#I wish I had done a more meaningful piece but I don’t have the time nor the energy to do that rn

[blurry-foxes]

Small Maya doodle because I’m stuck in uni hell, therefore stuck in rise from the ashes hell (don’t have time to finish it) so I miss my daughter

[dilfl0v3rss]

tatted up

summary: you show connie your first tattoo

cw: slight angst but mostly fluff

word count: 2.2k

── ⋅⋅⋅ ────꒰ ୨ ♡ ୧ ꒱───────

connie had plenty of tattoos ranging from his neck all the way down to his calves. some of them were sacred to him while others were just for fun. you, on the other hand, had zero. you were raised in a pretty strict household so every time you even thought about getting a tattoo you were given the same old lectures about jobs and marriage. “how will you ever get a job if you decide to mark your skin up like that?” and “no man would want to marry a woman with drawings on her skin” were constant sentences thrown at you by your mother and aunts which led you to never getting one.

that was until you met connie. when you and connie met, the first thing about him that caught your eye were his many tattoos. the way the dark ink would dance around his light brown skin made you ready to make him yours right then and there. as the two of you got to know each other you soon fell in love, causing connie to add many pieces of art to his body in honor of you.

it never really bothered him that you decided not to get any tattoos to represent him. connie let you know many times that he actually rather you get your first tattoo to be something more meaningful since it’s your first. “nah mami have your first tat be for your dukes or a pet you had. you can do sum for me later on.” he was so fine for that honestly. plus he knew about how your family felt about them and he was very confident in your love for him so he alway let you know that you don’t need to show your appreciation for him through a tattoo like he does. “make sure it’s sum you want for real. im happy wit being on your nail and ion want you feelin’ like you need a tat cause i got some.” you were his and he was yours and it always showed. whether it be the many pieces of jewelry he’s bought you or the the beautiful letter “c” that you currently have on your nail. connie new you were his woman, but this was your decision.

you felt that connie was downplaying the impact he had on your life. not only did he make you happy, but he always made it his top priority to protect you which you were highly grateful for. he’s given you everything you can possibly hope for and more, and you wanted your first tattoo to be as sacred to you as his were to him. and nobody was more special to you than your connie. this led you to where you were now. sitting in the chair at mikasa and eren’s tattoo shop, the two of them doing their best to calm you down so eren can get started on you. “y/n you need to relax or this’ll never get done.” eren chuckled while he stared at you, tattoo gun in hand. you were no stranger to pain, having your pretty stomach piercing, that mikasa did, to show for it. “ren’s right hunny. you gotta chill or he won’t be able to work.”

it’s not like you were scared of the pain. you were just scared about how connie will react to you going against what he said. “i know y’all. i just don’t want con to be mad at this.” your nervousness showing all over your face as your two friends rubbed each of your shoulders. they understood how you felt, both feeling bad for going behind connie’s wishes and giving you a piercing and now a tattoo without him there. after you got your stomach done, connie seen how watery your eyes were when you got home. he immediately knew you were crying the whole ride, trying to hide it and appear excited to show him your new piercing.

after that day he asked eren and mikasa personally not to give you any piercings or tattoos without him there because he knew how much of a baby you were about needles. after the both of them witnessed you cry for about an hour when mikasa finished piercing your stomach they had no problem agreeing with his request, feeling so bad seeing you like that. but it’s been almost a year since then and they felt like you’d be able to handle this. and since you agreed to pay both of them even tho eren was the only one doing the tattoo, mikasa couldn’t resist. and if mikasa says yes then eren doesn’t really have a choice but to follow because he’s so scared of her.

“look baby ima be here, holding your hand the entire time. you came to me for your piercing because i’m the best right?” you reply with a nod as you wiped your eyes. “and you’re coming to eren right now because he’s the best right?” you nodded again. it’s true. mikasa and eren were well known in your area for their great tattoos and piercings. eren being widely known for doing tattoos for some rappers and basketball players while mikasa was recognized for her cool piercings on local bands. “then you have absolutely nun to worry ‘bout. i’d never hurt you girl and you know that. plus con would kill me if i did.” eren mumbled his last sentence as he starts up his machine. “just breathe f’me and this’ll be done in no time i promise.” you squeezed mikasa’s hand as you closed your eyes, taking a deep breath as you lied down on the on the chair. “alright go ahead”

<<<time skip>>>

as you were driving home you decided to stop and get some gifts for your man just incase. you bought him some tech suits and, tank tops, and his favorite snacks from the corner store. as you pulled in your driveway you seen your phone ping with eren’s name on the screen. ‘please don’t tell con i did that shit. he gon try to murder me fr’ you giggle when you read the message, getting out your car before preparing to go inside. as you approached your shared home you took a shaky breath and made a silent prayer that this goes well. you walk into the door and instantly see your man on the couch, arms leaning on the top as he manspreaded while watching tv. “hey mami where you been at?” you thought it’d be better to just cut to the chase so you walked up to him, standing in between his legs before giving him the gifts. “what’s all this?” he smirked up at you as he leaned up, opening each bag in front of you.

as he looked at each gift connie couldn’t help but think there was something going on. he noticed that you haven’t spoken to him since you got home and you’ve been shifting from one foot to the other which was something you only did when you were nervous. “c’mere give papi a kiss.” you felt connie softly grab your wrist, pulled you closer to sit you on his lap. he placed his hand on your neck as he began tonguing you down, his tongue dancing with yours as they fought for dominance. when it came to that he always won, distracting you by giving you a squeeze to your neck. connie stops to move his lips towards your ear, turning your head to the side so he can whisper something to you. “what’d you do?” how the fuck did he know that you did something?

you hated how well he read you, but you couldn’t even dwell on that because you felt him begin to grip your neck tighter. you turned you head towards him, staring into his eyes as you contemplated how you were going to show him your tattoo. “uhh i just wanna let you know first that i-…i love you.” connie stared at you with attentive eyes, letting go of your neck as he grew worried at how nervous you were. “what happened? somebody been fuckin’ wit you because all you gotta do is show me where they at and ima-” you put your hand on connie’s mouth “no no no. nun like that baby just lemme finish okay?” connie nods his head, giving you the floor. “okay so we been together for a long time and i love you more than anything. you mean the world to me and i hope that i mean the same to you.” you begin to take off your hoodie, revealing your wrapped up chest to your boyfriend. connie’s eyes immediately start to water as he noticed the familiar name on your chest.

“mami you didn’t.” he whispered he started inspecting your inked skin. right above your left tiddy sat your lovers name in cursive with a small heart as the dot on the “i”. “i did pa and i don’t want you to be mad about it either. you told me to get something meaningful and nobody on this earth mean more to me than you. and i put that on everything i love.” connie was never much of a crier, but seeing how much you loved him always made him a little soft. since he never fucked with his dad and his mom wasn’t in his life as much as he wanted her to be, connie never really knew what it felt like to feel unconditional love. he was basically raised by his brothers on the streets and never was taught about things like how to properly love a woman and how to receive that same love back. luckily he was able to teach himself and came out just fine but, he couldn’t help but to get a little emotional when he sees the the love he’s been yearning for since he was a kid finally being administered to him. “i love you more than fucking anything y/n. i swear to god i got you forever.”

you began to rub the nape of his neck as he continued to stare at your chest, wiping his tears from his cheeks with your other hand. you were so happy that he loved the tattoo and seeing him so emotional brought you to tears as well, sighing as you tried to blink them away. “i-im just happy you l-like it f’real.” you sniffle as you try to catch your breath. the two of you were a mess. connie wiped your tears as you cried on his lap. he softly smiled at how emotional you get when it comes to him. all he did was shed a few tears and here you are full on sobbing on his lap. “i love it mami. who did it for you?”

not paying attention, you immediately tell him how you asked eren to do your tattoo since he was a trusted friend and how mikasa was also there for moral support. connie folded his lips, jaw tightening at your sentence. “ima kill his ass, but for now let’s put these gifts away.” you agreed and helped put all the stuff in your room, changing your clothes before sitting at your vanity to remove your makeup. you seen connie staring at you from his spot on the bed, licking his lips as he looked at your chest. you had one of his t shirts on and those damn near covered your whole body so you knew he was thinking about your new tat. “c’mere hermosa we gotta take that wrapping off.”

you walked up to him as he slid to the edge of the bed, legs open for you to stand in between them. connie removed your shirt and lightly rubbed his hands across your breasts. you weren’t wearing a bra since you slept more comfortably without one.“you got aquaphor and shit for it?” he says while nodding towards your chest. you let him know that you had everything you needed since you’ve watched him take care of his new tats plenty of times. he nodded his head, letting you know he was listening. after he finished unwrapping your chest you handed connie the ointment and let him rub it on your chest. it hurt a little but he was very delicate and took his time. as he finished you can tell he was getting hard from seeing your bare chest for so long, grabbing himself to readjust in his pants.

“all done. now lemme suck em” you couldn’t help but laugh as you put your shirt back on. “let’s take a nap first boo” you said as you made your way to your side of the bed. connie crawled towards you after you lied down in your back, lying his head on your stomach with the rest of his body in between your legs. “i really do got you forever ma. you my whole world.” you rubbed his head as you replied. “i know pa and i got you forever too. we locked in twin.” you cross your fingers in connie’s face, making you you giggle as he lightly pinched your side. “don’t play wit me lil girl. i already let you off the hook for goin’ without me and i’m still mad eren went behind my back. ima kill that muthafucka” connie mumbled as he closed his eyes. you immediately hushed up and said a silent prayer for eren as the both of you drifted off to sleep. you and connie were gonna be together forever and now you had the tattoo to show for it.

[jolalibrary]

viii. leave me on red

frankie morales x f!reader | chapter eight of i like the way you

best friend! friends with benefits! frankie morales summary: what starts off as an offhand remark, quickly becomes a regular, scheduled 'stress relief'. the only problem is, both of you are in denial that you feel anything outside of friendship for the other.

warnings: friends with benefits. fwb! rules. flirting. idiots who are so in love it’s stupid. feelings. smut - phone/text/video sex. angst. dont hate the jo.

word count: 3.6k

an: the hugest thanks to @thetriumphantpanda for not getting mad at me for doing this to them.

You decided it in the minutes after he left, you were going to tell him.

Back pressed to the door, head resting, eyes closed. Tears stinging in the edges, burning. Your breath all strained and difficult—that is, until it decided what it wished to be, anyway.

Then, it shifted, transformed. It morphing into a sob that rumbles and cracks, shaking its way through you until your knees plead to crumble to the floor.

Because you had wanted to chase after him. Even ring him. Beg him to come back.

It wasn’t until you climbed back into bed, letting the scent of him wash over you, did you commit to the idea.

That’s when you begin rehearsing it, letting it move from rolling around your skull to dripping from your tongue. You did so as you made food, as you did chores. Perfecting it, choosing words so cautiously and carefully, swapping them out, practising it until it becomes a thing typed into a piece of your soul.

I’m in love with you Frankie. I have been for a while.

You don’t expect it to rival the greatest poets, and won’t find a place amongst the greatest scripts to ever be. It won’t be a speech that’ll be copied and used in film. But it’ll matter.

It will be meaningful.

It’ll have weight and carry truth—and you suppose, when all is said and done—that’s what will matter. It’ll be out there, free, existing—swirling between the two of you instead of caged inside of your chest.

Once you’ve spoken it, it should calm the storm inside of you; should quiet the choppy waves that collide within you, each one attempting to do more than knock you off your feet, but grasp you by the ankles and drag you under.

Confessing it, should do a lot of things. But that doesn’t bring you any comfort right now. If anything, it makes you feel sick, feeling only thorny anguish which keeps you up at night.

Never before had you been thankful for booking vacation time.

A chance to be, to sit around your home and pretend you don’t want to find a way to get to him, tell him it all now, let it unspool, even with no hope of it being the same as it ever was.

Because you could lose him. Ruin it all. Taint the one thing you cherish above all else.

It’s why you turn it over. Letting it worm its way from a box of doubts to a fully-fledged car crash you replay over and over as you lay in bed, fingers twitching, chest tightening, jaw clenching.

It’s only on the third day since you had made the decision, that you decide to share your plan with another soul.

