back. Chris smiled, he smiled widely as he watched you interact with Jack. “We’re your mom and dad, we made you.” You started crying harder when you said that because it still seemed impossible that humans could make smaller humans. “And we will love you unconditionally and endlessly.” You whispered softly then kissed his tiny forehead.

“Just like I love you,” Chris said and you turned to him, smiling when he dipped his head and pecked your lips. “I am so proud of you, Y/N. You brought life into this world, you helped me become a father.” You pressed a kiss to his jawline then turned back to Jack when Chris’ gaze fell on him. “Welcome to the world, Jackson Christopher Evans.”

Tags: @chrisevans-imagines @widowsfics @m-a-t-91 @imaginesofdreams  @katiew1973 @winter-tospring @shamvictoria11 @soymikael @faye22 @always-an-evans-addict @heartblackerthancoffee @whenyourealizethisisntagoodname @yourtropegirl @smoothdogsgirl @createdbytinyaddiction @dreamingintheimpalawithdean @rileyloves5 @buckys-shield @catch-me-im-a-falling-star @tabi-toast @ssweet-empowerment @chrixa @feelmyroarrrr @akidura79 @castellandiangelo @edward-lover18 @yourenotrogers @im-a-fandom-slut @royalexperiment256 @palaiasaurus64 @tacohead13 @badassbaker @pegasusdragontiger @sfreeborn @dorisagent101 @aekr @imagine-cats96 @adeptkillsyasse @shliic @justanotherfangurlz @winchesterandpie @creativeheartgemini @camerica96 @thestarlighthotel @lilya-petrichor @pinkleopardss @lizzysugar @bywonater @avengingalec @nerdingoutismylife @rayleyanns @captainxamerica @lapetitsyrene @01asianista @alwayshave-faith @southernbellestatues @thegirlwiththeimpala @callie-swagg1 @what-if-wenevermet @hillrich

Part 5D

anonymous asked:

If you or another Dean fan gets a chance, could you please ask Jensen what he'd like to see for Dean next season? Season 12 was such a disappointment. A lot of Dean fans I know are struggling to find a reason to keep tuning in next season, esp if Dabb is still in charge. We miss our badass Dean who was part of the storylines, not relegated to the sidelines for episodes on end.

Hello dear anon!

I am sorry for only replying now after JIB. Even though I can’t recall anyone asking a similar question during one of Jensen’s panels, I personally think that Jensen let shine through quite a bit how he felt about S12 as I had the impression he was criticising the writing of the latest season quite a bit, but in very measured, subtle and polite manners.

For example I think with how highly he talked about “Regarding Dean” and how much he enjoyed being given the possibility to really breach out and challenge himself in that episode showed that he wishes to get more opportunities to stretch his legs creatively speaking.

And also, when he talked about reading the script for 12x22 and revealed his own “headcanon” about how he personally made sense of Amara’s “I am going to give you what you need most”  he also pointed out rather directly how much he struggled with large portions of the season as they didn’t make “sense” to him, because he couldn’t really pin point what they did with Mary, etc. and therefore had ~issues with the “portrayal” of the relationship between the brothers and their mom.

SPN has always been a show in which the audience or the actors need to fill in the gaps, but I personally think in arcs as big as this one the creatve writing team should be giving directions to the main characters on what’s to come and what’s the point, because apparently they failed to deliver making clear what the plan is quite drastically. Plus: While Jensen managed to make sense of the season for himself by putting 12x22 in relation to Amara deciding to bring Mary back, Jensen also made it pretty clear that when he shared his headcanon with Robert Berens, Berens didn’t really budge or confirm that any of that truly was his intention in writing. So…

As much as I actually liked 12x22 and Jensen’s acting in it and his headcanon and trying to make sense of the season, I personally think if indeed Jensen’s headcanon matches loosely with the intention of the writers they did a pretty horrible job at executing this storyline, because catharsis for Dean certainly looks different imo and healing as well. What this season achieved was killing the myth of Mary and making her a real life person with very real issues and horrible behaviour - and I have no problems with that, I have a great deal of issues with the fact that everything Dean suffered and did and fought for this season that in the end Mary didn’t even wrap Dean into a hug ffs!!!!!!, cause that’s just phew…. Let’s just say I am really really angry - because well, yeah Dean saves her (while the show in that moment also grossly ignores all of Dean’s own traumas, but only had him focus on Sam - seriously, fuck you Dabb! Dean didn’t suffer in Hell? Or in purgatory? Or the MoC? Only Sam had traumas and a bad life after Mary’s death?) and who gets hugged? Sam. Thank god he at least pulls Dean into a hug. But yeah Mary… Just grrrrrr, writers fail. But gladly I am able to just ignore that all for now when thinking back to my JIB 8 experiences. ;)

Marichat Week: Baton

Marinette​ paced incessantly, nervous and agitated. The reason for her near panic was shining innocently​in her hand: a silver cylinder with a green pawprint caught the sunlight every time she made the circuit of her balcony.

Tikki hovered back, just as nervous and ansty.

‘So you’re telling me that he can transform back, but his kwami will be effected, and he now has no way of contacting me?’ Marinette​ asked. Tikki nodded, her forehead creased.

Marinette sat down on the deckchair in exasperated resignation. ‘That cat is going to be the death of me, someday,’ she sighed. Tikki just nodded sagely behind her.


‘Plagg; Plagg, calm down!’ Adrien was yelling into his cavernous room at exactly the same moment. The black kwami, of course, did no such thing.

‘I will never be able to show my face in public again,’ he wailed, floating around the room at an odd angle that made him look like a zombie and gave off the maximum aura of despondence. ‘The other kwami will repudiate me! They will strike me off the power list! I’ll never go to a quantac party again! And Tikki! Tikki will want a divorce!’

‘Plagg, I’m sure it’s not so bad as all that,’ Adrien tried, attempting to sooth the little black cat. ‘It’s only a tail, I’m sure once I get the baton back-’

‘Only a tail!’ Plagg squeaked indignantly, first puffing up in rage and then throwing himself in a desperate swoon over the back of the couch. ‘How would you like it if you lost your tail! Oh, the shame and ignominy, and having such an insensitive, unfeeling chosen!’

‘Plagg, it’s not like it’s lost,’ Adrien tried to reason. ‘We know exactly where it is. We couldn’t very well leave Marinette on that burning roof, could we? She needed a way down and we needed to get going. As soon as I can, we’ll tranform and go get it back. She’ll still have it right? It won’t have disappeared?’

‘No,’ Plagg answered sulkily. ‘She’ll have it.’

‘There, you see? No need to worry. As soon as I can get away I’ll transform, go to Mari’s, we get the baton back and everything will be back as it was! Come have some Camembert. Natalie ordered a special batch, fresh from the region, and-’

‘But she’ll know!’ Plagg wailed, startling Adrien, who had to admit that the kwami looked a little lopsided without his tail. ‘She’ll see, and that is already shame enough! No, this is the end, my long and valiant life ends, and therefore I!’ He floated to the dust bin. ‘This is where I live now.’

‘That’s where you usually live,’ Adrien replied, voice flat. However, he couldn’t deny that he was worried; Plagg had never refused Camembert.

Adrien looked at the clock. He didn’t have any more extra-curriculars today, and Natalie should let him be. But it was still early, only half past five, and it was not unknown for his father or his secretary to pop in unannounced to make sure he was doing his homework.

Well, desperate measures. He grabbed the bin and ran to bathroom, opening the shower and locking the door behind him. No one would begrudge him showering, surely.

‘I don’t want to,’ Plagg pouted as soon as Adrien peered down at him over the basket’s rim.

‘You never do, but the sooner we do this, the sooner I get the baton back, then problem solved.’

Plagg glared back fiercely, ‘She’ll see,’ he hissed.

‘Who’s she?! Marinette will only see me, so you don’t have to worry! I didn’t know you liked her that much!’

His kwami’s flat glare did not alter. ‘You are the most oblivious child I’ve ever met. Your father is making a hack-up job of all this. And to think, I usually choose street kids. They’re all whip-smart. But no, not this time! Serves me right for trying to choose a life of luxury!’

Adrien pouted at him, rather hurt. ‘Plagg, transforme-moi,’ he said in a monotone. He felt the magic wash over him, blinked as the light faded and then glanced at the mirror out of habit to make sure everything was ok.

And slapped a hand on his face to stifle the scream that reflexively tried to escape the moment he caught sight of himself.

He was wearing a furry loin cloth. Furry boots. Furry wrist warmers. A lion’s head over his own with the mane as a cloak. His mask was tan.

That was the sum total of everything he was wearing. Adrien had to resist the urge to cover his chest like a bashful virgin (which he was, thank you very much!). He swore he could hear Plagg snickering at him at the back of his mind; something along the lines of ‘if you make me suffer, you must suffer too’.

‘Ok,’ he said, taking deep breathes and trying not to loose his cool. He was Chat Noir, he could do this. Chat … leon? Oh lord help him, he didn’t even fit his own name anymore. But it was ok, it was ok; he just had to go to Marinette, retreave the baton- Marinette! Marinette his cute classmate, his class president, would see him half naked. In furry speedoes.

Plagg was going to get cheddar for a week.

‘Ok, let’s just do this and forget it ever happened,’ he told himself, throwing himself out of the window and promptly plummetting to the ground. Right, no baton. He was going to have to climb a wall to hop roofs, but first, he had to walk.

This was going to be so humiliating.


When Chat Noir - er, Chat Jaune?  Chat … Leon? - landed on the roof behind her balcony, panting and winded, Marinette first jumped, then stared.

And stared and stared.

Who the heck gave him permission to go around dressed like that - not dressed like that - looking incredibly hot with his heaving chest and exposed musculature and oh dear gods were those pecks? Was that a six pack?!

‘Give me a moment, I can explain,’ he panted, going more and more pink the more she stared. Marinette tried to look away, she honestly did, but what business did he have being so gorgeous?! ‘This is my kwami’s idea of a joke. I mean, the object of power. I have. It didn’t like that I lost a piece of the magic. The baton. Thing. And so changed my clothes. Costume. Armour. So now I don’t have any. Armour I mean. Well, clothes too. And ….’

By this point, Chat was crimson in the face, Marinette was purple, and they were both looking at each other uncertainly. Tikki, who’d dived into her purse, gave a tiny giggle, and Marinette coughed to try to cover it up; it broke the deadlock staring contest between them, and Marinette pivoted to look at the wall.

‘Ok it is!’ she said in a squeaky voice. ‘You’re great! Oh I mean gorgeous- I mean!’ Oh, kill her now. She buried her face in her hands. What? What? How dare Chat Noir make her stutter! She only stuttered for Adrien Agreste!

Chat Noir - Jaune? Leon? - meanwhile seemed to be having some sort of epiphany.

‘You stutter when you’re embarrased!’ he said, as if he’d just discovered a new energy source that would save humanity. Marinette moaned mournfully. She hoped now, more than ever, that he would never discover her real identity. She couldn’t ever live with his ego if he discovered he could render her speechless just by going topless. Well, bottomless, too, one could argue. And those furry panties were really hiding nothing from the imagination and why was his skin shining like he’d oiled it?!

