#i feel SIGNIFICANTLY better this morning so far which means it *is* just a flare and i'm not sick or somehow dying faster than normal

[dredshirtroberts]

god. no one prepares you for the irritation and anger that comes when assistive devices and medical equipment actually fix your problems.

[blitzturtles]

Title: Two-Player

Rating: Teen and Up

Fandom: JoJo's Bizarre Adventure: Stardust Crusaders

Pairing(s): JotaKak, JoKa, Minor (and Platonic) Kakyoin & kid!Jolyne

Summary: There are days when Jotaro’s body remembers every single injury that it's ever received. Days when he aches from his toes to the top of his skull, and days when his nerves light themselves on fire. Medication won’t touch it, and the pain is either too grating or too unpredictable for him to ignore for any length of time.

He tries to break it down into pieces. To compartmentalize it all away the way he does with the memories.

Notes: I was having a chronic pain flare, asked my wife who I should inflict it on, and her answer was, "Jotaro and/or Dick Grayson". So here's the Jotaro version. Btw, I'm doing a writing / fic giveaway! Check out this post to see how to enter. Goes until 8.25.21!

-

There are days when Jotaro’s body remembers every single injury that it's ever received. Days when he aches from his toes to the top of his skull, and days when his nerves light themselves on fire. Medication won’t touch it, and the pain is either too grating or too unpredictable for him to ignore for any length of time.

He tries to break it down into pieces. To compartmentalize it all away the way he does with the memories. It’s all he can do in moments like these, when he’s hunched forward and breathing too heavy. Biting at his lip in a desperate attempt to keep from making a sound, lest Kakyoin or Jolyne choose that exact moment to barge in.

There’s the throbbing in his ankles and knees; both of which twinge with an excruciatingly sharp agony whenever he tries to stand from his desk. If he falters in the slightest, he’ll have his hips to contend with, and they’ll bring him to his knees for daring to exist. Best to stay put until he can no longer take the stillness that builds in the damaged joints, not that walking seems to alleviate the radiating pounding that blossoms in each joint and spreads endlessly outward. The more he thinks about it, the wider the radius grows, the harder it is to control his breathing.

Speaking of, his ribs burn from inflammation, and every breath is like inhaling fire, deeper and deeper until he’s choking on the exhale. The coughing that follows makes his guts twist up. Knotting around an invisible blade and splitting apart until he smells more than tastes the scent of blood and bile rising in the back of his throat.

The pain running through his nerves is a mixture of fire blight and an intense, piercing sensation that he’s yet to fully find the words for. There’s a reverberating ache to each stab. A constant and endless reminder that makes it impossible for him to sooth with the fingers he digs into the meat of his arms and legs. He can only stand to do that for so long, anyway. His wrists cramp after a few seconds. Already fatigued from writing. Working always makes the tendons tighten until they feel like they’re going to snap.

For whatever reason, his head feels the need to join in on the fun. Possibly because he’s already tense everywhere else. Possibly because it’s just that kind of day. Either way, he can’t ignore the ache there anymore than he can anywhere else, and it’s significantly slowed down his progress for the day. He’s done little more than stare at the papers on his desk with a blank expression for what must be hours now. The words blur together so badly that the ink almost disappears from his vision, which is a welcomed relief to the burning of his eyes.

He’s so overwhelmed by it all that he doesn’t hear Kakyoin. Kakyoin who he doesn’t ever tell, because Jotaro would rather grit his teeth and force his way through the day than tell his husband, of all people, that he hurts. As if Kakyoin doesn’t know a truer, more hellish agony in his every waking moment.

“Jotaro?”

His own name being called is what finally breaks him out of his pity party, and the look on Kakyoin’s face tells Jotaro that it’s been said more than once. There’s worry etched in the crease of Kakyoin’s forehead and in the way his lips are turned downward. Kakyoin would be crouched at eye level with him if he could, but his own body is hardly partial to that sort of movement.

“Sorry, what did you say?” Jotaro grits the words out and resists the urge to wince at the sound of his own voice. He doesn’t think he’s spoken at all today, but it still somehow sounds like he’s been chewing on glass.

Kakyoin’s frown deepens, “Jolyne was asking about- actually, it’s not that important. Are you alright?” He knows the answer already, but Kakyoin is nothing if not calculating. He wants to hear Jotaro speak. Wants to hear his reply. He’s trying to gauge how bad the situation is without expecting a proper, direct answer. He knows Jotaro too well for the man to be able to lie.

“Been better,” Jotaro admits, and he knows it’s an admission of just how poorly he feels. For him to fail to write Kakyoin off means that he’s struggling beyond what he can handle.

“I see,” Kakyoin says the words tightly. He seems to roll a thought over in his mind before sighing. “I think that you should lie down for a bit. I’ll get some painkillers. When’s the last time you had any?”

“I-” Jotaro mirrors the frown on Kakyoin’s face as he glances at the clock. Too long, he doesn’t say, but he doesn’t have to.

“Chasing pain won’t get you anywhere,” Kakyoin says, but his tone is far from patronizing. He speaks from experience. It’s better to try to stay in front of the brunt of their agony. They don’t stand much of a chance otherwise, not that Jotaro thought he’d had one since the moment he woke up that morning.

“Jolyne-” He starts, as a last ditch effort to get out of being mothered by his own husband, but he’s not surprised when Kakyoin shrugs him off.

“I’ll take care of Jolyne.” Kakyoin pauses, “And I can draw you a bath, if you’d like. The heat might help.” He would know, given his own chronic pain. He can’t take hot baths, given the sensitive nature of the reconstructed bits that make up his midsection, but he regularly soaks individual limbs when nothing else is working.

“I- yeah, okay,” Jotaro has to admit that the idea sounds nice. Maybe submerging the deep aches will help sooth them away, if only a little bit. Perhaps enough to make lying down more bearable, because that’s his problem with the idea of getting into bed: it’s going to hurt. He’ll hurt here or there, which is why he continues to insist on sitting at his desk on days like this. What’s the point in wasting time if he’s going to be miserable no matter where he is, or what he does? He might as well at least try to be productive.

“Good,” Kakyoin smiles gently, “Give me about five minutes before you come up? I’ll get that started and take care of Jolyne.”

“Sounds like a deal,” it doesn’t, actually. Kakyoin’s getting the short end of the stick all the way around. What with having to take care of Jotaro and Jolyne while dealing with his own pain.

“And quit that,” Kakyoin grumbles. He pokes Jotaro between the eyes, right on the bridge of his nose. “I married you, Jotaro. I don’t mind taking care of you or Jolyne, and I'm not inept for being a borderline cyborg.”

“I know,” Jotaro says with a sigh, “I don’t- I didn’t mean-” He hadn’t said anything, but that’s the problem with Kakyoin: he’s intuitive in a way that no one else Jotaro knows has ever been, and he can practically read Jotaro’s mind when he chooses.

“I know,” Kakyoin echoes, cutting Jotaro off before he can dig himself any deeper. His smile returns, and he leans down enough to press a kiss to the top of Jotaro’s forehead, only a short distance above where he had touched Jotaro a moment before. “Sometimes I just think you need a reminder. We’re equal, and you can have chronic pain, too.”

“Sounds fake,” Jotaro mumbles, but there’s a faint, upward pull of his lips that has Kakyoin barking out a laugh.

“Sure it does. Five minutes, JoJo.”

“Five minutes,” Jotaro repeats, already planning on it taking about that long just to get himself to the door to his study. His joints are already threatening to drop him if he so much as thinks about moving too quickly.

He watches Kakyoin go with fond eyes, and it takes approximately sixty seconds before he realizes that there had been a moment of relief. Where his brain had been too busy to be solely wrapped in his own suffering. Perhaps he’ll suggest that they all turn in early. There’s a new Disney movie that Jolyne’s been dying to see, and he knows she won’t mind being still too terribly if she gets to have the two of them in one room, sans work.

[celosiaa]

Hi Connor, I hope you’re doing okay!!!!! 💖Thank you for letting me write this lil fic for your post about leaf pile shenanigans!!!!!! Everything you write, draw and headcanon for the Emmaverse is so perfect and I am so excited to write something within this beautiful AU. This got away from me a bit, but I hope it brings you some joy and you can vicariously enjoy the great outdoors through Jon, Tim, Martin and Emma’s mischief 🍁

From the front window of their new house, Martin has watched the tree turn from a bare-boned thing to blossom to vivid leaves firm even against summer storms. The tree has grounded him through sleepless nights with Emma since her arrival last year, through Tim and Sasha’s return to their lives, through Jon’s nightmares. A lighthouse against the Lonely. The house surveyor had told them to cut it down, unsure of how deeply its roots might reach, but Martin couldn’t bring himself to make the arrangements. He feels that he should give it something back, a repayment for its solidity, and so he has tended to it through the seasons with gentle dedication.

Alas, the leaves are a hazard now that they’ve turned orange and fallen. The rain turns them slippery, and Martin doesn’t want Emma to trip on them when she bundles him out of the door on the mornings he gets to take her to nursery, excited to have her Dad there after a long stint of nightshifts. Nor does he want them to disrupt Jon’s journey to the car on the days that his joints are stiff and he needs his cane. So he sees raking the leaves as part of his duty both to the tree and his family.

Martin falls into a happy and methodical reverie, until Tim interrupts: “You missed a spot.”

Tim is sitting with Jon on two rickety camping chairs they’d dragged out of the garage, ostensibly so they can watch Emma and an off-duty Iris play on the lawn. They’re both holding cups of tea, steaming in the cool, clear autumn air, and they have—until now—been catching up about work. It’s a busy time for them both: Jon is welcoming the new students, and the fire department are running their usual campaigns about safety with Halloween decorations and fireworks. Recently, Tim’s team even payed a visit to Emma’s nursery school to give a presentation, which she had gushed about for weeks afterwards.

Now, though, they seem to be up to something. As glad as Martin is to see them getting along, after so much and so long, he’s not sure he likes the matching mischievous looks on their face.

Martin pauses, leaning on the rake. He’ll humour them, just this once. (It will happen again, of course, but Martin always likes to pretend it’s a one-off.) “What do you mean, I’ve missed a spot?”

“He’s right,” Jon says, schooling his expression into one of seriousness, although the roguish glint lingers in his eyes, “By the drain.”

Martin doesn’t look, still playing along with his most petulant expression. “I started by the drain. It’s spotless.”

“We would never criticise your immaculate raking technique, Martin,” Tim promises, as if offended by the implication.

“We just wouldn’t want Mrs Jenkins complaining about her driveway flooding again,” Jon adds solemnly, placing down his tea, “Are you sure there are no leaves by the drain?”