Doing so over the phone—only one name came to mind. As soon as she answered and you spilt, you were greeted with only a joyous tone, it all full of pride. Your friend who is all knowledgable and wise, being nothing short of a cheerleader. Saw it coming, she tells you, been waiting for you to wake up and smell the coffee. You bite your inner cheek, doing so until copper swirls around spit, because you’ve known too (something you want to tell her). You’d been carrying it around for longer than realisation had been bestowed on her.

It’s easier not to say it. Swallowing it, letting it die in a pit of stomach acid, where other things you never say go to erode.

“Any advice?” you’d asked.

“Just be honest.”

On day four, you had gnawed the skin from your lip. It's sore, practically pulsing. It has its own heartbeat from how raw it feels.

Your nerves beginning to get the better of you, swarming and piercing, pecking away at your earlier confidence—stinging it with doubts, ones which spread, all poisonous, swelling out until it’s all you can feel.

His texts help.

One day I’ll get you back up in a heli. Only if I can sit between your legs like last time. Can sit anywhere you want, baby.

You’re not sure how it’s possible that miles away he can make your day better and your pussy clench around nothing all at once. Your body missing him—just as much as your head, heart and soul. Thighs pressing together, all your earlier thoughts popping like bubbles as you read his words over, and over, and over. A whimper grows in the back of your throat, hammering on the back of your teeth to be released.

Flicking your eyes up, you catch your appearance in the mirror.

The way your skin is just lightly sheened with the droplets from your shower—having been in a rush to reply than dry yourself. So much so, the air tinged with the scent of your shampoo and body wash. It’s thick, and heavy, your skin warming under the effect of his words making it more prominent, evident.

Smirking, you slide your hand until it undoes the robe of your dressing gown—letting it gape, the cool air brushing over once warm skin, until it pebbles, the peaks of your nipples hardening as you take a breath, and snap. There, immortalised, you stand—positioning your phone, ensuring the camera cuts off your eyes, beginning at the base of your nose, capturing the white of your teeth against your bottom lip, the white robe hanging, parted, framing the bare skin under it.

And you don’t think, you just send.

No caption, no message.

Just the sound of the whoosh as your heart hammers, beats, and thumps in the milliseconds it takes before you see the speech bubble of his reply.

Fuck, baby. Wish you were here.

Bending down to kneeling, you shimmy the fabric from your shoulders—pooling it in the creases of your elbows. Positioning yourself so your hand can be seen perfectly between your thighs, keeping yourself hidden, just a fraction. You ensure your breasts are on show, arm shifting to push them closer together, before you smirk—no, you think. Shifting your expression to a smile, a little one, which grows bigger and larger just as you click the shoot button.

It begins, a slow-motion capture of your disrobe, of you seating yourself down on the floor in front of your mirror, taking instruction through his texts—positioning yourself like a doll. The last being on your rear, soles flat to your carpet, thighs spread, head back as your neck elongates.

You’ve never felt more beautiful, even exposed. Eyes don’t linger on the things you usually pick apart first thing in the morning, before you dress for another day, and they don’t linger on the parts you catch in the corner of your eyes before you shower. You just see radiance, shadow-kissed skin that is being bowed to through a screen.

Fuck you’re gorgeous. Can see how wet you are. You need me, baby? Always, Frankie.

Your finger sliding along your inner thigh, tips brushing over before parting your folds. It won’t be enough, he’s ruined you—made it impossible not to wish for him, crave those thick, long fingers that both keep things hovering in the air and you hovering over space, time and existence.

“Frankie,” you moan, to no one but you.

Curling, sinking deeper until—

Can I call you?

You don’t reply, you just call. The distinct sound of a request to video echoes around the room as you slow your ministrations, a low whimper escaping as he connects, as his face fills the screen that's cast to the side, his own view of your ceiling.

He says your name, quiet, more questioning. Your trembling hand moves, picking it up as the other remains buried deep inside you, lifting your phone, giving him a view, a taste, a sight.

“Tell me what to do,” you whine.

Watching him as he drinks as much of you in as he can, commits you to memory, skates his eyes over every pixel, not wanting to miss a single one, before he clears his throat, before he carries you in his phone to his bed.

Licking your lips, you release a breathy sigh—one that begins in the depths of your stomach, rising up and fluttering out. Almost carrying a moan as you find that spot inside of you, the one which makes you boneless, thighs threatening to tremble.

“You want me to keep my fingers—“

“Faster,” Frankie stammers, “Want you to move those perfect fingers a little faster for me. Think you can do that?”

Nodding, you roll your lips, heat washing out over you, gripping the phone tightly.

“Fuck, baby. Y’know how good you look right now?”

You heave out his name. It building, fanning out over nerves that tingle at the edges of you—making your fingers curl, heel of your palm catching the swollen bundle of nerves that makes the sound of what you’re doing that much louder, filthier, more obscene.

And you fucking love it.

Love all of this.

Love him—

“Wish I could bury my face between your legs—“

“—oh, shit—“

“—y’like the sound of that, querida?”

Your eyes flick to the screen, staring at him—a pang in your chest flooding outwards, it mixing with how much you wish he was here, desperate for it, half-wanting to beg him to get his ass over here and make a mess of you in front of your mirror.

“Touch yourself,” you say instead.

Swallowing back the rest, letting your head fall back, obscuring him from view as you slow your movements, teasing, edging yourself as your core twists, and electricity thunders in your veins.

“Want—fuck—wanna come with you.”

“Alright baby,” he says—as if it’s the most normal thing, as though anything the two of you are doing is normal. “Let’s do this together.”

You hope it’s not the only time he’ll say that to you.

Days drag when you clock watch. Hours take even longer.

It’s a thing you know, but you can’t help but do so all the same. Each time you check, you hope it’s closer to the time. The one marked in your calendar, the one which has been making you both nervous and elated all week.

It had only been when you stopped tidying, stopped moving things from one counter to the other, did you spot it—eyes land on it and never leave.

You're not even sure when he left it behind, but your eyes linger on the corduroy jacket near your door. It’s moss-green, hanging, growing in the corner of your eye and borrowing more of your attention than it should. You’re sure it grows vines, ones which tap on your shoulder when you’re able to forget it’s there, only to make you look over, and spot it all over again.

The worst thing about it, it looks like it's supposed to be there. As though the hook you had expertly hung, (correction: hammered a nail in and hoped for the best) was always meant to hang his things, be dedicated to it.

In truth, he acts like he’s supposed to be here.

Fitting, even if you’d never made a place for him outside of being his friend. Now, you see the outline of him, perfect cut out, a drawer which could host the bolts and bits from his pockets, the shelf which he could place his eccentric collection of DVDs from the sleepless nights during storms.

You suppose it’s why it continues to catch your eyes, your gaze lingering on it—knowing, without brushing your fingers against it or burying your nose into it, that it smells like it. That, in its own way, is spreading out that calming effect he has.

One you need now more than ever.

Hand wrapping around the handle of the knife, chopping, preparing. Eyes studying the recipe that is ingrained in you, one you could do with a timer and your eyes closed, but you need to stare at it, to read the handwritten notes and pretend for a second it’s not something you used to make for him all the time.

Before the rule, the one he made you agree to because you’d asked something from him.

Now, you just snort. Adding the ingredients to the pot, turning the heat down, as a soft simmer begins before you wipe your hands down on your towel. Because in time, you’d broken all of them, both for one another and for yourselves.

And that had to mean something. Had to be more than a coincidence or something that just was. It had to be underpinned by unsaid words and swirling emotions neither of you feel equipped to handle, yet feel more prominently than you know what to do with.

You make more of an effort in your clothes. Not for him, for you. A thrill sparks through you when you catch sight of yourself when you pass a mirror, catch yourself in the reflection of a window, your television. Because you look like someone who could confess your feelings, let your adoration be known. You feel like someone who will do it, can do it—a confidence which has been coming and going since you’d decided.

It’s only when you lay it all out (the glasses, the plates and the cutlery), does a stitch begin to appear in your carefully thought-out plan. One that digs, the needle-sharp, pointed, aiming to prick and make you bleed, smear across perfection and make it ruin. A thing you put off, able to argue with it, point out its stupidity.

Tonight could be the last time you see him.

Maybe, this thing the two of you had was all he had wanted—all he’d needed. Not an overbearing amount of emotions he can’t handle or begin to understand.

A thought you try to squash, shove down deep inside.

That is, until the bigger hand pushes the smaller one on, and it begins to create a hole inside your chest. It forming based on that earlier thought. That dread, that worry and concern which has been thickening in the back of your head for weeks now. Now, it's grown out of the walls you kept it behind. It widens with each passing minute until it’s close to an hour and it’s practically a sinkhole. It taking everything it can with it—happiness, courage, laughs and the smiles. Vanishing them, wiping them clean like they never existed, as every bit of wanted you had felt, was painfully plucked from you, tweezed until you were back to that horrid place you were before all of this began.

Except now, you felt too much. Unsure if you’re able to put a cork in it, trap it under just want him to be happy and content at being friends.

A sob escapes, just a little one.

But, it’s enough to widen the door. Allowing more of them to bubble up and appear, climbing forcibly up your chest as though they’ve been building a ladder and plotting their escape for the last few minutes.

Each rolling out, freeing, bursting into the air. Your body racked with them, trembling, shaking.

Your hand finds refuge on the counter, stabilising you, keeping you from falling into the hole of your own making. And your thumb brushes porcelain, the neatly displayed food you’d spent hours on, a declaration all on its own.

A—see, I broke the rules too, Morales—except, he hasn’t come. Hasn’t arrived.

Maybe he’d known. Maybe he’d decided that it was all too much, standing you up easier—you supposed it was much harder to face the person you’d been best friends with and break her heart to her face.

But, your Frankie would never do that. Except he isn’t yours, not really.

Even less so as time ticks far past running late into the zone of stood up.

And you feel dumb, stupid. A gnawing sensation growing in the place your love had once been, it twisting, tainting, painting everything it can in ruin and staining it in the disappointment you never thought he’d make you feel.

“Fuck,” you choke out, hand clasping your face.

Fresh tears, acidic and thick, hammer down onto your cheeks like a downpour. Layering on top of one another, blurring your vision, making your chest feel both heavier and lighter all at once.

Grabbing your phone, you don’t even think—unlocking it, finding the contact and clicking Message.

Are you free for a drink?

You should consider it, go to bed, wake up tomorrow and bury your feelings in something healthier like yoga or a walk—but you send it. Discarding your phone across the counter, it clattering, catching on the plate as you bury your face in your hands.

Tears, hot and thick—running down your wrists—not doing enough to numb you as you let them fall. Disbelief doubles as hope is swallowed whole, your throat filling with sobs you feel forced to let spill—etching their way into the silence, fracturing it, cracking what should be laughter, but is instead loneliness.

It’s why you’re thankful they reply with a yes, giving it no more thought as you blow out the candle in the centre of the table, ending the night before it even began.

Frankie wakes to darkness.

It’s a comfort, the way it blankets him, allows the little shadows to rest easy against the ceiling from his open curtains—it is all soothing, relaxing. It even almost allowed him to curl back into the comfort of his sofa. His blanket—the one you bought him—cast over the lower part of his legs.

Then he remembers.

Eyes widening, blinking furiously as he throws his legs from the sofa, hand grabbing—making all sorts of noise on his coffee table—until his phone screen illuminates and he sees the time.

Late it spells.

It all a blaze, just in the form of numbers.

Fucking late it bellows.

Disorientation wraps around him as he shoves himself up to stand, fingers tugging at his curls until he imagines they’re more frizz than defined. Not even thinking—just grabbing. Phone, keys. Shoes barely on his feet as he yanks open his own door.

Calling you.

It rings. And it rings. Each unanswered drone of it doing something to the fragility of his heart. Making it quake, crackle at the edges.

All week, he’d done nothing but think of you. Think of holding you, burying himself close against you, not even asking you to shed layers, but rather just lying with him. Take in the weight of you that he finds all but a comfort.

I love you, he had planned to whisper. Mark it against your neck, just under your ear. Write it against your lips if you let him. Burn it anywhere else until you’re nothing but tattooed in praise and adoration.

“Pick up, baby,” he mumbles.

Ringing you again in the car.

The drive over tense, silent—the occasional dial tone echoing around the bed of his truck. His knuckles whiten at each red light, shoulders practically under his ears when he pulls onto your street. Something knotting, all horrible, riddled with vines and sharpness that cut into him with each breath he takes.