‘Well, Princess,’ he said, all traces of embarrassment gone - she knew it - ‘I am sorry for causing distress with my … appearance. I would appreciate if you could, perhaps, return my baton, and I will be on my way.’

Marinette hazarded a peak at him when his tone was not as teasing as she thought it would be. He was standing tall, his arms folded over his bare chest (she did not feel disappointed about that!). A dusting of pink on his cheeks was still visible, but his blush had certainly receded. He looked serious, all business. Marinette had hardly ever seen him without a silly grin on his face. The change, abrupt as it was, managed to worm a sense of worry out from between the mortification (and her suddenly raging libido, which she was not admitting to, no sir).

‘Are you ok?’ she asked, retrieving the baton from her pocket and gladly handing it back. He took it without changing expression.

‘I have caused you distress. My Kwami no doubt thought it was a good joke on me, to make me walk around Paris like this. But he- it, er, didn’t think of you. I’m making you uncomfortable I’m sorry.’

Marinette softened considerably in a place in her heart she did not like to admit existed (it did not, in fact, exist, no sir). Chat … Chat was a gentleman at heart, he’d always been. Seeing her uncomfortable must have really caused him to worry. And Chat had never lied to her - this was his Kwami’s idea of a joke, apparently. It wasn’t his fault.

(Sure, he had no business being that hot, but it wasn’t like he could help it. Shut up, inner-Marinette, we do not want to see his other baton, thank you!)

She’d just about seen everything else, anyway.

Oh dear gods she’d not just thought that!

‘Oh, it’s ok! I was just surprised!’ she squeaked, thoroughly ashamed at her train of thought. (Choo-choo! All aboard the express to sin-city– shut up)

‘I will take my leave,’ he said, bowing down, and Marinette had to bite her lip at the view it gave her of rippling skin and muscle. His face, though, was still so uncomfortable and almost ashamed. She couldn’t let him go like that.

‘Wait!’ she said. Chat, who’d already started to turn, twisted back towards her, just on time for her to catch him off guard. She dropped a light, feathery kiss on his cheek, then retreated back quickly when her hands threatened to linger on that warm, soft hard skin of his shoulder and torso. Silk on steel left a burn mark on her palms, and she rubbed them together to rub the impression out. ‘Thank you. For saving me,’ she said. She hadn’t needed it, but he hadn’t known, and had still handicapped himself in order to save her life. There hadn’t been any way to give him his baton in battle, not when they’d been separated, and he’d been taken over by the akuma before she could rejoin him. But he’d still done it, and then suffered a humiliating trip across Paris from wherever he lived, in a furry pair of panties, just for her.

The place that did not exist in her chest fluttered savagely. Marinette fiddled with her hair, then squeaked a goodbye and hopped into the open skylight, pulling it shut behind her.

She ignored Tikki’s boisterous laughter as she tumbled out of the purse in favour of holding her flaming face in her hands. Oh, dear Kwami gods. She was in trouble.


Adrien hopped home in a daze. A part of his mind was glad the baton was back, because that made the trip both safer from curious, prying eyes (and cameras) and faster. He was home in five minutes tops and walked right into the still running water without thinking of his clothes. Plagg shrieked as the transformation dropped off, but Adrien didn’t even give it a thought.

His hand, instinctively, had come up to protect his cheek. Water wasn’t going to wash off the feel of warm, soft lips, thank you very much. So he took off his clothes - one-handed - and showered - one-handed - and put his pyjama on and went to bed - one-handed. He only removed his palm from his cheek when Natalie came in to wish him goodnight, and asked if he had a toothache.

He stared at the ceiling of his room, cradling his cheek again. Plagg, who he’d been ignoring since they returned both as a form of retribution and also because he did not seem to have the brain capacity for anything but holding his cheek, finally landed on his chest, demanding attention.

‘Marinette likes me,’ he muttered to the expectant kwami. It had been the only thing rattling through his brain as he staggered around his room, doing things on autopilot. His classmate’s strange behaviour throughout the months they’d known each other had always bothered him - a bit like a fly buzzing around the room. It didn’t hurt you, exactly, but it did really tick you off. And finally, he had an answer, a solution, and it seemed so obvious now that he couldn’t understand how he’d not seen it before.

‘Oh, you noticed,’ Plagg replied. Smug little bastard.

‘You did that on purpose,’ he frowned at the kwami. ‘That wasn’t nice, putting her on the spot like that.’

‘You’re assuming she knows it’s you under the mask.’

‘She likes Chat Noir too,’ Adrien corrected him. Then, looking at the ceiling again and smiling a bit like a goofball, he said, ‘She likes me.’

‘Humph. And you say I never do anything for you,’ the Kwami said, curling up and and going to sleep on Adrien’s chest. But not even the tiny cat-god’s purring could soothe Adrien tonight; not when his heart was beating so fast.

Marinette liked him. Sure, he was sure a very large part of his heart belonged to Ladybug but … Marinette liked him. A girl he knew, who knew him, who went to class with him every day and saw him goof off and be good in class and nerdy in physicis and get his arse handed to him in fencing and… she was amazing too. Smart, creative, so good as class pres, generous. Pretty. Very, very pretty.

Oh wow. Oh, ok, oh wow. He also, apparently, had a crush on Mari. Who liked him. All of him. Heck, she’d called him gorgeous.

Adrien squeaked and buried his face in his hands turning over and curling up. He ignored Plagg’s grumbling as the Kwami settled against his chest again. He ignored the fact that his purring sounded smug.

Marinette liked him. He liked Marinette. Adrien suddenly realised that he’d unwitting stepped into his fist school romance, just like in all those anime he’d watched.

It was a long time before he went to sleep, his heart beating fast and a smile on his face that made his cheeks hurt in the morning.

Maybe Marinette would come to watch a movie with him?

Plagg, the smug bastard, just flicked his newly-reacquired tail in satisfaction, privately hoping Tikki had enjoyed the show as much as he had.


Like mother, like daughter II

anon ask: Is there gonna be a part 2 for the Emma imagine? It’s really good and I really want more of it.

warning: none

part 1

I don’t own any of these gifs

Masterlist / Prompt List / Fandom List / Ask me anything!

It’s been a few weeks since your last fight with Emma. Since then you haven’t talked to her, only for important things and if it was completely necessary. Emma tried more than once to talk to you but you just ignore her. She was losing hope, maybe you really didn’t need her at all, maybe she should just deal with the fact that you didn’t want a mother, that she was dead for you.

Henry saw one of her mothers very sad these past days, and he was getting tired of it, he knew that it was for you. He didn’t know why you were being so hard on her Emma, but he also didn’t know what it’s like to live in an orphan. Mary Margaret and David were also getting tired of seeing her daughter so sad, so they tried to talk to you. Keyword tried, you just ignore them or just walk away the moment they appear next to you. Emma saw this and got even worst, but she wasn’t going to give up, at least not yet.

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

HRA) (PMMM SPOILERS) Here's a 'Magical' request. SF Bros and US!Grillby reacting to their s/o being a magical girl like the ones from PMMM. They even tell them about having the certain death of becoming a witch because HOMURA FRIKIN RUINED THE LAW OF CYCLES-



(nah what she did was pretty messed up, but I will still fight you) 

Also, I headcanon that after what Homura did, there are no more magical girls, no more witches, nothing. But then, something changed. Guess we’ll see in the next movie, won’t we ;)

Also, in the spirit of keeping things gender neutral, the neutral term for magical girl is “Magi” 

*tw: Suicide implication



DUDE. If Black thought you were badass before, he thinks you’re even more badass now. He doesn’t care that you’re probably going to turn into an evil witch that kill people, HE WANTS TO BECOME THAT TOO! If he gets to be with you, he’ll gladly become a Magi to stay by your side, and together, you two could become to most powerful magical force on earth. Plus, those outfits look hella cool. If you don’t stop him, then Black will track down Kyubey and make a contract. His wish to be by your side and conquer the world together when you both become witches. 


Man, this is straight out of an anime. Rus is extremely conflicted on what to do and doesn’t want to see you for a few days. He doesn’t really care that you’re a Magi, in fact, he admires you for what you’re doing to save people and fight witches, but after hearing what those witches actually are and that you might become an embodiment of your own suffering, that is something he cannot stand to watch. One thing he knows for sure is that he loves you and doesn’t want to leave you, even knowing that this relationship will only end in pain. After hearing about what causes Magis to turn into witches, he does everything he can to keep your Soul Gem clean and untainted so you won’t have to fall into despair, but that is only delaying the inevitable. As one final act of love, as you lay writhing in pain, your tears staining your cheeks and your soul gem as black as night, he offers to kill you, so you won’t have to suffer. Whatever your choice may be, Rus will follow you. 



Once he finds out that you’re a Magi, he redesigns your entire outfit for you. Yes, he’s a bartender, but he has a side hobby in fashion so it turns out pretty well. He knows how this relationship will end, but he completely denies it and never wants to think about it. He just wants to focus on the relationship now. He wants to come along with you during your fights because he’s deeply intrigued by the designs of the Witch’s Labyrinth and to help you out when you’re in a pickle. He may not be a Magi, but he does have magic and can help in some cases, even if he can’t kill the witch himself. The day you turn though, is the one day he closes his bar and watch the path of destruction you leave behind.  

Robcina Week 2017  Day 1 - Spring Festival

Title: Spring Festival

Description: The outfit Lucina picked out for him looked silly. There was no denying that. Sure, most of the festival attire Robin had seen looked quick ridiculous, rabbit ears and all. Still, he desperately wished he could wear something– anything else. But seeing Lucina smile when he put it on… perhaps he could suffer a bit of embarrassment if it made her happy.

Notes: Inspired by the Spring Festival costumes from Fire Emblem Heroes.

Words: 1187

“Lucina, are you sure this is supposed to be this… erm, tight?” Robin asked, his face flushed red in embarrassment. He forced his eyes away from the mirror before him, doing his best not to stare at the other him looking back from within.

“Of course. Mother helped me pick out the outfits for the celebrations. The one she got father fits much the same on him as yours does on you,” Lucina answered from within their walk-in-closet, still changing into her own festival outfit.

“Mother’s right, Father. You look great,” Morgan assured him, practically skipping over to drag him away from the mirror. :”Trust me. I mean, sure, you don’t look as great as me, but that’s expected. You got to be like, grade A cute material in the first place to look as good as me in this outfit!”

“But I look silly,” Robin said. Despite his best efforts, his will gave out as once again glanced back at himself in the mirror. The outfit he wore was primarily of similar colors to his usual clothes, which he imagined had been a conscious decision on Lucina’s part. A dark purple sleeveless vest with golden trim and long coattails over a white shirt and pants, both of which were far tighter than anything he’d worn before. Dark, knee high gray boots and gloves with matching gold trim and a puffy black cape tied outfit together. All of that alone would have been more than enough for for Robin to feel uncomfortable, which only made the added detail of a fluffy rabbit tail all the more embarrassing.