“I’m one hundred percent sure,” Martin insists, trying not to smile and let on that he’s onto them.

“Because I can count at least seven from here,” Tim says, also balancing his tea on the concrete by his feet.

Jon tilts his head. “I would say eight.”

Tim nods exaggeratedly. “Jon says eight. And he remembered to wear his glasses today, so I trust his judgement.”

Only because Martin physically put the glasses on Jon’s face this morning, while Jon was going through the process of making cinnamon porridge half-asleep and on muscle memory alone. But Martin doesn’t mention this to Tim. Not that Tim isn’t well aware of Martin’s fussing, having—along with Jon—been bundled into a coat and scarf and gloves before being allowed to sit outside, justified by worried mentions of asthma flare-ups and ear infections and setting a good example for Emma.

Martin places a hand on his hip, still leaning on the rake. “Eight, you say?”

Tim and Jon nod in unison.

“That does sound like quite a lot of leaves,” Martin continues.

“You can never be too careful,” Jon says.

“Sometimes, the worst hazards start off small,” Tim tells them, “I would know.”

Martin quirks his eyebrows. “Perhaps I should check the drain, then.”

Jon nods, just once, managing to still look very serious. “Perhaps you should.”

“Well, then,” Martin sighs, taking his weight off the rake and beginning to turn towards the drain at the end of the driveway they share with their neighbours. He makes sure to speak loudly with his back turned. “Where on earth are these eight stray leaves?”

There’s the sound of a scuffle behind him, the camping chairs creaking and skittering on the concrete driveway, and a breathless laugh as Tim and Jon’s feet hit the ground in unison. There’s not much space between the camping chairs and the leaf pile, so Tim and Jon’s run-up is short but effective.

Martin turns just in time to see them launch themselves into the leaf pile, and he’s glad he constructed it on the grass rather than the concrete, because Tim and Jon don’t always think things through when they’re being competitive. Their landing is significantly cushioned, at least, and they end up on their backs, pillowed by red and orange leaves. Jon blows one out of his face and Tim laughs, loud and carefree, the sound echoing against the house.

“I won,” Tim declares.

“You did not,” Jon protests.

“Oh, I very much did.”

“Tim, if you are suggesting that—”

“If I’m suggesting what? That I was the county best at long jump between the ages of eight and eleven, and that gave me a natural advantage in this particular competition?”

Jon props himself up on his elbows on the leaf pile and looks imploringly at Martin, his glasses askew and a leaf stuck by its stem in the left hinge. “Martin.”

“I couldn’t possibly have seen who won,” Martin says, “I was busy inspecting the drain, which—like I said—is spotless.”

It’s at this moment that Iris lets out a slightly confused woof, as Emma abandons the mudpies they’ve been making together to copy her Baba and Uncle. She squeals, her little legs moving at full speed as she waddle-runs towards the leaf pile.

Martin’s too far away. He drops the rake, shouting, “Emma, no!”

But, of course, she doesn’t listen. She has a very specific mindset when it comes to times like this, an unshakable determination: Emma, yes. She runs to the leaf pile, stops clumsily in front of it, and then promptly jumps into its depths. Or, more accurately, she falls face-first into the pile, arms outstretched, her red wellies only just leaving the ground, and disappears through an Emma-shaped hole between where Tim and Jon are lying, looking somewhat dazed by the turn of events.

There’s a breathless moment, a frozen snapshot when the chilly late-afternoon turns momentarily sinister, all long shadows and suspended breezes. Martin doesn’t move, doesn’t hear the echoing clatter of the rake, until there’s a flurry within the leaf pile and then Emma emerges with a raucous giggle.

Everything rushes back into motion, the autumn colours warm and the moment welcoming again. Emma has popped up from the leaf pile like a meerkat from the ground, inspecting her surroundings, an image that is reinforced by her knitted hat with the attached bear-shaped ears. There’s a bright grin on her face, and a lyrical quality to her laugh that tells Martin she’s excited rather than hurt or afraid. Iris is circling and snuffling around the leaf pile, somewhat confused but not overtly concerned, and Jon smiles fondly as he picks leaves from the wool of Emma’s hat while Tim shakes with the force of his own laughter.

Martin’s breath whooshes out of him in relief and he finds himself laughing too, a little breathless. “God, Emma, you—please be careful, sweetheart.”

“I win, I win,” Emma says, clapping her hands together. Her mittens make her applause sound padded and soft.

Martin gives Jon a long-suffering look. Jon looks back, half-apologetic, half-look how happy she is, habibi. And it is true, Emma looks happy, rosy-cheeked and still laughing as Iris now makes her way into the leaf pile, too. It’s adorable. Martin’s losing sight of the possible dangers in favour of the cuteness, the fact that everyone is just fine. Better than fine. They’re happy, all of them.

“Alright, I concede defeat,” Tim announces, “Emma gets the title of Ultimate Leaf Leaper.”

Emma squeals in delight again. Jon pulls her further out of the leaves so she can sit on his lap, giving her a kiss on the cheek before he goes back to picking leaves out of her hat. Tim lifts his hand and Emma reaches across to give him an enthusiastic high five. Martin thinks he is going to melt into a puddle from the joy of it all.

“Stay right there,” Martin says to them, all thoughts of raking abandoned now, “I’m getting the camera.”

*

Later that night, they’re propped up in bed—Jon reading a battered library book about syntax in 19th century literature, and Martin clicking through the photos he’s uploaded from the camera to his laptop. Emma is fast asleep in her bedroom, after a bedtime story about a hedgehog making a home from leaves that Martin hopes will dissuade her from jumping into any random leaf piles she sees out and about, although he promised she can still play in the ones they make outside together.

“I’m definitely emailing this one to Sasha,” Martin says, angling the laptop towards Jon.

Jon folds the book carefully closed and looks at the photo. Tim and Jon are both half-engulfed by the leaf pile, with Emma sitting in Jon’s lap and Iris doing her best to likewise perch on Tim. They’re all grinning at the camera, bundled up in their coats and scarves and hats. It’s adorable.

“She’ll love it,” Jon agrees.

“It’s a shame she couldn’t come today.” Martin chews his bottom lip, shutting the laptop. “I don’t think we have any recent photos of her.”

“You’re not in it either,” Jon murmurs.

“Oh, well, I—someone had to take the photo.”

“Remind me, then,” Jon says, leaning over and kissing Martin’s hair, “To ask someone to take our picture when we go pumpkin picking.”

“Since when are we going pumpkin picking?”

“Since Emma told me she wanted to and I spent two hours Googling places nearby.”

“Not spooky—?”

Jon gives him a withering look. “Not spooky Google, no.”

“Good.” Martin smiles, a little shy. “We’ll get a family photo, then. At the pumpkin place. And we can frame it. And put it on the wall next to this one, and the one I’m going to take of Sasha and Tim next time they come over, and—oh, and that one of Emma on her first day at nursery I keep meaning to get printed!”

Jon smiles softly. “Our family.”

“Our family,” Martin agrees, “I’m really happy, Jon.”

He’s so happy he’s not sure what to do with it. He’s scared it will disappear, like fog through his fingers. He’s scared he doesn’t deserve it. He doesn’t tell Jon any of this, but Jon seems to understand, to feel it too.

“So am I, Martin,” Jon says, “So am I.”

Martin thinks of the tree, of its changing leaves, its vulnerability to the seasons, the way it antagonised the previous tenants of the house. And yet it’s still there. Martin thinks of his contentment in the same way, as he falls asleep next to Jon: a thing that might change, might grow, might retreat sometimes while blossoming at others, but it has deep roots, and he has no plans to cut it down any time soon, not anymore.

There we go!!!! I played Emmaverse bingo with myself with how many headcanons I could remember and get in here, but I’m sorry if I forgot anything or if the ages/order of events are a bit muddled!!!!! Thank you again for letting me write this, I had so much fun!!!!💖💖💖

[mollymauk-teafleak]

Heart and Liver

Stephen and Crane are getting ready to uproot their lives and move across the globe to Shangai. Which means Stephen needs to get his mouth around an entirely new language, something he clearly isn't very comfortable with.

But Crane has a way to get him to loosen up.

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I apologise for any mistranslations in this text, I've used online articles and am very aware it won't reflect the dialect used in Shangai in the Victorian Era. Sometimes you just hear the song Sunrise from In The Heights early in your adolescence and your taste for Person A teaching Person B their language fics is solidified.

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Please consider leaving a comment on Ao3 and reblogging! <3

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Stephen Day was a very good teacher.

Crane had seen the evidence himself multiple times. He’d seen him talk Miss Saint through the drills he gave her, the way he would correct her mistakes in ways that built her up rather than made her feel small, that steered her towards improvement rather than smacked her down, the way he would praise her effusively even after she’d just launched a gust of wind that had knocked him back on his arse. He’d seen the way that Saint looked at him after she’d mastered some new technique that was incomprehensible to Crane, after hours and hours of patience and encouragement from Stephen. Even through her street sharpened exterior, she would look at him like he’d hung the moon.

And he’d felt it himself, whenever the vast gulf between the worlds they knew would mean Stephen had to explain some magical phenomenon to him. His hands would twitch and turn as he spoke, like he was physically untangling the words themselves to make them understandable. Even if after he was done Crane could only smile and shake his head and shrug, expecting his lover to give up, Stephen would just launch into a slightly tweaked version of his explanation. He’d liken it to something Crane would grasp, analogise etheric currents to stocks and bonds or, in one memorable instance, translocation spells to this thing Crane would do to Stephen in bed whenever he’d either been very good or very bad. And then suddenly things would click in his mind and what, a few years ago, would have sounded like a fairy tale made sense to him.

He’d even seen him do it with Merrick a few times, the usually gruff manservant had taken one look at what Stephen could do with a pack of cards and began watching his hands very, very attentively whenever they’d all sit down to play of an evening. Even then, Stephen had recognised a different, slightly more hesitant student and adjusted his teaching style accordingly. He’d said nothing, he’d just made his movements slower, clearly telegraphed every twist of his slender wrists, casually dropped the names of the maneuvers he was making into conversation. He’d even deliberately flubbed the shuffles a few times, just so Merrick could see the mechanism more clearly as he righted it. It had worked as well as any of his other methods, Crane felt sorry for the boiler room lads on their boat to Shanghai, likely the first people his friend would approach with his new skills.

Stephen was indeed a brilliant teacher. He was patient, kindly when needed, firm when it was called for and always gave everything he had to helping his student achieve their goal. He cared, as simple as that.

So it was both a surprise and a shame that Stephen was such an appalling student.

