#i am forced to live here though and i wake up every day and choose fucking violence

[zaddyazula]

i would think it’s the same with other cities in other countries but the entirety of the uk (including myself) seem to bond over what a shithole birmingham is

[court-jobi]

Hi, is there any Headcanon of a Married relationship between Izuku Midoriya and the reader? Could you write based on the Canon? Although the Reader, besides being a heroine (Izuku the teacher), is a model for clothing brands, cosmetics, etc! like any celebrity.

The reader is female!

ooooo~ how fun, anon! Let's see what I got... first headcanon request, here we go!!

A/N: I've gotten several fun asks recently, and am moving those larger works to the top of my WIPs as time allows. This is so fun, and you all suggesting prompts like these make it a joy!

For my My Hero Academia Masterlist, check it out here!

Pairing: Izuku Midoriya x Fem!reader (SFW)

MARRIED HEADCANONS!

Married!Izuku who -even though you're coming up on your third wedding anniversary- still crams love notes on index cards into your e-reader before he leaves for the day. You have it plugged into the side table of the living room and will pick it up as soon as you come home from work to wind down; so even though he will have a later arrival home than you, you'll hardly feel alone with Izuku's words of affirmation pouring out their surprise greeting.

Izuku writes in the middle of the night when he wakes before you- whether by an overactive mind or a nightmare he'd sooner forget. Rather than disturb your much needed rest, will channel reflective thoughts towards you onto paper- and sneaks their secrets around the house where you'll least expect them. Just when you think you know all his hiding spots, he picks a new one to surprise you. Once satisfied with his "journaling" tactic, he'll scoop you back up against him and settle into sleep.

Married!Izuku who chooses a travel tumbler for you every morning and fills it every time it's empty. Car ride ahead? It's crafted with your homebrewed coffee to keep you awake. Got a photoshoot ahead? Water it is, keeping his love hydrated. You are his beloved beverage goblin and though he finds your car to be a tervis graveyard, what's one more dish to wash if it makes you happy?

This man, who will hiss when your hands are too cold against his, getting ramped up far too easily when it comes to worrying over your health... meanwhile Izuku toughs through the worst of allergies himself with a hundred sniffles (and an aversion to cough medicine.) It's one of the first big arguments you had as a couple: you forcing him to take better care of himself when his self-preservation streak peeks through and nearly wears him into the ground during grad school. He'll start to defend himself, only to be caught by flashbacks to the last time he tried managing things on his own, and rightfully apologize. You are a team, and Izuku tries his hardest to let you step in and give him the same care and caution he gives you. It's a hard lesson, managing pride when it comes to taking care of someone so selflessly, and Izuku is still unused to this treatment when turned to himself. You're doing your best, armed with a world of grace to set him straight.~

Married!Izuku who is a phenomenal teacher. One of the most patient souls you've ever met, which is a large draw that led you to date him! You're encouraged to stretch your ways of thinking, listening to his alternative points of view... and find yourself marveling that a man who's so closely engrossed with training the next generation of heroes is still so happy to watch the news at the end of the day in hopes of learning more!

You've gifted him a notetaking tablet that's meant to replace his waning supply of favorite notebooks, but if you find that blue Campus brand in a shop that's selling your brand deals somewhere, you are absolutely picking it up for him. He cries every time you make him close his eyes and hold out his hands, producing your surprise in giddy silence. "They don't make this edition anymore!! H-HONEY!!"

^^^After a day of sparring with his students -giving them a run for their money- you'll be the one patching him up out of sight of Recovery Girl, everything from a lightly busted lip to each blooming bruise he's gonna feel in the morning. You're surprised he's getting hit as much as he is when he's still renowned as one of the heartiest teachers at UA- quirk or not, he is no lightweight. You may worry over him just as much, but with your honorary brother-in-law 'Kacchan' running drills on him on the weekends, you know Izuku is in tip-top shape. No one is invincible, after all.

Will gladly talk to your mom on the phone~ welcomes it, actually! Izuku wants to learn every little tidbit and creature comfort he can about you, so any nerves he had about meeting your family when you began dating dissolved once he kept that goal in mind. (This mentality won your father over well, to a comical degree once Izuku showed him the notes folder on his phone with your die-hard favorite secret pleasures only a loved one would know...) Allmight makes his trip to your dinner table every other week or so, becoming a ready and available father figure to you while yours lives hours away. It does your heart a world of good sitting in his nurturing company.

Married!Izuku will carry your luggage to and from the airport without a single grunt or complaint (That's what he continues to work out for, even as a teacher!) A few tears upon departure and arrival, sure, but will always ground himself steady in his pride over the hard work you're putting in. He's the one who calls to wish you a goodnight when you're on location for hero support, and a sends a text for every morning and lunch break. Regardless of timezone, he's going to make sure you are part of his routine like nothing's changed. You rely on this consistancy more than life. Living apart -even short term- is expected at this stage of your career where you're needed more than ever to help fund your hero ventures through sponsorships... but Izuku will forever be your biggest supporter.

///Little does he know, you are cramming in twice as many roles to help fund a certain someone's hero suit development, per Bakugou's discretion. It's the one, solitary lie of omission you keep from your husband, but one you trust is going to be worth it in the end to see him shine where he wants to once again. He'll always be your hero, but you'll help him see that realized self any way you can.///

Married!Izuku will be flooding the groupchat with every single advertisement that features your face. Every last one. And there are many. The girls will share you on each of their socials in support of whatever you are sporting, while the boys will... look respectfully and congratulate Izuku on his absolute knockout of a girl. Izuku is just insanely proud of his wife and will make it everyone's problem~

He may be operating on a teacher's salary, but is the most thoughtful gift-giver. Married!Izuku will choose experiences over 'things' when it comes to you, like vacationing to the largest library in the world where you can spend hours holed up on a loveseat somewhere, taking notes on all the old tomes you find, using those classic academia desks as if you were still at the 'study abroad' college where you met... Trip planning gives you both something to look forward to amidst your busy schedules, and takes the financial pressure off you both as well. Not that he won't still treat you to just about anything you ask for when you're giving him that sweet, small 'please' standing in the checkout line at the corner store...

Married!Izuku, who misses you adorably when you're not home. He runs a fairly typical working schedule that lines up with yours for the most part-- makes him the happiest, coming home to you! You adhere to a few sacred rules in your shared home: you always go to bed together, you can occasionally go to bed angry- but always remain in each other's corners, and you know giving him head scritches is the easiest way to make Izuku pliant enough to sleep. He'll nurse your migraines that aren't so pretty, you'll give his hands massages when the phantom pains make them ache. Whatever you can do to give your man some ease into his life, you give wholeheartedly.

You'll kiss Izuku's every trouble away; and the ones that linger, you'll tend to as gently as you can until you can replace the thoughts with something sweeter, kinder, delicately on his still-healing heart when the embers remind him of old hurts you weren't around to see. You care for Deku just as you do your darling Izuku- as they are two sides of the same coin. You polish and affirm them both, strengthening all the parts that have made your life partner the man he is today. That made him him.

Married!Izuku: your darling husband with eyes that light up when you enter a room, mist up when they see you down, and stare eternally grateful on you as you listen and take in every word he has to give and through every promise shared-- just like your vows.

[spacebarbarianweird]

HC or fic request (whatever you have the inspiration for): post-game unromanced Astarion (let's say Tav chose another companion from the very beginning) with an OFC of your choosing, though I would love a human or even a half-elf. As much as I love Tavstarion, I feel like the the possibility of Astarion finding love in someone other than Tav a rather unexplored scenario in fan fiction.

I like this idea, too! You know, before the patch 6 ending was released, people had been sure that Astarion would be doomed to be alone if didn't romance Tav. But unromanced Astarion obviously lives his best life possible! He hunts monsters, enjoys his freedom, explores himself. And he can be sure he doesn't adapt his mindset to his lover's interests. I actually think if I am not tired of writing about Astarion, I will write a longfic set in another timeline where Astarion doesn't stay with Tav and goes on his own. As for now, here is a headcanon!

Unromanced Astarion Post-Game

Masterlist

Headcanons

It isn't easy to be on his own.

Astarion craved solitude when he was a slave but now he doesn't know what to do.

He can't make decisions for himself. Which quest to take, what clothes to wear, what inn to stay.

Astarion finds it crippling to be so dependent on the opinions of others - but what other choice does he have?

He doesn't trust anyone.

And the world has changed so much in the last two centuries!

He doesn't recognize places, he has no idea how that world works now.

At days, he cries, mourning his life pitying himself.

Six months pass. He gets invited to the party.

Astarion collects himself. He needs to impress his old friends, he must not look like a wreck.

He tells about his monster hunting job avoiding the fact he barely worked like one. He drinks and laughs but he is a bad liar.

Halsin, the archdruid, doesn't force Astarion to talk but offers to go to the Shadowcursed lands and help the Emerald Grove and the Harpers get rid of monsters.

Astarion agrees that instant.

For the next ten years, he has a purpose. For the next ten years, he has fun.

And he finally starts talking to other people about his experience.

To his surprise, people around show support.

Yes, they are still afraid of him but they say he has every right to be the way he is now after all that happened.

Ten years later, Astarion grows tired of this place and decides to leave.

Gods damn it, he will be missed!

Astarion goes north, hoping to see more and more of the Sword Coast.

Vampirism has its benefits regarding strength and regeneration but, sure, it's better not to be an undead.

He decides to go looking for the cure.

Eventually, he joins an adventuring party of the most weird and random people Astarion has ever seen.

And the weirdest of them all - is a Spore Druid who talks to herself.

She is straightforward. Rude. Weird. Oblivious to so many things, Astarion is surprised this person has managed to leave the house and not get lost.

But utterly adorable.

She is a Wood Elf and her skin is like copper.

It takes him more years to realize he is in love. The feeling is weird to him, he doesn't know what to do with it.

They spend decades traveling together and looking for the cure before ending up in a distant village where no one pays attention to the weird couple.

Her Circle accepts him, too.

Astarion doesn't know if it lasts forever or if he will leave eventually.

But for now...

This is good.

--

@tugoslovenka  

@herstxrgirl 

@herdarkestnightelegance  

@vixstarria 

@not-so-lost-after-all  

@marcynomercy  

@theearthsfinalconfession 

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@micropoe10 

@astarion-imagine-archive  

@veillsar

@elora-the-slutty-songstress  

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@brainfullofhotsauce   

@coffeeanddonutscafe  

@my-queen-rhaenyra-targaryen 

@queenofthespacesquids  

@ednaaa-04  

@dajeong

@wilteddreamsofbaldursgate

@nyx-knox

@jessaryss

[lonely-parrot]

Routine and motorbike

@jegulus-microfic june prompts

Day 19: Mechanical

Word count : 1113

Summary: Regulus doesn't feel good, how will he escape that? Bit angsty I guess, reference to depression

Every day of Regulus’ life is the same way.

He wakes up, in a too big bed, Mr. Kreach comes and open his curtains for him. He goes downstairs to eat with his parents that he greets the way they taught him to.

And life goes. And life goes.

School has ended for a year, but Regulus isn’t in a wedding hurry. He’s only nineteen, and his parents have agreed to wait for a bit before choosing his wife for him. He learns how to handle the fortune of the families.

He learns how to be the Heir his brother should have been. He’s not as good as him.

Every day of Regulus’ life is the same way.

He lives through them as a robot would. Mechanical.

Always.

The.

Same.

Way.

*

James doesn’t understand a single thing to what Sirius does, but that doesn’t prevent him from loving to spend time watching him lovingly fix an old motorbike. Sirius is good with that, mechanic and all. He tried to teach it all to James, who has only ever had a smile and a vague nod, so he ended up stopping. Now, he talks about that to his dad.

And to Moony, but it isn’t really fair or objective because he doesn’t understand either; Moony is just the type that would pay to listen Sirius talks, and Sirius doesn’t care that Remus doesn’t understand, because he just loves when he stares at him lovingly like he does while he gets to talk about what he likes.