He’s not sure if he should be worried or thankful your car is in the drive—because the house is plunged into darkness. His boots clatter against your wooden steps, hammering on the short porch as he cracks his knuckles against the door.

Its echo, comes back to him—able to travel around in the silence and come back with an answer.

You’re not here.

But he knocks again, and again. Tears prick at the corner of his eyes, something clenched around his stomach, tightening and tightening as your name falls, all pleading, an edge to it that he hadn’t known was possible. But then, he hadn’t known he could begin splitting down the middle, the seams coming undone, his own might and willing not able to keep him together as the realisation he’d fucked up the one good thing he had.

The one good thing he didn’t even really have, too cowardly to tell you—too fearful that you’d stare at him blankly and tell him you don’t feel the same.

Because he’s been drowning in it, in this, in you, for so long, he knows how to just about keep his head from going under. He had been sure he could do it for longer, could stem his feelings, push them down. Until, you slept against him, fitting perfectly.

Until he woke with his arm draped over your waist, your leg tangled in his, staring at him with wonder and awe as you traced your name on his back.

He should have told you then it was the best thing he’s ever woken up to. A sight he had only dreamt of, but never imagined could even be true.

Pushing your key into the door, he’s greeted by darkness. It hovering its hand to him, welcoming him, even if the cold chill of the place was more than unsettling. He wanders, feet almost dragging, half hoping to find you sat in the dark, because at least then he could begin to make it up to you.

You’re not.

Moving through to your kitchen, all set to pass through to your bedroom, when something makes his eyes pull to your table, and he sees it.

Eyes landing on the set-up, from the plates to the glasses, to the orange dish in the centre—and his heart drops to his feet. It landed with a squelch, a thud which vibrates through him to the tips of him.

You made him food.

You broke a rule. You broke the rule.

His eyes beginning to well up, stinging, until one falls.

“Fuck,” he whispers.

Letting his hand run down his face, staring at his favourite meal—unable to unsee how congealed it was, how long it’s been sat there, existing, waiting.

“Fuck.”

an: forgive me 😘

CHAPTER NINE ->

[ochrearia]

Within His Own Silent Shell

And this is what happens when a retired angst writer has a bad night I guess lmao. I'm not gonna change or edit anything this was written last night when I could barely even see my screen. It's only YS but I didn't even use names anyway. Have this and I'm gonna go back to bed 👍

Heed the tw tags

BFs in this drabble: Yourself (YS)

He never really slept, not well enough to constitute a whole uninterrupted night of it at least. Such a somber routine of staring at a darkened ceiling, nothing but the timy dotted light of his laptop charger still plugged into the wall. And where was his microphone on this night? On the desk somewhere, too exhausted to even cross the room to get her. This wasn’t good.

This wasn’t a good night. It’s not like he ever really had good nights, or even good days. Just idly floating by pretending like things were okay, offering smiles faked so well even he could think they were real. Laughter forced so skillfully it came off as genuine. They weren’t real. Nothing good was ever real for him. Bitter, poisonous thoughts.

Not good, not good, you’re spiraling, please pull up, don’t do this you know that’s not true you have so many good things in your life right now- Oh yeah? Like what, then, brain? His “brothers”? Just those other versions of himself that didn’t actually care, because who fucking would care about him? When was there ever a time that he really, truly fucking mattered at all?

Stop, stop it, they love you, why can’t you just let yourself believe that? Come on, please, you can avoid it this time. Breathing labored, struggling against the tidal waves of chest-tightening emotions. He wanted to tear his heart from his chest, maybe that would make it stop hurting. This damn hoodie. This stupid piece of clothing that he’d convinced himself meant so much more than it ever did. A thank you gift, nothing more.

Spiraling, you’re spiraling, you know you are. You’re aware and you can choose to stop this if you would just please LISTEN- He hissed to himself, sitting up violently and pulling the hoodie off. Stupid fake sentiment, it wasn’t real and he shouldn’t enable his own delusions just to make himself live a little longer.

Why had he thrown out his plan again? Because they “cared”? Of course they didn’t. Not in any meaningful way. Not the way he did them. He knew what he was. A support beam, a portable therapist, something they could use when they needed it and you know what? He was happy to be of use to anyone at this point. Giving them everything he desperately wished someone would give for him.

But he knew they wouldn’t. Why in god’s name would anyone love him after what he’d done?

Need someone, have no one. Need someone, have no one.

A fitting fate. Just one of many he really deserved but he’d get there eventually. What would really be fitting is if he did what he did in desperation to join her and end up still permanently separated from her. God, why does his chest hurt so bad? Hurts, and he was cold, the air conditioning was on and he was sitting right under it. Hoodie was gone. He didn’t deserve the hoodie. Deserved to be cold. Deserved to hurt. Deserved to be alone.

He’d lost control of his shapeshifting again at some point. He was small. Breathing was hard. His eyes burned and curling into himself heavy and exhausted did nothing. His chest hurt. Things were bad and he could barely think, but they still continued to be bad. Good things weren’t real, not for him, never for him. Suffer, suffer like you’re supposed to, or did you forget why your wings are gone in the first place?

Need someone. Have no one. Deserve no one.

His struggle against the tears was lost. Maybe if he clenched his teeth tight enough they would shatter. Maybe his throat would close up if he just tried a little harder to push everything down. There was no comfort for terrible things like him. The ceiling stared back at him like it always did, unchanging, uncaring, unloving. What time was it, anyway? Too late for any of them to be awake, too late for any of them to be able to feel his emotional walls crumbling through the connection. Not like they’d come running anyway.

He was so tired. Tired of feeling like this, tired of living this way. Tired of… living. What did it matter? He could do it. It would be easy. No one would stop him. It would make the hurt go away. It would make everything go away. He could do it.

Breathe.

The hoodie was thrown across the room to the floor. He was cold and the air conditioner was still running, vent right above him. It was dark, nothing else but the tiny dotted light of his laptop charger. Staring back at him, light fracturing as more tears spilled into his vision.

Need someone, have no one.

She was still on the desk. It’s not like she could move without him helping. He’d reduced her to that. She gently blazed red, almost like she knew he was thinking about her. A response, contrasting against the blue light of the charger.

He crumbled, arms folded across his stomach as he curled up again. Cold, lonely, lost. Not even worth burying himself under his blanket, it would do nothing to help. There was no one for him, and it would stay that way. He knew that, strength giving way to quiet sobs into his pillow.

[valleynix]

I LOVED IT I LOVED IT

I just finished CH 21. God it was so beautiful. I really can’t get enough of your writing. I just want reader to tell alcina of what’s happened but I’m scared and worried along side them.

I almost mourn for Miranda, in the sense that reader and lunatic wished for her to become better and change. While not truly forgiving her, to have a somewhat mentor/maternal role with them with how deep their mommy issues run. It’s sad that they will never be able to see that possibility. Especially now with Miranda’s somewhat maternal instincts activating once again for them.

It was lovely reading more about Alcina and reader having more tender moments. It was refreshing although still tense and regretful. And then to have Bela play something so meaningful. (Please I must know what she played, maybe I can learn it) this fic easily will be on my top fics. It’s so peaceful and comforting, yet the horror and plot twists shown makes my heart quicken like never before. Oh to be lost and entrapped by your fic. What an honor it has been

-p.s. same anon who made a big rant about ch 18

-p.s.s sorry for the long ask, loved your story ❤️‍🔥

AAA THANK YOU!! this made my entire night, pls :’)

i can say Reader will tell her soon enough! schaffer twenty two is the end of act two, so there will be reveals and such :3 it’s just difficult to tell a mother you’ve killed her kids three times and counting without an adverse reaction

and we’ll get a lot more of “soft” Miranda in this upcoming chapter. i actually just got done writing a heartbreaking piece with her, so be warned for that hehe. but i like the way you think!! it’s reasonable for them not to trust Miranda considering all she’s done, but we have seen some change in her. it’s just a shame that change seems to have come too late

i’ve been trying to write softer moments between everyone, which typically means something bad is going to happen, if i follow the pattern of previous chapters. but i am so, so glad you’ve liked everything so far and i appreciate your feedback so much!! i’ve been looking forward to reading what else you had to say <33

(also, don’t worry about the long asks. i adore them and always want detailed feedback. thank you!!! ♥️♥️♥️)

[asher-writes]

"I know you don’t care for people, or dating, or anything that has to do with stupid, sappy feelings, but I am in love with you. I’d rather be stupid and sappy than live another day without you knowing.” for AriEdward? :0

Eddie finally snapped I guess XD

~ M <3

Goddd this is so juicyyy

Maybe it was the indifference that broke Edward, in the end. Maybe it was simple exhaustion, as even he would have. Either way, Edward shattered like glass. His eyes heavy with exhaustion, and his shaking hands clenched into fists, he whirled towards Ari with the temper of a thunderstorm - unlike anything the other man had ever seen before. "I know you don't care for people, or dating, or anything that has to do with stupid, sappy feelings-" Ari wanted to protest, but the sudden flare of sheer anger knocked him back against the wall. Though Edward could not hurt him in any meaningful way - not with his hands, at least - he still felt the need to shrink into the shadows. "I didn't say-" "You did! You always do! Every roll of your eyes, every statement of emotions being illogical - everything you do, is just to mock the fact that people feel things." "It isn't to mock, it's just-" "Shut up! I'm talking now." And he did. Stunned to utter silence, he stares down at the man usually so timid, so quiet and without disobedience. He wondered why this spark made his face feel so hot, or why his heart shuddered in his chest. Edward took a deep, trembling breath, and breathed out just as unevenly. He said nothing in a silence that couldn't be dared to break. And then, simply, with some venom and a large piece of heartache, he whispered with a crack of his voice: "I love you." And Ari doesn't know what to say, at first. He stood there awkwardly with his back against the wall and felt his knees start to give gently. His body simply ceased to be in that space and time, nerves utterly disconnecting from the core of him. "I am in love with you - and I'd rather be stupid and sappy than live another day without you knowing that." Their eyes met in the lamplight, the two of them and an eternal silence. The longer he refused to speak, the more tears welled up in Edward's eyes, his gaze falling embarrassed to the floor. But what on earth was he to say? That he loves him too? In the novels, that is the course of action that usually takes. But Ari has no idea if he loves - if he's ever loved, or ever will. Edward brought a shaky hand to his face to wipe at the tears, a quiet sob breaching past his lips. At the sound, it seemed to shake Ari back into his own body as he spurred on instinct. He crossed the few paces between them and held Edward close to him, wrapping his arms protectively around the smaller man. Edward's face buried in Ari's chest as he accepted the invitation to cry. His cries were ones of relief, or heartbreak, of many things, but most importantly of catharsis. Finally, that awful burden had left him, Ari could hear it in his sobs. "I'm sorry you thought I didn't care," he whispered, not flinching as the tears soak his shirt, "...I do, but I don't afford myself the pleasure of acknowledging how I feel, and for that I am intensely jealous of you, Edward." The whisper of his name is followed by a shiver from the other man. He peers down at Edward, who looks up at him, eyes swollen and cheeks soaked, his breath a gentle hitch in a tempest of his own feelings. How he wished he remembered how to cry like that. "I'm sorry." "No, I'm sorry, I'm sorry you felt belittled by me, I'm sorry I disrespected you, in all honesty, Edward, I could not have done this without you." And maybe that acknowledgement was as close to love as he could currently afford. The fact that he needed Edward. That the man was a rock, anchoring him to land as he lost himself in the seas of his past. "Thank you," Edward whispered, relieved. "...Gods, that's all I wanted to hear."

[late-to-the-fandom]

Writing Questions Tag Game

I was tagged by @mrsmungus … a week ago? I no longer have any concept of time whatsoever. I also have no idea who has done this so I’m tagging a few and if I missed yours I apologize

Tagging: @shipping-through-eternity @mousterian-writes @velvethopewrites @diaryofomellas @unknownogre @frostedlemonwriter @tidesages @kharrisdawndancer

1. What is your absolute all-time favorite idea you've ever had? I loved my non-linear storytelling in Light & Shadows. It was so much fun to write and read and it’s really ruined regular chaptered fics for me now 😅

2. Is there a question you've been asked in the past that really stands out to you and you still think about sometimes? I was asked once on a very old fic how my writing flowed so easily it didn’t even feel like reading. Which is one of my favourite things I’ve been told but the answer is I wish I knew so I could do it all the time.

