#Patchy hair loss

[goldfades]

🌱 jack hughes “you’re my home”

𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐥𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐞𝐚 (𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐚 𝐬𝐩𝐨𝐨𝐧𝐟𝐮𝐥 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐲) | jh⁸⁶

♡ ─ word count | 1k

♡ ─ warnings | the devils losing a game really bad, hurt/comfort, fluffy!

It was the most terrible game that they'd had in a while. The game started off with high hopes, the fans buzzing with excitement, but it quickly became a nightmare on the ice. The Devils seemed all patchy right from the puck drop, passes went astray, and defensive coverage was basically nonexistent.

The opposing team capitalized on every mistake, relentlessly pressuring the defense and bombarding the goalie with shots. It felt like they were playing against a brick wall while our defense resembled swiss cheese, it was frustrating to watch. Penalties kept piling up, and the penalty kill unit struggled to contain the opponent's power play, giving up goal after goal.

By the final buzzer, the scoreboard was 6-1, the worst loss as of recently.

The drive home was quiet, no words were exchanged on Jack's part. You tried comforting him but it was no use, he was lost in his own thoughts, replaying the game's events over and over again in his mind. The silence in the car was heavy, filled with disappointment and frustration.

As you pulled into the driveway, Jack finally spoke, his voice heavy with frustration. "I don't know what happened out there," he said, shaking his head. "We just couldn't get anything going. It's like I forgot how to play fucking hockey."

You turned to your boyfriend, a frown on your lips. You could feel how he was feeling, he probably thought the whole game was a reflection of his playing, which was not true. "It's not your fault, Jack. We all have those days, you guys are still an amazing team."

Jack let out a bitter laugh, his frustration evident. "Amazing team? We played like a bunch of losers out there. I let the team down, I let myself down. It's fucking embarrassing."

"It's okay to feel frustrated, Jack," you said gently, reaching out to touch his arm. "But remember, one bad game doesn't define you or the team. You've all worked hard to get where you are, and setbacks are just part of the game."

He sighed heavily, running a hand through his disheveled hair. "I know. I feel like I could have done more, should have done more."

"Jack," you said, looking directly into his eyes, "you're a good player, and tonight doesn't define you or the team. Sometimes, things just don't click. You'll bounce back stronger, and so will the team. This is just a bump in the road."

Jack let out a bitter laugh, his frustration evident. "Amazing team? We played like a bunch of losers out there. I let the team down, I let myself down. It's fucking embarrassing."

"It's okay to feel frustrated, Jack," you said gently, reaching out to touch his arm. "But remember, one bad game doesn't define you or the team. You've all worked hard to get where you are, and setbacks are just part of the game."

He sighed heavily, running a hand through his disheveled hair. "I know. I feel like I could have done more, should have done more."

"Jack," you said, looking directly into his eyes, "you're a good player, and tonight doesn't define you or the team. Sometimes, things just don't click. You'll bounce back stronger, and so will the team. This is just a bump in the road."

Jack's shoulders sagged, and he nodded slowly, the weight on him seemingly lifting a bit. "Thanks for being here," he mumbled, sighing.

You both got out of the car and walked towards your home. Jack took a long, warm shower and you stayed up for him despite it being late and you having work the next morning. You wanted to be there for him, no matter how late it was.

As Jack disappeared into the bathroom, you busied yourself in the kitchen, preparing a light snack and a cup of tea, knowing he would appreciate the gesture after such a rough game.

Finally, you heard the sound of the water shutting off, followed by the shuffle of footsteps approaching. Jack emerged from the bathroom, towel draped around his waist, looking visibly more relaxed than before.

"Feeling any better?" you asked, offering him a warm smile as you handed him a steaming mug of tea, his favorite flavor: ginger and lemon (with a lot of honey).

He took it gratefully, the steam rising to his face as he took a sip. "Yeah, a little," he admitted, leaning on the counter. "Thanks for staying up. I know it's late."

You shrugged, dismissing his concerns. "No problem. You needed someone to talk to after tonight."

"It means a lot, you being here," Jack said, his voice softer now, touched by a hint of vulnerability. "I don't know what I'd do without you."

A warm feeling swelled in your chest at Jack's words, his vulnerability tugging at your heartstrings. You reached out and gently squeezed his hand, offering a reassuring smile. "Of course I'll be here, Jack. I love you."

"I love you too." He responded with a small smile before putting the half empty mug on the counter. "I'm gonna go get ready for bed."

As Jack headed towards the bedroom, you cleaned up the kitchen, letting the remnants of the night's emotions settle. The glow of the bedside lamp welcomed you as you entered the bedroom. Jack, now in comfortable clothes, looked at you with a grateful expression. You joined him under the covers, the warmth of the blankets wrapping around you like a cocoon.

You pulled Jack in closer, letting his head rest on your chest. You traced gentle circles on Jack's back, a soothing gesture that showed reassurance. The weight of the disappointing game, the frustrations, and the doubts seemed to dissipate as the night enveloped you both.

"You're my home, Y/N." He whispered drowsily as he began falling asleep, pulling you in closer. A tender smile graced your lips at Jack's words. In the quiet of the night, with the pattern of his breathing against your chest, you felt an overwhelming sense of love rush through you.

-> make sure to check out my navigation or masterlist if you enjoyed! any interaction is greatly appreciated! <-

thank you for reading all the way through, as always ♡

[sillyandquiteawkward]

Quite often I think about how the crew would have realistically looked after 5 months of being stranded. How each character would have altered their uniform for comfort or practicality, outgrown and uncombed hair, beards and stubble, Daisuke’s roots growing out, everyone looking overall sickly, things like that. You put a lot of thought into how you design the characters, so I was curious about what you thought

hmmmm thats fun! here are some notes i think id make on the crew and their deterioration. whether or not they are realistic...well i havent done any research, this is all vibes based.

curly: well hes been degloved so thats one thing to note. ive been tossing and turning what exactly happened to curly. ive been just kinda going along with the consensus of hes badly burnt and just being vague. but i wonder if the foam also came into play, especially with his amputations and such. its strong enough to seal off the vacuum of space so? i do think he has Some skin left on the left side of his torso from his coveralls, but still not in good shape. other notes i could make would be i do think his other eye has been removed due to damage/infection by anya. and i like to note that his more severe wounds are on his right side. i think curly bit his tongue off or partially off during the crash. hes also opioid dependent and when he gets shifted to the back up meds his body suffers seriously due to withdrawal and pain from existing and he can hardly keep food down, losing even more weight.

anya: i think anya has hair on the finer side, so itd be stringy as hell when greasy. i dont think shed keep up the charade of keeping up appearances at all after the crash, shes incredibly busy and stressed, her hair is unstyled, but hand combed to avoid tangles. however she already has dark eyes and dark circles so not much changes there for me, altho shes stopped wearing any makeup due to no access to her things. i think sometimes she takes her coverall top off to be in her sweater, and sometimes in the lounge, removes her sandals to be just in her socks. at night shes always fully clothed no matter how sweaty she gets. i think anyas appetite is all sorts of fucked, and shes prone to getting morning sickness, so i think shes had the most amount of weight loss (excluding curly). she just looks hollow and tired. i think her fingernails are Gone. chewed to the bed. and it stresses her out she doing something unsanitary but pica be pica-ing. she also chews and swallows the ends of her hair. no one comments on this development.

swansea: swanseas the only guy you can actually See get worse for wear after months and its always harrowing seeing his ruddy face and stained shirt. you can see how far off the deep end hes jumped. swansea strikes me as the guy who cant grow solid facial hair so any hairs on his face are gray/light and patchy. he always looks damp, hes sweating a lot, and later on hes covered in his own sweat, vomit, and mouthwash. i think daisuke tries to corral him and get his shirt clean when it gets bad, but its a toss up if hes in an agreeable enough mood to allow daisuke to help him, in which case hes chilling shirtless until daisuke comes running back with his now slightly clean, but wet shirt. i think hes the only person whos gained weight during the crash, altho that is in no way a good thing and is more of a tell tale sign hes killing himself from the mouthwash. i think he has sleep apnea and has a cpap, so without it, hes incredibly sleep deprived, but hes used to it from pony express sleep shifts.

daisuke: as hes the guy with the freshest id card photo, taken likely right before they left, you can see his roots already growing out. a lot of the blond has grown and been cut off, and a lot of whats left is faded due to time and hair washing. after the crash, he still brushes his hair with his hands and washes it the best he can with sink water occasionally, even cutting it. i think hes also got some stubble going, but shaves it when it starts bugging him with assistance from the others. but hes got a lot of energy, he spends a lot taking care of his appearance, and he looks the best out of everyone, especially at the start, and then later after sobering. i think daisuke, being in charge of the food, feels a bit of a burden for eating a lot and cuts back. he looses some weight, mostly in his muscle and some of his chubbiness, but retains a softness about him, especially with swansea telling him to properly eat his share of rations. he takes care of his clothes. if he feels sweaty, hell take his nice shirt off, and if thats too much still, hell take his pony express shirt off as well to make sure it doesnt get stinky (as fast).

jimmy: hes self centered i think hes been focusing on keeping up appearances and has managed to shave a few times. i think daisuke made a comment on how thick his beard was growing in like his id card and he stole a scalpel to spend the next chunk of time shaving (and bleeding). he has lots of gray hairs coming in lately, and hes let his hair grow out. hes went from lean to thin but looks about the same due to his already baggy clothing choices, and i think hes upset hes sweaty and stinky and that his hair is greasy and messy. his white undershirt looks like shit due to sweat and being white, so he doesnt take his coverall top off. in fact, i dont think hes ever disrobed since the crash, to keep up appearances that hes unshakable.

[pedropascalsx]

Kinktober - Day Two: Virginity.

Frankie Morales × F! Reader.

Summary: You and Frankie take the next step in your relationship.

Warnings: P in v, Loss of Virginity, Oral (f) rec & feelings.

Word Count: 951!

A/N: Day two and I wrote a little bit of our favourite pilot. I hope you enjoy soft and sexy Frankie!

Thank you AGAIN to @absurdthirst for your amazing prompt list! And for looking over this one as well as yesterdays. I appreciate you so much 🩷

Your thighs shake as his tongue laps at you like a man starved, his arms holding you in place as you come apart for the second time at the expense of his tongue.

“Frankie,” you whimper as he continues to work you through your high, alternating between licking and sucking your clit as your fingers grip his hair tighter and tighter. With another breathy moan of his name you start to gently push his head away, the overstimulation becoming a little too much as you tremble beneath him. “You are incredible.” You say with a giggle.

“And you’re fucking delicious,” he murmurs, before peppering a few kisses on your thighs and rubbing his patchy beard against your soft skin.

“I want this,” you say, noting the trepidation in his eyes and the way his hands are a little less steady than usual. “I love you, Frankie.”

“I know,” he says, the corners of his mouth turning upwards. “I love you too. Promise me you’ll tell me to stop if it’s too much?” His hands grip the backs of your legs as he presses a kiss to your knee.

“I promise,” you say, lifting up your hand and gently rubbing soft circles into his cheek.

“Lift your hips,” Frankie says, before reaching over for a pillow, and placing it gently underneath you. “We’ll go slow, and I’ll stop if you need me too.”

“I know, baby.” You watch as he calculates every move he makes, not rushing and ensuring that you’re ready to take him. He gently slips a finger between your slit, and gathers up some arousal, generously coating two fingers before pushing them inside of you.

