#but practicing willpower has been so good for me and I feel so much better for it

[marleysfinest]

full night’s kip. up fresh as a daisy. hot coffee consumed. bacon bap demolished. soon to be Outside with my boys. not getting drunk just because others are is proving to be a wonderful thing folks!!!!!!

[st4rrypuddles]

✧.* b1nging tips from someone who reached their ugw (lost 50+ pounds)

my overall advice is don’t eat on two days in a row, but don’t fast for more than 3. begin w allowing yourself a very small dinner every night, then every other night, then once every 3 nights. train your stomach to need less food.

how to stop wanting it

1) my biggest tip is to remind yourself that you don’t need the food that you want. what you need is vitamins and nutrients- and mcdonald’s has practically the same amount of those as air does.

2) let hunger pass- it’s a feeling and passes naturally like any other if you let it. eating when you’re hungry is what leads to a b1nge.. but acknowledging the feeling and distracting yourself/waiting until it passes to let yourself eat something will ensure you’re not eating it for the taste/satisfaction, but for the results.

3) be kind to yourself. a lot of what i’m saying may seem very self degrading, but if you’re restricting and also treating yourself with disrespect, chances are 99% that you’ll also disrespect yourself by b1ngeing. be proud of yourself, be proud of your body, be proud of your willpower, be proud of your progress. no one’s journey is linear, and the sooner you start congratulating yourself for the weight you’ve lost- or even the way you feel- the sooner your motivation will come from inside.

how to stop the physical feeling

> a sf redbull in coconut berry will always save me. they give me energy w out having a ton of carbs, curb my hunger, and they taste like candy so i don’t need to eat any. 10 cals- but well worth it. any sugar free energy drink is a really good option for when you feel like b1ngeing- they’re delish, the carbonation fills you up, and they give you energy. everything you need!

> working out- core, arms, and back specifically- when i get the urge to eat (with the intention of eating afterwards) 9/10 times shifts what im craving into something healthier, and even if i end up craving a carbo-load, i feel satiated more quickly and the calories go to a better place. i find when i train legs im much hungrier and i don’t like purposefully shrinking my ass so i try to avoid it unless i know im going to be in a situation where i’ll have to eat more than i want to.

> hobbies that require patience and mindfulness! find ways to spend your time that eliminate thinking about food as an option. be precise, and lend your focus to something other than food so your body can get used to feeling hunger without focusing on it.

thats all for now! i’m newly active on here but ive been part of the community for awhile, so pls lmk if i made any mistakes, or if anyone wants additional advice!

don’t ever forget your worth, you’re beautiful and are more deserving of the love you have to give than anyone else <3 xx

[kaylopolis]

Alastor's Shadow (18+) - Afterword

Alastor x F!Reader

Synopsis: There’s a new Overlord in town and it isn’t the Radio Demon. Six years after you fell into Hell, you have finally earned your seat at the table as Pentagram City’s newest and baddest and with the Extermination coming six months earlier than planned, it is now time to implement your ultimate endgame. After all, who doesn’t love a bit of power and chaos? Your plan brings you to the doorstep of the Hazbin Hotel as Charlie’s newest Redeemer, but who you find waiting for you will not only turn your entire plan upside down but also challenge your grab for power… 

Tag List: Slow burn, rivals to lovers, eventual smut

Masterlist Link: Masterlist

Spoiler Warning: Please read this after the Epilogue

Dear Hoteliers,

Before we begin, there is one thing I’d like to address: why did I kill Alastor?

Alastor’s death, believe it or not, was not about Alastor.

While you were dying, your thoughts were not fixated on him, nor were they fixated on Mary Marie if you read that alternate ending. They were about the abuse you experienced as an Angel of God. After all, this story, the very first thing that brought you to the Hotel was revenge.

But this was not a story about revenge. That all changed in Chapter 14 “Picking a Fight,” when you and Alastor finally caved and gave in to your feelings for each other.

No longer was your Endgame plan clear cut. Things got complicated. Alastor had to accept you and the plan or it didn’t work. Why? Because, again, you thought your story was one of revenge.

Alastor’s death - the demon saving you, looking after you over the years he was “dead,” and the lengths you went to revive him - changed that narrative. Because now it was not about Alastor accepting you and the Endgame plan, but you realizing that your story could not go on without him.

Literally, hence the time jump.

I did this for your character development, closure of your character’s arc, and because it has been the theme from the beginning of this work: power born from love is a thousand times more powerful than that born from fear.

Hence, the power, chaos, and love modified mantra I ended with.

So, if love was the solution/closure you needed why were you so fixated on the abuse as you died? Why did you not find resolution in those final moments (hence the “your fault” present during this scene)? Why was there no healing from your triggering past during this fic?

I intentionally did not want that sub-plot to find an ending because that’s not how trauma works. It’s an ongoing process - a battle to fight everyday. We have our good days and our bad, and we do not let it dictate our lives, but it’s a battle nonetheless.

I’ve always taken issue with movies and books romanticizing trauma and a character becoming empowered from it, using it as willpower to take down kingdoms literally and metaphorically. Culture wraps up trauma in a nice pretty bow and sticks it on a shelf and calls it a day when, in reality, that’s not how healing works.

It is a battle. An ongoing battle many of us spend our entire lives fighting.

How fitting that Mikaela’s a soldier…

But I’m not here to rehash this subplot. I’ve said my peace for you all to synthesize on your own because I find writers have many hidden motives we don’t catch while reading, and, as a writer myself, it makes me incredibly sad when a reader misses it because the story is SO much better if you understand them.

That being said, I’m here to reflect. After all, it’s what an “Afterword” is for.

I’ve never written a fanfic before but I am a fantasy writer. I decided to use this piece to explore romance, smut, and to fantasize about Alastor because how can you not? Vivienne inadvertently dropped us a hottie who has taken the fandom by storm!

I started this piece off as an “eventual smut” piece. Trying to practice my writing in a way the great Alastor Fictive writers on here would be proud to read: @minkdelovely , @hazelfoureyes , @hurthermore , @krahk , @fraugwinska , @macabr3-barbi3 (seriously go read their stuff, it’s AMAZING). Yet, around Chapter 14 (I call it the “Golden Chapter” in my head because I consider it to be the climax of not only the fanfic but of my writing as a whole. I’m quite proud of that chapter and honestly spent a long time debating ending the story there, but so many things were still unfinished) I found that I didn’t particularly have a talent for writing smut, nor did I enjoy it in the same way I enjoy writing fantasy.

This entire project was a discovery and a challenge for myself, and I grew A LOT as a writer.

Looking back, if I had to do this again, I would change quite a bit after Chapter 14. Maybe I will in the future, but as of right now, I have school and another manuscript to complete.

That being said, I have fallen in love with Mikaela and plan on using her in the future for my own book. (I will obviously not use any of Vivienne’s stuff because copyright laws exist, but I just love the character’s personality.)

I’m not planning on writing more on Tumblr anytime soon, but the series will stay up for future readers to find and enjoy.

My only goal with this was to reach a few people and have one person - just one - say they liked my writing. :)

Thank you, Hoteliers. Without you, this project wouldn’t have happened.

To power, chaos, and love!

As always, stay smutty <3

kaylopolis

Btw looking for feedback, feel free to send me a message!

-> Link to Masterlist

Tagged Hoteliers:

@sirens-and-moonflowers @wonderlandangelsposts @saccharine-nectarine @goyablogsstuff @mommymilkers0526 @eris-norwega @missgirlsstuff @alastor-the-radio-demons-blog @sillywormtrixareforkids @its-a-dam-blue-brick @cloverresin20 @blue-bird251 @speedycoffeedelight @littlebluefishtail @sawi1987 @mopeyghost @beelz3bub @fraugwinska @minamilinaqueen @demoarah @diffidentphantom @divineknightmare @animecrazy76 @sleepykittycx @graunta @reath-solia @satansdaughter123 @mysticatto @freshonyourpages @chibistar45 @rapunzelbro @stephydearestxo

[stevenssacrab]

Good Neighbor

⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ✧ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ*

Summary: Seeing your neighbor constantly ordering takeout inspires you to offer him a home-cooked meal and your company.

Rating: PG-13

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1.1k

a/n: As promised, one that isn't about Mr. Steven Grant. Hope someone out there appreciates the fallout 4 reference in the title lol. There will be a part 2 so look out for that soon! Hope y'all like it!

⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ✧ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ*

Part 2

Bucky sighs as he submits the 4th DoorDash order of the week.

“There’s no way this is good for me,” he groaned loudly, tossing his phone to the side and throwing his head back on the sofa when a heavenly aroma hit his nose.

“Ugh, there goes Y/N cooking again,” he says, slightly annoyed at himself; he quietly steps out into the hallway, seeking more of the godly scent coming from your apartment. Bucky has been entranced by your cooking abilities; somehow, you find the willpower to make a delicious home-cooked meal every day; he doesn’t know how you do it.

You hum softly to yourself as you pull out your chicken pot pie. You loved this recipe, but it, unfortunately, served 8+ people, and you didn’t know that many people, so you just picked at it throughout the week, but this time was different; you noticed that your handsome neighbor Bucky is always ordering take out, you can’t imagine a night he didn’t order something in, so you’ve decided to be a good friendly neighbor and offer him some, it would go to waste anyways so might as well give it away, and if it meant you would get to talk to Bucky, you figured it wouldn’t hurt.

Knock knock, you tap lightly on his door, suddenly having second thoughts, but before you can change your mind, Bucky opens the door.

“Hey, what’s up?” He says, only slightly confused

“Hi, I’m Y/N,” you say, holding your hand out. Bucky shakes your hand, and you don’t miss how rough his hand feels against yours, how your hands fit together like puzzle pieces.

“Bucky,” he says, looking at you with a hint of something you can’t quite grasp.

“I made some chicken pot pie, and I have tons left over; I was wondering if you wanted what’s left. I see all the takeout and thought it may have been a while since you had a home-cooked meal.” You say, your eyes widening suddenly. “N-Not that I’m like watching you or something. You laugh awkwardly, eyes shifting everywhere. “I just happened to notice and.”

“Y/N, it's okay. I know what you meant,” he smiles at you.

“Come in, please,” he says, stepping aside to let you in.

“Okay,” you say shyly, slowly crossing the threshold into this home; it was much homier than you imagined. You were not sure what exactly you expected, but it wasn’t this; it was decorated with army medals and pictures of other Avengers enjoying life; it was odd seeing everyone superheroes, in regular clothes, having beers and singing karaoke, everyone being so ordinary. It was refreshing to see; it really humanized them for you. It, of course, never slipped your mind who Bucky was, but to you, he was always your neighbor who ordered too much takeout and had loud get-togethers.

“This smells so good, Y/N,” he beams, practically drooling over the pie.

“I’m glad you think so; it tastes even better,” you wink. Bucky looks away, smiling shyly. He leads you into his kitchen, placing the food at the breakfast bar. He pulls out your chair for you before he seats himself, digging in immediately.

“UGH, this is so fucking good,” he shouts, with a mouth full of food. “Oh, sorry, this is so good.” he laughs, shoving more food into his mouth.

“Mmm, what is this crust made out of?” He asks, chewing slowly, dissecting the flavors, and trying to pinpoint it.

“Cheddar and thyme,” you beam proudly, enjoying his reactions to the meal.

“Ugh, my god, genius.” He says lowly, “So, does your boyfriend love your cooking too?” He asks

“Oh, haha, no boyfriend, it’s just me,” you laugh awkwardly.

“No way, I’d marry you if it meant I got to eat like a king every day,” he says matter-of-factly.

“I might have to take you up on that offer,” you flirted back. Bucky practically licks the plate clean; he pushes the plate away and smacks the table in triumph.

“Amazing,” he chirps happily, gently patting his stomach, absolutely glowing.

“Thank you, you’re too kind.” you blush at his praise and stand up, clearing your throat before speaking.

