also known as nyoom, though i prefer cross :) / personal blog / writing, biology, whump, and a lot of other stuff / any pronouns / 22 / queer / i have a secret whump-only sideblog that got way bigger than this haha
hello:) i'm cross and i like angsty comfort. and comfy angst.
i write, though not as often anymore. love creepypasta and whump in general.
i am an ecologist!! i will post bio related stuff. i love fish and bugs the most.
idc ab pronouns, go crazy.
@creep-star is my creepypasta only sideblog !!!!! though it's rather new so some of the older fics are on here.
HIATUS the hound (whump, original chars)
my main story :)
Main tropes: living/human weapon whumpee, dub-con body modifications, hero x villain, conditioning, gore, recovery, morally gray characters
In a super-powered villains versus heroes world, Revy used to be the "guard dog" of the biggest villain organization - that is, until the very thin line of sanity she had left is broken, and she leaves for the other side.
whump one shots
whumptober 2022 masterlist
drowning prompt
adoption center
ghost x reader
wolf in sheep's clothing?
religious whump one shot
gagging
they think i've killed you / hero/villain
theme park whump
spiteful whumpee
bad caretaker
creamy mushroom soup
whumpee in denial
♥creepypasta whump♥
hunger
ticci toby 1
waiting
whump prompts
reopening scars
defiant whumpee prompt
positive whumpee
whumpee alone
anxious caretaker and stoic whumpee
defiant whumpee getting slapped
random prompts
non-whump writing
master smacks student
witchling ♥
peasant x reaper (series of reblogs, still updating)
my art
The Hunter of Everything fanart
the campfire (whump, original chars)
In collaboration with the amazing @quietly-by-myself! 🧡
Main tropes: carewhump, defiant whumpee, military setting, recovery
betrayers (skyrim whumpy story, lots of angst)
Main tropes: runaway, the chosen one, refusal to be the chosen one, angst, betrayal, conditioning
After a failed mission, Elise is captured in the worst possible place - the Royal Palace. As "punishment", she is handed over to Sybille Stentor, the court wizard, a sadistic vampire that loves to torment prisoners. For six months, she is tortured constantly - until the leader of the rebellion against the Empire recruits her as his assassin, promising her freedom in exchange for his victory.
However, within a couple of years, everything goes wrong. She's on the run again, hiding from all people she's ever known - and all of a sudden, she's hearing calls from the Greybeards.
~
i got these cute section breakers from @sideblogformindtrash
I know I often joke about how my favourite ship dynamic is “bitterly divorced couple” and I stand by that.
But there is one ship dynamic I also really adore that I don’t see a lot of people talk about. And that ship dynamic is
“Bitch who acts like they are in shojo anime and must follow every clishee in the script ever x Autistic Cunt who thinks they are in a completely different genre”
Whumpee who seems an alright, well-adjusted type of person, nothing clearly hidden about them, until one day they just disappear. Only then their friends, trying to find them, start digging into whumpee's past.
watching akotsk, episode two, and i HAVE to say that dunk is the tallest, dumbest idiot ever seen (affectionately) and egg is the funniest little guy ever. which i feel like is very very common knowledge but i just had to say it too
Gotta tell you guys something wild in the Chinese fan sphere
So some fanartist drew a “sexy” (read: booby) version of a (cartoon) character who is traditionally very non-sexualised. Fans of the character got mad about it because it’s kind of groundbreaking how that character is written and portrayed and this art totally ignores the entire point of the character. They demanded the art be deleted. In response to that other people said, well what the fanartist did may be distateful but they have every right to draw what they’re into. The two sides fight for days and each starts a harassment campaign and even report their “opponents’” accounts.
So far so typical. But things eventually come to a head and they decide that this will be settled by votes - not through a poll. Through donations to a children’s education charity via each side’s portal. Whoever can get the highest amount of donation wins.
And that is how this charity received over 1 million in donations in three days lol. Oh btw the “freedom of expression” side won by a landslide (960k to 40k)
Naoya looks much younger when he sleeps, you note absently as you lounge in bed with him. You don’t often wake up before him—he’s always quick to rush off when he gets up, always before you do—but he was up late arguing with his father about something he refused to explain to you, so you get a rare chance to observe him this morning.
Your finger traces beneath his eye, down the slope of his nose, the shape of his lips. He looks more innocent when his face isn’t twisted up into that ever-present look of disdain, or marred by the infuriating smug smiles he so frequently likes to toss at you. He’s pretty, you decide. He’s always very pretty—though he always gets hissy and corrects you with a handsome when you tell him this, because he’s ungrateful and doesn’t appreciate your compliments—but he’s extraordinarily prettier like this.
You think, not for the first time, that he is much more pleasant to be around when his mouth is shut.
As though he can sense your thoughts, he ruins the modicum of peace you have this morning by muttering, “The hell are you doing—” He interrupts himself with a yawn, gold eyes slivers as he gives you a brief half-assed glare before he lets them slide back shut. “—quit it, woman.”
You hum lightly, but pointedly do not quit it, trailing your finger along the lines of his jaw, down his throat, nail scratching along the curve of his clavicle. His body shivers lightly at that last one, and a sigh pulls from his lips, eyes still too heavy to open.
“Pissin’ me off,” he warns, voice thick with sleep, no real heat behind the words.
“You’re always pissed off,” you say, sliding back down so you can lie with him. You nudge your nose against his cheek, and he exhales, lashes fluttering to look at you. “Can’t I appreciate my husband?”
“Tch,” he clicks his tongue sleepily, pointedly turning his back to you. Childish, you think, almost fondly. Almost. “Y’never this sweet unless ya want something. What is it?”