Anyway, James never had to understand it to love it, just because it makes Sirius happy. It had been one of the first thing Sirius was able to get up for after he moved to the Potters. You could have thought that, after having left his abusive household, he’d be happy, but it hasn’t worked that way. For months, he couldn’t leave his bed, he spent his time fixing up the wall, only moving to go to the toilette, and when one of the Potter came and forced him to eat.

James remembers the day he arrived to take care of Sirius – since he couldn’t do it himself, and James will always do what Sirius can’t, and Sirius does what James can’t – their dad just bought a motorbike, wanting to fix it. That information had made Sirius look at James, something rare enough to be noticeable. The days after, all the Potters talked about it, until Sirius asked if he could see it.

James sometimes wonders how things would have happened without that. Hopefully, he can ask all he wants, he doesn’t have to see it. Instead, he can watch Sirius, covered in motor oil, grinning at him like a child, while they talk about everything.

“I love you, Siri…”

Sirius looks at him, a bit surprised. His smile returns quickly.

“Love you too, Jamie!”

*

Always the same.

Always the same.

Not the good same.

Not the comforting same. The one that chokes you. One that makes Regulus go crazy.

Waking up. Greetings, eating. Reading. Snob partying. Eating. Sleeping.

Nothing great.

Nothing. It’s always the same. Even the tears that streams on his cheeks until the odd hours of the night are the same. The muffled sobs against his pillows until he can’t breathe, until he wishes he really wasn’t.

He needs to escape.

He thinks of Sirius. The night he escaped, he told Regulus, “come with me, we don’t need them. With me, you’ll always be safe. Please…”. Regulus stayed here.

Regulus wants to call Sirius’ name at night, because he needs to be saved, and who better than Sirius?

*

“Do you think of your brother sometimes?”

Sirius seems furious.

“Why do you ask that?”

“I don’t know, I just remember him younger, and I wonder how he is now…”

“He’s living the nobility life I quit. There’s nothing else to say. He was always more fit to that than I am. He’s probably really happy.”

“What if he isn’t, though? What if he isn’t and he has no one to save him?”

*

He needs to stop that.

He can’t let it stay that way forever.

He looks at the hill from his window. He needs to do something.

A motor roars outside, an unusual sound, up in the manor.

*

“What if he isn’t, though?”

“James. James!”

Sirius is at James’ side, near his bed.

“Wa’sgoin’ on?”

“I need to see him.”

“You should sleep, and we’ll go tomorrow.”

“James. I need it now. Please.”

Now, they’re on the first motorbike Sirius bought alone, in the middle of the night, travelling the countryside.

*

The motor comes closer.

A motorbike on the perfectly neat lane. Black hair flying against the sky.

Regulus knows that silhouette from instinct alone; Sirius is here. Sirius has come back for him. He runs down the stairs, he opens the big door and arrives there, just in front of Sirius and James, both waiting on him.

“You’ve come.”

*

First thing James notices: Regulus is pretty.

Second thing: he looks like Sirius when he moved to their house; he looks bad.

*

Regulus is packing. Sirius hasn’t let their parents talk, and Regulus is packing, with Sirius and James at his side, and he’s going away.

Since in all the years they’ve spent aside, Sirius hasn’t lost his ability to be an idiot, they’ll be forced to wait a few hours for Fleamont Potter to come with a truck to fetch the motorbike, since all three of them can’t fit.

And then.

Freedom.

*

Regulus seems to live his departure as bad as Sirius. Sirius who spends hours every day with him.

One day, Sirius is occupied, so James comes and take his place. He starts talking to him about Sirius. About mechanic. How’s that work, even though he doesn’t really understand. Basically, it’s the same everywhere, to a few minor variations.

“My life was like that.”

Regulus spoke.

Regulus spoke!

“Mechanical. Everything was the same. Everything was… it was too much.”

“Has it changed?”

“No.”

*

Regulus wants to talk more.

He does, days after days. He’s eager for when James is going to be there. He’s more willing to eat. He goes and cleans himself.

James spends time with him after.

James is handsome.

Regulus is getting better, and he likes to hear James talks. One day, he grabs his hand, of his own will, like that.

Apparently, he likes to watch James, to hear him, and he really really likes to hold his hand.

[agirlandherquill]

the first "official" snippet

it has been a whirlwind for the last few days, so much has happened, so much needs to be done, and working on the next stage of Ruin's Reprisal is so nerve-racking and so, so exciting that i thought - why not share the very first ten pages, in what i am fairly certain is their final form?

at this stage i'm gradually doing a read through of my draft as an ePub on my kindle (it is insane to be reading this as though it's an actual book) and chapter by chapter, after reading it, i go back through and make any finer adjustments, such as grammatical changes etc - and since i've just done that for the prologue (almost 30 something pages, counting off the top of my head- whew!) i can share these first ten pages with you all!

so, without further ado, here they are!

At first, the world was ours.

Created by the truest being of all, the mother of everything sacred, Mutja-Har, my people were divine blessings upon the land, people bestowed with gifts unlike any other. But we grew idle - over time, we became greedy. Every story that I have read tells of a great voyage to a vast continent - I believe it was no voyage, but a retreat, after Mutja-Har’s scorn blighted the land and forced us out in shame for an act history has long since forgotten. But it turns out that this continent was not for the taking. The land was already inhabited by non-blessed folk, who have had many names over the years, but in my lifetime, they were Alirians.

And because of this strange newfound need to coexist, the Haelish had to learn to share. They had to change their ways, their language. They were forced to adapt, they were forced to change, almost completely.

The blessed became humble - well, humbler. They established themselves, due to their riches, as an aristocracy, founded themselves a Noble Court and claimed territory, even if the country was not their own. 

The Haelish were rulers once more. And so they remained, for many years. Preserving their ways, their lives, their bloodlines, everything was sacred. Everything was perfect.

Until one day, a day meant for the union of powerful families set to rule Aliria forevermore. But instead of unity, there was calamity. There was murder.

And for the first time in history, the Haelish found themselves bidding farewell to peace. In its place, they welcomed the title of Exilza.

Exile.

Me.

I believed I was the first. To break the rules. To go against tradition - Even if I was innocent of my crime - But it turns out that I was wrong. Instead of one, there were three.

But for now, for the start of this tale, let us focus on me.

The morning of my doom, and the eve of who I used to be. 

After all, who doesn’t enjoy a wedding?

~ ~ ~

How far would it take for me to fall to my death? To escape? All I want is for things to be different. For things to change.

Change. Now that is something I have never understood at all.

What does it take for a life to change? A moment? A day? A choice? Or perhaps, does it come down to having no choice at all?

This wedding was to usher in a new era for the country, for the people. Both Alirian and Haelish. But choice had never factored into it, not for her at least. She did not decide the path her life would take. She did not choose to wake up before the dawn. She had not chosen to be shuttered away in her room, biding her time. Her only saving grace was the window.

And she had it wide open.

Sunlight flickered through, bathing the room in warm light. Pale blue drapes floated in the wind, wrapping around her as she leaned against the window frame, deep in thought. In the light, visible specks of dust floated without a care, moving freely - they were free. 

Free, the word sounded like nothing more than a listless dream, it was a concept utterly unknown to her. Edeva stretched out her hand to touch a speck, driven by curiosity. Once it brushed past her fingers she grew bored, breathed out a tired sigh and returned her attention to the open window, a faint smile on her face. 

At least if this morning is my final one of normality, it’s a pretty one. 

The rising sun painted the Palace in a flattering light. The walls glistened, the perfectly carved stone reflected the sunlight whilst towering over the landscape. Down below, she could see the silhouettes of servants rushing to and from the courtyard, resembling very lost children. A sweet-smelling gust of wind drifted in through the window. Taking a delicate sniff, her body relaxed. Lavender. Its pleasantly distinct scent in the air comforted her. As the start of the day drew on, she found herself savouring every small comfort possible, even if it was something so simple as a scent. I have to enjoy what I can before I’m too busy to do otherwise. Life’ll be unbearable without my memories, as Mama always tells me. 

“Conteis Edeva?” A small voice echoed at the door, making her jump. Edeva decided to delay answering, wanting to savour her moment by the window once more. Her back was to the door, favouring the view of the window’s panorama to that of the furniture indoors, so she was unable to see the face of the speaker as they opened the door. “Conteis?” The voice spoke a second time, along with a few gentle knocks. Giving up protecting her peaceful daydream, Edeva tore herself from the window, tilting her body to the door. Is it time already? It feels too soon. Far, far too soon. She let out a slow exhale to steady her mind before answering. “Come in.” Do not. Stay away. Let me have these last few moments to myself. But it was too late. The words had been said.

Weddings. The word rotted in her mouth. Pompous events acknowledging what? A transaction? An exchange of words? They have nothing to do with love. Nothing to do with me. And here I am, the bride to be. She grimaced. High-Mother, Mutja-Har, give me strength. Praying in Alirian was not enough, she needed the High-Mother, the Haelish faithful touch, to give her the strength to get through the day.

The door opened further, granting the person access to the room. A petite maid entered, brandishing a joyful smile on her face - one Edeva wished to bottle up and express herself because she lacked the energy to form one of her own - she recognised the girl as one of her mother’s personal servants. Maidens, I believe she calls them. Though I fail to recall this one’s name, it’s a pity. She could not even bring herself to try to remember. No sense in making any friends that I’ll have to leave behind. 

The girl was soon followed by five others, of varying ages and appearances, each carrying an extravagant bundle or box of something she did not care to see. “It’s time my lady.” The first girl offered her a kind smile, holding out a hand as she gestured to the chair at the nearby vanity. With a slightly exaggerated sigh, Edeva took a seat. Time for what? The last moments of my freedom? Or to fulfil my duty? She struggled to find the courage to make polite conversation, settling on smiling occasionally as the women hurried around the room. Through the mirror’s reflection, she watched them curiously, taking in their excited smiles as they looked at her every so often. They’re far more excited about this than I will ever be. It’s a shame, really. 

She settled into the chair, deciding to let them get to work.

A short while later, she was covered in fine powder, the dust cloud made her cringe. Are they trying to offer me the small mercy of death by choking me beforehand? She laughed silently to herself. As a Maiden brushed her hair through, Edeva wondered over what the day would bring. She continued to wonder, squirming involuntarily as her locks were twisted and tugged into order, secured by a few glistening pins. 

She tilted her chin up, taking a second to examine their handiwork. She had expected more but the powder was all that sat on her face. The fine dusting had hidden the sickly pallor of her cheeks, but in her mind, it was nothing more than a clever trick to hide her unease and enhance the one thing people always adored the most: beauty. Not that the powder contained any magical properties as she had expected, no cheating ways to alter her appearance. It doesn’t matter, she thought dryly, What I think doesn’t mean a thing. She forced a smile onto her face, testing the legitimacy of its appearance in her reflection. She had to hide her horror at seeing the smile appear all too natural. Edeva glanced over her shoulder to the women who were occupied with smoothing out a dress on her bed. 

“May I have a moment to myself?”

The Maidens looked at her, flashing encouraging and knowing smiles before they scattered.

They think I’m nervous. That’s ridiculous, She sighed heavily at the thought, I’ve never been nervous a day in my life. I’m just exhausted with all of this, and the main part of the day hasn’t even begun. High-Mother give me strength, I need time to get my head together. 

She turned back to the vanity, raising a lazy hand to her temple as she studied herself in the mirror. If this is my last day as myself, I want to look my best. Besides, Mama wouldn’t reprimand me, she reminded herself, I do need to take some pride in my appearance, even today. She reached for an old friend, a case of brushes, paints, and powders set by purposefully on the side of the vanity. With careful concentration, she got to work.

Once she was done, she gave herself a final once-over in the mirror. The lids of her eyes were now slightly smudged in silver, a nod to her family’s colours. Her cheeks were slightly pinker, giving a more dramatic effect against her skin. She let her gaze abandon the blueness of her eyes, moving up to see the work her hair had undergone.