“I should get going; I’ll see you around, Bucky,” you say, gently squeezing his arm.

“Yeah, hope I can see you again.” He says slowly, hoping you pick up his suggestion; you walk across the hallway, giving one last smile before closing the door.

It’s been a week since you gave him your pot pie. Every meal you’ve made, you wanted to provide some, but you didn’t wanna weird him out

It was raining, too, so you decided it was a good day for some classic French onion soup, only this time, you wouldn’t bring your leftovers; you would have dinner with Bucky. You are dressed in a yellow floral print dress that landed just above the knees. Giving yourself one last look in the mirror before walking across the hall, you gently knock on the door.

“I’m coming!” Bucky shouts, and you faintly hear footsteps coming closer. Bucky quickly swings the door open.

“Oh, Y/N! Hey, whatcha got there?” Bucky asks, looking down at the pot you have in your hands.

“French onion soup,” you say proudly, holding your head high. “With a baguette,” you added happily.

“Hell yeah! Come in, come in,” he says excitedly, stepping aside.

You pour yourself and Bucky, as he waits excitedly, absolutely beaming, gently place the bowl before him and hand him a few slices of baguette.

“I hope you like it,” you smile nervously; you sit next to Bucky, wiping your sweat palms on your dress.

“This looks amazing, Y/N,” he says, smiling down at the food, picking up a spoonful of soup, and blowing on it before eating.

“Oh my god,” he says as soon as it hits the palate, Concern growing deep in your chest. “He hates it, oh my god,” you say to yourself.

“Y-you don’t like it?” You ask timidly, pulling his bowl away from him, shame feeling every part of your body, “this was a stupid idea,” you say under your breath, but loud enough that Bucky hears you; he grabs the hand, pulling away tightly, you gasp; looking up at Bucky nervously

“Don’t say that,” he said firmly, realizing he was still holding your hand; he cleared his throat and let your hand go.

“I just mean it’s good, better than good; it’s incredible,” he admits cautiously, reaching for another spoonful.

“Oh, haha,” you laugh, feeling the tension melt away.

Bucky wastes no time scarfing down the food, and of course, going back for seconds, you smile to yourself, pleased with his reactions.

“Ugh, that was marvelous,” he said, rubbing his belly happily; you both sat on the sofa in comfortable silence. You remember when you first built up the courage to offer him your leftovers; you never imagined it would lead to this: having dinner with your handsome neighbor.

“Do you wanna make dinner at my place next week?” you asked suddenly before you changed your mind.

“I’d love to.” Bucky smiled back at you.

[blossomwritesthings]

𝐚 𝐟𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐮𝐥𝐥 𝐨𝐟 𝐩𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐬, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐲 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬 | 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐨𝐫 𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐞

⬷ 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞┊ 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 ┊ 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 →

pairing: minho x felix (minlix)

genre: dancer!minho/artist!felix. brothers best friend troupe. college au. age gap (abt 4 years). minho pov. extremely dark themes throughout, including smut - MDNI, 18+ only.

word count: 4.4k

the playlist 🗡️

a/n: OKAY, SO- 💀 I HAVE AN EXPLANATION FOR THE DELAYED UPDATE!!!! 💀😔 My life has been so incredibly fucking busy lately... with working full time and doing summer uni courses full time and planning for lolla and like, the 5 other concerts im going to in the later half of this year... it's been a lot, fam. 😭 I've been under sm stress at work and from school that I've been getting really bad chest pains, but I'm trying to manage things so it's slowly getting better. But the burn out is real, people. That shit fucks you over sooo bad omg 😭 I just have no motivation to write anything at the end of the day or on the weekends because I'm so fucking tired of using my brain all week. Going to Lolla will be my first REAL vacation from work/uni in over 2 and a half years. That's acc insane to me lmao. ANYWAYS!!!! 🗣️💥 I've already written like, 2 more chapters for this fic when I was in a mania-induced rage a few weeks ago lol, so I just need to find the time/motivation to edit those within the next few weeks. And I already have big plans for the rest of the chapters in this so... I'm excited. Now I just gotta find the willpower to ACC write my ideas 😜

🗡️ - ̥۪͙۪˚┊❛ other cool stuff ❜┊˚ ̥۪͙۪◌! ࿐ྂ

. . . ⇢ ˗ˏˋread my rules & guidelines here! ࿐ྂ

. . . ⇢ ˗ˏˋcheck out my skz masterlist! ࿐ྂ

. . . ⇢ ˗ˏˋmy wip list! ࿐ྂ

. . . ⇢ ˗ˏˋ skz fic recs [sfw ver]! ࿐ྂ

. . . ⇢ ˗ˏˋskz fic recs [nsfw ver]! :: 18+, MDNI! ࿐ྂ

. . . ⇢ ˗ˏˋback to navigation! ࿐ྂ

ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ʀᴇᴘᴏsᴛ ᴛᴏ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ sɪᴛᴇs (ᴛʜɪs ɪɴᴄʟᴜᴅᴇs ᴛʀᴀɴsʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴs). do not copy, spin-off, or write inspired work based off of this fanfic without full permission to do so. ©ʙʟᴏssᴏᴍᴡʀɪᴛᴇsᴛʜɪɴɢs ⤐ ᴀʟʟ ʀɪɢʜᴛs ʀᴇsᴇʀᴠᴇᴅ

̶﹒⊹﹒sɪɴᴄᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʀᴇ ᴀʟʀᴇᴀᴅʏ ᴀᴄǫᴜᴀɪɴᴛᴇᴅ,  ʏᴏᴜ sᴋɪᴘ ᴛʜᴇ ғᴏʀеᴘʟᴀʏ ！،، 🌌  𖥻 𓂃 ʜᴇ ɢʀɪᴘs ʏᴏᴜ ᴀᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ɴᴇᴄᴋ  ᴀs ʏᴏᴜ ᴘʀеᴘᴀʀᴇ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ sᴄʀᴇᴡᴇᴅ╰╮ 🌑

 To his utter surprise, Minho decided to attend Felix’s dorm party that weekend. The final decision shocked the rest of his friends too, who had grown accustomed to his home-body spirit. Because usually, every time they asked — more like begged — him to go to parties with the three of them, he always backed out of everything. His favorite excuses were being too exhausted from dance practice or not feeling good from studying so much. 

  “I actually cannot believe you’re going to this shit,” Chris said with a laugh that night. He was sprawled across Minho’s bed, one earbud in his ear as his head bobbed up and down to a beat he was mixing on his laptop. Meanwhile, Minho was scurrying across his room, slipping on a pair of socks and making sure he looked somewhat put together. But he didn’t want to seem too desperate to fit in either, since he knew that most of the people at the party would be young freshmen and sophomores. 

  He had decided — with a little bit of Chris’ help — on a pair of black sweats, and an oversized graphic tee from one of his favorite Korean bands. It was nothing out of the ordinary for him to wear, but just ‘normal’ enough for him to fit in with the crowd that night. 

  “Honestly, I’m kinda shocked that you’re not going too,” Minho said as he hurried to slip on his Converse.

  With that, Chris looked up from his flashing computer screen with a deep frown plastered across his face. “Do you really think I want to go to a party and watch as my little brother sticks his tongue down at least ten people's throats?” 

  Minho stopped fumbling with his shoelaces and looked up at Chris with a raised eyebrow. “He’s not actually gonna do that tonight, Chris.” 

  “You obviously don’t know my brother these days… the one that’s mature— at least in his eyes, anyway,” Chris started, tapping away at his computer keyboard again and cursing under his breath for a split second. “That little boy that you grew up with is completely gone, Min.” 

  For a few beats, there was utter silence in Minho’s bedroom after Chris’ statement. Then, Minho fit his wallet into his pants pocket and unhooked his phone from his charging port. 

  “Is that why you… don’t really spend a lot of time with him ever since he got to campus?” 

  Chris threw a long roll of his eyes towards Minho, “That, and the fact that I’m a little too old and tired to be fucking around with a bunch of young kids these days.” 

  “Felix isn’t a young kid, Chris. He’s a grown adult.” 

  Sighing heavily, Chris hoisted himself up and off of Minho’s bed, patting his shoulder in a rough way as he passed Minho on the way out of the bedroom. “We’ll see if you change your opinion on that after tonight.”

  And the entire time Minho made the short trek over to the freshman’s side of campus, he couldn’t get Chris’ words out of his head. They were stuck in the depths of his brain, playing over and over again. Because there was no way that Felix would be so badly changed from the last time he had spent a night with him during their childhood. 

  Sure, Minho had noticed a slight change when they had met in the campus gardens the day before, but it wasn’t… that bad. Not like anything Chris was describing.

  Even still, Minho could feel his entire body tense up as he got closer to the freshman dormitory. He could hear his heartbeat in the corners of his ears as he knocked on Felix’s door. He could sense his palms growing cold and clammy as the loud base of music thrummed underneath his feet. 

  Almost as quickly as he had knocked, someone opened the door. He had never seen the guy before, but he had purple-dyed hair and a dazzling white smile. Reaching out to Minho’s hand, the beautiful stranger yanked him in excitedly. 

  “Holy shit- you must be the famous Minho! I’ve heard so much about you!” The guy shouted over the music, closing the door behind Minho and leading the two of them into the nearby kitchen. “I’m Jisung, by the way.” 

  Without even having time to process the chaos that was the person in front of him, Minho’s hand was grabbed by Jisung and shaken thoroughly. “Uhm- nice to meet you, Jisung…” His voice trailed off as his mind carded through the slightly slurred words that had just fallen from the purple-haired man’s lips. “What do you mean by hearing so mu—”

  “Hey, Jisung! Stop being such a fucking weirdo and let the man breathe!” Someone off to their right shouted in an exasperated tone. 

  Minho turned and noticed a dark-haired figure bent over in the shadows of the kitchen. They raised their head from the counter, rubbing their nose and sneezing violently. Slowly, Minho’s eyes registered the small bit of white substance that was left behind and laid out on the kitchen counter in a neat line. The dude was fucking snorting cocaine. Just then, Minho’s focus turned to the rest of the kitchen’s counters, which were lined with a plethora of drinks, drugs, and other shit he didn’t even have names for. A random couple was making out in the background, the girl’s ass pressing down atop the counter as the man between her legs bit violet marks into the side of her neck. 

  Turning his eyes away from the couple, he watched as the cocaine-snorter sidled up to their sides. Slinging a lazy arm around Jisung’s neck, he pulled him in for a tight hug. “You must be Minho, huh?” He asked in a long drawl, the kind you only got with copious amounts of drugs and liquor flowing through your system. 

  “Y-Yeah… Felix invited me to this last minute, but I’m starting to think maybe coming was a bad idea…” Minho said in a quiet voice that was barely decipherable over the ear-piercing rap blasting throughout the entire dorm. Feeling suddenly uncomfortable under the two strangers' gazes, he fit his hands in his pockets, eyes darting around the kitchen for the closest exit. 

  “You’re a lot cuter in person than what I always imagined,” The guy holding onto Jisung said, stumbling over a bit and making Jisung laugh heartily. The guy had soft cheekbones but razor-sharp eyes. The kind that Minho felt were piercing into him and studying his very being with each second that passed. His jet-black hair was messy atop his head and slightly curled at the ends. “I’m Seungmin, by the way. But most of these fucks around here call me Doggy.” 

  Placing a hand on Seungmin’s chest lovingly, Jisung flashed Minho a sly kind of smile. “He can get you anything you want— just say the word, pay up, and he’ll have it in your hands by the end of the week…” Jisung’s words drifted off into the chaos around them as he studied Minho. 

  Minho felt like both of the young men in front of him were sidling him up — wondering, and guessing, why someone as plain and boring as him was connected to Lee Felix in some way. Minho could feel his palms growing sweatier by the second as he gripped the suffocating fabric of his pant pockets. 