“So fucking tight,” he hisses. His pupils are blown wide with lust as he watches his fingers pump in and out of your dripping core, focusing on finding that spot. “I fucking love this pussy,” he murmurs as start to flutter around his digits, and your eyes start to roll back into your head. “There it is.”

“Oh, Frankie,” you choke out, as he drags his fingers against the spot inside of you. Exploring you in a way that no one else has before. “Oh, fuck!”

“I know, baby girl, I know,” he soothes, as the softest moans spill from your perfect lips. “Once you’ve cum on my fingers, I’ll give you my cock.”

He begins to twist his arm a little, pushing a little deeper as your walls greedily grip onto his fingers and he knows you’re already getting close. “You’re so beautiful,” he says, as he looks you up and down. He takes in every curve and appreciates every mark, scar and every single inch of you. “How did I get so lucky?”

You can’t respond, your body doesn’t let you, instead every part of you tenses before your body is awash with pleasure. Every receptor in your body is on fire in the most incredible way, as he repeats the same motion over and over until he knows you can’t take anymore.

“Frankie,” you murmur, desperately to feel more of him, “Make love to me.”

“With pleasure,” he says with a wide smile. He gently removes his fingers and brings them to his mouth, sucking them clean with a groan that you feel everywhere.

He pushes down his boxers and reveals his painfully hard cock, the tip bright red and begging for relief. “Promise me again, you’ll tell me if it gets too much,” he says, not taking his eyes off of yours. “Promise me, baby.”

“I promise, Francisco.” You shift closer to him, and you watch as he exhales deeply.

He’s slow, he takes himself in hand and drags the tip of him through your folds. He watches the rise and fall of your chest for a few moments before his eyes flicker back up to your face, and he studies it without blinking as he presses himself against your entrance. You give him a small nod and a wide smile and he pushes just the tip of him inside of you. The gasp you make is the most beautiful sound he’s ever heard, and after a few moments he pushes himself in just a little more, relishing in every moment until he’s filled you to the hilt.

He’s in no rush to move, his mouth spills an endless amount of praises and sweet nothings as you get used to the size of him. And then he slowly begins to rock his hips, his lips now pressed to yours as he swallows every delicious moan and whimper.

Every snap of his hips is so perfectly controlled. Each one designed to give you pleasure while remaining soft enough to not overwhelm. “I love you,” you murmur softly against his lips, as he responds with a kiss that steals your breath.

He knows he isn’t going to last much longer, not with the way you keep squeezing him like a vice. So he keeps focusing on that spot inside of you determined to make you see stars before he fills you up for the first time. “I love you, baby,” he says before slightly increasing the pace, and that’s when he knows he’s got you. You clamp down hard around him and yell his name, before flooding his cock and he immediately follows suit, painting your walls with thick ropes of his pleasure. “I love you, I love you so much,” he repeats over and over as you milk him dry.

The moment you’ve both come down from your high, he gently pulls himself free and captures your lips with a bruising kiss.

“That was perfect,” you say, lips brushing against his. “I love you so much, Francisco.”

“I love you more.”

[unangelic-thoughts]

Forgive me...I want you. (Joel Miller x AFAB!Reader)

Summary: After a drunken mistake where you expose yourself to your aunt's boyfriend, you unknowingly start something between you beyond your wildest dreams…

Warnings: NSFW smut 18+, infidelity, age gap, masturbating while being watched, phone sex (sorta?? but more like window sex??)

Word Count: 3k

Author’s note: A specific part in this is loosely inspired by taylor swift's 'you belong with me' scene where they see each other through their bedroom windows…hehe…;)

Reblogs and interactions are most appreciated <333

I walk as quietly as I can up the stairs of the house I currently live in with my parents so as to not wake them at one thirty in the morning. Although I'm in my mid twenties and would love nothing more but to have my own place, rent is ridiculously expensive and I'd rather save up for as long as I can. Thankfully for me, I get along with them both and we respect each other's privacy - so it works.

I shut the door to my bedroom quietly, extending my hand to the wall beside me to switch the light on. I take my cross-body bag off over my head and throw it on my bed with a sigh. Running my hands through my hair, I think back to today's unfortunate events. From deciding to surprise my girlfriend on our six month anniversary, to catching her in bed with my best friend, to going from bar to bar with my sweet Angel of a cousin to try and forget it all; I am completely and utterly emotionally and physically exhausted.

The makeup I put on earlier today is patchy and smudged but I feel too numb to care. Walking into my on-suite bathroom, I stare at myself in the mirror while my arms rest on either side of the sink. Black streaks of mascara cover my cheeks from where I'd been crying. I take a deep breath, grabbing a makeup wipe and take it all off.

Once I'm done with skincare, I walk back into my bedroom and pick out a clean pair of undies and oversized tee from my closet, setting them out at the end of my bed. I begin stripping from my clothes, starting with my top, then my skirt and tights. I stand up straight, my hands reaching behind my back to take my bra off when I lock eyes with Joel and I freeze.

Joel is my next door neighbour. He is also my dad's sister's husband. In my current messy state, I  completely forgot to pull my curtains shut and that Joel's office literally faces my bedroom. In my defence, I wasn't expecting him to be up this late.

The initial state of shock begins to subside but neither of us has attempted to look away first. I'm reminded of the very innocent crush I've had on him since the day my aunt introduced us to him five years ago. Of course, I knew it was futile - considering the whole Joel-is-now-technically-my-uncle thing as well as the age gap thing. I never let myself think about it too seriously except for the times late at night whenever I've struggled to fall asleep. Thoughts of him laying on top of me, kissing down my neck while his hands caress my body intrude my mind more often than I'd like to admit and I feel so guilty, but I can't help it.

It feels like I've been standing there half-naked in front of my window for hours when in reality it's only been a second or two. I spot my dressing gown draped over my swivel chair in the corner of my eye and I quickly grab it to cover myself as best as I can.

When I look back at him, his eyes have fallen to the laptop in front of him and I instantly feel the loss of his intense stare. A pang of disappointment hits me, missing the feel of his eyes on me and the way it ignited a fire in my lower belly.

Desperate to get his attention, I loosen the grip I have on my dressing gown and let it fall in front me, exposing me once more. His dark brown eyes instantly meet mine again and it makes my insides flip.

I swallow down the lump in my throat, deciding to ignore the warning lights and sirens going off in my head that are telling me how terrible of an idea this is. But in this moment, I couldn't care less. I just want to feel wanted.

My hands find their way to my bra for a second time and unclasp it. I hold the cups of my bra against my breasts, a moment of hesitation washing over me but I shake that feeling away as I shake off my bra.

Joel goes very still and it feels good to know I'm having an effect on him, so I continue. My hands drop to my panties, my thumbs hooking on either side as I slowly slide them down my legs and step out of them.

I feel so empowered and in full control of the situation, which is exactly what I need right now. I turn around, grabbing my clean undies and slipping them on followed by my oversized tee. I walk to my window, wishing I could reach out to touch him but instead, I pull the curtains shut knowing I've already gone too far and put an end to whatever this is.

***

I've avoided Joel for two whole weeks since that night; not that it has been hard to do since he's definitely been avoiding me too. He hasn't even spared me a glance when we've passed by each other in our adjacent driveaways, oftentimes me going out and him coming home at the same time.

The anxiety of what I'd done was eating me up the first few days, worried that he'd tell my aunt about it. But the longer it's been, the more confident I feel that he's not planning on telling a soul. God, if anyone found out about my drunken mistake, it would completely destroy our family.

I've thought of countless of ways I could apologize to him but none seem good enough, worried it'll just make things more awkward; if that's even possible. Sometimes it's better to pretend like nothing ever happened and things will eventually fix by themselves with time. Yes...I just have to give it some time and it'll soon be a distant memory...

***

The chime of the doorbell distracts me from my current seated position on the sofa, one hand holding the book I've been reading and the other stroking my cat, Felix. I place the book next to me and cradle Felix in my arms like the little baby that he is and head to the door.

It's my aunt, Tess. "Hi hun, are you enjoying your weekend alone?" She extends an arm to rub Felix under his chin.

"Yeah, it's been nice having the house all to myself. Mum and dad won't be back until late Monday evening so I still have a couple of days of peace." I say, chuckling.

"That's great! Although I'm about to disturb that peace, but not for long. I promise! I just need a small favour." She cautiously smiles at me.

"As long as it doesn't involve screaming kids or maths, I'm happy to help." I respond lightheartedly.

"So, I ordered a couple of new sculptures of Athena and the delivery driver just dropped them off outside our door. He ran off before I could get the chance to ask him to help bring them in." She sighs.

"Oh my God, more Greek sculptures? You're obsessed! Don't you already have like 50? How do they all fit in the house?!" I say half-serious, half-laughing while I shake my head. For the past year, Tess has developed a fascination for Greek mythology and the house has basically turned into a museum of Ancient Greece.

"I know, I know." Tess replies, swinging her hands back and forth to dismiss my accusation. "Anyway, I've hurt my back so I can't lift anything and Joel needs another person to help him. Would you mind lending  him a hand?"

"Yeah, sure." I somehow manage to say nonchalantly even though inside I'm screaming. The last thing I want to do is be near Joel but I can't tell Tess that. "I'll be out in a minute" I say, forcing a smile and nod my head as I step back into the house to slip into something more appropriate. 

Once I've pulled my shit together and reassured myself that this isn't a big deal, I make the short walk over to their place. The door opens before I reach the steps, both Tess and Joel coming out at the same time. She places a quick peck on his lips before making her way to her car. "Just going to do some grocery shopping, I won't be long. And be careful with my sculptures!" She calls out as she shuts the car door after her.

I notice the silence between us immediately, fiddling my hands nervously. "Where do these need to go?" I ask as I point to the sculptures in front of me, desperate to be done with this as quickly as possible.

Joel doesn't hold my gaze however, and it makes me think that what happened is still bothering him. "One in the living room and one in the bedroom."

Once we've figured out how to carry the first one, we manage to place it in the living room with relative ease. The second one however is much trickier, needing to be carried all the way to the upstairs bedroom. I can feel myself building up a sweat but I try my best to keep my breathing steady. Once we reach the room, we set it down in its new spot. Not even a second later and I trip over my own foot, falling towards the direction of the sculpture. Joel is there before I know it, one hand holding Athena and the other steadying me. The feel of his arm around me feels different to any other time we've hugged, I notice.

"That was close." He says, pulling back once I've got both feet on the ground.

"It was. Thank you. Tess would kill me if anything happened to it." I exhale, widening my eyes in horror at the thought of breaking the sculpture.

"And I'd be right there with you too. She can be a scary woman when she wants to be." He jokes, an uneasy smile on his face.

"I'm sorry." I blurt out as I fix my gaze on the sculpture rather than Joel.

"Don't worry about it, nothin' broke so we get to live another day." He shrugs his shoulders as his hands rest on his hips and laughs.

"Not about that...I'm sorry about what happened that night. I was drunk and it was wrong of me." I find myself saying before I can stop myself, the guilt finally getting to me.

The grin on his face immediately drops and I brace myself for what he has to say.

"It was a fucked up thing to do and it's best that we forget about it." He says, his tone razor sharp.

"I know and for that, I sincerely apologize." His words sting even though I know they shouldn't. I mean, he didn't look away either. It can't just be all on me, he could've easily left. He had plenty of opportunity to do so.