“I think you look rather dashing,” Lucina said, stepping out of into their bedroom. Turning to look at her, Robin froze in place, his breath stolen by the sight. Compared to himself, Lucina looked absolutely stunning in her festival attire, which struck the a perfect line between beautiful and adorable. She wore a blouse of sky blue with a black diamond pattern, gold trim, and long coat tails whose inside was a bright, regal red. A poofy skirt and matching short sleeves bookended the blouse, their color matching the white tights she wore underneath. Her boots and gloves were likewise white, but with gold and black cuffs. A blue ribbon was tied at her neck, which wafted and blew as she moved. The only peculiar part of the outfit Robin could find was the headgear: which was shaped like a rabbit’s head to go with the tail on her outfit, complete with eyes, a button nose, and long ears.

Lucina beamed with joy as she did a half turn, looking at herself in the mirror. She laughed, her smile only becoming more radiant with each passing second.

“Pfft, still not as cute as me,” Morgan grumbled. Her own outfit was nearly identical to her mother’s, only with the addition of full sleeves and covered shoulders as to be less revealing, given her age.

“I… I’m just a bit embarrassed. To be seen like… this…” Robin stammered, caught between shame at his own appearance and being stunned by Lucina’s.

“Did you not take part in the festival in past years?” Lucina asked, her expression seeming more than a bit perplexed. “I would have thought you would be use to it, as this is all traditional garb.”

Robin shook his head. “In the first year since Chrom found me I wasn’t in Ylisstol at the time. Myself and several other of the Shepherds were busy dealing with some bandits causing trouble up near the Plegian border. The next year, well, things were so busy.with… well… it looking like you… well, your younger self, was going to be born soon, I had a lot to do on Chrom’s behalf while his attention was otherwise occupied with Sumia and the baby.,” Robin explained.

“Oh. In that case we must make the best of the celebrations,” Lucina exclaimed, hooking an arm around his and pulling him forward. “It has been years since I myself have had the opportunity to take part in the festival, not since I was a girl. We shall enjoy it then together!”

Lucina continued to pull him along, so quickly that Robin couldn’t so much as protest. However, just before they reached the door, a sudden voice stopped them.

“Wait, Mother. Aren’t you forgetting something?” The two of them turned to face Morgan, seeing her pointing to both her own and Robin’s still unadorned heads.

“Oh yes, of course. Forgive me, I nearly forgot.” Releasing Robin, Lucina rushed over to the parcels that had contained their outfits, digging through them for a moment before retrieving two bunny eared hats from within. “When I saw these at the shop Mother and I visited, I knew I must get them for the three of us,” she explained, smiling all the brighter. “Though… I had wished to buy one for father as well, but mother told me not to for some reason. Though I cannot see why, when these hats are at the very high of fashion.”

It took only a single look to see why Sumia must have tried to talk Lucina out of it: his own heart sinking in his chest as saw that the hats were identical to the one Lucina wore. Haven’t I suffered enough? he groaned inwardly.

“Awesome!” Morgan said, rushing over and snatching the hat from her mother’s hand. She pulled it on at once, bouncing up and down excitedly, grinning from ear to ear. “Maximum Morgan adorableness achieved. Let’s go!”

“Robin, here if your hat,” Lucina said, offering it to him.

Robin flinched, a sudden terror gripping his heart at the mere thought of being forced to wear the thing and looks he was sure to get. But then before he could muster any sort of excuse, he gave pause at the sight of Lucina’s face. She looked so… happy, her eyes seeming to sparkle with joy as she looked back at him, a wider smile upon her lips than any he’d seen her wear before. She wasn’t embarrassed by any of this: far from it. How could he then take that from her, no matter how he felt on the matter.

In the end of the day, if it made Lucina happy, then he would gladly suffer through far worse embarrassment.

Robin smiled, the first genuine smile he’d given since the day began, as he accepted the silly bunny eared hat, placing it on his head without delay. He didn’t even bother to look in the mirror, needing no confirmation to know how ridiculous he looked. Nor did it matter if people laughed, so long as it made Lucina smile.

“There we go,” he said matter-o-factly Turning to the door he stuck out his arm elbow first to Lucina. “Shall we?”

“Let’s!” Smiling all the brighter, Lucina hooked his arm around his as the two set out, Morgan racing ahead of them as they went. A ridiculous bunch they must have looked. Though perhaps that was the point. After all, it wasn’t every day where such dress was expected. Perhaps that was part of the fun.


(Patreons will be getting the full PSD and a step by step breakdown of the pic next week! patreon.com/darthneko)

The pennants that snapped in the wind all around the training yard had, at one point, been blue. Mathias Shaw was nearly certain of it; could, if he thought back, dimly recall a yard surrounded by the flutter of royal blue cloth beneath a clear blue sky. That was before, of course. Before the King’s death. Before the war, before the Legion. The black drape of fabric had appeared for mourning, the outward sign of a city grieving its loss, and stayed because… because.

The white lion of vengeance on a black field of war stared back at him from every banner. Most days Shaw’s eyes slid right past it, too accustomed to the look to recall that it had once been a splash of blue, a flash of gold.

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anonymous asked:

i just recently had an abortion over the weekend and it was great that i had access to it, without it my boyfriend and i would of had to drop out of college and ruin our lives but apparently abortion is sooo wrong when its not even a baby, its a parasite made of cells that have no feelings that is leaving my body, people like you make me sick‏

When I first read this post, I thought I would just delete it like the rest. I know your intentions were to cause me suffering, and if causing me suffering means you win, then I guess you have. To be honest, lying in this hospital bed, it is young women like you that I think about the most.

I was once like you. I was once told that aborting my children was the answer to my life. I was once told that my boyfriend too would have to drop out of the University he attended, and I wouldn’t be able to attend the following year after I graduated from High School. The funny thing was, because of my son, my ex-boyfriend and I qualified for several grants and scholarships. In fact, I’m one of the few people I know that was able to go to school without taking out student loans. Which is probably why I’m a home owner at 26.

I was once like you. “Its a clump of cells,” they told me. “Its a parasite,” they said. When scientifically speaking, that’s inaccurate. It is a fetus, or an unborn human being. I know a human becomes easier to kill once you label it something else. This is called dehumanization. You don’t need to dehumanize the unborn human being, you can just call it what it is; you aborted an underdeveloped human being.

As I look into my sons eyes, I don’t see a parasite, or a clump of cells. I see a brown haired, fair skin, goofy 8 year old human being. I see a human being with the exact same body as the one they called a parasite when it was in my womb. His body grows a little more every year, and every year he gets stronger. “Mom, let me help you with that.” he says, as I struggle to carry bags into the house. “Mom, wait, I’ll get it for you,” he says, as he jumps in front of me to reach for the door to open it. His body is more developed, that’s for sure, but it it the same as it was when it was tiny and growing inside me.

I was once like you. “It will ruin your life,” they said. “You’re a child yourself”, they said. That’s the strangest. As I lie in this hospital bed, at risk of death, I have no fear. I am 26 years old, and have absolutely nothing more that I could ask for to make me happier. If keeping my son ruined my life, then why do I have everything I want? Why am I so content with my short life, if it was ruined the day he was born? The love and happiness I have experienced in my short life, is enough to feel fulfilled, complete. My life is beautiful, and my children were the ones that made it that way.

When I cry, my children burry their heads on my chest, wipe my tears with their tiny fingers. When I smile, they run to me, wrap their arms around me, lean back and giggle. What have they destroyed in my life besides all that was bitter, hateful and selfish? Besides all those awful parts of me they peeled away with their tenderness, and gentleness.

I’m sorry that when you terminated your pregnancy, you felt nothing, and I’m afraid that is where we are different. I couldn’t bring myself to dehumanize the tiny human being inside my body, even though it was under developed, dependent and inconvenient. I felt. And I’m the one who feels for you now. I can feel the loss for your unborn human being.

I know you assume I think I’m “better then you”. But it’s exactly the opposite. As I lay here in this bed, ready to give my life for the child inside of me right now, it isn’t just because its my child. It’s because it is a human being. I am willing to die for an underdeveloped, dependent and inconvenient human being, because that human is my equal. You are my equal, your child is my equal, and I don’t have it in me to view my life as more valuable then anyone else’s. I can’t use any reason to take an innocent human being, dehumanize it, and place it under me. And I don’t want to.

I’m sorry that people like me make you sick, but I think if you really new me, you wouldn’t feel that way. Maybe if you knew me, you could see that my life is beautiful and wonderful just like yours, and just like every human being. I believe that your life is precious, and you were made for more love then you comprehend, and I’m so sorry you can’t see the value of life.

Life is precious. It is a divine right, it is so precious that I would be willing to die if that is the cost for another to live.

Months from now, I hope that you read this and I’m living with my new beautiful child, in my modest house, with the rest of my family, but if I’m not, I want you to remember that it made me happy to risk my life for another human being, and I would gladly do it even for someone who was sickened by me; I would even do it for you.

Life is invaluable.

We Could Burn Together

starting the new year off with some smut because that’s always a good thing to do right?

wc: 2.8k

rating: E

read on ao3


10:36 pm [Clarke]: what are u doing later?

His phone chirps on the coffee table, and after glancing at the sender, he pauses the episode of Drunk History he was watching.

It’s New Year’s Eve and Bellamy Blake is home alone because his sister decided to skive off their traditions this year, choosing instead to head down to New York with her fiancé to watch the ball drop in person. Instead, he’s lounging on his couch in a pair of ratty pyjamas, watching Netflix with a half empty can of PBR next to him.

He’s totally winning at life right now.

10:38 pm [Bellamy]: not much. I might switch over from drunk history to ancient aliens though.

10:39 pm [Clarke]: ur pathetic

10:40 pm [Bellamy]: please, i know for a fact that you’re not doing anything either.

10:42 pm [Clarke]: shut up

10:42 pm [Clarke]: do u know u could be doing later???

10:42 pm [Clarke]: me.

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Maid - Joker x Reader imagine PART 10 [final]

a/n: so this is the last and final part of the imagine i’ve got going on, but there will be more imagines to come from other fandoms :) this last part will be v interesting ;))) it’s short, i’m sorry but it went exactly like i wanted it to :)))

characters: joker; reader

warnings: use of drugs, smoking; joker gets weird (he on dem DRUGS dude); kissing

a/n: i suggest listening to “Where’s My Love?” by Syml when they start smoking, it makes the perfect atmosphere :) and after that “when it comes to us” by frances, ft. RITUAL

“Tell me, doll face,” J spoke up, making me turn my head in his direction from the floor, “have you ever been on drugs?”

“Drugs?” I chuckled. “Me? Never.”

“Have you ever wanted to try them?” 

“I haven’t really thought about it, to be honest.” I shrugged my shoulders. 

“Would you try them if you had the opportunity?”

“I don’t know, maybe. I just don’t want to get addicted to them.” I replied. J chuckled and walked out of the room. What was he up to? 

He came back with a barely filled small plastic bag and something else in his hands. 

“What’s that?” I asked.