  “So— what’s your weakness?” Seungmin slurred on, eyes growing dark as his gaze traced Minho’s form up and down in the kitchen’s dim lighting. “Fet? Coke? Meth—”

  Already starting to feel sick to his stomach by the topic of conversation, Minho held his hands up in a silent plea for him to stop. “Uhm— not really into that kinda shit.” 

  “What a shame… you’d be a pretty addict, for sure.” Jisung said in a flirtatious tone, biting the corner of his lip as he studied Minho.

  Slowly, Minho could feel himself caving inward. His shoulders dropping, and heartbeat turning into a low thrum, all he wanted to do was get out of the situation he was stuck in. “How do you guys know Felix? Are you both freshman too?” 

  Jisung burst out laughing at that, reaching towards the nearby kitchen counter and pouring himself a solo cup full of vodka. “You're kidding me, right? We’ve been Felix’s homies since our high school days.” 

  “And yes, if you must know— we’re freshman’s,” Seungmin said, rolling his eyes as he grabbed the solo cup from Jisung’s hand and took a long swig of it. Much to Jisung’s displeasure. “Why? What’s it to ya?” 

  Minho shrugged nonchalantly, trying to act like the entire atmosphere around them wasn’t making him extremely uncomfortable. “I was just making friendly conversation,” and before he could let either of the guys in front of him say anything more, he decided to remove himself from the situation entirely. “Actually, I think I’m gonna go try and find Felix…” 

  As he was walking away from the kitchen, he could hear the boys snickering behind him, with Jisung shouting in slurred words, “Good luck finding him if he’s getting his dick sucked in the bathroom!” Minho could hear the two guys laughing manically in the kitchen as he made his way into the rest of the dorm. 

  Immediately upon entering the living room, he remembered just how small the freshman’s living spaces were. The entire place was jammed packed full of bodies writhing and shaking. A space in the middle of the room had been cleared for a makeshift dance floor, so couples were grinding up on each other and making out to the sultry r&b coursing throughout the entire place. Bodies filled up every seat and sofa in the vicinity. 

  The entire room was dark with the curtains closed. That added to the smoky atmosphere, as people smoked cigs, vapes, and joints everywhere that Minho looked. It was hard to see through the haziness of everything, but eventually, he spotted Felix. 

  Felix was… 

  Sitting on one of the couches, 

  Busy making out with another guy.

  And just then, Minho couldn’t even understand the exact feelings he had upon such a discovery. It was a mix of surprise, queasiness, but also… something else too, which he dared not name. 

  He shoved everything down into a firm ball in the pit of his stomach, shuffling towards a nearby table and popping himself a cold bottle of soju. Taking a long swig from the chilled rim, he gradually shuffled his way through the dance floor over to where Felix was. 

  The younger man seemed to exude a certain kind of presence… captivating at least half of the room with his aura. Felix's energy was dark and smoky and… something so mysterious and foreign to Minho, he had no idea how to navigate all of it. 

  “Felix— hi,” Minho yelled over the loud music, waving towards Felix to catch his attention. There were a few other people squished onto the sofa where he was sitting, but all of them were focused on the tv screen which was flashing with an intense game of Super Smash Bros. 

  As soon as Felix’s focus was caught, he was pulling away from the other man’s lips. In the dimness of the room, Minho distinctly caught onto the way that messy strings of saliva parted from their lips, and how Felix’s mouth was puffy and swollen from kissing all night.

  Eyes brightening and pink freckled cheeks shading just a tiny bit, Felix shot up from his spot on the couch, fumbling his way over to Minho’s side. For a split second, Minho was able to gaze at Felix’s form — at the white skort he was wearing which was so short, half of his ass was exposed, and the baby-blue crop top that rose just above his belly button. A belly ring glinted in the sultry lighting of the room, along with all of the silver earrings, rings, and necklaces that adorned Felix’s milky-white skin. 

  “M-Min, oh my god, you made it!” Felix exclaimed happily, tugging on Minho’s wrist gently and leading him over to his spot on the couch. The man that he had been making out with only seconds before shuffled to the side, allowing room for Minho to sit down. Then, he grabbed Felix’s hips and sat him down on his lap. Felix let out a tiny giggle, snuggling his ass backward and earning a grunt from the guy underneath him. “I’m so happy to see you!” 

  Minho flashed him the best smile he could muster at that moment. What with being incredibly overstimulated by everything, and the shock of meeting some of Felix’s... choice friends, and seeing his best friend’s little brother making out viscerally at a party… 

  The night definitely wasn’t turning out as he had hoped, that was for sure. 

  “I met some of your friends, they’re uhm— interesting, to say the least,” Minho laughed awkwardly, carding a few shaking fingers through his hair. “I wasn’t expecting you to be… part of such a crowd, Lix.” 

  Felix shrugged the tiniest of bits, his eyes flicking away from Minho’s and focusing on the video game some of the others were playing. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Minho. Things have changed since the last time we hung out.” There was a weight to his words, they felt heavy on Minho's shoulders and weighed on his heart. Even still, he tried to push away those feelings and just live in the moment, without any worries or inhibitions 

  “That’s for sure…” 

  But Minho wasn’t really paying attention to anything else that Felix was saying, if he was saying anything at all. Because he was too busy watching the guy underneath Felix draw circles against his bare skin. Fingers skirting across his skin, the guy softly massaged the soft skin of his thighs, forcing gooseflesh to erupt to the surface. 

  “This is Renjun, by the way,” Felix said, cutting through the silence between them and breaking the trance Minho had fallen into. “He’s a… friend, of sorts.” 

  Renjun turned his face away from Felix’s body, taking a long drawl of a joint that Minho hadn’t even noticed was positioned between his fingers. “Yeah, ‘cause friends definitely stick their dicks in each other’s assess… that's just what friends do, right?” Renjun let out a loud cackle, the kind that would probably make Minho burst out into laughter too, if they were in a different situation. 

  Felix gave the man underneath him a deep frown before his eyes focused back on Minho. “I mean… if you’re truly friends— anything could happen, right?” Just then, he started moving again, hips circling just a little bit atop Renjun’s lap. Almost instantly, the dark-haired man was groaning out loud and clutching onto Felix's hips for dear life. And the entire time, Felix kept his gaze locked with Minho's, practically staring right into his soul.

  Minho was keenly aware of the dry saliva he swallowed down, trying to ignore the way his heart lept just a little bit in his chest at the sight of Felix grinding down against Renjun’s lap. Trying to ignore the way his pants grew just a tiny bit tighter at the sight of Felix flashing Renjun a playful, dim smirk. 

  “Renjun, stop fucking moaning, you’re ruining the vibes right now!” A silver-haired guy who was sitting in front of Minho said. He was part of the group that was focused on the tv, playing Smash like they were in a professional tournament or some shit. “I’m Jeongin, by the way, Lee Felix’s bestie since the sixth grade.” The silvered fox said, momentarily looking away from his game and flashing Minho a smile. 

  At that, Renjun let out a low chortle. “Too bad you weren’t close enough to fuck him, eh?”

  Minho’s attention darted from Jeongin’s face back to Renjun, examining the way his raven locks were somewhat disheveled— like they had been gripped pretty hard recently. 

  Gripped hard by… Felix. 

  Felix threw his hands up into the air, seeming to admit defeat. “What is it with everyone around here wanting to fuck me?!” He exclaimed- although he didn’t seem that upset by the prospect in the first place. Instead, he grabbed ahold of the joint Renjun was smoking and took a long drag of it. Blowing the smoke up in the air around him, Felix’s slightly hooded gaze zeroed back onto Minho. “It’s not like I’m that attractive— I only get the young people to fuck me.” 

  Minho shifted in his spot on the couch, feeling that floaty, twisted snake thrum through his veins. He stared down at his strawberry-flavored soju bottle, pretending to be fascinated with the label. When in actuality, he was doing everything in his power to avoid Felix’s stare. 

  “I mean, who wouldn’t wanna fuck you? You’re cute— you’re hot, you’re fun, and you’re a damn good bottom, too.” Renjun said in a deep voice, and through the reflection of the tv screen in front of them, Minho could make out the way he leaned down and pressed a feverish kiss to Felix’s exposed neck.

  Like a train wreck that you can’t stop watching, Minho couldn’t help but turn his head to watch Felix atop Renjun again. He was still dancing across his lap, doing so with a little more fervor this time. The compliments probably fueled his fire, Minho assumed. Felix was gradually beginning to wreak of a mix of weed, liquor, and the sweet scent of floral perfume. Yet in that moment, it was all too intoxicating for Minho. 

  Turning his head slowly, Felix ruffled Renjun’s locks playfully. “Awe thanks— I feel so flattered that you find me pretty, Renjunnie~” He cooed in a gentle voice, fingers skirting across Renjun’s round cheek with a caress. 

  “Well, I’m sure Minho sure doesn’t wanna fuck you.” Jeongin deadpanned, his voice cascading down around their small group. He was still focused on the game but bent his head backward a bit. Fox-like eyes studied Minho’s face in the smokiness of the room just then. And Jeongin’s lips cracked into a wide, Cheshire grin just as he turned back to the tv. “Actually, never mind— maybe he does.” 

  The entire time, Minho had been entirely too quiet. Letting everything play out, observing and judging silently. He was probably the oldest one in that room, and he could feel the significance of his grade year and maturity weighing down on his shoulders like a 200lb barbell. 

  He took a final swig of his soju, before tossing it into a nearby trashcan. “Honestly, I’m old enough to be his brother, so no— definitely not,” Minho said in a low tone, his throat constricting a tiny bit. 

  But it was just the alcohol, it was just the liquor that was getting to him. 

  And the weed in the air and the cigarettes and every other thing floating around him. It was the loud bass thrumming through the bottoms of his feet and it was the blaring disco ball that was flashing rainbow-colored shapes on the dance floor. 

  Yes, it was all of that… 

  And none of what Felix was doing beside him, or how Felix was looking at him or- 

  “I mean, yeah— a dancer and fashion designer together?? Fucking hell, it’d never work. Aren’t dancers always too tired to even get it up in the first place?” Renjun slurred his words just a tiny bit, as the weed no doubt flooded into his system. 

  “But I bet those hips don’t lie!” Jeongin shrieked with laughter, slapping his leg in happiness at their stupid jokes. 

  So suddenly, Minho realized why he was invited to the party in the first place. 

  He wasn’t included to have a good time, or because he was missed, or because people wanted to meet him. 

  No, he was invited to be the laughing stock of everyone there… 

  Hey guys- look! A stupid ass senior shimmying his way into a freshman party, look at how stupid he looks— 

  trying to hit on the hottest guy on campus.

   And the thinks that he has a fighting fucking chance when everyone else wants — and gets to have Felix — 

  But no , definitely not him, not ever. The brother’s best friend?? Felix would never stoop so low. 

  The energy shifted between Minho and the rest of them sitting there on the couch, freezing in place as soon as he shot up from his spot on the couch. Yanking out his phone from his pants pocket, the screen flashed with the time — one in the morning. He had been acting stupid, been the night’s entertainment, for more than three hours. And just as he realized the time, he noticed the eyes on him — how half of the room was watching him, with people hiding their smiles and laughs behind palms and solo cups and joints. 

  “I have class tomorrow, I should head out.” Is the only explanation he gave, not even affording Felix or the others another glance as he pulled away from the sofa and forced his way through the shaking bodies on the dance floor. And when Jisung and Seungmin called out to him from the kitchen as he passed them by, he gave them no attention. 

  The eyes on his back, which he could feel the entire way to the door, just about killed him. He felt like he was about to suffocate, his heart racing against his ribcage, pushing and pushing, just like he had been pushed all night by everyone. 

  And Felix was no better. 

  He was no better than everyone else because he was the one who had invited him in the first place. 