3. What is your favorite part of being a writer? What parts could you take or leave? The beginning and the end. I love the conception, the outlining, the planning, the seeing the scene in my head, hearing the dialogue unfold - and I love the completed product where I can finally sit down and read what I saw in my head out loud. The middle part where I’m actually choosing word after word gets hairy, especially when my preconceived notion of how a scene should go turns out to be wrong and I’m fighting the characters.

4. What is your greatest motivation to write/create? There is a story I want to read and it doesn’t exist yet so I have to write it.

5. What is the best piece of advice you've ever read or been given as a writer? To not take writing advice from anyone whose writing you don’t personally appreciate. They’re trying to lead you in a direction you don’t want to go anyway.

6. What do you wish you knew when you were first starting out writing? It’s ok to have the same word appear in the same paragraph. Sometimes it just has to be done and it’s ok.

7.What is your favorite story you've written TO COMPLETION? Link it if you'd like and can! This is like asking me to choose my favourite child. I can’t do it. I love all of them. The most popular I’ve ever written is here. The one I’m proudest of just based on how long it took me and how hard it was is here.

8.What is your favorite out-of-the-box quote?Lee Smith said, “a writer is someone who is writing not someone who is publishing,” and I think that tends to be forgotten. Fanfiction is generally considered (even by those who write it) as the warmup to “real” writing and I disagree whole heartedly. I think there are probably on the whole more meaningful and beautiful fanfics then there are original novels because the people who write fanfic are doing it out of love for characters more than wanting to write something they think they can sell (not universally true anymore, but still a general principle)

9. Which of your characters would you say has the most controversial mindset? Why do you say so and how do you personally feel about their ideals? I think both Renathal and the Maw Walker have some controversial principles, which I like about them because I never wanted them to be good/bad coded. Renathal is straight up pro-torture and espouses the benefits of suffering for atonement. The Maw Walker has a jaded opinion on life in general and is willing to kill whoever she’s told without thinking too deeply about it. I don’t agree with either of those things myself but it’s who they are.

10. If you when you first started writing met you now, what would younger you think? I think she would be happy to find out that I came back from a two year hiatus. I hope she would be impressed at the improvement in our prose. I think she would be stunned at the ambitious projects (for us) I’m attempting to take on and worried (even more than I am) that they’re still out of our writing depths.

[n0v4r3d]

Improvise, adapt, overcome.

So, I haven’t kept up with this. At all. I went chronically, debilitatingly inward and found myself stuck at the bottom of a misery well, just staring up at the light above.

489 days today. So there’s that at least…

… and the great job, loving family, supportive friends… my best friend and companion Loki…

There is nothing to be genuinely upset over or dissatisfied with.

And yet:

I am overcome with pure hatred, animosity, and vitriol for this place at any moment of the day. My awareness of the absurdity of these feelings is not helping to alleviate it. I’ve taken myself off of social media and become more or less a curmudgeonly recluse, wallowing in my own discomfort as I remain painfully, brattily impatient for my exit.

I will have ended my time here with roughly a cumulative of five years in this place. And while I have certainly experienced joy in my life during that time, none of it is tied to here. I’ve done it in spite of it. And I have no one to blame but myself. What I’m taking away from this era of my life is that there are some profound lessons learned, being learned, and yet to be learned. And while some of them I have successfully intellectualized, some I am fighting against in an angsty rebuff, stemming from my unchecked emotions.

It’s bizarre. I’m sober and have an “on paper” good life. Stability. So much to look forward to. Support. And yet, despite starting every day with a vast helping of gratitude, by noon, I’m back in my hole. “Head like a hole,” indeed, Mr. Reznor… The good news is that there’s still no conditions under which I will ever pick up a drink again. I have solidified that. I remain vigilant, but each day is another piece of evidence as to why I do it, strengthening the will. As morbid as it is to say, I have an agreement between me, myself, and I that if I really wanted out, I’d have to go through with it sober. And a sober mind holds infinitely more clarity than to act on passive suicidal ideation. Intrusive thoughts more than anything. An annoyance, not a premonition.

I don’t know why, on the cusp of actualizing everything I’ve ever wanted out of life (for the most part), I’m so wildly frenzied and uncomfortable. I feel like a cornered animal knowing the only way out is to fight. But there is no external threat. It’s all in my head. I’ve never known hatred like this. And I don’t even know that’s really directed at anything at all. It’s so vague and nebulous. Just waiting. And waiting and waiting and waiting.

But the wait is what’s driving me to madness. It feels as though my capacity for positivity is on pause until I escape. I refuse to go down the path of direct resentment and blame people, places, and things for my attitude. It’s all in my own head, I know this. But the emotion connected to it simply won’t soften. It’s fucking exhausting. Distraction is my best tool right now and, quite frankly, there isn’t much here to do the trick for any meaningful length of time.

Writing all of this out sounds so harsh and misery-prone, but it’s the catharsis I need. Typing out each word, thought, or feeling, no matter how meandering, brings me relief and allows me to see how so much of what I feel is a false narrative inside my own mind. It’s always been a battle with myself and, for the first year, I felt I was winning. The evidence strongly suggests I still am… yet I get lost in these emotional spikes. Being a human being can be a lot tougher than it seems sometimes. Simplify, simplify, simplify. That’s my goal. Do no harm? Too late. But onward and upward is inevitable so long as I remain patient, perseverant, committed, open, and willing.

I am not a bad person. I have done things that disgust me. I have had negative thoughts and associations. I’ve spent a long time hating myself. But I am not these things. I am how I choose to act. And it’s high time to stop wishing for better and instead make it so.

I hope we all achieve the level of peace we seek. Right now, I’m not 100% certain what that actually looks like. But I’m going to keep striving for it. I’ve been there before and I’ll get there again. It’s OK. Everything is in its right place. Maybe belief is just another choice… but I do choose to believe. Hope is what I survive on. And I cannot ever give it up. 

JS

[07.05.24]

[k00293433]

Movement: final thoughts

I began my project looking at mundane everyday movements, which are often taken for granted, that come instinctively to ourselves in sculpture , so much so that they often become part of us. I thought it would be interesting to look at what it would be like to alter this movement, so that it became unrecognisable, highlighting the importance of these simple tasks.

I carried this over to print for the second week, however struggled to create anything that I felt was truly meaningful and worthwhile, so I decided to stop this with the intention of returning at a later date. This decision coincided with the first hurdle I had to overcome in the project, the breaking of my sculpture.

This event brought me to my next idea, looking at the concept of change, as I began to alter the form of the broken sculpture using plaster and string. Here I also began to consider the idea of metamorphosis.

In painting I looked further at how these everyday movements were connected to the person that carries them out, using an image of my sculpture to create a portrait surrounded by an abstract shape. This also related to the idea that although things change, that doesn’t mean that we forget how things were before.

I then returned to print with a clearer vision of what I wanted to create. I wanted to look at both the positive and negative effects of change. In screen printing, I created an image which highlights the chaos and frustration that comes with a sudden change, while in relief printing I looked a more peaceful change, growth, rebirth, in the form of metamorphosis.

I completed the project with a sculpture which I think encapsulates the project. I began the mobile as I wanted to focus more on the movement part of the brief but in retrospect I think it also has a great impact in showing the effect of change on daily life, that fact that we must keep moving, we face change and still life goes on, the sun rises again, we wake up in the morning and pour another cup of tea, that’s just how things go!

I feel really happy with the work I completed on the sculpture elective in this project. I tried working in a way much less structured as in the last project which I feel brought valuable lessons in thinking more abstract, even though it hindered some of my work and probably resulted in me wasting some time. I found that I was more able to immerse myself in the process of creating and was less tied up with making things perfect. This way of working was really helpful in sculpture but in retrospect was the reason that I struggled initially in print, however I’m quite proud of how I managed to tie it together in the final week. It’s really just painting that I wish I had done more in, but that’s most likely due to the fact that I struggled to decide on a solid enough idea so much of my work was a stab in the dark, meaning that much of the reasoning behind it came after the fact, which I think is also a really interesting way of looking at work, it’ll just take a bit of getting used to.

The most important thing that came out of those projects I feel was how I have begun to appreciate more the idea that the viewer of work should be able to interpret the pieces themselves. I feel that at times the reason I struggled in this project was due to the fact that I was worried that the message wasn’t clear enough, due to my vague theme choice, now, even though I’m not completely happy with the final work (I feel like I could have done more with the time I had) I see that this was a really good lesson, and in doing this project I too have changed the way I want to work!

I wanted to go into this project without having a pre determined outcome in terms of pieces created and while this may have meant that the pieces don’t relate very clearly to one another, they are representative of my change in thinking creatively.

[katculturevlogs]

Hi, I am Kat. This is my blog about the Museo Tolerancia in CDMX. At the beginning of the day we started going to buses from the school, PREPA UPAEP ANGELÓPOLIS to go to Mexico that it’s close to us but not a lot. We arrived there and we had some trouble finding parking , we didn’t have to pay parking service so I don’t really know the price of it but I think it’s expensive because It’s a very big building. At the beginning of the museum tour, the visuals were extremely beautiful and peaceful. I loved that the museum was divided in two different parts, one for kids and one for adults and I think that’s very proper because of the historical context of these events, most of their artwork is based on the holocaust massacre and the Nazi Germany. I find it very interesting how they provided information from their public because I saw a lot of the families there and they saw that Mexican families are very

interested in this. I don’t know the price, but I think it’s around 150 Mexican pesos and I think it’s a very decent price because he’s really innovative and modern . I also think it’s better that the presentation is very interesting because they were using an audio program to allow a lot of visitors to listen to the explanation of the pieces. I loved how the museum was sectioned and I think their curator did a very good job, and the managers of the museum had a very good vision because they divided it in sections properly and that information we saw were understandable, the staff were very nice to us also it was strict with my classmates that didn’t behave in a good way, so they were firm and I think that’s very important to do it in an tour with young adults or kids, and I really enjoyed these because they showed us very meaningful art and I think they were sectioned perfectly as I said before, because there was very aggressive rooms that made you feel uncomfortable rooms that explained the massacres and the horrors of it but at the end of the presentation, there was a very beautiful and gorgeous artwork done with the intention to be a heart of olive tree and show how we can’t repeat the same things as we did before as a society like for example genocide. I loved how the guide was teaching us important facts, but also giving us time to take photos, I wish I could be there in more time because our time was actually very short and we were in the last group to pass, but I think it was overall beautiful and I would totally go with my family again because I really like that and I find it very innovative as a museum and I think the message is beautiful.