“Oh this?” He raised the plastic bag higher in the air while nearing me. “It’s marijuana, baby cakes.” What. Was he serious?

“W-what?” My voice faltered, looking at the green powder that was close to my face. 

“Marijuana, darling.”


“Yes.” There was annoyance in his voice. 

“How did you get it?” I asked probably the most dumbest question ever. 

“I can get anything, angel. But I can’t tell you how and from who. My question is,” J paused, lowering his face so our eyes were in one level, “do you want to try it or not?” 

“I, uh, well….” I diverted my eyes from his and hung my head low. I needed to make this decision now. If I said no, it would be as simple as that. But, if I said yes, I don’t know what would happen. I’ve never known how it is when you’re on drugs. I don’t know how I’d feel, what I’ll experience. Maybe I should give it a try, I mean, it’s just this once. I’m not gonna die, hopefully I won’t get sick. Can you be allergic to cocaine? 

Anyway, I only actually live once. I shouldn’t be doubting this - maybe I will never get the chance to experience drugs again, who knows. 

“Yes.” I finally said. “I wanna do it.” 

“Marvelous…” J said, kissing me on the forehead. “Now, let Daddy take care of everything, alright?” I nodded, biting my lip. J went to do his business and I watched him. He was silent, his bare back facing me. I bit my lip and smiled to myself as I saw the long, red scratch marks on the skin of his back. Got me thinking of last night and I shifted in my position. 

I stood up, my sweater and shorts hanging on me. I walked over to him and wrapped my arms around his waist, pressing my cheek against his back. My fingers found one of his tattoos and started tracing the lines. It was the grin tattoo. 

“What is it, baby girl?” He asked, moving his arms around to finish what he was doing.

“I just like to be close to you…” I murmured. “You have marks from last night, J.” I then said, smirking. He chuckled.

“Mmm, good.” He replied. “I love it. A reward for me.” He spoke with concentration in his voice. “Done, it’s done.” J said and turned around, holding… something in his hand, which had a lit end(a/n: aYO WE LIT ok sorry).

“What’s that?” I asked.

“That’s called a joint, sweets. It’s with what you smoke the drug.”

“Oh.” I paused. “Well, in high school, I heard the name ‘joint’, but never got to know how it looks. Now I know, thanks to you.” 

“Very welcome. May we cut to the chase?” He asked.

“Uhm, okay.” I replied, not really knowing what else to say. J took my hand and walked us over to the bed. He sat down and positioned me between his legs. 

“Now, I’m gonna teach you how to smoke this, alright?” I nodded. “It’s real simple, just look what I’m doing.” J put the joint in his mouth, - the thinner end -, inhaled, took it out and blew smoke out. “See? There’s nothing complicated. Now it’s your turn.” 

I wanted to take the joint myself, but instead J put the thinner end of it in my mouth. I slowly inhaled, the smell and harshness of it hitting my throat (author’s note: i have never smoked weed or done any other drugs, i swear and i probs never will, so i read online about how it feels :D i’m such a loner lol) and every other place in my mouth and head. I pulled it out, coughing deeply and dryly, probably making the most unattractive faces I could. Smoke puffed past my lips. A few tears pooled in my eyes as I bent over, putting a hand to my lips.

“Oh.. my God,” I said once the coughing had lessened. 

“How does it feel?” J asked. I bent back up, looking around - it all seemed fuzzy. Regaining my breathing, I looked at J with watery eyes, slightly losing balance. 

“It’s uh…” I furrowed my brows, “really weird.” I heard J laughing. “Don’t laugh at me!” I whined.

“I’m not, you’re just making such cute faces.” He reasoned. Hold up, cute? J never used that name, at least I’ve never heard him use it. I chuckled and wrapped my hands around J’s neck, looking in his eyes. Was that a look of admiration in his eyes or a hallucination from the drug? 

I lowered my face and slowly, almost teasingly kissed his lips. They were soft and obeying. I must really be hallucinating. I kissed him again, this time asking for permission to enter his mouth with my tongue. His lips gladly parted and I kissed deeper, touching his tongue with mine. J moaned and grabbed my waist to bring me closer to him, which resulted in us falling on the bed backwards, me above him. 

I giggled loudly at us and kissed him again, feeling a smile on his lips. 

“Can I take another hit?” I whispered for no reason. J didn’t speak, only handed me the joint and I put it in my mouth again, inhaling the drug while keeping eye contact with him. He looked so… vulnerable, for real this time. Even in his sleep he didn’t look like that, and peaceful. He looked freed from energy, stress, anything bad. Hm, weird.

I exhaled, taking the joint from my mouth, puffing smoke from my mouth. It looked kind of cool (a/n: remember, drugs and alcohol aren’t the right choices, i’m saying this cause it’s true and i’ve seen what it does to my friends, so please, don’t do drugs/alcohol at least until you’ve finished school, okay, babes?), blowing out in front of me. J took it from my hands, taking a hit himself. With the joint between two of his fingers, he pulled me back on the bed and laid himself down. I was sitting on his crotch as he put his hands behind his head, keeping his blue eyes on me. 

I giggled, biting my finger between my teeth with a wicked smile. We looked each other in the eyes, just staying in that position for what felt like infinity. My hair falling in front of my face, I watched as J got lost in thought, still looking at me. His mind was somewhere else, but his body was beneath mine. What was he thinking in that attractive psycho mind of his?

“Come closer, baby girl.” J whispered. I leaned down to his face, searching his eyes.

“What is it, Daddy?” His eyes sparkled at the nickname, his hand putting my hair behind my ear.

“You’re so beautiful, my girl.” He whispered. “So, so beautiful.” This surprised me. J never said anything like this, and no one else has, really. I think this wasn’t the fault of any hallucinations, the marijuana was making J this way. I smiled at him.

“Thank you.”

“And I mean it.” J said softly. “Every part of you is cherishable, everything about you is so gorgeous, glorious, majestic.” He spoke, I could tell he did mean it. I thought I felt tears well up in my eyes as I was smiling. These were the nicest things somebody has ever said to me. “You know, I’m not good with this kind of stuff, but… you’re really special to me.”

“I am?” I asked, my voice cracking.

“Yes, baby. You’re the most precious person to me, no one else has been or ever will be, I think.” J explained. I sniffed, he caressed my cheek. “I just… you mean so much to me, baby. It’s more than just sex. I love your company, how you talk, how you act, how you walk, how you smile… Everything about you I love.” I sniffed again, closing my eyes and letting the tears fall. They hit his face, but he didn’t care at all, wiping them from my cheeks. 

“What are you trying to say?” I asked with my cracked voice.

“I… I think I love you.” J finally stated. I looked him in the eye and, I don’t know if it was the drug or me myself, but I started crying. I broke down on his chest, sobbing, letting my tears drip everywhere. He loved me. He loved me. Clown Prince of crime loved me, a nobody. This was more than impossible. It was extraordinary. For him to love, I thought, was impossible. But I realised that moment that… I loved him, too. 

I looked at him with tears everywhere, falling, dripping. J’s blue eyes held concern as he watched me cry.

“What is it? Why are you crying?” He asked with a soft voice I had never heard him use. “Did I say something bad? Do you not lo-”

“J, shh, shut up.” I said, placing my small hand over his mouth, noticing the contrast between mine and his skin. “I’m crying because…” I sighed. “Because you’re the first person in my life to say things like that. Such nice and meaningful things about me. And it’s not like you, at all. But that’s not bad. But I’m also crying because, well…” I deeply inhaled. “Because I think I love you, too.” I said, finally getting my feelings out. Revealing my feelings towards him wasn’t hard. “And I think it’s strong. I love you very much, have for a long time.”

“Why haven’t you told me?”

“Well, you said to never use the word 'love’ in that context again, so I never did. I obeyed you, like I always do.” J looked away from me.

“I make you suffer, don’t I?”

“No, no, J. God, no.” I chuckled. “You never make me suffer, you hear? Never. You couldn’t.”

“Yeah, it’s just how I am. When I’m drunk or high, I calm down, I’m the, what do you call it, normal version of myself. I act and talk normally, I do things without seeming crazy or murderer-ish. Don’t I?”

“You do.”

“Do you like this side of me?”

“I do.”

“Well, then we must get high more often.” He said, smiling. And it wasn’t the wicked, maniacal grin he always had on his face, no. This was a true, natural smile I liked to see on people. I chuckled and kissed him. 

“I love you, I love you, I love you…” I spoke, peppering his face with kisses.

“Stop, baby, it tickles,” J said, chuckling. I stopped as I giggled, bending up to look at him again. “I love you so much, oh God.” He spoke, raising up and pressing me down on the bed, kissing my lips and tickling my sides. “Can I show you how much I love you? How much you mean to me?”

“Yes, baby. Please.” I smiled. 

“Tonight you won’t have to beg, tonight will be all about you, sweets.” He said, kissing down my neck. Man, was I living my dream…


I’ve done my fair share of “pushing”. You two just never saw me in action! Breaking every rule, taking on the authorities, so I could indulge in the joys of life on Earth!

Someone with amazing timing saw I would be stuck in a pit of exhausted suffering right about now, so they lovingly planned to gift me with an entire episode about Pearl being an awkward gay nerd but also a terrifyingly competent and daring rebel with a cause. And she’s so proud! So proud of herself! I am so glad.

Pearl has had some amazing episodes but I’ve been aching for one that isn’t overflowing with tears and her being horribly sad and grieving and suffering. And suddenly here I got a hugely fun blatantly gay kinda rom com-y/teen movie thing with hints about Pearl’s background (which we still know practically nothing about - but I’ve been hoping, now that the Pink Diamond reveal is out of the way, we’ll finally, finally get some concrete info there). And I know I love reading into things but I feel like there was so much here! Down to stuff like “I’m not exactly a citizen, Steven!” which was both a hilarious scene and also kinda stung, considering what we do know of where Pearl comes from.

I really really really enjoy the mix of “Pearl just has a type”, “most obvious rebound ever”, and “it’s all a bunch of thinly-veiled allusions to Pearl’s backstory”. It works on all three levels, really - Steven bringing up the “she kinda looked like mom” elephant in the room without mercy, similar to Mr. Greg, was beautiful, as was Pearl’s passionate insistence that it wasn’t about that at all, that she was done with living in the past. She isn’t quite all the way there yet - Mystery Girl being a very blatant Rose reference does point to that, even as she also by being human and way out of Pearl’s comfort zone represents Pearl making an effort to move on and reinvent herself (once again) and it’s all, especially their eventual interactions, portrayed as a very positive thing. I don’t know, just… even with the way the episode is sprinkled with “the past” and some Back In My Heyday, Pearl is really genuinely trying and I love her for that, but I feel like she’s also very clearly succeeding. I’m also happy about the feeling that we’re getting to see Pearl more and more, not “Pearl at her worst lashing out while having a breakdown and deep in the clutches of grief”.