The stark, unmissable whiteness of her hair contrasted everything in the room, as it always did. Most of her hair had been braided into a bun, while other stray strands hung loosely by her face. It looks nice, she thought. She smiled again, though it failed to quite reach her eyes. Today has to happen. I have to go through with this, for everyone’s sake. The words felt like a lie even as she thought them. She slumped back in her chair with a sigh. If Mama walked in now… She pinched the bridge of her nose.

Why am I here? Really? Simply because I have no other choice? The thought pained her. She struggled to answer her own questions. Edeva stood, dragging herself to the bed where her outfit for the ceremony had been draped out. The Maidens would still be absent for a few more minutes, which relieved her, because she enjoyed changing in peace. She discarded her robe on the floor and slipped into the dress, not forgetting to slip her feet into the shoes waiting at the foot of the bed.

Without a second thought, she moved herself over to the full-length mirror that stood proudly beside the window. I might as well take a look at the monstrosity I’m being forced to wear as I seal my fate, she thought bitterly, taking in her outfit. The dress was made of white silk, the finest that money could buy, covered in blue ruffles, lace bows and long skirts, ones that weighed down her body in an uncomfortable manner. The accents of the dress bothered her. They’re blue, not silver. 

The dress honoured a family, but not hers. 

Blue was the Alirian Court’s signature colour - those of the royal family. 

The gown was a stranger, and certainly not the one she had dreamt of. It was not the one she had chosen. But then again, every choice she had made about the wedding so far had been ignored, why should her own attire be any different? She sighed at herself, the smile she wore matched the dress. Lies. Masks. All to please everyone but her.

She buried her hands in her skirts, lifting them enough to catch a glimpse of the shoes that threatened to cut off her circulation. She could not help but grimace. Her slippers were made of glass. If I’m lucky, they’ll shatter and stop me from walking.As much as she fancied the idea, something else broke instead. Her peaceful isolation. The Maidens returned. They strained to see over one another, hovering in the doorway. A chorus of “Oohs” and “Aahs” gave her a strong urge to rip out her hair. She did not feel like herself, but deep down she already knew she would never feel like that again. Not if she went through with the wedding.

The Maidens’ attention broke away from her, looking down the corridor as though they were being summoned, and Edeva did not doubt it. It’s a busy day for everyone. With a chorus of gasps, they rushed off, leaving the door to close on its own. 

She studied her face once more in the mirror. The blue of her eyes seemed different, she suspected that they were darker because of the clouded turmoil stirring in her veins with each passing moment. This day was not her dream, it was a nightmare.

Briefly, the turmoil was surpassed by relief. 

If the Maidens were rushing off, it meant she still had time. Time to see Mama, she will know what to do about all of this, about me. Edeva hesitated, glaring at her slippers. The moment that she returned, she planned to get rid of them, but for now, she had to go.

She hovered in front of the door, thinking of a plan.

Two guards would be stationed outside, as usual. She needed to get past them without a fuss. It was only a matter of how. Edeva opened the door, sticking her head out to smile at the two gentlemen assigned to her protection. They wore embroidered blue suits, a much more regal look than that of a typical Guardsman uniform. They’re going to be front and centre at the ceremony, it seems I’m not the only one who needs to look my best.

“Good day gentlemen, I’m just going to visit my mother,” She pressed a hand to her throat, laughing nervously, “It’s bridal nerves you see. I won’t be long.” She put on a girlish giggle as she stepped out of her room, even if doing so made her internally retch.

“My lady, you really should stay inside until it’s time.” The guard to her left sounded uncertain, looking at his counterpart with caution. The other guard remained silent, the only sign of his annoyance remained in the narrowing of his eyes as he looked her over, almost as if he was searching for an ulterior motive. Edeva held the sweet smile on her face, engaging in further conversation with the more social of the two. “I won’t leave the Palace, don’t worry. But I think I’d like to see my mother now, and as I said, I won’t be long.”

She moved past them, hitching up her dress to give herself further room to walk, whilst ensuring that she kept her strides quick and steady, hastening along the corridor. Behind her, the guards spluttered their objections, all of which she ignored. They can’t follow me. They’ve been ordered to remain right there. No-one else needs to know that I ever left my room. It seems getting past them wasn’t so difficult after all. She sighed in relief as she rounded the corner from her room’s more private corridor, moving into a longer one adjoining the rest of the Palace. Now, Mama ought to be in the West Wing, which isn’t far away, thank the High-Mother. Edeva set off, determined to have a talk with her before the time came for her life to change, and for her opinions to die alongside it.

* * * * *

The Palace staircases were as grand as they were tall. A chandelier watched over the stairs, coating each step with a slither of light that made the marble appear less straining on the eyes, and almost welcoming. The gentle feel very nearly tricked her body into thinking the Palace was just as warm, but the sharp pain in her feet made her know better. Each step sent minuscule daggers of pain tearing at her skin. The first chance I get, I am shattering these blasted things.She found a moment of respite on a landing. 

“Who in their right mind would create something like these?” Edeva spoke aloud, mumbling to herself. She had had enough. The slippers came off with ease, to her relief, as she freed her feet from the confines of the glass cage. The coldness of the floor numbed her soles, rendering them immune to further pain as she continued her trek to the upper floor of the Palace’s Western Wing.

The stairs seemed to melt into the carpeted floor, giving way to a familiar corridor. Edeva approached the first door on the right, letting herself in. 

Mama’s quarters feel larger than I remember. She noted, taking in the rooms. The parlour was a respectable size, furnished with the typical necessities - the only thing that stuck out to Edeva was the blue chaise that took up the centre of everything. And lounging upon it was the woman Edeva had come to see.

Mama. 

The smell of lavender greeted her. Aldora Vitaire held a powerful and yet gentle countenance about her, and it made Edeva wonder, How did a woman like her manage to ensnare the great Conteir Cordell, who lowers himself to no-one? He’s fearless. Except when he’s around her. You would think the titles were the other way around - she has none by birthright and he does. As do I. 

The thought of titles saddened her with the reminder of her ancestral home. I wish I was back there again, but I can’t be. I’m here, She cleared her head of nostalgic thoughts and returned her attention to her mother. She looked lost in a dream, gazing at the ceiling with a distant smile on her face. Edeva could see so much of herself in her, the eyes, the posture, many parts of her and her father made up who she was. Except for the hair. Neither her mother or father had hair quite like it. No-one had ever been able to explain it, but Edeva accepted her hair just as she did every other part of herself.

 Studying her mother’s dreamy gaze, sadness tugged at her heartstrings. The dreamily distant gaze had grown more visible with the passing weeks. As powerful as she is, it isn’t enough. Her mind’s slipping away, slowly. And lately, it’s been getting worse. None of the healers have been able to help.

“Mama?” Edeva spoke softly, kneeling down by the chaise. 

“Is it time already?” Aldora slowly turned her head, letting out a sigh. 

Edeva placed a hand on her mother’s arm, smiling. “Not quite yet, I just needed to see you.”

“Edeva, is that you?” Her blue eyes examined every inch of her face, gently questioning with a single look.

“Yes, it’s me, Mama.” She stared at her mother’s eyes patiently, watching recognition gradually lighten her irises. Her eyes crinkled at the edges as she smiled. “Edeva. My sweet, sweet girl.” Aldora reached for an item resting in her lap, a necklace, one Edeva recognised. White chain, silver jewels adorning a crystal pendant - this is her most treasured piece of jewellery. She glanced at her mother, brows furrowed in confusion. “Mama?”

“This will look lovely on you my dear.” Aldora patted her hand, sitting up on the chaise. Edeva held still as she clasped the necklace around her neck. She reached up to touch the pendant, clutching it gently. “Mama, I couldn’t, this is yours.”

Aldora tutted, giving her shoulder a fond pat. “And now it is yours. It suits you.” She could see the small twinkle in her mother’s blue eyes. She had inherited them from her, and the crystal pendant very nearly presented an identical colour when it caught the light just right, sitting at the base of her throat. She stared at the crystal, inhaling slowly to gather herself.

The time has come. I can’t put this off any longer. “I need to ask you something.”

Her mother’s gaze had changed, subtly, but Edeva knew enough by now to notice the difference. She’s gone again. 

“It’s not just a necklace, you know. Crystals know things.” Her words were so quiet that Edeva only just caught them.

“Not just a necklace?” She repeated carefully, lifting the necklace from her neck. She rubbed her thumb over the crystal. “It’s only a crystal Mama, nothing more, though it is lovely.” Aldora’s hand suddenly touched her cheek, cupping it with gentle fingers. “Edeva. Everything will be all right, this is for the best my dear. For you. For everyone.”

“But what if I don’t…” Her weak protest trailed off, her throat choking up. I never wanted this day. I’ve been putting it off for so long, praying against it, and it’s here. All too soon. Edeva cleared her throat. “What if I don’t want to marry him?”

Aldora gave her a knowing smile, tipping her chin up with her index finger. “You are a Vitaire. You will know what to do when the time is right. You can do whatever you set your mind to. Vitaires do not fall. We stand. And we stay standing. As will you.” Edeva threw her arms around her mother, swallowing a sob. The older woman patted her back affectionately.  “Thank you.” She took a shaking deep breath. “I know I should want this… But I don’t.” She pulled away from her mother’s warm embrace. “I-I can’t do this.”

Aldora took Edeva’s hand, putting it against the pendant, her fingers making her hold it.“In all the eighteen years of your life, I knew there would never again be someone as strong as you. You need to use that strength now my child. You can do this. Let the High-Mother guide you.” Edeva’s fingers tightened around the pendant with such force a part of her feared it would break.

“Come along Edeva, it’s time now.” Her mother offered her a gentle smile, though Edeva did not miss the way it failed to reach her eyes, as her own so often did.

Reluctantly, Edeva pulled on her slippers, once more the glass threatened to crush her feet. Fearful of her legs buckling beneath her, she found herself taking her mother’s arm.

It’s time then, time for the ceremony, time to say goodbye to myself, and to life as I know it.

~ ~ ~

now for the tag list!

(p.s if you'd like to be included/notified too, interact with this post :))

@humbly-a-doppelganger @imawholeassmood @frostedlemonwriter @yrndrgn @abditorywriting

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[volivolition]

If able, could we get an update on any of your writings? I loved hearing about them (Not forcing, ofc!)

YOU SURE CAN ANON!! again, as with all of these asks, thank you so much for being interested in my work??? i LOVE talking about my silly fics <333

here's a rough timeline of all my fics btw!! i thought it'd be fun to visualize hkgj i'll be talking a little about all the ones i haven't yet talked about!!

Preface, here's all my fic wips as explained before!! and all my writing can be found in my #inland drabbles tag! ask 1, ask 2!

Message to All Bitches: Please Survive - This funny title has been the name for a while, but I think if I had to choose a serious one, it'd be "Should the Stars Go Out" :3 This is my most ambitious project of all my skill wips, I think, due to the medium i intend on telling it in (it is. technically not a fic?? hkjg) this is also my most secretive project hkgj <33 word count(?) is 2908!!

Meet the Parts that Make You - Kim meeting the Skills fic, though it's mostly been abandoned by now hkgj well, not abandoned, i still really love the concept? but I need to get a bunch of these other fics done first (Let's Make It a Home for worldbuilding, Swept Up for character studies) so I can get everything correct, before introducing it all to Kim hkgjg <33 Nevertheless, word count is 5459!