Crane shifted on the bed, trying to fidget away his growing impatience, along with the growing cramps in his long legs, “Try again, you’re putting too much emphasis on the second syllable. Hunzhang.”

Stephen huffed, arms folding tighter, “I’m putting emphasis on the second syllable because you told me I was putting too much on the first!”

Crane stamped down an urge to laugh that would definitely get him kicked out of the bedroom. Stephen was just inexplicably adorable when he was irritated, it was like watching a puppy bare its teeth.

“Come on, listen to how I say it. Hunzhang.”

Stephen gave him a truly devastating eye roll but he sat up straighter against the bolsters and tried again, “Hunzhang.”

Crane grinned, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. Not something he’d ever dare do in one of his fine suits but the sun had long since gone down and he was in his shirtsleeves. Stephen was considerably less dressed, wearing nothing but an older shirt of Crane’s he tended to sleep in. Or get fucked in, more often, but that was having to wait for the language lesson.

“Hark at you! You’d fit right in, any trading floor in Shanghai,” Crane beamed appreciatively. He was being generous, Stephen’s pronunciation was dire but that shirt was riding up and he could see enough freckled thigh to earn some praise, “And what does it mean?”

His little witch pulled a face, “Bullshit. Because, for some reason, you think learning how to curse up one side of someone and down the other is going to help me in Shangai.”

“It’s how I learned,” Crane shrugged languidly, “And you’d be surprised how far a few well placed insults can get you.”

Stephen’s mouth tightened at the corners, his tone staying mildly irritated but that slightest pull of muscle betraying his anxiety, “I’m going to stick out enough on my own without accidentally calling someone a stupid egg of all things.”

Crane’s teasing smile softened. Their departure date was now less than a month away and he could tell Stephen’s nerves were growing by the day. As they prepared to pack up their lives and move to the other side of the world, he could see those lines around his tawny eyes deepening. Part of the reason for this language lesson was to get Stephen more comfortable with the idea, give him some sense of control over the situation so he didn’t feel so much like he was being thrown into deep, unfamiliar water.

Part of the reason why Crane wished it was going better.

“You’re not going to stick out,” he said firmly, reaching over and taking one of Stephen’s hands that had started to twitch and fidget nervously on the bed, “We’re going there so we can belong. You’ll see.”

Stephen nodded slowly, his anxious hands stilling as Crane’s slender fingers stroked the hills and valleys of their calluses and knuckles. Any attention to his hands and the younger man instantly melted, becoming pliant and gentle, receptive to even more language lessons.

“Let’s run through a few words that won’t get you punched in the teeth then?”

Stephen blinked warily, “God, how likely is that?”

Crane had to laugh, “Honestly, quite likely someone will swing for you. Impossible that any will actually land seeing as I’ll be knocking them into the dirt.”

That made him grin toothily, “Defending my honour?”

“The amount of time I spend defending you from people you piss off, might as well call it my profession,” Crane raised his eyebrows teasingly, “But you’re not changing the subject that easily, darling. Let’s see…”

Crane’s cool grey eyes wandered the room. They hadn’t started packing yet- that would be a job for the next few weeks- so the evidence of their secret shared life was still scattered all over the place. There were a few ties carefully hung on the back of the door from Crane choosing which one he wanted to wear that morning, draped next to Stephen’s ratty old coat. There were Stephen’s books on the occult stacked neatly alongside Crane’s stories of far flung places and grand adventures that he’d been reading since he was a little boy, for escape back then and for nostalgia now. There was the scuff marks on the carpet where Stephen would pace whenever some case had been bothering him or the twin marks running parallel to those where Crane would pace with ledgers in hand. Behind these walls, their lives could get hopelessly, wonderfully tangled like they were meant to be. And given that neither man was particularly good at keeping things neat, that left plenty of items and plenty of words.

Crane took a moment, considering before giving him an easy one, “Xié.”

Stephen sat up a little straighter, eyes brightening now he actually had an answer, “Shoes.”

Crane nodded, gesturing towards their shoes, standing side by side at the foot of the wardrobe. Crane’s significantly larger and better made, Stephen’s smaller and far more scuffed from running.

“Shūjià,” he chose next, smile turning challenging.

Stephen clearly stumbled at that, brow furrowing for a few minutes before answering hesitantly, “Book?”

“Close!” Crane said encouragingly, “Bookshelf. Book would be Shū but you can hear how the words sound similar.”

His tone didn’t seem to have done it’s job, Stephen’s face crashed, “Right. I only missed half the damn word.” He took his hands back, folding his arms tightly around his narrow chest again.

Crane knew if Stephen felt dejected, if he felt like he had failed even in the slightest respect, it was so hard to get him going again. For someone who could do impossible things, he didn’t have a lot of faith in himself.

“Come on, one more,” he said, quickly veering away from that word, “You’re on one and a half already! Try...um...Chuáng.”

Stephen opened his mouth, closed it again, cast his eyes around helplessly. After a few moments he groaned, shoulders dropping, “Lucien, I don’t know…”

“You do, you’re just tired,” Crane sighed, a little lost on how to sound encouraging but not patronising, that would absolutely bring this to an end if Stephen caught the slightest hint of pity in his voice, “Chuáng, it's right under your nose. Right under all of you, actually.”

His witch frowned at him, frustration clearly kindled and flaring behind his eyes, “What? Lucien, if you have to give me hints I clearly don’t know the word.”

Crane rather felt like somehow who’d realised that was in fact a waterfall his boat was about to topple over. He cleared his throat and learned back, reevaluating. He was starting to worry that maybe Stephen wasn’t such a bad student, maybe he was just a terrible teacher.

So he would go for something they were both good at instead.

“It was the word for bed,” he skipped lightly over it, his confident smile reignighting, “But I have a new game.”

Stephen exhaled, eyes closing in exasperation, “Lucien, I’m burned out on language learning, can’t we just go to sleep? It was hard enough for me to read and write English, let alone a completely different tongue.”

That very obvious, very heavy shift in the air between them, the kind that only happened when someone had let something slip, when some words had bolted and run loose when they really weren’t meant to. And if it wasn’t obvious already, Stephen’s face had turned roughly the same colour as his hair.

Crane proceeded carefully, so carefully, “What do you mean by that, love?”

His lover seemed to fold in on himself, like a nocturnal animal caught out in the daylight, “I...it’s a practitioner thing. They call it word blindness, I think. When I was a child, I...I struggled. Reading, writing, speaking, all of it. They just wouldn’t stay still on the page or stick in my head. Esther had the same thing when she was a girl and you know Saint’s never got the hang of it but she gets along fine. I...I thought I was just an imbecile for years, that's what all my teachers said, until I realised what I actually was. Until I realised I can manipulate metal and make things levitate easier than I can write my own name.”

Crane watched his love’s face carefully, making certain to keep his own free of any trace of pity even when his heart ached a little for the boy Stephen had been, “Just when I think I can't admire you any more, you go and surprise me.”

If Stephen was red in the face before, he was positively vermillion now, though the hope hesitantly creeping into his eyes offset it nicely, “You find it admirable that I was nearly illiterate until I turned twenty?”

“That you tried,” Crane said simply, warmly, “That you didn’t give up even when you were put through so much. That you’ve gotten through everything life threw at you with sheer determination and spit.”

Stephen didn’t have an answer for that, squirming in that adorable way he did when he was overwhelmed with praise, like it all went straight to his nerve endings, “I mean...it’s making learning Shangaiese a pain.”

“And if you want to take a break, of course we can,” Crane shifted forward, moving into a crouch not unlike a hunting animal about to pounce, close enough that he caught every millimeter as Stephen’s pupils widened, “But I think I have one more idea I’d like to try. If you’re willing?”

Stephen had stopped squirming, pinned under that gaze, swallowing hard, “One more?”

Crane felt that twinge in his chest, the spark of triumph whenever he got this little witch who could throw him across the room with a single thought to bow to his whims.

He deliberately lowered his voice until it was a rumble in his chest, leaning closer until he could graze Stephen’s earlobe with his teeth, “Why don’t you tell me what you’d like to say?”

Stephen’s exhale was shaky, the want rolling off of him, “How...how do you say ‘kiss me’?”

Crane chuckled roughly, “Wěn wǒ. Though I don’t think that’s really what you want, sweet boy. It’s a little...chaste?”

He heard his lover’s coy answering laugh echo through his through, “To start. Wěn wǒ.”

The pronunciation could still use a little work but that was the last thing on Crane’s mind as he answered the request eagerly, moving back and pressing his lips to Stephen’s. He felt his little witch moan and melt into it, arms coming up to wrap around his shoulders and anchor them together. The scrape of stubble against his chin as he deepened their kiss told of the hectic few days Stephen had been having, so much happening at the justiciary that he hadn’t even had time to shave. Crane knew how lucky he was to be getting a whole evening with him and didn’t intend to waste it.

He could feel Stephen’s hands pulling at his shirt, trying to undress him, so he moved away and took hold of those skinny wrists, “You need to ask me.”

Stephen moaned in frustration but Crane rather thought it was his cock talking, the gleam of competition was still shining in those eyes rapidly turning golden, “Fine. My lord, how do I ask you to take off your clothes so you can fuck me silly?”

Crane had to laugh at that, “Well, I’ll shorten it for brevity but...Tuō diào nǐ de yīfú.”

Stephen’s eyes widened for a moment but then his face set determinedly, “Say it again? Slower?”

A mix of relief and pride in his lover made him smile down at him before obeying. He saw that fight in Stephen, the one he’d always admired, the one that had saved their skins on multiple occasions. Granted, it was a little different given that he was clearly aroused and sprawled out on the pillows like a half unwrapped gift.

“Tuō diào nǐ de yīfú.”

Again, the pronunciation was a horror and he wobbled his way through the unfamiliar sounds but he would have been understood at least. Not that he’d be saying it to anyone but Crane, in China or England.

Crane didn’t try to hide his delighted grin as he swept his shirt grandly over his head, followed swiftly by his trousers and everything underneath. He folded it all neatly before returning to the bed, he was never going to understand his lover’s willingness to just toss his clothes all over the place.

The way Stephen’s eyes blew wide at the sight of him was enough for even Crane to plumb new depths of vanity, “God, Lucien…”

“You see me sans modesty most every day, love,” he pointed out, though he wasn’t complaining.

“And I use my magic every day,” Stephen tilted his head slightly so the lamplight caught in his hair and turned it to gold, “It doesn’t mean it’s any less like having a weight taken off my chest.”

Crane didn’t know how he did it, how Stephen somehow found the right strings to pull and send him reeling out of nowhere. How he pulled the ground out from under him without a thought, how he looked right under his skin to the very soul of him and, somehow, found reasons to love it.

