“Easy there, Love.” He tells her, lying a hand gentle on the arm closest to him and she doesn’t know if she’s shivering because she’s sick, or she’s dead, or if he’s just really pretty, but it’s a shiver all the same.
Squinting up at him, Y/N moves her other hand (though it requires some effort) anyways to pat at his, “I’m dead right?” She asks him seriously, sniffling, “Are you an angel?”
Title: Thanatophobia Pairing: Mikasa x Levi Rating: M (did u expect anything else) Summary: Levi’s works for the Legion as a top assassin, assigned to kill a young girl named Mikasa Ackerman.
ive been writing this fic since january 1st okay and i finally finished this is ten thousand stupid ass words and i hope you enjoy it bc my hand is cramping. Sorry for the mistakes as usual and lemme know if u like it!
AN: okay ive just come to terms that all my imagines are gonna be long so that’s chill. as always i hope you enjoy and thank you so much for reading!! xx
There’s a lot of ways to say “I love you" in this world some people have mastered saying it everyday to those who matter most to them without ever having to mutter those three words aloud. A perfect example of this would be the infamous Dallas Winston. We had been dating for about a year now and we had never said “I love you” to each other. Everyone thought I would’ve been bothered by this but I never was, because I knew Dally. I knew he didn’t really do the whole “love” thing. But, he did care deeper than anyone I had ever known. I mean, just look at the way he cared about Johnny. He just showed his love differently than other people. He did it in a way to where you only knew, if you yourself knew him well enough to notice. Almost as if to the world it was a soft whisper, that to some it wouldn’t ever register. But to you, you heard it as clear as day. See, it never mattered if anyone else heard you verbally say it, because you said it to each other all the time. In ways that only you to would know, and that’s what mattered.
It came in small ways, never loud or flashy. It was always tiny gestures or quiet words. Such as him letting you sip off of his coke, muttering a “here.” With a slight eye roll, even though he said earlier that he wouldn’t, and that if you were thirsty you could “get yourself your own one.” Or before we would leave the house in the late fall or early winter it was always,
“Make sure you grab your coat, it’s chilly out.”
Sometimes it wasn’t even verbal at all. Like late nights y'all would stay up watching movies. Before the second or third one was finished you’d be in that place between asleep and awake when you’d flutter you eyes shut. Not even five minutes later you would feel a ghostly kiss placed on your forehead, before the fluffy embrace of a blanket would surround you. Though, if you had even mentioned the kiss the next morning he wouldn’t deny it, but he would exactly accept it either. Even on girls nights when you’d go out with Evie and Kathy you’d always find a few extra dollars in your wallet than what you originally had in there.
All ways of him telling you that he loves you.
You would do the same thing, however. Like the nights he would come home after a rumble or even just a night of too much drinking that you didn’t take part of, he would come home and just collapse on the bed, asleep within minutes. You’d slip out of the warm bed and and take off his shoes and his leather jacket that was dangling from one arm. Then the next morning you always cleaned up his cuts, even though he said he liked the blood because, “it makes me look extra tuff, babe. I didn’t beat that soc’s ass for nothin’.” But you still knew that it bothered him.
Whenever you did laundry or even while Dally was in the shower getting ready for the day, you would always check his cigarettes, making sure he had enough. If he didn’t you would always slip a couple of yours in. You didn’t even smoke, you just kept some for moments like these. In fact, you didn’t even know if he noticed the act, but he always did. Eventually when he caught on he would even count how many he had, and not that he’d ever mention it to you, but he’d always lightly smile when there were three or four extra than there were the day before.
You always searched for him too, whether it was in the dead of night with your eyes shut tight, arms wondering over to his side of the bed in search for his strong torso to pull to yours. Or in the middle of the day, when you’d pass by a place he was normally at your eyes would always scan around to try to find him. No other guy even mattered to you. Because you had never met anyone who could do this to you, nor did you even know it was possible for a heart to relax and speed up at just the mention of someone’s name until you met Dally. And you loved that about him. You’ve never felt more safe and comforted, yet more alive around anyone else.
This continued on through about everything y'all did, at anytime of day, or no matter where y'all went. So what? So y'all didn’t confess your love through shouting it from the rooftops, but to y'all it was all the same. Because no matter what, there was pieces of each of you though out each other’s day. And when the day came to an end, whatever time that may have been, y'all would be back in the same bed, smiling when one of you would put arms around the other, making sure they were there. So, maybe it was never said aloud, but you knew you would get there eventually, because he loved you, and you loved him. Y'all let each other know it every single day.
I have a form of OCD called dermatillomania. This is an overwhelming compulsion to pick at your skin.