  So Minho was shocked, then, when he felt a small hand grab ahold of his wrist just as he was about to step into the elevator. To take him away from such a hellhole and such a depressing prison of losers. 

  “Minho— wait, I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t mean—”

   Minho didn’t even turn around, couldn’t, in that moment. Instead, he let Felix hold onto him, let the feeling of his nimble fingers cascade through his system. Let Felix gradually move his hand until he was threading his fingers through Minho’s. 

  Just like they used to sometimes when they hung out together in their childhood. 

  When they were bored, and no one was around, and Chris was nowhere to be found and they could— 

  “It’s all my fault, I’m sorry— I was so fucking stupid for thinking—”

  “Why do you hang out with those people?” 

  Was all that Minho could manage to say, focusing his attention on the way Felix’s hand radiated warmth, how it lit up all the synapses of Minho’s body and kindled the dying fire inside of the deepest parts of him. 

  “They’re my friends, they’re not just ‘people’ to me.” 

  At that, Minho let out a dry laugh. The kind that had no humor in it and was completely sardonic. “What a great bunch of friends you got there, Lix…” 

  Minho regretted the moment he said the word, the moment he used the old nickname in such a cold, seething kind of way. Because as soon as it fell from his lips, the warm fingers wrapped around his were pulling away. 

  “I was nice enough to invite you, I was nice enough to let you into my life again— and you’ve decided to shit on it.” Minho still had his back turned on him, but he could imagine the look on Felix’s face then. If his low, venomous tone was anything to go off of. 

  Slowly, Minho turned around. He found his body moving on their own accord. And just like that, he was facing Felix again. Minho was studying his face and the way it was drained of all color. How there was nothing in his eyes then, but only heartbreak and barely-masked tears. 

  “I never asked to be let in, Felix,” Minho said, but the words came out as a whisper. Like if he spoke loud enough, someone from inside the party would hear them and come running out to take photos. Look, the campus's local desperate senior trying to coax the popular freshman into- “You know I didn’t. Not like this, never.” 

  Without even trying to, Minho could feel his body moving again. His hand reached up and caressed Felix’s cheek. Thumb smoothing across freckles and softness, brushing just underneath his long eyelashes. And for a moment, just like it was once again a dream, Felix leaned into it. Let himself go for but a mere breath, sighing into it. 

  He pressed his face a little closer to Minho’s hand, eyes fluttering shut only slightly. Cheeks heating up underneath Minho’s touch, Felix's gaze shot open again as soon as the thumb underneath his eye migrated to his mouth. Migrated to caressing his bottom lip. 

  “Don’t.” 

  Minho watched the single word escape past Felix’s lips, and instantly, the tension in the air between them broke and shattered. Like someone had taken a knife to his heart once more, tearing him apart by flesh and bone, his hand was dropping from Felix’s skin. 

  “Go back to the party so you can get fucked by Renjun.” 

  The statement was a double-edged sword, both of them knew. 

  The words registered in Felix’s mind and Minho watched as the disdain colored his energy again. Painting him in violent shades of crimson and lilac, Felix said nothing as Minho backed away and into the elevator. 

  Just before he was able to press the button inside to go down, Felix reached out and grabbed ahold of the elevator’s door. “Don’t you ever fucking come back around these parts, or I’ll-” He spit out in a wicked kind of way, the emotions swirling in his pupils. 

 “You’ll… what? Beat me up? You and I both know you’re not capable of that, Lixie…” Minho said, his tone winding around the crackling air between them. He flashed Felix one final smirk, before pushing the button to go down to the first floor. 

  The last thing he saw before the elevator doors closed was Felix’s face, the way his pretty red lips were pressed into a firm, displeased line. The way his eyes were hooded with a mix of rage and exasperation. 

  The last thing that Minho saw on Felix’s face that night was utter betrayal and contempt… 

  To be honest, it was just like the old days again… when Minho had told Felix he was leaving for university and they'd never be able to talk again...

  He had wished to travel back to their childhoods so much, 

  And like a blessing from the God’s, he had been afforded such a thing. 

  What a sweet memory to travel back to… Such sweet revenge to be gifted. 

─── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ───

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[lumienyx]

fluffy funny Bloodweave comic for an anon prompt + a ficlet to go with it🥺

Feline Meditations

Read on AO3 or continue under the cut ↓

Rating: T | Pairing: Astarion/Gale | Words: 1,077

Tags: Humor, Fluff, Banter, Romance, Established Relationship, Catstarion (I am so sorry for my crimes)

~~~

Astarion can, honest to the gods, feel his eye twitching. 

“You did not," he says with the most threatening inflection he can manage, "just compare me to a bloody cat!”

“That is true,” Gale agrees, сompletely unabashed in that infuriating way only he can manage. “Actually, I compared you to a tressym.”

“That's just a winged cat! ”

“Now, careful there!” Gale glances around, eyes rimmed with a nervous frown. “You don't want Tara to hear you. It's a delicate matter,” he insists. “They are complex magical creatures. Their very being is woven from the intricate patterns of the Weav—”

“They're feline,” Astarion protests, “and you just compared me to one!”

“Well, yes, because you did that thing Tara always does—”

“What thing?”

“Rubbing me with your head.” Gale’s smile, Astarion decides, is not in any way sweet or adorable. At. All . “That is distinctly catlike.”

“Ugh! I was just—I was… wiping dirt off my hair on your robe.” Astarion flinches at his own words, thankful that he has thoroughly lost the ability to blush.

Gale raises an eyebrow. “You're usually better at this.”

“I will end you."

“I mean, you’re practically growling.”

“Gale, dearest, if you know what’s good for you—” 

“Also, I swear the curls in your hair are standing up just right,” Gale outright lies, with no regard at all for his continued existence. “Like cat ears, honestly."

“Oh, for hells’ sake, that's it.”

Astarion makes short work of manhandling Gale to the ground, ignoring the clumsy flailing that really is no match for his deft hands and tight grip. He straddles Gale, then locks his wrists above his head with one hand. The other finds its way to Gale’s side, squeezing hard enough for him to feel Astarion’s fingers through the thick fabric of his robe.

Astarion smirks. Perfect. “There.”

“Where?” Gale chuckles, content to stay right where he is, it seems. “I’m not ticklish if that’s what you're going for.”

“No,” Astarion huffs, “just keeping you captive.”

“That is your grand revenge plan?” Gale outright laughs. The crinkles around his eyes multiply, like rays straying outward from the sun. “Color me terrified. I have been felled! Beaten down and defeated! Are you going to scratch me now or—oh! Bite?”

In fact, Astarion decides to do just that. He grabs the front of Gale's robe and yanks him in for a kiss that's messy and raw. Sinks his teeth in Gale's lower lip, hard enough to earn himself a surprised yelp and just a touch away from breaking skin. He slides his tongue into Gale’s mouth, claiming him harshly only for Gale to completely melt into it. Astarion—inevitably, as always—follows soon after, his irritation fizzling out only to be replaced by gently simmering pleasure. And there’s not much roughness left, eventually. There's just the feel of Gale’s lips against his, tantalizingly soft and so, so perfect. 

Seconds pass, maybe minutes. Maybe they stay like this forever, and this never ends—and Astarion is once more letting Gale's insolence slide, isn't he? 

Then again, as Gale draws him closer now, into an embrace that’s not too tight to remind Astarion of being restrained but firm enough to envelop him in a feeling of safety—Astarion finds he doesn’t quite mind. He relaxes easily, letting go of whatever tension still lingered in his muscles. It's something that Gale does to him. Softening him, mellowing him down. 

Astarion draws away to let Gale take a breath, narrowing his eyes and expending all of his willpower to avoid returning Gale’s stupid-looking smile.

“That was…” Gale breathes, “well, not what a cat would do.”

“Ugh .”

Astarion leaves the taunt unanswered, proceeding to position Gale so he’s comfortable for Astarion to lean on. Once he’s satisfied, he places his head on Gale's chest and shuts his eyes, inhaling deeply, sinking into the comfort of the familiar scent. Light, woody perfume mixed with the warm aroma of the soap he uses all tinged with the sharp cool tang of the Weave that sizzles deep in Gale’s veins as Astarion listens to the blood in them flow. A tempest held fast by a painfully mortal body and the sheer force of will.

Gale starts stroking his hair, then, careful not to mess up the curls too much.

“I am not,” Astarion says, suspicious, “going to start purring.”

“Oh, I know, I know. But a man can dream, can’t he?” Gale laughs. “So, am I to be your pillow now?”

“Yes. I’m going to meditate a while here, I think,” Astarion says, burying further into the self-proclaimed pillow. His tone softens, then, as he adds, “Though I suppose if you’re busy—

“You’re good,” Gale whispers against his hair, placing a soft kiss on Astarion’s head. His lips are featherlight, tingling with the energy of the Weave as he recites the words of a protection spell that creates a barely visible sphere of light around them. The sounds from camp become muffled, the cool wind turns warm, and Gale is radiant with magic that thrums rhythmically in time with his heartbeat. A perfectly beautiful melody Astarion is content to listen to for as long as he’s able. “Stay here as long as you want.”

Astarion does smile then, hiding it in the flaps of Gale’s robe. And he lets himself fall like he would never have dared to in the past, this close and exposed to someone. With his throat so vulnerable, ready to be severed. With his heart unprotected, so easy to pierce through with a stake. With his body pliant and loose, surely far too slow to dodge any attack that might come his way—yet Gale is no source of danger. Hasn’t been for such a long while Astarion sometimes forgets what life was like without him, as if it was all simply a terrible fever dream.

Gale is only warmth, and solace, and silken lips moving against Astarion’s ear as he murmurs,

"I love you."

Astarion can't quite reply, as he’s just about to be pulled under into a deeper meditative state, to a point when forming any coherent word would require too monumental an effort. But for now, he's still present enough for small movements. And him nudging into Gale’s hand as it brushes behind his ear, tightening his hold on Gale's shoulders, pulling him ever so lightly into what is, at best, a sloppy hug—is Astarion's way of saying,

I love you, too.

~~~

thank you for the read! I'd appreciate any comments and feedback💙 requests still open here, though I go through them pretty slowly🙏

[alparlaboratories]

Gonna ramble about Inyssa for a little bit.

Is it conceited to make a post about your own character's themes and stuff? Maybe. Whatever.

@inpurpleandred has been rereading and commenting on CoT and some of the stuff they said gave me ThoughtsTM about Niss, so here they are under the cut. It's long, and y'know... warning for all the stuff Niss goes through.

So you know that tumblr post that goes something like 'I'm probably X (trans, queer, bi, etc.) but I got much more pressing shit going on to deal with that at the moment'? That's how I viewed Niss'... everything while writing CoT. Partly because yeah, Niss really has so much shit going on that more urgently requires her attention during much of her story, 90% of it being Shadi's fault of course.

And she does deal with a good amount of it during the fic itself, mostly regarding her own self-worth, her feelings about her family and her own warped view of strength and heroism. And it's only near the end and the epilogue that she can even begin to consider anything else about her life.

And I think in that time, in those years between CoT and my future story, Niss does think about it, and tries things out, experiments and tries to find a place for herself in herself. And she realizes that she both has severe self-image issues and also some gender stuff going on maybe, but they're not actually related.

During much of the fic, Niss sees her body as separate from herself, as early on as the first chapter. It's a form of detachment that allows her to be angry at herself in self-harming ways that -in her head at least- don't clash with her vow to never hurt herself again like she did in the past.

And she is very, very angry at her body. It's a bitterness that keeps boiling under the surface of her skin whenever she's unable to do something she feels like she should. She sees her body as just a thing covering the real Inyssa, and feels like a chick who never got to break out of its shell. And though she tries not to admit it, one of her biggest fantasies is to literally rip herself apart like a molting snake and for the 'real' Inyssa to come out of the dregs, pristine and perfect.

