#(it is completely unedited though so I hope it's as coherent to other people as it is to me)

[seagull-energy]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild Rating: General Audiences Warnings: Major Character Death Relationships: Link/Revali (Legend of Zelda) Characters: Revali, Urbosa, Mentioned Link Additional Tags: Hurt No Comfort, Unhappy Ending, Introspection, fighting the inescapable pull of death, Revali has regrets, No Plot/Plotless, Not Beta Read Summary:

There’s no such thing as enough time with someone you love.

Revali doesn't want to move on after Ganon's defeat.

[katcoquette]

Two-Hour Session

Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Reader

masterlist | taglist

summary: your best friend “forcing” you to hangout with his navy friends turns into some kind of meet cute, if cute was completely normal

★ word count: 2.9k of unedited chaos, oh my god

★ tw/tags: guy friends, existential crisis, bestfriend!Mickey "Fanboy" Garcia, beach campfire, fluffy conversation

★ author's note: the aforementioned self indulgant, therapeutic fic. sorry I just realized this sounds a lot more suggestive than it is let’s call it edging. I ship Phoenix & Coyote so hard please don't tell me I'm the only one. this got me out of my covid slump, I hope it makes sense and is coherent, enjoy <3

The sky is pitch black around you, a stark contrast to the sand that still seemed to glow under the moonlight of the clear night. There’s laughter on the breeze that blows past you every few minutes, and apart from the sound of the waves crashing onto the shore, and the occasional crackle from the bonfire a few hundred feet from you, it’s a peaceful night.

You’d slipped away from the group, not for any particular reason other than to have a moment focused on the ocean, and made yourself comfortable sitting in the sand a safe distance away from the spray.

“Hey.”

Maybe you’d been a little too focused on the ocean. You jump at the voice, despite it coming from a guy that was standing in clear sight of you. “Jesus, you scared me.”

He chuckles. “Sorry, I didn’t realize you were deep in thought.”

“I’m just feeling very aware of my existence tonight.” Your eyes adjust to the darkness as he gets closer, until you’re able to see him better. “Rooster…right?”

You ask it even though you’re not even half a percent unsure of his identity. You’d committed his name to memory immediately after he’d introduced himself to you earlier along with everyone else when you’d first arrived with Mickey.

Rooster. You liked the way it sounded when you said it in your head.

“Yeah.” He confirms. “-or Bradley.” He sits down next to you, bending his legs enough that he can rest his elbows over his knees. “Is it weird for you to call us by our call signs?”

You laugh at the question, watching his movements.

So far, you’d seen him briefly in the light of the sunset, then by the glow of the fire, and now in the pale light of the moon.

You’re willing to bet that even under the yellow light of a dingy, fluorescent bathroom fixture, he’d still be handsome. He just had one of those faces.

“No.” You reply simply. He didn’t ask for an invitation to join you, and you’re grateful- it brings less attention to the fact that you’d wandered from the group.

You smile at him and decide to offer a little bit more of an explanation. You didn’t want to end the conversation before it’d even started.

“It’s just like having a nickname for someone. Though callsigns are a little more…” You trail off, gesturing vaguely with your hands. “Out there?” He offers.

You laugh. “Sure.”

He grins at you before turning to watch the water.

You pull your knees to your chest and sneak a glance over at him, then look back to the dark waves in front of you with a smile on your face at the realization that he had glanced at you right after.

“So…is this an existential crisis? Or just general, everyday, normal thoughts about your place in the world?”

You rest your head on your knees and look over at him with pursed lips, trying not to laugh because god knows you’d been doing that far too much already for a five minute conversation with someone you’d just met.

“Undecided.” You say matter-of-factly, offering an amused smile instead.

“Let’s hear it then.”

“Youwant to hear about my problems?”

He shrugs. “Why not? It’s fun to hear about other people’s problems.” He’s smirking when he lightly nudges your shoulder with his own. “Makes me feel better about my own.”

You laugh. Again. “That’s good to hear.”

He laughs with you, “No, but seriously.” He stops laughing and gives you a friendly smile. “I’m completely unbiased and totally willing, if it would help.”

You look to the waves again and sigh. You’re not sure how to explain the complicated feelings, so you summarize it the only way you know how. “I don’t know what I’m doing with my life.”

“Ah.”

“I feel like I’m stuck in an endless cycle of waking up too early and saying yes to too many things because I’m “young” and should be “excited to help” because I’m “barely starting” my career and, theoretically, shouldn’t already be burnt out by the way workers in corporate America are treated-“

You pause your rant and glance over at him, a grimace laced with embarrassment on your face. “Sorry.”

He just smiles at you, the same look on his face that you now realize he’d been staring at you with during your entire speech. “No, by all means-“ It’s as if he’s snapping out of a trance when he lifts his arms in mock surrender. “Get it all out.”

“I just thought I’d love it. When I was in college I mean. I thought this is what I wanted.”

Bradley shrugs. “People change.”

“I know but…” You pause. “Well take Fanboy-“ You chuckle at the way you’d reverted to calling him by his call sign in this instance. You raise an eyebrow to Bradley as you correct yourself.

“-Mickey, as an example. He’s known he wanted to do this his entire life. This is his calling. I remember being jealous of him, in like, third grade because he already knew he wanted to be a WSO and that never changed. I mean, come on, that’s gotta be one of the most specific dreams ever for an eight year old.”

“What did you want to be in third grade?”

You almost snort. “Well, I was also dreaming big.” You start, contemplating for a second about lying and saying something really cool for an eight year old, like an astronaut or a pirate. But the way he’s looking at you…

So you just say it. “I wanted to be a cashier. Probably at like, a craft store, or something.”

“Oh my god.” He says it like he’s in awe or disbelief of your younger self, you’re not sure. Either way, it’s completely judgement free.

“I know.” Your voice gets higher as you drag out the word, and then quieter, “I thought it would be fun.”

“Oh no, it definitely would be. All those supplies?”

You turn to him abruptly, gesturing with your hands. “Yes! And don’t even get me started on handling money.” You both chuckle before settling into a comfortable pause.

You lean back on your hands, digging your fingers into the cold sand. “What about you then? What did you want to be?”

“Don’t be mad, but…” He smiles, but it’s distant for a moment. “I’ve always wanted to be a pilot.”

“Oh Bradley, not you too.” You say with mock disappointment.

He holds his hands up again. “I know! I know.” And then the distant look is back. “My old man was a pilot. I’ve always wanted to be like him.”

He has a wistful expression on his face, and though you’re not sure what it means, you figure his dad is a sensitive topic, so you decide on a response that seems safe. “I’m sure he’s proud of you.”

“I hope so.” Your smile falters a bit, so not safe, and he notices. “He died when I was a kid. During a training exercise.” Ah.

“That must’ve been really hard.”

His smile isn’t sad per se, more reminiscent, as he takes a moment to think about his reply to you. “It was. It is, but… I like to think he’s still with me. It’s why I’m so damn good at what I do.” The smile melts into something cheekier, a smirk of some sort.

And then you’re laughing again.

“Sorry I made fun of your unwavering career choice.” You say after. He just nods, raising his eyebrows as he runs his tongue behind his teeth, shifting his jaw. It’s playful though, not at all in the usual annoyance you’re used to seeing it as from other men in your life.

“What’s the dream now?” He asks, staring at you again. He’s not doing it on purpose, of course he’s not. He’s just looking at you because he’d asked you a question and wanted to show you he was listening to your response.

But it was a stare to you, one that made you feel seen, like he’d be able to recite your thoughts back to you if he wanted to.

What a ridiculous thing to think about someone you’d just met, but it does make you feel particularly loose-lipped about your inner turmoils.

You take a deep breath in, scrunching your nose at the sequence of thoughts you’d just had, and partially because of the answer to his question. “I want to work in a museum.”

“Any museum? I’m sure the naval museum on base wouldn’t ask any questions-” Your laugh interrupts his jab, and he trails off with a smile.

You sit up from your hands, brushing the sand off of them.“No…no. I mean an archaeological museum, or an art museum. Some place filled with history where I could learn all day and be in charge of cataloguing or arranging exhibits or something. I’ve always been fascinated by that kind of thing.”

“Your face lights up when you talk about it.” He says it as an undeniable fact. You put your elbow on your knee and rest your chin on your fist. “What’s stopping you?” He asks quieter.

Another sigh.

“I almost did it. In college, I studied Anthropology. But then I started to get worried, it’s a hard field to get into, and I think then I was more concerned with the monetary value of a career. So, I dropped it into a minor and went into tech.”

He stays quiet, letting your brain catch up to your explanation.

“I loved my major, don’t get me wrong, but post-grad was really hard, and I feel like I’m back in that place where I had my whole life ahead of me and no idea where to start.”

You twist your neck slightly to look at him again, trying to smile to ease the anxiety you could feel bubbling up at even discussing being back in that time of your life.

“Anyway.”

You make a sound sort of like a chuckle that transforms into a groan as you run your hands over your face before wrapping them around your knees.

“You’re a good listener you know.” This time you nudge him with your shoulder. There’s that smile again. “I’m a good advice giver too, but I’m drawing a blank right now.”

He was good at lifting your spirits, too.

“It’s okay. It’s honestly nice just to say it out loud without anyone trying to fix it.”

Yelling in the direction of the bonfire interrupts the moment you were silently sharing with Bradley on the beach under the light of the moon.

“Hey! Get your ass over here and help us clean up!” Then a delayed second later, when you leaned forward to look at your best friend, “I meant Rooster! You’re a guest, I’d never make you help!”

Rooster waves him off as he stands up, brushing sand from the back of his jean shorts. He offers you his hand after swiping them together a couple of times. “Shall we?”

You thank him and take his hand. You appreciate the help up after sitting for so long. “That’s the nicest he’s ever been to me.” You joke, twisting around to look at your backside.

Bradley does a good job of obviously-waiting-for-you-but-casually-and-in-no-rush waiting as you repeat the motions he’d done a few minutes ago to remove as much sand off your body as you can, and then you’re falling into step next to each other as you leisurely make your way back to the firepit.

Your shoulders brush each other every once in a while, and you try to ignore the feeling in your stomach every time your skin comes in contact with his. You can easily picture yourself getting caught up in it and tripping over your own feet, or even worse, taking him down with you.

So instead, you clear your throat.

“Thanks for playing therapist. I… it helped a lot.”

“I’m glad. For the record, I think you’d be great at running a museum.” He says it so sincerely that it’s almost all you need to believe it too.

The rest of the group politely stays quiet when you rejoin them after prolonged alone time with their friend, and you know it’s the only reason Mickey doesn’t tease you either.

Ten minutes later, a chorus of goodbyes intermixes with the salty air, and then you’re splitting into smaller groups and heading off in different directions. Coyote slings an arm over Phoenix’s shoulder at the same time that Payback does the same to Rooster, though he jostles him around a bit as he does it.

You think you hear your name floating around the Rooster, Hangman, Payback, Bob group, but you can’t be sure.

Mickey links arms with you as you walk the other way. “Thank you for making me come with you tonight. I’m sorry if I was a little antisocial there at the end.”

You still feel the need to apologize after decades of friendship with the extroverted boy, even though he was used to your needed moments of alone time, and, despite what your brain told you, no one ever thought it was strange, especially not Mickey.

“Don’t be. They all loved you.” His smile shifts into a smirk. “Especially Rooster.”

You feel your face heat up. “Shut up.”

He just laughs. “No really. He asked me for your number.” Your face contorts with confusion. “When?”

“Just now, when we were cleaning up.” You’d been talking to Phoenix, it must have been then.

“And?”

He smirks. “I told him he should’ve asked you himself.”

“Mickey-“ You start to groan before he’s interrupting you. “-and then, I gave him your number. You’re welcome.” He says, sarcastically rolling his eyes at you.

Sure enough, your phone buzzes not long after you get into Mickey’s car.

Text me when you get home, I don’t know if I trust Fanboy to get ya there in one piece (;

And then in a separate text-

This is Rooster/Bradley btw

You giggle softly at the lit up screen in your hands, earning a look from your best friend that goes conveniently unnoticed by you.

He smiles to himself as he refocuses on the road, waiting until you’re done staring at the texts from his friend before deciding to verbally acknowledge it.

“Soooo…” He drags out the word. You’d darkened the screen and put it face down in your lap, which is what prompted him to speak.

“Don’t start.” You say, an unserious warning in your tone because even though there was a part of you that didn’t want to talk about it with him, there was also a part of you that definitely did.

“Start what! I’m not starting anything. I’m just asking how your conversation went, that’s all.” He defends himself.

You give in, because of course you do. It was Mickey. “It was actually really nice.” He looks over at you triumphantly. “And what did you talk about? He was with you for a long time.”

In that moment you realize you’d gotten closer to telling Bradley things that you hadn’t even told Mickey. That you had told Bradley things you hadn’t told Mickey. The thought makes your heart skip a beat, and you internally panic for a split second at the crush you were definitely developing on your best friends friend.

“We talked about you!” Not technically a lie. He raises an eyebrow. “What about me?”

“I told him how I’ve always been jealous of you knowing what you wanted to do with your life.” A look of recognition flashes over his face, and then he’s immediately asking, “Did you tell him about wanting to be a cashier in third gr-“

You drop your head back to the headrest of your seat. “Yes, Mickey. I told him your favorite anecdote from our childhood.”

He grins. “I do love that story. You were so cute back then.”

“I’m still cute.”

Another smirk. “Yeah, Rooster sure seems to think so.” You don’t humor him with a response before he’s pulling up to your driveway and putting the car in park.  

You turn to face him, deciding to be sincere for a rare moment in your friendship. “Thank you again for tonight. Seriously.”

“You don’t regret coming?” He clarifies, lifting one eyebrow. “No. You were right.” You confirm with a smile.

“Just like I always am.”

You open the door at that with an exaggerated “alright!” and a goodnight, and then you shut the car door firmly in front of you, backing away and blowing him a kiss. “I love you!”

“Love you too.” He says it in a sing-song voice as he pulls away from your curb.

It takes you almost twenty minutes after getting home to decide what to text back to him. Somehow, typing a message to him seems infinitely more nerve wracking, and though you’re contemplating it being too late for a text back, you press send anyway.

The whoosh as it sends has you exclaiming out loud and throwing your phone down on your bed. You fiddle with your lip for a second, and then force yourself to break eye contact with your phone and change into pajamas.

Your phone vibrates when your pants are around your ankles, prompting you to stomp several times to try and get them off while simultaneously hopping back to your bed.

Glad you’re safe

Can I call you in 10? You did pay for a two-hour session and I would hate for you not to get your money’s worth

You’re smiling at your phone again, and shamelessly replying immediately.

I was gonna bring that up actually

Glad to know you’re as honest as you are good at therapying

His response comes just as quickly.

Ha ha.

Talk to you then.