I myself did an analysis about the public that attended while I was visiting the museum and I find it interesting how I saw women with their kids but not that dads,even if that’s not really related to the art work but I don’t think it's important to know the public and know about this. I also think that's the most beautiful museum I've ever visited in Mexico.I also liked the muscle

Barraco but I don’t find it the same as beautiful. It’s a very clean museum. Is very taken care of

[coghive]

Living With Purpose: How Awareness of Death Can Transform Our Lives

I like to imagine things and paint scenarios in my head a lot. It can be too much sometimes but for the sake of this piece, I would implore that you indulge me. I just want to show you how the awareness of death can transform our lives and help us live more purposefully. Imagine you were diagnosed with a terminal illness (God forbid! It’s not your portion and I don’t wish that on anyone) but just picture it for a moment.  If you were given a specified number of years to live, let’s say five years give or take, would it change the way you would live your life? Well, at first, you might be depressed and unhappy but after a while, you would accept your fate and when you finally come to terms with reality, wouldn’t you want what little time you had left to count for much? I bet that a lot of us would put those years to good use.  We wouldn’t leave anything to chance anymore. Starting from our health (both physical and mental) to our loved ones to our jobs and the pursuit of our life’s goals and dreams, we wouldn’t take anything for granted.  Some of us would quit our jobs because we’ve never actually derived satisfaction from them and launch our start-ups. After all, that’s where our passions really lie. For others, their diets will change to more healthy ones and exercise would be incorporated into their routine if that’s what it would take for them to live longer.  We would cherish the time we get to spend with our loved ones and create more meaningful memories. We would treat each moment with them like it would be our last.  We would be more honest, more intentional with our time and energy, kinder, more compassionate, more loving and more accommodating. You would visit places you always wanted to and try out new things.  You would remove all the limitations that you’ve placed on yourself, wouldn’t you? And you would just live. So, what if I told you that you have a terminal illness anyway? I mean, it’s not leukaemia or cystic fibrosis but we’re all running out of time. We all have a shelf life and one day, we will expire.  So, you have to protect the integrity of the life that you have now. It’s bad enough that you do not know for how long you’ll get to be here on this side of life. Hence, you can’t just leave your life to happenstance.  A casual knowledge of the inevitability of death is one thing but living with the awareness of it is another thing entirely. You do not get to choose what hand life deals you with. And that’s it. There’s no need to sit around complaining and grumbling about how your life is or how you wish it was.  You have to play the hand that you’ve been dealt. The life you want doesn’t always just automatically fall on your lap. You have to create it. It is time to embrace your purpose and manifest your potential to the fullest. Live right so that you can die well. Death shouldn’t scare us if we live intentionally.  Rather, the awareness of it should spur us on to make the most of the time we have before it is up. Mediocrity never did anyone much good. Find a balance. Dance to the rhythm of your destiny.  Let this understanding fill you up and flow through you until you are transformed into a better person by it. Don’t be a spectator in your own life. Be proactive and take an effective role in this script you’re writing. Such that when your time on earth is done, you’ll leave peacefully with the assurance that you gave it your best shot. For, it is not the fear of death that informs our living meaningfully, it is the acceptance of it. Read the full article

[caelmewedd]

THE WITCHER SAGA SENTENCE STARTERS: the last wish edition

‘ And do you have a name? Any name will do, it’s simply to make conversation easier. ’

‘ Let it go. It’s a serious matter. Many have tried and failed already. ’

‘ This, my friend, is not the same as roughing up a couple of scoundrels. ’

‘ ______, you know our code of practice forbids us to speak of our work. ’

‘ Answer me unofficially, briefly and clearly: will it work or not? ’

‘ You inspire trust, although I know what a rogue you are. ’

‘ Oh, what’s the point of explaining, you wouldn’t understand anyway. ’

‘ Am I supposed to give you advice and teach you how to live? Am I your mother or something? ’

‘ It is customary, when faced with people who greet their guests with a roar and the cry that they’re going to tear you to pieces. ’

‘ If it wasn’t for that you’d have been out of this gate a long time ago, with my bootprint on your arse. ’

‘ One has to admit you can answer questions without using many words. ’

‘ I’m not in the habit of lying. ’

‘ So what am I? Cranberry pudding? ’

‘ You didn’t answer my question. Although… you probably did. ’

‘ So you are interested after all? You said things were fine as they are. ’

‘It’s my problem, my life and my punishment. I’ve learnt to put up with it. I’ve got used to it. If it gets worse, I’ll get used to that too. ’

‘ Scream your guts out. Lose your strength. And then I’ll slash your pretty little head off! ’

‘ You consider that an honor? I don’t. I consider it an insult. ’

‘ Quiet. Lower your voice. Have a care who you speak to like that. ’

‘ I’ve no time to waste. Winter’s coming. ’

‘ Women don’t have a say in my house. But, just between us, don’t do what you did during supper last time in front of her again. ’

‘ Destiny has many faces. Mine is beautiful on the outside and hideous on the inside. ’

‘ You’re talking nonsense while making wise and meaningful faces. Can’t you speak normally? ’

‘ I made it all the way here, hiding and running from a monstrous being that wants to murder me. ’

‘ Don’t get all puffed up like a frog – tell me what’s threatening you. We’ll see what can be done. ’

‘ To think the likes of you walk the earth. Who spawns you freaks? ’

‘ True Evil is something you can barely imagine, even if you believe nothing can still surprise you. And sometimes True Evil seizes you by the throat and demands that you choose between it and another, slightly lesser, Evil. ’

‘ I’m looking for general truths. And I’ve found one: lesser evils exist, but we can’t choose them. ’

‘ You’re standing on a flagstone running with blood, alone and so very lonely because you can’t choose, but you had to. ’

‘ Why are you looking at me like that? Yes, I deceived you. I’ll deceive anyone if I have to, why should you be special? ’

‘ They say silence is golden. Maybe it is, although I’m not sure it’s worth that much. It has its price certainly; you have to pay for it.  ’

‘I know my fate whirls about me like water in a weir. It’s hard on my heels, following my tracks, but I never look back. ’

‘ The world is changing. Something’s coming to an end.  ’

‘ The world is changing, the sun sets, and the vodka is coming to an end. What else, in your opinion, is coming to an end? ’

‘ I’m not feeling sorry for myself. I’m stating the facts. ’

‘ Something is coming to an end. Whether you like it or not, something’s coming to an end. ’

‘ I don’t like you mouthing banal platitudes. I don’t like your expression when you do it. What’s happening to you?  ’

‘ For someone who has lived such a short time, you show an astounding disdain for death. ’

‘An aftertaste in my mouth, dishevelled hair, sticky eyes and other morning inconveniences strongly affect my perceptive faculties. ’

‘ Don’t be embarrassed. I don’t faint at the sight of a naked (wo)man. One of my friends says if you’ve seen one, you’ve seen them all. ’

‘ You’re wont to describe it using words which I greatly dislike, lapsing into pompous sarcasm with it, something I dislike even more. ’

‘ They’re not too crazy about me here. They might insult me and throw stones - or do something worse. ’

‘ Hold me. Tighter. I’m not made of china. ’

‘ It’s almost as though you thought a scorpion were prettier than a spider, because it’s got such a lovely tail. ’

‘ What’s this all about, ____? If it’s a game, I don’t know the rules. ’

‘ How should I answer your question? Let’s try this: it’s none of your damned business. Does that satisfy you? ’

‘ Don’t reproach yourself for it – I’m not easily satisfied. Only those who are above average have managed so far. ’

‘ Don’t pull that face, it doesn’t suit either your good looks or your complexion. ’

‘ I didn’t see the scorpion amidst the flowers. I’m prepared to pay for my inattention. ’

‘ A pretty speech. Touching and pompous. Pity it’s in vain. ’

‘ I’ve promised several people here something, and I always keep my promises. Since I won’t have time to do so myself, you’ll keep those promises for me. ’

‘ Don’t act out a farce for me, don’t try to charm me with your hard and insolent masculinity. You are the only one to think you’re insolent and hard. ’

‘ You’d pay any price. You’d lick my boots. And maybe something else, too, if I unexpectedly wished to amuse myself. ’

‘ You have to pay. For your insolence, for the cold way you look at me, for the eyes which fish for every detail, for your stony face and sarcastic tone of voice. ’

‘ To put it simply, you stated that a self-respecting man shouldn’t ever call a professional harlot a whore because it’s base and repugnant, while using the word whore to describe a woman one has never knocked off or paid any money for doing so, is childish and punishable. ’

‘ I don’t like grand words. I’m greatly, shall we say, fascinated by her/him. ’

‘ I’d have expected anything but to… What made you do it, ___ ? Why… Why me?’

‘ You’ve condemned yourself. Condemned yourself to me. ’

‘ I don’t like grand words, and it’s impossible to give it a name without using grand words. ’

[thesilvercup]

Oh! Lover Boy!

A Jake Seresin x Reader

Reader finds out she’s pregnant and tries to come up with the perfect way to surprise her husband. But not all things go to plan.

Words: 2.1k

Warnings: none? If there are let me know!

Feel free to like, reblog, comment, not read, not like, or whatever your heart desires. Enjoy and happy reading! Find my master list here!

———————

Do you ever feel like no one has your back except for a few people? Yep, that’s exactly how I feel. Working as a painter while my husband is a naval aviator people always seems to paint me as the “trophy” wife or the dumb but pretty wife. Why won’t people see me for me? Even when I let them in their snide remarks push me further away from feeling worthy of any meaningful love or relationship. And trying to complain to people I get hit with “I wish that was my problem.” I feel so lost in life. That is until I see my husband.

Jake has always been there for me. He has picked me up when days got bad and he’s loved me for me. Not for my body or my looks like so many claim. That’s one of the reasons why I can trust him with my whole mind, body, and soul. However, I have a secret. A secret that won’t be a secret soon but a secret that makes the wait so much better. I, Samantha Seresin, am pregnant with Jake Seresin’s baby. The one catch is that he doesn’t know yet.

Jake’s had an extremely busy past few weeks at work. Which is awful for Jake and puts him under a lot of stress but ideal conditions for this secret. The long hours he has been working gives my gift more time to be perfected. I am painting a tiny little square canvas of us holding hands with me turned to the side to show a bump. Since this piece is so detailed yet really small I need the most amount of time I can get to finish it. Luckily for me, the painting is almost finished. As I paint my mind tends to wander so no wonder I just found out as I gazed upon the clock that I only have about an hour until Jake gets home. I put my painting products away and hide my canvas in a random draw in my studio.

Swiftly but carefully, I go about the house to pick up out of place objects and straighten crooked blankets. After that is done I head into our pantry. I bend down and push the start button located on the top of the roomba so I can focus my attention on dinner. Before I do any cooking in the kitchen I head out of pantry and into our living room. I turn on our record player and put on my favorite record of all time, A Night At The Opera by Queen. As the needle touches the vinyl and the music starts playing my body moves on autopilot. I walk through the doorway and into our kitchen where our defrosted chicken lay in the sink. I glance at my phone. Thirty minutes until he leaves work. Dinner will definitely be a time crunch because we live on base.

I rub different spices into the chicken breasts along with butter to crispen its skin. Along with buttered and salted asparagus i plop them in the oven to bake for 25 minutes. I then get started on the pasta I want to make. Although I follow social media I don’t worship celebrities. However, Jake and I both love Gigi Hadid’s vodka pasta. I hear the music stop so after I finish plopping the pasta noodles in boiling water I flip the record to side B. That’s when I hear my phone chime from the kitchen. Without looking at it yet I know that the text is Jake on his way home. Once I get into the kitchen I confirm that it is and rush to finish this pasta. He’s suspiciously 15 minutes early. I brush it off and continue cooking. 5 minutes later and the pasta is done as well as the asparagus with the chicken still cooking away in the oven, I hear the sound of keys dangling and my beautiful but tired husband walk through the doors. “Hey, Honey,” I call from my spot in the kitchen currently trying to take out our cute sea foam green glass dishes from the highest shelf. It’s evident that Jake can hear the slightest tense in my voice and he’s by my side in an instant, reaching up to grab the dishes but also reaching down with his opposite hand to grab my ass and give me a kiss at the same time.

“Hiya, baby. Missed you today,” he says as he sets down the plates on the counter and hugs me. I let my body relax into his and retort, “I bet I miss you more, baby.” He shakes his head and adjusts his hug to be tighter than before. “At work today, I couldn’t stop talking about you. Even more so than I normally do that everyone joked my call sign should be changed.”

“To what, Jakey?” I ask. I look up at him and his cheeks are tinted pink. “To Lover Boy,” he says sheepishly. I love the name! I start to giggle. “Well lover boy, I think it’s a perfect fit,” I say as I lean up to kiss him. Jake kisses back with extreme vigor but right as things started to get heated the oven dinged.

“Oh our dinner!” I exclaim as I go and get the hot hands from the island. Jake gets there quicker than I do. And manages to get the chicken out of the oven before I can even protest. I smile and kiss Jake as I turn off the oven and start packing our plates with food. As we start eating my mind keeps wondering from our conversation. Jake has to say my name a few times for me to snap out of my thoughts. I truly can’t help it. I keep thinking about the painting two rooms over. I want to give it to Jake so bad right now but I’m not sure if it’s the right timing. But will it ever be the right timing? Probably not. Maybe is should wait for him to shower? I assume he’s already showered before getting home. If not it might ruin the mood. How will he take it? We’ve been married for 2 years and I’m only 24 and he’s 30 so we are still quite young. Oh well maybe if I just rush and do — “Sam,” Jake states, “baby are you okay? You’ve been spacey all dinner?” Oh shit. “Yeah Jake I’m okay. It’s just this big project that I’m rushing to finish.” The concern from Jake’s eyes leave and for once I feel like I could actually lie and get away with it from my husband. Sadly, that’s not the case.