And in a way, it's true, but it's not her fault. It's both Shadi and Johanna's (And Sarah's too, but for different reasons). Who is the most to blame is debatable, but regardless, it's because of them that Inyssa feels this way.

Because yeah, as one of my readers once said, the Dawn family is full of women who are made of stick and stones, but Inyssa takes that to an extreme. There's a chapter where Barry mentions that Niss was once noticeably taller than him, and she was! And she would've continued that trend, eventually growing as tall as Shadi if not taller, if she'd had a normal childhood.

But she didn't. Johanna neglected both of her daughters, and partly because of that -and her own bad tendencies- Shadi ended up doing much worse, especially psychologically, to Inyssa. And then she left. So Inyssa was left severely depressed and gaunt for arguably the most important years in terms of physical growth and development. Johanna says so herself; she practically starved herself, eating only as much to keep herself alive and not doing anything else. And she kept getting worse, and worse, until eventually she attempted suicide. Which, of course, only made the situation worse.

And by the time she was forced to start taking care of herself, it was too late. Her body was frail, and the malnutrition she'd suffered caused invisible scars that stunted her growth for the following years, making Inyssa feel like there was a disconnect between how strong her willpower was compared to her actual body. And so she went on hating said body, cursing it for all her problems because she didn't know who was really to blame.

It's also an endless spiral, because she could've gotten better if she'd taken better care of her body, but why would she, from her own perspective? So she treated her body worse, and it inevitably got worse, so she got even angrier, etc. It's only when she goes on her trainer journey alongside Barry, someone who cares to help her, that she starts getting better. And of course, following the end of the fic and the Epilogue, she's actively trying to eat and sleep more, to treat her body more kindly, like it always tried to do with her.

And it's only then that she has enough time and peace of mind to think about herself, her gender and all that. Now, Niss has always been bi. One of the few good things about Johanna as a mom is that she was unapologetically bi herself, and supported her daughters in learning their own sexual identities, Niss coming out as bi eventually, and Shadi as a lesbian.

After that, I think Niss would happily try new things, whenever she got the time. And though she would keep doing so even years and years after the fact (well into this new Hoenn fic and beyond) from an author perspective I think she'd eventually see herself as a baby butch, a pretty boygirl who loves wearing suits and ties and looking like she's straight out of a visual novel full of bishonen men.

And I love that for her, honestly.

[softsky-daily]

7/17/2024

It was an inside kinda day.

Positive thing: I got a lot of sleep.

I ended up not getting much done just because I was exhausted, and also stressed thinking about internship tomorrow. Going to bed and waking up early and being there all day is just the worst. I'm hoping it won't be so bad this week since our supervisor said she'd take us on field trips to different internship sites, but she might still be sick, and either way she's canceled on stuff before.

I really need to get ahold of her so I can tell her I'm quitting early. Going there the past few months has just been draining away my willpower like a huge motivation vacuum.

Man. I thought I'd be over working at places that make me feel shitty ever since I quit my last job, but it had to be baked right into my program (which, for the record, has also been making me feel shitty). I was talking to a classmate friend a bit and she said she could see her future so clearly once she graduated, becoming a private practice counselor straight out the gate. I think that made me realize I am just in a whole other universe compared to that. My mind is focused on being anywhere else, doing anything else. It almost breaks my heart because this is what I wanted to do since I was little, and certainly I think I'd be a very good counselor.

But not here. And not like this. I need a serious break regardless, and it is just not being given to me. I can take a lot but I'm at my limit and it's terrible that the overarching message in this field I keep hearing is that we don't rest. Whatever self care we tout, we don't actually follow through with that. We have to push through because our clients need us and nobody else can do it.

And I think it is true to some extent. Our system just doesn't allow for better, accessible mental health services, and it falls to those willing to sacrifice a lot to be able to help. Another classmate friend told me he's seen so many counselors who have just lost their humanity over the years trying to stay and help at these places. I know what he means. Especially at internship - the softness and gentleness is just not in them anymore, even the ones who stay generally kind. I can understand why. It's a tough job. Even I can feel some of my gentleness leaving and I hate that more than anything.

I remember feeling frustrated because people have said "this career just might not be for you." And if it isn't? What would you have me do? I still need to finish my degree. The feeling of being trapped is so palpable I could almost reach out and shake the bars of my cage for real.

Anyway, tomorrow I'll just get myself through internship, and then the next day the same thing, and then I can sleep in on the weekend. On Sunday I'm volunteering at a dinner for Japanese students visiting from Takasaki High School (which I believe is in Gunma Prefecture). I'm excited for that. And hopefully somewhere in between I'll be able to flag down my internship supervisor and tell her I'm quitting early.

[that-green-haired-swordsman]

Here have my quickly written contribution to the ZoTash prompt week 3 on our Discord. It's not the best thing you'll read today, I'd rather consider it a writing practice from being rusty...

My wielder is known for his strength and fierceness. He has proven time and again what a strong fighter he his, that he’s dependable, ambitious, and brave. His strength comes from years of hard training, from his strong will to be the best and strongest swordsman in the world.

Quite a journey lies behind him. Before he joined this pirate crew, he was widely known as the demon of the east blue, back then he was still a bounty hunter. He managed to build himself quite a reputation, willingly or not. He doesn’t exactly wield me with grace. He relies on sheer force, on his bodily strength, and he uses techniques one can’t learn in a dojo, techniques he invented himself, and he keeps improving them as he conquers the world, while creating his own style of fighting, and he gets better every day – that’s how good he is.

My wielder uses three swords at a time if he finds himself battling a strong opponent. That’s my time to shine. He usually keeps me sheathed, only needs my help when he has to overcome a particularly strong opponent who is difficult to defeat. Not because he doesn’t trust me, or because he doesn’t like to have me by his side – he wants to protect me. I’m the link to his dream, I’m the partner he wants to carry with him until the end, the reminder that he can’t allow himself to give up, that he can’t allow himself to be weak, and he cares a lot about us, about me and my friends, he takes care of us, and he doesn’t like it when anyone touches us. Nobody is allowed to touch us except for him. Maybe he’s jealous. Maybe he’s overprotective, either for us or for the person he wants to avoid getting hurt for not knowing how to handle us properly. We’re deadly weapons, after all.

Sometimes, I am worried about him. My wielder keeps throwing himself into battle after battle, without caution, but with a willpower in his mind, a thrill for a good fight, that has him charging forward no matter what. He never backs down. He never escapes. He keeps fighting until he can’t fight anymore, until his body gives in and forces him to rest. I have seen him sacrificing himself for his crew without even thinking about it. I have seen him bedridden, covered in bandages, laying in unconsciousness, and I have been waiting by his side, patiently. I have heard him screaming for his nakama, screaming for us, when he thought he would lose anyone of us. I have seen him paying respect to the dead, and I have seen him grow, and he keeps growing. I have rarely seen him really losing his composure. He has a bad temper at times, but he chose to be the solid rock, the foundation of this crew, unwavering, supporting them, helping them back up when they’re down. He never demands that for himself. He keeps giving without ever taking much, to show his love for his friends who he loves almost unconditionally. I am proud to be by his side.

My wielder is resilient and stoic, and almost never scared. He has a good perception and is hard to throw off tracks. That’s why his encounters with a certain person are all the more interesting. I am not sure why exactly that is. I’m only a sword. I don’t know much about these things. But I noticed that this woman, this female swordfighter causes some distress within my wielder. He kept justifying his behavior towards her by saying that the marine woman looks like the girl I once belonged to, and it’s true – he refused to let go of his grief for a long time. He chose to bottle up his feelings, and the marine woman unfortunately was the tip of the iceberg for him, and he lashed out on her, and the aura I sensed that surrounded him was so different. And when he fought against her, I noticed something different again: the way he wielded us, his swords, the way he never swung us down as hard as he does with any other opponent, the different way of his stance, the way his grip around me isn’t as hard and tight, it’s softer, and he made sure to not hurt her seriously. I kept thinking about this. And I can tell that he did, too. And when he were on Mihawk Dulacre’s island together, and when my wielder worked on himself to eliminate his weaknesses, he had to face his past, to overcome his fear of fighting her, and during his years of training and improving himself, he cried, once. It was the second time I have ever seen him crying, and during both times, he held me firmly in his hand.

My wielder is not scared of fighting the marine woman anymore, but a part of his fear stayed. He changed, grew, became stronger. He learned much about himself and about his understanding of different things. He learned to accept her existence and he respects her for who she is – a strong swordswoman who is unafraid to wield her blade towards any opponent she comes across. She is like him, in a way, in many ways even, maybe. And maybe that was what he could not stand when they met. Maybe he saw his own weakness in her, the weakness he never knew how to overcome. And she grew a lot, too, and he sees it as well. I noticed that his perception and opinion of her changed. I like her. She does know a lot about us swords, and when he listens, he can learn a lot about us from her, the same way I learned so many things about him. She can hear our voices, hears our thoughts, reads our souls, and I know he could hear us, too, if he listened.

When he carried her over his shoulder, I noticed that her perception of him changed, too, but in a different way. Again, I do not know much about it. I’m only a sword. But I know about fate, and that fate has the habit of not revealing its plans right from the beginning, and I can sense that fate is what will bring them together time and again, and I hope that, one day, they will connect with each other the same way they connect with us, their swords, and that they will hear each other’s voice, read each other’s souls, and gather strength from each other.

[chainofclovers]

Late stage Ted Lasso s3 in real time:

I am too fixated on the moment and the canon to write in any kind of satisfying way, even original stuff that has nothing to do with Ted Lasso, so my brain is much less happy than it is when I'm writing every day...if I don't write at least 5-6 times per week it just feels so frustrating in my brain that it's as if a big chunk of my physical self is miserable and I just have to drag it along with me until it can write again*

I am capable of drawing up a storm and I've been having a lot of fun drawing little pictures lately, but alas, I am not skilled enough at visual art to feel fulfilled by the practice or by the outcome (whereas writing is obviously hell but it's also heaven, and I've had enough years of writing consistently to know that I can do it and it has some kind of value)**

Being in fandom feels like I live inside some kind of communal opinions pressure cooker which is a choice I'm making but also my relationship to willpower and other people's feelings is not particularly healthy at this particular moment in time (see: not writing, see: writing makes everything better in my brain, see: drawing humans who always look a little bit less than themselves, see: if I was writing I'd be fully myself and I'd be having a better time drawing)***

*Yes I wrote "Mirren" and yes I have many ideas for what happens next but writing it down's no good **This is not a cry for encouragement; drawing is fun and I'm gonna keep on keeping on. The problem isn't that I'm still very much slowly, slowly getting better at drawing; the problem is that I don't have writing as an outlet right now ***It's apparently almost embarrassing to admit it, but I have genuinely vibed with probably 93% of Ted Lasso s3 and while I feel very...something [nervous, excited, squinty, hopeful, managing-expectations-y] about all the possibilities for the final presumably 3+ hours with this particular configuration of characters it's FINE, and I just need to convince my brain it's fine even if I suddenly genuinely hate some of the things that happen, and in 17 days it will be May 31 and I'll know all the Facts and it'll be time for me to fuckin' write something :)

[littlemissaddict]

Christmas Decorations - Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

Summary: Decorating the tree with Eddie doesn’t end as planned.

Word Count: 748

Moving into a new place at Christmas time was probably not their best idea as along with having to move in their own furniture and possessions, they were expected to also decorate for Christmas. Even though they’d only moved into a trailer a few doors down from Wayne and it wasn’t a big space, it took time trying to organise all their things and settle down into their new(er) surroundings.

She was in the small living room attempting to wrestle with the tree her parents had dropped off as a housewarming present along with some of the older decorations they no longer used. “Woah where did all this come from” Eddie’s voice comes from behind her and she turns to find him standing at the end of the hall coming from the bedroom, he’s changed into sweats and a ratty Iron Maiden t-shirt that is now more holes than material. She notes that his hair is still damp and shakes her head at him, no matter how many times she’d told him when he’d complained that that was why his hair was frizzy and pretty much uncontrollable, he never did dry it properly after a shower.