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[mochi-marie]

hello and congratulations ! 💕 for the event could you do the song heat waves by glass animals with bokuto? focusing on the chorus „sometimes all i think about is you, late nights in the middle of june,,,,". for the reader! male reader if you're okay with that, if not then gender neutral is totally okay! shorter than him (not by a lot, probably like half a foot or less), and has a build more on the larger side, and has freckles, curly hair, and glasses. the reader is also introverted and gets flustered very easily. thank u ! <3

genre : ( insecurity-based ) angst to fluff ( ? )

pairing : bokuto kotaro x introverted! male reader ( bigger, curly, freckles, glasses )

author's note : okay, for some reason, i started to listen to this song on repeat for a long while just basking in the lyrics and music to get acquainted and to familiarize myself with the general vibe i got from it -- i got really inspired by reading the lyrics while listening, so thank you so much for helping me find my new favorite song!!! i hope you enjoy! this is also my first time officially writing a male-insert, so please, any constructive criticism is greatly appreciated! also, i might have strayed from the main focus of the specific lyric, so i deeply apologize!! 😖💛

also, if i forgot any warnings that anyone thinks i should add, please tell me as soon as possible!!

warning : insecurity, feeling as though you are not enough, angst ( kinda? ), ooc bokuto ( in my opinion ), written at 2 A.M. + Unedited

Hands shoved into small pockets under the summer night sky, you avoided his curious gaze, opting to let your hand come up to ruffle your curly hair rather hastily. thinking -- thinking about ways to stall for just a few minutes longer, hoping to whatever power above that he would just wait and listen patiently until you finally explained why you had asked him to meet you out in the parking lot after his practice. The daylight had disappeared during the few minutes you both silently basked in each other's company, the stars just barely starting to flash and twinkle above both of your heads. Summertime was in full swing, though a soft breeze managed to drift by, tousling and playing with your bouncy locks and waving through his salt-and-pepper hair. If the bitter thoughts had not been weighing heavily on your mind, perhaps you would've giggled. Any other time you might have nudged him, gesturing for him to lean down just a smidge so you yourself could do as the wind and card through his hair with your fingers, gently separating the spikes of hair stuck together from sweat due to the hard volleyball practice. Oh, what you would give for your mind to be empty enough to carelessly be enough for and with him.

The thoughts weighed on you heavily -- the ideas implanted by society's view of perfection. The world around you would question why Bokuto would be with someone such as yourself; someone so imperfect, drowning in their insecurities. What gave you the right to bog him down with your personal issues? Did you not notice the glances peers would give, watching Bokuto buzz around you happily as you both walked along? Do you not see the way he works hard to keep himself so... perfect? That was the only word worthy of describing your Kotaro. Perfection was his middle name, it seemed; a perfectly beautiful smile that lit up a room, a bubbly personality that could only ever seem to do good for the people that relaxed in his presence. Yes, your boyfriend was effortlessly perfect. So why couldn't you be the same? Why were you who you are, why must you feel so unworthy?

Your arms had migrated to wrapping around your mid-section, eyes planted to the ground as your mind raced. You didn't see the way Bokuto's eyes glanced down to you, worry laced in his honey eyes. While Bokuto wasn't the brightest academically, that did not mean he was completely simple-minded; he was well versed in emotions, specifically your emotions. He often prided himself on saying that he knew you like he knows the very back of his hand, and it seemed that this claim was no lie. His hand gravitated toward your own, eyebrows furrowed in confusion and worry -- "(name)? is... is everything okay?" His voice was spoken low and soft, hoping to not startle you. "What's wrong?" His voice reached your ears, and with a quick glance from the corner of your eye, you were met with the honey-hued sight that always managed to calm your nerves better than what any remedy could.

Clearing your throat softly, your mouth opened, and yet no words would form. The words that swam dangerously in your head died the second they landed on your tongue, and you were left open-mouthed, trying to form a coherent sentence. Why was it so hard to simply talk about your insecurities? You mentally scowled, a bretah catching in your chest before you let your eyes flutter closed, trying to gather yourself quickly.

Bokuto's hand grasped onto the tips of your fingers, eyes surveying your face for any reaction. With the familiar cute pink hue slowly growing onto the apples of your cheeks, he pulled your hand closer to himself, his own fingers nervously fiddling with your own fingers. Your nervousness was starting to catch, making him anxious. What was so wrong that you could barely even form the words you wanted to say? His mind blanked, biting the inside of his cheek as he scanned your face numerous times, waiting for a sign that you were ready. He would be patient, for you.

His hand never left yours.

"Why are you still with me?"

Shaky breathing. The stilling of fiddling fingers. The confused exhale of air, paired with furrowed eyebrows that you could not see with your eyes tightly snapped shut, cheeks burning with embarrassment and eyes met with the faint, familiar hot sting. Your breath was held tightly in your throat, glasses slipping down the bridge of your nose with the way your head was tilted at a downward angle.

"What do you mean?" Was his only response, calm, though by the small waver of his voice, you knew his eyes were most likely wide. Wide and churning with golden panic that would not suit his boyish attitude. Eyes creeping open, you were met with exactly what you had predicted. Your hand slipped from his, arms resting against your stomach, trying to provide yourself the comfort a part of you was craving -- a crave for his comforting touch. His hugs of which never failed to spark butterflies to explode in your stomach, the hugs that wrapped around you fully, trapping you within his warm, strong embrace that made you feel at home; the hugs that made you feel like everything was okay again. "You'd be better off with someone more like you. You just need a better life than this..." Your voice met his ears, and with every unspoken word that finally spilled from your lips, he finally realized how much this bothered you, and now how it affected him.

His hands found your shoulders and he pulled you to his chest, one palm resting snug against your back, the other arm resting around your shoulder, cradling your face to his chest and into the strong, warm embrace that always managed to wash all your worries away.

"You're all I need." Bokuto mumbled firmly, adam's apple bobbing as he held back the severe urge to let his tears escape from the corner of his eyes where they had started to pool as the situation continued to dawn. You didn't feel enough, and that was more than enough information for him to finally understand what was going on through your handsome little head. "You're all I need, all I'll ever want, 'kay?" Voice murmured against the crown of your head as he pressed his lips to your curly hair -- so soft, locks of your beautiful curls that always tickled his face when you'd embrace in a joyful hug at every greeting, his lips, like default, softly curling upwards at the familiar feeling that calmed his nerves. "You're more than enough, just remember that. Sometimes all i think about is you... don't forget that 'm never far away," Bokuto paused, pulling away to look down at you softly, readjusting the glasses that had slipped down your nose and at an awkward angle to avoid being crushed by the force of you against his chest.

"Say it with me."

"What?" "Say you're enough, please, (name),"

"Wh-"

"So you know that you're perfect the way you are, I need to know that we leave happy. Happy and together, (name)," Bokuto smiled a wobbly smile, eyes begging you to do this one thing for him -- for the both of you.

"I am enough" is a phrase that will resonate with your soul one day. A fact that is disguised by the hardened layers of stony-resilience that makes the battle of self-love seem impossible. Yet you are one of the strongest people Bokuto knows, and he believes in your abilities, passion, and you as a whole in all of his entirety, just like you do with him. A relationship with a deep emotional connection, and with him, this deep connection felt like a home away from home. Yes, Bokuto is indeed perfection, you decide.

His hand never left yours for the rest of the night, uncharacteristically yet sweetly lifting the back of your hand up ever few minutes to press three quick kisses to the back of your hand in a show of physical love -- a reminder that your Bokuto Kotaro will always be there, no matter what.

[rintarouweb]

promise.

paring: asahi x gn! reader 

genre: fluff to angst, light angst, friends to roommates to lovers

warnings: light angst? mentions of cheating, unedited

word count: 3.4k+

notes: this turned out a lot longer than intended and took me too long to finish. the ending was rushed but i hope you like it !! this is also my first time writing for hq ヽ(^◇^*)/

azumane asahi had never been a stranger to feelings of love or, in many cases, feelings of infatuation. anyone who knew asahi was well aware of the fact that he was a romantic with a heart that was bigger than his body - something that says a lot given his tall and wide stature. throughout his three years of high school, asahi had found himself harboring feelings for a classmate or peer. a few times, they even went on to develop into a relationship. while he wasn’t extremely experienced in the area, the former ace wasn’t completely clueless when it came to love - or so he thought. 

a boy by the name of hiroaki was asahi’s first ‘serious’ relationship. the two boys were classmates paired together for an english assignment once, then twice, and over time their feelings for one another had blossomed - like tulips in the spring. after hiroaki confessed his feelings for his seatmate, asahi was floating on air. everyone around him could see how much happier he seemed. a sparkle in his eyes, a skip in his step. asahi felt finally full being with him, but that quickly changed after the first month of their relationship. 

the boy who was once kind, loving, and so supportive of his partner became anything but those things towards asahi. it started with hiro becoming more judgemental of the ace, especially when it came to the way asahi showed him affection. suddenly, asahi wanting to hold hands, be cuddled, or even a small peck on the lips was ‘annoying’ and ‘too much’ for hiro. asahi shrugged it off. things were fine and if not, then they’d figure themselves out eventually. he just needed to be better for hiro so they’d be happy, so hiroaki wouldn’t be so angry anymore. over time, hiroaki continued to pull himself away from asahi. ignoring the feeling in his gut and the advice of his older sister, he allowed himself to once again get caught up in love. 

it wasn’t until his three month anniversary that asahi reached his breaking point. a picnic that his sister and mother helped him pack was tucked away in the woven basket. he sat on a large and soft picnic blanket that provided cushion against the hard ground underneath the zelkova tree. an hour passed, then another. it was beginning to reach the later hours of the afternoon when asahi let out a defeated sigh, feeling embarrassed as he sat alone in he and his boyfriend’s favorite spot in the park. he hadn’t heard from hiroaki for hours now. there was no call or text saying he was running late, that he couldn’t make it, or that he wanted to reschedule their date. 

asahi’s vision quickly started to blur, the unshed tears threatening to fall a burning feeling settled in the back of his throat. he wiped them away with his sleeve, gathered his things, and began his journey home. the brown-haired boy wasn’t too far from his home when he saw the reason - or rather, the person why hiro hadn’t shown up for their date. hiroaki was busy with a guy, one he claimed to be just friends with. the lump in asahi’s throat had grown as he watched the scene before him unfold.  a bright smile flashed on hiroaki’s face, one that asahi hadn’t seen for weeks, as the boy moved to give a kiss to his ‘friend’.

ignoring the aching in his heart and the overwhelming need to find the nearest private space and sob until his he was content, asahi swallowed the tears and ran home, flowers clutched in his hold. the second he stepped into his bedroom, his walls came crashing down. the dam had finally broke. 

asahi’s emotional pain flowed out of his pores, anyone could smell the sadness pouring out of them. a loud, cracked, and nearly raw sob escaped past his lips. the stream of tears grew, becoming thicker as his body shook violently under his comforter. in the midst of his tears, asahi had failed to hear the person entering his room, or notice his mattress sinking next to him, and the hand that had started rubbing soothing circles onto his back.  

“asahi?” your voice barely above a whisper, but loud enough for your friend to hear you. still, he remained facing away from you with his face squished on his pillow. “what happened, bub? i thought you were with hiro today.”

a cry left him at the mention of his boyfriend, or perhaps he was his ex now. with all the time he spent daydreaming about love, asahi never would’ve imagined this. he knew love could hurt, he had seen his sister go through heartbreak more times than he could count on one hand, but he never imagined it hurting like this. the weight on his chest was unbearable, making it hard for him to breathe or get a coherent word out. 

“do you want to talk about it?” you asked as your hand scratched the hair at the nape of his neck. having his hair played with was something that always managed to comfort asahi, but seeing as it was still tied up into a bun, you didn’t want to just take his hair out without knowing if he wanted your comfort or not. 

a sniffle came from asahi along with a nod. before you could move to respond, he was turning around to face you with swollen, bloodshot eyes and swollen cheeks. “can you play with my hair too?” 

“of course. i’ll always be here for you, asahi.” 

“promise?”

“i promise.” 

- 

intentionally or not, you kept the promise you made to asahi that day. you were always there for him through his lows and highs and he did the same for you in return. even though he was a mess himself, something he never denied or shied away from admitting, he did his best to comfort you, offer advice, or help in any way you might’ve needed or wanted. 

it took a few months for asahi to completely get over hiroaki but once his heart was fully healed, he was ready to give love a chance again. much to his demise, the flames seemed to burn out quickly. he told himself it was because of volleyball and his studies, he was too focused, too busy for a significant other and that was why the relationships didn’t work. and if he wasn’t thinking that he was too busy, he was wondering if it was too much or sometimes too little for his partners. asahi had always struggled with his own insecurities and after being cheated on was a huge blow to the self confidence he spent so much time carefully building up. in his first year of college, he ended up in a relationship that only worsened those insecurities. 

asahi found himself falling for a person in his fashion design class, yuna. looking back, he wonders if he truly loved her or if her being so, so different from hiroaki was what pulled him in. 

yuna and asahi were both in their second year of college when they met in their fashion design class. outside of the one class they had together, the two rarely saw each other - aside from the few run ins here and there on campus grounds. most people who knew yuna, or at least of her, were aware of the fact she was considered to be a ‘loner.’ the thing was, yuna was relatively popular. the girl attended parties often and whenever she wasn’t alone, she was with a new group of people no one had seen her with before. so, when the news of yuna and asahi being in a relationship got around, people were surprised to say the least. 

asahi was timid, especially for a big guy, and everyone knew that. on the other hand, yuna was a relatively short girl with the personality of a shaken up soda. yet somehow with their opposites, they made it work for quite a while. for asahi, it felt as if centuries had passed since his relationship with his first love hiroaki but sometimes old wounds reopened. yuna not only tried to be understanding of asahi’s insecurities, she supported him emotionally and gave him the reassurance he needed. from then, asahi felt as if he finally had found love again. 

the couple was together for five (5) months when yuna expressed that she didn’t have a place to stay at the for the next term. asahi asked yuna to move in and from there, it seemed as if things would only keep going up. oh, but he couldn’t have been more wrong. 

many people will agree that breakups that come out of nowhere are the most hurtful kind and after experiencing one for himself, asahi couldn’t help but agree. asahi and yuna were both wanting to pursue their fashion careers, looking for internships all over just to have the opportunity to work under a gifted designer. asahi landed a position in tokyo, which would’ve been great for their relationship if yuna hadn’t gotten an internship in an entirely different country. after several hour long conversations, the pair agreed that breaking up would be the best for them. they both knew it was coming at some point but that didn’t mean it hurt any less. the day yuna departed to the airport was a painful one to say the least. the last time asahi cried that hard was that day so many years ago when he saw his high school boyfriend cheating on him. 

when asahi closed his apartment door behind him, there was no way to ignore or deny the silence that weighed down on him. yuna’s things had been slowly disappearing from the apartment for months but now, he was finally completely alone. for some, silence was a thing that brought comfort but for asahi, the silence was only more room for his thoughts to weigh down on him. 

he could’ve found an internship in the states, then he would’ve been able to stay with yuna. why didn’t he bring up long distance? they could’ve made it work, so why didn’t he try?

his body sunk into the couch even deeper and a sigh escaped his lips. what the hell was he supposed to do now? it was nearly one in the morning, on a tuesday nonetheless, and just about everyone he knew was either asleep or involved in something he had no part in. your name flashed in his mind and a small smile graced his lips. you were usually awake at the most random hours of the night, or morning. asahi could call you, right? even if you didn’t answer by some chance, there’s no harming in trying. his fingers moved to unlock his phone, rushing to find your contact and letting out a sigh once the line started to ring. 

“hello?” 

“oh, uhm, hi,” asahi whispered. 

“is something wrong? do you need me to come over?” the keyboard clicks he heard on the other line came to a stop as you waited for his answer. he assumed you were editing a video, or working on a new piece of writing. you always told him your mind worked better at night, the moon helped your ‘creative juices flow.’ 

he nodded but remembered you couldn’t see him and responded with a short “yes, please.” 

asahi could only feel relieved at the fact you were awake at such an hour, let alone willing to come over and comfort him, or even just sit in silence for a few hours. unbeknownst to him, this was all part of the promise you made to yourself in high school. it was all part of being a good friend and being there for him the way he had been there for you countless times as well. about thirty minutes later, his apartment door opened and asahi was glad he gave you, daichi, and suga all your own emergency key so he wouldn’t have to leave his spot on the couch to let you in. you made yourself at home as soon as you came in. hanging up your coat and stepping out of your shoes, you sat down next to him and placed a bag of food on the coffee table in front of you. 