"You put me in a really uncomfortable position. What would Tess say if she found out? What would your parents think?" His brows are furrowed together in anger and I regret ever bringing it up.

"I-I wasn't in a good place mentally and I definitely wasn't sober but I don't think it's fair to put all the blame on me." I defend, shaking my head.

His eyebrows shoot up in surprise, "And who should share the blame? Me?"

It's my turn to furrow my brows, not liking where this conversation is going. "Well, yeah. You clearly didn't dislike what you saw. You could've left at any time."

"I think you should leave." He responds firmly, crossing his arms.

"You don't have to tell me twice." I scowl. Turning on my heal, I strut out of the room and slam the door shut behind me. Regret fills my chest, not for my drunken striptease, but for my stupid attempt at apologising to that asshole.

*** He tries to apologise to me twice this week but I blank him both times. He tells me that Tess noticed something has been off with us and confronted him about it. He told her it's because he yelled at me when I almost broke one of her statues and now I'm mad at him. That's the only reason he wants to apologise, so that everything seems normal in front of everyone else; not because he's genuinely sorry. So no, I'm not ready to forgive him that easily.

***

I'm having one of those late night closet clear outs, deciding whether my denim midi skirt is staying in the keep pile or the donation pile when my phone rings.

My breath hitches as the name of last person I thought would be calling me right now pops up on the screen. At first I think it might be a mistake, but as it rings for the fourth time, I have to decide whether to answer or ignore it.

He's never called me this late before and the curiosity takes over, so I swipe the green button on the screen and put the phone to my ear.

"Joel?" I ask hesitantly, even though I know it's him calling.

"Can we talk?" His voice low on the other end of the line.

"I'm busy right now." I reply, finally tossing the skirt I've been holding to the keep pile.

"No, you're not. I can literally see you in your bedroom." With that, I turn around and look up. Lo and behold, Joel is standing in front of his office's french doors and he's looking right at me.

"What do you want?" I ask, my heartbeat increasing tenfold.

I watch as his hand trails up his shirt, his fingers starting to unbutton it from the top.

"Tell me to stop at anytime, and I will." He whispers as I stand there completely dumbfounded.

Once his shirt is unbuttoned, he shrugs it off his shoulders, letting it fall on the floor behind him. It exposes his soft chest and belly, and I can't take my eyes off of him.

His hands move on to his belt, swiftly removing it from his jeans and popping open the button. He stops just before he pulls his zipper down and I feel a pang of disappointment until I hear his voice once more.

"Do you want me to stop?" He asks simply, as if he hasn't just asked me such an incongruous question.

I shake my head from side to side ever so slightly, it's barely noticeable.

"I need you to use your words darlin'" He's looking at me intently and it makes me feel lightheaded.

I don't want to say it out loud but if I-

"Don't. Don't stop." I surprise myself at how sure I sound, not realising how badly I've wanted this since I exposed myself to him until this very moment.

I notice his chest contract as he exhales in relief; Like he was hoping I'd want this just as much as he does.

He continues then, removing his jeans completely and takes a seat on the chair behind him while still facing me.

"Your turn." It takes me a minute to process what he's saying. He wants to see me naked. Again. Part of me questions whether this is a prank but the part of me that has secretely wanted to do this since forever decides to push the doubts aside.

I hesitate only for a second before I remember that I've done this before and he's already seen my exposed body, and then I strip down to my underwear - just like he has.

His hand reaches inside his boxers and he begins to stroke himself. My panties are soaked within seconds. His breathing becomes shallow as he increases the speed of his hand on his member. My hand is on my breast, squeezing it hard as my thumb and index finger stroke my nipple.

"Touch yourself." He orders and I immediately oblige, my hand gliding from my breast to my soft tummy and finally underneath my panties. I hiss as my fingers touch my bundle of nerves, making circular motions. I'm already so wet at the sight in front of me that it doesn't take long for me to slide my fingers through my contracting walls. I pump my fingers with the same rhythm that he strokes his cock as I close my eyes to imagine that it's him inside of me. It feels so good and yet it's not enough, but I know that this is going to be as good as it's ever going to get. This won't ever happen again. I shake those thoughts away and decide to savour the present moment.

Opening up my eyes again, my gaze is back on Joel. His mouth is parted lightly and his eyes are half shut as his head rests on the back of his chair. His movements under his boxers become more frantic and I know he's close. It drives me to go faster and I yelp as I unexpectedly hit a sweet spot, "Fuck!"

"Keep going baby." He urges me on as he grunts in pleasure. My eyes shut tightly and I bite my lower lip, fastening my pace which causes squelching sounds from my dripping pussy.

"Atta girl." He praises, seemingly satisfied by the sounds travelling through the phone.

I whimper in pleasure as I feel the orgasm build inside of me. I stare back at Joel who lets out a "Fuck" at the same moment that I do. We both come apart together, moaning and whimpering in unison; creating a sweet melody of pleasure.

I never, in a million years, thought that I would ever get the chance to see and hear him coming undone but it's the most mesmerizing thing I've ever witnessed. 

"Am I forgiven?" He asks once his breathing has returned to normal.

"I think you already know the answer to that." I say, as a smile creeps up on my damp face.

--------

Thank you for reading! I'd love it if you let me know your throughts <3 (Uuumm personally, I would jump straight through that goddamn window and onto his lap...fuckkkk)

Lots of love, Elki xoxo

[1u11ablues]

Two Negatives Make a Positive (Simon Riley x Reader)

Wordcount: 1k Warnings/tags: Blood (slight cut), slight pining if you squint, injured Simon, tender because this man deserved it

There were no two people who’s together but not together like you and Ghost were. At every moment that your relationship was questioned, there was an unspoken deal that you’d both had to deny everything; that you were both just pain in each other’s asses and it was a competition to see which one would give up first; that at most it was a reluctant friendship borne out of trauma.

“You’re covering my light,” Ghost complained as you hovered over him on the ward bed, pulling his mask down nice and snug so he could sleep easily. He’d asked you to bring his spare over since he’d be bed-bound for a while. Eager for any chance to get to know him, you happily accepted the chance to look through his stuff while making sure his needs were met.

“I’ll leave you to your birdwatching after I’m satisfied you’re comfortable.”

You knew he didn’t like depending on someone, even if he was just shot. In battle. Almost dying of blood loss, but pretending like it was just a graze. Your strategy was just to pretend like you don’t like doing it—taking care of him—either.

Neither of you were bold enough to ask the other to stay, or insist on staying.

This was the routine. You’ll come in at exactly 10 a.m. — after your training and shower—to see if Ghost needed anything, he’ll say no grumpily but tell you that he ‘needs to have something done’ , and you’ll say “Well, you need to get your ass better faster then, they’re not going to be done with you in bed.” 

And then you’ll go and do what he was ‘not asking you to do’ anyway.

Yesterday the task was to find his fresh spare balaclava. Today, probably washed his used one.

After checking the temperatures, his comfort, whether he’d eaten his breakfast, you say your line and start to move, only to have your wrists captured in his hand.

This wasn’t what usually happens. It was enough grounds for concern.

“Ghost?” You called him softly, eyes wandering all over his form to make out if he was in pain or needed an extra dose of morphine or something.

He pulled the bottom of his mask off, just slightly. You know he has that thing with his face, and you respected him not to push for anything. But earlier, while putting on his fresh balaclava with your eyes closed, your hands grazed over his skin, the coarse patchy stubble lengthening under in the days that he was stuck at the base’s ward.

You can see the light brown hairs now where he’d shown you, the skin around his jaw pinkened by sensitivity.

“I need to get my stubble shaved,” he said, as if to himself. The tone, familiar. Your task for the day.

“My hands, or should I ask for someone else?”

“Yours. Only yours.”

Pretending like those words—the steadfastness of it spoken—was not affecting you. You hunted for a shaving razor and an oil to do this one thing for him.

Upon returning, you wait for him as he gazes outside the window, not knowing how to proceed.

He pulled up his balaclava, stopping just before his eyes. 

Even though you couldn’t see all of his face, you could make out with enough information to know that he’s not as bad looking as you assumed he was. 

Okay, what are you kidding? He’s pretty.

“I’m going to touch you now,” you say, pouring some oil onto your hands. He snorted.

“I’m going to take that as consent.”

You warmed the oil in your hands before spreading them all over his face. His eyes shut down. 

Involuntary? Or was this proximity as tough to deal with to him as it was to you? Either way, you didn’t mind not having to stare into his eyes while you were this close to him. 

The glide of razor was smooth over some patches of skin, bumpy on others. Of course, there were scars on his face, too.

You steadied your hands. Can’t have the trembling leave nicks on his face. The soothing scent of the shaving oil calmed you both as you gently smoothed your hands over his stubbled jawline, feeling the coarse hair yielding under your touch.

Eventually, your focus overtook the initial nerves. Bit by bit, his stubble was removed, until only a small patch of it left. 

You made the mistake of looking up. Found out he had been staring. At your lips. 

Your hands lost their momentum. He hissed as blood seeped out of the cut.

“Shit!” You looked around for a towel, a tissue paper, but there was none, so you did the only thing you could think of; you pressed your thumb firmly over the cut to staunch the minor bleeding.

Ghost leaned into your hands. 

“Press harder,” he says, leaning further until you have his entire cheek in your hand.

“Sorry, lieutenant, didn’t mean to cut you.”

“You’re incompetent in and out of the field,” he complained, even as he had his head turned until his lips were touching your palm.

Your heart was banging in your ribcage. 

This was.. this was not how it goes. You’re both supposed to be negatives on polarized magnets, pushing each other away every time you meet.

Still, you kept touching him, despite the conflicting emotions, and soon you found that there was no conflict at all. It’s not like you never had any feelings for him.

“I’m not sure I can deny anything if you keep doing this,” you say. 

Your denial had always stemmed from respect for his boundaries. No one would take well to having their walls ignored. So you watch, from afar, leaving trinkets by his gate to let him know that you don’t want the distance. 

Was the gate opened? 

“I never asked you to do that, soldier. I denied because you denied.”

You weren’t magnets, after all. Perhaps integers, a couple of numbers adding and subtracting; mixed messages resulting in convoluted equations.

But one thing you know? Two negatives equals positive.

“I am not denying anymore.”

He kissed your palm again, this time more than just a touch of his lips.

“Neither am I.”

[covid-safer-hotties]

Alopecia on the Rise After COVID, Study Suggests - Published Jan 10, 2024

by Shannon Firth

The incidence of alopecia areata significantly increased after COVID-19, a nationwide study involving more than half a million South Koreans found.

In a propensity score-matched analysis, incidence of the autoimmune form of hair loss was 82% higher for individuals with versus those without a prior COVID infection (43.19 vs 23.61 per 10,000 person-years; adjusted HR 1.82, 95% CI 1.60-2.07), reported Jin Park, MD, PhD, of Jeonbuk National University Medical School in Jeonju, South Korea, and colleagues.

Higher incidence was seen in all groups older than 20 years, with a greater risk observed both in women and men, they detailed in a JAMA Dermatologyopens in a new tab or window research letter.

The study also revealed an increased incidence of telogen effluvium -- rapid hair loss triggered by stress or other changes to the body -- among the cohort with COVID compared with the control group (adjusted HR 6.40, 95% CI 4.92-8.33).