“Housewarming gift” she answers, eyes widening as she feels the tree slipping from her grasp until suddenly it stops. Looking up she finds Eddie, he’d moved towards her the moment he saw the tree slipping and his quick thinking made sure she was hurt.

Once he gets the tree stable on the base, they begin rooting through the boxes of decorations, beginning with the lights which required a bit of untangling so only after that and a lot of curses from Eddie do they finally go on the tree. “You know I thought this was going to be a lot easier” he mumbles as they lay the final wrap of wired lights around the tree,

“So how do you wanna do this?” he asks, eyeing the open boxes around them before he turns back to her.

“Well one of us could pass them out while the other puts them on the tree or we just grab them and put them on together that might be quicker” she suggests, shrugging as she perches on the arm of the couch, looking down to where Eddie has situated himself on the floor, already picking through the boxes.

“Sounds good, I’ll pass you them because you’ve got a better eye for this than me” he laughs, pulling out a shiny red bauble and handing it to her before he jumps up unexpectedly, startling her. “Music” he simply says, rushing off to grab his stereo and a couple of cassette tapes.Coming back into the room, he lists off the music options before finally setting it up and they get back to work.

There's a couple of times where she turns expecting him to be ready with the next ornament but instead his hand has stopped midway to the box and his gaze has been transfixed on her. It takes her a while to realise just exactly what it is he’s staring at but then looking down at what she’s wearing definitely gives him away. She’s in one of Eddie’s Dio shirts, a pair of shorts and a pair of fluffy socks on her feet. Unbeknownst to her everytime she has reached up to place a decoration on the tree, the shirt and her shorts have been riding up, giving him a nice view of her ass and she’s ready to call him out on it.

“Are you going to keep staring at my ass or are you going to hand me the next ornament?” she smirks, eyebrows raised in amusement as Eddie stares back at her with wide eyes looking very much like a deer caught in the headlights. “You’re ridiculous” she laughs as a red flush creeps up his neck but it’s not long before he’s laughing with her.

“It’s not my fault you’re practically rubbing it in my face,” he defends, knowing that she knows that he’ll use any excuse to stare at her body. “Just be thankful I have enough willpower to keep my hands off of you until we’re done” he practically growls, reaching over to grab a quick feel of her ass making her squeal in surprise.

“What if I don’t want you to wait” she giggles, watching him process her words before she’s off running to the bedroom and she hears his own footsteps following her through the trailer.

[hotspringfairy]

@miles-for-mickey

I'm answering your question on my previous post here since I have a lot to say lol

I highly suggest watching Half of Carla's video called How I Handled "The Middle" of Weightloss- Getting Through the Toughest Part. I'll try to link it, but idk if it'll work: https://youtu.be/m2_oNHFPiU8

Losing motivation half way through weightloss is apparently common. I don't remember if she mentioned it in this video, but I really relate to her talking about feeling so much better after losing half the weight and experiencing so many positive changes that you can lose sight of how much better you could feel. I've always been big so I just don't know how bad it makes me feel since it's my normal.

Like her, I had to buy a bunch of new clothes after losing so much weight, and they fit me really well and I like them. I sleep better, walking is easier, I don't worry about fitting in chairs, people are nicer- I could go on and on (and have in previous posts lol). I'm just not as uncomfortable as I was when I was morbidly obese 50 pounds ago. That discomfort was motivating.

The biggest thing for me, which Carla also talks about, has been working through my childhood trauma and learning about emotional dysregulation and how to re-regulate. It's not something I thought I needed to work on, but I was wrong.

ACEs- Adverse Childhood Experiences- a list of 10 items- helped me see that I've been through things that still affect me. I had to get past telling myself (and hearing from others) that things weren't "that bad" and that I should just get over it. I also had to learn to trust my memories, even fuzzy ones, because those things happened and I do remember them. I have all 10 ACEs and it's been a lot to face and work through, but that's what I've been doing for the past 3 years or so.

I ordered the book Homecoming by John Bradshaw from Amazon and have worked through all the exercises and meditations- it has been immensely helpful.

I've also found good information on YouTube. Doc Snipes and Crappy Childhood Fairy both have great videos on emotional dysregulation. Patrick Teahan LICSW has helpful videos about dysfunctional family systems.

I've learned that I use food, among other reasons, to numb out. It's been important for me to address the things I'm numbing out from. I honestly didn't know that's what I've been doing. I'm getting better at self-care and at self-soothing in ways that aren't harmful to me like over-eating is. Learning to regulate my emotions has been key- I didn't know I was experiencing emotional dysregulation because that's how I've always been. I can't express how much better I feel now.

I used to think I just really liked food and needed to find the right diet and have the willpower to stick to it. And a big part of my journey has been learning about nutrition, calories, portion sizes and fixing eating habits such as cleaning my plate or saving my "best bite" for last. But for people like me who have been big thier whole lives and have a lot of weight to lose, there's probably more than just eating habits going on.

Of course, I'm still finding my way forward and learning. But I finally feel like I have control over my weekend binge outs. With those under control, I can manage my weekly calorie intake and make use of everything else I've learned and have been practicing about healthy eating and weightloss, and I just know the weight is going to keep coming off at this point. It's going to be hard work, but it feels like the struggle is over. Time will tell though.

I hope we both make it through the 2nd half of our journeys! 💖

[risenwraith]

#153 Quantum Violence.

I've been full of cold and fever all week. Mostly better now apart from hacking up my lungs a lot. Ow, bleh, etc etc.

However many posts back, I talked about the random people in this house who wandered in and out and I had no idea who they were. I mentioned a purple pixie lady in the kitchen (and if I didn’t call her that I should have)… turns out she’s the landlady. Cool, good to know.

Landlady has a PHD in physics, is obsessed with nutrition and practices acupuncture and Chinese Herbal Medicine. (Before I continue, I would like to state that I am aware that acupuncture and Herbal Medicine – Chinese or otherwise – can do amazing things. But I’m also aware of the number of people who take some sort of online course, get a certificate from the University of Bullshit, and brazenly practice their ‘craft’ on actual people.)

Today, Landlady told me about a woman from Brazil she’d treated who had cancer. (I don’t know what it is about the chemo look, but everybody suddenly wants to chat to you about bloody cancer.) Landlady had treated her with acupuncture and with herbal teas and tinctures. The cancer had gone into remission. ‘Oh!’ exclaimed Brazilian lady. ‘I can’t believe it!’ And she went home, where upon it was discovered her cancer was back. This, according to Landlady, was Brazilian woman’s own fault because she didn’t believe it so she messed it all up – because QUANTUM!!

Do you know how much willpower I had to burn through to keep my expression mild and not brain her with a skillet?

I’m all for any weird and wonderful additional treatment you care to take with your chemo and surgeries. But what pisses me off an apocalyptic amount is when people with very serious life-threatening medical issues are given false hope – and worse, made to waste time – with random bollocks that might make you feel holistically healthier but won’t do a damn thing to fix the underlying problem that’s killing you.

Bitch, if fucking acupuncture and some tea could fix me, don’t you think the hospitals would be offering that instead of the incredibly expensive and poisonous course of treatment they gave me? Also (do I really have to point this out?) medicine isn’t something that requires belief to function. If it requires belief, it is at its base, a placebo. Look, I think quantum is great too – I love the fact that you can kinda explain sympathetic magic via string theory. But again, if Quantum was powerful and reliable enough to kick the shit out of cancer, I wouldn’t have gone to the Infusion Centre every three weeks I’d have gone to the Quantum Detanglement Centre or something. FFS.

[whilereadingandwalking]

@janjan1221 : Girl how u deal with the fat comments n self security? I’m having a hard time even my mom tells me I’m fat 🤦🏻‍♀️ like I don’t wanna be skinny fuck off lol

It isn't easy. It really isn't. Some days are worse than others.

Reading has helped me with a lot of it. Digging in, instead of out. Digging into why people are so hateful towards fat people. Aubrey Gordon's What We Talk About When We Talk About Fat helped me articulate a lot of it, and knowing the ins and outs of the cultural mindset around thinness and fatness is of course infuriating, yet also really helps, because I'm able to better understand where the comments come from, and where the anger comes from. She unpacks concepts like 'concern trolling' (I'm just worried about your health) and how people have turned thinness into a moral virtue, when in reality, our bodies are generally, scientifically, the size they are and will always be.

Similarly, it helps to know the science, the facts, and the proof around me. When I was a varsity athlete eating a diet of fruit, oatmeal, pasta, and raw veggies, with a mile time under 8 minutes and 6 practices, 3 games a week, doctors still lectured me about my BMI being too high. While my body image would take a long, long time to catch up, I realized early on that their idea of a healthy weight was physically impossible for me to ever achieve. The thinnest I've ever been as an adult was when I was having panic attacks daily, eating near-nothing, and working out twice a day every day before school began. It was incredibly unhealthy. It was the closest I got to my "ideal BMI"—and I was still 15 pounds over.

I've known rail-thin people who don't exercise. I've known two people who started getting compliments on "how good they looked" when they'd lost an incredible amount of weight from being near-deathly ill. I've seen a friend gain a lot of weight because she was finally healthy after years of struggling with an undiagnosed disease. She has never been more healthy, but is no longer "skinny."

But I've seen, and I know, that people don't care about that. They don't listen. They don't actually care about your health—your blood pressure, cholesterol, thyroid, activity level, flexibility, vitamins, nutrition. They see a body type and size and make their judgments from there.

I'm mid-size and chronically ill. But when I make posts about fatphobia, I generally get hateful comments. Heck—when I make posts about near anything that the internet finds controversial, people go for my weight immediately. People think that weight is about willpower. Is about moral virtue. The pandemic revealed this too.

Because I think it's easier now that I'm sick and have read so much about chronic illness and body politics for me to see that people are scared to confront the truth, which is that most things about our body, disease, and death are unknowable and out of our control. Using fatness as a scapegoat allows people to ignore all the terrifying things that could overwhelm us about our health. It lets people think they're safe—or at least safer. And with family, I think it lets them think that they can help protect us.

That was a long and complicated way to say that it helps me to know. The comments will continue to sting. I will continue to fear that my weight will make doctors misdiagnose or dismiss me. I will continue to feel a little more self-conscious in looks that some thinner people might not even question because I know what people will think about me.

But I'm breaking the cycle of trauma. I won't hurt myself, or others, like others have hurt me. I won't perpetuate those ideas. I will try to make sure the people I love also don't perpetuate those ideas, or work to break their own self-destructive cycles however I can. I will try to use my platform, whenever and however I can, to help inform others and encourage them to also pick up self-compassion. Sometimes I use it to share my worst stories and inform others about how language or certain practices can hurt.

Some days, brushing off the comments involves hyping myself up. Some days, it means refusing to care because I have too much shit to deal with and whether my belly is showing is not a top priority. Some days, I just remind myself that while eating better and being active are priorities for my chronic illness and feeling good in my body, skinniness is not. And some days, honestly, truly? I let myself be inspired by pure and petty spite for the haters.

“don’t care what i look like / but i feel good / better than amazing & better than i could”

I love this Janelle Monáe lyric. As a big girl, people tend to care what I look like. I don’t care what they see, as long as I feel good. And as a chronically ill girl, every day is a negotation between how bad I /could/ feel. So any day when I feel good at all, I feel better than I could feel. Both of those sentiments have made me embrace myself and wear what I want in recent years. I’m not going to waste my feeling good days on other people’s opinions.

Today I’m feeling meh, but I’m feeling way better than I could, and I feel great about the sunflower summer look I put together. I’m off to see Janelle Monáe on her tour. I have her book on hand and am ready to dance!

[anvoo]

Morning of 21.04.2023

I need to hydrate better. Getting headaches and swollen face in the morning, and my mouth is also really dry.