“eat,” you pushed the bag towards him. a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth but it never fully rose. 

no words were exchanged while the two of you ate. asahi’s attention was focused on the show he had put on and yours was focused on him. his long, dark hair was out of his usual bun he pulled it into and it fell a bit passed his shoulders. a pair of glasses rested on his nose, the glare from the light making it difficult to see just how red the whites of his eyes had become.

“you know, if you’re worried about getting lonely here, i could always move in.” 

asahi’s head turned towards you, eyebrows furrowed. “why would you do that?”

“well,” you swallowed, “don’t like my current roommate. i can’t even exist in peace there. we’ve been friends for forever, you know all my habits, i know all yours. plus your apartment’s closer to my internship.” 

“when can you move in?”

you were moved and settled into the apartment two weeks later. the room that was once yuna’s space for working on designs had been turned into your bedroom and asahi couldn’t be happier. well, he was as happy as he could be for someone who was recovering from a breakup.

 without a doubt, asahi was the best roommate you had and vice versa. your monrings started off with him offering you a cup of coffee, tea, or whatever you had a taste for that morning before leaving for his morning run. breakfast dates, or any sort of platonic date for the two of you only became more common after becoming roommates. some days it was going into the city and grabbing breakfast before spending most of the day shopping. other days, that meant sitting in a quiet diner and catching up. 

your roommate had been extremely busy recently, finally being given the chance to debut his own fashion line and you couldn’t have been happier for him. while you loved and definitely supported asahi in his dreams, things around the apartment had gotten a bit lonely. besides you there were numerous kinds of plants all over the shared space. asahi loved plants, he was a self proclaimed plant dad and living with him only made you grow fond of the green things he called your children. as much as you loved the plants now, they were no match against the nights you and asahi would spend sprawled out on either of your beds eating takeout and binge watching a show that took you both ages to agree on. 

tonight was just another day where you both had agreed on hanging out once asahi got finished with his day. it was nothing extravagant or over the top, just ordering takeout and watching movies while camped out in his room. the food came a bit after asahi got home, he greeted you with a quick hug before excusing himself to the shower and you gave him a small nod and smile. things between you two had been changing recently, slowly but ever so surely. it wasn’t odd for asahi to be affectionate with you, or other of his close friends, but his touches went from quick hugs and occasional cuddles after a rough day to lingering touches, holding your hands in his, and a forehead kiss here and there. it wasn’t a bad change for either of you, actually. based off of the way your heart fluttered whenever his hand brushed yours or the way his chest felt warm and fuzzy whenever he saw you, it couldn’t have been a bad thing, right? definitely not. 

while asahi was in the shower, you sat on his bed cuddled up with one of his favorite stuffed animals: a giant turtle he named melvin. asahi had a collection of stuffed animals, he treasured them no matter how big or small they were. the shelf above his desk was filled with small stuffies he received as gifts from his friends or family, a few from you, actually. once you started scrolling through titles on netflix, asahi entered the room and got settled next to you on his large, comfy bed. 

his hair was tied up into it’s classic bun, a few lose strands fell and framed his face. the hoodie he wore somehow managed to make someone as large and broad as him look tiny. was this the kind of thing asahi did with people he was dating? were you two dating? no, you were both just friends and had been since you were teenagers. nothing more, nothing less. that was what you told yourself any time you found your heart skipping beats because of something asahi said or did, sometimes even just being around the boy was enough for the butterflies in your stomach to go crazy. you pushed those thoughts and unnamed feelings to the back burner. being his roommate was great, you couldn’t- you weren’t going to ruin that because of some feelings you weren’t even sure of. 

by now, the takeout was discarded in the trash and the two of you snuggled up together under the covers. for warmth. it was cold, asahi was a human heater, so it only made sense that you wanted to be close to him. the movie binge had been going on for a few hours, you’d gotten through a few episodes of a show you wanted to watch and halfway through a movie that turned out to be garbage before deciding to watch disney’s tangled for the hundredth time.

asahi laid with his head on your stomach, giving you room to rake your fingers through your hair but still be comfortable. one of his arms was wrapped around your thigh, almost using it like a pillow, and the other held a small stuffed bear close to his chest. the movie was getting to the part where rapunzel was telling mother gothel about the floating lanterns when asahi decided to interrupt the comfortable silence that had fallen onto you. 

"bubba,” he called, grabbing your attention. you let out a small hum, letting the boy know that you heard him. you could physically feel the way his body tensed under your touch before he turned around so he could face you. his arms held him up to avoid his body weight falling entirely on top of you. the color was drained from his face and you could tell from that and the way his eyes avoided your own that he was nervous, overthinking something. 

“i’ve known you since... forever. i can’t imagine my life without you,” he started, “if it wasn’t for you, i’d be so lost right now.”

“why are you so sappy all the sudden?” you snorted. your attempt to lighten the atmosphere made asahi smile, his cheeks growing a bit pink at that too. you weren’t sure if he noticed the way your face was burning at his words, or the fact that your heart was ready to leap out of your chest and right into his arms. maybe, just maybe you were now sure of where your feelings for asahi stood. he shrugged and let out a large puff of air, his head falling back onto your stomach with a small grunt. your hands tangled in his hair once again as his attention went back to the movie. there were a few minutes of silence between the two of you before you pushed your anxiety aside and took a deep breath. 

“asahi, i don’t know if we can be friends anymore.” 

“wa- what? why not?” 

“i don’t see you as just my friend, or my roommate, even. i haven’t seen you that way for a while, if i’m being honest. and i wasn’t going to say anything but you said that and i just-” you groaned and covered your face with your hands. “asahi, i’m in love with you.” 

his throat was dry, his heart was beating so fast he was sure he’d end up dizzy in a few seconds but this chance was in front of him after waiting for so long, he wasn’t going to let it slip away from him. 

“can i kiss you?”

[cosmicbug379]

Best Pilot

HAPPY STAR WARS DAY NERDS!!!!! Here have some semi medium okay decent Poe Dameron smut in celebration!!! This is unedited because if I have to go back and read it I guarantee you it will not get posted because I am Insecure™ and the smut I have posted before was barely smut and this is a little more. It’s not super long, so I hope it doesn’t feel too rushed or anything. I hope everyone enjoys it! Also I am but a simple woman who has not had sex and the idea of a blow job kind of grosses me out, so that particular scene in this is real short, I hope that doesn’t disappoint anyone. Gods below, I’m gonna be known for having the longest author’s notes ever, aren’t I?

Pairing: Poe Dameron x reader

Fandom: Star Wars

Words: 1633

Rating: Explicit (18+ ONLY)

Warnings: oral (m and f receiving), unprotected sex (be safe my dudes), teasing? (is that something I should mention? idk what I’m doing guys)

You jumped out of the cockpit of your X-Wing with a smile on your face. For once the mission didn’t get screwed up. For once there were no casualties. Well, Snap’s astrodroid would have to be replaced, but no living, breathing casualties. Everyone was okay this time around.

Turning at the sound of your name, you found Poe Dameron racing towards you. You ran to him and he caught you in a tight hug. 

“We did it, beautiful,” he whispered in your ear.

“Yeah we did!”

He hugged you a little longer before you both went with the rest of the squadron to give Leia the mission report. 

Later that night, you’re sitting with Poe around a fire with the rest of Black Squadron. You celebrated whenever you could, especially since lately you hadn’t had much to celebrate. The other members of the Resistance danced and cheered all around you. It was nice to relax a little and have fun. 

Poe has an arm around your shoulder and you’re smiling and leaning into him, taking a sip of the drink in your hand. You’re all talking about the most exciting parts of the mission and finally Poe grinned and spread his arms wide.

“I’m the best pilot in the galaxy!” he bragged and you elbowed him in the side lightly.

“I think you missed the word second in there somewhere,” you said with a laugh. 

Everyone else joined in and Poe looked almost offended. You wink at him and then get close so you can whisper in his ear. 

“You’re the best at other things though. Maybe we can practice some more tonight.”

Poe’s eyes widened and he looked excited, almost giddy. Like a kid who just got told he could have ice cream for dinner.

“If you’ll excuse us,” he said, pulling you up from your seat and dragging you towards your quarters.

You laughed as you followed him and half waved at everyone as you left. He was basically running now and you pulled on his hand. 

“Poe! I was having fun!” you said.

“Yeah but we’re gonna have way more fun without everyone else,” he grinned at you.

Rolling your eyes, you moved a little faster and ran with him. Poe wasted no time when you got to your quarters, pushing you against the door as soon as it slid closed and kissing you passionately. You smiled into the kiss and stopped only long enough to pull his shirt over his head. You kissed your way down his neck to his collarbone and bit him, smiling when you heard Poe let out a tiny gasp. 

He grabbed your shirt and pulled it off, almost ripping it in the process, before attacking your own collarbone and breasts. You tangled your fingers in his curls and closed your eyes, letting out a moan when he attached his mouth to your nipple, biting gently. 

“That’s it, beautiful. Let me hear you,” he whispered against your skin.

You moaned his name and pulled his face to yours so you could kiss him again. 

“I could kiss you forever,” you said, pushing him towards the bed. “But let’s get to the fun stuff.”

Poe laughed a little and kissed you again. He turned and laid you on the bed, then moved to pull your pants and underwear down your legs, kissing every inch of skin revealed to him. You watched him with a gentle smile on your face, you could not get enough of him. 

He kissed his way but up your legs and you sighed when you felt his breath against your core. You were practically dripping, he had taken his time getting you worked up.

“Is all this for me, sweetheart?” he asked with a smirk.

Poe slipped one finger inside you and even that was enough to make you moan for him. 

“Fuck Poe,” you whimpered. “Don’t tease me.”

“But teasing you is the fun part, baby,” he said. “Plus I have to get you back for that ‘second best pilot’ comment you made earlier.”

You rolled your eyes and sighed in frustration when he removed his finger, but moaned again when you watched him bring that same finger to his mouth and suck on it slowly.

“You taste heavenly,” he said, trailing his fingers over your thighs. 

Your skin was already flushed, but you felt your cheeks burn a little more. Poe was good at making you blush when you were alone like this. You watched him as he lifted one of your legs gently, bringing it to his mouth so he could kiss and bite your skin, leaving little marks as he went. When he felt that thigh had been given enough attention, he moved to the other, getting ever closer to the place you wanted him most, but never close enough.

“Come on, Poe,” you moaned, tugging on his hair.

“You gotta be patient, princess,” he said, biting your thigh a little harder. “We’ll get there eventually. It’s way too much fun to tease you like this, especially when you make such pretty noises for me.”

You glared at him playfully and then gasped in surprise when he licked you all the way up to your clit, taking the bud in his mouth and sucking gently. You moaned louder, lifting your hips to get closer to him. Poe was unreasonably good at this, it really wasn’t fair. You could barely think when he was between your legs, and forget trying to say anything even remotely coherent. 

Your moans increased in volume and pitch as Poe brought you closer and closer to your peak. You felt him slip two fingers into you and curl them slightly, like he was trying to summon your orgasm from inside you. It didn’t take long for you to fall apart in his arms, chanting his name over and over as he eased you back down from your high.

He crawled back up your body and kissed you deeply. You could taste yourself on his lips and you moaned into his mouth before pulling away so you could help him get his pants off. There Poe was, completely naked in front of you and you couldn’t stop yourself from staring as usual. You licked your lips and then smiled and pushed him to lay back on the bed. It was your turn to tease him. 

Starting at his neck, you trailed your fingers slowly over him and your lips followed. Every few inches you sucked a mark into his skin, good thing his flight suit would cover most of them. Except the ones on his neck, especially since he always had his shirt hanging half open; but you didn’t much care about people seeing them.

Poe’s moans spurred you on, and you trailed kisses down lower, slowing down. You pulled away and ran your nails up and down his thighs lightly, teasing him just like he had done to you. 

“Come on, sweetheart…” he whimpered.

You smirked at him, running your hands up his sides barely touching him.

“It’s only fair, handsome,” you said, biting his hip.

You sucked another love bite into the skin there, enjoying the way he writhed and tried to keep himself from grabbing you.

“Now Poe, who’s the best pilot in the resistance?” you asked.

“Fuck! You are, sweetheart,” he moaned.

“Damn right I am.”

You grinned at him before finally taking him in your mouth. It didn’t take long before he was a moaning mess beneath you. You swirled your tongue around the tip of his member and then took him deeper into your mouth. You loved the sounds he made when you did this. 

“You gotta stop baby,” Poe said, pulling you away. “I need to be inside you.”

You released him with a pop, and then crawled your way back up his body to kiss him. Poe grabbed your hips and you felt his cock at your entrance before you sank down onto him slowly, savoring the way he filled you. Letting out a breathy moan, you rocked your hips back, allowing him to sink in even deeper. 

“You feel amazing, sweetheart,” Poe moaned, biting your shoulder. “You feel like fucking heaven.”

“So do you,” you whispered, rocking your hips against him.

The two of you moved together, finding your rhythm. You grabbed Poe’s hand tightly, interlacing your fingers and leaning down to kiss him. Poe thrust up into you, trying to control himself as you placed kisses along his collarbone and neck.

“I’m not gonna last much longer, beautiful,” he whispered into your hair.

You agreed with him and then you felt him let go of your hands. He placed one hand on your hip and the other moved in between your bodies to rub your clit in quick circles. You let out a gasp and placed a hand on Poe’s chest to steady yourself.

“That’s it,” he encouraged. “Are you gonna come for me again?”

You moaned and nodded quickly, closing your eyes. You were so close.

“Come for me, baby girl,” he whispered in your ear.

That did it. You came with a shout of his name, your walls clenching tightly around him. Poe wasn’t far behind, spilling himself inside you. Almost collapsing against him, the two of you stayed like that, tangled together. 

“Fuck,” he whispered. “You are always amazing, sweetheart.” 

You laughed quietly and kissed his neck gently, “So are you, flyboy.”

Poe held you like that for a long time, neither one of you needing to fill the silence. It was nice to just be together, and to let yourself enjoy each other’s company. You started to drift off to sleep and you almost missed it when he started talking again.

“I still think I’m the best pilot in the resistance.”

Tags: @rzrcrst​ @longitud-de-onda​ @hdlynnslibrary​ @opheliaelysia​ @beskars​ @landlockedmermaid77​ @princessbatears​ @pascalisthepunkest​

I wasn’t 100% sure who would want to be tagged in this, so if you don’t want to be tagged in the future, let me know, if you do want to be tagged also let me know and I will gladly tag you!

[katnissmellarkkk]

AN: Hi! So I know lots of people are sad in the Everlark fandom right now and I know tons of people dislike what the prequel makes us feel towards the original story—including me to be honest—so I thought why not write a little something.

To be honest again though, I’m terrible at writing fluff. I can only really write sad angsty things so this fic will eventually—hopefully—be longer and it’ll have a more serious storyline but I thought, why not post a little happy Everlark from the beginning? Which is the only coherent part I’ve written. Anyway, I hope this makes anyone reading it happy and feel better. I’m super new to this fandom but I love being apart of it. Everyone is so sweet and supportive of each other, I noticed it even from afar. And this is unedited so excuse my errors please, I just wanted to get something out for you guys. Anyways, thank you for reading!