"These findings support the possible role of COVID-19 in AA [alopecia areata] occurrence and exacerbation, although other environmental factors, such as psychological stress, may have also contributed to AA development during the pandemic," Park and co-authors added. "Plausible mechanismsopens in a new tab or window of AA following COVID-19 include antigenic molecular mimicry between SARS-CoV-2 and hair follicle autoantigens, cytokine shifting, and bystander activation."

Alopecia areata "occurs in susceptible individuals by environmental triggers, such as viruses, vaccinations, and psychological stress," the researchers said, adding that while reports ofopens in a new tab or window documented new onset, exacerbation, and recurrence of alopecia areata after COVID have been increasing, evidence linking alopecia areata to COVID has been limited. Danilo Del Campo, MD, a dermatologist with the Chicago Skin Clinic, described the study findings as "more confirmatory" than "surprising."

"Anything that can stimulate the immune system can trigger other problems, and alopecia areata, in particular, stems from a strong immune reaction," he told MedPage Today.

He likened the immune system to a web of "secret spies," constantly "on the hunt" for infiltrators. Sometimes it simply has the wrong target -- in this case hair stem cells instead of virus cells -- which is known as antigenic molecular mimicry.

Another explanation is that COVID infection leads to a "huge influx of cytokines," which has other downstream effects. Alternatively, it may be that hair stem cells are too close to infected cells or to "helper cells" trying to clean the infected cells, and are inadvertently targeted, known as bystander activation.

Shoshana Marmon, MD, PhD, of New York Medical College in New York City, told MedPage Today in an email that while the "plausible mechanisms" described by Park and his team are "theoretically sound, their specific roles in the context of COVID-19 and alopecia areata require further empirical validation through research and clinical studies."

For their propensity score-matched study, the authors used data from the Korea Disease Control and Prevention Agency-COVID-19-National Health Insurance Service cohort from October 2020 through September 2021. The cohort included 259,369 patients with COVID and 259,369 patients without COVID. Patients were matched along demographic characteristics and comorbidities.

Looking at clinical subtypes, incidence of patchy alopecia areata or alopecia totalis and alopecia universalis (AT/AU) were higher in patients with COVID, at 35.94 and 7.24 per 10,000 person-years, respectively, as compared with 19.43 and 4.18 per 10,000 person-years among controls. Meanwhile, the prevalence of alopecia areata and AT/AU was 70.53 and 12.39 per 10,000 person-years in the COVID group versus 52.37 and 8.97 per 10,000 person-years in controls.

"During the study period, the age- and sex-adjusted incidence and prevalence of AA [alopecia areata] and AT/AU in COVID-19-infected patients were considerably higher than in the prepandemic period in Korea, in which incidence and prevalence of AA and AT/AU remained constant from 2006 to 2015," they wrote.

Park and team acknowledged "potential detection or misclassification bias" in their study, despite using validated sensitivity analyses with several matching variables. They said that "further studies are necessary to validate the association between different populations and elucidate the causal relationship between the two conditions."

Study Link: jamanetwork.com/journals/jamadermatology/article-abstract/2813824 (PAYWALLED)

[thedragonagelesbian]

deciding that dru starts losing their hair after coming to the surface but goes to exorbitant lengths to maintain their beard despite the transformation has also done immense things for their design and my sense of their character

i think it would be pretty cool & sexy for dru to have already contracted blight sickness when duncan recruited them &, with their own academic curiosity leading them to push this connection to the darkspawn further than advisable, ultimately embody a lot of cool & sexy headcanons about grey warden monstrosity

[dontneedhair]

Using An Epilator On My Head (Part Two) - The Scalp

Sometimes I get the question how I managed to epilate all of my head, and how I have kept it that way. The short version and my inspiration for doing it the way I did can be found here.

Unlike others who seem to be able to get through the entire process during one weekend, starting from what I'd see as a considerable hair length (half a centimetre maybe), I needed several weeks to complete it. Shaving, then waiting maybe half a day before letting the epilator grab the very first stubble. Waiting more time, epilating again, this time with more stubble being ripped out, and repeating this process till it hurt so much that I shaved again, starting the cycle all over again.

One thing I had to deal with relatively soon were pimples/small ingrown hairs.

Not the end of the world, but not the best look, either. There are different methods for dealing with this, all of them basically some kind of peeling to enable the newly growing hair to find its way to the surface and stop the pores from clogging. What worked really well for me was a spray against ingrown hairs after epilating - a chemical peeling of some sort. To this day, I tend to apply it once a day, mostly in the evening before going to bed. On the day of a tweezing session applying it can sting, but it is bearable and a good sign that it does its work. Even if a pimple is already there, it will go away much quicker with this extra help.

Another thing I had to live with for a short time was a certain patchiness on my scalp. I'm talking about the small-scale level here, you can see some of it on the picture above. No-one ever commented on it, from a certain distance it wasn't even noticeable, neither was it under little light. Or maybe everyone just thought I hadn't done a good job shaving?

In any case, it went away after having tweezed every hair at least once, which took some time because of the different phases of the growing cycle the individual hairs were in. Once that was done, things got much better very quickly in every respect. The hair that did grow back was finer, which made it a lot less painful to epilate. Since I kept on tweezing twice a week (always in the evening), there was also not that much to remove in an individual session any longer. And regrowth has kept getting less over time.

The MPB zones were the first one where the hair seemed to give up, my natural hairline for example never really returned after going over it with the epilator a couple of times, the same is true for the stretch that goes from there to the crown. The hair more to the sides is also getting less dense now as far as I can tell; to be sure, I would have to stop epilating for a while, and I don't want to do that.

What I still do after every tweezing session on my scalp is a wet shave. Especially in the beginning, and even after having epilated every hair at least once as explained above, just tweezing wouldn't give the totally smooth feeling yet. The shave is extremely quick and effortless, and after that my scalp has almost a glass-like feel to it. Over time, the smoothness I achieve just by tweezing has improved considerably as well. Being consistent in using the epilator definitely has had its rewards.

(Another photo from last summer, not even a year after starting the scalp tweezing, but the work I had to put into maintenance was already so much less than at the beginning of the process, and while there was some regrowth after one or two days, I was shadow-free one hundred percent of the time.)

For those who consider venturing into this as well, I would like to stress (as Tom did on http://scalptweezing.com) that using the epilator on your scalp is likely to lead to noticeable permanent hair loss pretty soon. So that should be something that you want or at least accept in exchange for the benefits. It can also be part of the thrill to know you are changing your appearance in a way that cannot be undone, at least that was my case. Just don't forget that the point of no return can come really early.

[gotta-pet-em-all]

Pelipper Mail! A dream — of connection.

You're sitting, somewhere — it doesn't matter where — with someone; a man of about thirty, if you had to guess, with tanned skin and long, dark hair. He's talking about his arm — and some battle, maybe, you don't really process the specifics. The important part is he's disabled, now, and he's learning to live with it. And you talk about your bones, and their tendency to wiggle out of place, and canes and rollators, and all sorts of things. And he talks about his younger sister and her friends, close as family at this point, and you talk about your 'mons.

It doesn't fix anything, for either of you. But it's comforting. It's nice. And for now, that's enough.

….oh. That was nice.

The man introduces himself as Dunban, says his universe is patchy and sometimes he dreams of other worlds. You invite him to sit down; this dream is no good anyways, all sterile calming green and anodyne round furniture with not a single sharp in sight.

“I have this dream a lot,” you say, almost apologetically. “It’s not quite a nightmare, more of a, um, a stress dream to be honest. My cane is somewhere down the hall, but I can never reach it.”

“You have my deepest condolences,” he says, his voice deep. He’s a bit old fashioned, and as someone who’s speech patterns are irrevocably altered by reading more than you converse, you appreciate it.

His right arm is tucked away under a sort of asymmetrical cape, and you squint, trying to figure out if it’s a shadow or a bruise. “Is your arm doing all right?”

“Ah, I’m afraid it’s been like that for a long time. Old war injury,” he explains.

“Oh! My bad, I thought it looked discolored and was going to ask if it was bruised. I guess I should have figured, from the way you dress.” You duck your head, wishing for even a hospital dream to give you better lighting.

“No need to be so avoidant of the topic. It’s not as though it’s a sore subject, simply a matter of learning to live with it.” He carefully, gingerly moves his arm to show you, fingers curled in a neutral position and every movement deliberate but also shaky. It looks rather atrophied compared to the rest of him.

“Nerve damage,” you guess, instinctively taking it in your hand and feeling it up, watching his face. “Chronic pain, loss of sensation, and I’m betting you didn’t even realize it was bruised, did you?”

“No, miss, I did not. You’re quite astute— please give my arm back,” he says tersely, and you jerk back.

“Sorry. Uh. You have lichtenburg marks on your hands. I… don’t know much about war, but were you trying to use that hand to protect yourself from something?”

His expression does something difficult to read. “We all did things to protect ourselves in the war, and to protect our homes. I don’t regret what I did. But I am not left handed by nature.”

[mindblowingscience]

A recent randomized, double-blind clinical trial on the medication has shown such promising results, the United States Food and Drug Administration (FDA) has just approved its use for patients 12 years and older. Alopecia is marked by hair loss on the scalp, face, or body. It occurs when the immune system begins attacking a person's own hair follicles, and while most patients are otherwise healthy, patchy or complete losses of hair can have serious mental and emotional impacts. Some patients with severe forms of the disease lose all of their scalp hair, eyelashes, eyebrows, and all the rest of their body hair as well, a condition known as alopecia universalis. Such severe cases tend to be especially resistant to available treatments, but a new drug called ritlecitinib could help change that. In stage two and three clinical trials, the oral medicine reversed up to 80 percent of hair loss on the scalp for close to a quarter of all patients, and so far appears to be one of the only treatments for severe alopecia that is both effective and well-tolerated by a significant number of people. Its approval also makes it the only treatment available for children.

Continue Reading

[theorphicangel]

𝐰𝐞 𝐚𝐫𝐞 (𝐛𝐮𝐭) 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐝𝐮𝐬𝐭 | Levi Ackerman.

pulvis et umbra sumus - we are (but) dust and shadow

Summary: Wandering aimlessly at night, Levi stumbles upon a bar. Finding it to be closed, a woman sits inside with nothing but a cup of tea to offer. In exchange for it, Levi is forced to relive his past.

Whether he likes it or not.

cw/tw; death, death of a parent, loss, grief, childhood trauma , childhood memories, manipulation, mind manipulation, levi coping with death of his mother, modern au!, in Paris?, cigarettes, smoking, gaslighting, levi blames himself, based on the tea scene in ‘get out’, emotional manipulation, angst,

If I’ve missed anything please let me know!

A/N: this is very different from what I write, not an x reader, but a series I’ve started based on just Levi and coping with grief.

word count: 3k

The smell of cigarettes linger in the apartment. Heavy clouds of smoke reach the ceiling, covered in a patchy coat of beige paint that’s beginning to peel.

It’s a terrible habit that he told himself to quit months ago but as they say, bad habits are the hardest to die from.

The smoke alarm’s a dud. He removed the batteries a couple days ago. Reckless, but it’s a risk that he’s willing to take. He’s not planning to stay in this city for long.

Lungs relaxing, smoke forcefully escapes from his lips, the distinct kick of nicotine dead to his taste buds. It does nothing to him now. Stubbing it in the ashtray, it joins the unfinished pair he smoked earlier.

The old and used legs of his wooden chair screech in a low manner, awkwardly scraping against the hardware floor. Levi grabs his black suit jacket from the back of a chair sat opposite him, no longer in its freshly ironed state but wrinkled.