How he left him with no answer but to rush forward and kiss him again, forgetting the rules of his own game. Stephen made a noise of happy surprise, moving to match him, hands beginning to wander eagerly, leaving tingling trails across his lover’s skin to mark their passage.

But apparently Crane had sparked some curiosity.

When Stephen took his cock in his clever champagne fingers, he gasped against Crane’s mouth, “And what would I call this?”

His words came out significantly breathier as that fizzing, popping sensation wrapped around him, “There’s a few terms. I’d say ​​jība…”

“Jība,” it was impossible to care about the shaky syllables when he rolled it around his mouth in that unbearably sensual way, when he stroked a calloused thumb across the underside of the thing in question as he said it, “But there’s other ways of saying it?”

“A few more colourful phrases,” Crane admitted, “As in every language I expect but- oh God, Stephen…”

“We can review a few of those later then,” the smile on his face was nothing short of cheeky and he was going to be paying for that very shortly, “And...what exactly are you planning on doing with it, my lord?”

Crane smirked, it’s wickedly sharp edge making it clear that he was very much in control of this lesson and Stephen could just take a step back and remember his place, “Xìngjiāo. Hard and fast and thoroughly until you can’t walk.”

The effect was immediate, his lover turning pliant and wide eyed as Crane put a hand on the small of his back and dragged him closer. The hand snapped away from his cock and instead hovered around his chest with the other like nervous birds waiting for commands.

“Shì de…” he whispered after a moment of thought, eyes sparking with pride in himself though his face stayed carefully obedient.

Well, that went and did it.

Stephen was on his back in an instant, Crane seizing his ankles. Stephen cried out as his knees were shoved to his chest, as the shirt he wore rucked up around his stomach, all of him exposed and ready to be taken. So beautiful, so fragile and given to him so willingly.

“Xīngān…” The word escaped him even without thinking, like it was his heart speaking instead of his head.

Stephen’s lips parted softly, his eyes liquid amber, “What does that mean?”

Lucien’s smile softened slightly, even as he parted his legs further, as he let his hunger flow to the surface.

“Why don’t I show you first?”

After, everything was hot and heavy and heaving, Stephen reclining in Lucien’s arms and waiting for the room to stop spinning around him.

There was so much he wanted to say, as ever, thousands of emotions he wanted to name in the wake of feeling so completely loved but he knew they’d come out muddy and less than what he felt inside him.

Instead he reached up a still trembling hand and traced the line of Lucien’s jaw with a fingertip, “So...what does it mean?”

His lover���s eyes had been closed but now one opened slightly, like a contented cat lying in the sun, “Hm? What’s that, darling?”

“That thing you called me as you took me. Xīngān. What does it mean?”

An uncharacteristic edge of coyness slipped into his voice, one that would only ever come out when it was just the two of them, “Ah. Well. Literally? It means ‘heart and liver’.”

Stephen barked out a raspy laugh, incredulous and delighted, “Excuse me? That was what you chose to call me?”

His laughter was clearly infectious, Lucien shook under him with helpless chuckles, “I know how it sounds but…”

There was a moment, one of those moments where Stephen felt his lover made a choice. They happened often when they were alone together and it would have been so easy to read them as hesitancy. Before, when Stephen had been new to this, when he’d been less sure of himself, that’s exactly what he’d thought it was. He’d taken it to mean Lucien’s heart was already wandering, already thinking of the next man in his bed, fixing a mask in place before every term of endearment.

But he knew better now. He knew that pause, that moment where Lucien chose, was the breath he needed to go against everything he’d been taught. The choice he made in those moments was to open himself up and soften when the world had always forced him to stay out of sight and harden against everything that hurt him.

He moved slightly, letting Stephen turn so they could look into each other’s eyes, “It means ‘heart and liver’ because those are organs you can’t live without. And your Xīngān is the person you can’t live without, the person who you aren’t whole without. And for me, well...that’s you, sweet boy.”

“Lucien…” Stephen murmured, pressing a hand to his chest, “You’ll never have to live without me. Not here, not in Shanghai, nowhere in this world. I’m yours.”

“My heart and liver,” Lucien chuckled softly, cradling Stephen’s face in the softest touch.

“Xīngān,” he breathed, in the moment before their lips came together.

Stephen Day was a terrible student. But he was learning.

[megalony]

Love and affection- Part 5

Another update to my series which I hope everyone is enjoying so far.

@rogertaylorsbitontheside

Enjoy.

Part 1  Part 2  Part 3  Part 4  Part 6

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Running a hand through his hair in hopes to detangle the recently dyed strands Roger relaxed back into the sofa, eyes blankly staring at the tv in front of him. It felt weird to him to have such an air of silence in the apartment, almost to the point Roger felt like he was in the wrong home. Queen had recently got back from their mini-tour and this week was his week off, there was no way none of them could get right back into talking about their next tour yet. They were having a much-needed break whilst the album was about to be released, and once it had been out for a few weeks or months then they would get ready for the next big tour. Usually, Roger was all for staying in bed when he was home all day but the jet lag had worn off and he couldn't sleep anymore, unlike Ben who was still in bed but should be up soon. When (Y/N) had left early for work as someone had booked a photoshoot Roger had gotten up along with her making her worry something was wrong. He never usually got up in the morning, even if he was awake he was more likely to just stay in bed anyway.