The Sunrise Momentum - Mostly abandoned, but i still froth at the fuckin mouth thinking about it RAUGHHH. HOLY VOWS. waking up, getting out of bed with depression, that part of you that wants you to live, caring about you so so so fucking much. this hypothetical fic hits very close to home <3 i promise i will keep you alive, as long as you're there to wake up every morning. willpower and devotion. volition is kind of everything to me did you know that? hkgjg current word count: 331 <3

Who Are You, If Not... - Esprit De Corps centered fic! i wrote a lot about it in this ask, but basically: hey, if Harry leaves the RCM, what the fuck happens to Esprit? i have some personal feelings about leaving a community that only used you for what you could give them. to keep going back, trying to check on them time and time again, even when they hurt you. it's cathartic to put it in the perspective of this fic, i think :] also i just think the psyche group is fun for discussions hgkjg esprit, my darling community skill!! current word count: 1497

When Two Skills Love Each Other Very Much - again, funny silly title hgkjg but i think its serious name would be, like, Summer Solace or something? brightest day of the year, sunrise parabellum. hypothetical child of volition and echem, she's hope, y'know? small and trying to grow. something to carefully tend to, to keep alive, and in turn she will keep you alive. this fuckin. symbolism raguguhh i love you baby solace you are MY ANGELLLLLLLLL!!!!!! <333

I THINK THIS FIC IS SO SWEET I LOVE THE SKILLS TRYING TO RAISE A KID HGKJG im so.. it's like how Let's Make It Home redux, the skills are kinda dysfunctional, but they've grown and they're getting better too and they're trying to work together towards a common goal, and together they can do it. i think they've gotten a lot better about working together!! and they all care for this kid a lot <333

Here's a snippet because oh my god i am fond of them (not in AO3 ready format though hkjg)

ELECTROCHEMISTRY presses a tentacle to his cheek to prop up the grin on his face - Hey, man, we've never raised a kid before. Give us *some* credit, at least. VOLITION holds Solace to his chest. She sleeps peacefully, starbright face pressed to his armor at his heart - I am. I think -- despite all the mishaps -- we've been covering all our bases surprisingly well. We wouldn't have been able to do this when we woke up in Martinaise, is all I'm saying here. VOLITION looks up and exchanges a fond glance with Electrochemistry - We've... all grown a lot, haven't we?

^ like hey. if you uh. compare that last volition line to the last volition line in the snippet i shared for unstoppable force? where now volition cannot only meet echem's eye, but LET HIMSELF FEEL AFFECTION FOR HIM?? oh my GOD the parallels, the character growth, i WILL PERISH.

i still do think this fic would be better as a comic hkgjg it feels like a good story to cap it off, and if i ever get the rest of these fics done, i'd want to end on it if i could hkjgg <33 LOOK AT THEIR CHARACTER ARCS. LOOK AT THEM FINDING JOY. GIVING THEM A HAPPY ENDING HKJG

that's about it, i think!! thank you for reading!! (and holy fuckin shit if you've read all of these i will. die for you now. i really appreciate anyone who takes the time to read my rambles, i love you hgkjg <33)

[cloveroctobers]

HOME | 1 of 2 SERVINGS — JJ MAYBANK x OC [Fall Randoms] 🤎

A/N: This wasn't planned! The fandom makes it a little unenjoyable to write for this show but I like many have always had a soft spot for JJ. So here I am, after a while writing something because he deserves it.

WARNINGS: Language + better endings (delusions)! & the usual banter between the rest of the pogues like a family would! + Kiara x femOC as well.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ .𖥔

IN A PERFECT WORLD no one would have to worry about a thing. People would live exactly the way they want to live without any judgment—as long as you’re not harming others of course—and just go on about their business.

Life’s good because it all worked out in the end.

The comforting thudding of a certain heartbeat only made Alma want to bury her head further into his chest. It was a common morning routine, waking up in each other’s embrace. The insomnia didn’t bother Alma much anymore, she can speak for herself on that, because the longer she stayed awake, the longer time she had. This journey through earth goes by as fast as you blink. This bothered JJ to his core, that after all this time, Morocco was still on her mind—not only that but Portugal too.

No amount of pills or melatonin (or "the purple devil," she liked to call it) was a friend of Almabelle Layton’s. Unfortunately in her teen years she was a bit of a pill popper, it all started because of her mild case of vertigo and her mother—whenever she decided to fly back into the OBX for a couple of days—forced her to go to the doctor, after getting tired of her daughter constantly choosing weed over “proper” health.

Alma was a huge advocate for natural remedies, knowing that majority of the medicine given to you is nothing but poison, since it may fix one problem but cause another.

We can talk about that at another time, though!

Regardless she’s grown used to being up with the moonlight and sunrise just monitoring JJ’s heartbeat. It wasn’t healthy by any means, she didn’t need a therapist (Dr. Montague) to tell her that but this brought her relief. Every morning, JJ would squeeze her shoulder and kiss the top of her head, voice full of sleep while he wished her a good morning.

Then she would respond with pressing a kiss to the old wounds of his abdomen from five years ago, 1-4-3 times before lifting her head to meet his hues of blue-green. The hand that didn’t hold onto her shoulder, would run a thumb along the rings underneath her eyes. He’d tried to hide the worry in his own but a soft smile was still on the corner of his lips the longer he looked at her.

She always had his heart so he felt like she didn’t have to listen too hard.

Never in a million years would JJ believe you (Reader) or a physic? If they told him this is where his life would be now. Owner of two properties, with his childhood home being transformed into an adoption agency. However with the treacherous adventure to get the blue crown, and all that they went through to get it back, it was only right that he did something that made sense.

JJ talked about it constantly with Alma and even mentioned it to the rest, who were skeptical but once it was pulled off, there were equal amounts of pride in their eyes at the grand opening. So where was his physical home? JJ got the Genrette home after the whole DNA testing process and the will was brought to his attention.

Let’s just say, shout-out to Paw-Wes!

“Is it weird that I’m choosing this place over my own home?” Alma remembers JJ asking her, after she plopped down on one of the old couches and tried not to inhale any dust.

He was walking all around the heavily decorated living room, touching any and everything. This was the day right after he agreed to take on the Genrette residence permanently.

Alma lightly shook her head, her short dark hair falling into the corner of her eyelashes, “No, I think you’re choosing what’s best for you and there’s nothing wrong with that. You get the chance to choose now because baby JJ didn’t, your mother didn’t.”

And there’s a new glint in his eye at Alma’s words when he plops beside her. Her hand goes to rest on top of the one JJ has resting on his knee. Immediately he intertwined their hands, peering into Alma’s ink colored eyes. “Thanks for being here with me, Kit.”

“Course, pumpkin.” She replies with her own personal nickname, before resting her head on his shoulder.

Building a home here, gave JJ the chance to know a family he never had the privilege to. It was a ball of emotions but he took it on because he felt like he needed to. A new beginning on his own terms this time around. To try to be close to what could have been, but also finding what always felt like what was missing in his life and holding on to it as best as he could. Although they couldn’t be physically here, JJ made it his mission to have talks with both Larissa and Wes out in the mausoleum often.

That was a project Alma took on, cleaning it up while paying her respects. It was sort of a birthday gift to JJ and once received, he thought he couldn’t love Almabelle anymore than he already did. Of course he could have paid someone to continue with the upkeep of his relatives but the pogues weren’t meant to accept handouts. It was all work hard and play hard. Being an investor in the adoption agency (which took a lot of learning and patience! Something JJ barely had.) along with still taking part in Poguelandia—which was mostly ran by John B and Sarah now—and having his own landscaping business, JJ found himself finally letting out a much needed long exhale.

Life was meant to be lived and it definitely was.

And for once it felt alright.

More than.

Like the floating of waves at your back, gliding you back to shore.

“Hey!” Sarah’s all grins as she throws her arms around Almabelle in a tight embrace, as the two women lightly sway from side to side.

It was almost as if the two weren’t just hanging out last weekend, or talking on the phone the day before last. Alma and Sarah grew even closer since her little one was the godson of JJ and that automatically meant Alma was the number one auntie.

Cleo, Wheezie, and Kiara all thought otherwise!

“There’s my favorite little guy!” JJ boasts, yanking the five year old from John B’s arms to hold upside down by his ankles before pulling the squealing chocolate haired boy back into his embrace.

Smiling softly at the two, Alma enjoyed seeing JJ with Jeremiah (yes, named after JJ himself) John Routledge. Having “little j” in their lives changed everything for the pogues; let them all be aware that there was more life out there and all of them had no problem going after it.

John B playfully shakes out his arms at Little J’s weight, making Sarah playfully whack his shoulder, before he slips in to give Alma a side hug in greeting, “What’s going on, Alton? I’ve got the pies out in the Twinkie.”

Yes, she was still (barely) running and although The Routledge’s have a more dependable car, the Twinkie was still their go to. Plus little J loved it and as parents, they would do anything to bring their child happiness.

“You say hi to the pretty lady.” JJ whispers into Little J’s ear, who already had his bright eyes (that were handed down to him from Ward) set on the bronze skinned woman.

Alma holds her arms out, Little J comes right to her, pressing a slobbery kiss to her cheeks. “Aw, thank you! Glad to see you too, pea.”

He was the perfect combination of his parents: chocolate ringlets for hair, almond shaped eyes like his mother with her father’s color eyes, high cheeks bones like John B, faint dimples on his cheeks from both parents, and a sweet smile just like Sarah’s.

Sarah laughs as she informs her friend, “If you need napkins, I have plenty!”

“That’s my boy!” JJ claps and points at little J, “But remember, that’s still my lady, huh?” He ruffles his hair, then winks at Alma before stepping out of the home to help John B with the desserts.

Leaving the men to deal with that, the three make their way towards the slightly closed off emerald green kitchen.

“I hope you didn’t overdo it with the pies this time, Sarah.” Alma says to the almost completely blonde woman, who gives an innocent shrug.

Sarah opened up her own cafe, Wet Bean Café, which was unfortunately in constant competition with Ruthie’s shitty restaurant. It’s been five years and that pathetic Ruthie still couldn’t stop her bullying ways. After dealing with massive flooding out in the cut, Sarah decided to make the decision to move it into town, using the inheritance Ward left behind, where she had to pay more for rent on the building, which Rafe was the property manager of. Go figure! The original WBC was a small lavender painted space, with a little drive-thru on the side, with two sets of bistro tables outside, and only room for three tables inside that were set up along the brick walls, with checkered floors. It felt very diner-like inside with its quirks and jukebox. The café was filled with Sarah’s baked goods and became a favorite in Kildare. It was Sarah’s but she had to make the decision to move back into town after the land had severe damage and couldn’t be built on anymore, which JJ helped confirm.

“There’s no such thing,” Sarah replies as Alma holds her son on her hip for a moment longer, “As much as these guys eat? There’s never enough! Plus it’s less than what I started with since most were donated all over the communities.”

This didn’t shock Alma.

In almost every way, all of the pogues found ways to give back, especially for those that were still struggling to make it.

“Did you hear from Cleo yet?” Sarah suddenly asks, after stealing a pineapple chunk from the charcuterie board.

Alma shakes her head before putting Little J down on his feet but he still holds onto the end of her wine colored shirt, “Only in texts. JJ was originally going to pick Pope up from Dare County because Cleo wasn’t sure if she was going to get in on time…there were delays with her helicopter situation.”

That’s right.

Cleo decided to heavily get into engineering and undergoing flight training. Sure she’s spent much of her times on boats, like most of the pogues but once Pope actually enlisted into the service to be a marine, it just made sense to want to know the mechanics of how boats and helicopters worked. Cleo’s always been a traveler so this path and with her cut from the blue crown, she had the skills that were already instilled and amplified them once she hit the books.

She had her own helicopter that she flew over on her own back to the OBX from time to time, his name was “squiggly” because he never flew straight once first brought into the air. Alma honestly preferred taking a boat rather than a flight to Nassau but that one time for John B and Sarah C. Routledge’s anniversary trip was unforgettable that’s for sure!

“I’ll check on her after I come back from the bathroom.” Sarah informs, “Are you okay with—

Blowing out a raspberry, Alma peeks down at little J who was already grinning up at her, “We’ll be just fine, shoo.”

Bending down Alma picks up little J to sit on the counter, lightly singing at him who was full of giggles at her source of entertainment, before she plucked up a slice of pear from one of the pear tree’s out front to hand over to her nephew. Her hands rested on the counter, caging him in as he snacked on the fruit, leaving her the chance to look at all the food that covered the spacious island. A large yawn rips through her lips before she can stop it, which makes little J laugh at the woman. “Auntie Mama needs a nap,” the boy teases one of his many aunts.