“I don’t want anything,” you answer, shifting closer to him to slink your arm around his waist, brushing your lips against his shoulder blade before pressing your face into the nape of his neck. He smells like your shampoo—asshole, you told him not to use it. “Maybe I’m just in a good mood.”
You suppose it’s a testament to how tired he is, because he’ll usually bristle and tell you to stop cuddling him like he’s the woman. Now, he only exhales, one hand coming up to where yours is resting so he can entwine your fingers.
“Yeah? Did that old fuck Ogi croak overnight?” he asks, and you let out a huff of laughter, pressing your lips to his shoulder again. “‘m serious. Why ya acting like this? It’s creepin’ me out.”
“Did you know I hated you when we got married?” you ask after a moment, exhaling as you nudge your nose against the nape of his neck.
He snorts. “Ya think your little death glares were subtle or somethin’?” he asks. He adds, “I didn’t exactly like you either.”
You scoff lightly, but you’re smiling. “You had no reason not to like me. I was perfect. You, on the other hand, were an arrogant, entitled asshole.” You pause and then add, “Well, you still are.”
“Perfect,” he echoed with a sharp puff of air. “You were the most infuriating, stuck-up little—” he cuts himself off with another yawn, sighing as he presses his face into the pillow, “—thing I’d ever met. Always lookin’ at me like ya wanted to stab me. Talkin’ back. Didn’t know your place.”
You smile against his shoulder, fingers tightening around his where they’re laced together. “My place is wherever I want to be. Lucky for you, right now I want to be laid up right here in your arms. Aren’t you so lucky?”
“Hn.” He shifts, adjusting so your chest presses more firmly to his back. “You’re trouble. Swear I ain’t ever met a woman who acts so much like a man. Y’tricked me too—actin’ all sweet during the wedding ceremony. Got my hopes up. Thought ya were actually gonna be a good wife.”
You let out a small laugh. “I’m a great wife,” you disagree with a smile, and you don’t have to see his face to know he’s rolling his eyes. “Don’t act like you’re innocent,” you hum, tightening your arm around him. “You made it your mission to antagonize me as much as possible.”
“Were fun to rile up,” he admits, voice muffled against the pillow. “Face would get all twisted up. Thought you might actually try to kill me one day.”
Your lips curl up as you press a kiss just beneath his ear, listening to him let out a soft sigh. “I did try. I would put poison in your tea every morning.”
His back shakes as he laughs. “Yeah? What changed?”
“Nothing,” you say honestly, nuzzling your face back into his back. “Sometimes I still put poison in your tea, but it’s nonlethal now.”
He snorts and says without heat, “Crazy bitch.” He means it fondly. You know because his thumb brushes your knuckles, slow and absent, because he doesn’t pull away, because he lets you stay curled around him like this. You like him when he’s like this, you decide, too sleepy to be petty and annoying, content to just rest in your arms. You wonder if you should start dosing him with low grade sedatives instead, keep him drowsy and in bed with you, nowhere to go.
“Takes one to marry one,” you murmur, pressing another lazy kiss into the warm skin of his shoulder.
“Tch,” he huffs, but it’s weak. Sleep tugs at his voice again, dragging out the edge of it. You press your forehead between his shoulderblades. The sun has climbed higher now, warming the room, and he sighs, long and deep, dozing back off again. You let your own eyes droop shut again, taking advantage of Naoya’s rare inclination to sleep in.
“Oi,” he says after a moment, voice slipping back toward sleep. “Ya still hate me?”
“Hm,” you draw out, pretending to take some time to think about it, smiling when you feel him bristle in your arms. “No.”
“... Like me?” he asks, quieter.
You smile softly, kissing the place where his shoulder meets his neck. “Don’t push it.”
THIS IS LITERALLY JUST AN APOLOGY FOR THE END OF MUTUALLY ASSURED DESTRUCTION DFUHASIUFDHASHUDF I'm not usually a fluff writer so I hope you guys enjoy this little thing
i think avoidance is such a little-recognized ocd compulsion. all the time i talk to people with ocd who are like "i was always having intrusive thoughts about using kitchen knives and harming myself or others but i'm okay now because i just stopped using knives ever 👍 so i'm good now"
if you don't know why this doesn't work, the issue is that ocd never stops when you implement a compulsion. it evolves. today you've "solved" it by never using a knife again (and losing access to an important cooking tool, thus limiting an aspect of your life) but in a few months or a year it'll be that forks are dangerous too. and hey, isn't it risky to use the stove? avoidance will even begin to manifest in places you might not recognize.
the point is that OCD compulsions are never solutions, they're actually the problems. the intrusive thoughts SEEM like the problem and the compulsions FEEL like the solution. and that's how it getsya.
Finnish folk poetry is fun in the way where making alliterations is more important than making things rhyme, or keeping details consistent. As a matter of fact, describing the same thing in two different or even contradicting details is occasionally just a way of stating that the exact detail of how and what it was doesn't matter, the mutual overlap between the two statements is the main point. Like if a poem describes the same event twice
A swan of golden feathers rose from a lake
A silver-backed wigeon waded from the river
Ate trees, ate stone, ate beasts of the woods
Drank dry the wells and swamps, drank the sap from trees
It's not specifically about a swan or wigeon, nor one of each, and neither is the colour of the feathers specifically important. It doesn't matter whether it burst out of the water like a jumping fish, or waded out like a person - nor whether it was a lake or a river. And the list of things that it ate or would drink isn't specific or exclusive. All that this segment is saying is
"A waterfowl (of some kind) with splendid, supernaturally brilliant plumage, emerged from a natural body of water (of some kind), and devoured the entire goddamn physical world. The whole thing."
It’s important to note that this is a poster on a glass window. It’s very important to note that the (fuck yeah) and the (fuck them white supremacists) have been written in with a pen by someone on said poster.