It delights me personally as a huge fan of the Terrifying Renegade that the angle of the whole thing is definitely Pearl stepping out of her comfort zone and experimenting and fighting expectations first, and only then does Rose Mystery Girl enter the picture, providing extra motivation and opportunity and the final push to very meaningfully run that red light (and flirting with Pearl and witnessing her shenanigans and her driving skills and seeming to genuinely like her right back and appreciate her company despite expectations or any kind of “cool punk girl disregards/rejects/mocks the nerd” tropes, basically here’s me predictably at it again with the “Pearl was a rebel before meeting Rose and also Pearlrose was requited how do you do”). I’m also happy to hear Pearl bring up the “joys of life on Earth” - I feel that way too often people forget or brush off all the non-Rose parts of Pearl’s motivation, such as the “I will fight in the name of Rose Quartz and everything that she believed in”, the “knight - completely dedicated to a person and a cause”. I mean, they don’t pose her saluting the flag of the rebellion on all the official art for nothing.

That car chase was wonderful all around (and there is increasingly no doubt in my mind that Pearl was the getaway car driver spaceship pilot when Rose took out Pink Diamond). Amethyst’s reactions to Pearl being “hardcore” (and a “total bada[tire screech]”) parallel Back to the Barn in a lot of ways and they warm my heart so much. The amount of support and encouragement and really thoughtful guidance she offers to Pearl’s gay disaster self and how she’s adorably impressed by Pearl apparently having game. The way Pearl shows genuine investment in Amethyst’s interests and goes along with her and gladly spends time with her and doesn’t snap or talk down to her a single time. They’ve come so far. Everything is beautiful.

Anyway I’m very tired and not sure how well I am expressing myself atm, but what I definitely mean to say is I have never in my life gotten so emotional over someone running a red light.

HWTR to you having a lover but they’re so in love with you

Request. Kinda angsty (and I thrive on angst) and don’t always expect a happy ending. I just HAD to write this, I couldn’t help it, ideas kept flowing into my head. 



Would slowly distance himself despite having feelings for you. He’d be cold, yet still kind when he’s talking to you, despite suffering deep inside. He’d try to avoid you most of the time, changing the people he’s hanging out with that won’t involve you. It sounds mean, but if he’s trying to rid himself of his nagging feelings, he feels it’s necessary. However, he knows he can’t get rid of his feelings that easily and they’re growing on him each time he spends time with you. So he resorts to other things to forget you, like getting higher than usual or drinking more—just so he can get you out of his mind. Mingle with other people, change his partner every night, and drink until he can no longer know which planet he was on. But in the morning, he wakes up with your face and voice in mind, scolding him—and somehow, you find out about his reckless escapades, which makes you extremely worried. You’d call him, on the verge of tears, asking for an explanation, and he realizes that he’ll never be able to escape you. That, no matter what he does, he still revolves around you like a moth to a light. So he tones it down on his vices and still keep by your side to support you—a quiet shadow that will protect you. Out of all, he’s the one that gets along naturally with your lover—he has no hard feelings against them. However, he still drowns in music sometimes, creating lyrics that only refer to you as a safer way to think of you. In the end, he’ll probably be the first one to come to terms with his one-sided crush and figure that it was better this way. He has different dreams than yours and maybe he never would have been able to make you happy like your current lover does. Sure, there’s still the regret that he didn’t even try to win you over, but what is done is done. So, although he still loves you unconditionally, he’s not suffering as much anymore.

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When We Talk

Rating: G
Fandom: Overwatch
Characters:  Lúcio, Symmetra, brief mentions of D.Va and Reinhardt
Relationships: Burgeoning  Lúcio/Symmetra I guess
Synopsis:  Lúcio and Symmetra do Overwatch missions together. Seeing this as an opportunity, the Vishkar Corporation orders her to recover the sonic technology  Lúcio has stolen from them. Because of this, the two start talking more and realize they don’t hate each other as much as they expected to.
Author’s Note: There’s a lot missing here that I wanted to add. If I had the time and the patience, I would write a 100 page slowburn fic that investigates all the parallels of their lives and their characterizations. But here’s an unbetaed fic for your enjoyment now.

“We’d like you to start doing missions for Overwatch. It’s gaining credibility, and to be frank, after the fiasco in Brazil, our corporation’s reputation has been suffering,” Symmetra’s superior says, not even bothering to look at his best agent.


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Purple Hawke, and others

It’s been bothering me how the fandom treats Purple Hawke and… well, Hawke in general.

Like, now, this isn’t going to be a “people aren’t doing things my way so i’m going to complain” thing, but more of a “I noticed a trend and it’s bothering me so i’m pointing it out and i hope it goes ok” thing. People can portray their Hawke however they want, because it’s an Rpg, i know this, it just rubs me a certain way when discussion comes down to the ‘personalities’ of Hawke’s and how they come off, and how they’re handled.

So. That being said.

I really, really am sick of purple Hawke’s being treated like idiots and pure unfeeling jackasses that would ignore a situation’s gravity purely for a stupid joke. No, that’s not what we see in the game. We don’t see a Hawke that trips over their own feet and makes jokes worthy of a laugh-track and drum-hit. We don’t see Purple Hawke blatantly ignoring pain/suffering/grief/trauma of people around them or themselves for the sake of a joke. 
What we see is the purple options, should they be taken in a heavy situation, using wit or charm, or humor that sometimes falls flat to try to alleviate the pain or suffering of a situation. To distract from the horror of the possibilities, or the implications, or try to relieve the stress on themselves or others. Sometimes, they’re just really damn done with the situation as well, because they’ve been wading through waves of enemies and dealing with stress all day/week/month/year and need a break and aren’t getting one. So, a bad joke is what comes out of their mouth instead of telling people to fuck off, because that’s all they can manage to still be personable.

Because when you come down to it, Purple Hawke is the Charming keeps-the-suffering-inside step down from the people-pleasing, bend-over-backward Blue/green Hawke that runs themselves ragged helping everyone else because they can’t help themselves. Purple Hawke, while still making people either snort or groan at their jokes, or charming almost everyone they can with a smile, occasionally falls flat inter-personally because unlike Blue/green Hawke who gets along with everyone by being people-pleasers, they get around having moved constantly in childhood by likely manipulating. Being Charming and witty and funny helps when you don’t have a lot of time to connect to people– quick connections that seem deep keep you safe from templars, but don’t hurt when you cut them to run. Unlike Red Hawke’s who can likely intimidate or bluntly huff their way life, Purple Hawkes have to be a bit more careful, because they care more– even if they aren’t as open as Green/Blue Hawke’s are with their interactions.

Purple Hawke is what you get when you take a good person, usually a very smart person in their own way, and out them through so much stress that they have to make jokes to keep themselves going. They have to keep their family going, their friends, the people they meet and have to help in the city that’s constantly on fire that’s suddenly their problem. 

Blue/green Hawke is what you get when you take a good person who wants to help everyone that doesn’t know how to say no to a cause, give them the responsibility of their family’s survival and let them simmer in their own skin for long enough that they help everyone else trying to figure out what to do. They help everyone hoping someone will help them– every answered emergency is a patch on their anxieties to hold themselves together in their burning city. 

Red Hawke is what happens when a person with too much stress is given more, while losing enough to want to gladly take it. They aren’t cruel, generally, just blunt and to the point– nerves wound to the point of near breaking over all the pieces of the City falling down around their ears constantly. Their family, their friends, the Mages, the Templars, the Chantry, the Qunari, the Carta, the Wardens, the Lyrium– everything is weighing on them and they’ve got to bear it all. 

The thing about the personality colors, though, that frustrates me the most– is that you can have a Hawke that is not all one color. You don’t have to always pick the Red, Purple, Green/blue options. 

A Blue Hawke, enraged may go red, same with Purple. A Red hawke amused by something could go Purple. 
To be completely honest– Purple Hawkes have always been in constant danger of going Red, in my experience, toward late Act 2 and Act 3.

I know it comes down to personal preferences, but I can’t for the life of me see why they get boiled down so much. 

Exo Reacting to wanting to meet your family, but they don’t speak Korean/Chinese.

》 FAQ // Masterlist

A/N: I have altered the request a bit so it doesn’t stick to one language only, I hope that’s not a problem! :) I think that it can’t be applied for English speakers, though, as most of the members have at least basic knowledge of the language and therefore would surely act differently, I’m sorry.

Xiumin - Even without the knowledge of your native language, Xiumin would easily creep into the hearts of your parents. Your mum would love him at first sight but it might take your dad a longer time to accept him as your parent. The moment you turn your back to the two men, they’d settle in the living room and challenge each other for an arm wrestle battle. When Xiumin easily defeats your dad, he’d simply go to you and whisper in your ear: “He’s the one, Y/N.” And really, there wouldn’t be a member of your family who would like him; they’d even try to teach him a few words of your language and he’d gladly study it when you go back home.

Luhan - He’d be really excited, but very nervous at the same time. Hopefully, you’d be there with him when he has to meet your family so he’d feel a bit better. He wouldn’t be able to keep the smile off his face, that is, until you decide to mess with him a bit and translate something wrong, making your parents give him a surprised look. When he realises you’ve told them something he didn’t say, he’d have a really hard time trying to explain to your parents that he had said something different entirely, continuously whining and telling you you’re the worst, only to make your mother burst out laughing at the silly conversation her daughter has with her lovely boyfriend.

Kris - Kris would take meeting your family very seriously and would actually spend some time studying the language until he has grasped a few grammatical structures he thought would help him while conversing with your parents. He’d also ask you to give him a few sentences he could tell your mum as compliments and you would gladly help him, adding a few funny ones while you’re at it. Your parents would appreciate his efforts and would grow to like him very quickly, but everything would come crushing down when he asks your mum to handcuff him, thinking he’s telling her her dress looks really nice on her.

Suho - Suho would be a real gentleman and would completely win over your family once he meets them. He’d try really hard to pronounce what you’ve taught him beforehand and your mother would love the way he’s really shy when doing so. It’s needless to say all the female members of your family would be enchanted by him and would give you proud taps on the back, happy you’ve found somebody as gentlemanly and smart as Suho. Your mother would probably address him as son-in-law but he wouldn’t understand, only leading to him asking what it means and you refusing to translate, utterly embarrassed.

Lay - Contrary to his usual self, Lay would give it his all to stay concentrated throughout the whole time he spends with your family as he knows it’d be hard to meet your family even if they spoke the same language, not to mention only speaking a language he’s unfamiliar with. You’d take it as your job to be the translator during the meeting as you wouldn’t be able to let your boyfriend suffer too much. Your mum and siblings would instantly like him and your grandma might throw in a few comments how you ought to get married. Afterwards, Lay would complain how he was really nervous when around your father, but you’d only laugh because he didn’t look like it at all.

Baekhyun - Even with the language barrier, Baekhyun would manage to creep into the hearts of your family members quickly. It’s not like he’d try to be extremely interesting or fun, but would just be himself and that’s exactly what your family would like. He’d try to grasp a few words of your language and try to communicate that way, but when he sees that it’s harder than he thought it’d be, he’d just settle down with a simple smile, all awkward. Your family would probably tell you you’ve found a real gentleman, but you’d know better.