Alma playfully scowls at the boy, going to tickle him by the neck. Even if Alma wanted a five minute nap, her mind wouldn’t grant her that pleasure. She could have laid in bed forever with JJ but knew there were a few last minute things she needed to get done for this dinner, although Alma’s been preparing for the last week! A host’s job is never truly done. This wasn’t Alma’s first gathering for the holidays but it did bring a sense of joy that both she and JJ could provide this for their friends.

“I knew it would smell delicious in here!” A familiar voice called out, making Alma glance over her shoulder.

A smile graces the woman’s lips, “Is that Kie-Kie?!”

“The one and only.” She flicks her blown out hair over her shoulder as she pulls her friend by the elbow to embrace the sleep deprived woman, followed by her hands thrown over Alma’s shoulders.

Kiara had her eyes set on Little J, just in case while she embraced Alma before the two separated.

She then makes grabby hand motions to the five year old, “That’s right come on over to your favorite auntie!” Kiara smirks as she peppers the kid’s face with kisses while Alma scoffs.

Alma walks over to the stove across the room to turn off the handmade potpourri, “Girl, whatever! You look good! That have anything to do with your time out in the big apple?”

Kiara met Joey Del Marco who was a touron, funny enough about a year after what transpired during the fourth of July. Joey was originally from the east coast but vacationing with her new friends and she captured Kiara’s attention. It was hilarious trying to see Kiara deny her attraction and then feelings towards Joey, who extended her time out here just to see what would happen between the two. Joey fit in just as well with the group of friends: she was loud, proud, rebellious—you readers can only imagine what kind of shit she got into with JJ, both Alma and Kiara made a few trips to bail the two out of jail—before Alma got pissed enough to make JJ stay in there.

There was never anything wrong with fun but after the time the friends all had across the seas? Was too close and JJ had to learn that.

Alma was just overjoyed to see Kiara in a happy relationship. The girl was glowing, traveling back and forth from the south to the east coast since Joey’s dance career has taken off. Of course New York was the place to be for it and the distance between the two seemed to work for them just as it did for Pope and Cleo.

“Maybe,” Kiara dragged out and sent the short haired woman a wink just as the loud chatter from John B and JJ hit her ears in the background, “She wanted to be here but you know how showbiz goes.”

Alma only knew part of what Joey shared and it was exactly what Alma did not want. She could not stand the spotlight being on her yet these few pogues absolutely made a name for themselves, along with her being in love with the most well-known trouble maker on the island, who surprisingly (to those around the island) turned their life around in the span of five years.

Alma fans her hand about, just happy that Joey’s craft was also successful, “Ah, tell her to not to worry about it. There’s always Christmas and New Years to catch up.”

JJ interrupts as he carries some lavender colored boxes into the kitchen, “Christmas will definitely be at JB’s and Sarah’s! And New Years in New York with Kie and Joey?”

John B used his portion to start rebuilding the chateau before Little J was brought into the world in late April. That of course did not come easy and they took Alma and JJ up on their offer to stay with them (mostly in Demp’s quarters of the property, in which Alma scrubbed extremely clean, shout out to another trigger and coping mechanism! that is up until the colder months approached and squirrels decided to come down the fireplace) until they got the chateau the way they wanted. That was a story in itself but definitely brought the couples all closer.

Kiara pushed her lips out in thought, “…I’m down.”

“Y’all don’t know what cold is until you spend time in the city.” Alma tells the four, after inhaling the mixture from the boiling pot in hopes that the spice will give her a burst of energy.

When she was younger and not allowed to stay at home on her own, Alma had the chance to travel more with her mother who brought her to California and New York every so often. Her mother was a U.S. Customs agent who was originally from California and where she got her start in her career. She never meant to get pregnant with Alma but again, life happens and you do what you have to do. She moved Alma to the Outer banks simply because her parents lived out there and felt that would be a better place for her to grow up. Most of her time was spent in an empty home or with her hearing impaired grandparents until their passing when she was fifteen. She learned a lot from her grandparents and always thanked them for how she turned out. Alma never knew her father but she had a god-father who filled in as her father figure although he too, also lived on the west coast. Her step-father tried to be in her life but he was constantly on the go just like her mother and their marriage felt like convenience rather than love.

Alma never wanted a repeat of that kind of life in her future. She needed to be present, true, and never neglectful and of course things can never be perfect but it’s always the effort that matters.

Kiara huffs as she holds out her hands for Little J to keep high-fiving her hands, “Ha! Not with global warming constantly being against us.”

“Oh here she goes.” John B mutters, reaching out to spin little J in the air to say to him before putting him down, “Tell auntie Kie, you’re too young to listen to this crap.”

“It’s far from crap! The earth is burning and y’all need to stop being so ignorant. It’s never too late to learn about the state of the environment.” Kiara argues, fists going into her jean skirt covered hips.

Alma smiles at the brunette with a shake of her head while JJ rolls his eyes, and starts mocking her with his hands. Which makes Kiara pick up and chuck a grape at him that bounces off his forehead.

“Hey!” JJ yells, reaching for the chunk of some overpriced cheese, “Don’t start a war you can’t finish, Kie.”

Kiara furrows her thick brows, “I’ve won plenty. Do you need to see my resume?”

“Ooooo,” John B instigates.

That is coming from your very own Mayor of OBX!

Kiara’s always been political and environmentally friendly for as long as Alma’s known her. She juggled a lot, from creating a sustainable healthy smoothie drink business that was often sold in WBC but she eventually sold that off once she got deeper into politics. However Kiara did not completely sign over her rights without the promise of keeping her deliveries of supplies in Sarah’s cafe.

The doorbell made Alma zone back in on the typical arguments the two were having. She seemed to be the only one who heard it, taking her leave to the front entrance of the home to answer the door.

Rafe Cameron stood on the front step, arms full of alcoholic beverages. “Hey,” he starts.

He still looked the same, no longer sporting a buzzed hair cut, hair grown out in some sort of a mullet with spiked ends followed by a bit of facial hair growing in. He looked older yet his eyes still held unresolved issues and secrets.

There’s confusion in Alma’s brown eyes since she knew that she didn’t invite him to Friendsgiving and she also knew JJ didn’t invite Rafe either. Their beef ran deep and had its ups and downs, considering that the two knew just how to get up underneath one another’s skin. Yet the events that occurred in Essaouira and Lisbon did shift something in their relationship.

“Aren’t you going to let me in or let the dragonflies fly in?” Rafe’s sarcasm was possibly an attempt to break the ice or at least be funny but all Alma could do was blink.

There’s footsteps Alma hears and it doesn’t take long for her to figure out who they belong to. Considering…you know she’s lived and been around the guy for a while now!

“The hell are you doing here?!”

Rafe lifts his shoulders, “What’s it look like?”

“Like you’re about to get the door slammed right in front of your stupid lookin’ face.” JJ snaps.

Rafe rolls his eyes, “I got an invite just like everybody else…you got a problem with it—

“Yeah I do. It’s our house!”

“Which I can easily buy from you, Maybank.” Rafe smirked and Alma pinched the irritation forming in between her brows.

Those two still had their moments.

The dark haired twenty-something year old immediately grabbed onto JJ’s forearm, to stop him from moving around her to get into Rafe’s smug face. “We’re not doing this, alright! Rafe, I don’t know who invited you…but you better be lucky I’m in a good mood—

JJ exasperates with furrowed brows, “No Alma! No freaking way!”

Alma knew Rafe had nobody but Sarah (and Wheezie from time to time, the younger of the Cameron’s high-tailed it out of the OBX as soon as she hit eighteen). Then there was that up and down relationship he had with Barry (Alma’s ex) and she definitely did not need him here either so she would allow it. Of course Rafe didn’t want pity and this wasn’t that, Alma was just in the spirit of…giving thanks. As corny as it sounds and in simplest terms, Rafe was helpful across seas. As much as the pogues all had their personal feelings towards the eldest Cameron, he did pitch in on getting JJ help out in the desert.

A part of Alma felt like she would always be grateful for that.

“Rafe? You actually made it.” John B speaks from behind you all, keeping a hand on Little J’s shoulder who held onto his pants leg, still snacking on a pear slice.

A ghost of a small smile appeared on Rafe’s face as he stared over at his nephew.

JJ turns his glare to the brunette who raises his brows, “Don’t tell me you invited him here?”

Kiara didn’t wipe the scowl off her face either, arms crossed.

“I did.” Sarah announces her arrival finally returning from the bathroom with her phone in hand, “I know I should have asked you two since it is your house but…I wanted everyone I love here. And I hope you guys would be okay with that, to continue moving forward.”

Alma’s eyes met JJ’s, who appeared as if he was ready to chew his bottom lip off in annoyance. However the longer he stared at his lady, he loosened up, some. Flaring his nostrils he says to Sarah first, “I still wish you would have had a conversation with us first but…I get it.”

JJ turns back to Rafe who meets his gaze, “Fine. You can join our Friendsgiving but the second you act like an asshole, I’m throwin’ you out on your ass. Got that, Rafe?”

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll be on my best behavior, just like you, right?” He winks at the blond before barging his way in.

JJ flings the door shut behind him, tapping his elbow into the palm of his other hand, and starts swatting at the air at Rafe’s back for practice, earning laughs and snickers from John B, Kiara, and Alma.

Who moves to slip an arm across her boyfriend’s waist, “We can play nice, right? Our house, our rules.”

“Damn straight,” JJ answers, eyes connecting with deep brown hues as she pokes her lips out for him to peck.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ .𖥔

Part two can be found here since limits have changed for text posts now!

[deepspacedukat]

Captain’s Orders

This is intended to be a follow-up to “Reluctantly Primal,” but you don’t have to read that one to understand what’s going on in this sequel.

Day 7: Come Swallowing

SoC prompt list here. SoC Masterlist here. Cross-posted to AO3 here.

~*~

Solok (ST:DS9) x Reader

[A/N: This is smut, so 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI!!!]

Warnings: Interspecies sex, Human/Vulcan sex, holodeck fantasy, roleplay, established relationship, oral sex (male receiving), exhibitionism, dirty talk, praise kink, degradation kink, power play, restraints, face fucking, fulfilling a fantasy, Solok is condescending but it’s part of the roleplay, implied sex in the Captain’s chair.

~*~

“Helm, slow to one-half impulse,” Captain Solok called. “Direct our lateral sensors toward the nebula. We require precise readings if we are to study this phenomenon in depth.”

“Yes, Captain,” the young Vulcan man replied as he carried out his commanding officer’s instructions.

Long, strong fingers grasped my chin, forcing me to look up at the man whose legs I was between. 

“Are you prepared to atone for your insubordination, Lieutenant?” Solok’s deep voice caressed every syllable with care despite his authoritative tone. I suspected that his eagerness was to blame for the utterly sinful low register that followed my affirmative answer. “Very well. In order to prove your devotion to duty and your respect for me, you will remain on your knees. Put your arms behind your back.”

I did as he ordered and almost immediately felt the cold caress of a metal as a pair of cuffs auto-locked around my wrists, courtesy of a passing security officer. Damn, Solok was better at this role than I’d imagined he’d be.

When we discussed a scenario like this for the first time, it was merely a passing remark during his pon farr. Barely a week later, my husband had escorted me to one of the holosuites above Quark’s bar and presented his handiwork: a detailed recreation of the T’Kumbra’s bridge, complete with fictional Vulcan officers.

“This should prove to be an interesting arena in which to satisfy your desire to have an audience as well as your curiosity regarding myself in the Captain’s chair,” he’d stated calmly as if he wasn’t giving me a way to live out one of my dirtiest fantasies. I’d been so stunned that I didn’t even manage to respond right away, choosing instead to walk slowly to the center of the space. “Have I rendered you speechless in a positive or a negative manner, ashal-veh?”

“Positive. Absolutely, completely positive, but...” I’d trailed off as I had a thought, turning to find Solok watching my reactions. “Are you sure you’d be okay with this? I mean, this is a recreation of your ship. I wouldn’t blame you if you were uncomfortable doing that sort of thing where you normally work.”