Grabbing his keys off the counter, he slips through the front door without a second thought.

A loud slam vibrates through the walls, reaching above and beyond the halls, the noise bouncing off the concrete walls of the apartment building. His footsteps echo loudly, a dull melody in his descent; the only soul awake in the whole vicinity.

He doesn’t know where he’s going but his brisk pace wouldn’t offer that sort of perspective. Once again the sound of his footsteps powerfully echo between the concrete buildings, the soles of his feet rushing over the cobbled pavements.

The gates leading to the metro station are now closed as well as all of the shops on the sideline. Passing by glazed windows of dark and empty shops, his reflection is barely visible, the image of his figure flows at a quick pace before disappearing into the night.

Inside, his body remains unsatisfied. An ache stirs in his lower gut; a hunger, a deep longing for something. Anything.

Levi’s now looking for a bar and during his search he comes to realize that he’s not the only one wandering wordlessly on the banks of Paris late at night.

Streetlights flicker above him, some brighter than others, some newly fixed and some which are never promised to come alive again. Continuing on, he follows the stream of lights on a path that will eventually take him to the main street, where hopefully, there’s some sort of salvage waiting for him there.

/

For a cold November night, this bar is surprisingly warmer than expected.

Hands which seeked a deep refuge in the pockets of his jacket are now easily tempted to come out. As he walks in he notices that there’s nobody currently at the bar, making him realize that it’s closed.

Until Levi becomes startled at the sight of the figure sitting in a chair who had watched him arrive wordlessly. A dark-haired woman sits near the front window, older than him but there’s still a youthful gaze in her eyes. A blue china cup sits on a matching saucer on a little table positioned in front of her.

“The bar’s closed.” She says in french.

Levi makes no response. His first immediate thought is to leave.

“But you can have tea.” She offers. “Is chamomile alright?” Her tone is soft yet decisive, he hadn’t even given her an answer before she stood, making her way through a curtain which led to the back room.

It’s better than nothing, Levi thinks. Again, his footsteps echo on the wooden floorboards, making his way to sit in a crimson red armchair placed in front of her own seat.

Her tea sits in a blue china cup with intricate designs. It sits on a matching saucer with a silver spoon on the side. If he squints he can just about see an endless string of smoke evaporate into the deadened air of the bar.

It’s not long before Levi hears her return and in hand, his own set of china cup and saucer, white and plain of any design. She says nothing to him before placing it down and taking her own seat, her cup in hand.

He wonders where she got the set but makes no attempt to ask. Staring down at his cup, Levi’s fingertips latch onto the rim of his cup, lifting it up to his lips. He inhales the rising smoke but the liquid fails to meet his tongue as he pauses.

“You smell like cigarettes.” The woman says in english.

It’s only for a moment that he pauses before continuing his action. The hot liquid nearly burns his tongue before he swallows it down, the warmth awakening his body with satisfaction, curing his earlier ache.

He makes no reply, Levi’s not even fazed that she’s switched to english, planning to make no conversation whatsoever. His hand steadily places the cup down on its identical white cup. He’s a little bothered that he was given a plain one but refuses to entertain the thought.

Leaning back into the armchair, arms draped on both sides, he realizes that the woman hasn’t taken her eyes off him. She’s older, he guesses forties but remains unconfident in his answer. She doesn’t take a sip of her tea, instead choosing to study the man in front of him.

“Do you smoke?” She questions again in english, no sign of an accent. In a silent response, his eyes meet hers. Bored and exhausted.

Turning his head, he has the full view of the street in front of him through the large glazed window. Streetlights continue to flicker as a tall figure passes underneath in a large coat, quickly disappearing from Levi’s view. His eyes remain stuck to the landscape outside before he nods slightly, quick enough for anyone to miss it. Anyone who wasn’t studying him like this woman was.

For some reason he’s not uncomfortable in her gaze. Allowing her to freely scrutinize him in any means. He’ll never see her again after this.

She clears her throat for a moment, which causes him to look back at her, before she grabs the handle of her cup and takes a slow sip. The clatter of china when the cup reunites with the saucer is the only sharp sound heard in the bar.

“What brought you here?” She asks.

Now it’s Levi’s turn to clear his throat as his shoulders shrug. “I needed to clear my head.”

She hums in thought as if his answer sparked interest in her.

“Bored? Tired?” She switched to French all of a sudden. “You look like both.” She states. “When was the last time you slept?”

His eyes are drawn to the darkened visuals of the outside world again. Nothing has changed. A streetlight that stands directly across the bar across the road still flickers and the street remains empty, all the other businesses now closed for the night.

Levi inhales before speaking, “Can’t remember.” He responds in English, his tone heavy.

The woman tuts softly. “A man like you needs sleep, didn’t your mother ever tell you that?”

Levi refrains a laugh. Instead he lets a pause pass by before bringing his eyes back to the woman.

“I wish she could tell me that.”

The expression on the woman’s face changes slightly, his answer clearly unexpected. She picks up the silver spoon on the side of the saucer and begins to stir her tea.

“She’s– not alive?” The woman smoothly switches to English based on Levi’s replies. The only sound that’s heard in the bar is the softly repeated clink of metal hitting the china as it stirs. Levi picks up his cup once again with his right hand and takes a sip. Placing it back on the saucer, his arm returns back to resting on the arm of the chair.

“She– she died when I was young.”

This is the part that everyone sympathized with. The part where he becomes burdened with pity that he never asked for. The part where he deeply regrets talking about her. The part where the memories resurface and he remembers it all for a brief period.

Yet strangely, the woman doesn't offer her condolences.

“How young?”

Her tone is unchanged, still quiet without any added sympathy and Levi’s immediately thrown off guard. He blinks multiple times, his mind trying to quickly uncover the past that he’s buried deep inside himself for so long.

He frowns, “Uhm– eight, I think.”

“You think?” She repeats, suddenly making him feel some sort of guilt for not remembering. Levi quickly speaks up again, like he has something to prove.

“Or nine, I can’t remember.” He admits. “It was a long time ago.”

She merely slowly nods at his correction whilst continuing to stare at him. Her fingertips are clasped on the handle of the spoon, drawing little circles in the teacup.

Levi swallows thickly as if something’s lodged in his throat. It’s uncomfortable all of a sudden and the pains of uncovering that memory makes him start to sweat a little. He’d take off his jacket or even take a sip of tea to relieve himself but there’s something in his body that refuses to do so.

Something that tells him not to.

Instead, his fingers fiddle with each other, each arm still glued to the chair, tracing his thumbs over his index fingers

“What happened? How did she die?”

Levi stares at her, narrowing his eyes. Her question was unmissable, it rang loudly in his ears. He couldn’t ignore it. In his body there grew a deep desire to look away, to turn away from her and look back at the view of the street.

His head is heavy as he changes his glance towards the street.. The flickering streetlight across the street has switched off completely.

“Levi.” She snaps. And at the tap of the spoon against the rim of the china cup he finds his eyes on hers again.

He frowns, fingertips now resting on the arm of the chair heavily. “How do you know my name?”

“Answer the question. How did your mother die?”

The tone of her voice was inviting, it lured him in whilst his eyes grew hazy at recalling the memory. For a second, he forgot, his mind drowsy. His mind blank until the image of him sitting in front of the tv came into mind. The nostalgia of the front room of his old house rushed through his body suddenly, like a sharp pain he couldn’t ignore.

“Don’t sit too long in front of the tv.” his mother said. “Or your eyes will go square.”

Those were her last words before a hand reached down onto his head and ruffled his locks. No.

Perhaps she told him she loved him before leaving, or that she’ll be back home soon. No.

Maybe he didn’t even see her leave. Maybe she left before he ever woke up that morning.

“I–I can’t- I can’t remember.” he stammered, an uncomfortable pain in his throat stopped him from getting his words out properly, like a small bone was lodged in it. His nose scrunched up and his eyes began to water suddenly, searching the room as if the answer would appear somewhere on the walls.

No, no, no how could he forget?! How could he–

“You remember Levi.” she spoke, her hand stirring. “You remember the weather.”

His eyes widened, lips parting slightly. As soon as the words left her mouth, a vivid image hit him. Levi suddenly remembered the sound of rain hitting the window pane, water rushing down violently, teardrops smacking against the glazed glass.

“It was raining.” He mumbled, lips barely moving.

She hummed, nodding slightly. “Do you hear it?” His eyes became so blurred, he could barely see her in front of him.

Blink, blink, blink! His mind screamed at him. He could only just about force his eyelids to move.

A teardrop now solidified on his cheek, hearing the sound of raindrops battering against the window beside him. He longed to check, to see if it was visibly raining. But his head remained glued to her. He couldn’t pull away.

“What were you doing?”

“Nothing.” he swallowed, mouth now becoming dry. “Watching tv.”

“Watching tv?”

Levi hummed deeply, only managing to tilt his head slightly. He couldn’t stop his eyes from watering at the painful memory, now so vivid and so real. “She went to work and I was waiting for her to come home.”

“Did she come home?”

Levi hesitated. The weight on his chest increases by each and every second. “No.”

“Why?”

Again, his throat was painfully dry, sound struggling to come out. His fingertips began scratching at the velvet of the armchair. “I don’t know.” He whispered.

The woman hummed deeply. “I’m sure you know why. Why didn’t you call anyone?”

Levi inhales deeply, trying to regain his composure. His hands urged to wipe his tear stained cheeks but yet again his body refused to move. “Because then… it would make it real.”

“So you sat there doing nothing as your mother died?”

“I couldn’t–”

“You could’ve saved her.”

“I didn’t know.”

“But you sat there…waiting and waiting…doing nothing?”

His nails scratched roughly at the fabric of the armchair repeatedly, anxiety began to crawl into the pit of his stomach. Infiltrating his mind. Just like it did that night. Sat in his mother’s favorite chair, he stared at the endless glow of the television screen. A show he didn’t even like was on but he watched it anyway. He watched that episode and the episode after that and the episode after that.

“You let her die. You did nothing to save her.”

Her voice ringed in his ears, more heavy and thick with confrontational yet her tone wasn’t louder than a whisper. Move, move, move! Get up and get out! His mind screamed repeatedly, his body frozen in response, barely able to do anything but continue to scratch at the arms of the chair.

He had sat there that night in the same position he was sitting now. Waiting and waiting. Hands glued to each side of her chair, fingernails dug deep into the form of the chair. He waited for the sound of the steps on the porch to creak, for the jingle of keys to reach his eyes, for the front door to open and to visibly see his mother walk through.

Everytime he wanted to get up, his mind told him to stay put. ‘She’ll be here in five minutes. And if not then I’ll go out.’

Those five minutes easily passed away into ten minutes which quickly turned into an hour. An hour transitioned into two which then again doubled. And hours later he was still stuck in the same position, the glow of the tv penetrating his eyes, his skin.

Absorbing it all, he did nothing.

She was out there, dying and he knew. But he did nothing. He knew it was unusual, that something was wrong. His gut was coated in nausea and anxiety. Levi still did nothing.

Tears began to flow from his eyes, one after the another, following the trail down his cheeks.

“Why–why can’t I move?” Levi’s tone was panicked, rich in apprehension.“You can’t move.”

She merely repeats it as a dull fact although he thought she said it as a question.