Leaning forward the drummer grabbed the mug of tea he had made ten minutes or so previous, knowing it wasn't going to be as good as the one (Y/N) always made before she left which he drank in less than half an hour. No one in the band offered to make Roger cups of tea or even coffee because of how awkward he was when he gave his order. Three and one-seventh sugars in his cup and he liked a certain amount of milk as well. When (Y/N) made him cups of tea she had to estimate the sugar amount but always seemed to get the right amount and she added a dash of honey. Roger couldn't make tea the way she did, it was one of the many things he missed when he was away on tour without her. Placing the cup of tea back down on the table Roger grabbed the remote instead, deciding to flick through the channels for a while since he had time to spare. Ben had an interview today about the new movie he had just finished up filming and since Roger had the day off he was tagging along with (Y/N) as she would be back home in time to go along with them too. He had an hour or two before he needed to get dressed and ready for the drive down. Grinding his teeth together Roger pressed the palm of his hand to his ear, trying to get rid of the low ringing noise rattling through his head. It always happened a few days after the tour, to hear a buzzing in his ears because of all the loud music bombarding his ears and then coming home to a significantly quieter apartment. He couldn't turn the tv up to the point he could hear it clearly because Roger had it on loud and Ben may sleep a lot but he wasn't a deep sleeper. He would hear the tv and Roger didn't want to wake him up when he still clearly needed the sleep. Frowning Roger turned his head, eyes narrowing as he concentrated for a second, he could have sworn he heard his name being called. "Rog..." Sure enough, Ben's voice drifted through the apartment, sounding very low and slightly blurry to Roger's damaged ears but he heard the call nonetheless. Dropping the remote onto the sofa beside him Roger huffed, pushing himself up, feeling his elbow joint snapping back into the place as he did so. Roger rolled his neck as he walked around the sofa, leaving the living room to walk down the hallway in direction of the bedroom. "You called?" Roger stated as he opened the door, a light tone to his words as he glanced to the bed, the smile on his lips falling instantly when his eyes landed on his boyfriend. Ben was laid on his back which confused Roger instantly, Ben always ended up sleeping curled up on his side, for some reason he didn't like to sleep on his back. One arm was laid over his eyes which Roger could see was shaking, and the other hand was fisted tightly in the cover, his whole frame tense and trembling. Roger's eyes widened when Ben suddenly took a sharp breath ending in a hiccup showing he was crying. "Babe, what's wrong?" Scrambling over to the bed Roger sat on the edge next to Ben, gently taking his arm and moving it so he could see his features. Their eyes locking as Ben reached out and gripped his hand tightly, the tears had stopped falling but he couldn't stop the pain from showing on his face. Every muscle in his upper back seemed to be tensing and clenching as if they were suddenly shrinking. The moment he had tried to push himself up from the bed his back screamed to the point he could hear the noise in his ears. His jaw was oddly alright, his neck wasn't tensing or stopping his head from turning to the side but now his back was seizing up to the point he wondered if he was going to be stuck like this forever. He had been warned by the doctor that his muscles were likely to stiffen at random points and that it was normal but he thought that meant the muscles that were becoming effected not the rest of his body like this. How was this fair? His jaw muscle was going crazy almost every day, his neck was now following in suit and now his back was randomly becoming affected by this. Ben knew something like this was going to happen. Today was the day of his interview and for the past few days, everything had been fine. Ben had been able to go through the day without having to grab an ice pack to dull his jaw pain. He had been able to turn his head to the side and not worry that it was going to get stuck in that position. When he woke he was able to get through the day without suddenly becoming overwhelmed with sleep meaning he didn't have to go for a power nap and miss out on meals. Now on the day he had planned his first interview since his diagnosis, an interview where he was going to go public with what he was suffering to get rid of all the rumours, his disease had decided to flare up. There had been many speculations as to why he wasn't out in the public as much, why he had suddenly collapsed in the airport and why people had seen him in the hospital so many times. Ben adored his fans but at the same time, he hated how they needed to know every single thing about his life and how they came up with absurd reasons as to his absence from the media and his recent behaviours. Instead of having everyone pestering to know what was happening he decided if any question came up today which he just knew they would, he was going to answer honestly. Now he wondered if he was going to be able to get out of bed let alone be able to make it to the interview and get through it. "I can't sit up... I- I think my back's seized up." Ben choked on the words as Roger heard the absolute pain in them that made his heart drop down to the pit of his stomach. Just when they were getting to a point where Ben felt alright with what was happening to him and how things were going to change it kept surprising them all. "Oh fuck... what- do you need me to help you up, or...?" Roger didn't know what they were meant to do. Sometimes it was best not to aggravate the problem like this because if his back has seized up then standing up or even sitting upright might make it worse. On the other hand, Ben might just have slept funny and hurt his muscle and sitting up might help rather than adding pressure. Roger hadn't experienced or dealt with anything like this before or with Ben's disease either, he didn't want to hurt Ben in any way. "Help me sit up?" There was uncertainty in his words as his eyes pleaded for some kind of help but even he didn't know what was the best option for him right now. Nodding, Roger moved his other hand under Ben's shoulder, trying to help him up slowly but it didn't seem to work very well. He felt Ben tense, the actor breathing through gritted teeth as he pressed his hand harshly into the mattress trying to sit up. Moving his hand to the base of Ben's back Roger tried his best not to hurt him as he noticed the agonised expression on his boyfriend's face that made him want to cry. His other hand tightened around Roger's as he leaned forward, resting his head on the drummer's shoulder as tears of both pain and relief fell from his eyes. Sitting up definitely felt better than lying down. "Alright?" Roger questioned quietly, moving his hand to the back of Ben's neck as he kissed the top of his head. It was typical that things would start to crumble again right when they felt they were getting back on top. "Fuck, that's better. It's right under my shoulder blades." Pulling back a little so they were face to face Roger cupped Ben's face before gingerly pressing their lips together, sadness waving through him at the knowledge that the interview was going to have to be cancelled. Ben had been hyped up for this, it was something he wanted to do, to go and do his job and feel like his life wasn't changing for the worse with how his body was slowly degrading. Not every day was a struggle but knowing that most days were was getting the actor down because at the rate he was going acting wasn't going to be something he was going to be able to do for long. He was having to go on beta blockers for his heart just to make sure he wouldn't have some kind of fit or another collapse if he left the country. It made him feel worse that this had happened for no reason. It was likely that it had been passed through genetics but no one he knew in his family had suffered from this form of MD and there was no reason for this to happen now. Being told that it could happen at any point in someone's life didn't help because it seemed to come about right when Ben was at a high point. He had a lovely home with the two people he loved most in the world, he was at a rising point in his career. Roger was also at a great point in his career and so was (Y/N). Everyone was happy and things seemed to be looking up and then Ben's body decided it was going to start weakening and getting worse as the months went by and there was nothing anyone could do for him but to try and help him through it. The medication wouldn't stop his MD, but it was supposed to help the symptoms he was having. It didn't feel like it was helping very much and the fact he was having to rely on both Roger and (Y/N) to get him through the days and take away the pain and hurt he was feeling made Ben feel so much worse. He wanted days like he had this week where he was capable of helping himself. He didn't want Roger to have to go on tour on his own because Ben wasn't able to make the journey. Ben didn't want to have to stay home and sleep nearly all day when he got a day off because he was so fucking tired and he didn't want to go on holiday again with them both to have him spoil it by sleeping through each day that they were meant to have together with no distractions. This wasn't the life Ben had made for himself and there was little he could do to right it again. "Hey, hey it's alright. You're okay." Roger cooed, trying to brush away the tears falling drastically from Ben's eyes who didn't even realise he had broken down whilst stuck in his thoughts. "Let's just get up." Ben sighed, the tears coming to a stop as he had no more energy left to waste on self-pity that was wallowing up inside of him. The actor couldn't find the will or the energy to argue with Roger that actually it wasn't alright, nothing about this situation was alright. This disease was damaging all of their lives and Ben wanted to be himself. He was always a regular at the gym, he loved athletics and being proactive and for the last three months, he hadn't gone once. His body had been too worn down or physically aching for him to bear the thought of going and working out. He was beginning to wonder if he was going to have to give up the gym altogether. Ben wasn't okay because he was in physical pain that was turning into mental pain, he was hurting Roger when he didn't want or mean to and this situation wasn't okay with either of them and they both knew it. But arguing what they were both thinking wouldn't do anything but waste their time. "Baby... you can't go today." Roger felt tears in his own eyes at the look he received from his comment that felt like a wound had been inflicted onto Ben. "I need this Rog. I need to go out and do my job and..." The tears of frustration welled in his eyes again as he brushed the blonde curls from his eyes and onto the back of his head. "I can't keep locking myself away, I need this like you need your music." Resting their foreheads together Roger brushed the tears away with his calloused thumbs, sighing at the internal debate he was having. Of course, he wanted this for Ben, he wanted him to have his life back and go to interviews and do his job and he understood that his job was as important to him as Roger's was to him. But at the same time he needed help just to sit up in bed, he didn't seem capable of getting dressed, walking around and then going to an interview to sit down for an hour and then have to move about again when he was struggling now. "You couldn't sit up." Roger croaked. "How are you going to an interview if you needed my help to get up- you haven't even tried walking yet. I'm not trying to control you in any way and I understand this is your life but right now your life is changing, you need rest and that isn't something to be ashamed of." "I need help, Rog please I want to do this so help me." Ben watched his boyfriend grind his teeth together, something he did a lot when he was angry or frustrated and Ben hated being the reason he felt like that but at the same time, he needed Roger's help and support. He could see the wheels in the drummer's mind turning as he debated what he was meant to do. He wanted Ben to stay at home so he didn't have the risk of overdoing things today and making himself feel worse but on the other hand, how could he tell him not to go to an interview he had been looking forward to. Ben wanted to do this and wanted to feel himself again and Roger felt horrible to want to take that away. "Can you stand and actually walk?" Roger sighed, getting to his feet and holding his hands out expectingly. They needed to know if Ben was actually capable of walking and movement without pain but if the pain was in his upper back he might just be alright to walk without dire agony. Reaching out Ben grasped Roger's hands, entwining their fingers with a grateful look as the drummer gently pulled him up to stand. Keeping hold of his hand as he started walking, twinging in pain when he straightened up but other than that walking didn't seem to be a problem it had just been the way he was lying. "The pain's here, the doctor said I'd probably get stiff muscles sooner or later. It might go off soon." Ben pressed his hand beneath his shoulder blades, fingers grazing his back as not to apply pressure in case the muscles were as tense as his neck had been before not wanting to show if it was bad. "We have about an hour until (Y/N) will be back and we need to head off for the interview. Get a shower, take your meds and some painkillers and if you're better we'll both take you down to the interview." Roger sighed, resting his head on Ben's shoulder as he gently pulled him along, the pair making their way to the bathroom down the corridor. Roger didn't want to be that person that told their partner they couldn't do something but he needed to be the partner that knew where the limits were. If painkillers and his medication made him feel better and able to move about without a lot of pain Roger wouldn't dare stop Ben from going to his interview. But if the medication didn't work and Ben was still in crippling pain Roger would have to tell him he was crossing a line that was there for his own health. Ben was desperate to have his life the way it was before and he would easily cross the line to try and put things back to how he wanted them, even if it meant making himself feel worse. Roger wouldn't condone that, he wouldn't let Ben worsen his health to try and get his life back to normal because Ben couldn't have his old life back but that didn't mean that everything was going to be worse. They were all having to adapt to try and make things seem a new kind of normal for them all and sometimes change was a good thing.

[thong-in-the-twist]

Like a teenager

It’s a sequel to Nothing like porn

To the anon who asked me long ago to continue it, here you go! I gather you won’t be surprised to know that it contains smut?

The duality of your new life is scaring you. On one hand being back with Jongdae is one of the best things that is happening in your life, on the other hand having to ignore his job is quite straining. He never goes pornstar on you, he never lets that part of his life affect what you have, but this knowledge is always in the back of your mind, his porn-persona appearing when you close your eyes. And it takes a conscious effort to separate both of them.

The day he moves into your apartment is glorious. You survived the biggest threat to your relationship and months later you two are still going strong. Jongdae is as caring as ever, as sweet as usual, as whatever-else-positive-adjective-you-have as always. And what is even more important, you love the person you become next to him. You like that girl that becomes less of a homebody, that tries to experience new things. Not that it was ever wrong, but you like yourself coming out of your shell.

Jongdae’s things were slowly transferring from his own apartment to yours over course of your relationship. It became a question of convenience, having a toothbrush and a fresh set of clothes made your shared mornings easier. Soon better coffee machine appeared in your kitchen, male cosmetics populated empty space in your bathroom, your clothes were forced to squeeze to make room for sets that wasn’t prepared for you to wear (but you did nonetheless). The day his Xbox moved it was the day to call it official.

The knowledge that he is coming back every night is thrilling but also straining. You relish every second you spend together – but the moment he sets his foot in the apartment after work is always awkward.

You know he takes shower straight after work. You know that and he knows that you know. But it doesn’t help your paranoia, so he always goes straight to the bathroom. At the beginning of your cohabitation, he used to leave the shower with only his towel on, chest glistening with drops of water, but he quickly caught on how uncomfortable it was for you, so he stopped.

Every night you have to warm yourself up to him, skittish with knowledge what was he doing. But Jongdae coerces you back with stoic face and patience. He understands you more than you understand yourself.

But weekends, weekends are good. He doesn’t go to work. He doesn’t come back smelling of another (he never does, but your mind seems to be still rejecting that knowledge). You don’t have to reacquaint yourself with him. For those two days every week he is just your caring boyfriend. For those two days, you know how much you love him and how much you enjoy being with him.

The weekend is the time you come out of your shell.

Jongdae is reading something on the bed. He is wearing his favourite outfit – grey sweats, a promotional t-shirt and socks. You regularly laugh at this set but Jongdae always indignantly answers that he rarely gets a chance to be really comfortable so he is not going to compromise it because of fashion. And so now that outfit means home. You also started to recognize the importance of home-only clothes. Shorts or yoga pants with his hoodie is your to-go set, as cliché as it is.

Today is shorts day and your legs are freshly shaved and moisturized so it would be a shame not to share that with Jongdae.

Your weight dipping the bed brings a small smile to Jongdae’s lips and you answer with a notch broader smile which he doesn’t see, still focused on his book. You lean forward, supporting your weight on your arm, and you kiss his cheek. You are aware that in some relationships it would be really vanilla – but you do you.

Jongdae’s smile grows significantly bigger and he looks away from his book.

“Hi,” you say to him and corner of his mouth twitches slightly. He looks away, marking his page and reaches over to the nightstand to put his book away. Upon coming back he grabs you and gently coerces you onto him. You nearly don’t feel the pang of embarrassment when you kneel over his lap and when he brings you down to sit.

“Hello there,” he finally answers tucking your hair behind your ear. You are the one to kiss him for real. He immediately answers, per usual, but it’s you leading the kiss. And you let it turn hot, inviting Jongdae to kiss you deeper with teasing, but clever touches of your tongue and shy bites. His thumbs draw circles into your clothed back as he slides his hands down. You are not surprised when dexterous fingers knead your ass, but it still makes your breath hitch. His other hand caresses your thigh and muffled appreciative sound tells you that he can feel how smooth it is. He leans back against the pillows pulling you higher.

You are quite good at kissing and you feel quite good kissing him. And that certainly is a thing you can spend a lot of time doing, Jongdae never rushing you.

Quiet moan makes you freeze. You’ve never realized you were rutting and now it’s obvious that you were rubbing yourself directly on his crotch. And you were feeling good, no point denying it, your shorts adding surprisingly electrifying friction to your experience. Immediately you feel hot and embarrassed not having planned that far ahead, and you can already feel your arousal subduing. Your enthusiasm in kissing Jongdae also drops, but you are brought back to focus with his teeth slightly pulling your lower lip.