I remember once working at a retail store. It was closing time and the staff was all in the staff room. We are all waiting to leave and one girl is washing all the plates, tidying up.
“Sorry guys, i am SOOoOOoOo OCD when it comes to cleaning!!!!! i swear i am so ocd i have to be so neat and tidy with everything in my house!”
I was laughing so, so hard inside at this.
At this time in my life, my compulsions knew no bounds, i was “mangled” in my opinion. I was in HIDING. Compulsive picking at my body. Wounds. Huge wounds. Lathered in heavy make-up. Fresh and new in therapy. Fresh and new to my OCD diagnoses, and here is a stupid fucking little girl, laughing at my condition, claiming it as the reason for her Positive behaviours.
It was funny to me.
Once i had picked so, so badly at my hands it looked like i had been in a chemical accident or something. Once at a party a boy looked at me and said “ I don’t know how you could do that to yourself. That is so disgusting, i would never do that!”
I was silent, because i agreed. It was disgusting. I felt shame everyday for it. I should have spit on him, in retrospect.
It’s hard to say when it started. I would pick out my hairs as a kid. I would bite my nails all the time. A ton of body focus repetitive movements.
The shame from skin picking kept me from seeking help and telling anyone other than my parents about the problem. It is a dirty, perhaps disgusting habit to some. Society shames spots of imperfection, and so did i. I thought i was a fucking piece of shit, to be honest. Physically and mentally. I thought i just sucked because i couldn’t stop.
Soon i was harming myself in other ways and starting to feel suicidal. I started to seek out help from school counsellors at the time. I would get advice like “Try sitting on your hands!” “Try playing with a gadget or something!”
I tried these things. It did nothing to solve my problem.
I would tell them, even though i want to stop picking, i. can’t. stop. i physically could not put my hand down, even though my inner self was screaming “STOP!!!!!!” my hand would keep pinching, keep digging deeper.
I remember the lowest point. I would not leave my bed. I would not brush my hair. I would not change my clothes. I was physically and mentally DESTROYED. Like a giant self induced rash all over my body. I called my mom at work barely able to talk through my crying. I need help, its getting bad, i want to die. I don’t want to leave the house. I want to heal. I need to heal or Die. My mom and dad listened to me.
My thoughts would fight against themselves. On one hand, i would scream at myself to stop picking while picking. On the other hand, i would do intense justifications. “It doesn’t feel tight to stop right now. It feels like you have done only half a job. You need to finish the job. You need to just take that one layer of skin off. You need to just dig into that one corner and it will look better and feel better. Just finish this one spot, please!”
I would pick in the middle of the night when i woke up to go to the bathroom.
I once had a dream i ripped my skin off my entire face and body like one whole sheet of human rice paper.
Once my dad was giving me a ride home from work and i started picking. He physically removed my hand. I raised my hand after a few seconds to continue picking. He hit it away again. I was getting angry.
He said “Just try and stop right now. Just stop picking for this moment.”
He held my hand down.
I accepted this.
With his hand holding mine down, i started to hyperventilate and have a panic attack, crying.
My dad was so shocked.
I did not understand this emotion at the time. There was a hurting inside of me when i was forced to stop picking. The feeling was like A bubbling explosion inside. A hot nervous must-take-action feeling; like your mom is about to die in front of you, and you NEED to save her but you are not allowed too. That is honestly how it feels. It feels like masturbation. It feels like an edging orgasm. You don’t stop masturbating until you orgasm. You don’t stop picking until you see and feel blood and pain.
I had an anxiety attack in the car. My compulsive behaviour was being blocked physically. This was a huge step in realizing the severity of my problem.
I went to therapy and it changed my life.
Dermatillomania no longer controls me.
I have come to terms with the fact that i will always have urges, and some days will be better than others.
But i will NEVER go back into the cycle of shame. I will never feel shame for my disorder or the damage that has stuck around. It is important to beat the cycle of self hate and shame.
I would pick consciously and subconsciously. I still raise my hand every 5 minutes seconds to pick (instead of every three second) most days ;). The difference now though, is i can put it down 1000000000000000000000000 times easier.
I still have obbsessive thoughts over my skin. I still crave granite skin and get upset when i see imperfections. But i am aware that those are my obsessive thoughts talking. I can deal with them. Compulsions are very easy to control for me right now, but the obsession still can clog up my thoughts.
I was put on anti deppresents but i am now off them and moved to medical marijuana.
Overall Therapy was the best medicine. I strongly encourage you to get therapy if you struggle with skin picking and it is taking over your life. They give you the tools you need to deal with this problem.