As fast as the concern left his face confusion trickled in. “I thought you weren’t completing anymore projects this month?” My face dropped and my jaw would’ve hit the table if it was connected any looser to my jaw. Trying to keep my composure I try a white lie. “Well actually it’s more of a personal venture than a business one.” The holds over Jake but it doesn’t seem like it’s enough. However, he doesn’t push me any further that evening. A few hours later we’re climbing into bed. With all these longer shifts, Jake hasn’t really had the energy or been in the mood to fuck. That’s okay though, I’ve been so incredibly exhausted having our tiny little love inside of me he barely notices how fast I fall asleep now. I pull the blankets up closer to my neck and snuggle in to Jake. His grip on me tightens and we drift off to sleep. With similar topics on our minds yet neither of us had a clue.

On typical weekday mornings, Jake would wake up first, have breakfast, and be dressed ready to go to work before I had even gotten out of bed. Yet today I woke up 30 minutes before Jake’s alarm. From the most awful and tight feeling in my stomach and my throat. I was going to puke! As the clock turned to 4:00 am I was up and in the bathroom spewing out the contents of dinner from the night before. Hearing Jake groan and step out of bed I hurry to come up with a good enough excuse. Should I say food poisoning? No because he’s completely fine and I was the one that cooked. Hmmm how about the flu? That could work I’ll go with that.

As I lean over the toilet to let out more of my stomach contents Jake crouches down behind me and gently rubs my back. “It’s okay baby, let it out. Shhhh, Sammy it’s okay,” he whispers. After a few minutes I feel a bit better and go to clean the toilet and brush my teeth. Jake stops me from cleaning the toilet saying that he wants to help. I oblige, not really having the energy or the urge to fight him on this. Once we get back in bed it’s around 4:20, ten minutes before he has to wake up.

“I’m sorry for waking you up, baby,” I croak out as he holds me in his arms. “Shhh my love it’s okay, I just want you to feel better,” he replies. “I actually feel so much better now,” I state as I hold onto him, the one person in the world that wouldn’t care that I just cost him 30 more minutes of uninterrupted sleep. “I’m so glad, baby,” he gently states. After a while of him hugging and rubbing my sides he works up the courage to say, “I actually liked that you got sick. It made me think of you being pregnant and how it would be like with me comforting you.”

“Hmmm,” I say, “that’s actually quite funny.” Jake furrows his eyebrows. “Why is that funny?” I croon my neck to look up at him. With a smile I say, “give me a second and you’ll see.” I toss the covers off of us and make my way down the steps. I turn into my studio and fish out the painting. Although it’s unfinished it’s close to being done. I also dig around another drawer to retrieve the pregnancy tests I had peed on yesterday, so that I didn’t give him old musty ones. I quickly glide up the stairs to give him his gift. It’s perfect! Impromptu yet cute. Before I enter our bedroom I call out, “Jake close your eyes and don’t open them until I tell you too.” “Yes ma’am,” Jake calls back. I peak around the corner to make sure his eyes are closed and once I’m 99% sure I come into the room. “Ok baby give me your hands.” “Yes, baby,” Jake replies. I place the canvas in his hands first, while keeping the pregnancy tests behind my back. “Ok , Jakey you can open your eyes now.”

Once Jake does his eyes widen and he glances up at me. The biggest smile I’ve ever seen from him is plastered on his face. “You want to have a baby, too,” Jake questions. I burst out into a fit of giggles. “Jakey, no. I don’t want to have a baby, too. We’re having a baby.” I show him the pregnancy tests that were hidden from behind my back. I start to tear up, however Jake starts bawling his eyes out. He launches into me telling me how happy he his. “Baby I love you so much,” he manages to get out, “this is the best thing to ever happen to me.” I nod my head in agreeance. My eyes happen to catch the clock as it reads 4:45. “Jake!” I say concerned, “you need to leave for work soon.” Without leaving my side he whips out his phone and agrees that he needs to get out of bed.

“But I really don’t want to leave you,” Jake whines. “I know baby but we’ll be here waiting for you to get back.” Jake’s smile appears and he kisses me all over the face and then shimmies down to kiss my still flat stomach. “I love the both of you so much,” Jake says. “We love you too,” I beam at him. Jake quickly gets dressed and grabs a small bite to eat before heading out of the door. I follow him to it and call out, “Lover Boy! Maybe get off work early for a special surprise?” Jake’s head snaps towards me so fast and he frantically nods. “Will do, I’ll even break orders to get here.” We exchange love you’s as he pulls out of the driveway. Oh how I love my Lover Boy.

[greensaplinggrace]

do you have any darklina fic recs?

I certainly have a few! But first I want to clarify that I don’t really read fic when I’m writing it, and since I have so many fics in the works right now, I haven’t really been reading a lot of fanfiction. So this list probably won’t be as extensive as it could be.

Here are some other great fic recommendation posts, however:

DARKLINA FIC RECS by @vicioux

DARKLINA FIC RECS // part ii by @vicioux

Darklina Ruling the World Together Fic Recs by @clubofthestarlesssaint

Tumblr Ficlets

Aleksander’s First Memory by @kestrafagnor

Fivan Talk About Darklina by @jomiddlemarch

a little light in the great, big dark by @valkyrhys

Alina tells Mal she’s with Aleksander by @lorsanbitch

Darklina week day 5: intimacy & touch by @starlesscne

AO3 Fanfiction

if it ain’t me by larry_hystereks (Incomplete - 10/13 Chapters)

alina’s in her second year at Yale when she meets aleksander at one of his frat parties.

a hookup with the potential for more, only if alina wasn’t still struggling to piece herself together from last year’s breakup.

or: alina, zoya, their trust issues, and the men that fall for them

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I’m only at about chapter 6 of this fic currently, but so far it’s one of my all time favorite Modern AUs. The characterization for Alina and Aleksander is incredibly well done, and the entire fic itself is so feminist and queer in such a refreshing way. Aleksander and Alina are bisexual as fuck, both with their own separate complex lives, and much of Alina’s own traumas and relationships are explored outside of Aleksander.

There’s some Zoyalina, with Nikolina friendship and endgame Zoyalai. There’s some mystery and some tension, but nothing too extreme, and a lot of the fic is merely an exploration in growth and overcoming one’s history and learning how to move on in healthy ways. I love it.

She Wears a Collar (With My Name) by Ceris_Malfoy (Complete)

She is immortal, and whatever lingering hints of humanity she may have once had have long been bleached from her heart.

I will grant you one wish, boy, if it is in my power to do so. What does a Shadow Smith most want?

"You," he answers.

Written for Darklina Week 2021 - Day 2: Role Reversal

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This piece is just exquisite. This author’s writing style is one that I particularly enjoy. Their stuff is always so uniquely composed and crafted, and this one especially is a work of art. The way Darklina as a relationship is portrayed in particular is fascinating to me because it’s a role reversal but it’s still so complex. Aleksander’s character is nailed.

the bright sun was extinguish’d by athousandwinds (Complete)

Somewhere, deep in the dark forests of Ravka, a boy grows up on stories of Sankta Alina of the Wastes, the Sun-Scorched Saint.

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This fic is just straight up magnificent. It’s so engaging and I love love love the way a role reversed Aleksander who joins the army is portrayed. He reminds me so much of Demon in the Woods Aleksander, as if he’s exactly what a grown version of that young boy would be. When I say I adore his characterization in this I’m not lying.

If I wanted any completed fic I’ve read to have a second chapter, it would be this one.

Winter in the Little Palace by redisxwing (Complete)

Written for Yuletide 2020.

Baghra and Alina's wildly different perspectives on the Darkling, and how things could have gone if nobody listened to Baghra.

Warning: Baghra is written as a harsh and arguably abusive parent, and this is darkfic about that relationship, with a side of shipping. Everything is terrible (except the parts that are pretty much okay).

Canon divergence pretty much as soon as Alina gets lessons in summoning.

This fic is likely not compatible with King of Scars (or any subsequent work).

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As is said in the summary, this one makes Baghra a bit more extreme. If you’re a fan of Baghra, this fic probably isn’t for you. But since I’m not a fan of Baghra, I had no problems with it.

My biggest praise for this fic is in regards to the character interactions and the POVs. There’s a brilliant grasp of unique perspective and how to convey it, and that talent is carried over into the way character interactions are brought to life in the text. Also, there’s a scene where Alina gets kind of protective of the Darkling, which is one of my biggest weaknesses when it comes to Darklina.

Good Ideas by FelixRivers (Complete)

Alina Starkov had a very good idea. Aleksander Morozova would definitely agree. (or: Alina wants to go camping and Aleksander won't complain)

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This fic is just straight up adorable and hilarious. They’re such a cute couple and Alina’s POV is great. It’s just pure fluff and humor 💕

I’m not a bad girl, but I do bad things with you by SanktaJenya - @sankta-arya (Complete)

Winter had been hard on Old Baghra and Ana Kuya was worried about her, so she decided that Alina should make the trip to her cottage on the other side of the woods to bring her some food and kvas. On her way there, Alina meets a stranger...

Darklina Red Riding Hood/Company of Wolves AU

Darklina Week, Day 4, Fairytales

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This fic has a splendid grasp of tension and atmosphere. It’s very enchanting and dark and intriguing, and it nails those aspects with absolute precision. I love the style and the way the fairytale is incorporated into the narrative. It’s truly a masterpiece.

The Wretched by @aceofnowhere (Complete)

“We are strangers, but I want to help.” He growls at her, mocking and mistrustful. “I understand,” she said. “You think I am one of them. I certainly look like one of them. But I want to help you. Will you let me?” Prompt: fairytale. Alina saves a dragon.

---

Okay so I’ve mentioned this one before as one of my Top 5 fics of all time and I still stand by that. I can’t even describe why I love this fic so much except that the pacing is amazing and the prose is stunning and the story is beautiful. Aleksander is a dragon and Alina is a witch, and their relationship is just so...interesting and fascinating and lovely. I would literally kill for this fic. There’s such a softness to it as well. Such a tenderness. Idk, I just really love it.

Show Me Who You Are (I Want To Know) by Ceris_Malfoy (Incomplete - 12/?)

Alina takes her future in her own hands and makes her own decisions.

---

This is a great “what if Alina had stuck around after the reveal” rewrite. It doesn’t have Mal bashing and in fact still writes them as close friends, which is something I’m fond of in Darklina fics. Aleksander is allowed to be soft and Alina is allowed to be powerful, and I really enjoyed the take on their dynamics as a power couple wherein Alina is given a lot of control.

There’s something to be said for the way Aleksander is written in the scenes where he must be honest and earnest with Alina. I really enjoy the way they both come to equal ground, and I’m even more fond of the way Alina is allowed to grow darker without losing her light. She also engages a lot with quite a few other characters, developing tons of friendships and alliances on her own that help strengthen her as an individual character.

on this bridge between starshine and clay by @rhea-imagined (Complete)

"His breath narrows for a moment, his fist clenched tight before he forces himself to loosen it. She is his only opportunity for salvation, but vulnerability is not a cape he wears easily. “In those days, there was less prejudice against Shadow Summoners. But everyone fears the dark, in one way or another.” He does not look at her as he waits for the penny to drop, half-hoping it stays suspended in the air."

In which Alexander comes clean to Alina and tells her about his true identity in hopes that this will help convince her to take down the Fold.

A rewrite of the fountain scene in episode four, with a good!Darkling that is trying to make amends.

---

This is my all-time favorite good!Aleksander AU. He’s kept in character despite the major changes made to his motivations, and Alina is given a lot more agency in her own story. It’s the first fic in what might become a series, but it can stand alone beautifully.

I love how Aleksander and Alina’s relationship is allowed to grow tense without breaking, and how it’s a clear sign of change but not abandonment. I love how both characters are able to think for themselves and become self-aware and are given the chance to think critically. I love the character interaction so much because it’s honest and fresh and engaging. Everything from the smallest action to the most off-hand thought is in character and meaningful and incorporated with an amazing style of writing. It’s a very refreshing piece, and the writing only makes it that much better.

Bunnies of a Feather Stitch Together by Ill_Ratte (Complete)

"Just as Alina called to the light, gathering and twisting it into a ball in her hands, the door swung open.

Kirigan blacked out the door frame. His appearance enough would have surprised Alina, but there was something clutched in his arm, something dark and floppy. It almost looked like the stuffed toys that had been passed around to the younger Orphans." - Alina and The Darkling bond over a love of soft things

---

Soft stuffed animal shenanigans. Bits of trans!Aleksander, which I’m very fond of, as well as just a lot of fluff with a bit of something bittersweet and sad in a good way.