Moving to stand directly before me, my husband had cupped my cheeks in his large, gentle hands.

“I assure you, I am not averse to claiming you here, my wife. If there was no possibility of repercussions from Starfleet, I would simply satisfy this fantasy during one of my duty shifts, however, I do not wish to risk our careers for gratification,” he murmured as his thumbs skimmed over the softness of my cheeks, leaving tingling warmth in their wake. Solok leaned closer, allowing his lips to brush lightly against mine as he continued speaking. “In addition, Ashayam Adun’a, though it is not seemly for a Captain to admit it, this particular scenario is one I have imagined, as well...”

He’d surprised me rather pleasantly with that particular statement, so we’d gone on to plan the encounter in detail. We also set up the proper precautions. If either of us wished to stop, we could use our bond to communicate that wish, or our designated safeword. I’d never needed it, though, and given the care with which Solok had treated me so far, I doubted we’d need it tonight, either.

“We have all witnessed how readily you refuse orders. It is logical that you use the same part of your body that got you into this trouble to repair the damage you have caused,” the Captain said as he looked into my eyes. “Do you take my meaning, Lieutenant? Or do you require a more elementary explanation of my expectations?”

Playing into my character as we’d agreed, I pretended not to quite grasp what he was asking of me.

“I-It would be helpful if you could spell it out a little more clearly, sir. I don’t want to be accused of insubordination twice.”

“Very well.” Leaning forward, Solok deliberately slowed the pace of his speech as he held my head in place. “I will not enter your insubordination into your record if you take your punishment without complaint. In order to do that, I expect you to open your mouth and suck my lok until I achieve orgasm.”

God, he was hot when he was condescending. That was so utterly unfair!

“On the Bridge? But, sir–”

“If you would prefer a court martial, that can be arranged, but there would be much less paperwork if you simply complied with the logical course of action,” he stated as if my choice truly did not affect him one way or the other. Why did that aloofness have me dampening my panties already?

“No, no, I’ll be good for you, Captain, I promise,” I said looking up at him with a pleading expression. “Please, give me a chance. I won’t disappoint you.”

The weight of my husband’s lok on my tongue moments later was comforting and familiar - a stark contrast to the odd sensation of awareness in the foreground of my mind that we were in public. None of these people were real, of course, but this felt real enough to make me particularly mindful of the sounds emanating from my mouth.

Solok grasped my jaw and pulled himself from between my lips.

“What is your status, Adun’a?” He asked quietly, skimming his thumb through a bit of saliva that had dripped down my chin.

“Green, Captain,” I answered, and before we resumed our previous positions, my husband’s fingertips brushed slowly, sensually over my lips. He knew I loved these sweet moments, and he was quick to indulge in them with me. I couldn’t have found a more attentive husband if I’d tried. The fact that we were here in this simulation that he’d created himself was proof of that.

The moment we re-entered the scene and I’d sucked his lok back into my mouth, Solok moaned loudly and placed his hand on the back of my head.

“You are doing an...adequate job, however, I believe you could be of better use,” he murmured using his other hand to gather my hair and pull it out of my face. He got to his feet and looked down at me. “Relax your throat.”

I did so, and Solok began thrusting into my mouth slowly, allowing me to adjust to the sensation of being used like this. He knew my limits and was exceedingly careful not to go beyond them.

When I gagged slightly, he pulled back immediately. Through our bond, I could feel my husband checking if I was alright. Once he was reassured, he lifted a brow at me.

“If you cannot take a Vulcan’s discipline, Lieutenant, I’m sure there is a simple desk job back on Earth that would suit your limited talents–”

“I can take it, Captain,” I promised opening my mouth in invitation.

“If you are certain,” he said before gripping my head a little more firmly and thrusting relentlessly in to the hilt. Solok moaned above me, and I couldn’t help but echo him as my slick dripped down my inner thighs. “I can smell you, Lieutenant. You are taking pleasure in being used like this. I should have deduced that you were a slut the moment you walked onto my ship. Colliding with me within moments of your arrival...bending at the waist to retrieve the PADD you’d dropped...It should have been apparent to me right away that you were simply waiting for a moment like this to prove to me what a pliant, eager mate you could be.”

My husband was a chatterbox when we were together like this. He knew I liked the sound of his voice a little too much, and he absolutely used that to his advantage. As he fucked my throat at a decent pace, he alternated between calling orders to his holographic crew and telling me in no uncertain terms what an obedient whore I was being for him.

“Perhaps I should create a new position here on the bridge that suits your desire to please me. You could service me when I require you. This warm mouth of yours could be full of me whenever it suited my whims and substantial stamina. That would certainly keep you busy enough to avoid another incident requiring disciplinary consequences,” Solok mused as he sped up. His breathing had become more shallow as well. He was close, and despite not being allowed to touch myself, I was close, too. My husband knew that. Of course he could tell. “If you wish to retain your position aboard this ship, you will swallow every drop I give you. Do I make myself clear?”

All I could manage was a slight gurgling sound around his lok, but he understood. A dark expression passed over his features, and Solok groaned loudly, pushing into my throat as deeply as possible as he spilled his seed. Hot spurts threatened to choke me, but I swallowed obediently as I’d been ordered to do.

“What does courtesy demand from you, Lieutenant?” He asked as soon as he’d removed himself from my lips.

“Thank you, Captain,” I rasped, and once he resumed his seat, he lifted me easily onto his lap.

“You are welcome,” Solok murmured. One arm wrapped securely around me and the other slipped between my legs, caressing the soaked fabric of my uniform. “I believe your obedience has earned you a reward.”

As my husband dragged me into a deep kiss, the sound of ripping fabric met my ears. So that’s why he’d insisted on bringing a change of uniform...

~*~*~

Vulcan Words:

ashal-veh = darling

ashayam = beloved

adun’a = wife

~*~

Taglist:

@android-boyfriends​ @attention-bajoranworkers​ @bigblissandlove1​ @darkmattervibes​ @emilie786​ @horta-in-charge​ @live-logs-and-proper​ @slutty-slutty-vulcans​ @starrynightgardens​ @toebeans-mcgee​

[myoshome]

Even though that life's path is full of rocks, I just hope that when I stumble… I still have teeth.

 As I am writing these words, it is now 9:30 pm on March 22, 2024.

I'm a new blogger, and blog with the main purpose of making money, but over time I think that this is a quite suitable place for me to relieve a bit of the burden and negative emotions in life.

I've been writing for nearly 2 months, and have been viewed by 42 people, while my friend, in the same period of time, had 200 views. The feeling of having to watch my friends excel while I still fall behind makes me really helpless and I feel very useless. At first, I only had 8 viewers. Somehow, that friend helped me increase to 35 people in just a few blinks of an eye, through some magical moves that I didn't understand.

I was very suspicious when he said he had 7 Google accounts. I didn't know if that guy was crazy and pitied me enough to use all 7 accounts to help me increase my rank or not. Even though I really hate pity, if my friend really helped me increase my salary in a cheating way out of pity, I think I would still forgive him. If it's true that strangers linger to look at my posts and that's the real power I have, I may feel hopeful and happy then.

See the title, anyway I don't want to show you too much of what I'm concerned about. Yes, I laugh at the difficulties in front of me and if it were human, I would tell "him":

" Beat me if you dare!"

Thinking positively, failure is the mother of success, so I still try to believe in myself every time I feel down and want to give up, the voices in my head keep trying to wake me up every time I feel like I'm falling when my body at some point fell into a state of contemplation and discouragement.

I have a family, a like-minded friend and a dream to take care of. I am now much more focused and disciplined. Other things, no matter how terrible, are probably just trivial matters after all. Sometimes when I sit alone in my room and lock the door, I often think about whether I am too weak or not. I fear myself, sometimes I hate it, because I both writing blog and write books. ... for nearly 3 years in a row and now I still haven't earned a penny. If I didn't have my family and friends by my side, I have no idea about WHAT THE FUCK would I be now?

A persistent loser, hahaha. Anyway, compared to the pressures out there, studying and everything I'm doing now isn't too stressful, so I'm forcing myself to gradually get used to this. My friend will go to America in a few months, which will probably be fun, I have to enter high school, try to study hard, graduate and go to university, hold a degree in my hand and make a living for myself.

But I really don't want my life to go like that, so here I am, a 14-year-old boy and his friend trying to make money with all their ability, gradually accumulating it, even though I still not earn any thing. There is no any fucking bucks for me to accumulating.

Stepping on the path where few people dare to step, even if at that time, you pretend to be brave, you are actually very brave. If you are like me and my friend, trying to pursue your dreams no matter the circumstances, then we are quite similar. The fact, enormous amount of people around us hay sacrified there own dream to find money, just to pure living or exist on this fuking Earth. 

Just keep trying, let's continue walking on this path, if you fall then get up, if your leg is broken then just drag, it's okay to be slow but just keep moving forward, don't forget there's still a lot things and a lot of people are counting on us behind our back. Don't fucking give up, soldiers, it's you the one who have been choose to live on this life, God give us a purpose, we must find and DO IT!

Hope God will always give good things to those who dare to believe.

May God give better things to those who persevere.

And may he also give the best to those who never give up.

I also hope he will give all of us one more day to keep trying to move on.

Wishing you a good day 

[soft-dyke-omo]

Also, 7 and 10 for Judith Deuteros? (idk if you have any ocs)

7: Do they wear diapers or pullups? (alt. Do they wet the bed?)

So personally I'm just not into ABDL at all, but I am still into some diaper-play, I just bow politely and exit stage left as soon as it gets overly cutesy and childish. (Oh, the woes of someone into omo who does not love term accident, truly the most oppressed of minorities.)

ANYWAY, going off my weak bladder necromancer hc, it would make sense that cohort necromancers get issued absorbent underwear or discreet pullups. But if we're talking a post-ntn scenario (because she WILL survive speaking it into existence) she'll actually have to go out and purchase diapers, which I don't think she will be able to bring herself to do until she has one or two truly devastating public accidents.

As for bedwetting: Yes, absolutely. I think I've talked before about me loving the trope of someone forced to wet the bed while awake and conscious because they are too unwell to get up on their own, but also: she's spent a year in and out of being possessed by the wrathful ghost of an eldritch being, PLUS all the regular horros of war and becoming a prisoner of said war. You can't tell me she doesn't have some bed-wetting nightmares every now and again. You also can't tell me that she wouldn't go near-catatonic with shame when she does.

10: Do they have a spouse or partner that diapers them because of their accidents? (alt: do they have a spouse or partner? How do they feel about Judith's bedwetting?)

Further doxxing myself but I will look God in the eye and walk backwards into piss hell: I'm a jodybeth truther. They have my entire heart. I feel Judith wants to be able to take care of herself and therefore insist on taking care of the changing and cleanup process herself, but she definitely needs a bit of encouragement to even consider going out and getting diapers for herself. Coronabeth probably broaches the subject a little less than gracefully, maybe after a public accident, maybe after the third or fourth time Judith wets the bed after a nightmare. Because Coronabeth is a literal Princess, you can not tell me that she ever had to change her own sheets even in dry circumstances before, so even if she wanted to help she'd be more in the way than any actual support, and Judith getting very snappy when she's embarrassed, I think it would be A Whole Thing for them, and an even bigger thing for Judith when she realises that Coronabeth is right and it can't go on like this. In total, Coronabeth makes way less of deal out of Judith's bedwetting than Judith does in her apocalyptic mortification, but she just doesn't want to have to deal with the mess or have to get up in the middle of the night.

As a little bonus, because they did share a living space for a lot of years and Judith did have a horrible, miserable, unwise puppy crush on her, here's a little bit of Marta as a treat: Even though she had her bladder under much better control in the pre-gtn days, every once in a while, like 3-5 times a year, she has a really bad night. Not often enough that she could justify using protection on a regular basis, since it happens infrequently enough that every time could feasibly be the last. She tries so hard not to wake Marta every time it happens, but being a cavalier Marta is a very light sleeper and cottons on to what's going on pretty quickly every single time.