A support system is also key. My family is the best family. If your family isn’t the best family, I’m here for you. I am here to talk about your skin. You can come to me. Ive been there and through it all. The bfrb community is a beautiful community.
I need a hurt/comfort or angst fic where Stiles is really sick - maybe cancer or something and Lydia is just super awesome and sits with him through treatment even when it takes hours and it’s boring and gross because he’s throwing up or not feeling good and distracts him with movies or something!
I was enjoying your 19th Century AU a lot! Are you going to continue it? Thanks for your great stories!
Sure am, anon! Thanks for your ask. I must confess, I’m a slow writer sometimes, if only because I write a lot for work so occasionally I don’t feel like doing it at home even though I have dozens of ideas pinging around my brain. So I jot them down and work on them later. But I’m always writing something, rest assured! :D
This one still has a ways to go before I forsee an end!
If there was one thing that Claire excelled at, it was copying documents. Often her father had her make fair copies of contracts for the farm. She had a steady hand, a good eye, lots of patience and time to practice. This skill had come in more useful than she’d ever expected. It had taken a few months but Claire had successfully copied all of Jamie’s transcripts and changed them so they looked like they were her own.
Charles Beauchamp had been accepted to Cambridge with impeccable grades and a very convincing letter to the Dean of Admissions. There had been some worry over whether or not Charles would be accepted for the fall term given the short notice of the application but for such an outstanding student they couldn’t pass up the opportunity to have him start as soon as possible.
When the letter came (addressed to Charles of course – luckily it was Claire who waited for the postman every day) a sense of panic suddenly set into her mind. She now felt obligated to go through with her plans because she had done so much to make them happen. Even things with Jamie couldn’t change how badly she wanted to sit in a classroom and learn new things. She had a plan, and with the help of Jenny Fraser she soon had a disguise good enough to fool even her parents. With it on she truly felt like a University man, a junior fellow, like someone who deserved to sit amongst the smartest men in Britain, even if her smarts truly belonged to someone else. Short brown hair (a wig), a thin brown moustache (glued on each time with a mixture of flour, egg whites, gelatin and yeast), and cloth bindings tight enough to leave her chest as flat as a board would get her through her school years.
!!DOGS IN FUR PADDED KENNELS!!! CICADA!!!! HELLO I WILL TRY TO GET YOUR ATTENTION!! FIRE!! SATURN’S Rings!!! I HAVE A GUY FRIEND (IM A GIRL) AND IVE BEEN HIDING MY FEELINGS FOR HIM FOR MORE THAN TWO YEARS NOW ITS AGONIZING. WERE KINDA BEST FRIENDS WE HANG OUT JUST THE TWO OF US WATCH MOVIES EAT AND HE GIVES ME REALLY NICE MERCH AND FOOD AND HE GETS WEIRD WHEN I TALK ABOUT OTHER GUYS BUT I DONT KNOW DO I TELL HIM I LIKE HIM BUT UGH OUR FRIENDSHIP (!?!) HIGH SCHOOL IS ENDING AHH
Thank you for your email. Auntie MJ was very excited by it. There are so many things about the style of it she approves of. First, TWO EXCLAMATION POINTS!! As an OPENER. Followed by THREE. This is revolutionary and Auntie MJ is stealing it. Combined with the caps, I think that could make any sentence exciting. Let’s try it.
!!WE NEED MORE STAPLES!!!
!!LET’S DISCUSS THE FEEDING HABITS OF HERMIT CRABS!!!
!!CONVERSELY, IF WE EXAMINE THE ROLE OF THE PROTAGONIST IN TERMS OF HIS RELATIONSHIP TO THE TREE HE BELIEVES IS HIS LONG LOST AUNT, WE SEE THAT THE MAN SYMBOLIZES AMERICA AND THE TREE SYMBOLIZES A LOST AMERICA HE IS SEARCHING FOR, SPECIFICALLY THE ONE REPRESENTED IN HIS PERSONAL INTERPRETATION OF THE FEDERALIST PAPERS, WHICH, IRONICALLY, HE HAS NEVER READ!!!
But you didn’t stop there. You not only provided visual style, you provided things I could get behind, like cicada and fire. You have absorbed the first and most important rule of writing: !!KNOW YOUR AUDIENCE!!! Auntie MJ salutes you.
You were so successful at getting my attention that I forgot that I was here to answer a question. I was dazzled. I was amazed. I was mesmerized.
I simply could not think, such was the immediate appeal of everything you had done.