“Go on,” he encourages with a raspy voice, his thumb rubbing circles into your thigh. There is something pleading in his voice so you experimentally move your hips, grinding down on him, now feeling his hardness. He whimpers and kisses you with newly found fervour and it goes straight to your core. You are getting lightheaded but you can still notice how un-porny it is. You feel like a teenager, even though you didn’t do such things back in school. You are rocking on him, hips moving back and forth, and if you angle them down, if you angle them just right the hem of your own shorts rubs you just right and it feels amazing.

Suddenly you realize you are leaking, sipping through your shorts and staining light grey cotton of Jongdae’s sweats. Your embarrassment hits you back with double force and you don’t know if you should apologize or if you should just disappear. But Jongdae senses the moment something turns sour, he knows you just too well.

“You are doing great,” he says with constricted throat and you focus on his face. His cheeks are red, and his nostrils are flaring, and his forehead is shining, and you realize that he likes it. He actually likes it the way you are staining his favourite sweats. He tucks strands that fell on your forehead behind your ear and you bite your lip. You love him so much and you want to be everything he wants and everything he really needs.

So you go back to rocking, his fingers minutely sinking into your buttocks and you can’t deny you like it. You’ve slept with him. More than once, but it wasn’t as often as one could think, but you learned something new every time. And every time he took care of you. So it’s only natural for you to return the favour.

Moving your hips along his clothed penis was definitely new, but you enjoy it. You enjoy how close his face it and how open he is. You can watch all the feelings that cross his face, you see pleasure, arousal, warmth, victory, love – you see them all and you want more. So you work harder, ignoring the pain in your thighs, sweat on your back and disarming jolts of pleasure coming from your rutting. By now you feel it very well, it’s length and it’s girth, soft cotton feeling heavy with how soaked it is. You are surprised to see that it’s no longer not only you staining it.

Jongdae kisses you, both hands on your ass, encouraging you to keep the pace. He is getting vocal, all of the sounds forming in his throat and reverberating there – you can feel the vibrations with one hand on his shoulder with the thumb on his jugular. He is very pliant under you and it gives you unfamiliar rush, but you don’t dwell on that – your goal is one and simple, bring Jongdae over.

Exertion gets to you and you have to break the kiss to greedily inhale, and Jongdae kisses your neck, face snuggling into the hollow between your neck and shoulder. His breathing pattern is erratic and his cheek is sweaty against your skin, but you love it and you love his appreciative whimpers and throaty groans.

“Do you like it?” He asks and it nearly renders you immobile. His voice is low, deep. You know it, but it’s your first time hearing it live. You brought out his porn-persona. “Do you like how hard you can get me?”

You are not sure how conscious his words are, but you are astonished to feel how a shiver goes down your spine. Slap to your butt comes out of nowhere and you whimper, torn between flying or staying and effing.

“Do you get off on rubbing yourself on me? Mm, look at the mess you are making,” such words are being slurred into your neck and it’s terrifying how thrilling you find it. How thrilling it is to meet Chen. And you think you allow yourself to be taunted since you only bite your lip and grind with abandon. You can still feel the echo of his slap on your butt. It was a very first time something like that happened and you know, you know and you can’t deny that you liked it. You liked how your breath caught in your throat when he did that, how your butt throbbed in the aftermath, how your skin tingled where his hand made contact.

Jongdae coming is a surprise to you, but he comes with a deep groan and rapidly spreading wetness on his cotton. He sags on you, tenderly kissing your neck, and you awkwardly still, feeling the inexplicable thrill in your gut. You did it!

You actually made Jongdae mess himself.

It doesn’t matter that your body is pulsing or that you are tired as heck. You achieved something new and you are proud. You caress his hair and you slowly move to sit on the bed.

Your heart drops when you see how Jongdae looks at you. He is worried, he is scared, and you realize he didn’t mean for his monologue to happen.

“I am so sorry,” he whispers. He doesn’t try to reach for you, because he knows how skittish you are around him when his work is somehow implied. Even though it is painful to see him like that, you can feel his love and it warms you up. You don’t wait for him to apologize again leaning in to kiss him. It’s short and sweet, but you hope it’s reassuring.

“It’s ok,” you say to make it clearer, but Jongdae doesn’t seem convinced. You can feel how red you are already turning. “I… I quite liked it.”

Jongdae looks dumbfounded and you look down, not believing you said that. He tips your head up with his hand.

“In that case, thank you, it was deeply satisfying.” You have to laugh and his disarming smile is familiar, but there is something mischievous about it. His smile drops slightly when he moves to stand up, obviously grossed out by his sweats. “Well, gotta clean that up,” he announces and you laugh again feeling smug. Jongdae shakes his head at you. “But I will be back in a second and I will try to find out how much you liked it.”

[hotdamnvoltageman]

beyond the pale - part 3

tokugawa ieyasu x oda oichi

a/n: well, it seems this new ship has been christened YasuChi, and i’m game. thank you all for supporting this crack-ship because honestly i’ve had so much fun writing them! so, here’s some tags @uxoremmikael @jemchew @pasunny @naerial @hajeema @demon-princess-anastasia 

To say that Nobuoki was excited for his younger sister’s upcoming wedding would be an understatement. Where it typically fell to a parent to establish the trousseau—and, that lacking, the head of the Clan—there was nobody more prepared to step in than her other brother.

Nobuoki had always been of the gentle sort, and even more since his marriage to Rin (Oichi had the sneaking suspicion that Rin’s presence had a lot to do with his excitement), and while she appreciated his help—

“Brother, please…” Nobuoki was dragging her (and a sympathetic, if somewhat amused, Rin) into yet another fabric shop. Oichi understood the importance of the trousseau, of course—she was moving households, and she was of a high rank; not only was there a statement to be made, but she could appreciate the practicality of the endeavor—but after a full day of being pulled into one shop after another, she was starting to become immensely tired.

“Rin…”

Her pleas fell on deaf ears, and now as she stares at the boxes upon boxes of beautifully crafted kimonos and various cosmetic supplies, she can’t help but feel the weariness seep into her bones.

If she closes her eyes, she can imagine Ieyasu laughing at her for her bout of weakness—the urge to simply prove him wrong is what forces her to open the door when the knock comes.

“Yes?”

“Milady,” a maid greets, bowing, “Lord Nobunaga and his Lady wish to see you in the Main Hall.” Pride sparks through her at the fact that her best friend is now being called the Lady Oda within the castle walls, and she finds herself smiling despite her fatigue.

“Very well.” The maid leads her down the hall, the door clicking softly shut behind them, and on the dais sits her brother—at his side, his Lady.

“Oichi,” he greets, while her friend beams.

“Brother,” she replies, bowing her head. “You called?”

“I—” Before he can speak, he suddenly directs his attention to his Lady, who stares at him with an intensity that almost makes Oichi laugh. He sighs, gaze affectionate, and shrugs.

“You tell her, then, if you’re so eager.” Her expression brightens, and she turns to Oichi with a wide grin splitting across her face.

“We got you something,” she says, and she waves to a small group of maids standing off to the side. Oichi furrows her brows, watching as they lift the lid off the first box presented to her—

“Oh,” she breathes, looking into the box.

Inside is a stationary box, which she is sure is full of all the necessary implements—but the lacquered box itself is the truly stunning piece. It bears, in the center, both the Oda and Tokugawa crests. The rest was primarily black lacquered, but decorated with plum blossoms—just as she glances up, she catches a mischievous grin on her friend’s face.

“Nobunaga chose that himself,” she pretends to whisper, hiding her mouth behind her hand. Oichi stifles a laugh into her sleeve as her brother’s ears turn red.

“There are more chests and boxes,” she says, then, and the maid shuts the crate. “But that one is my personal favorite—and the smallest.”

Oichi beams at her brother, who sits stiffly with a frown etched onto his face, irritable as ever. It hits her, suddenly, that she is going to miss this; she is going to miss the Oda Clan.

“Thank you,” she says, swallowing back a lump in her throat, and means it.

Her two brothers, in conjunction, have taken care of absolutely everything in her trousseau.

“You should see how much there is,” she tells Ieyasu, as she prepares his tea in her chambers.

“More than a wench like you could ever need, I’m sure,” he teases, and she simply rolls her eyes.

“And far superior to anything you own, I’m sure,” she mocks in return, and although he glares at her over his tea she can feel it—an excited sort of buzzing between them.

She is hyper-aware of the fact that they both had very low expectations of marriage; before each other, they had intended to marry for the most political gain possible. But, the world is changing, and they along with it.

“Oichi,” he says, suddenly, and she glances up from her cup of tea to see him looking oddly serious.

“Yes?” He hesitates, then shakes his head, lifting the teacup into his hands once more.

“Nothing.” She knows it is anything but.

They don’t see each other again until the day of the ceremony. Oichi rises early, and while most brides she has met express and extreme anticipation that leads to overwhelming anxiety, Oichi can only feel that she is finally coming to the end of a victorious campaign. She eats more for breakfast than her attendants were expecting, and urges them to move faster as they carefully adjust her kimono.

The Lady Oda arrives just as they are adjusting her headdress, and immediately brings a hand to her lips.

“Oh, Oichi…” She sounds close to tears, and it makes Oichi laugh bright as bells.

“Lord Ieyasu is a very lucky man,” one of the maids concurs, and Oichi lifts her head regally, grinning playfully at everyone in her chambers.

“I know.”

The procession feels like a lifetime of waiting, as does the ceremony, as does everything, really. Oichi has never been one for pomp and circumstance in the royal court, and she would much rather be playfully arguing with Ieyasu in an empty corridor than standing in a too-heavy kimono while he stares at her as if she is someone he doesn’t recognize.

(White has always made her look far more docile than she is).

Thankfully, the kosode he chose for her is more suitable to her tastes—even if the colors do remind her of her brother. It is black, decorated with plum blossoms in red, white, and a deep blue. The stems are a dark gold, the color of his eyes, and she feels significantly lighter due to the absence of her headdress and the outer robe.

As expected, every eye in the room turns to her when she returns after changing into Ieyasu’s gift—but he doesn't look the least bit surprised. She sees the glimmer in his eyes though, the familiar curve of light off a golden knife.

She grins daggers right back.

They spend the evening casting glances at one another, the familiar feeling of hands on the smalls of their backs, be perfect.

(They are.)

Her trousseau has been settled, thankfully, by the time they arrive in his chambers—but it’s the last thing on their minds. It’s no abandoned hallway, but it seems better, even, as there is absolutely no chance they will be caught and it wouldn’t matter if they were, anyways.

It’s the freest Oichi has felt in a long time, the only restriction being the obi around her waist and his fingers on her wrist.