Chen - Chen wouldn’t feel nervous at all when you tell him there’ll be a language barrier when he meets your parents and that’d actually only make you nervous. When he sees them for the first time he’d give both of them a warm hug and introduce himself just like he heard you introduce yourself over the phone sometimes. Then, he’d shout a loud “Mum, Dad, I love you!” at them which would take them and you by surprise and they’d give you a look that demands your explanation for his words. You wouldn’t be able to surpass your laughter which would then cause both your parents and Chen to laugh as well, your boyfriend not really knowing what’s so funny, but still going with the flow.

Originally posted by zhangyixings

Chanyeol - He’d be more worried about meeting your family in general than the problem he might have trying to communicate with them. He’d be really awkward at first, smiling nervously and doing everything slowly trying not to break anything in the house and cause the rage of your father. He’d constantly thank them in every language he knows and would try to make a comprehensible sentence in your native language, but when you shake your head telling him it’s wrong, he’d just decide it’s the best time to close his mouth. He’d try so hard not to make a fool out of himself which he eventually does by slipping and falling in front of your mum, but that would only make him even more lovable in her eyes.

D.O - Poor D.O would be so out of place when you take him to meet your family and would be even more quiet than he usually is. He’d greet them politely and smile at them, trying to make them like him just by actions and gestures and not words as he knows he’d fail there. He’d gain your mother’s liking in the very first few minutes after meeting her and she’d shower him with questions even though she knows he can’t really understand her. You’d be there, though, and translate everything to him, but the moment all the awkwardness goes away (or there’s even more of it?) is when he gives the wrong answer that comes out very comically, in D.O’s case only.

Tao - Tao would completely rely on Google Translate as he’d know you wouldn’t translate a single thing for him just to be able to see him suffer. However, something that could be worse than not wanting to translate is translating incorrectly which is exactly what the site does and makes a really heartfelt compliment towards your mum sound very rude. He wouldn’t know he has made a mistake until he sees a mortified look on your parents’ faces, though. He’d plead you to tell him what he has just said, horror evident in his tone, but would only get the answer after you’ve calmed down from laughing so hard.

Kai - Kai would probably be a bit disheartened once he learns that your family speaks only one language and that there is no way for him to communicate with them without your help so he’d be even more quiet than usual when he finally gets to meet them. However, as time he spends with them passes and he gets to taste all the different dishes your mum has prepared, he’d feel a little bit like at home and wouldn’t mind the language barrier all that much. Instead, he’d use gestures and sounds to tell you all just how much he likes your mother’s cooking, instantly making her adore him.

Sehun - This kid would bond with your little sibling immediately. He’d politely greet your parents and have a meal with all of your family members, but as soon as you finish eating, he’d sprint with the kids upstairs to play. It would be hard for your parents to get to know him as he’d spend most of the time buried in stuffed toys with your siblings happily jumping all over the room. He might have some hardships with communicating with the kids, but he’d make sure to teach them a few words of Korean so they can brag to you how they speak the language better than you, him being there to attest that.

- Admin Lene

anonymous asked:

Hello there! Your blog is amazing! So I'm sick and I was wondering how the boys would react to their partner being sick (like a bad cold or flu). Thank you, you're awesome <3

Oh! Ι hope you get well soon, dear Anon! I prioritized your message to make you feel a little bit better~

HANAMIYA: After suffering from intense fever the night before, it was impossible to remove your warm blanket away from your body and press your legs to walk you towards school. In the midst of your feverish dreams, you heard a familiar sound beckoning you. While helplessly swimming in your sickness-induced delirium you somehow managed to grab your phone and read your new message “Where are you?” It was from Hanamiya-senpai. You must have messaged him back, although you had no memory of such a thing, since senpai himself showed up at your doorstep a few hours later. With both your parents occupied at work, you were in dire need of a helping hand. You could clearly remember his hands, colder than your hot body, gently taking your temperature, covering you with clean blankets, his lips murmuring calming words you never thought you could hear coming from Hanamiya. “Does your throat still hurt?” You mumble an incoherent reply to his question, “…Please stay…” And then another body joins you under your warm covers. “Idiot. Hurry up and get better already.” A sigh escapes his lips. “Never make me worried like that again, you hear?” A gentle peck on your sweaty forehead. “I am here. I won’t leave. Now sleep.” That seems to be exactly what you did afterwards, resting upon a strong, familiar chest. Maybe it was all a dream caused by your fever after all.

HARA: A gigantic box of cough relief candies suddenly flashed before your field of vision. “Wh-what is this, Kazuya-kun?” You wonder, wiping your running nose. Instead of offering a proper reply, he draws his body near to yours, seating himself right next to you on the spacious couch. “Say ah!” You stare at his grimacing face for a moment before complying and a peculiar item is gently put upon your tongue; its flavor was intense but also relieving. You cough again, despite yourself. “Is it a—” “It’s cinnamon flavored,” he immediately answers and reaches for another blanket to engulf you into. “It really helps,__-chan. Lick on it as much as you can.” He says while starting to slowly rub his hands on your upper arms to keep you warm. Your puzzled pout makes him stop his ministrations. “What is it?” He asks, leaning closer to take a good look of your glazed eyes. “It’s too strong…” you mutter and lift your hand to place around your aching throat. “The cinnamon…” Hara slightly scowls at your words. Suddenly a hand is presented right before your mouth. “Okay then. Spit it out.” You only stare in confusion. “Cinnamon bothers you. Spit it out,” he repeats, but you still don’t dare listen to this absurd request. Abruptly a gentle finger is touching your lips, pressing them emphatically and you can’t help but slowly push the candy out of your mouth to his offering hand— But it’s not a hand that receives it after all, but a pair of lips. You immediately protest. “Kazuya-san! You’ll catch it too!” Hara only grins at you and offers another small package with the indication “Honey Flavored”. You unwillingly take it and put it in your mouth yourself this time. “I can’t help it. I like my __-chan too much. And cinnamon, too.”

FURUHASHI: A whole legion of different dishes and hot beverages are presented before you the moment he steps through your house. “Eat the chicken soup first,” Furuhashi advices, offering you a large spoon and a pair of napkins. You reach out to get them, but before you could, he suddenly retracts his hand. “No. That won’t work out,” he mumbles mostly to himself. You stare in puzzlement as he slowly approaches you, joining you in your warm bed. A gentle hand suddenly wraps around your waist, keeping you steady and close. Furuhashi is moving you carefully a little towards left, making more space for himself. Without offering a word, he takes the hot soup in his one hand and the spoon on the other. “Open your mouth for me,” he instructs, and you comply, waiting for his attentive hand to feed you. A blush is making your cheeks even redder than fever had made them appear. As if slightly teasing, he takes a spoonful and guides it towards his own lips first, testing the temperature while keeping firm eye-contact with you. Furuhashi slowly puffs at the heated soup. You gladly accept the delicious warm meal, that he had apparently made himself, and stare in adoration at how helpful and caring he is during this ordeal.  After you finish, he makes sure to wipe your small mouth, smiling, and give you lots of water. A warm tea is soon in order and a little while later you already feel much refreshed, well-fed and happy. Per your request, he hasn’t left your side. A hand is affectionately caressing your messy hair. “Thank you, Furuhashi-kun,” you shyly say, truly and utterly thankful, and cuddle him lovingly.

SETO: “I won’t repeat myself. Remove your shirt and lie down.” As many times as he may says that, you still can’t believe your boyfriend is making such an unreasonable request. The room felt frozen to your heated skin, oversensitive because of the bad cold. You begin to protest, “But—” Seto can no longer be patient; not when he sees you suffering because of a silly cold. He hastily but gently removes the blanket from your shoulders and lap, moving forwards to carry you in his arms. In a span of few minutes, he had successfully brought you from the living room to your own bedroom and had placed you down on your bed, lying on your stomach. You squirm weakly. “Nooo!” He doesn’t seem to listen. Taking his place at the edge of the bed, he is reaching forward to lift the top of your pajama up. You can’t help but whimper as the cold air licks your bare back. “This needs to be done. It’ll make you feel better,” he says decisively. Still, you cannot see how. “Wait, Kentaro-san—” An intense, nostril-breaking, but not unpleasant, smell fills you entirely and cold hands suddenly come to rub circles on the small of your back, moving upwards. “What?” You utter in confusion as the large hands, that you could now properly identify, continue to rub you gently. “It’s mint and eucalyptus. It helps ease the soreness of the cold. Your coughs will lessen in a few minutes. Stop complaining now.” He notes nonchalantly and you turn your head, as fast as you can, to stare at his focused face. Upon noticing your insistent gaze, he breaks into a reassuring smile. “It’ll be okay.” You heave a sigh and slowly hug your pillow, relishing his touch and how the medicinal cream is slowly helping opening up your wind pipe, easing your breathing. “Thank you…”

YAMAZAKI: “Mph!” You could only utter a few muffled exclamations under the mountain of blankets he has fetched for you. “Yamazaki-kun! I’ll suffocate!” You weakly protest and his shoulders immediately tense up. “So-” he stutters “Sorry, __-chan” Yamazaki helps you remove some of the covers in slight panic. When he is finished, he sees you struggling to take labored breaths and stares worriedly. “Eh? Why?” He reaches for the thermometer and puts it on your mouth carefully. “Why, why, why, why??” he splutters in palpable tension. “Why is it going up again? You usually feel cold when it does that. You’re hot now. So why does it go up again?” To ease his worries, you let your hand peek from under the blankets and lift it to take a gentle hold of his own. “Don’t…worry…so…much…” you utter weakly, panting. Instead of calming him down, your words upset him even more and, without warning, he pulls your blanket down and puts his hands on your T-shirt; it was drenched in sweat. Yamazaki gulps at the realization. “We…I…— You need to change clothes!” He was nearly trembling as he slowly pulled you into a sitting position and swallowed hardly when he had to lift your shirt up and remove it from your body. He made an insistent point, albeit with difficulty, of not staring at your underwear as he carefully used a dry but warm towel to wipe your perspiration; all the while you were still panting heavily. And yet, you managed to smile encouragingly at him and mutter soft words of apology. He couldn’t bring himself to answer properly. Instead, he nodded again and again, finally assuming a proper breathing rhythm only when you were finally properly dressed again and safely enveloped in warm covers. Heaving another weary sigh, he placed a kiss on your cheek.

A Car, A Torch, A Death - Part 2

Whoo part 2 is here!
It’s not great, but it’s something. I only incorporated the “main” Avengers, plus Wanda, in this, so I hope it’s alright! I wrote this in chunks too, because I was studying for AP Macro, but I hope it’s not like super disconnected lol.
Read the first part here

Title: A Car, A Torch, A Death - Part 2
Pairing: Pietro Maximoff x Reader
Summary: You’re in a coma after the accident (cliche lol) and the Avengers come visit you. Sad monologues ensue.
Word Count: 2,653
Warnings: Gets pretty sad, ngl.

Your name: submit What is this?

           As soon as they heard about it, all the Avengers headed directly for you. 