Marta likes Judith a whole lot, sometimes despite herself. But she's just not a particularly nurturing person - she didn't even choose being a cavalier! She was canonically more-or-less pressganged into it by Judith's father! So they usually end up extremely awkwardly cleaning up side-by-side until Marta says something like "Why don't you head to the sonic, and I'll take care of the rest. All the sooner we'll be able to get back to sleep." She tries so hard not to embarrass her necromancer, but that's a task that's close to impossible.

They pointedly do not mention what happened in the morning, or ever.

(thank you so, so much for your asks! they've been burning a hole in my inbox for the last week, but I've been SO exhausted and sleepy I usally crawl into bed straight after coming home from work. 💛)

[blankspacebye]

no one will ever save you, girl, no one and nothing can

Nothing can is for the ‘you’re on your own kid’ people, for every daughters who grew up and forced to be independent, who prefers to suffer in silence, for the girls who distract themselves with detachment, for the burnout gifted kids, and for the one who feels tired mentally but still keep going and making through because you believe that no one ever save you except yourself.

This song is for every kids, every daughters — eldest, middle, youngest, and an only child.

This writing is for you.

You wake up with hollow these past few days. Walking on the street while wondering what’s on people mind around you. Catching the bus, taking the train, here and there, you feel exhausted. You know very well that there are many hopes hanging above in the handle grip, but they choose to bury it down. You watched life and wanted to be a part of it but found it painfully difficult. You feel as if you were the residue of a stranger’s life. You can’t even recognize the person in the mirror.

Hanging out with friends to distract yourself, because telling them how you feel seems so wrong. Distracting from the world, because telling everyone how you feel also feels so strange.

You keep on slipping.

Enduring things is what you do best.

You look around your bedroom and you’re all alone again.

When you grow up, you are just existing. Your heart inside is dying and you choose to remain silence. Some people can’t say where it hurts. Some find it impossible to ask for help, but actually need someone to talk to and rely on. The loneliness of feeling unseen by others, if you feel it, it comes from your closest one — family.

Your father and your mother are where it all began. You have your father’s rage with mother’s trust issues.

Don’t attach to anyone who shows you the least bit of attention.

Loneliness is the human condition, no one ever going to saves you and fill that void. Living with doubt and certainty is just part of being young, you are carrying it until now, all you can do is just surviving even though you still trying to figure it all alone.

You believe that everyone has their own struggles so you bottle it up your problems on your own.

You are trapped. You are caught between a rock and a hard place. You don’t know where to go.

No one will ever save you, except yourself.

So you keep trying, trying, and trying. Trying to fit in, being the mirrorball of the group, running towards your dreams, learning everything, and lastly doing something for your little self to make her proud.

Am I something?

What’s the future hold?

Will I be someone that my parents proud of?

Life is so subtle sometimes that you barely notice that you still smile at strangers, make your weekend plans, and feed stray cats. As you read this, the trees are blooming, the sun is shining, and the birds are chirping — suddenly you feel warm and safe again. You see yourself walking through the doors you once prayed would open. You fall in love with your own life once again because of yourself.

So the answer is you already are and you still have time to be. Although we are a collection of all the things that have ever happened to us and despite how the world is so cruel, you will always be you.

You think you are lonely, that is fine. It is exhausting being the one who is always holding on last, that is fine. You are worried no one would care if you disappeared, but sometimes you are doing good.

No matter how many times you had run away from your life, you only have yourself.

To love with life is to love yourself first.

There is a past version of you that is so proud of how far you have come.

You will live, you will live, and you will live. You will no longer to be the victim of insecurity, you will no longer to eat your worries alone, you are allowed to exist and take some space, and you will not let others dictate your life.

In the end, you are your own heroes and I am glad you are here.

[aplacenoneknows]

Hi,

Of the years I've lived (not very long), 2023 has been the hardest for me, emotionally, mentally, and physically. It probably drained so much of me. I was probably at my lowest and saddest point in life and not a lot of people knew and the ones who did didn't know to what extent.

Waking up the majority of the days was the toughest battle to push through. Having to make conversation and act like I wasn't dying on the inside was the second but I did it every day.

I have to admit not all days were bad. Someday I found myself genuinely excited and laughing and wanting to spend the rest of my day doing what I was doing but sooner or later that feeling would fade or decline with a great speed.

It was almost all aspects of my life that felt like such a failure and so hopeless. I had no joy and I just wasn't happy.

But,

Now it being the 2nd day of 2024, and when I reflect even though I still get emotional thinking about it, I'm proud of myself that I survived and the majority of it alone. I'm thankful for the people who cheered me up and allowed me to be myself in all moods and ways but truly I've never felt so alone. A lot of people accomplished a lot of things for 2023 but I'm happy that I just survived through it.

I don't think I can compare how awful my life is to anyone cause genuinely it's not. I'm fed and clothed and loved and sheltered and so much more. But it's been so empty and lonely and it is like something is constantly stuck in my throat and I lose the ability to breathe.

2023 taught me that I'm capable of much more, that being unhappy just traps you and takes so much of your time and sometimes it's okay to force yourself to be happy. To find happiness in the smallest of things. To stop comparing life cause everyone has it tough.

Having said that, that doesn't mean cause it's a new year I instantly am happy or I feel nothing like before, but what I would like to believe is that I'm choosing not to. I'm choosing to find joy in the world. Be more present and grateful. Forcing myself out of that hole and just being able to breathe. It's going to be even tougher and trying but I want to be intentional, with my time, my life, my joy, my work, my studies, myself, whatever I do. I want them to have a purpose and a drive and something I can be proud of by myself.

2023 was an absolute fuckery.

But I want to take it as something I can look back on and say I got through it. Cause I did.

I want to be better. I want to be happy. So I'm starting here. All over again. It is a bit sad if you go to see it, I wasted a whole year being sad but it gave me perspective and taught me many things, more than I realised at the time.

So here's to being more intentional!

[jdgo51]

Thank God That I Am Not God

Today's inspiration comes from:

Depression, Anxiety, and Other Things We Don't Want to Talk About

by Ryan Casey Waller

"'Do you remember the scene in the movie Rudy when he’s trying to get accepted into Notre Dame but it's not looking good so he goes to a priest for some advice? The priest says that in thirty-five years of religious studies he’s only come up with two hard, incontrovertible facts: “There is a God. And I'm not Him.”

When I first saw the movie I thought that was the most pathetic answer ever. You're a priest and that's all you got? Come on, man.  Over the years, however, the priest’s answer has grown on me, because as I’ve grown in both years and spirit, I've discovered that one of the more challenging and comforting aspects of faith is the realization that I am not God.

Confessing I’m not God is challenging  because while I say I believe in God I mostly live as though I were God. I am the expert, I know what to do, I am the one upon whose shoulders rests success or failure. I choose what it is right and what is wrong based upon my education, my experience, and my gut.

My words say there is a God. My actions say that God is me.

Setting aside my ego to actually trust in God’s sovereignty is a daily struggle.

On the other hand, confessing I’m not God is wildly comforting each time my depression and anxiety rears its ugly head to torment my body and soul.

You see, I count myself among the 1 in 4 Americans who struggle with their mental health each and every year. There are days when I wake in the morning only to be met by an immediate and unprovoked ocean of anxiety flooding my brain.

Other days I wake and discover I have neither the desire or strength to get myself out of bed.  I did not choose to suffer these maladies nor did I do anything to bring them upon me. Rather, they are simply aspects to the reality that is my life.

We have a God who chooses to rescue us in our bodies with His own body.

Why do these harsh realities help me find comfort in the declaration that I am not God? Because in this admittance comes the realization that

I need not — nor can I — save myself.  So I thank God that I am not God.

But what, exactly, does that mean?

Can I pray the depression away? Can I attend enough church services to convince God to heal me? Can I increase my faith to the point where I’m so filled with the Holy Spirit that I transcend my suffering?

No.

No.

And… no.

That’s not to say I don’t bring my depression to God in prayer or beg God for healing in my moments of pain. I do! What I don’t do is ignore the resources that God — the Ultimate Healer — has provided for healing.

For me, and many others who battle their mental health, that means availing myself to therapy, medication, and a strong support network of a trusted community.  For too long Christians have hyper-spiritualized mental illness by marginalizing these healing tools. As a result, countless children of God have suffered in ways that could have otherwise been otherwise.

We would never ask a believer to forgo chemotherapy for cancer or a diabetic to skip out on their daily injections of insulin. Likewise, we must avoid the temptation to characterize issues of mental health as wholly spiritual issues. Instead, we need to acknowledge depression, anxiety, and other forms of psychological distress are every bit as bodily as any other form of disease.

Fortunately, we have a God who chooses to rescue us in our bodies with His own body. When God decided it was time for humanity to more fully understand His very nature, He chose to come in a body. It was in this body that He taught us, loved us, died for us, and rose again in power to redeem us. Of all people, Christians should be the first to embrace the idea that our deepest suffering need not wait to be relieved in the life to come but in the life that is here and now with the tools given to us by the here and now.

Gone are the days when mental illness was seen as a mysterious force that could only be treated by mysterious means. These days we know a great deal about how to help people think, feel, and act better.

We go to therapy. If appropriate, we take medication prescribed by trained physicians. We allow people we love to hear us, us love us, and normalize our pain.  If the body of Christ is to be truly serious about treating all the bodies that belong to Christ then we must not be afraid of the means by which these bodies find their healing.

Encouraging Christians to seek out the resources offered by the mental health community is not of minor importance but in many cases, quite literally, a matter of life and death. All of which brings me back to the wise old priest Rudy went to see.

I am not God, for which I say, “Thanks be to the God all healing!”'

Written for Devotionals by Ryan Casey Waller, author of Depression, Anxiety, and Other Things We Don’t Want to Talk About.

[jgcm2003]

Episode four

This past week or so I found myself quite depressed yet again. It was persistent, it seeped its way into the way I spoke, the thoughts I had, and the world was drained of its color for a bit. I referred to these time periods as time spent in “The Middle” a few episodes ago but as I sit in the midst of it I’d like to expand upon what exactly it is. 

At this age, in this place, I’ve come to realize that I do most of the same things every day. I very rarely (if ever) have the luxury of shaking the routine up— Wake up, drive to school, see the same people every day, do the same schoolwork, walk the same halls, eat similar food, have similar conversations, drive home, and experience the same ups and downs that come with this environment.  These days pile on top of each other and before I know it, I realized I’ve lived a few of them in a row and I start to wonder what the point in living them truly was; not in a necessarily depressed way but more so in an existential way. However, that question eventually leads to depressive feelings for me later on when I begin to look back on all of this time I spend just going through the motions. Then it worsens of course when I look forward, and all I see is a bunch of going-through-the-motions in the future while I exist here. 

To put it bluntly, it’s as if I’m in solitary confinement, strapped into a straight jacket within the cell walls I’ve grown within in recent years. I walk in hallways under fluorescent lighting, I stare at screens all day, and I can’t really escape it. I drive home and I look around at ugly McMansions, industrial parks, and chain stores and restaurants and I feel as though I live as a background character in a setting straight out of the Twilight Zone. I resent this place during the time I spend stuck in the Middle— but I’m the place that’s the issue here, I am. 

In my time spent in the Middle, I willingly surrender to all of this indifference and negativity because I’m the one choosing to highlight all of the ugliness. I’m reflecting an internal issue on what’s in front of me because it seems reasonable. What I fail to recognize is the beauty that resides within every image my eyes capture— I see them for their imperfections only, oftentimes missing the fine details that make the picture worth looking at. Naturally, I always find my way out eventually and yes, these low points make the “highs feel higher,” but the highs are just fine on their own— I shouldn’t be trying to make them any more or any less than their true nature. 