“I– I–can’t, why can’t–” His fingernails dug painfully into the arms of the chair, close enough to start ripping the material, his muscles tensing violently.

“You’re paralyzed. Just like the day you did nothing. You did nothing.”

“You’re going to sink into the floor Levi–”

“Wait, wait, wait, wait–”

“Sink.”

/

Everything all seemed to happen at once. All of his senses were lost immediately. It was exactly as she said, he sunk. Body pulled down by an invisible force, he lost complete control as he submerged.

All of the darkness and sound merged into one, dragging him deeper and deeper into a bottomless pit.

He seemed to be falling in slow motion. His arms waved through the air, hands desperate to clasp something as he continued to fall.

A large cinema-like screen is positioned in front of him, where he could still see the woman. She had now placed down her tea and sat staring at him. To her, his mouth agape, eyes drastically widened with continuous teardrops that rolled down the side of his face. Paralyzed.

There was no amount of air in his lungs that he could use to scream or to shout. He felt no sense of control over his body. Fear consumed everything, every single part of him, drowning his body, saltwater filling his lungs in a void ocean. Questions ran through his mind, new ones appearing with every second it took for him to fall. What was happening to him? Why? Where? How? When would he hit the ground?

“You’re in the sunken place now, Levi .”

All of a sudden Levi found that his shirt feet were on the ground. He was surrounded by water and his body felt heavy. With each step he felt like there was something pulling him back.

The woman moves to stand and leans over the small table. Levi attempts to trail through the water. His lungs bursting, his body, his soul, his skin on fire with anger. Just as it was when he fell, his body is slow as he tries to run. No matter how much force or how much strength he imposes on his muscles, he continues to be weighed down by something.

He screams but there’s no sound. Every step he takes in the water is soundless. His body weighs down along with a magnetic force that holds him back, making every step he takes sluggish and uncontrollable. He wants to run and catch up to the screen but it’s near impossible.

Mouth agape, he tries to shout again, to no avail.

The woman holds out her index finger, closing the eyelid of Levi’s left eye.

Dark infiltrates half of the screen, light fading away. His throat is raw and tight, unable to shout even if he wanted to. Fear no longer surrounds him but is now within him.

He can do nothing.

She now moves to shut his right eye and Levi falls to his knees in surrender as the shadows envelop him whole.

Entire soul, body and mind. Everything.

Everything turns to dust.

Part of “don’t take my baby boy. don’t take my and joy.” series.

reblogs and comments are appreciated.

[ruinedbylanadelrey]

Trying

bbf!Frankie Morales x F!Reader ficlet

playlist

masterlist

based off 'this is me trying' by taylor swift. summary: Family friend Frankie Morales coming home for good gets the news of the death of his childhood and military best friend. He sees how broken the girl who he always thought as a little sister and tries to bring her back to herself.

wc: 4.5K

warnings: 18+, Minors DNI, brother's best friend, OC BROTHER, talk about addiction and suicide, mention of killing in the military, alcohol, drugs, survivor guilt!, sibling loss, grief, reader calls Frankie 'Frank' a lot, mutual pining, mention of disordered eating due to alcohol, vomit, a lot of crying, PTSD, angst if you squint, hurt/comfort, kissing, smut, mental health decline due to grief, frankie becoming a real man, parents, quiet love

The Morales family was your family's first friend when your parents moved out to the suburbs of Florida. You were just born and your big brother, Ethan was merely 3 years old. Frankie met his best friend at a young age. You were always around them, playing soldiers or playing on the gaming console. Frankie was always the one to make sure you were involved since it was just you and your brother. His kindness made you develop a crush on him.

Your parents thought it was cute that you had a crush on Frankie, it just showed how well his parents raised him. As you got older, the crush became something more but you would deny ever having a crush on him because he was another brother to you. Always so bad at lying. 

You fell hard for Frankie when he showed up to your graduation with your brother since they had joined the military together.

"It wouldn't be fair if I didn't show up to yours since you showed up to mine, bebita" Frankie jokes while you sit in the backyard together looking at the stars hiding away from your family at your graduation party.

"I think I wouldn't be able to survive today if you weren't here, Frank," You laughed and rested your head on his shoulder.

"Can I ask you for a favor?" You ask, Frankie looks at you and nods.

"Keep Ethan alive and yourself too," Your words rattled in his brain every single day of deployment. 

Frankie felt his heart try to crawl out of his chest when you looked at him that night. He had to keep his promise. He didn't want to let you down, he kept wondering why was he doing this. He kept such a big promise that could blow up in his face. He wanted nothing more than to keep you smiling and not worrying about what goes on when they leave the country again. When Frankie left your life once again. 

You wrote letters to Ethan and Frankie, but letters stopped returning when your brother was medically discharged and Frankie was in the Delta force. You felt relieved that your brother was home but still filled with anxiety not ever hearing from Frankie. His parents seemed fine and content with hearing so little from Frankie. They knew that on a random Wednesday night, Frankie would call and ask to hear about home. Hearing about Ethan is once again in rehab in the psych ward. You graduated college and now working for a large marketing company and you still haven't found a husband. Always the dramatics with them. 

A couple more years of radio silence gets interrupted when Ethan takes his life. You moved back home with your parents. Frankie comes home for the final time and he's there to stay. Your family and you shut out the world for months, trying to process the death of a son, of a brother. You were completely torn apart and had nothing left in you. Nearing 30 and having to be the adult while your parents grieve over the loss of their firstborn. Your emotions are being pushed aside. 

The silence was officially over when you walked out of the liquor store with a bottle of whiskey and almost dropped it when you bumped into a man entering the store.

"I'm so sorry-Frank?" Your blood ran cold and your body froze when Frankie's gaze met yours. His hair is grown out, facial hair all over but patchy in some spots, the beard graying at his sideburns but his hair still a dark brown curling over his beloved cap.

"Bebita!" Frankie shakes his head and does a double-take.

"How are-"

"Ethan is dead,"

"you?" Your and Frankie's words overlap and both of you stop talking for a second. 

Frankie felt the wind knocked out of him as he stared at you. Your eyes are just dead and not sparkling like they usually are. Your face breaking out from not caring about self-care, your hair thrown up in a ponytail, your cheeks a bit hallow, heavy under eye bags from crying and not sleeping. Grief has become you. You feel like you walk around with half of your identity gone. A part of you is dead. 

"I-I'm sorry for your loss," Frankie comes to and could feel the tears threatening to escape his eyes. You saw how the news broke him, the change in his face, his eyes fell dull. You thought you drained the life out of him. Guilty. Plaguing everyone you talk to.

"Frank...don't shut down like that," You touch his arm, both of you still standing in the doorway. 

"You lost him too," you sniffled not realizing you had been crying since the moment you looked into Frankie's eyes. He drops his head down and quickly wipes his tears with the sleeve of that tan jacket he's had forever.

"How did he?"

"Overdosed...purposely," You said it like it was so normal, always trying to stay strong even around those whom you can be vulnerable with.

A deep 'excuse me' comes up behind you, Frankie takes your hand and pulls out of the liquor store and to his truck. A swing of the passenger door and Frankie helps you into the cab of the truck. He quickly runs to the driver's side and gets in. 

You could hear Frankie breathing heavily and deeply. You watched him fist the steering wheel and a sob breaks from his lips. You slide along the bench and softly rub his back.

"I should be the one comforting you, bebita," Frankie leans back and takes your hand off of him, intertwining your fingers with his. Your heart rate kicked up, something you haven't felt in years since the last time you saw Frankie.

"Frank, he's childhood best friend, a family friend, you grew up with him, don't minimize your relationship with him-"

"I failed you..."

Frankie cuts you off, your forehead scrunched in confusion and you look at him.

"I tried so hard to keep him from ever doing drugs...I tried so hard but what's fucked up is that he only started because he found my stash of coke...I tried!" Frankie wanted the earth to swallow him whole. You knew what was happening overseas Ethan didn't sugarcoat anything when he would tell you things.

You know of the people he's killed, that Frankie has killed, how drugs were quite accessible in other countries.

"Frank...his addiction was not your fault. Not his fault either." You never saw Ethan as his addiction, you always looked at him like the little boy you grew up with.

You were the only person who didn't blame his addiction for the way he led his life. You were always there to get him to help, going through the many detoxes, the many nights of him doped out and pissing himself, but it drained you, you can only help so much. That is the harsh truth, you can only help those who want the help to get clean and stay clean. 

"I was stupid and in my 20s thinking, I could stop anytime...I did but he kept going..." Frankie continued to spit out whatever came to his mind. Not thinking about what came out of his mouth.

"You asked me to do one thing...to keep Ethan and myself alive..." Frankie could still your words from that night. You remembered what he was talking about, your heart fluttered at the fact that he did keep his word. Frankie did it just for you. 

"That was selfish for me to ask...life doesn't like to play in anyone's favor," You laughed at how naive you used to be. How you painted Frankie as this strong and self-assured military man, your soldier, the knight in shining armor.

"It wasn't selfish," Frankie tucks the piece of hair that refused to join the ponytail. You wanted to melt into his touch, how his touch feels different. It was charged. Magnetic to your skin.

"You should hate me..." Frankie's voice cracks, You never thought you see the day that Frankie cries. He was always so stoic. 

"I don't. No one does. Because it's not your fault." Your tone made Frankie tense up, your honeyed voice was turned to ice. You didn't want someone else to feel any guilt. You already take on so much of it, you might as well take it all on. Frankie cleared his throat and saw how your eyes were still soft.

"I'm sorry for your loss, Frank...come by the house tomorrow...I miss you," You softly whisper, you wrapped your arms around his right arm and rested your head on his shoulder. You felt his head nod in response. You sat up and kissed the tears staining Frankie's cheek. His body shudders when your lips graze his skin. 

"Noon, I'll make us lunch and we can talk with my parents." You forced a smile while you gathered your purse and the whiskey bottle for the night. 

-

You drove home and thought you were selfish for grieving in front of Frankie who just got the news about the person who truly knew who he was. You parked the car in the driveway that getting overcrowded by the weeds that Ethan has taken care of since your father has gotten older with you.

Another thing to add to the list of many things you have to do before moving back to the city, get a landscaper. You reached for the bottle and opened it. You bring the whiskey to your lips and let the burning amber liquid sit on your tongue before you open the door and spit it out on the asphalt then bile comes up and burns your throat. Your nose running from crying and vomiting all over the ground like you were 8 years old again and getting extreme motion sickness. 

You walk into the tomb of your childhood and the living room TV playing some infomercial, your parents still having cable whilst having almost every streaming service. Your mom is asleep on the recliner seat of the couch, your father in his big recliner that was the perfect size for him,

You would always sit in it with Ethan on Saturday mornings watching cartoons and eating the bowl of Lucky Charms that opened poorly and you both know your mom is going scold for opening the box of cereal wrong. Working as a team to get the bowls down from the cabinets and helping to pour the milk so it doesn't spill all over the countertops. 

You search for the remote and click off the TV then walk to your old bedroom that only had a full-size bed, walls decorated with movie posters, pictures of friends, and your old vanity mirror that had a Polaroid of you standing between Frankie and Ethan at your graduation. You picked the picture to study it again for the thousandth time.

Frankie and Ethan dressed in their ceremony uniforms, you remembered your breathing taken away seeing Frankie in uniform for the first time, thinking 'It's true, everyone loves a man in uniform'. You felt your face twitch noticing how you were smiling at how Frankie's clean-shaven look was the awkward stage he never went through as a teenager. 