           They got the call at 2:38 AM. A doctor said you made it safely from the scene, but you were suffering from a coma. Your internal body functions were fine and the only significant injury was a broken leg. 

           They took off at that moment, all packing into one car. It was a cramped fit, but no one cared. They just wanted to see you. They had already lost a team member, and having another would be too much to bear. 

           At the hospital, they were all silent. No jokes, no arguments, no tears. Just silence. Never before had this group of superheros been so quiet. All of them were thinking, thinking about what they could’ve done. It was a violent silence. 

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On Racism and Bigotry: Put Up Or Shut Up

“In a democracy, the majority of the citizens is capable of exercising the most cruel oppressions upon the minority.”- Edmund Burke

There is much consternation going on right now with many Trump supporters because they are upset at being labeled, “racists” and “bigots.” I’ve read a few dozen, “I supported Trump and I am not a racist/bigot” posts from friends and family.  Every single one of them misses the larger, more important point about why so many people are upset and concerned right now.  Are all these people, even my friends and family, racists and bigots?  Maybe.  Perhaps, to some level.  I would hope not, but I don’t know what is in their heart-of-hearts.  I don’t know what their motivations or intentions were for supporting Trump.  All I have to go on is what they do say, what they don’t say, who they stand with, and who they don’t stand with.  In a lot of cases, their reassurances they aren’t a racist/bigot, are not all that reassuring.

Telling me you’ve done a lot of soul-searching and you’ve come to the conclusion you aren’t a racist/bigot, isn’t very reassuring.  If you ask the most ardent racist in a Klan meeting if they are racist, they’ll say, “No.”  They’ll say, “No,” and honestly believe it.  Being a racist is a bad thing.  It is something that just about every single person in society things is wrong.  Yet, it exists quite a bit at varying levels in society.  How is this possible?  People don’t believe they are racists/bigots, even when they are because people don’t view themselves as being bad people.  Pretty much everyone thinks and wants to believe they are good.  Since there are a lot of racist/bigoted behaviors going on, even more now that Trump’s been elected, there is a serious disconnect between what people believe about themselves and what is really the case.  This is why someone’s self-analysis about whether they are/aren’t a racist/bigot is not very reliable or reassuring.

Telling me that the real racists/bigots are not that prevalent in society because the number of Klan, white supremacist, white nationalist..groups are not that many, doesn’t address the issue of whether or not an individual is racist/bigoted.  You can really like Taylor Swift, know all her songs by heart, buy all her albums, go to her concerts…and not be a member of her fan club.  Being a member of the Klan makes someone a racist/bigot.  However, just because someone isn’t a member of the Klan doesn’t make them not a racist/bigot.  To put it in logic parlance: All Klan members are racist/bigots but not all racist/bigots are Klan members.  Granny might not be a member of the Klan or be a subscriber to Stormfront, but if she gets upset because “the blacks moved in down the street” or because “a couple of lesbians bought the house next door,” she is a racist/bigot.  Racism and bigotry aren’t about what group you belong to.  Racism and bigotry are about what you believe, what you say, what you do towards people who are not like you.  Trying to make racism and bigotry not that widespread because the number of groups that openly, actively profess it is not that many completely misrepresents the issue and problem.  If the only opposition to blacks was from white supremacist groups, there wouldn’t be voter suppression in predominantly black voting districts.  There wouldn’t have been redlining.  There wouldn’t have been Jim Crow.  These things existed/exist because of both broad acceptance and tacit approval from a lot of people who don’t belong to extremist groups. During Hitler’s reign of power in Germany, only 850,000 out of 66 million Germans were members of the Nazi Party.  A little more than 1% of Germans were Nazis, but when we talk about Germans during WWII, you don’t say, “They aren’t anti-Semitic.  Only a small portion of the country are Nazis.”  The reason we don’t say this is because the problem wasn’t so much the horrible beliefs of the 1%, it was the tacit approval, agreement, and support of a lot of the other 99%.  I have a problem with white supremacist groups, but I have a bigger problem with people who agree with a lot of what they believe.  Just because you don’t agree with the methods of the Klan and aren’t a member doesn’t mean you don’t agree with some of their beliefs. Beliefs that are rooted in racism and bigotry.

Okay, let’s say, for argument sake, you aren’t a member of a white supremacist group and tell me you don’t subscribe to any of their beliefs.  Great.  So far so good.  Now, what if you both support and vote for the same candidate?  What am I suppose to think now?  Does supporting the same person as the Klan (or any other white supremacist group) mean you believe what they do?  Perhaps.  At worst it means you and the Klan are simpatico.  At best it means some of your beliefs, your motivations, your attitudes and the Klan’s overlap.  If this doesn’t give you pause and lead to some serious soul-searching, it should.  From an outside perspective, if you support the same person the Klan does, I know your views overlap.  I just don’t know how much.  Telling me you aren’t a racist/bigot when you and the Klan’s views overlap is not very reassuring.  Am I supposed to believe the Klan’s “economic anxieties” are rooted in rational arguments and data and your overlap with them on this issue is somehow separate from their racist views?  I can’t because it isn’t. Their “economic fears” are rooted in, steeped in racist attitudes and beliefs.  Their economic plight isn’t because they are mostly undereducated white men but because blacks/immigrants have taken their jobs and because the government is spending their hard-earned, white tax dollars on minorities.  Supporting the same person as the Klan might not mean you support the Klan but it sure as hell means you aren’t standing up against them.  At the very least you are giving them your tacit approval.  

Don’t try and “both sides” this with me either.  There are no examples you can give where hate-filled, fear-mongering, racist, bigoted groups on the left exist to any level as those on the right nor have progressives stood in support of candidates they do.  

“I voted for Donald Trump because of his economic policies, not because of his views towards Mexicans, women, Muslims, immigrants…”  This would be a good argument if his views towards these groups were not inherently linked to his economic policies.  You can’t campaign on a nationalist, xenophobic, anti-immigrant platform blaming others for the economic plight of white working class America and neatly and cleanly separate the economic parts from the racist/bigot parts.  It cannot be done.  When you buy the one, you buy the other and no amount of telling me, “But I don’t agree with his views towards the groups he’s denigrated,” somehow magically makes the inherent link disappear.  All this tells me is you either don’t see the link or you are willing to overlook it.  I’m not a big fan of ignorance, especially with regards to racism/bigotry and I’m even less of a fan of people who can look it right in the face and say, “Meh.”  If you want to have a discussion about a specific policy, I will gladly have that discussion.  It the policy is tied to racism and bigotry, you cannot pretend it doesn’t exist or talk about the policy sans the racism and bigotry because then you are not dealing with reality.

What I’ve seen recently from my Trump supporting friends and family is more an effort trying to convince others they are not racists/bigots and very little time recognizing why some people might think they are and even less time worrying about and standing up against the words and actions of Trump, his surrogates, and other supporters.  Whether or not you personally are a racist/bigot on some level isn’t really worth my time to suss out.  Again, I can’t get into your mind and see what lies in its darker corners.  What I can do.  What I will do is look to see who stand up against racism and bigotry, who sits idly by, and who gives cover for it.  Actions are the only things by which I can judge whether or not you are a racist/bigot.  This doesn’t just go for Trump supporters, this goes to a lot of people I know on the left who opted out of the election for one ridiculous reason or another.  I don’t care who you are, I don’t care what your political affiliation, I don’t care what your religious affiliation if you don’t stand up against racism/bigotry, you are on the side of the racists/bigots.  I know this might sound harsh and too cut-and-dried a position to take but it has to be done.  The single greatest failure in American history was giving wiggle room and moral cover for the Confederacy after the Civil War.  Instead of eradicating the beliefs and attitudes behind slavery and sedition, America allowed the South to retain their culture and honor.  We allowed them to push the idea the War was about “states rights” not about racism.  We allowed them to cloak their racist/seditious views behind “cultural heritage.”  We allowed them to still display the flag that represented their racism and treason.  We let them pretend that Confederate soldiers were good, honorable, Christians.  The result of not having a cut-and-dried approach to these treasonous racists was seventy years of Jim Crow.  Because white Northern America didn’t want to hurt the feelings of white Southern America, millions of blacks suffered and died.  From an ethical point-of-view, I cannot think of a single action outside the Civil War itself that led to more pain and suffering caused by immoral beliefs than the failure of Reconstruction.  This is why there is no leeway when it comes to racism and bigotry.  This is why I hold people accountable not just for their actions but their inactions.  When you don’t stand up against racism/bigotry, you are lending support.

How does all this apply to the election of Donald Trump?  On the right, a lot of people willingly voted for or willfully ignored the racism and bigotry not only from his campaign speeches and policies but personal choices of who he would align himself with.  If Trump’s campaign speeches and policies were not enough of a red flag, his actions spoke louder than his words.  When it comes to anti-LGBT bigotry, it is hard to find a politician more so than Trump’s selection to be his VP, Mike Pence.  When it came time to get a new campaign manager, he could have selected any of a dozen, highly qualified, highly regarded individuals.  Instead, he chose the CEO of the most popular, anti-Semitic, conspiracy websites, Steve Bannon from Breitbart.  Once elected, Trump could have easily distanced himself from Bannon and his white nationalism.  Instead, he tapped him to be Chief Strategy Officer in his administration.  These are just some of the people who Trump has surrounded himself with.  You can talk about this specific policy or that specific policy all you want, but the people close to Trump are deeply bigoted and racist.  Then there’s the support of groups like Stormfront, the KKK, Alex Jones, and every single major white supremacist, white nationalist group out there.  They aren’t supporting him because of his tax plan. They are supporting him because of his racist/bigoted talk and promises.  No amount of linguistic or mental gymnastics can make it so you can disassociate Trump and all these.  

The real problem which is being intentionally ignored by some and denied by others is how all the racism, bigotry, and hate, all the blatantly white supremacists and anti-gay bigots around Trump have been and are being normalized.  Steve Bannon isn’t described as a white supremacist, he’s a “provocateur.”  Mike Pence isn’t described as an anti-gay bigot, he’s a “concerned Christian.”  This should be very concerning to everyone who claims to not be a racist or bigot. When you normalize these kinds of behaviors among those in power, this is how a little over 98.8% of Germans allow Nazism.  Racism and bigotry are problems.  Racism and bigotry in power are dangerous. I’m not equating Donald Trump and his supporters with Nazis so don’t Goodwin’s Law me.  I’m saying when racism and bigotry are normalized and have control of the political and legal systems, very bad things happen to very good people.  I’ve already seen many Republicans, the media, and even a lot of Democrats start the normalization process of racism and bigotry.  This scares the hell out of me and makes me very concerned for the groups who have been marginalized and demonized by Trump and his supporters.

A lot of my liberal friends tell me I need to not be so angry, so mean, so hateful.  I need to understand those I disagree with and “find some common ground” from which to work towards peace and understanding.  No, I don’t.  Sorry, I don’t Kumbaya when it comes to racism and bigotry.  No amount of online group therapy is going to get me to be okay with people not just willing to do physical, legal, and economic harm to others but do it will glee.  I cannot comprehend a situation where I’ll ever be okay with people mistreating others, period.  I will never be able to rationalize the powerful punching down on the powerless.  I’m not intellectually or morally constructed to do this.