Half Lie by Ill_Ratte (Complete)

"Baghra always talked of the demon that had stolen her daughter." Or, Alina learns the hard way that the Darkling isn't the only one who deals in half-truths

---

This one is trans!Aleksander, and it handles it in a very interesting way. It’s quite sad, and deals a lot with Baghra & Aleksander’s relationship through Alina’s POV. I want to give a warning for transphobia, because it does center around that a lot as the premise, but it really is worth the read if that isn’t a trigger for you. This is one of my favorite trans!Aleksander fics, and the way it handles emotion and grief and pain is quite extraordinary.

The CEO and Helioseismologist by mrthology (Complete)

Aleksander Morozova doesn't get sick. He's the CEO of one of the most successful companies in the world, one that he had built from the ground up with blood, sweat, and tears. He exercised daily (usually), maintained a healthy diet, and kept himself fit.

He wasn’t sick.

Too bad no one believed him. And too bad Genya decided to call Ivan to take him home before also calling Alina to take care of him.

Maybe, just maybe, being sick wasn't so bad. Especially not when he has such a wonderful girlfriend.

---

Both of the fics in this series are great, but I love this one in particular because I’m an absolute sucker for hurt/comfort. Anyone who’s been on my blog for a while knows that it’s my all time favorite trope to read, and this fic fits the hurt/comfort trope to a T in the best of ways. It’s very tender and in character, and Aleksander and Alina are so soft with each other. It’s adorable and really makes you feel for Aleksander, and the caretaking is done perfectly.

All the different layers of dark (thousand little suns) by Anuna (Complete)

One month after the Winter Fete, Aleksander returns to the Little Palace, and Alina has been missing him.

Or

Episode five canon divergence in which Alina had never left Os Alta.

---

This one is soft emotional hurt/comfort smut. They’re both so open and vulnerable with each other, and it’s so beautiful to read. I love the writing style and the emotion in this one. It makes my heart ache in the best way.

An Honourable Man by liviy695 (Complete)

A reimagining of the scene after the winter fete. Alina catches a glimpse of a caring Darkling after he returns from integrating the Conductor. Plus, no Baghra interference.

---

This one is what it says on the tin, in that Baghra doesn’t interfere and they’re allowed to talk after the Darkling interrogates the Conductor. But more than that, it’s a great imagining of how a scene where Aleksander reveals Marie’s death would have gone. There’s a sort of quiet to it that I appreciate, with grief and solemnity weighed against care and vulnerability.

I see the real you (even if you don’t, I do) by Anonymous (Incomplete - 8/?)

A series of questionable decisions lead Alina to meet the Black General a bit earlier. Butterfly effect ensues.

---

I’ve only read half so far (I hadn’t realized it had updated!! 👀👀) but I’m already in love with this fic. Alina’s dialogue and perspective is perfect, her relationship with Mal and the other cartographers is great, and I really enjoy how much personality she has. Aleksander is so smitten, but more than that, his characterization is soft but not weak. It feels almost as if he’s swept up by Alina, instead of the other way around, and I quite like that.

Of parenting by Anuna (Complete)

Alina finds out how her husband handled yet another parenting situation.

---

This is pure adorable Darklina parenting fluff and I live for it. Yet it doesn’t lack depth and in fact explored Alina and Aleksander’s relationship with parenting quite well.

i have a longing by LRCee - @ladylyannastark (Complete)

“So, Alina Starkov, risk-taker, how did you end up being editing’s newest wunderkind?”

Alina Starkov is rising in the publishing world. Singlehandedly responsible for editing (see: rewriting) the hottest book of the year, she lands a coveted spot at Morovoz Publishers. It's the position she's always wanted, at the biggest publishing house in the country. Life is perfect. That crush on her boss though, that's gotta go.

---

OKAY! I LOVE THIS ONE SO MUCH!! Let me tell you, as someone who is not too fond of Boss/Employee dynamics, I was very wary going into this fic. But boy did it deliver in a way that was perfect for me.

The relationship that develops between Aleksander and Alina is complex but healthy, and it never feels as if there’s too much of a power imbalance or anything that would make Alina feel forced or unhappy. The tension lies purely in how she fears others will perceive her, and not in how unhealthy her relationship with Aleksander is. For somebody who’s often attracted to unhealthy ships, I have to say that my favorite fics are usually ones that don’t have that type of dynamic between the characters. This fic delivers on that.

Also, Aleksander’s POV surrounding his struggle with his Russian heritage and his feelings for Alina is amazing, and has some of the best writing and characterization I’ve seen.

You receive: an evil demon; I receive: human souls by @aceofnowhere (Complete)

The next morning while she tried to tell herself it was a dream, that of course there wasn’t a fucking demon in her house, she found a note taped to her fridge.

“You might eat this shit,” it had written, “but I would like some fucking souls please.”

Darkling Week Prompt 7: free choice. Alina has a demon in her house.

This is absolute crack, and I have no idea what the fuck is wrong with me.

---

May I just say that this is the most fun I’ve ever had when reading a fic. It’s interesting with a bit of mystery, and Aleksander as a little shit of a demon is hilarious. Alina in this fic is great too. It’s such a unique take on her POV, especially when you reread it after knowing the ending. 10000/10, this fic is brilliant in every way and I love it.

I had been lost to you, Sunlight by BrytteMystere (Complete)

A Girl became a Woman, became a Sankta, became a Goddess.

Or: An Immortal Alina calls upon merzost to reunite with the Prince of Shadows she lost long ago. She may have lost herself in the process.

But then again, maybe time and endless wars did that instead.

---

You really just have to read this one to get it. It is utterly haunting and fascinating in the best of ways. The writing style is strange and novel and fits so well with the story being told. The composition of the fic as a whole is genius.

I Look Inside Myself (And See My Heart Is Black) by Ceris_Malfoy (Complete)

"When is a monster not a monster? Why, when you love it, of course."

Written for Darklina Week 2021 - Day 6: Favorite Quote • King & Queen • Monster

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Once more, this author comes through with an absolutely breathtaking writing style and story. The imagery is elegant yet brutal, simultaneously horrifying and glorious. There’s a certain way these stories are written, like fairytales, where the beautiful becomes the macabre and becomes ever more stunning because of it. It’s very dark but in a good way - an almost bewitching way.

Afterlife by @aceofnowhere (Complete)

“You are asking me to leave?”

“Not asking, shadow,” she said. “Telling. Time to get unlost, loser.”

Day 3 Darklina Week prompt: Modern AU (I mean, barely)

Alina expels ghosts from purgatory.

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@aceofnowhere once again bringing the best of the paranormal to the Grishaverse. Literally everything you write is amazing idk why I’m even pointing out individual fics when I could just rec your whole page. But anyways!! This is fun and interesting and Alina is a badass. Aleksander is, of course, compelling and dark and kind of a little shit, and it’s all incorporated seamlessly into an existential paranormal narrative.

Once Upon a Shooting Star by Ceris_Malfoy (Complete)

"But most of all, she was drawn to a vast darkness that reached out above all of them, a void so hungry for companionship that she knew she could fulfill."

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Let. Alina. Be. Feral!! Anyways, I clearly have a type when it comes to storytelling, and it’s whatever the fuck this person has got going on. Feral!Star!Alina is literally the light of my life. Her interactions with not only other people but the world in general are so well done, but my favorite parts about this fic are the numerous ways her relationship with Aleksander is described and depicted.

I love the dark and light imagery, especially with how it’s portrayed as them filling in the gaps of each other’s lives and supporting each other instead of trying to block each other out. There’s such clear passion and joy and love and devotion between them. The central focus of this fic is on her and Aleksander’s relationship, the interplay between them and their powers and the way her light fills his loneliness, the passing of adoration and trust and reliance between them. It’s very beautiful and I love it.

A Blaze of Light by Keira_63 (Complete)

They discover the Sun Summoner in the burnt-out remains of the Shu laboratory in which she has spent the last seven years of her life.

Or, the Darkling finds himself with a Sun Summoner whose greatest wish is to burn Shu Han to the ground. He is happy to oblige her.

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👀👀 Badass Alina and Badass Aleksander. The ultimate power couple, and Alina burning a path through Shu Han before they both burn a path through the world together. The darkness and rage in this one are handled very well, and the way that rage turns to coldness and then resolve is done so well. This fic is very cathartic and also very furious, and reading it is certainly a trip down emotion lane.

One more for the Road by Rist (Complete)

He returns to the war room shaken, and finds an Alina that cannot leave without at least having tried.

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This one hurts so much but its soooo gooood!!! Very smutty but also very tender and very bittersweet. Sad and soft all at once. I just... love the way Alina and Aleksander are written so much, and Alina’s complicated feelings for him are explored in such detail and depth. This one is truly worth the read.

[hansolmates]

tingle (m)

summary; your super hot, super sexy tattoo artist manages to catch you off guard mid-session. at least his touch keeps the pain off your mind. pairing; tattoo artist!jungkook x tattooed!reader (f) genre/warnings; sexual tension, im tellin u being naked in front of your tattoo artist is something, pining, roleplay, soft dom!jk, descriptions of tattooing needles and the pain associated with it, rough language, man bun koo, really tender n slow lovin, mc has nice soft squishy boobies, heeavvyyy use of the petname [redacted] w/c; 1.3k a/n; we’ve unleashed tattoo artist!koo. it’s time. based on this hellpost that won’t leave my mind. first drabble for cami’s 7k share tyty

if you like this please feel free to give it a like n’share. enjoy✨✨

When he touches your bare breast, he’s injecting more than just ink in your skin. 

By any means, this isn’t your first rodeo. You’ve gotten tattoos before, in fact you remember how it took months for you to just let your mind kindly shut the fuck up so you could finally pick something out. You realized back then that there would never be a perfect placement or meaningful design that you had to cling to in order to get it done. Sometimes you have to do things simply because it feels right. 

Yet lying down on the leather bed, petal-covered tits out and free to grab (and he does, for leverage) you feel like a tattoo newbie as he angles the needle into your skin.

Jungkook’s fast and quick, they say. It’s why you chose him for this particular piece, a blooming lily in three parts, from a bud to a bloom that starts from the bottom of your sternum to the tops of your breasts. You’ve heard stories about how the sternum is the most painful area to ink, but you’ve had this idea in mind for literal years and you still haven’t been able to shake it off. You remember how badly you wanted to kiss him after seeing how beautiful the design looked on his iPad, but for the sake of professionalism you simply nodded your head and said you loved it. You’re sure it’s highly inappropriate to lay one on your tattoo artist for just doing their job. 

You wish you could see the ink as he’s working, but at the same time you’re excited to see the final project once it’s completely done. The only thing you can stare at is his face, dark brows furrowed in concentration as he scrutinizes every centimeter of his available space, making sure the shading is perfect as he goes in with his magnum. His eyes are bright and clear despite being in the shadows as he bends over your form, and the tips of his long hair wink against your vision as they pull out of his messy bun. 

“This part’s gonna hurt the most,” Jungkook mumbles more to himself than you, seemingly in a trance as he lifts his needle from the finished bud. The half-bloom sits right at the middle, and when he presses his finger in the spot you try not to visibly wince. The bone’s right there and you’ve already shed a couple tears from the first half hour. 

“I’ll try not to squirm,” you steel yourself, curling your toes as you prepare for the next round of needling. 

“Oh don’t worry, if you squirm I’ll just pin you down.” 

You could swear Jungkook’s squishes your breast a little firmer as he says that, but you chalk it up to him going back in and needing to move it around to touch up the inked bud. It’s not like he’ll fuck you on this table, the pain must be making you some kind of delusional if you’re fantasizing about your tattoo artist.  

Five minutes later he nicks you in a particularly sensitive spot, and you wince. You can’t help but shift away, kicking your legs. He's by his words, and Jungkook’s hand unflinchingly clamps down on your breast, pushing you into the leather. From the corner of your eye, you see the way your skin bubbles between Jungkook’s inked fingers, the fat from your breast practically spilling over his knuckles. 

Neither of you say anything as he switches needles, opting for a thinner one in order to start the illustration. 

Once the sharp metal pricks your skin, you exhale. Your eyes open slightly to see a thin smile veiled onto Jungkook’s petal pink lips. 