Mood-wise, probably a 5/10, so 0.5 up from yesterday! I feel like yesterday was a sense of hopelessness, but today is probably more of a flare-up of my insecurities and emotional needs. They all kind of makes me not-want-to-do-anything, which is exactly where my procrastination monkey thrives.

I felt anxious and afraid, and also a sense of loss. A part of me doesn't want to let go of the idea of wanting a romantic relationship with Cat. I know for myself that a romantic relationship with Cat right now would only make me unhappier, and it doesn't align with my goals at all. The distance, her lifestyle and character traits that I don't fancy much would suddenly become my problem, and it makes it difficult for me to explore my own life, interests, and hobbies, and probably would throw me right back where I started a few months from now. Our potential (and pretty likely) differences would make a romantic relationship between me and her unfulfilling and not lasting. But my instant gratification monkey doesn't care about any of these things. It only cares about what's happening "now", what's "fun and immediately rewarding", and "not doing things that don't offer instant gratification". The cheeky little bastard is a smart asshole, just like me sometimes xD It wants that instant gratification and validation from her that my brain got so used to before; It wants me to forget all about my problems and worries, but at the same time also all my goals and purposes; it wants me to just not do anything at all, and just pass time. In terms of intelligence, the monkey and my "rational decision-maker", are roughly the same. What separates them, is willpower. For the longest time, the monkey's been the alpha dog, controlling the steering wheel in my head, but recently the "rational decision-maker" has had enough and is pissed, so he's pushing the monkey off and regaining control. The RDM knows that what I really want isn't a romantic relationship with Cat, but a means to fill my emotional needs and tackle my insecurities. He's turning the wheel, so that I would face those insecurities and problems head-on, and solve their roots, instead of running away and finding band-aid solutions.

I "know" a lot of these things about myself, but that doesn't change the fact that it's still going to be hard. Feelings, moods, and emotions are like the rain; it just comes, no matter how hard I think about it or how much I know myself. I can't change the fact that it's raining, but I can control my reaction to it. I'm staying awake and aware of the monkey and its tricks, and having the RDM steer the wheel.

Faith in myself, and faith in the process.

I've been really getting into this specific tile-matching game on the NYTimes App. Usually, I play 1-2 rounds of matching tiles to similar-looking ones, and it's been surprisingly fun. Teaches me a bit to be more careful and observant, and it's a good brain practice right in the morning after I read the news briefing.

Good day, and talk to you later in the evening!

[blessedlance]

pretty baby.

[r18+]

[wc:] 4k

[cw:] sub!atsumu, softdom!reader, femdom, oral (f. receiving), riding, pegging, mommy kink, puppy kink, minor dacryphilia, collar-play, restraints

! haikyuu manga timeskip spoilers. atsumu is 24. !

a/n: oh my god i haven’t written for leisure in literally 10 years i hope this is bearable LOL. @luvsicksubs​ wrote a lil tidbit about sub!atsumu a while ago and i have not known peace ever since so big thank you to ari for the inspo! pls enjoi :9

Atsumu’s been gone lately. A lot.

 Too much.

 You know it’s not his fault. The Jackals' practices have been brutal lately. So when Atsumu does eventually trudge his way back to your shared apartment every evening, he can only muster up enough energy to shower and collapse into bed. You’ve had to wake him more than once, chiding him to get up and at least dry his hair before bed.

“You can’t afford to get yourself sick by sleeping with wet hair, ‘Tsumu.” You’d whisper, shaking him gently awake. Usually he’d just groan in response and bury himself further against your body heat beneath the comforter--unwilling to give up even a second of precious, blissful sleep. You’d even gone so far as to physically pull his heavy, six foot athlete’s body out of the bed and into the bathroom to dry it for him once or twice.

It’s for his health, you reason. You can afford to pamper him a little--especially when he’s been working so hard. And the way his body slumps while he sits, his features softening--long eyelashes kissing the tops of his cheeks as he dozes off into half-sleep at the feel of your fingers tussling his hair with the gentle heat of the blow dryer… He becomes so soft in those moments, like putty in your hands.

It’s dangerous, because it makes you crave the sight of him like this--fragile and reliant on the comfort of your touch--even more.

You sigh. Reminding yourself again, for seemingly the millionth time since this excessive practicing for the championships started,

‘It’s not his fault.’

He’s been good. So, so good. Trying so hard to make sure you know he loves you and he’s sorry. Texting you to check in whenever he has the chance.

 > how are you today?

> how’s work going??

> what’s for lunch??? ლ(≧ڡ≦ლ)

 Sometimes sending videos of himself and Hinata hashing out new plays (only the ones they’ve mastered, though. You may be intimately familiar with every embarrassing piece of him, but he still wants to try to look cool in front of his girlfriend.)

And it helps. It really does. But you also know the texts are just as much for his own sake as they are for yours. You know how needy Atsumu gets when you two are apart.

 You remember the time he’d called you from his hotel room after an away game in Tokyo. How he whined into the phone at the sound of your voice when you whispered.

“Touch yourself for me.”

The way a soft cry escaped him at your command--your name leaving his lips with a breath.

 You want to feel him like that again. To see him beneath you, squirming and desperate--begging for you to just touch him, just sit on his face, his cock, anything you want just please--

 You abruptly stop your line of thinking--not daring to continue dwelling on this recurring fantasy. Atsumu doesn’t deserve the punishment you crave to dole out on him to relieve this frustration.

 … But he might want it.

 Championships are tomorrow. Just 24 hours stand between you and the feeling of Atsumu Miya’s taut muscles beneath your fingertips.

You take a breath, summoning the remnants of your willpower.

You could do this. You would make certain that the wait would be worth it.

For both of you.

 ---

 The Black Jackals win their first match because of course they do. Honestly, sometimes you feel a bit bad for the opposing teams. Their skill, their teamwork, their passion, their absolute willpower to win is stifling. Atsumu texts you that they’re going out for celebratory dinner and drinks. Bokuto’s idea. (Obviously). He promises he’ll be home as soon as he can. They’ve all got tomorrow morning off, and a whole day before the next round of matches. Some indulgence is well-deserved.

You type out your reply.

 > Take your time and enjoy yourself! You’ve earned it. 💕

 Knowing you’ve got at least two hours or more before the boys’ exhaustion ushers them all home, you decide to spend some time... preparing.

 You’re reclined on the couch, watching something you can comfortably give your half-assed attention to while scrolling on your phone. You hear the front door unlocking, the handle turning, and your heart leaps into your throat. The thought of finally, finally having Astumu all to yourself makes you absolutely giddy.

You turn expectantly, and can’t help the way your lips curl upward into a smile.

Atsumu pushes the door open and turns toward you, already smiling when he opens his mouth.

 “Hey.” You murmur.

 “Hey.” He breathes back, and you watch the way his features relax at the sight of you. The way the confident, assiduous Atsumu Miya--a man who wakes up every single day and strives for perfection in everything and every one---melts into something softer.

Something that’s silently begging for you to tear him apart and piece him back together again.

He slips off his shoes, drops his gym bag to the floor, and brings his long, heavy body to lay over yours on the couch.

His face--tinted pink (presumably from the drinks)--buries itself against your neck, lips pressed to your skin.

Your fingers assume their familiar position, nestled in the blonde locks atop his head.

 “Missed you…” You say lowly against his ear.

The small shiver that runs down his spine does not escape your notice.

 “I’ve been here every night!” He protests.

 “You know what I mean.” Your fingers press against his head, tugging on the strands the slightest bit.

 “Mmm…” He affirms softly--your skin keenly feeling the gentle hum against its surface. He knows what you mean. He’s been here, yes, but it’s felt more like the ghost of him--wisping into your bed for a few hours and gone again in the morning.

 “You were really in the zone today.” You comment. “I felt bad for the other team.”

 He huffs out a small laugh. “Don’t. They played fine. We were just better.”

 “Hmm…” You take your unoccupied hand and run a single finger up the curve of his spine.

 He exhales, and you listen for the tremble in his breath you know will be there.

Just a little more.

 “Either way, you were so good.” You can’t contain the coy lilt your voice takes on. You know damn well what you’re doing--using the very words that always make him quiver. He knows what you’re doing, too.

Atsumu thinks he doesn’t mind.

 It’s quiet for a beat. The two of you simply basking in the warmth of your bodies pressed against each other. You stretch beneath him, and… readjust yourself in a way that presses your breasts against him just a little bit more...

And Atsumu finally, finally breaks.

 He inhales sharply, and lets the subsequent exhale freely pass against your neck. A muffled word that sounds a lot like a plea leaves his throat.

 “What was that?” You ask, purposely grazing your lips against his reddening ear.

 “Please…” He begs.

 You consider being mean for a moment. Consider pushing him to his limit in desperation. The way those sharp brown eyes would turn glassy and tearful, his dark brows pulled together, pleading you to hurry up and take him--touch him--let him touch you--fucking anything. However you want, wherever you want. Make him vocalize that burning desire, and only concede when he well and truly begs.

 But that can always be arranged another time.

You’re far too heady with desire yourself to enact such cruelty on him right now. Not after he’s been so good.

 You shift your weight, moving to switch your positions by sitting up and pressing him beneath you. Your straddle his hips, purposely pressing your weight down against his pelvis ever-so-slightly.

 “You’ve been working so hard, ‘Tsumu…” You murmur, lowering the top half of your body to lean over his. Hands sliding under the hem of his shirt, running up along the taut muscles that tremble at your touch. “Such a good boy…”

Atsumu’s bites his lip in an effort to stifle the deep moan that leaves his chest. The way his body almost involuntarily reacts to that phrase every. single. time… It’s just too good to pass up.

You wet your lips.

 “Let me make you feel good.”

 And you press those lips ever-so-softly to the juncture between his jaw and neck. Soft touch turning to a light bite, and then back to a soothing kiss.

 Atsumu is crumbling--his hardening length pressing insistently against you.

 “I got everything ready. We can use whatever you want: rope,” and you press a slow open-mouth kiss to his neck,

“your collar,” then one to his collarbone,

“a toy,” traveling down to his pecs,

“the strap…” ending just beneath his belly button.

You look up at him from beneath your lashes, watching keenly for his expression to shift in interest at any certain one.

 Atsumu doesn’t give an immediate answer, his gaze unable to meet your own. Your hands trail back down his body, grazing a nipple with your fingernail just to see the way he twitches at the sensation. 

 “C’mon baby, how am I supposed to treat my good boy if he doesn’t tell me what he wants?” You purr, bringing your hands to the hem of the worn, oversized t-shirt covering your top half down to the juncture of your thighs. You’d snatched it from his dresser earlier to lounge in. Another carefully plotted detail. You knew just how riled up he got at the sight of you wearing his shirts. Even more so if he lifted it only to find those black and gold lacy panties underneath… Or if there was nothing…

Stretching your body, you pull the shirt up and off of your torso, tossing it aimlessly behind you. Atsumu’s gaze immediately returns to you--spotting that very set’s match: a black bra with intricate gold stitching around the lace adorning your skin. His hands are on you in an instant--palms sliding up your ribs to reach your breasts and gently squeezing around them.

Astumu had never been good with the concept of patience.

 Normally, you’d stop those big, calloused setter hands in their tracks--admonishing him for not asking permission, first. But this was about him. About fulfilling every whim his exhausted mind and body had the energy left to want. You could allow a little insubordination tonight.

 “You even wore my favorite.” He grins, that cheeky, self important tone of his sneaking back out. You smile coyly and tilt your hips downward, pressing your bare core against his still-restrained cock. He inhales sharply--dropping the attitude once more.

 “Part of the reward.” You grin. “Now, what does my good boy want?”

 His eyes drift upwards from their fixation on your breasts, meeting your gaze.

 “I want…” He bites his lip. “Wanna make you feel good.”