She wouldn’t say that Ieyasu was being affectionate—he acts, rather, almost ravenous. He complains that she’s walking too slow, and by the time the door has shut she’s already been backed against the wall—not that she has any complaints.

He kisses her, and it feels suspiciously like the first time this happened; there’s an edge to every move he makes, sharp and sinister, and her heart beats out a raucous tune in her chest.

“Get this thing off me,” she demands, clutching at his hair while her knees seem to go weak. Ieyasu smiles, a wild light glinting in his eyes as he looks down at her.

“Are you telling me what to do, wench?” He replies—and goes directly for her throat.

At first, she tries not to think about how she’ll have to hide those bruises in the morning—then, all she can think about is how to stay standing as he continues burning a trail down her neck and along her collarbone, slipping the fabric off her shoulder to leave more marks there. He’s going agonizingly slow, and she knows for a fact it’s on purpose; she grits her teeth and tries to think of something to say, but her mind is hazy at best.

Ieyasu, actually, is the first to speak, and his words are more a feeling against her skin than a sound she hears.

“I knew you’d look amazing in this,” he says, though whether it’s a compliment for her or himself she can’t be sure—she feels a shiver travel up her spine nonetheless as he pulls at the obi around her waist, his lips returning to her neck.

She feels her breathing become labored, and while his hands are preoccupied she uses his hair as leverage to drag his face up to meet hers, pressing a searing kiss to his lips. He readily complies, pressing her harder against the wall, and she bites onto his lower lip and drags her teeth across it so that his breath shudders into her mouth.

If he thought he had the advantage, she thinks, grinning—then he thought wrong.

Oichi has spent a long time learning to be charming; she knows how to bend men to her will, and her husband (the word is sugar-sweet but also fiery hot, taken too eagerly so it burns her tongue numb and leaves her throat scratching), while difficult, is no exception.

He may dislike losing, but she loathes it.

"You have hands," she says, teasingly, looking at him with heavy-lidded eyes. "Use them."

He looks, for a moment, offended—but there's a shift like cocking a gun, the sound of her obi hitting the tarami accompanied by a sound akin to a growl, though she isn't sure who makes it.

"Is that what you want?" He challenges, his lips slightly swollen; hers are numb, tingling, electric.

He digs his fingers so hard into her hips she is almost certain they will bruise, dark purple petals lingering on her skin. He drags their hips flush together, pressing into her, and she finds herself grinning like a madwoman in the face of his fiery gaze.

"Is it?" She teases, just to see the spark in his eyes flare to life, setting fire to the base of her spine and melting her knees down to smoke.

He doesn't reply except to half smile, half snarl, and pool the rest of her clothing on the floor.

His lips burn, and they burn, and she’s certain they will outshine the sun.

The morning dawns deliciously slow. She was right about the bruises—knows it the moment she wakes up—but as she attempts to move into a more comfortable position the arms around her tighten.

Ieyasu's skin is pale, turned rose gold by the incoming light. There are freckles near his elbow, and some sprinkled on his shoulders and along the far reaches of his collarbone (she recalls vividly biting patterns between them, possessive payback). She opens her mouth to complain about her position, but his breath tickles her ear, and she falls silent,

"I love you, wench," he breathes, sighs, and she wonders if he knows she's awake—if he's awake, even.

It isn't news that he loves her, they're married, now, by choice, but the open affection isn't common for him. He has never said he loved her before, in such plain words.

Her heart ricochets off her ribs and up into her throat, and it takes her a long moment of staring at the wall and focusing on her breathing before she can reply.

"That's Lady wench to you," she replies, but her breathless response does not deliver its usual punch, and elicits only a quiet huff of laughter from the man at her back.

"Too early for dung-beetles to be thinking, it seems."

"You said you loved me," she counters.

"Obviously."

She turns in his arms, uncertain whether she wants to fight back or kiss him, but her thoughts stop dead in their tracks upon seeing his face.

His hair is a mess, haloed gold by the sun, and there's a gentleness about him that is part dawn and part honesty.

If Oichi were a younger version of herself, she might have tears for this moment. But all she can do is listen as her breath hitches and then shakily continues on its way, all her possible irritation gone soft.

He smiles—actually smiles, the kindest she's ever seen him, really—

"Are you telling me you didn't know?" He snorts, but the gentle light remains, glowing, in his eyes.

"You really are from a family of fools—"

She presses a kiss to his lips, silencing him, and he unsurprisingly complies.

"Mind your tongue," she chides, soft. "You wouldn't want to upset your wife now, would you?"

He smiles his old, dagger-lined smile, and she pierces right back at him as he drags her closer to him.

"Would I?" He challenges, "I think I'd like to see that, wench."

Her grins stretches, and she lets her fingers dance along the bruises and freckles across his collarbone, looking up through her lashes to meet his gaze.

"Prove it, dear."

And, grinning feral, haloed gold like a crown, he presses her down into the bedding.

[stemcelltransplant-blog]

Sunday, March 27th, 2017

Was gonna start at around 8pm today. After spending like 3-4 hours on the first entry yesterday, I definitely wanted to start earlier. Alas, I was too tired and slept some more but now I'm awake so I'm hoping to just focus and write my lovely scrambles.

 Got lots of good reactions to my first entry yesterday. I have three versions of this now but I want to do a project to make a just personal website (not with my overdue website).

Nurse just came in! Done for tonight! No random interaction sayings for tonight. Sad. :( 

Daddy about to sleep. Love him <3 

Today. Long yet short. It's weird. I'm trying to think of things to say but it's such a blur from sleeping on and off.

It's a weird kinda feeling. When you sleep on and off all day, it just feels like a dream. Everything's faded, foggy.

 So today, I woke up. Lol. Such a boring being. 

Well, really I didn't wake up. I actually was awake all night. Stupid awake brain. I wouldn't stop thinking all night. Tried EVERYTHING. No electronics. Watching a show. Reading an article. Then I made the mistake. I opened my computer and started working. I was obsessed with trying to format a blog online (which would have been fine to just do over a few days). You can actually tell I was awake from all of my posts on Facebook. Then, there was this thing on Facebook I was trying to fix. I wanted my link in my post to show in the link preview box thingy so it would look organized. Spent a few hours just trying to fix it on my iPad which would have been easier on my laptop but for some reason I was too lazy to pick up my laptop. Felt that working on iPad gave might make it easier to go to sleep.

So then Nadine came in the morning.

See, now I'm starting to remember my day. Let the rambling begin!

Nadine is my nurse. So actually the nurses change a few times a day here. i get old and new nurses. It's annoying in a way. I'd rather just have a personal nurse because then they don't have to ask the same questions everyday, constantly check vitals, check heart rate and lungs, etc. On the bright side, I get to meet new people. But occasionally you'll get a the nurse who keeps you up all night or keep forgetting to do things.

Did I mention that I'm on contact isolation? Any time a nurse comes in, they have to gown up in protective gear. Also on respiratory isolation so they have to wear a mask. And then there's this special hazmat suit thingy they wear for my hazardous drugs. It doesn't bother me but I feel bad for the nurses. If they forgot something outside the door, they have to take off their gown to leave the room. And then put another one on when coming back it. Often, they'll just shout out the corridor to have another nurse get something for them. Now the door keeps opening and closing. Lots of noise.

Ugh. Papa forgot to get me a drink for the night. Wondering the quietest way to call for a drink without waking up papa. Is it better to just call the nurse now  O.o? or to just have water and call when I need more? See, we have call buttons in our rooms for when we need something. Problem is, they're loud. It'll wake Papa up in the morning. Right now, I'm probably bothering him with my typing and the light from my laptop (he'll occasionally move or ask if I'm ok or tell me to sleep). The only way I know he's really asleep is when he snores. 

Pee. Thinking I have to pee. Don't want to get up. Lazy. Papa will definitely hear me. 

Ok, getting up now. Be right back.

Nurse just came in. Have to renew my blood type and screen. Blood draw. Luckily have a triple lumen central line. No poking, prodding, sticking.

Loving this nurse. She scrubs the hub for thirty seconds. Central lines get infected easily so when the end is left open, there's always a chance for infections. Nurses are supposed to scrub the end with alcohol wipes for thirty seconds for optimal sanitizing. 

See, I'm very cautious and aware of my own health care. People take health for granted. Having an illness changes your perspective on almost everything. After having colitis for more than four years now, my life has changed significantly in small ways that I've become thankful for the weirdest of things. Restrooms around every corridor. Standing straight. Strong bones. Stable hands. Strolling through places. Being able to hold my potty. Etc.

Stomach rumbling but not feeling hungry. To drink calories or not.

Warning: gross illness technicalities. This is actually really important in this transplant right now. Calories. Intake and output (amount of stool and urine for output and what I drink for input).. Since getting GVHD of the gut, I've been on a bowel rest. I went about four weeks without any food. Doctors measured stool output to check on how bad the GVHD is. Really bad gut GVHD has four liters of stool  output a day.  Without eating. I came back to the hospital with over a liter of stool. My doc says that's about a 6 on a 1-10 scale of how bad the GVHD is. No idea what a normal output is.  So then they started to add medications. Spent three weeks just adding different drugs. With no food. Just water with medicine. Having alternating good and bad stool days. Docs are looking for less than five hundred stool before adding anything to eat or drink. Worst days during the three weeks were when stool got to goals and I started weening off of steroids (to lower my drug with it's bad side effect of a higher rick for infection)

Supposed to be asleep right now.

 Warning: more gross technicalities. What happened? Went from 200 mg to 150 mg a day. Was fine. Goes down to 50 mg per day. FLARE. Pooping more than a liter of stool again. From less than five hundred mg stool to over a liter in a day. Absolutely horrible.

 Took another week to recover after increasing steroids to 150. First two days of pooping every 30 minutes. Finally, stool was at goals for a couple of days after another week. Weening off steroids again. So scared.

Tomorrow starts day 94 post-transplant. Was supposed to be going home at day 100.

Weening of steroids again:

Day 1:Went down 10 mg.

Day 2: So far so good.

Day 3: Add a clear liquid item. Chose cherry Italian fruit ice.

Day 4: Down 15 mg. Goes well.

Day 5: One clear liquid. Chicken broth.

Kept asking if I could have one or two items, does it matter if they're the same item. So excited to finally be eating! :D

Day 6: Two items. Broth and fruit ice to be cautious.

Day 7: Down 15 mg.

Day 8: Add another item.

Basically now, down 15 mg and adding items every 1-2 days.

Point was? To explain why it's important how many calories I intake. All because I'm deciding what to drink now that I can finally eat. 