However, I had to snap out of it. Auntie MJ has a job to do. She must provide advice. But that meant I had to break the spell you had placed on me, and I did that by employing a trick I learned from one of my grad school professors–when he finished a book and it was time for the final edit, he read the whole book BACKWARDS. He started at the last sentence and went on like that, back and back and back to see if the effect of one sentence was matched by the cause in the one preceding it. This also works when reading something you are having trouble understanding for whatever reason.
So I went to the end, and suddenly I knew what was going on:
HIGH SCHOOL IS ENDING AHH
Auntie MJ was back on the bus. I know there is more here, and we will get to it, but Auntie MJ will soon make her case that all of the other parts of what you define as your problem are actually all about THIS. Something is ENDING. What will I do when it ENDS.
But let’s continue backwards.
WERE KINDA BEST FRIENDS WE HANG OUT JUST THE TWO OF US WATCH MOVIES EAT AND HE GIVES ME REALLY NICE MERCH AND FOOD AND HE GETS WEIRD WHEN I TALK ABOUT OTHER GUYS BUT I DONT KNOW DO I TELL HIM I LIKE HIM BUT UGH OUR FRIENDSHIP (!?!)
This is a powerful sentence, and a long one. It needs unpacking. We’ll do that too. But we need just one more sentence:
I HAVE A GUY FRIEND (IM A GIRL) AND IVE BEEN HIDING MY FEELINGS FOR HIM FOR MORE THAN TWO YEARS NOW ITS AGONIZING.
Okay. We now have the problem in three stages, which I will now summarize:
1. You like someone and have liked this someone for two years and holding in this truth is, in your words, agonizing.
2. This person certainly presents as someone who likes you as well. You engage in activities such as the eating of food and the watching of motion picture entertainment. He gives you gifts, such as NICE MERCH and food items. This person does not respond favorably when you speak of others who might be competition in a romantic way.
3. And then, the big one: high school is ending. The way you relate to this person, the time you may spend together, may change. Change is coming.
In fact, let Auntie MJ reassure you on one thing: change is actually already here. Change is always with us. We surf a wave of change all the time. Change is nothing to fear. It moves everything along in the most natural manner.
I think what you are asking in this is: is this my last chance? One or both of us may move and go to different places. (Or maybe you won’t, but it’s a possibility.) You face the problem faced by the narrator of the poem The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock, who cries, “Should I, after tea and cakes and ices/Have the strength to force the moment to its crisis?” There’s been food! There’s been merch! And what, after all that–what if you ask and you hear, as the narrator in this poem FEARS he will hear, “That is not what I meant at all; That is not it, at all.”
So he does nothing and he just kind of wanders around and looks at the fog and worries about eating peaches and mermaids laughing at him.
THIS DOES NOT HAVE TO BE YOU.
You are approaching something you see as the CRISIS! The change! The end! And things will certainly go on after that–not to worry, the world does not crack open when you graduate from high school and reveal itself to be a hot, steaming egg full of baby dragons*.
Unlikely graduation scenario.
The fact is, you want to do this. Your exubarence suggests this. You say it’s causing you agony not to. The other fact is: there is a lot of evidence, based on what you’ve said, that your friend may be going through the same thing. We cannot know how things will go, but we can make our moves knowing what we know now and doing what we feel is good, and right, and loving, and true. And I think if it is actually causing you agony not to say how you feel–and your friend seems kind–maybe you should do it. Say it.
Absorb the possibility that he may say, “That is not what I meant.” And if he does, again, the world will not open and the baby dragons will not emerge and eat us all** People go through this ALL THE TIME. Someone has to ask the question. That how things start.
Now, in a movie they’d do something BIG AND ROMANTIC, and you can certainly do that if you want–but I think something more effective would be to simply talk about it at a time when you’re both just relaxing and sitting together. Just say how you feel and ask how he feels about it–and make it clear that you value above all else his friendship. It could go wrong. It could go right. But truly, we only go forward when we act–and you seem READY TO ACT. No one starts a note with two exclamation points who is not READY TO ACT.
Or don’t. Do what feels right for you. But in Auntie MJ’s opinion, it’s worth a shot. Let me know how it goes. No matter what happens, it will be okay. Seriously. Do not worry about the dragons, etc.***
*** they are not worth worrying about because they eat you before you really get a chance to do anything
THIS IS POSSIBLY MY FAVORITE SEASON SINCE S2 NO JOKE, NO FUCKING JOKE, AT FIRST I WAS LIKE, NOTHING CAN BEAT THE PIG METAPHOR IN 2.1, THEN 4.3 HAPPENED, THEN 4.4 HAPPENED, THEN 4.10 HAPPENED, THEN FUCKING 4.13