The smile on his face was everything, just a smirk curling up the left side of his face. You thought it was so boyish and charming. You sat the picture down and went to the bathroom to wash out your mouth before falling asleep. A dreamless sleep beside flashes of memories of you and Ethan as little kids. The flashbacks are always when you are both kids never as teenagers or young adults. 

-

You wake up with your heart racing, shot up in bed with your hand on your chest panicking more over the fast heartbeat. You glanced at your phone and it was 6 am. You're wide awake and you can hear your father's snore downstairs. The door to your room is pushed wide open and your eyes land on the furball of a culprit.

Ethan's cat 'Prince', because Ethan said he is royalty and should be treated as such. The cat sits at the foot of your bed with a mouse made from an old army shirt that Ethan wore all the time you special ordered for the cat because of how sick he got when Ethan passed away. You thought if you could help a cat process grief you could forget about yours. Always running from it, but grief and love to loom around corners you don't turn down often. 

The cat drops the mouse for you on the bed and walks out of the bedroom. He thinks you can't feed yourself. You laughed in your head but started to think about the last meal you ate that wasn't on a drunken binged that would puke out your guts an hour later. You stuff towels at the bottom of the door to muffle your cries and gags. Stuffing the towels at the bottom of the door that isn't to keep the smoke from weed you had in high school. 

You get out of bed and go down to the kitchen to feed Prince. As you prepared his lavish breakfast your body and mind were instantly drained. You needed to shower and start to clean this house before Frankie arrived, that meant getting my parents up and about. You had no energy to do anything for yourself, if it's not for Ethan why even do it? 

You sat in bed and stared at the ceiling for an hour before you started cleaning up the whole house as if Frankie was going to be in every single room. Your parents left for the store to buy lunch and dinner for the weekend at 10 AM meaning they won't be back until 11. Your sweat drips down your forehead and goes into your eyes making them sting. Your ears roar with blood rushing to your head, clenching your jaw and not breathing.

Your fingernails were bleeding while you scrubbed the bathroom sink. You yelp as the cleaning product gets between your nails, and you scold yourself for not putting on the rubber gloves. You started to cough when you took too deep of breath. Quickly turning on the water to wash away the cleaner from the sink and your skin. The tips of your fingers slightly burned, you could feel the tenderness. 

A small fit of laughter came from the hallway, you wiped your hands on the sweats you had put on to clean in. You entered the living room and saw Frankie sitting with your parents in the dining room adjacent. You gazed at the clock on the cable box, at 12:15 p.m. Did you blackout while cleaning?

"Mama, Frankie is here..." Your mother sees you with bloodshot eyes and sweating all over your face and body. Frankie turns around in his chair and looks at the mess you become. You could feel your face get even hotter as he gave you his stupid smile but it was strained a bit maybe forced. 

Frankie looked at you and saw how wrecked you were. His heart could feel tendrils of the beating muscle tear apart when he finally saw you completely exposed by emotion.

"I'll be back, I need to clean up," You mumbled wiping away the sweat mix with tears off your face and heading to the shower. Turning it all the way to icy cold water comes out, and chilling your entire body. You looked up at the running water practically washing your eyes out. 

You pull yourself away from the shower and put yourself back together. You walked back downstairs in shorts and an oversized sweatshirt, your hair wet and pulled back into a ponytail. Frankie saw how fresh-faced you looked. He could still your baby face in your drained adult face. Your eyes are still always so wide and big making him swim in the chocolate waves. You took a seat across from Frankie while your parents rambled on about what they were making for lunch. You adverted your gaze from Frankie. You were embarrassed about how he's seen your grief. 

"I showed up and no one answered the door, I went around back and saw that the backdoor was wide open and the cat was meowing. I was worried that something happened to you. I followed the damn cat and saw you heaving over the bathroom sink. I called your name several times. Your parents came home and they were happy to see me and I lied to them and said you let me in while you finished cleaning,"

Frankie whispers after he turns to look to see if your parents were out of earshot. Frankie reached across the table to hold your hand. But you flinched as your tender fingers touched his calloused hands. You winced while he examined your hand. 

"I blackout too when I start a task. End up always overdoing it." Frankie says, softly holding your hand, trying to somehow heal you, skin to skin. You nodded not knowing what to say because you don't trust your voice to sound like you've been crying. "I'm trying to pick up everything and put it back together," You cleared your voice still laced with uneven breaths. 

Lunch was served with a Long Island iced tea and talking about Ethan. Laughing with tears in your eyes. Your parents retire to their bedroom not hungry enough for dinner, just proud that they ate at least lunch. You and Frankie went to your bedroom, he loved how it was still set in the past with a mix of your office set up to work from home. "I never thought I would ever be allowed in here," Frankie said picking up a stack of CDs from the 90s and a mix of early 2000s. 

You giggled thinking back on how the 'no boys allowed' sign made a big impression on Frankie.

"You are an exception," You continued to watch Frankie look at your room, he made note of the different movie posters and even an HBO show poster, 'Band of Brothers' Ethan's favorite show.

"Has that always been the case, Bebita?" Frankie smirks at you, moving the bed and sliding next to you. The tension in the air hit the air when you could feel Frankie's body heat radiating off his body. The sun was just setting and the natural light hit the light pink walls giving the room a romantic hue. 

You rolled your eyes and looked away from him.

"I know you used to have a crush on me,"

"Jesus Frank-"

"I thought it was adorable." Frankie chuckles, sitting up against the headboard to wrap his arms around you. The feeling of his sturdy body against yours made your skin hot and break out in goosebumps.

"I thought you were cute but you know best friend's sister is off limits," Frankie sighed, thinking about when you entered high school and he was just barely a junior. You grew up overnight to him. You started to really put time into your appearance. To Frankie, you just highlighted your beauty. But Ethan told Frankie when they started middle school that his sister was off limits. 

But now here you are both adults, both have jobs, and both secretly in love with each other. Was the rule only when you were all horny teenagers?

"Are you saying you had a crush on me too, Frankie?" When his name fell off your lips it made him forget the looming grief over the both of you.

"Never stopped," Frankie was being bold, life is too short to not say anything after years of wasting time. You looked up at Frankie and couldn't believe anything he was saying. Was it just to make you feel better since you know your brother is dead? 

"Nooo...that's not true Frank," Deny, deny, deny. How could he ever love you? There's nothing left in you anymore.

"Bebita, why do you think I stuck up for you when we were kids? Because I needed to protect you and care for you because I've loved you for a long time," Frankie cups your face, and his thumb runs across your bottom lip. You swear you were on cloud 9, the warmth of your love for him and his love for you radiating through the lightest touch.

"Frank I think that you have been feeling a lot of emotions the past day. I'll let you say whatever you want and not hold it against you." You wanted to believe him. You know he's being truthful. 

"I meant what I said, I want us to try, try to be there for each other," Frankie rests his forehead against yours, his finger brushing through your hair. It was nice to be held. Especially with Frankie.

"I'm trying," You sobbed out, fisting Frankies t-shirt and pulling him closer to your body. His words opened the floodgates and you couldn't stop the tears overflowing from the waterline. Frankie lays down holds your head to his chest and lets you cry. 

-

Frankie came to your house every single after that. He started to do yard work with your father, you would bring something to drink and eat. The funeral happened after months of arguing with the VA about where Ethan could lay to rest. Your parents wanted him at the family plot but the VA said he had to be buried at the fort, that it was clearly stated in his will when he joined the army, so everything would be simple and easy, and not anyone would spend a dime but the government it's money.

Your parents started to go back to their normal lives enjoying retirement. You and Frankie started to see each other every Friday night, going out for dinner and getting tipsy. You would go home with him and spend the weekend at his apartment, enjoying living without your parents walking around. 

The first hookup was when he came over to work on the mow the lawn for your parents since they were going to be out of town. You had completely forgotten about Frankie coming over when you walked out the backdoor in just a thong and t-shirt letting the cat out for the day. He was opening the shed in the backyard when he heard you murmur 'Oh my god' and quickly turned on your heels and ran upstairs. Frankie blushed deeply not remembering what he was doing for a second. 

You tried to pretend that Frankie didn't see you half-naked until he was at your bedroom door, rushing you and pinning you against the mattress. His lips hungrily locking with your soft lips. His mustache and beard rub against your soft skin. Tasting the lemonade you had made for him to go with his lunch. 

"You're just too pretty, bebita," Frankie grunts as you bucked your hips to grind against his growing bulge. You loved how your clothed cunt rub against the denim jeans.

"Frankieeee, t-touch me, please," the sweetest whine left your lips, Frankie looks down your chest, he pushed the shirt up toward your collarbone to admire your plump perky breasts and how they swayed with each grind of your hips.

Frankie propped himself next to you and traced the outline of your body, not missing caressing your breast, and lightly tracing your nipples making them harden. You were whimpering at the teasing touch. Frankie pushes aside the thong and dips his finger down your folds to your entrance. 

"So wet, is that all for me, sweetheart?" Frankie deepens his voice an octave. You nodded and bit your lips to stop yourself from moaning.

"Words, bebita" Frankie purs, you gasped as his fingers slide inside your cunt and curling them, hitting the sensitive spot that makes you see stars.

"F-fuck, yes Frankie! All for youu" You cry out as his thumb rolls your clit while fucking his finger into you, curling them every few thrusts. Your pussy clenches tightly around his digits.

"I-i'm closeee" you whimpered, Frankie lowers his head and takes in a nipple into his mouth, first licking it then sucking as hard as he could. His mouth on your body and his hands doing magic on your wet cunt. 

You felt your release gush out of you and coat his hand. Your moans were coming out without any hesitation.

"Fuck me, Frankie," your hands undo his belt and going straight towards the zipper and doing the button very last. You dip under the waistband of his briefs. Your hand cups his hard cock and strokes him until he is fully hard.

Frankie rolls on top of you pushing down his jeans and underwear just enough to free himself then kicks off the rest of the jeans while you pull off his shirt. He pins your hands above your head as he thrusts into you in one go. You screamed out the pleasure that you got from the stinging stretch of his thick hard cock sliding along your velvet walls. Frankie moans in your ears as he drops his head in the crook of your neck, enjoying how wet and warm you feel around him. Taking him so perfectly. 

"You feel so good, babyy," Frankie bottoms out and grinds into you, his cock hitting your cervix.

"So big, Frankie, fuck you feel so fucking good," You gritted through your teeth when Frankie bends you in half and drilling into your aching pussy.

"I-I need you! I need you!" Frankie chants, and you could see the tears falling down his face, and you couldn't help but cry yourself. You wanted Frankie to feel whole. He's always been the one. Took care of you when you hit rock bottom with grief. He helped bathe you and helped you brush your teeth and brushed your hair when you dried your hair. Getting you dressed every day. 

You didn't put up a fight. You needed him. He needs you. You're falling in love.

"I'm yours! Ah-all yours, Frank," You grunted as his harsh thrust became harder when you proclaimed that you are his. You fell into the pillowy high of orgasm number 2.

"All mine, and I am yours, amor" Frankie moans as he flips you on your stomach, hiking your hips just enough for his cock to fuck your aching hole.

"I love you, Frankie!" You cry out as another wave of bliss warms your body down to your toes.

"I love you, bebita!" Frankie gives the same passion back, while he paints your walls with his load. Your eyes rolled back from being so full with his cock and his cum dripping out of you and making your thighs sticky. 