I had a philosophy professor in grad school who had been hounded by Joseph McCarthy and the FBI because he was a vocal opponent to McCarthy’s witch hunts.  He was threatened by the FBI.  His wife was threatened.  His office was bugged and ransacked multiple times.  The FBI demanded the president of the university fire him (luckily, the president at the time had some cajones and said, “Absolutely not!”) I asked him one day why he did what he did and if he ever regrets it. He told me he never regretted a thing and the reason he felt compelled to speak out against McCarthy and his supporters was because of what he termed, “The Silence of the Professors.”  He told me in the 1930s, professors in Germany were held in very high esteem.  Their opinions had a very special place among the German people.  When Hitler started his rise to power, most of the professors in Germany were very worried about his rhetoric, his methods, and his policies but they didn’t speak out.  They kept silent.  After the War, a lot of these same professors publicly rued the fact they didn’t step up when they had the chance.  My professor told me he never forgot this and swore he would never be in the same position where he had to apologize for horrible things being done because, in part, he didn’t use his position and speak out against it.  It is a lesson I took to heart and told myself I would live up to to the best of my ability.  This is why I feel the need to speak out more now than ever before.  I’m watching racism and bigotry being normalized and put into power.  I’m watching a good chunk of the country really okay with this.  I’m watching another good chunk play along because they don’t want to come across as “mean” or “angry.”  The pox on both of them!.

If you are a Republican and you tell me you are not a racist or a bigot, then I’m going to expect you to stand up against members of your party and policies that are.  Being silent isn’t going to cut it.  So far, a lot of you have failed this basic test.  If you are a progressive, you have a lot to atone for.  When the groups you proudly say are members of your Big Tent, who are the ones who you claim to care about and defend needed you the most, you failed to stand up for them when they needed it the most.  We live in the most powerful, greatest economy in the world but when it comes to helping those who need it the most, protecting the defenseless, making sure everyone has equal opportunities, we as a country SUCK and suck royally.  This is both a moral and cultural failure.  We can either make it better or a whole lot worse.  Right now, the scales are heavily tipped to a whole lot worse.  It is going to take a concerted effort to move the scales back in favor of justice and equality.  I am going to do everything I can.  I will encourage and support anyone who wants to help.  I will not tolerate for a second anyone who chooses the other side or who remains silent.  If you tell me you aren’t a racist or a bigot, the time has come to put up or shut up.

“All tyranny needs to gain a foothold is for people of good conscience to remain silent.”-Edmund Burke

An open letter to anti-vaxxers.

Dear anti-vaccine proponents:

Like most of you, I am an American from a generation that remembers vaccines as an unpleasant or even traumatic element of my doctor visits, but are too young, in  to remember much about the childhood diseases prevented by vaccines.

My mother has poor eyesight.  This is because of an extremely high fever she had during a rubella outbreak.  She was lucky to get by with only her eyes affected.  A close friend of mine who serves the role of ‘second mother’ to me, tells me of how much polio scared people.  All the public swimming pools shut down at even the hint of a rumor that polio was around.  Children in iron lungs were the lucky ones, children who died were the unlucky ones.  The children in the iron lungs often went on to be amazing adult disability rights activists in iron lungs, like Ed Roberts.  But they could have just as easily died, and most of them would have rather not had polio and the pain and suffering that went with it in the first place.  

I’m not asking you to pity them.  Pity is the last thing they ever wanted.  I’m asking you to understand that people died, and people suffered, and that this suffering and death has been made unnecessary by vaccines.  And that is the work you are trying to undo.

Also I have a beef with this on a personal level.  I am autistic.  I’m not just autistic, I have a condition called autistic catatonia.  Autistic catatonia means that the motor, cognitive, and sensory aspects of autism have become progressively more pronounced for me over the years, rendering me in need of much more assistance to get through the day than I needed before. 

Unlike many people would have you believe of me, I am not someone who believes autism causes no suffering.  My sensory processing issues alone cause me pain and nausea on a regular basis.  I am rarely able to speak, and during some medical emergencies I am too weak to type, either.  This has put me in danger.  I walk into traffic (and have been pulled out of the way of moving buses by total strangers) because I can’t perceive moving cars accurately.  I have automatic, involuntary movements that have resulted in my opening car doors on the highway while the car is doing over 60 miles an hour, which scared all of us in the car including myself.  I used to wake up screaming and scream myself hoarse throughout the morning.  When I was a teenager, my father had to sleep outside my door in his running shoes because I would try to run out of the house at night and head-butt my way past him.  I often had a catatonia-related problem where I’d run around the house until I fell over from exhaustion.  And as of today, while I have mastered the art of controlling the worst of my behavior, I still need considerable assistance to get through every day.  In fact, by definition, a person with autistic catatonia needs to have the following traits (highlighted are the ones especially requiring assistance):

  • Increased slowness affecting movements and verbal responses
  • Difficulty in initiating and completing actions
  • Increased reliance on physical or verbal prompting by others
  • Increased passivity and apparent lack of motivation

Other features include:

  • Reversal of day and night
  • Parkinsonian features: tremor, eye rolling, dystonia, odd stiff posture, freezing in postures, etc.
  • Excitement and agitation
  • Increase in repetitive ritualistic behavior

They noted that “In this study, a diagnosis of catatonia was given when exacerbation of certain features of behavior occurred in sufficient degree to interfere with movement and everyday functions of self-care, education, occupation, and leisure.”

So basically, this is not a diagnosis given out lightly.  I have had symptoms of autistic catatonia since I was twelve, but I was only diagnosed when Wing and Shah’s paper came out when I was 19 or 20.  My psychiatrist, who had known me since I was fourteen, diagnosed me immediately upon being faxed the Wing and Shah (2000) study.

But at any rate, my ability to care for myself is severely limited, and that has been the most obvious effect of autism for me.  Not that I don’t have as many social problems as the next autistic person, they just aren’t my focus in life when I have visual processing problems so severe I am functionally blind in new locations, and when I need so much help just to get through the day.  While I do not agree with the application of functioning levels to autistic people, I can say that none of my doctors has ever told me I am mildly affected by autism, and many of them have used terms like ‘severe’ to describe me.  I would say that I am severely disabled, and autism is only one part of that picture.

But regardless of being autistic, regardless even of autistic catatonia, I would gladly endure even the worst aspects of being autistic, rather than go unvaccinated and contribute to the suffering and death of some of the most vulnerable populations:  Infants, very young children, children with severe physical diseases, adults with severe physical diseases, and elderly people.  I have heard anti-vaxxers express sentiments to the effect of, “That kind of person would have died anyway, we just have to accept that weaker people die of diseases.  Maybe it’s better if they die and fail to pass their weak genes down to the rest of the population.”  Not all anti-vaxxers believe that by a long shot, but having heard it from some even turns my stomach.  Especially because I am one of those people who could die from a vaccine-preventable disease.  I don’t think autism is caused by vaccines, but even if it were, autism would be so much worth the price of keeping people alive.

I have bronchiectasis.  Most people in the USA have never heard of bronchiectasis.  They think I mean bronchitis.  If they have heard of bronchiectasis, they have heard of it in the context of cystic fibrosis, its most common cause in first world nations like the USA.  However, it’s actually a very common condition in countries that don’t have vaccines or adequate medical care.  Because two of the most common causes of bronchiectasis are vaccine-preventable childhood diseases, and inadequate healthcare.  I got my bronchiectasis through inadequate healthcare.  Whether the actual event that caused it was breathing in lots of concrete and wallboard dust during illegal construction on my building, or a subsequent set of lung infections that resulted in the partial collapse of one of my lungs.  Or some combination of both.  In either case, I was discriminated against for having a developmental disability, and doctors did not treat me until the infection had gotten really bad.  Afterwards, they refused to believe I was still having symptoms, until my pulmonologist did a high resolution CT scan and found bronchiectasis.

Bronchiectasis, in brief, is a rare form of COPD in which the walls of the breathing cells are damaged.  They become loose and floppy.  They produce more phlegm, but have more trouble clearing that phlegm.  This results in both susceptibility to infections, and the creation of more of the same damage through lingering infections that you can’t get rid of.  If you can’t halt the vicious cycle, you eventually need a lung transplant.  With proper treatment, however, it is only slightly more dangerous than asthma.  The question is, in countries where people struggle to get vaccinated and see doctors at all, how many are going to be able to afford the proper treatments of mucus thinners or 7% saline to keep the disease from progressing until it’s fatal?

So I already have one vaccine-preventable disease.  I also have adrenal insufficiency (not adrenal fatigue, which is a catch-all quack diagnosis, but adrenal insufficiency, which is a potentially life-threatening lack of ACTH and cortisol) and myasthenia gravis.  Those have nothing to do with vaccines on the surface.  But both of them are treated frequently with dexamethasone and other steroids.  Those steroids suppress the immune system, leaving people like me more susceptible to diseases other people wouldn’t get.  Including diseases people vaccinate for.

I know someone else with adrenal insufficiency, who is permanently on Prednisone, which suppresses her immune system.  She caught whooping cough from an unvaccinated child and almost died.  As it was, she dislocated several ribs from coughing, became severely dehydrated, and had a lot of seizures.  Now that I’m on steroids permanently, I’m wondering if I’m looking at my future there.  I rely on other people being vaccinated for my own safety.  I am at risk both because of potential immune suppression, and because bronchiectasis makes some of the diseases themselves more severe and likely to lead to lasting infection.

And the thing is, vaccines don’t cause autism.  They just don’t.  But even if they did cause autism, it would be worth it for some people to be autistic, in order to save people the death and suffering that comes with these other diseases.  Even if I absolutely hated being autistic, I would still see it as worth being autistic if it meant it saved the lives of people who would otherwise die from vaccine-preventable diseases.  And if it meant that people wouldn’t end up with things like bronchiectasis — I can tell you that even mild bronchiectasis is not something you want, let alone the severe kind.

So please, please vaccinate your kids.  And vaccinate yourself, when it comes time for your own shots.  People like me are counting on you for our continued survival.  And most autistic people I’ve talked to, even those who strongly dislike being autistic, say that even if autism was caused by vaccines, it’s better for some people to end up autistic, than for other people to end up dead. 


Mel Baggs (a multiply disabled autistic person whose life is at stake when people don’t vaccinate)

tl;dr:  I’m autistic, and not just a little autistic.  I also have diseases, and take treatments for those diseases, that put me at high risk for catching and dying from vaccine-preventable diseases.  My continued survival depends on people vaccinating.  And even if being autistic were caused by vaccination, I would gladly endure the worst parts of being autistic, forever, if it meant that some people’s lives were saved by vaccination.  But autism is not caused by vaccination.  And I could get really sick if people don’t vaccinate.  So could lots of other people like me, who people forget about, because they only like to think about healthy people.  So vaccinate your kids, and vaccinate yourselves, it’s horribly selfish not to unless you have really good medical reasons (of which fear of autism doesn’t count).