 Your eyes widen at the admission, but he’s speaking again before you can inquire.

 “You’re always so patient with me when practice gets like this. I just want to... To give you a reward, too.”

 You’re taken aback for a beat, pleasantly surprised at the acknowledgement. Atsumu still manages to surprise you with how observant he is. One of the more unexpected traits he shares with Osamu. Your eyes soften and you reach up to gently cup his face. He turns his head to kiss your hand and murmurs against your palm.

 "Let me taste you. Please."

 He knows how you get when he’s busy like this. How--despite your authority and confidence in the bedroom--you still long for his affection and crave his touch when he’s gone.

And this… This is the perfect way for him to express his gratitude while still pleasing both of you.

 “Okay.” You breathe, moving to kneel over his face. “Whatever you want,” you gently drop your weight toward his mouth. “my sweet boy.”

 He practically preens at the praise, moaning against your core. Again, Atsumu demonstrates his struggle with patience and savoring the moment. In an instant, he’s gripping your thighs and pulling them closer against the sides of his face. You know you could sit your entire weight atop him and he’d thank you, but tonight calls for something gentler. It’s enough to know you’re the only person who gets to see him like this. The only one who gets to watch the diligent, cocksure Astumu Miya, one of--if not the--best setters in Japan, become so vulnerable and desperate beneath you.

 He flattens his tongue and runs it slowly up from the start of your opening to the top of your clit.

 “Fuck, ‘Tsumu…” You moan, hands rushing to grasp at his hair. He groans, too, at the sensation of your fingers tugging--the hum sending a vibration through your body. You grind your hips, silently urging him on, and his tongue laves at your clit with small kitten licks. The feeling of those tiny, gentle laps against your most sensitive spot, so diligent and soft--it’s like electricity coursing through you, running up into every limb.

 “Mmhmm.” He hums against you. He knows just how you like it. When he services you like this--like the obedient puppy he is. “So wet… Y’taste s’good...” He says, hot breath fanning against you while he catches his breath for a moment.

 You press yourself back against him insistently. “Who said you could take a break? Use your fingers, too.”

 His mouth is back against you immediately, right hand sliding beneath your thigh to reach your opening. Carefully, he presses two fingers against it--testing the give, while his tongue continues to lick and suck at that sensitive nub. Spit has dribbled down from his mouth to where his fingers are pressed, and he slides his digits against the wetness, adding to the natural lubricant. Then, finally, he pushes those long middle and ring fingers up and into you. They slide in easily despite the way you feel yourself clench around the intrusion. He was right--you’re soaked. He finds a comfortable rhythm to compliment his tongue’s lashings easily and your head falls back, a deep moan escaping past your lips.

 “‘Tsumu… ‘Tsumu, fuck just like that--you do it so well for me, baby… Right there--”

 You’re cut off by the feeling of his fingers curling within you--searching, and then pressing against that spot so nicely.

Your thigh muscles twitch against his cheeks--breath fleeing from your lungs at the sudden rush.

 “Yes, ‘Tsumu--fuck yes.”

 You chance a look down at his face. Those long lashes closed, brows knit together in concentration while he pleasures you. Atsumu’s a pretty boy, but you think he’s prettiest like this.

 Fuck, you want more of that desperate expression. Want to edge him over and over until he’s drooling and can’t remember his own fucking name.

 You’re getting close. That climbing ecstasy rising dangerously high within you. You pull yourself off him before you can climb too high, and the release of suction from his mouth makes a small, wet pop.

 “You eat it so well, baby. So, so good for me, pretty boy.” You coo, caressing the sides of his face. His lips are pink and wet and you return your hips to their place atop his length. His lip wobbles with a whimper, back arching against you in search of more.

 “I think you’ve earned your reward now, don’t you?” Your eyelids fall, half-closed seductively while you lean your chest toward his face. You reach behind your back and release the clasp of your bra. His hands tighten themselves into fists, trying to restrain the urge to reach up and touch. The fingers of your left hand splay out against his chest, holding your weight, while the right moves down to pull off his boxer briefs. Then, your wet folds are sliding against his erect, bare, length. Slowly, up and down.

 “Mmm please can I--can I touch--”

 You interrupt him with a small lick against those still-wet lips and chuckle quietly to yourself.

 Oh, so now he’s ready to ask first?

 “You can.” You affirm, reaching down to line him up with your entrance. His breath is coming harder now, those hardened pecs rising and falling beneath you. The anticipation is rapidly unraveling him. Atsumu’s hands are on your back, tugging your chest back down towards him. As they slide forward around your ribcage to grasp your breasts, his gaze flits up to you.

 “Can I--?”

 “Mmhmm.” You nod--knowing what he wants. His mouth closes around your nipple, sucking with that perfect amount of harshness to tighten the coiling pressure in your lower body. His tip rests right against your opening. You can see the precum dribbling out of him--can feel the way he’s pushing himself slightly further up--desperate to get inside. Were this any other time,  you’d reprimand him for such impertinence. Tie his hands above his head and deny him completely. ‘And you were being so good, too, asking permission and everything. You wanna be inside that bad, maybe I should remind you how it feels to be on the receiving end, hmm?’

But, honestly, he’d nearly tipped you over the edge with just his mouth earlier. You were becoming impatient, yourself. 

 Finally, blessedly, you sink yourself down onto his cock, revelling in the way his mouth falls open and his head flings backward against the couch pillow with a cry.

 “Mmm.. ‘s it that good, baby?” You tease.

 “‘S been a while… So tight…” He hisses, almost like it’s too much.

 “Yeah?” You tease. Your hips are gradually picking up speed. Slowly rising up, up, up, as far as you can go before it feels like he might just fall out of you, and then your hip fall again, taking his full length deep inside.

 “‘Tsumu…” You say, rising back up again. “I wanted to pamper you tonight... “ and you slide back down. “Give my cute, sweet boy a reward for all his hard work.”

 Atsumu keens, whimpering beneath you.

 “But I think I wanna be a little selfish, too.” You breathe, leaning in close enough for your breath to fan against his face. “Is that ok baby?”

 A high pitched moan leaves Atsumu’s throat, and you clench around him.

 “Yes…” He sighs between ragged breaths. “Yes... Please, I--”

 “Please, what?” You interrupt him.

 “P-please…” You watch his Adam's apple bob as he swallows. “Please, mommy…”

 “Ohhhhh, that’s my good boy.” You moan, restarting the rise and fall motion of your cunt around him. “Gonna make you feel so good. Just the way you deserve, ‘Tsumu. But you have to promise you won’t cum until I say so, mmk?” You’re holding his face, running your right index finger along the line of his jaw with a feather-light touch.

 And Astumu Miya shudders beneath you, staring up in reverence. The way those big brown watery eyes look at you… He’d look so cute with a collar clasped around his neck right now.

 He nods. “I--I won’t. I promise. Please.”

 Your hand moves up to stroke his hair softly. “Good boy.”

 You restraighten your back in your seated position atop him. Your hands come to rest against his chest for leverage, and you begin riding him in earnest. Atsumu’s eyelids fall closed again, head thrown back while his mouth hangs open in pleasure.

 “Is this what you wanted ‘Tsumu? Just want to feel me fuck myself on you until I’m satisfied?” You tease as you bounce. You slow to almost a halt and grind your hips in a circle, feeling the way his cock buries itself to the hilt. Atsumu’s hands are balled into tight fists against the couch. He’s moaning freely now--little cries escaping him as your cunt eagerly swallows him down over and over and over again.

“So good… You’re so good inside me, ‘Tsumu. Stretching me out so much every time. I know you know how good that feels.”

 “Ahnn--!” He keens at the memory. The way your soft hands had pressed his legs up against his chest. Wetness from the lube dripping down so tantalizingly slow between his ass cheeks. The cock of your strap buried within him. How utterly full he had felt, stretched around it while you softly cooed praises at him, stroking his cock.

 Fuck he wanted to cum like that again.

 More than that, he just wanted to cum. His hands clench and unclench--mouth hanging open while he revels in memory--in the feeling of your tight, wet, heat sliding up and down him just how he likes--how he needs.

 “I told you it was OK to touch, baby.” You reach down to grasp his hands with your own, bringing them to rest on your hips. “Hold onto me while I fuck myself on you.” You whisper.

 Atsumu’s eyes open at that, watching your body bounce on him. HIs left hand hastily comes up to grasp a breast, relishing the feel of the soft, pliable skin in his grasp.

 You gasp lightly at the sensation of his hand grazing your sensitive nipple. “Fuck yeah. So good for me baby--so good. Gonna make you cum in me like this--”

 Atsumu’s head falls back against the cushions again, his expression knotted in pleasure. “You feel so good. So good… Please… Please I’m-- Ahh!-- I’m getting close.”

 “Aww you’re close already? You wanna cum baby?” You shouldn’t tease. You know you’re close, too. That cresting peak getting closer and closer with every push of his cock into your deepest places. Your breath is ragged from the exertion of your body. You reach behind you blindly, refusing to miss an instant of Atsumu’s delicious expression. Eventually, you find the small bullet vibrator you’d stashed beneath the cushions earlier. You bring the toy to your clit and immediately feel it; that powerful wave looming just behind--threatening to take you over the edge. You steele yourself the best you can, inhaling deeply.

 Atsumu slides his eyes open at the sound and unleashes the mostly ungodly, moan. His voice trembles when he speaks.

 “Can I--can I come? Please--please baby let me come. Let me come.” His hands hold fast to your hips, grip growing steadily tighter as the sensations continue to climb. Faster now--exponentially faster. He’s not sure he could stop if he wanted to.

 “Mmmm hearing you beg like that… Good boy. You can cum, baby. I’ll even cum with you for being so good. Go ahead. Cum in this tight pussy.” Your words are rushed, breath catching here and there. “Give it to me.”

 And Atsumu shatters.

 The way his cry lilts up--high-pitched and unabashed. That wave crashing into him so hard and so completely it takes you down under with him. Atsumu’s mind is empty. Nothing but blinding white as he expends everything he has in him in an instant. His name spills past your lips over and over like a mantra while you ride out your high. The two of you so in-sync, it feels as though your cunt convulses in time with his every pulse. Everything feels so, astonishingly good and intimate.

 You’re both breathing heavily, eyes shut tight as that shared bliss slowly dissipates. You let yourself come down to rest on his chest. It’s suddenly very quiet save for your shared breaths. Eventually you rise onto your elbows, face directly over his.

 “I love you…” Atsumu murmurs, eyes slightly flitting about while he studies the intricacies of your face. He memorized them all long ago, but even in this he is never sated. Your eyes soften, chest fluttering at his tone: so tender and soft.

 “I love you, too.” You say, gently caressing his face. “So much.”

 Atsumu can’t help the smile spreading across his face. In one quick motion, his arms are around your neck and tugging your face down toward him. His head tilts, lips melding themselves against yours when they make contact. The kiss is unusually tender, his lips trying to convey what his words cannot: how he is so thankful and lucky to have you. You, who understands how dear his passion, his career, is to him yet helps him remain grounded so that it does not consume him entirely. You, who remains so, so patient when he is away. You, who is always there to help him take care of himself when he is too busy or exhausted. You, who holds him when he finally fractures under the stress of giving his everything all the time--and who helps him put his pieces back together again and get back at it.

 Your head returns to its resting place on his chest. His heartbeat steady beneath you, lulling you to sleep. You both need to get up, clean up, and get into your actual bed, but the bliss of finally feeling Atsumu’s hard body beneath you. Knowing it is completely yours, at least for a short while… You don’t want to relinquish it for even a second.

There’s another beat of silence before you speak.

 “Wanna go to ‘Samu’s and get tuna tomorrow?” You ask.

 Atsumu groans his approval loudly--so much so one would think he hadn’t just finished a massive meal with the Jackals. That signature cheeky grin returns to his face.

 “Oh my god I love you.”