I feel Peeta’s lips against my cheek before I hear him come up. “Your walk has gotten quieter over the years,” I compliment approvingly.

He laughs out loud, his mouth still against my face. “Does that mean I’m no longer banned from the woods?”

I pretend to think it over. “I wouldn’t risk taking you back there until deer season’s over. I’d hate for you to scare everything edible into District Ten.”

“You snap one branch one time-“

“That branch scared off the largest deer I saw the entire year!”

“And all of a sudden you’re no longer a friend to the woods.”

“Boy!” Haymitch barks from his yard across the street. “You’re scaring my geese with all your jabbering.”

“And apparently my wife isn’t talking?”

“She knows to keep her voice down low.”

Peeta looks between the two of us in mock disbelief. “I think this is the first time he’s ever complimented you.”

“It was long overdue.”

“Alright,” Haymitch waves his hand and the bottle clutched inside it towards us dismissively. “You both scattered. I need to gather these geese up and you two are making my life impossible.”

I smirk now. “Some things never change, huh?”

“Get lost, Sweetheart.”

“You can’t banish us to our own house, Haymitch,” Peeta jeers.

Our old mentor raises his bottle as if to throw it at us. “I can chase you into it, now can’t I?”

We both laugh at his idle threat and roll our eyes before heading inside our home. I instantly wrap my arms around his neck and press my lips there. “Mmm, I love the way you smell sometimes,” I whisper against his skin.

He leans his head back to smile at me. “Sometimes?”

My face instantly loses any flirty edge. “Nevermind,” I grumble, dropping my arms at once.

He isn’t having that though and scoops me up into his arms. I reflexively wrap my legs around his waist but refuse to put my arms around him, still disgruntled.

He leans his head onto my shoulder now, kissing the top of it gently, before opening his lips and pressing open mouth kisses over the skin my tank top leaves exposed.

I try to fight it but after his third kiss trailing down my shoulder and moving onto my chest I moan slightly and easily wrap my arms around his neck to bring him in closer.

He takes the hint and moves me to the couch residing in the living room. He lays me flat on my back and delicately moves the strap of my shirt lower, leaning over me so his lips can reach any newly exposed skin.

“Peeta,” I sigh into his mouth as he moves his lips back up to reach mine, his hands still slowly moving my tank top down lower.

As his mouth moves down, over my chin and across my throat though, a thought suddenly occurs to me. “Peeta?” I call out in a completely different kind of tone now, though my voice is still breathless.

“Hmm?”

“Why’d you come outside?”

That catches his attention and he moves to sit up, pulling my with him. “What?”

“Weren’t you supposed to be going through those boxes? That you found in my mom’s old bedroom closet?”

Last week Peeta had found piles and piles of boxes in the back of my mom’s wardrobe from when she lived with me after Peeta and I won our first games.

I’d tiredly told him to just give them to the people in District Twelve who were still without belongings from the bombs that’d destroyed the whole district. But he had said he thought we should go through them. I disagreed. Anything my mom left here in those boxes obviously wasn’t of importance or else she’d have asked for us to send them to District Four.

Still though, Peeta wanted to sift through them—I still think he just wanted to see if he could find any childhood mementos of me, even if he swore it was strictly for the sake of rescuing anything useless from ending up in the community home—and I chose to let it be. We’d been married for almost a year. I kept nothing from anymore. If he wanted to rummage through my mom’s junk, the most he’d find was how much prettier she’d been than me at my age.

He’d decided, with the bakery being slow today, that it was a good time to dig through the boxes. I’d merely watched him for ten minutes before becoming bored, as I watched him pull out mostly my mom’s old clothes from when she was young and living with her more wealthy, by Twelve’s standards at least, parents.

In truth, I’d feared seeing him come across anything that held a Prim connection. Her old clothing that we hadn’t been able to sell after my Dad died, one of the dolls I couldn’t bear steal from her for cash, a handcrafted bracelet she made for me and her out of old macaroni and other random, otherwise useless trinkets she could find.

If there was one wound that wouldn’t heal, no matter how many times I called that doctor or kept Peeta awake at night venting about, it was the image of seeing my little sister sky high. If there was one cut that never stopped bleeding, one bruise that always throbbed when pressed upon, it was that.

“Oh yeah,” he murmurs, bringing me back to reality, as realization crossing his face. “That’s why I came outside. I found something I thought you’d wanna see.”

He stands up and pulls me by the hand to follow him but I resist. “Peeta,” I start hesitantly.

He understands my reluctanance and quickly moves to reassure me. “I promise, I scoped out anything that could have been Prim’s before I went to get you,” he assures, rubbing my shoulder comfortingly now.

I release a breath I didn’t even know I was holding and nod, before squeezing the hand that was still gripping his and following behind him as he moves up the stairs and down the hall, to my mom’s old bedroom.

Inside Peeta has moved all the boxes into a pile, completely segregating one. It’s a smaller box, unlike the others. It’s filled to the brim with what looks like journals and photographs and letters and small ornaments.

I don’t need Peeta to tell me what’s inside this box because I already know from the photo laying on the top of the pile, the photo of my parents no older than me and Peeta right now, that this box was everything of my dad my mother had kept.

[firewoodfigs]

Memento Amare o3o

BORK!!! aghghg you’re the sweetest you have no idea. I woke up this morning to your screaming and am so touched idek how to respond coherently HAHAHAHA I’m so thankful that we’re stuck in a constant cycle of enabling each other to scream about royai and bully one (1) war criminal <3 

I answered another ask about memento amare here (https://firewoodfigs.tumblr.com/post/634418264482758656/for-the-wip-asks-could-i-pls-know-a-lil-bit-more), but I’ll drop some snippets of a chapter/arc which I’m very excited to write without much context 😆 these are raw and unedited, though, so idk if they’ll make the ‘final cut’ or if I’ll just end up throwing them into my recycle bin (also because some of these I wrote very long ago and I’m not completely satisfied with). :”) I have a vague outline of how the chapter/arc is gonna go, but one can only hope that I’ll be able to execute it well... anyways. Here goes nothing 😆

[possible spoilers below] 

“No one else in the world has hands like hers. No, I was not mad. Solace was what I needed. Peace that was not the peace of the grave. Living peace. Love’s peace.”

Christa Wolf, Cassandra: A Novel and Four Essays (tr. Jan van Heurck)

~x~

Humans all find comfort in different things. Mostly by way of escaping. Some men find comfort in the warm body of another woman, whether it be love or lust bridging the two together. Others find escape in the haziness of alcohol, or the bleariness of drugs that renders one’s consciousness and conscience a tad softer. Mute. Then of course, art and religion have existed as a catharsis since time immemorial — for there is nothing like the pool of secrets lurking within poetry, the lyrical strokes of a paintbrush to drown one’s sorrows in. Nor is there anything that compares to the inexplicable hope that stems from praying. To be heard by a divine being that holds the world on its axis, under a roof of human hope and frailty. 

And finally, there are those who find comfort in the dead. 

~x~

How could she even begin to fathom herself? Who was she? People were the sum of their sins and tragedies, after all; the accumulation of experiences and memories gathered over time like flowers in a pocket collection that grow, and grow, until they become an identifiable bouquet of colours. 

And Riza had none of those. Now she was just a blank palette, bland and colourless. 

Lost. 

~x~

Riza put her head in her hands and began to mourn silently, the cursive letters on yellowed parchment distorted by her grief.

~x~ 

“Have you ever been in love, then?” 

“No. At least, I don’t think so.” 

~x~

Was gonna dump in a few more bits here and there, but y’know, some might call that giving too much away AHAHAHA but I hope you enjoy this smol sneak peek :”) One part which I’m super excited to dive in before this chapter/arc is also Roy’s backstory, which I had an epiphany about today 🤧 “love is cheap” are the only three words I’m gonna say for that LOL!!! 

I hope you enjoyed my nonsensical ramble @borkthemork! Thanks for the ask :) have a great Wednesday ahead!!! ily and ur amazing writing <3 

[13lov]

xnxx (m)

pairing: jimin x reader

genre: pwp smut, drabble.

word count: 1.4k

warning(s): swearing, handjob, sub!jimin if you squint really hard. || unedited 

a.n: it’s a drabble so this one is short but i hope u enjoy it nevertheless!

Knuckles tapping lightly against the bathroom door remind Jimin that he’s not at his apartment and he’s definitely not alone as he would be on any Saturday morning. The previous night was spent at his best friend’s apartment; participating in nostalgic activities such as playing Monopoly, building forts, and listening to whatever pop music local radio stations insisted on playing thirty times in a row.

Jimin stood before the familiar bathroom’s sink and mirror and stared at himself, still wearing his pajamas from the previous night: a white t-shirt and plaid pants. He was only about to brush his teeth and shower afterwards, so it wouldn’t be an issue if someone were to—

“Come in!”

Much to his shock, you enter the bathroom; dressed in a simple plain shirt and a pair of leggings. You were showering as Jimin was waking up, automatically,  he assumes you forgot something and quickly came to retrieve it. So, you can imagine his shock when you shut the door behind you.

The two of you make eye contact through the mirror before he darts his eyes downward to the toothbrush in his right hand. A part of him is curious as to why you locked the door, and a part of him already knows.

Jimin lets out a puff of air as you inch closer to him, still looking at him intensely as he tries his best to focus on getting toothpaste on the bristles of his brush. You press yourself up against his backside, nipples hardened through the thin material of your shirt confirms you opted out in wearing a bra.

You rest your head on his shoulder while still attempting to look at Jimin’s reflection, his only task of getting paste on his toothbrush is taking abnormally long. 

Frustrated with his lack of eye contact, you lean up to whisper in his ear, “Look at me.”

He doesn’t fight it, mostly because he doesn’t want you to stop and also curious to see how far you were willing to go; he just obeys what you say and looks up at your reflection, just in time for you to slightly tug down his trousers. 

From the moment you walked in, Jimin knew what your intentions were no matter how much he wanted to act like he didn’t; because he shouldn’t have such thoughts about doing something like this with you of all people.

But, all his thoughts are whisked away the moments your hand dips into his briefs and grabs a hold of his cock. Jimin isn’t shocked at your actions, he doesn’t even gasp. And if he had, it was out of pure pleasure.

You smirk to him when his eyes crinkle shut, his reaction to your touch only further encouraging you to continue. 

You began to stroke.

They start off slow, you’ve been told Jimin is extra sensitive in the mornings anyways, so he’d come crumbling beneath you in a matter of minutes. He reacts quickly, confirming your theory as he lets out a low groan. He bites his lips to suppress any other moans that may slip out unwillingly, but it’s so hard for him to keep his sounds in; he had proven to be vocal.

You jerk your hand suddenly, Jimin can’t help but makes a sound.

“Fuck!” he shouts in a whisper, hanging his head down while closing his eyes, looking at the area where your hand connected to his dick. It was satisfying to say the least, watching your hand pump him at a steady pace. 

Seconds pass and precum is leaking from him, you take the opportunity to use your thumb to spread it across his tip, only to hear him moan from satisfaction. “Do you want me to stop?”

“No,” he says almost immediately. He should want you to stop, he shouldn’t have wanted you to start at the first place; he just couldn’t help himself or his greedy body. He feels closer and closer to reaching his high, you stopping now would only leave him wanting even more. 

“I’m gonna...o-oh fuck,” he pants, gripping hold of the marble counter-top when your action of jacking him off speeds up, almost relentlessly. 

You use your free hand to tilt his chin up, making him look away from the floor and instead up at your reflection through the glass. “You can come if you want to, just look me in the eyes while you do it.”

Jimin doesn’t want to see what you’d do to him if he went against your word, he just wanted to come, so he does as you say once again. He looks up at you, your facial expression is smug, obviously enjoying the effect you had on him.

He doesn’t know how much longer he can hold himself back, though you’ve already assured him he doesn’t have to. You know he wants to, he just needs a little push.

You turn your head against his neck, planting a kiss on the sensitive area you’ve heard so much about. Jimin doesn’t even stop himself from bucking into your hand, you realize then and there he’s about to come, and that the area beneath his ear did wonders if you touched his just right.

“I’m...I’m...” it’s impossible for him to confirm a coherent sentence at this point, but you already know his high is about to come. Still, he holds himself back. You take it upon yourself to jerk him off even faster; and soon enough, he moans loudly while cumming all over your sink’s cabinet. You still don’t stop, wanting to milk every drop out of him until he’s a whimpering mess. 

Jimin is a panting mess, leaning over the sink while trying to steady his raging heartbeat. You pull your hand away and step back from him completely, “Hmm,” you hum, “he was right about you. Now, be a good boy and clean up the mess you made.”

You turn on your heels, eyes darting across every inch of the bathroom. Jimin assumes you’re searching for something. “Ah-ha!” you exclaim, picking up a bobby pin from the floor, “found it.” You beam, before exiting the bathroom. Jimin is confused to say the least, he doesn’t even know what to think.

When the door opens again without warning, he’s quickly scrambling to fix himself up. But, this time, it’s Taehyung that walks in: his ex boyfriend, best friend, and your current boyfriend.

“Shit, Tae, can you knock?”

“Shut up, it’s nothing I haven’t seen before, you big baby,” Taehyung scoffs, standing next to Jimin as he grabs his toothbrush from the holster. “So...what do you think of _____?”

“I swear to God, it all happened so quick, Tae. I barely understood what was going on. I’m sorry; she walked in and just—“

“Woah, slow your roll,” Taehyung turns the faucet water on momentarily, stick his brush underneath the running water for a few seconds, “why are you apologizing? Didn’t you like the way she touched you?”

Was this a trick question? Was Jimin being pranked?

“Well, yeah, I mean...it felt good.”

“Alright then, I like it when she touches me, too — she’s good at it. Don’t apologize for enjoying it.”

“But, she’s your girlfriend. I just met her last week, how are you okay with her doing...that?”

Taehyung snorts, “She is my girlfriend, but she isn’t my property; _____ can do whatever she wants with her life.”

It’s strange, Taehyung for sure was nothing like this back when he and Jimin dated; he’d loosened up...a lot. Their relationship lasted for weeks before the two men ultimately decided they were better off as friends.

It’s silent as Taehyung applies toothpaste on his brush, but Jimin wants to keep talking. “But, I’m your best friend, isn’t there some boundary set for things like that?”

Taehyung eyes a confused Jimin, “Who’s to say I’m not the one who suggested she do it?”

Finally, it all makes sense. The way you knew how sensitive he was in the morning, the sweet spot below is ear, Taehyung had told you everything there is to know about Jimin.

“But, why? I don’t understand.”

“Well, how would you feel about dating—”

“Taehyung, it’s not like that. I told you, we just met last week; I still barely know her. Plus, why would I take her away from you?”

“Who said anything about you taking her away from me? She’s mine,” Taehyung realizes his contradiction from earlier about claiming you to not be his property, “she’s mine...metaphorically.”

“Well, then what did you mean? I’m lost.”

“I was trying to ask: how would you feel about dating both of us?”

[magicalthoughtsendinterriblefics]

Beer me,I mean: Forgive me - Request

Requested by anon:  Sherlock and reader get drunk please x & anon: I was wondering if you could do a super angsty Sherlock x Reader where they get into a fight and the reader storms off and goes to a bar to drink herself into oblivion?