“Good girl,” it rolls off his tongue like honey and butter, and you have to clench your thighs and press every centimeter of your body to the table in order to not flip your shit. 

It hurts, obviously. The needle goes straight to your heart, akin to the heat that pools between your thighs as you repeat his praise over and over in your head. You feel your bones vibrate in your chest as he goes in, but you want to do well for him so you force yourself to stay put. 

You’re sure he means nothing by the nickname–or pet name in your dirty mind. Jungkook and all the other artists in Jamais Vu are known to be flirty when they want to. You’re sure he’s said that to dozens of other customers, considering his books are always full and his Instagram is filled with attractive men and women inked in the most intimate of areas. 

“You say that to all your customers?” you finally pull the question from your throat, Jungkook taking a wet paper towel to rub away the excess ink. You fight your contented sighs as the cold fabric soothes your burn. 

He hums, drifting away from your body to zoom in his perched iPad. “Only the cute ones,” he teases lightly, and you hold your breath for the rest of the appointment. 

Jungkook’s slow and steady. 

“Whoever did that tatt must be a freakin’ genius,” Jungkook says between pumps, tugging your right breast to the side to marvel at the finished work. The adhesive bandage gleams in the low light of your shared bedroom, due to the television displaying a muted version of My Hero Academia with all it’s vast explosions and super-powered rocket thrusters. 

The only thrusting you’re concentrating on however, is the tender, thick drag of Jungkook’s cock slipping in and out of your wet folds. 

“Y-yeah I guess,” you whimper when he swipes his thumb over the nipple, and his dips down to give your new flowers tiny, petal soft kisses, “the artist was trying to hit on me, though. I could’ve sworn he was trying to cop a feel during our session.” 

“What a loser,” he chuckles at the running joke, his large hand dipping to the edge of your tummy. He links pinkies with yours along the way, and the both of you moan at the vision of where you couple between each other’s thighs. Thrust for thrust, his dick bulges and bloats your tummy in a way that has him gleaming with want. “Did you tell him you have a loving, far more talented boyfriend?” 

“Ah, n-no,” it’s clearly the wrong answer, as Jungkook slips away from you and sits on his calves, thick golden thighs expanding tauntingly as he strokes his heady member right between your eyes.

“I thought you were a good girl,” he sighs, as if disappointed with your choices. 

“I am a good girl,” you whine, “your good girl.” 

“Then tell me what you’re really thinking.” 

Your teasing, sexy boyfriend makes no moves to touch you, pretending to be wrapped up in his own pleasure. His mouth parts, jaw slackening as his eyes flutter shut when the motion starts to increase in pace. 

“Mm, would’ve—would’ve let him fuck me on the tattoo bed if he asked,” you mentally beg for him to open your eyes and watch you, but you can’t wait. Your fingers travel across your stomach and down to sensitive bud, rubbing the slick pearl, “y-yes, really wanted him—no, I really wanted you to bend me over in front of everyone, Jungkook. P-please, I’m so good, l-let me cum–” 

Your ministrations stop as soon as Jungkook’s hand covers your own. He never got particularly rough, but his grip is firm as he replaces your hand with his own. His eyes are blown wide, his hand sticky with your combined arousals. 

“Stop moving,” he whispers in your ear, and you tamp the urge to cry when he pinches your clit,  “or else I’m gonna have to pin you down again.” 

[cuddlesslut]

Part One :Home

Atsumu x Reader(fem)

Summary: Atsumu Miya had always been your home. But what if things changed

Tags: Fluff, Angst, cheating

2k words

Part Two: Silence

Atsumu Miya showed you the most love and care. Being with him felt like you were home. And it’s funny because in the beginning you wanted absolutely nothing to do with the setter.

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Seeing his hords of fan girls crowding his desk every morning made you want to gag mainly because it interfered with you claiming your own seat. Everyday it was the same when you were in high school. You’d make your way to class only to find you seat inaccessible. After finally being able to shoo away the path to your desk just in time for class to start you’d deal with Atsumu incessant chattering or what he’d refer to as flirting. You honestly didn’t understand how he thought those lame lines would work on anyone. But every class with out fail he’d always have some lame line to spew at you. It made no sense in your eyes why you out of the sea of girls and some boys he could pick from why did he have his sights set on you.

You paid no mind in the beginning rolling you eyes at all his advances. You figured it was just some game to him it’s not like any of what he said genuine at least not to you. Apparently the volleyball player thought these attempts were the most romantic things ever when he finally cornered you after class one.

“ Aye I have been trying my best to get your attention for the last month,” he said as he laid his hand on your desk trapping you in your place, “What’s y’er deal?” You cocked you head to the side in disbelief. Moving his arm to the side you stood straightening you paper to put in you bag. Turning back to face him.

“Miya-San you can’t actually expect me to believe that was your “best effort” in trying to win my affection” you chuckled. Atsumu there with a look of confusion dawning his (what you couldn’t deny) extremely handsome face. Decided to cut your fellow second year some slack you continued. “None of your lines were meaningful, you showed no authentic interest in me,” you gave him a soft smile starting to make your way out of the class room. You stopped at the door turning and presenting him with a wicked smile “ it won’t be that easy, make sure to give it y’er all next.” And with that you we’re gone leaving him in disbelief he’d never been turned down before. He gave a small laugh to no one but himself as he decided in that moment he’d do everything to make you his.

Sure enough he put his all into trying to win your heart. While he wasn’t rude to his fan girls he definitely didn’t indulge them as much which eased your morning commute to your desk. Next were the notes he would leave. The first few were longer and almost made you want to laugh your ass off they were his love letter to you that you could tell he tried to make sound poetic. ( failing epically) but still you send him a small smile and a nod in acceptance. The other were little notes, some stating small facts about what he liked about you or little jokes about the day. Next was the gifts he would leave you. Once it was a small flower, another time a candy bar, most recently a delicious piece of milk bread. All of these little tokens definitely grabbed your heart but the moment you knew you had fallen for him was the day after you came back to school after having a cold. After sitting in your seat next to him you saw him rummage through his bag he turned to you and present you with all the notes he had taken for you through your absence. Seeing this boy who’s mind only ever focus on volleyball and cared little for his own grade do this broke down all your wall. You stared at the notes for a moment before leaning over and place a small kiss to his cheek. A blush crept up both of you faces. And from that moment forward you were his.

———

But that was then. It was now six years later and not only was Atsumu Miya your home he was also your fiancé. You had each been there for each other through everything. You were there through nationals and comforted him through his loss. You were there with him to celebrate every win. He stood by you side as you stared college and you stayed by his side as he joined the professional league. Through the years you had your highs and lows but your love for him never wavered. Not through the distance his job would bring and the scheduling conflict with your schooling and his training. In the end none of that mattered to you because you were his and he was yours. The nights you spent in each other’s arm were the best thing you could have ever wished for.

As of recently though even if he was your home. You were beginning to feel less like his. It started with small things like extra practice which wasn’t anything you werent used to Atsumu had the habit of over working himself. You don’t say anything yet because you knows he gotten better and knows his limits. It progresses to though he’s becoming more distant always heading straight to bed after meals.

“Hey Tsumu wanna watch a movie tonight?” You smile weakly from the couch.

“Not tonight YN I’m really tired,” he reply’s placing a small kiss on your forehead as he head to bed.

It doesn’t stop there although you wish it would. He starts being out later claiming to have extra practice. But you notice the smell of alcohol on his breath when he climbs into bed believing you are asleep. And honestly you wish you would be alseep so maybe some nights you wouldn’t see the signs. The next clue was when he now put a lock on his phone. Something he had never done before. But still you don’t question him. The “late practices” become more frequent and it more often he gone than when he’s around.

Part of you wants to complain to you friends but for one your friends were his friends after spending so long together it’s hard for your lives not to be connected in such ways and two if you do it will make it all to real. You aren’t stupid. You know the truth you know the one reasons you both haven’t been intimate lately is because his body has marks on it from another. You realized that when you had gone into the bathroom real quick while he was showering. It was the tiniest glance but you still saw the scratches on his back that weren’t left by you. Yet you still say nothing and you doubt he realizes you saw them.

You aren’t ready for this to be real. You aren’t ready for your home to be gone. Tomorrow is your birthday and your hoping that this will be it . Tomorrow you will both spend the day together like you used to you’ll laugh and smile everything will be right. Everything will go back to the way it was. Even though deep down you know the truth. And the truth is that you’ve cried yourself to sleep every night the past month wondering where you went wrong. Wondering how you weren’t good enough. Wondering what you should have done to make him stay. But he’s never home to see those tear you cry.

The next morning you wake and go to start some breakfast leaving Atsumu in bed. You wonder when he got home but you know it doesn’t matter. You hear the shower start as you made your coffee. Shortly after the setter appears wearing his training clothes and his duffel bag packed. “ I’m heading to the gym,” he states giving you a quick peck to the temple before heading to the door. Those little kisses always cause your heart to squeeze in hope. He doesn’t wait for a response as he leaves. A sigh leaves you lips as you realize he hadn’t said anything to you about your birthday. You shake your head and fool yourself into thinking he’ll surprise you later.

You continued you day getting little birthday messages from friends and family. Osamu had a box of Onigiri sent to you for lunch with a note saying Happy Birthday. You have a nice call with your best friend Suna and he tells you he’ll come see you soon to celebrate. You were on the phone with Suna longer than you expected seeing the time now said 5:37. After ending the call you see one missed messaged from Tsmu 💕 : practicing late tonight don’t wait up.

You heart stops. He really forgot. You really mean that little that he forgot your birthday. It was the final straw. Although part of your body wanted to break down into sobs you remained calm as though working on auto pilot. Slowly you make your way to your room grabbing your luggage and started packing all of your essentials and anything you couldn't bare to leave behind not knowing if you’d have the courage to return. After finally loading your car it was now 7:20. You knew you shouldn’t that you’d only get hurt more but you pulled out your phone and did something you never could bring yourself to do before. You checked his location. A chuckle leaves your lips as you see he’s at your favorite restaurant. The one you both loved so much and had spent countless anniversaries dinners at. Not thinking you run back into your condo that you shared with the twin. You dug to the back of you closest and quickly change into one of your favorite dresses. Your hair was already nice and you didn’t need much make up so as you finished getting ready you left. Heading straight to the restaurant.

You can’t say for sure what cause you to want to go there. Maybe a small part of yourself needed to see it. But sure enough you can’t mistake that yellow hair sitting toward the back of the restaurant is your fiancé with another woman. His back is to you and her attention is all on him enraptured in whatever garbage he’s spewing. In that moment a calm rage settles over you. You look at the hostess and requested a table a little ways away from them one where your still out of his view. As you sit you place an order for a glass of wine still setting up how you want to approach this. Then an daring thought crosses your mind. You called for your waitress.

“Excuse me but you see that couple over there,” you said motioning towards them. “Yes ma’am” she nods. “Well that’s my best friend over there and I really love to do something nice for them it’s their birthday!” The waitress smiles as you explain your plan. You sit and wait as you sip your wine when finally the waitress walks over to their table.

“Hi” the waitress greets them before setting down the dessert. A look of confusion crosses their faces and you can’t help but grin. Atsumu smiles politely before looking down at the cake. His smile drops immediately as he read the cake “Happy Birthday YN”. You giggle as you see the panic in his eyes. “I’m sorry we didn’t order this,” the unknown woman states to the waitress. You can see the waitress smile as she points to your table an explains your friend ordered it for you. You not quite sure how to explain the emotions written on Atsumu’s face as he watches you walk up the table.

“Y-YN,” he stutters. You can see the look of confusion on the girls face and for moment you feel sorry for her maybe she was just as clueless as you. “Hi Tsmu,” you smile leaning over to take a bite of your birthday cake. “Mmm Chocolate, delicious,” you smiled before looking him dead in the eyes as you removed your engagement ring and dropped it in his glass of champagne. “You can have this back,” you state bitterly before turning around and handing your waitress a big bill to cover your drink the cake and a nice tip. You start to walk of as you hear him call for you. But you refuse to turn back. You know your moment of strength is fading and you won’t let him see you tears. So you keep walking straight to you car and drive away. Not sure where to go. You just left your home.

This my first time writing angst and also my fist time writing in a while.

Also unedited

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