You both lay there, touching each other, exploring each other bodies. Years of messing around to make up for. Allowing grief to bring you to your person. You can't be mad anymore because now to you life is worth living again. Frankie had the world around you make sense again. 

[letiel]

Hope - Werewolf AU

The fire had dwindled down to embers by the time Ty got up to leave. Werewolves had an advantage in the middle of the night, but wisdom had abandoned them the moment they had set out on this impossible task.

“No, Evie, you should stay. It may take weeks to find him, and we don’t know what he’ll be like.”

“That’s why I’m going.”

She had stared right into his soul and watched him every step of the way. Evie had finally fallen asleep sitting up, propped against the saddles on the ground, watching and waiting for Ty to try something like this. Her strength was different than theirs and mercy didn’t belong in the wild.

He stepped around her and retrieved his sword. There was silver inlaid along the blade, shiny and cold and ready to bite, waiting in its sheath until it was time. It was a smaller version of its brother, another worn and loved weapon, carefully maintained by its now turned master. Ty grabbed it too. He slung the bigger sword over his shoulder and his own at his waist.

It didn’t feel right, carrying them both. The weight was uncomfortable and the straps too loose. The blade at his side was an old friend, an extension of himself, but the other was a burden. It was a stark and brutal reminder of his loss and Ty felt his heart churn in his stomach.

It must be done.

He turned and stepped around the fire to crouch beside Khasar. His beloved younger brother was tense in his sleep, dreaming and hurting. The injury that the wolf had left him was still festering, even with Evie’s careful ministrations and expertise. It was stress and fear and the horrible ticking of a clock counting down to an end with every moonrise.

“He’s still in there! I heard him call to me!”

Ty reached for the emblem hanging around his neck. It was a simple thing, just a cheap hunter’s mark that Evie had made for the three of them. Khasar had a matching one. So had Kai. He gently brushed the hair from Khasar’s face and tucked him in. Then he pulled his cloak tighter around himself and hurried into the dark.

They had been tracking the wolf for days after the attack, following the trail of corpses and rumors. There were the obvious signs and the subtle ones that only an experienced eye may have noticed. Ty knew they were very close when they stopped for the night but had kept it to himself. Khasar and Evie weren’t ready for this. They couldn’t possibly understand.

“I saw it in his eyes, Ty. YOU know him. You KNOW he wouldn’t stop fighting! He is still in there!”

Ty moved faster on his own. He left behind the heaviest parts of his armor, emptied his pockets, and forewent a pack of essentials. There was no need for such things.

Little tufts of fur, trampled leaves, the edge of a print…

It took about two hours and then Ty dropped into a dried riverbed downwind from a mass of fur and teeth. Kai was a hulking thing. A giant of a man made for a giant of a beast, hulking and tattered. His thick and wild coat, black as the fabric of night, failed to hide the lines of his muscles down his back and the bumps of his spine at the peak of his height. The rough of his mane was patchy and fluffed in every direction, nearly the length of his long, triangular ears that rested prick at the sides. His deep chest and broad shoulders giving way to long arms, reaching to the ground to paw with jagged claws on fingers twisted between the man he had been and the wolf he was. Kai’s tail flicked along the pebbles, gliding back and forth, collecting debris in the fur as he crouched, distracted by something at his feet.

Ty pulled his sword from its sheath and took a long breath, just watching for a moment the shuffling and heaving, the toss of Kai’s head. Droplets of blood and the coarse fur of a deer spattered in every direction.

The opening was there. It wouldn’t be hard to drive the silver adorned steel between his ribs, to slide between the bone to sever his heartstrings and put Kai out of his misery. Instead, Ty dragged his foot across the riverbed, scattering pebbles with little clinks and splashes as they scattered across stone and into isolated puddles.

Kai’s head spun around in an instant. His ears went flat and beady eyes glowed faintly in the dark, the glimmer of gold that tempts greedy men. Moonlight glittered on bared, pearl teeth, and shone on onyx claws. The deer all but forgotten as Kai turned and rose to a greater height to glare down at the Hunter.

“I owe you this much,” Ty mumbled and spun the sword before pulling it up to his face, held in both hands and sighting down the blade, waiting for the wolf to make the first move. He was already starting to shake.

Kai’s ears flicked forward and then flattened and the fur on his back and shoulders stood on end. He growled low and drooled when he recognized the glimmer of the blade.

“No! Don’t kill him!” Khasar yelled through his pain and Ty’s swing fell short, the tip of weapon glancing over Kai’s brow and cheek.

The injury was slow to heal, the silver doing its work.

“What are you waiting for?” Ty asked a little louder and shifted in place and then Kai was racing at him, all feral ferocity and animal instinct.

The first clash was sword on teeth and then Kai was backing away, circling, and only racing in with experimental jabs and swipes. They were easily parried.

At first Ty thought maybe Kai was still suffering fatigue from prior wounds. Not once had Ty ever beaten Kai in a fight, whether serious or for training. He was too warrior-coded with a feel for battle that Ty had once described as dancing, the flow of a fight as natural as breathing.

This was different.

The wolf’s movements were smooth and deliberate but slow and telegraphed. Kai could easily overpower him but was choosing not to, so Ty moved to offense, to force his hand. He pushed Kai back along the riverbed with every nimble swing, but Kai parried them all until they broke apart and started circling each other once more.

The shaking was worse, and Ty reached over to hold his own wrist to steady himself, never taking his eyes off of Kai, the monster, this beast that had been his oldest and truest friend. This abomination that had been his partner.

“That’s it then?” he yelled, and Kai’s ears pricked forward. “After everything we’ve been through, this is all the fight you have in you?” Kai shuffled in place and Ty felt a flicker of doubt that he immediately buried with anger and duty. No one retained themselves after the change. His friend was already dead.

He shouted and ran at Kai, swinging more widely, slower and stronger and the wolf moved away, always backing up or dodging until the sting of the edge cut into his arm and he howled with the pain. A massive paw lashed out and smashed into the sword, ripping it from Ty’s hands and sending it scattering into the dark.

But Kai did not press his advantage and Ty was left standing there, unarmed, confused, and angry.

“What are you doing? ATTACK me!!” he yelled but Kai backed away and hid his teeth.

Ty stepped at him, pointing with both hands to his own chest. “Damn it all, Kai, attack me! You have to! There is nothing left of you! You’re a monster, that’s what you do! That’s what you did to the others, to Khasar, why won’t you do it to me?!”

The wolf started to pace, dropping to all fours, hunched with his head low. Drool turned to foam in the corners of his mouth and speckled the fur of his ruff and arms, his eyes still glittered. He didn’t stop watching the Hunter.

“You think I want to do this?!” Ty yelled as he fumbled to get Kai’s sword from his back, “do you even remember when we talked about this?” He took the sheath off and tossed to the side. “We promised each other that if we ever turned, we would be the one to put the other down. That we wouldn’t let the other hurt anyone!” Ty blinked angry tears away and struggled to hold the weapon. It took both hands and the tip of it still visibly shook. “If you don’t kill me, I’ll kill you!” Ty growled and ran at the wolf again, swinging the great sword in wide arcs.

Kai stepped away from the first swing, but the second grazed his shoulder and he whimpered. He pranced out of reach again and Ty stumbled. The tip of the sword thudded into the ground, sliding on the smooth river rock and nearly pulled Ty off balance. He had to take a moment to recover his footing and catch his breath, tears flowing freely now.

“It’s not possible, it’s not possible,” he mumbled to himself and raised a hand to hide his face as though he could physically hold back the tears and with it his desperation and crumbling resolve. Ty wiped his face and then glared at Kai.

“You gave them hope!” he yelled, “where’s mine!?”

The wolf stopped pacing and there was stillness between them until Kai slowly lowered himself to the ground. He lay down and rolled to his side, unwilling to fight anymore, a silent plea in his eyes. If it must be done, then let it be done, but he would die himself and not a ravenous beast.

The sword in his hand was too heavy and it dragged on the ground behind him as Ty forced himself to walk up to Kai. Still the wolf didn’t move, just looked up at his friend with those wild eyes, full of regret and sorrow.

He dropped the sword and then fell to his knees to put a hand on Kai’s big head. Ty gently pet him with ghost-like touches, his fingertips barely feeling along his features, tracing the putrid gash along his eye, already starting to scar along the edges.

Kai slowly closed his eyes, a gesture of complete trust, and Ty knew for sure.

“You were my brother, Kai,” he whispered, weeping, “Why didn’t I go with you?”

Light and hopeful touches turned into needy grasping as Ty buried his face in Kai’s fur, holding tightly to the fluff to sob and mumble with agony and regret, “why didn’t I go with you?”

He cried until he was spent, listening to Kai’s soft rumblings until the snapping of a twig put him back on guard. Kai’s ear flicked and he raised his head ever so slightly when Ty hurried to his feet and recovered the great sword, holding it at the ready with the tip of it near Kai’s nose.

The torchlight came over the edge of the bank the same time Khasar growled, “what are you doing?!” “Khasar--?” Ty started but was promptly cut off by a fist in his face.

“We told you we were going to save, Kai!” he snapped at Ty, barely giving him a second to recover. “Was this your plan all along?!”

Ty gently pressed a thumb to his jaw, checking to be sure it wasn’t broken.

Evie slid down the bank and hurried to Kai’s side, tossing the torch aside on the gravel so she could check him with both hands. Her worried expression was better than the soul-piercing glare from dinner.

Kai immediately got back to his feet and started slinking backwards, away from the light, with his belly to the ground and his lip curled back. His tail tucked between his legs and his ears flattened into his ruff.

She was undaunted, moving towards him with absolute faith and meaningful steps to put her hands on his muzzle. Kai’s tail wagged twice when she put her hand on his cheek, and he tried to lick her very briefly before she pushed his head down to focus on his newly acquired scratches.

“You were always going to try and kill him, weren’t you?” Khasar growled. He had planted himself between Ty and Kai and was squaring up again.

“Yes, I was,” Ty admitted quietly and Khasar punched him again.

“We told you that Kai is still in there! We both heard him! We both see it! How can you have such little faith in him? In us?”

“I didn’t!” Ty snapped, “I didn’t… but I do now.” Ty and Khasar’s eyes met, and they studied each other for several heartbeats until Khasar relaxed and lowered his fists. He still looked hurt behind the anger and Ty couldn’t blame him. He should’ve been on their side from the beginning.

He looked between Khasar, Evie, and Kai. Better late than never, and they were gonna need all the help they could get.

[agro-carnist]

Saw something I've never seen before at work. It was a young bully mix puppy that had a blue coat and white neck. The puppy was being treated for a severe skin infection. She was missing hair all over her body, except for the white marking on her neck, which was perfectly healthy. This is called color dilution alopecia, or "Blue Dog Disease," where a dilute coat color can cause hair loss and itchy skin.

Photos really don't do it justice how harsh the divide between healthy white coat and inflamed, patchy blue coat was. Pretty cool case! Puppy is also healing from the skin infection very well.

[rapidhighway]

im a chronic short-hair cutter and i second just CUTTING IT ALL OFF DO IT but also Watch Out for the first shower because you simply do not need That Much shampoo anymore so try to remember to use less lol

Lmaoo, tbh I'm not going to like buzzcut it or anything cause I've been experiencing some hair loss and I don't want my head to look patchy but at the same time I guess if I just did it it would erase all my fears forever I think