Word Count: 2.608

Pairing: Sherlock x reader

Warnings: OOC Sherlock, bit angsty, use of alcoholic beverages, unedited. Also, by no means, Sherlock’s actions in this fic are justificated and you should definitely not allow anyone talk to you or about you in the way Sherlock does here. Remember it’s fanfiction.

A/N: Don’t allow me to name my own fics, please.

Enjoy!

“A proper apology, that is all I’m asking for, Sherlock,” (Y/N) cried out.

“Why should I give one if you don’t deserve it?” Sherlock argued, without getting up from the leather couch.

“Don’t deserve it?!” She exclaimed, “I stood by you and all you did in return was humiliate me in front of everyone!”

“HUMILIATE YOU!” Sherlock mocked, “I defended you, but you women take everything personally.”

“Us women?” She glared at him. “At every chance you get, you humiliate me, you insult me, you diminish me…”

“No, I don’t,” Sherlock finally turned to look at her. She was standing right beside the couch he was laying in, walking from one side to the other angrily. “You do it all on your own, all I do is point it out!”

“POINT IT OUT TO ME, YOU MORON!” She yelled, “Point it out to me only, not to everyone in Scotland Yard behind my back.”

“Technically, you were the one behind my back.”

“I’m sick of you, I’m truly sick of you.”

“Yeah, right,” Sherlock chuckled, “this little rant of yours will be forgotten tomorrow.”

“No, it won’t.” She huffed and turned around, taking her coat from the hanger and slamming the door behind her.

Sherlock, inflated with ego, didn’t mind at all. To him, she was being overly dramatic, and that was it.

Two seconds later, Mrs Hudson walked in. She looked rather suspicious, but Sherlock figured it was because she didn’t know how angry he was after that fight.

“You had a little domestic?” She giggled shyly from the door.

“Same old thing,” Sherlock shrugged his shoulders, “I will think twice before taking her with me to any other crime scenes.”

“What did she do?” Mrs Hudson asked, taking a seat near Sherlock.

“Well, she was trying to act all clever and smart,” he said and Mrs Hudson encouraged him to keep talking. “Of course, she was all wrong.”

“So you pointed it out to her,” the lady finished.

“Yes, as usual.”

“She got mad because of that?”

“Oh, no, not at all,” Sherlock dismissed, “she got mad because of what she heard me say, which is complete nonsense as I was defending her.”

“Defending her from what?”

“Rough night?” The man behind the bar asked.

“Very much… Would you please?” She gestured to her jar of beer, which was already empty.

“That’s the third, and you’re not very big we say…” The bartender observed, “How are you going to get home?”

“That’s none of your business” she snapped.

“You’re not driving, are you?”

“Nope,” She said. The bartender poured her another pint.

“So, what happened?”

“My boyfriend is an arse, and I hate him.”

“You’ve said that ten times tonight, might as well tell me the story.”

“We were at a crime scene,” she started, “he is some sort of detective, and I was with him. I was just trying to help but his fragile ego can’t stand someone else being right so he corrected everything I said and it’s okay, he’s all smart and whatever… But then we were leaving the building and I had to get back to retrieve a piece of evidence he solicited. I come out and he’s there, talking to the police about me.”

“What did he say?”

“He said I’ve got no brains at all, but can compensate with other qualities and attitudes.”

“Ouch,” the bartender frowned.

“That’s the soft part, I can’t even say the rest.”

“WILLIAM SHERLOCK SCOTT HOLMES YOU GO FIND THAT GIRL RIGHT NOW AND APOLOGISE!” Mrs Hudson commanded angrily.

“Apologise from what? I AM RIGHT!” Sherlock argued.

“You said the only reason you were with her was because she was, above all, smart.”

“Smart is not the same as intelligent,” Sherlock explained, rolling his eyes.

“You embarrassed your partner in front of people you hate, even though she always stands by your side… Even when nobody else does.”

“So?”

“So be a real man and apologise, or else.”

“Or else what?”

An hour later, Sherlock walked through the bar’s door. He instantly found his girlfriend, sitting by the bar, with an empty beer jar in hand.

“(Y/N),” he said, “I was an absolute bastard and I hope you forgive me.”

“Mrs Hudson sent you, didn’t she?” She spoke, without turning back to face him.

“Yes, indeed, but I do mean…”

“See?” She interrupted, “I don’t need to be a clever detective to know that.”

“I’m aware…”

“You know why?” Sherlock didn’t answer, “Because the Great Sherlock Holmes never apologises by his own will.”

“Not that I need to,” he muttered.

“That’s what you think.” She turned to see him. Her makeup was almost gone, her eyes were puffy and red, and she could barely keep her posture for she was too drunk.

“You’re drunk,” Sherlock commented.

“Took you long enough to notice!” She mocked, “I’m surprised you didn’t notice from the minute you got into the bar!”

“Please, just let it go and let me take you back home,” Sherlock begged in a whisper.

“No,” she whispered back.

“Please, this is no place to talk…”

“We’re talking here, though.” Sherlock rolled his eyes and sat on the stool by her side.

“Bring me as many as she had,” he asked, instantly regretting his own decision.

By the third pint, Sherlock was seeing double. He was swaying from side to side as he tried to formulate a coherent sentence.

“The truth is… I do love you,” he started.

“Buuuuuut?”

“Buuuuut,” he turned to look at her, “it scares me.”

“Boo…” She replied and took another sip of her own beer.

Sherlock drank the rest of his beer in one last sip and shivered after putting the glass down.

“Want me to get you two a cab?” The bartender asked.

“I think I can get my own cab,” Sherlock fumed and got up. Two seconds after, he fell.

(Y/N) looked down at him as if nothing severe had happened and then back at the bartender. “You know what they say: fall like a drunk and nothing will hurt.”

“Who says that?” The bartender asked with true concern.

“I do,” she snapped and winked at him.

(Y/N) got up as well and managed to stay on balance. She, surprisingly, succeeded at helping Sherlock up and the two of them left the bar tumbling and babbling nonsense.

They were standing by the sidewalk, somehow not falling to the ground, as they waved to cab drivers for them to stop and give them a ride.

“They’re not coming,” Sherlock said turning to look at her.

“One will come,” she said, looking back at him.

Sherlock, in his drunken state, couldn’t control himself. Hence, he leaned towards her, trying to give her a kiss. She, although drunk as well, pushed his face away.

“Please,” he begged.

“No,” she replied.

“Pretty please…”

“I said no.”

“Pretty, please…”

“Not after what you did,” she insisted and Sherlock sighed tiredly.

“I already apologised for that,” he whined and pouted his lips, asking again for a kiss.

“Not enough.”

A cab stopped by them, and asked them if they needed to be taken. (Y/N) instantly said yes, and hopped on as best as she could. Sherlock took a bit longer, but finally managed to get in.

“Fun night?” the cab driver asked.

“No,” Sherlock shook his head, “she’s mad at me.”

“Why?”

“He’s a narcissistic sociopath who doesn’t value me,” she slurred.

The cab driver made a strange sound, presumably a giggle, and shook his head. “What did you do, lad?”

“I was only talking to my employees…”

“Co-workers,” (Y/N) interrupted.

“No, I don’t co-work,” Sherlock muttered then continued. “I only said she’s not as clever but can compensate with other qualities.”

“Why would you say that?” The cab driver inquired, seemingly hurt.

“I was only getting along with those chaps!”

“That was so posh…” (Y/N) whispered and fell to the opposite side of Sherlock, starting to fall asleep.

“I suppose they were all men…” The cab driver mumbled.

“Oh no, there was a lady… not much of a lady, but she is a woman… I think.”

“Are they your friends?”

“Oh no, not at all,” Sherlock wiggled his finger from side to side, enthusiastically. “I hate them all.”

“Then why did you say those awful things to them?”

“You know men,” Sherlock shrugged his shoulders, “it’s a matter of masculinity.”

“Your concept of masculinity and mine are rather different, I’ll tell you that.”

“Yeah?” Sherlock asked and the cab driver nodded. “Well, I didn’t mean it, but she doesn’t believe me.”

“You ought to say exactly what she deserves to hear, apologise and be a good boyfriend for once.”

The cab parked right in front of the flat. Sherlock paid him a bit more than needed “for his advice” and tried to wake (Y/N) up.

“We’re here, Sleeping Beast,” Sherlock whispered.

“Beauty!”

“Right,” Sherlock nodded, “wake up Beauty Beast.”

The driver rolled his eyes and breathed out a chuckle. “You sir, are one of a kind.”

“Thank you!” Sherlock exclaimed, waking (Y/N) up. “You heard that?”

“Hard not to,” she complained and pushed Sherlock out so they could get out of the cab.

Sherlock got out first and extended his hand for (Y/N) to support her weight on her way down, but once she did they both tumbled and almost fell once more. The cab driver asked them if they were all right and, when they said yes, he wished them a good night and left.

“What a nice man,” Sherlock smiled.

“Oh yeah, you do say good things about him, huh?” She hissed and walked to the door, struggling with each step she took. Sherlock rolled his eyes and tried following her.

They got to the door, and Sherlock stopped her from opening it. Instead, he trapped her between his body and the door, which was wet from the recent rain, and focused on saying what the cab driver had told him to say.

“You ought to hear exactly what you want me to say,” he slurred and (Y/N) tilted her head in confusion. “No, that’s not how it went… You ought to say what I meant to mean to hear.”

“No…”

“Why not?”

“I mean, that’s not how it goes,” she chuckled sassily and pushed him so she could open the door.

They stumbled inside and slammed the door behind them.

“It’s hard for me to talk right now,” he explained, trying to enunciate each syllable properly.

“Write it down, then,” (Y/N) suggested and Sherlock agreed.

They dragged each other upstairs, constantly giving a step back instead of a step forward, but generally managing just fine.

Once they were inside their flat, Sherlock rushed to his desk, took a pen and a blank paper and started to write something. Once he finished, he gave it over to (Y/N), who had waited patiently on the floor next to him, for her to read it.

She held the paper in her hands for a long while, reading over and over again the words Sherlock had carefully spelled, until she gave up.

“I don’t understand a single word,” she said, handling the paper back to Sherlock.

“I can’t write when I’m drunk,” Sherlock excused himself, falling to the floor next to her.

“Yeah, I can’t read either.”

Sherlock looked at her and bursted in laughter. She followed along for a couple seconds and then leaned towards him, resting her head on his shoulder.

“I shouldn’t forgive you, you know?” She whispered, “What you did was wrong… Very wrong.”

“I know, I regret it deeply.”

“Why did you do it?”

“I just…” He sighed, “Just…”

“Just what?”

“I wanted to be part of the group for once,” Sherlock said, “they always talk shit about their partners because they think it makes them more manly, and I figured I could feel that too.”

“And did you?”

“No,” Sherlock confessed, “not after the way you yelled at me in front of everyone.”

“You deserved it,” She chuckled.

“I know,” he said, giving a kiss to her head.

“It’s funny you want to be like the rest when all that convinced me to date you was the fact that you’re not like them,” she commented.

Sherlock looked at her with utter concern before yelling a blasphemy. He dropped the rest of his body to the floor, laying like the drama queen he was as he mumbled incomprehensible words.

When the sun rose and people outside started moving, (Y/N) and Sherlock woke up. The noise from the street was too loud for them and had to run away to the bedroom, which was farther away from the main street.

The got on and covered their head with the pillows, complaining about life in general.

Since it was of no help, they both decided to just live with the terrible hangover they were having. They got out of the bedroom, without saying a word, and poured themselves a cup of cold tea and took two aspirins each. They ate some leftovers that were on the fridge and crawled back to the bedroom.

“I’m very sorry about yesterday,” Sherlock mumbled suddenly.

“I know,” (Y/N) replied.

“I will understand it if you no longer want me in your life, I deserve that kind of rejection,” he continued.

“I’m not leaving you…”

“What I said was not true and you don’t know how sorry I am for saying that,” he insisted, “just know that I don’t actually believe any of those awful things that I said.”

“Would you do something for me, please?” (Y/N) interrupted.

“I’d do anything for you.”

“Would you please, please, please, please, please shut up?”

Sherlock did as asked for a minute and then spoke again.

“Do you forgive me?”

“Yes, I already told you that.”

“Why?”

(Y/N) rolled her eyes and left the room to go look for her phone. The battery was almost dying but was enough to show Sherlock the evidence.

It was a video of them, laying on the floor, while being drunk.

“Sherlock says drunk people and kids always tell the truth,” (Y/N) spoke to the camera, “since he is a drunk kid right now, he will say a few words.”

She passed the phone to him. He held it too close to his face, but his identity was still clear.

“I am very sorry, I am an idiot and I don’t deserve you, (Y/N). The only reason why I said it was because my fragile ego needed a bost, and I am lame.”

“That’s not exactly what I asked you to say,” her voice was heard on the video.

“Shhh, I’m talking to you,” Sherlock hushed, “I am victim of my own ego and you are one hell of a guy.”

“Gal…”

“Gal.” Sherlock smiled drunkenly, “I love you, you are very smart and all. Even more so than Donovan, who claims to be the smartest from Scotland Yard, although of course it is filled with imbeciles and…”

“Sherlock.”

“And I love you very much, bye.” He kissed the camera and then struggled to turn it off, finally handing it to (Y/N) for her to stop the vídeo.

“That was… a bit embarrassing,” Sherlock confessed, surprised by his own behaviour.

“Yes, that’s what Mrs Hudson said.”

“You showed it to her?” Sherlock exclaimed, “When?”

“Right after you recorded it, I asked Mycroft to send it to everyone,” She shrugged her shoulders, “It’s in your blog, actually… and in John’s…”

Sherlock groaned and covered his face with his hands.

“I’m never insulting you ever again.”

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[serenzippity]

hi!! i’ve been in love with your writing for a while and finally have the nerve to request something aha! i was hoping you could write a changkyun smut based off of this whole “kingdom” concept? like where he’s the king and,,,eEK i’m not sure. something rough though. dominant changkyun is the best changkyun! thank you and happy new yearrrrr! i hope your writing endeavors go well in the future~

Don’t be scared to ever request anything from me. I don’t bite… hard 🖤

But I love this request so of course, I will write you a little something. That concept just MURDERED me. I kinda based this off the idea of the Chronicles of Narnia and the whole king vs. high king thing, and it’s unedited as well. 

I have another similar request chilling in my ask for royal!Shownu so I’m going to base those two in the same universe and whatnot. I’ll link them together when I finish that one. Plus I’m loving this so I think I’m gonna make it into a series with each of them? Maybe? Jk, its 2 am and I’m obsessed with this concept. It’s gonna be a series.

When King Shi-dae split his kingdom into seven, he gave each of his sons a portion to rule over as their own sovereigns. In a self-imposed exile, the king declared that the brother who proved his worth would inherit more upon their father’s death. They would inherit their father’s vast fortune and the right to call themselves ‘High King.’

-x-

Of the seven sons, he was the most mysterious.

King Changkyun was known as the ‘Black King.’ His perchance to stay out of the public eye earned him the moniker. The King preferred to spend his days in the royal library or in his rooms learning all that he could about the mystic arts. If he wasn’t learning, he was training his body to master fighting techniques that were long forgotten. The man was an enigma, and he was as dark as the scripted pages he clung to. 

His kingdom thrived under him. His people dwelled in the mountains and their preference of solitude reflected the attitude of their king. They were a learned and spiritual people who relied on ancient knowledge rather than modern fixtures of living. Mining was their economic trade, and when King Changkyun gave them the foundations to master the mystic arts they grew into a force to be reckoned with. Their way of life was unorthodox and often ridiculed by other peoples within the kingdoms, but they were content with life. The black eyes of his people held magic and wisdom that was beyond the planes of this world. 