Maybe if I remember the whole picture next time I feel like this I’ll find myself a bit more grounded. The worst part of the Middle is the isolation—but it’s my own doing and I know that. I’m surrounded by people yet I force myself to be alone within myself. It’s so disgustingly egocentric— I detach myself from everything and think only of myself and of the infinite things I need to change about the way I am, in hopes of feeling better. Yet I know for a fact the days I spend truly living aren’t the days I spend thinking less of myself, but the days I spend thinking of myself less. 

They’re the days that I choose to appreciate, the days I take my time to really look at all that is in front of me. It’s the days I spend with my friends in a nice place, the days where I realize how lucky I am to just be around. I think of the only alternative there is to life, and I’m grateful for the fact I’m not there yet. I look at the beauty in the world around me and the beauty that resides within each conversation, each drive to and from school, the food I enjoy so much, and the company this place keeps me.  I think of summer nights when I sat down on a deck with my friends and I just was, or times I had on beaches, or on mountains, or in friends' basements. I think of all those lucky moments when I was just present, and I take the escalator down from my hectic thought process and get off at eye level because that’s where I really am, right now, and it’s a beautiful place to be in its own right.

[lone-wolf-no-more]

The Furthest I've Ever Been

Friday, February 24, 2023

Day 13

Yeah, I’m still here. I’m no staring at the wall of a jail cell, I’m not trying to stave off the cold on some icy streets, waking up at every little sound.

So, you’d think I’d be feeling a massive sense of relief and hope. Yeah, some of that is there, no doubt about that.

Help was found, things fell into place.

What is this emotional hurricane in my inner-self that I’ve been weather the past few weeks? I’ve tried to explain some of it through glucose crashes (through honey plus fruit and a generally less active life), but it’s not as if I haven’t been doing things mostly this way up to this point…

I honestly believe that this DRVN challenge has forced me all the more to face myself more. I’m listening and watching less random stuff in an effort to drown out physical and inner noise, and I believe that’s part of it.

And for whatever reason, I inwardly hit this wall that basically had these words painted on it. “Enough is enough. Regardless, I don’t belong here, in this house. No matter what happens next, my time here is up, and I can feel it.” Even though I am most certainly apprehensive about change, about leaving this place. But it MUST happen, and I choose to accept this.

Another thing is that I haven’t been watching anywhere near as many Twitch streams, which I think was helping to cover up my lack of real interaction with people outside these four walls.

So who am I, really? This is the question I need to be asking myself, and the question you should be asking yourself as well. Life’s too short for me to get this wrong. Also, I think that tomorrow may have to be Day 1, yet again, and I honestly think the only reason I’m dreading it a lot is because I know that the nearest thing to social interaction that I’ve had takes places outside the confines of my challenge rules. Namely, I would watch Twitch streams on the weekend, or a bit later at night. Especially the music ones. But that being said, even when that 7:00 times comes around, and I’m “free to watch stuff”, I just find myself questioning why I would want to...It isn’t that I don’t enjoy the music, or don’t want to support those people. It’s just…I don’t know exactly. Maybe it’s partly the whole, “I’m just a spectator talking to other people who are names on a screen, and I want to live life and do things for real myself”.

And I think that’s part of the “accumulated guilt” from how much time I’ve wasted while being here. Too much time being a “digital pack rat” (“Oh, another videogame or movie I might get around to in 3 years, gotta add that to another backlog”), too much time letting time just go by while living vicariously through other people’s vlogs, too much time in being a consumer, as opposed to being somebody who actually is putting things out into the world that I can be proud of, who is making a tangible difference in other people’s lives.

I may have said this before, but emotional pain is incredibly unforgiving. Especially when it comes to thinking about how the “past you” screwed up. And thinking about how several years have gone by seemingly in the blink of an eye.

I believe the biggest challenge ahead of me is reframing my guilt. That is, instead of “Why did I do this”, or “Why didn’t I do this better?” or whatever? It’s more like, “Why am I such [insert positive trait or identity that you know you want]”. It is then that it is possible to be free to move on from there.

There are so many things going through my mind right now, but I think I need to leave you now with the encouragement that sometimes, you MUST let go of some things from the past in order to move forward. The past, whether is be regret, or whether it be pain over what you once had, can be a terrible emotional ball and chain. Be thankful for the positives of what you’re experiencing (or have experienced), and be thankful that you ARE changing and ARE moving forward!

In my case, again, it could be a lack of what I desire that makes me wish for what I used to have. But I must, you must, believe that it is possible to have a future that is just as good as how you view the past to be. Especially since in this moment, you are in fact much older and wiser than the person who lived in that past!

Onward and upward!

[puffin-smoke]

1 - She has to be on the brink of death. She generally sees asking for help as admission of weakness, a weakness that she associates with her younger self.

2 - shit shit shit. wtf. She can't pick Timmy, he's only 18, he's got his whole life ahead of him and its Timmy for fucks sake. Can't kill Bodie or Rolden, Timmy wouldn't want to live without them and neither would Duarte. And Marco? She doesn't know enough about him to choose.

She hates herself for making this into something merit based, something cold, calculated when it should be anything but. But its the only way she knows how to deal with this.

She chooses Marco. She looks to him as the light leaves his eyes and says "I'm so fucking sorry." That's the last sentence she'll say for a long while.

3 - Do you want the itemised list of everything Duarte feels guilty for? because I do have a list and its colour coded :D . She remembers everyone she's ever hurt or left behind, almost viscerally. She lives with that memory every day, trying to grow from it and redeem herself but it never fucking stops. She can't get rid of the memory, of the guilt that infests her every waking moment. It eventually begins to colour some of her own present actions. She feels guilty for initially wanting to kill the boys, for freezing up when she's actually needed, for having her first thought when she saw Lora be "I wonder if I could kill her."

Most days its background noise. Something to deal with and push through. It's difficult but Duarte believes that she deserves difficult. It's karma, or something.  🎶karma's a bitch i should've known better- 🎶

4 - Nope. In her head it's like letting herself be weak, be useless. She doesn't want to force her problems and emotions onto someone else because she believes she's better than that. She should be better than that. If she does cry around someone she'd probably trust them with her life. Or she's drunk. Probably the latter.

5 - Duarte ignores the hand and pushes themself to her feet. The world feels hazy and far away, but it's slowly coming back into view. There's a lump in her throat, leaden and painful.

She walks beside Chester, just trying to get a hold of her breathing. It takes her a little while but she does speak. Her voice is hoarse and quiet, as though afraid if she speaks too loud the wind would carry it away.

"I... I don't even know what I'm doing out here. I just- shit. " Pain rings through her leg, a reminder. Her limp becomes too much to walk with alone, and she was too fucking stupid to remember her walking stick. So she leans on Chez, only slightly. "I am such a fucking idiot."

She puts on a voice, mocking and bitter. "Oh I'm so mature now- I'd never fly of the handle like I used to- I've grown- I..." her voice breaks and tears fall. She hates it. She hates herself. "I am such a goddamn idiot."

She touches the bridge of her nose, and finds her fingers wet. "Why the hell am I crying? I shouldn't be..." she can't bring herself to finish the sentence. She cries more.

6 - For a moment she just stands there, mouth agape. She then realises how foolish she probably looks, closes her mouth, and talks to the ghost. Thinking all the while "ghosts are real? why the hell did ghosts have to be real? "

"Yeah he did go on about that, funnily enough-" she suddenly remembers finding Milo's beheaded corpse in the swamp, and needs to take a moment to make sure she doesn't throw up. She swallows down the bile in her throat and gestures for the ghost to follow her. "Let's get you back to Chester. He's gonna have... a lot to say to you."

7 - Duarte nods and sits on the floor. After a couple songs she'll ask if she can play a few of her favourites. Floor time's great.

*Massive Explosion* It's question time mfs!!!

1) How bad do things have to get before your Bug asks for help?

2) If the group was trapped right before escaping the arena and Bug was told they had to pick one of the gator boys to die, which boy would they sacrifice?

(They have to pick otherwise they will all die, no avoiding it)

3) Does your Bug often find themself feeling guilty for something they've done? Either in the past or recently?

4) Is your Bug ok with crying around others?

If no, why not? Is there a way to change that?

If yes, how easy is it to make your Bug cry? Are they very emotional?

5) Scenario time #1!!! (cw: poor mental health)

(Yes this is long, I'm sorry, I promise you can talk at some point)

Life is hard, it always has been. Bug knew that, Bug knew life wasn't going to get easier and that's how they found themselves lost out here.

They had been struggling recently, like really struggling, so one day they decided they would walk out into the swamps and whatever happened...happened. They didn't know where they were going, they didn't know how far from home they were, they simply knew that they were alone.

It had been days since they left the others, days since they decided to run away and hopefully never be seen again. But it wasn't until this exact moment that they realised something...they didn't want to never see them again. The Bugs, the boys, they wanted to see them again. They also realised, at this moment, that they were so lost they'd probably never be able to make it home again

This caused them to break down, they cried as they crouched on the floor, already regretting their choices from days prior. They didn't know what to do, it was all too much and that's when they felt it...a cold hand gently resting on their shoulder as a voice spoke from beside them

"*Bug*? Oh *Bug* we've been looking for you for days! What are you doing all the way...out...here, oh"

Chester knelt beside them, his hand still on their shoulder as he realised what was going on. He wiped some of Bugs tears away as he tried to comfort them

"*Bug*, it's okay, things will be okay. Even if that doesn't look possible right now. They will be, we'll make sure of it..."

Okay generic comfort wasn't helping, he sighed, thought of what he could say that may help in some way then stood up and began to speak once more

"Look I want to help but I think in order to help I need to know what's going on, so why not we make our way home and if you want you can talk about what's up on the way there, ok? No pressure if you don't want to but it's an option"

He paused, considering his words carefully before continuing

"You mean alot to me, you all do, and I wanna help in any way I can. So tell me what's wrong... once again only if you want to...either way though we need to get you home, its cold out here and getting sick won't help anybody!"

He offered them a small smile before reaching out a hand to help them up, their choice

Do they wanna talk abt it?

6) Scenario time #2!! (Inspired by @idontevenknow7878 ghost stuff!!!)

It was a rainy day, really quite heavy rain and against all of the other bugs warnings (and Chez's concerned nagging about the dangers of going out in the swamps when it rains) your Bug decided to head outside. They walked around the swamps in the pouring rain, no sounds other than the wind and the rain hitting the ground...well and that occasional giggle coming from nowhere yet also everywhere.. but they chose to ignore that

Till they couldn't ignore it anymore as the source of the noise was stood...not stood...was hovering right infront of them.

The figure they saw looked sort of like Chez, but different. This boy was noticeably younger, perhaps around 17? 19 at a push. His hair was much shorter though the same blond tone, his eye colour however did not match Chez, they were blue unlike Chez's purple eyes. The final, and most noticeable, differenc though was the smile plastered over the boys face, a smile you would never catch Chez with. The boy laughed as he danced in the air, he spotted Bug and seemed shocked when he realised Bug could see him too!

"*gasp* you can see me! Oh my divines that's the best news I've heard in like forever!"

He sold over to beside Bug and hovered Iver their shoulder as he introduced himself

"The names Milo! Milo Markins! Sorry if I seem excited its just I've been able to see you guys for so long but nobodies ever been able to see me before!!!"

He spin around Bug, still grining like an idiot

"I just can't believe somebody can finally see me! And one of my brothers friends no less, tell me has he let up since I died? Or did he nag you about the 'dangers of going outside when it rains' as well?"

Does your Bug talk to ghosts?

7) Silly scenario so that we can leave on a slightly cheerful note! (Based on smth I do lol)

Modern! AU

Chez had been in his room for a while so Bug decided to go check up on him, from outside the room they could hear loud music playing...well if you could call that music. It was really just a load of shouting with some instruments-

Anyways, they knocked on the door and upon getting no response they sighed and let themself in only to find Chez lying on the floor just staring at the ceiling

"Chez? Wtf are you doing?"

He glanced over at them

"Floor time, you wanna join?"

That's it you lay on the floor, listen to metal music and stare at the ceiling. My fav activity

☆---------------☆

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