-x-

As the youngest of the seven the chances of inheriting his father’s legacy grew smaller each day. When King Hyunwoo announced his intent to marry, the door to his glory practically disappeared before his dark eyes. 

The desire to show his worth vanished at the exchanging of his eldest brother’s vows, and with that, the desire was quickly replaced with fury. He didn’t necessarily care about the title and gold, he just wanted to prove that he could be everything his brothers were and more. He wanted to prove that he was smarter, stronger, more deserving. 

He wanted to show that he was just as strong as Hyunwoo. He wanted to show that he was just as smart as Hyungwon. He wanted to show that he was just as giving as Minhyuk. He just wanted to show in this room crowded to the brim with fools. 

The royal reception was filled with clinking glasses and the tittering of social climbers. Everyone was dressed in their regalias as the bride sat with her new husband above them on the dais. Changkyun took in the party with fiery eyes, his dark demeanor bleeding into the shadows in the far corner of the room. His older brother, King Hoseok, had already tried to get him to revel in the party but he gave up after multiple rejections and the threat to burn his blonde hair off. 

King Changkyun was there for one reason only: he couldn’t be the only sibling to not show up for his eldest brother’s wedding. His father was there and the want to prove outweighed his disdain for his war-mongering elder. 

He missed the gloomy weather of his kingdom. The shining sun that was a staple of Hyunwoo’s kingdom irritated him, and the red detailing of his palace gave him a headache. Everything here was too rough and too bright for him. He wanted to return to the darkness that blanketed him in comfort. He wanted to return to you.   

The party continued on. The bedding ceremony was completed, the wine was drunk, and his father gave the marriage his blessing. It felt like days before Changkyun was granted sweet release by his father, and he couldn’t get out of their fast enough. Mustering up the magic that coursed through his veins he disappeared from the crowded room in a wind of grey smoke. 

Reappearing in his chambers, Changkyun let out a breath that he didn’t even realize he was holding in. Relief took over his body as he moved deeper into the vast room, taking off his finery as he went. The clanking of silver metal and the rush of black silk were the only sounds in the room until he stood before his bed in only his black trousers, anger still flowing through his nerves. 

Waving his hand, he removed the shade spell that hid you from any prying eyes. Your glowing form appeared, contrasting against the dark sheets of the bed. You were completely nude, save for a dark velvet choker around your throat that was a symbol of his hold over you. The silver light that radiated off of you was the only kind of brightness that he craved. You reminded Changkyun of the full moon and he wanted to show that you were his.

You lay there before him, asleep and beautiful in your nakedness, and he couldn’t help but reach out to you. He traced the curve of your thighs, ghosting his fingers up your skin. The dip of your waist and the plushness of your breasts had him shifting in his pants, completely intoxicated. 

It was wrong, he knew as much. He was supposed to marry some rich, foreign princess like his brother. He was supposed to be with someone who would help his kingdom prosper. He wasn’t supposed to fall in love with one of his magical apprentices. Perhaps it was your silky hair or your soft skin. Perhaps it was the way your eyes changed to a deep black when you mastered your magic. Perhaps it was the fact that you could rival anyone in your abilities. 

He chalked it up to the fact that you were as enticing as the mystic arts. 

As he drunk you in, his desire grew and he wanted to mark you deeply. He wanted to make you scream his name as he forgot how he was constantly overlooked by his father and brothers. His fury turned to unadulterated lust that had him practically vibrating with want. 

His fingers continued to brush over your skin, causing goosebumps to form in their wake. He leaned over you and began to place delicate kisses and nips on the mounds of your breast. Taking one of your nipples in his teeth, he rolled it between his lips which caused you to stir and wake up at the slight tinge of pain. A low moan escaped you as you blinked and got accumulated to your surroundings. The heat of his body hovering over you filled your senses and once your mind woke up you threaded your fingers through his black hair, tugging on the soft strands. 

“Baby,” you moaned into the quiet room, sleep still lacing your voice and making it husky. The sound had Changkyun reaching up to fondle your other breast, painfully straining against his trousers. Every yank of his hair had him reeling, the pain mixing beautifully with his angry passion. 

He left blooming purple and red flowers on your chest and began to leave them in a consecutive line trailing from your sternum down to the skin above your dripping core. Every kiss, nip, and suck had you softly crying out. Your hands continued to thread through his hair, pushing him further to where you needed him desperately. 

As much as he loved when you pulled his hair, he was getting fed up with you feeling like you had any sense of control. He wasn’t in control of his own fate, and he wouldn’t let you control him at this moment. He was angry, and he needed a release, your body being the outlet of his choice.

With a growl and snap of his fingers, your hands were pushed up and above your head as the headboard seemed to come alive. The metal detailing reached out with cold fingers and held your wrists tightly, limiting your movement to where you could only squirm with need. The baseboard molded around your ankles, opening you up for him without barriers. The position gave you a sense of fear and excitement, the knowledge that you were in for a long night making you even wetter. 

Settling between your open legs, Changkyun’s breath ghosted over your core sending shivers up and down your spine. He nipped at the sensitive skin of your thighs, leaving more bruises that were exact mirrors of those on your abdomen. He trailed another line from the side of your knee, up to the curve where your womanhood met your thigh. Each bite elicited a sharp cry or hiss from your clenched teeth, unable to do anything except bite your lip as your body ached for him. Repeating the action on the other side, he leaned back to admire his work. It was more beautiful than any jeweled necklace in the world. 

“Do you remember your safe word?” he asked, dark eyes swimming with desire at the sight of you being completely subservient to him. All you could do was nod, too riled up to form a coherent thought.

“Good. You’re going to need it.” He smirked before diving down and making you scream out his name as his tongue pressed into your bundle of nerves, alighting you into a fiery inferno. 

[ladyfl4me]

A,E,F,G,I,J,K,L,M,N,O,P,Q,R,S,T,U,V,W,X,Y,Z ;o

Okay *cracks knuckles* let’s go! F, M, and S have already been taken from this list, so feel free to send in... B, C, D, or H, I guess. Yeehaw. This is really fucking long.

A: How did you come up with the title to [TMWCIFTC]? -- It started, as many things do, as a bad pun. The novel The Spy who Came In from the Cold was a cold-war spy thriller, about a British spy who goes over to East Germany as an apparent defect, except he’s actually there to spread misinformation and fuck shit up. He falls in love, becomes disillusioned with his superiors, and is shot dead over the corpse of his lover after climbing over to the east side of the wall. Needless to say, this is nowhere close to what happens in TMWCIFTC. I chose it early on because of the literal meaning: there’s a moth(man), he’s coming in from the cold WV weather, boom shaka laka, we have a title. Over time, though, it’s evolved into another meaning. Indrid himself is coming in from an isolated, lonely existence: he’s rejoining the family that cut ties with him, he’s in love, he’s warm and safe. The moth sure did come in from the cold, and hopefully he stays that way.

E: If you wrote a sequel to [TMWCIFTC], what would it be about? -- Hm. Considering my entire TAZ fic career is a tangled hairball of sequels and prequels, I kind of have this base covered. At the moment, TCOS - aka The Children of Sylvain, the sequel to TMWCIFTC - is about three things: a Pine Guard road trip race against time and the feds, the Spanish Sylvan Inquisition That Nobody Expected (least of all Jake and Hollis, who have to set aside their differences and past conflicts to save Kepler - and who knows, maybe they’ll fall in love along the way), and Alexandra the Interpreter getting woke to Sylvan politics and doing what she can from the inside to change them. In other words, it’s going to be a massive sequel that is the finale of the Amnesty alternate universe I’ve created. It’s this series’ Endgame. (That reminds me, I need an actual title for this collection of stories I’m writing. The “Tin Cinematic Universe” doesn’t quite have the ring to it that I’d like.)

G: Do you write your story from start to finish, or do you write the scenes out of order? -- eh, it kind of depends. It’s like a buffering bar on Youtube videos. I outline what I can until I run out of ideas, then start writing, then add outlines to the end, until the outline is complete and I just have to keep writing.

I: Do you have a guilty pleasure in fic (reading or writing)? -- I don’t have one for reading, but for writing, I fucking love structuring chapters around songs. Classical or otherwise, I love music. All my stories play in my head like a movie screen, and I just do my best to describe what I’m seeing in my head with an accompanying score. It’s not so much a guilty pleasure as it is a writing process. Frankly, I don’t think I actually have a guilty pleasure; the act of writing itself is all the happiness I need.

J: Write or describe an alternative ending to [insert fic]. -- An alternate ending for The Devil Went Down To Georgia would be... interesting. It ended with Boyd-as-Jersey-Devil scaring the pants off some poor broke college kid, who stole his worthless fiddle; then he changed back, and he and Ned went on their merry way to go break into Aubrey’s house and send everything down the drain. If there was one thing that I could change in there, it would be how fast Ned ran. If he ran a little faster, he would have seen the alley; he would have witnessed Boyd turning into the Jersey Devil, or at least turning back into himself; and he’d get a very rude awakening as to what Sylvans are and that his partner (in crime, and everything that mattered) was a fucking cryptid. God, that’d be a fun AU to write. Who knows, I might go do that someday.

K: What’s the angstiest idea you’ve ever come up with? -- At the moment, the only angsty idea that I’m actually conceptualizing is a Hollis/Jake angsty breakup for TSG. (Spoilers, I guess.) I once wrote a very grimdark ending to TMWCIFTC where everyone fell through the ice and drowned. It wasn’t fun. I’ve also mentally killed off each Amnesty protagonist and NPC in various ways, but I never felt comfortable writing them down. I only write angst with a happy ending because those are the kinds of stories I need to hear.

L: How many times do you usually revise your fic/chapter before posting? -- 9 times out of 10, I just throw it into the void. I write as much as I can in big chunks, and then kind of hope for the best. TMWCIFTC, for example, is a completely unedited, unbetaed vomit draft. I usually do a quick reread of my oneshots to catch grammar and spelling errors, but other than that I just trust myself that it’s fine.

N: Is there a fic you wish someone else would write (or finish) for you? -- Can I get some kind of resolution for To the Edge of Night? Can I please get some kind of resolution for To the Edge of Night??? I was 14 chapters into that bastard before I a) became a more casual MCU fan and b) discovered TAZ. It was such a niche fic with such a niche structure - LOTR as galactic Asgardian propaganda to cover up Odin’s mistakes - that at some point I lost interest in it. I just saw Endgame though, so now I might get some inspiration for stuff to bastardize.

O: How do you begin a story–with the plot, or the characters? -- Characters. When coming up with character backstories, I can usually find ways to slot their lives together that necessitate a plot. I love character-driven stories, where their actions actually do shit and their words actually mean something, in favor of getting dragged along behind the plot like tin cans behind a car.

P: Are you what George R. R. Martin would call an “architect” or a “gardener”? (How much do you plan in advance, versus letting the story unfold as you go?) -- I’m definitely an architect, but in a really messy way. My friends can attest that I do an insane amount of planning for each story - often in their DMs, sorry about that, Fae, Cro, Indy and Aline 😬 - and all that usually ends up in a stream-of-consciousness rant outline on Google Drive. Knowing where the story is going helps me a lot, but the planning I do is definitely just building flower beds in which to sow seeds. Or building a greenhouse. I plan the bare bones of a story, and things get really wild within it, but it does follow a logical plot structure.

Q: How do you feel about collaborations? -- I have a lot of respect for the people who can successfully pull it off, but idk if i’d ever want to do one myself. I get really possessive of my stories and ideas and like to be the one in charge of their execution. That being said, some collabs have produced amazing stories. I don’t mind reading collab fics, but actually being in a collab grates on me more than it should.

R: Are there any writers (fanfic or otherwise) you consider an influence? -- I’m definitely influenced heavily by Neil Gaiman. I read American Gods and Good Omens a lot while I was trying to write TMWCIFTC; not only was it a good brain break, but I was able to pick up a lot of tips on scene pacing, concise yet expressive language, and character interactions. My creative wriitng professors have always told us to read so we know what to steal - not in terms of content, but in execution. 

On the fanfic side, @miamaroo is a huge inspiration for me. I’ve been reading Northern Migration a lot recently, and I love how its canon divergence is so worldshaking and so complex, but is still familiar in nostalgic yet terrifying ways. I read it back in October, went, “Huh, I wanna do something that wild. And if miamaroo can do it then I sure as fuck can too,” and I started planning TMWCIFTC during that one month dead zone the McElroys took last year. Northern Migration is one of the best, most coherent, most stunning, and most incredibly written TAZ Balance AUs I’ve ever read, and if I hadn’t read it, I wouldn’t have been inspired to take the fuckall huge plunge into TMWCIFTC.

S: Any fandom tropes you can’t resist? -- Bed sharing and cuddling, hand kissing, wrist kissing, whump, sympathetic villains. Canon divergent AUs are my absolute favorite things to both read and write. Anything that would turn me into Charlie Kelly slamming his finger on a bulletin board screaming, “CAROL,” is a fic I would give my life for. 

T: Any fandom tropes you can’t stand? -- Not a fan of a) woobification and b) flat villain characterization, to the point where the story is riding on villain tropes instead of an actual person or plot. Character nuance is always something I look for when I read. I don’t usually get bitter about tropes, though; some stuff, when subverted, works really well. I fully subscribe to don’t like, don’t read, don’t write, which is why I don’t write anything that warrants AO3 content warning tags or an Explicit rating, in favor of focusing on plot. Every author has a reason for what they write and how - be it their level of experience, personal preference, or simply the joy of writing something and getting it out there - and I respect that. Within reason, of course.

U: Share three of your favorite fic writers and why you like them so much. -- 

@miamaroo, for reasons I’ve already discussed. My favorite TAZ Balance author hands down. Read Northern Migration and give it the love it deserves, or I’m replacing all the faucets in your house with silly straws.

@transagentstern. Fae has a bunch of absolutely incredible fics and an amazing grasp on characterization. We come from the same place with AUs, in that canon is but the bare planks on which we put the drywall of our plot an characterization. They structure AUs and character backstories from the ground up in believable and emotionally raw ways. Also they have great music taste. I especially like their interpretation of Indrid in Moth to the Flame; he, like all the other characters in the story, is far from perfect, and his character arc is explored in relatable ways that I love to read. 

@keplersheetz. Aline - theneonpineapple on AO3 - researches like a motherfucker and has a wealth of knowledge/experience/viewpoints to draw on, making author-author interactions with her an absolute delight. She’s also doing the lord’s work with rarepairs. Spin a wheel, find a ship, and she’s probably written for it or at least conceptualized it. Reading her character studies and stories of the old Pine Guard - aka Mama’s original crew, before the current PCs joined - is always a delight. I’ve also hashed out a lot of details for The Children of Sylvain, especially for Mr. Boyd Mosche, guilt-wracked Jersey Devil extraordinaire, with her help. 

V: If you could write the sequel (or prequel) to any fic out there not written by yourself, which would you choose? -- Not gonna lie, I’m fine with a lot of stuff that’s out there right now. It’s been a hot few months since I’ve actually stopped to read fic, but from what I recall, most of the fics I’ve read have done a good job of keeping things intact.

W: Do you like more general prompts, or more specific ones? -- The vaguer, the better. With really specific prompts, it usually feels as if the story’s been written for me already; with vague, general prompts, I have more agency to explore my own ideas. Some accompanying detail is usually nice, though. For example, the coffee shop/college/flower shop AUs that @transagentstern​ wrote are my ideal prompt for drabbles: premise, a little bit of open-ended detail, clear explanation of what’s going to happen while leaving the rest up to the imagination. Good stuff. If it’s for a long-form piece, though, I prefer full agency, or even just some time to lie facedown in the dirt and wait for an idea to strike me.

X: A character you enjoy making suffer. -- Yes.

Y: A character you want to protect. -- Tim.

Z: Major character death–do you ever write/read it? Is there a character whose death you can’t tolerate? -- I do read lots of major character death, yeah, though not always for TAZ. There’s something cathartic about seeing a character die, but sometimes it sits wrong with me in ways that I don’t like. As for writing, I’d rather kill a character for a reason rather than for shock value/for the Feels, though said Feels can accompany the reason. 

[musepirations]

Hello lovely! Could we please get a review/opinion on the roleplay?! Much love xox

❞ HI HUN !! Mind you that this is just my opinion, and you know these can differ. The last thing I want to do is criticize or be rude. I hope this may help you out, sweetheart !! Find the opinion on INKEDLIES bellow the cut !! Xoxo ❞

RECOMMENDATION ? if the last finishing touches get done, then yes for everyone who is into fandom roleplaying !!

* ✰. — icon & url ❞

i like your icon, i think it looks very pretty. i think there is absolutely potential in your url as well, i would just suggest to maybe add a ‘rp’ or ‘hq’ in there somewhere ?? so people know it’s a roleplay and not an indie roleplay blog or something !!

* ✰. — main ❞

i like how you picked a theme that is easy to navigate on yet has a lot of room for extra features. i like your header as well, i love the beautiful skyline of new york city !! i only can’t help but feel like your main isn’t quite finished yet ?? like, the admin icon that is basically a tumblr icon, the locations page that hasn’t been worked on yet, the open day spot that has unedited titles ( like, event title, event months etc… i’m not sure whether those have been edited or whether they were generally on the theme like that, if that makes sense ?? ). so, i would really try to edit everything, make it all one coherent finished product before entering the tags, dear !!

* ✰. — pages ❞

i’m going to run over the most important pages here, cupcakes !!

navigation: simple, complete, easy to navigate – no remark there !!

plot: i now understand where the ‘inkedlies’ comes from !! i think you’ve come up with a clever and original plot !! i only noticed some grammatical errors in there, and it feels a little bit… stiffly written, at times ?? i would suggest asking someone to maybe edit it a little, take out the grammatical errors etc ( i’m always willing to do this, just let me know if you’d like the help, dear ). other then that, i think you’ve got a lovely plot thought out !!

rules: same thing here, darling, i feel like it’s a little stiffly written ( maybe english isn’t your native language ?? which is 100 % cool of course !! i would only recommend to have a native speaker or someone who is very fluent in english read though your written text and correct it where necessary !! because right now, some messages get a little lost ?? for example, where you write ‘if you are found to be 18, then you will be asked to leave the group’. i think you mean that any roleplayers under the age of 18 are not allowed ?? but this message has gone lost in translation a bit… ). other then that, your rules are pretty extensive and cover all the important matters, which is great !! the only thing i find a little confusing is the fact that the same faceclaim may be used for different roles… maybe it’s just me though, seeing i am not used to fandom roleplays. but it seems to me like that may get a little confusing !!

application & app count: i would definitely suggest adding a space to elaborate on the characters pronouns and gender in your application, seeing there is no mention of it whatsoever at the moment !!

characters: appless, so n/a !!

i think those are the main pages !! i looked through your banned faceclaims and banned movies list and i think you’ve got the most important ones written down there, so that’s great !! i would definitely suggest finishing all of your pages, darling, like for example your locations page !! it’s a great idea to include on, it’s only a little disappointing there isn’t anything on there yet.

* ✰. — over all impression & advises ❞

i think you’ve got a great plot on your hands, dear, especially seeing it’s a fandom roleplay and there already are a plethora of those in the tags. but, your plot is original and may definitely make it stand out, which is wonderful !! the biggest advises i want to give is, make sure to have your main and pages nicely finished before really hitting the tags ( to me personally, there’s nothing that disappoints me more when looking for a new roleplay to join than seeing an unfinished main ) and have someone help you out with your plot and rules, to tidy it up a little, get out the grammatical errors, maybe rewrite some things to make sure the message gets across a bit better !! but once all those things are done, i’m sure you’ll get there nicely, hun, you definitely seem dedicated enough and that’s great !!

* ✰. — recommendation ? ❞

yes, because i like your plot and i think it’s very interesting for people who are into fandom roleplays – but i would highly encourage you to take my advises at heart, if possible, hun !!

[islamcketta]

How often do three titles coalesce into a relatively coherent expression of the experience of reading them? I was going to call this review “Revisiting Pregnancy Narratives After Three Years of Motherhood” because something made me delve back into this topic almost exactly three years after the birth of my son, but somehow Nobody Told Me, After Birth, and Like a Mother was just perfect. Even (especially?) in its semi-coherence.

I feel blessed to live in an age where such a wealth of literature (fiction and non-) is being produced to counter some of the crap that our culture has converged around as our vision of motherhood. There are precursors, yes, and I’ve written about some of my favorite pregancy books for writers previously, but Nobody Told Me, After Birth, and Like a Mother spoke hard to my mother self, writer or not, and I wanted to share why.

Nobody Told Me

I’ll admit that when my husband gave Nobody Told Me by Hollie McNish for Mother’s Day “because it was on your to-read list” I had absolutely no memory of having ever heard of this book. While people did tell me I’d experience “pregnancy brain,” no one told me (that I remember anyway) my ability to retain information would be permanently altered (or at least that’s my experience so far).

There were so many thing no one told me (and which I cannot remember) that reading McNish’s contemporaneous journal of her pregnancy and first three years of motherhood made me feel wonderfully immersed in that world again. Her voice is gently honest, and whether she’s recounting the everyday indignities (like having no one offer you a seat on the bus when you’re ginormous) or sweetnesses (“When no one is watching, I feel amazing. Like that gigantic, ripe, juicy magic peach”) you’re endeared to her (and, if you’ve been pregnant, to your own memories both good and bad). She’s also deeply generous to the people around her—taking the necessary moments to look at why her grandmother tries to spare her the “embarrassment” of walking around her village pregnant and unwed or when McNish takes pity on her father who is helpless around her child and examines why his generation of men is that way and all the things they’re missing as a result.

I loved that she included her (basically unedited I think) poems in this text, even though I did not always love the poems, because they made me love even more this huge body of work I created while pregnant that I’ve been somewhat embarrassed by (both because I’ve been adding a derogatory “mommy poetry” label to it and because I was new to poetry so a lot of it really isn’t good).

Whether credit goes to me for finding this book (which will be issued in the US this November) or to my husband for having the memory to get it into my hands, I don’t care. I’m just glad I read it and that I read it right now.

Like a Mother

How strange and wonderful it felt to find Like a Mother: A Feminist Journey through the Science and Culture of Pregnancy in a newsletter for a local bookstore because Angela Garbes is a local author and though our worlds have not overlapped, I feel like our experiences have. There was not as much revolutionary science as I hoped in this book (partially because I did get to read Ina Garten and some others who are trying to give pregnant women actual information while I was pregnant), but I still loved the book and I learned a lot of things. Most importantly I learned to trust my own experience.

Garbes is witty and straightforward as she recounts the kinds of stories I have only ever shared with closely trusted family members (maybe I should be better about breaking the “nobody told me” cycle but I might let Garbes do it for me). From breastfeeding to sex to the importance of being cared for during pregnancy and birth, this book touched so many memories (and nerves) for me.

Through the gory (fascinating) details of the function of the placenta to the beauty of the ways that life and death coexist in a woman’s body as she carries with her forever the cells of motherhood, I felt grief while reading this book and I felt empowered. Most of all I felt normal, a sensation that is far too uncommon in these somewhat lonely days of parenting.

After Birth

Though it was Garbes who wrote about how parents “lean into the utter obliteration of their previous selves,” it’s Elisa Albert who dives all the way into exploring that experience in her novel, After Birth. The thing I love most about this book (among many) is how deeply angry new mother Ari is. It’s something I’ve seen lambasted in reviews, which I understand because it’s directly in opposition to the sweet, loving acceptance we all want to think our mothers immediately felt when we were born, but it’s fucking real. Especially in a world where too many of us are too alone in this event that changes our lives completely.

Ari grapples with a birth that did not go how she wanted it to (this is a euphemism because no one except other mothers really wants to even hear about shitty birth experiences), a body that’s irrevocably changed (torn apart), and a community that either does not or cannot meet her needs (in many cases because they aren’t even there). In short, it’s an all-too-familiar tale, but one that many women suffer in silence. I loved how angry Ari was because anger is the last thing we want moms to express and yet it’s a very real emotion (and one that doesn’t get better if we don’t feel entitled to even feel it).

After Birth can be as uncomfortable to read as the title is to imagine. It’s also funny and dark and real and I want all of my friends to read it and then I want us to say, collectively, all the taboo things about parenting REALLY FUCKING LOUD.

If you want to get real about pregnancy and early parenting, pick up a copy of Nobody Told Me, Like a Mother, and After Birth from Powell’s Books. Your purchase keeps indie booksellers in business and I receive a commission.

The post Nobody Told Me | After Birth | Like a Mother appeared first on A Geography of Reading.

[presumenothing]

"Can I at least put on my socks first?"

(send me a dialogue prompt!)

.

same anon also requested “dcmk, but please no yaoi (if you can help it)” 

…to which, let me just say that (a) I am honestly (and quite legitimately?) curious as to what prompted the last part from anon, and (b) apparently the muse took that as a sign to completely overreact and go to the other extreme? idk.

unedited as usual (and much longer than expected), hope you enjoy!

(AO3)

.

66. “Can I at least put on my socks first?”

Hattori Heiji is woken abruptly by the scream of a banshee.

…okay, not really – though with the really really weird run of cases he’s had with Kudo recently (they’ve discussed this, and come to the conclusion that it is pretty unexplainable even by their standards, which is saying something), it isn’t even a possibility that Heiji can dismiss out of hand anymore.

Anyway. It’s still an accurate analogy, if you replace the banshee with his handphone, which is vibrating madly on the bedside table at… Heiji has no idea what time it even is, except for being waaaay too early for anyone to be calling him.

He almost gives in to temptation to ignore it and go back to sleep (he is quite capable of sleeping through worse things, after all), but after a full minute of insistent ringing Heiji reaches just far enough to drag the phone over and glance at the screen.

Which, ow, because looking at a bright screen in a dark room isn’t the greatest idea, apparently. (Look, he knew that already, his brain just hasn’t fully started up yet, okay?)

Eyes now watering, Heiji squints against the glare until he manages to make out the caller’s name, which turns out to be… Kazuha? he thinks, somewhat dumbfoundedly, because Kazuha of all people should know that Heiji isn’t a morning person by any definition of the phrase. Heck, even his mum lets him sleep in on weekends, so why –

Heiji basically gives up on guessing at this point and accepts the call, then puts the phone on speaker for good measure before flipping it to face down. 

“Moshi moshi,” he mumbles with a vague attempt at coherence, though it’s probably rendered useless by him burying his face back into the pillow, because – ah, glorious darkness, he could go to sleep again…

Kazuha promptly puts a stop to that. “Heiji? You have to get up now, quick!”

He makes several noises of complete disagreement at this, before straightening up enough to ask, “Why, did someone die?”

“Did someo– oh my god, Ran-chan’s right, that’s all you detectives ever think about, isn’t it?” Kazuha’s voice sounds kinda tinny over the speaker, Heiji notes absently. “No, it’s not a case, do I sound like Otaki-keibu to you? Anyway, get dressed, or I’m coming over to drag you out of bed!”

Heiji sighs – he knows that particular tone in Kazuha’s voice, and it conjures the distinct possibility of a police cruiser arriving at his door in fifteen minutes if he doesn’t get up right now.

“Is there any way I’m getting out of this?” he asks anyway, because he (unlike certain detectives of the East) believes in being an optimist, and when that gets the expected negative response Heiji finally gives in and pushes himself upright with a yawn. “Fine, I’m up! But I’m gonna go right back to bed after this, because some of us actually need sleep.”

“You’re just lazy, Heiji,” Kazuha replies altogether too cheerfully. “I know you wake up at five before tournaments, don’t try to deny it. Now hurry up, if you’re not out of the house in five minutes you’re buying me lunch tomorrow!”

Heiji decides, wisely, to not point out the distinct lack of tournaments today. “Okay, jeez, can I at least put on my socks first?”

“Just don’t bother with finding a matching pair. Your sock drawer is a mess, Heiji, I’ve seen it,” Kazuha says in a longsuffering tone – which Heiji kinda deserves, admittedly, but it’s not like anyone cares about what socks he’s wearing anyway.

She waits another three minutes – during which Hattori Heiji, champion of multiple kendo tournaments, manages to stub his toe on three separate pieces of furniture while attempting to get dressed because he still refuses to turn on the light – before asking again. “Are you done yet?”

He picks up the phone from the bed and switches off the speaker. “Yeah, yeah, I’m heading out now. What’s the big emergency about, anyway? You still haven’t said.”

“You’ll see!” comes Kazuha’s reply, and Heiji blinks in surprise, because she sounds really excited all of a sudden.

(Or, some part of his brain suggests, she had been excited to start with and he just hadn’t been awake enough to notice it? 

Heiji stifles a yawn, conceding the point, and wonders briefly if Kudo ever had to suffer this kind of treatment. Granted, Neechan could punch through concrete, but he didn’t think she was cruel enough to wake Kudo at – he checks his watch – three-thirty in the morning.)

He walks through the house on silent feet, thankfully avoiding any further unfortunate encounters with various pieces of furniture, before reaching the front door and changing out of his house slippers.

A cold draft blows in as he unlocks the door, and Heiji shivers, glad he’d managed to find a pair of socks anyway, despite Kazuha’s lack of faith in his organisational systems.

The first impression he gets as he steps out into their front porch is that of blinding white, then – wait.

“Is it…” Heiji trails off, rubbing at his eyes in disbelief. “It is snowing, isn’t it.”

“Yep!” Kazuha agrees enthusiastically over the phone. “And a really heavy snowfall, too, I can’t remember the last time we had this much snow.”

That was… huh, Heiji couldn’t remember either. It certainly wasn’t recent, at any rate.

Heiji contemplates the garden for a moment, as it slowly but steadily vanishes under the cover of white, and snaps a few pictures, because it is quite pretty, he can agree about that much.

Then he puts the phone back to his ear. “Okay, I’ve seen it, so I’m going back in to sleep now.”

“What?” Kazuha actually sounds offended, which he hadn’t been aware could happen over the topic of weather. “No way!”

“Yes way,” Heiji counters, already making his way back into the inviting warmth of the house. “A snow that thick will still be around when I actually wake up later. Besides, couldn’t you have just asked me to look out the window, instead of dragging me all the way out here?”

“Where’s the fun in that? And stop whining, you’ll start sounding like an old man,” Kazuha grumbles.

“Well,” Heiji says as he reaches his room, “this old man would like to get some more sleep, so you have fun building snowmen or whatever it is you want to do. I’ll put the snow chains on the bike later so we can go out in the afternoon.”

“Fine, but I’m holding you to that, Heiji!” Kazuha says warningly.

“Yeah, okay.” He yawns, and flops back gracelessly onto the bed. “See ya later, Kazuha.”

She says something in response, but Heiji’s already asleep before he hears it.

.

.

…hm. feeling a little iffy about this, to be honest – HeiKazu isn’t a pairing I read particularly often, let alone write (ditto for Heiji himself too, actually), so tell me what you think?

also apologies for any inaccurate depictions of weather ok the author hasn’t actually experienced snow before lmao

[juniorkoyama]

How this blog came about

   To be completely honest, I am incredibly hesitant to even write this post. Even now, I am quite literally debating whether or not to erase this and change subjects. I have to consciously force my fingers to type these words. But I made a promise to post at least once per day, and I have not had the time or inspiration to churn out a bulk production of material as of yet. So, as the digits on my monitor tick steadily closer to the midnight deadline of a new calendar day, I find myself at a loss as to subject matter. A couple of hours ago, I toyed with the idea of casually letting just this one day slide. “I can make it up tomorrow by posting twice...”. But a promise is a promise and I made the promise of posting daily in order to better myself and in the hopes of making writing (something I have always been attracted to, and feel fairly capable of) into a habit. As I was simultaneously persuading and dissuading myself in regards to posting today, I found myself wanting for subject matter. Nothing seemed fun, inspiring, intriguing. So, I thought, maybe I should just provide a little background on myself and how I found myself in this situation.

    The quick version (I promise I will post more on this and elaborate heavily in the future, think of this as an introduction) is that I absolutely hate to appear vulnerable, show weakness, or feel incapable. I also despise using any disability or setback as a crutch and an excuse to not be the best you can be, and to not accomplish what you want in life. The reality is that over the past 5 to 6 years I have felt an ever increasing presence of all those things which perturb me, as well as much other pain and hardship. You see, on my 33rd birthday, I was finally diagnosed (after several years of unknown and ever increasing physical ailments, and waning physical performance) with Late Stage Lyme Disease, which becomes known as Chronic Lyme Disease or Post Treatment Lyme Disease Syndrome if the symptoms continue to persist one year or longer after antibiotic treatment.

    Before becoming infected with borrelia burgdorferi, the bacteria which is responsible for Lyme Disease, I was carving out a career in the restaurant industry. I hesitate to say “I was a chef”, because that term is thrown around all too often and far too gratuitously. I got my first restaurant job at the age of 17 as a dishwasher, and moved my way up through the ranks (not at the same establishment, but through many different restaurants) to eventually be a lead cook. I attended and graduated from Le Cordon Bleu with a degree in Culinary Arts. I then worked at several other restaurants and held various positions, from Prep Cook to Sous Chef, and eventually opened my own food business. Notice, at no point have I even said I was a ‘Chef‘... yes, I held a couple of positions as Sous Chef, but, in case you are wondering, or perhaps do not know, CHEF is a position, a title, an earned demarcation which entails lots of blood, sweat and tears, and it denotes a certain element of respect within the restaurant community. So, yes, I have held a position as a chef, but I am not a chef. I unapologetically state, right here and now, that it is a personal pet peeve of mine when ‘Chef’ is thrown around willy-nilly. I know, many people do it because they think they are being respectful or polite, and some companies call all cooks ‘Chefs’ in order to.... well I don’t really know why, except maybe to make their company seem more prestigious than it really is? Perhaps this is a skewed and negative perception, perhaps it is the truth. At any rate, if you are someone who calls anyone in the professional kitchen ‘Chef’ please refrain from now on, as it is not as respectful as you perhaps intend, and likely makes you seems much less knowledgeable than you surely are. Don’t worry, there will be plenty more rants and raves about restaurant industry happenings in the future of this blog, so, if it is something you enjoy, stay tuned!

    I digress, and to bring things back round to the crux, I was a career restaurant employee, and it is a highly demanding job, physically, mentally and temporally. To sum things up (as I said earlier, I will elaborate on everything in much more detail in upcoming posts), I ended up having to routinely quit new cooking jobs after only a few months, sometimes only a couple days weeks, of work. I became worried about my health, as it felt like I had the flu (minus the gastrointestinal issues) for nearly two whole years, and it had taken a toll on my physical, mental and emotional well being. It certainly didn’t do anything positive for my résumé either. I didn’t have health insurance, and was quickly finding it difficult to pay my bills. Finally things got to the point that I was unemployed and essentially bed ridden due to chronic fatigue and constant peripheral neuropathy - you know, that fun feeling of all your nerves and muscles constantly burning. I found this particular peculiarity highly intriguing, and it got me to researching possible diagnoses of my symptoms (self diagnosing is NEVER a good idea, just don’t do it... seriously, don’t... you’ll make things far worse than they really are) and set me on a quest to obtain consistent medical evaluation for the uninsured and broke. Eventually I came across a clinic which met these criteria, and I ended up telling my physician that I basically felt like I always had the flu, and that my muscles always burned. The best way I could describe this was being akin to when you are doing a heavy toning workout lifting weights, and you near the end of your final set, when your muscles literally feel like they are on fire and you push through those last, glorious few reps which make you feel so incredibly accomplished. It turns out, as a matter of fact, that there is a very specific biological reasoning to this highly descriptive feeling of this very specific symptom of Lyme Disease.

    And so there were many schedulings of appointments at various places, I was insanely fortunate to get an absolutely incredible medical team who actually wanted to get to the root of my problems and figure this thing out. After three rounds of blood work, for a total of 10 vials of blood, and several months (all heavily laden with doctor’s appointments) of waiting for results, I got the diagnosis. It was a bittersweet discovery, on the one hand it felt great because now there was a course of action to combat a known enemy, on the other hand it was almost worse than not knowing, because so little is known on a clinical level regarding the treatment of Late Stage Lyme Disease.

    You see, most Lyme Disease cases are diagnosed within 3-6 months of contraction. If this is the case, a short course of antibiotics and a small bit of follow up evaluation, and Bob’s your uncle, you’re back to your old self. If, however, you remain infected and undiagnosed for years rather than months, well, then the bacteria really wreak havoc on your body and play a little game of their own called “your symptoms are gonna go ahead and persist even after you kill us”. So, basically, even after diagnosis and treatment, I am still unable to function ‘normally’, as I used to. I am unable to work a ‘normal’ job like a ‘normal’ person. I can’t be relied on to show up for scheduled shifts or appointments with any sort or regularity due to my continuing symptoms. I had to figure out something to do with my life to give it purpose again.

    Writing is something I have always enjoyed, it’s been something that I have always found a comfortable creative outlet, and it has steadily rode sidecar in my brain throughout my life; constantly, though gently, pushing me to dedicate myself to it in one way or another while my conscious brain made all sorts of excuses why I shouldn’t pursue it. After a bit of thought, and a few brainstorms of various writing avenues, I decided to start this blog. I like the idea of the freedom it offers. I don’t have to write about only one thing for any length of time or number of characters, which is ideal because I love learning and sharing knowledge about so many things. I don’t even have to stick to one style of writing, and can fill in posts with pictures and other media if fitting (or if I’m lazy!).

    I thank you for bearing with me for this bit of a ramble. I usually am very disciplined about editing my work, I hate for anything to go out with errors. Today is an exception. As I finish writing this, my mind is clouded, I am about twice as tired and sore as I was an hour ago when I began this post, my forearms are burning and I find it increasingly difficult to keep track, keep course, and stay on topic in any sort of coherent and naturally flowing fashion. My vocabulary steadily declines, and my focus diminishes. I normally read through and re edit anything I write which meets another persons eyes with dogged determination so as to present my best possible work. I re-read through for continuity and flow, check for grammatical, syntactical and punctuation errors. I am my own worst enemy when it comes to proof reading an editing. But, as I said a bit ago, today is an exception as I feel the Lyme Disease winning this fight. I want to go on, to clarify points, to expand on particular events, it takes all my self restraint to NOT proof read and edit, but there will be plenty of time and opportunities for all of this later. I know this post is a bit of incohesive and semi- stream of consciousness writing. But thank you for reading, and, hopefully, not judging too harshly. Enjoy this rarity of unedited spew of speech placed in to text, for I am not going to read back through or edit this before posting. Hopefully I do not read it back tomorrow in a pool of regret, but c’est la vie, non?

Junior

[spryfilm]

“Justice League” (2017)

Action/Fantasy

Running Time: 120 minutes

Written by:  Chris Terrio and Joss Whedon

Directed by:  Zack Snyder

Featuring: Ben Affleck, Henry Cavill, Amy Adams, Gal Gadot, Ezra Miller, Jason Momoa, Ray Fisher, Jeremy Irons, Diane Lane, Connie Nielsen, J. K. Simmons and Ciarán Hinds

Diana Prince: “People said the Age of Heroes would never come again.“

Bruce Wayne: “It has to. We don’t have any more time!“

Has there ever been any more problems in modern movie history than the struggles that Warner Brothers has had with the DCEU attempting to get a comic book universe off the ground that will rival the mighty marvel comic book universe? It really isn’t a faor comparison, Marvel are into their seventeenth movie with this years “Thor: Ragnarok”(2017), while this weeks “Justice League”(2017) is just the fifth – with at least four of the previous being major disappointments – of course their only real bright spot is that they have continued to make money. But audiences as well as critics have not held back with their own opinions on how dreadful they really are.

Now comes the second team movie to be under the DCEU banner after the horrible “Suicide Squad”(2016) that seeks to unite at least three of the biggest superheroes ever, along with three definite B characters to form the titular ‘Justice League’. This was kind of teased in the derided “Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice”(2016). Of course even before “Justice League “is released it has had its share of issues, massive amounts of reshoots, changing directors for at least a quarter of the movie, mandated running time of less than two hours as well as heightening the humor, decreasing the darkness, finally not forgetting to increase the amount of Wonder Woman in the movie. This really does not bode well, especially as many of these issues and changes faced “Suicide Squad”, however “Justice League “has turned out much better – for the most part. There is a large  caveat, that is this is still not a coherent movie, not only that I had pretty much forgotten about it as soon as I left the theatre.

The bare bones plot takes place months after the events of “Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice”, inspired by Superman’s sacrifice for humanity, Bruce Wayne and Diana Prince unite a team consisting of Barry Allen, Arthur Curry, and Victor Stone to face the catastrophic threat of Steppenwolf and his army of Para demons, who are on the hunt for three Mother Boxes on Earth, while the world reflects on Superman’s death.

The good news is that this movie for the most part holds together, (that is being kind)  serving as a kind of origin movie as well as a look to the future as to what to expect in the coming years. It also serves to introduce Cyborg, Flash and Aquaman to an audience so as to show what those individuals offer. This is accomplished through the recruitment that Batman as well as Wonder Woman attempt to accomplish so as to give the audience someone they do know making the introductions for us. This works quite well overall, but I could not help feel that out of all this that Aquaman is the one best served (although not the deepest character) which could have something to do with his own movie arriving next year – while Flash and Cyborg are given the scraps off the table, as it were.

Other than the bringing together of the team, there is what feels like a necessary call back to “Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice” in the fact that the main villain here is Steppenwolf and his army of Parademons who made appearances in that movie (actually Steppenwolf only appears in the directors cut which to me is odd to say the least) – does this work? For me the answer is no, but antagonists in all comic book movies do seem to be an issue – there are a few exceptions but it does not necessarily mean that this makes for a negative experience – origin movies tend to be forgiven more, which this for all intents and purposes is.

The trailers for this movie have been out for months so we have all known what to expect casting wise, there is Gal Gadot and Ben Affleck as Wonder Woman and Batman who have appeared in their own features so we know what to expect from them. In this movie Affleck has taken a step forward, Gadot a step back. However this is the first time we are spending an extended amount of time with Jason Momoa (Aquaman), Ezra Miller (Flash) and Ray Fisher (Cyborg). While Momoa and Miller are known genre actors and know how to play to the cameras in big films, it was Fisher for me who is an unknown element, he acquits himself well with the role as Cyborg, but the issue for me is that this just seems like an Iron Man rip-off with the exception that his amour is bonded to his skin, which for me makes a hollow hero – maybe in time I will grow to like this character, but for now he seems a little redundant. The supporting cast is rounded out with highly experienced character actors that we have seen in previous movies, the likes of Connie Neilsen as Queen Hippolyta, Amy Adams as Lois Lane, Diane Lane as MAARRTTHHAAA Kent (no jokes please), Jeremy Irons as Alfred, Jesse Eisenberg as Lex, who all do their jobs well, although they seem to be there as identifiers of earlier movies. There is now the arrival of new supporting characters (assuming we are supposed to see more of them in the next standalone movies) such as Amber Heard as Mera, Kiersey Clemons as Iris West, Billy Crudup as Henry Allen, J.K. Simmons as Commissioner Gordon and Joe Morton as Dr. Silas Stone. Now while these actors are all great I cannot help think that they were appearing as some kind of preview to possible standalone movies, whether they eventuate or not – Marvel got bashed for this. See “Iron Man 2”(2010) for the reaction to their version of this.

Famously the original director, Zack Snyder left the movie late in the game so screenwriter Joss Whedon was given the job of completing the shooting as well as being solely in charge of reshoots. For many movies this might be an issue, however because the story is so simple it meant that it was relatively easy to marry the two directors work making a story that is what the creatives wanted – to me it seemed fairly standard with little in the way of surprise or real stakes. As with most DCEU movies they seem to be overcooked with too many chefs as well as creators who seem to lack any vision for what they are doing. Snyder has proved again and again an overreliance on tropes as well as storylines that existed in the 1980s with the inability to be able to movie forward modernizing these wonderful characters. With Snyder gone (apparently never to return thank goodness) Whedon has picked up the mantle adding his signature dialogue and humor as well as a shorter tighter movie that is brisk with its narrative – no pondering heroes here or heavy handed dialogue, just a lot more fun in general – thank goodness because really the plot makes little sense or bears no relation to any real situations you can think of. The other screenwriter who is credited is Chris Terrio who believe it or not received an Oscar for “Argo” (2012) but revealed the kind of messy uneditable writer he actually is with “Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice”. Of course when you have someone like Whedon who has always been about a plot with character moments you can see his fingerprints here – Terrio like his friend Affleck to have been cut out of any production decisions since their first disaster was released.

As you would expect the movie looks like a Snyder movie, mostly, although there are cracks in the seams with some fairly ordinary CGI, again an over reliance on these which makes for a rather blurry action movie. This is a shame but comes from late reshoots as well as a general feeling that the people behind the scenes were all making different movies – something it seems all the DCEU movies have in common. What we end up watching is an OK movie that rates probably third (maybe) behind this years “Wonder Woman” and “Man of Steel”(2009) – although they had plenty of issues as well – it is also a small reset which is welcome, showing a way forward. I have to admit that after this movie I am hoping that next years “Aquaman” (2018) will improve and should be a treat in particular because it will not involve Terrio, Snyder but will involve Geoff Johns.

The big question to ask is – should you see “Justice League “in cinemas? The answer is I guess, especially if you have made the trip for previous movies. “Justice League” is a sign that even though Warner Brothers will have you believe that they make these movies in a vacuum, they most certainly in reality do not. They have looking at feedback as well as reviews and are making course corrections on the fly – which can be good as in “Wonder Woman” or can be disastrous as in “Suicide Squad”. In the case of this movie it has worked out somewhere in between but it is a sign of things to come, so take the chance and enjoy a rare thing, a pretty good Joss Whedon inspired super hero movie.

“Justice League” (2017) is out now only in cinemas.

Film review: “Justice League”(2017) “Justice League” (2017) Action/Fantasy Running Time: 120 minutes Written by:  Chris Terrio and Joss Whedon Directed by:  Zack Snyder…