Ok, so back to today. Nadine came in for morning blood draws. Asked how was my night. Said I slept well. She had come in the middle of the night to check up on me. Tots knew that something was up. My dad started to wake up and asked how my night was. I tell him the truth. Don't know why. Stayed up all night. Brain wouldn't turn off. Now, Nadine says, "I knew something was up when you said you slept. I could just tell that you didn't sleep." LOL. Guess who's in trouble? Haha. No, we were just joking around. Fun memories.

The rest of the day is a blur again. So, it's a Sunday. That means not too much medicine wise. Also, everyone is gone so not too many visitors. I get my morning meds and everything. Still on clear liquids diet. I think I just caught up on sleep until going on pass.

Went to apartment. Was trying to go see the wonderful cherry blossoms. SO EXCITED. It's peaking right now. But we got a call from the photographer we really enjoyed that Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday afternoon would work to go and take pics. Hard decision. Decided to stay at apartment and just chill.

Sleep. Wonderful. That's all I did. Back to NIH.

Then we see one of my favorite nurses. NEED MOE for night nurse. Too late to request. Why???? I need to request her for tomorrow.

Still tired. Needed to start earlier on writing. Told myself to nap for an hour and write. Slept until about 10. in and out until 11. Tots awake. 11:45 dad wants to sleep. Tells me to sleep. Secretly keeps journaling until 2 am.

Now closing laptop and sleeping. Wish I had more to say. Good night.

[yoi-secret-valentines2017]

at the still point (there the dance is)

For @fandomdevoted, happy Secret Valentine’s! <3

at the still point (there the dance is) Moments like this are his to keep forever.  AKA Victor Nikiforov is a hopeless romantic. //

The blinding lights of the stadium flare as Victor falls, his mouth pressed insistently to Yuuri’s.  Victor has kissed before – and been kissed – but not like this.  Never like this, with the chill of the slick ice seeping through where his gloves and sleeves meet, with an entire stadium watching, with Yuuri’s lips and nose pressing gently into his neck. 

“That was the only thing I could think of to surprise you more than you’ve surprised me,” Victor says to the man underneath him, the one still several minutes behind, trying to process…everything.

“Really?” Yuuri asks slowly.  Disbelieving.

They finally make their way to the kiss and cry, where there’s neither kissing nor crying yet.  Victor can feel Yuuri’s body still humming giddily, somewhere between trembling and triumphant and thunderstruck.  No lecture.  Not this time.

The score comes in and it’s silver.  Victor leans in and presses another kiss to the top of Yuuri’s head, ruffling the back of his soft dark hair affectionately as his own silver bangs swing over his eyes.

–––––––––––––

As the event wraps up, Yuuri ducks into the locker rooms and Victor waits patiently outside, knowing very well what might happen if they’re left alone in there.  It’s not that he doesn’t want anything more to happen; he just likes to think he has a little more self-restraint than a rink locker room.  Yuuri is out in record time but Victor doesn’t make a move to leave, his eyes scanning Yuuri’s face.  “Victor?”

“Mm?”

“Are we going back to the hotel?”

Victor reaches out and squeezes his hand tightly, and Yuuri…he feels Yuuri squeeze back.  There’s a piece of hair dangling close to Yuuri’s eyes and Victor is allowed to brush it back behind his ear now, allowed these little touches that he’s been craving for months.

Victor has just decided to kiss Yuuri again when several reporters round the corner and descend excitedly on their moment.  He turns the almost-kiss into a hug at the last minute, a triple flip into a triple toe-loop, and still his stomach feels like he’s mid-jump and sure of his landing.

The reporters finally let them go at the front of the building, where they hail a cab to take them back to the hotel.  

It would probably be inconsiderate to kiss the living daylights out of Yuuri in the back of a cab, Victor laments.  What a shame.  Yuuri’s staring out the window now and the lamplights throw their warm glow onto his face every time they pass.  Victor can stare openly now, he realizes, so he drinks in the moment greedily – the soft, satiated smile Yuuri’s lips create, his hair coming undone, the sparkle that never leaves his eyes.

Before Yuuri, genuine smiles hadn’t come easily to him.  Now, he can’t stop, can’t stop smiling, can’t stop looking.  Not that he wants to in the slightest.

Victor pays the cab driver and wraps an arm around Yuuri, keeping him firmly by his side until they reach their hotel room.  They begin changing out of the day’s clothes and Yuuri heads to the shower, leaving Victor sitting on the bed with a smile arcing acrosshis face.

Victor is still hoping for another kiss, but doesn’t remember falling asleep when he wakes up the next morning still in half of yesterday’s clothes and his coach’s lanyard.  He’s under the blankets, snug and warm as the daylight begins filtering under the thick hotel curtains.  Best of all, Yuuri is curled up next to him and snoring softly.

Kissing can wait.

–––––––––––––

They’re back to their old routine in the next few days and to Victor’s chagrin, it’s almost as if nothing happened.  

But it did.

Victor knows this, Yuuri knows this, his family and the world knows it.  The most that’s happened since the Cup of China has been smiles that stay a little longer than before and gazes that linger on certain areas of each other.  Victor is ninety percent certain that he’s caught Yuuri checking out his ass at least twice just this practice session.  

But as much as Victor would very much like to press Yuuri against the wall of the rink and brush his mouth all over his soft skin, there must be a reason Yuuri hasn’t mentioned it.  He probably just needs time, Victor reminds himself.  Part of being a good coach was knowing when to push and when to let things happen.  But he can hope, and hope he does, that things will happen.  Like sucking softly on the softness of Yuuri’s neck as he’s holding Yuuri flush to his body.  Yuuri pushing Victor against the rink wall because they can’t even make it off the ice, Yuuri’s warmth pressing against him – and oh, that’s a thought.

Yuuri’s just screwed up another quad flip and Victor skates over to meet him on the ice, about to suggest they pack up for the day.  Yuuri’s not getting anywhere and, well, Victor won’t be in any state to go anywhere if his mind keeps drifting like this.  Victor tells him as much, though in significantly less detail, and Yuuri nods.

“Are you sure there’s nothing on your mind?” Victor tries, gently cupping Yuuri’s cheek.  Kiss me! a voice in Victor’s head practically pleads.  Yuuri flushes – from the ice or from Victor’s hand, he can’t tell – and assures him there isn’t.

Yuuri suddenly looks into Victor’s eyes and he thinks this might be it, Yuuri is finally ready to kiss –

“Ah, Yuuri, Victor!” Yuuko calls from the side of the rink.  “There’s some paperwork we need to submit about using the rink after-hours.” 

They break away immediately – which is silly, Victor thinks, Yuuko already saw them kiss on live television.  But Yuuko is Yuuri’s childhood friend, so he supposes he’ll let Yuuri take the lead on this one.   

–––––––––––––

They’re squished onto Yuuri’s bed one day after practice, Yuuri on his phone Snapchatting Phichit and Victor editing pictures for Instagram.  

“Yuuri,” Victor begins, turning over to ask…something.  He’s not sure what – and has no chance of remembering – now that he’s turned over to find himself face toface with Yuuri.  For one thing, Yuuri’s eyes are deep brown like coffee and forget trying to remember his question, Victor might just forget himself.

His gaze falls instead upon a discolored patch with torn tape on the wall behind Yuuri – like something was there before.  Something hastily torn down.  “Yuuri, what’s that?”

Apparently Yuuri knows very well what that is – or was – because his cheeks flush impressively close to the shade of Victor’s Team Russia jacket.  “That’s not really important,” Yuuri mumbles and presses his face into his pillow.

“Yuuri–”

“Imayhavebeenobsessedwithyou.”

“Repeat?”

“I was a big fan of yours,” Yuuri chokes out.

“I know that,” Victor teases.  “I just didn’t know you had posters.”

“I didn’t say anything about posters,” Yuuri protests, but Victor leans over to him, nearly brushing noses.

“Yuuri Katsuki had posters of me,” Victor says, closing his eyes happily and letting himself feel the grin spread across his face.  Yuuri doesn’t respond.

When Victor opens his eyes, they’re so close his mouth could be on Yuuri’s before either of them can think about it.  And Yuuri’s hair is uncombed, his eyes are closed, his mouth is inviting and pink, and the collar of his shirt has slipped down just enough that Victor’s mouth just wants to latch on… He thinks maybe Yuuri is okay with this, or might even kiss him.  He’s hoping.

“Yuuri, Victor!” Yuuri’s mother calls.  “Dinner!”

–––––––––––––

“Do you not like me?” Victor finally says at dinner one day.  

“What?” Yuuri drops the noodles back into his bowl with a loud plop, eyes wide like he’s barely noticed the broth slosh onto the table.  “How– Why would you think that?”

The tension lies shattered like glass at their feet and Victor lets out a steadying breath.  “Yuuri, I’m–”  How does he manage to get himself into these situations?  “I’m sorry.”  He knows Yuuri has a fragile heart.  He should have known better.  Should have known–

Yuuri is quiet.  He’s often quiet and Victor is by no means a Master of Reading Yuuri Katsuki, but he’s hoping he’s right when he thinks Yuuri seems more thoughtful than sad right now.  

“I just don’t have a whole lot of experience,” Yuuri tells him, staring down at his hands.  

“I know,” Victor says reassuringly.  Yuuri suddenly looks like a cornered animal.  Well, Victor thought it had been reassuring, at least.

“Was it that bad for you?” he asks.  Oh. Yuuri, no.

“No, no,” Victor waves his hands as if trying to swat away the problem.  “Not at all.  On the contrary, I was very much hoping you might–”  Yuuri doesn’t offer an end to the sentence, so Victor takes the leap.  “I had hoped you might kiss me again.”

“I wasn’t sure you wanted me to.  I thought maybe if you had wanted it, you would have done it again.”

“I thought if you had wanted it…” Victor trails off.  “Well, it’s not so important now.”

“Or I thought you’d forgotten,” Yuuri steamrolls on.  “Or was hoping to forget.”  As if Victor could forget about kissing Yuuri.  The moment is burned into him, not a memory but a part of him.  Something he can’t possibly separate from who he is.

“Of course not.”  Victor leads Yuuri’s chin upward so he can meet his eyes.  “I never want to forget you.”

“It’s like my jumps,” Yuuri tells him later when they’re sitting together on the bed, because of course everything comes back to the ice.  “If I think about them too much, I’ll second-guess myself and screw them up.”

“May I?” Victor asks, waiting for Yuuri’s nod of approval before running his hand through Yuuri’s thick dark hair.

They don’t say much after that.  It’s been a long day and they both start getting ready for bed automatically.  Yuuri brushes a soft kiss to Victor’s cheek before dozing off.

–––––––––––––

It’s been a bad day overall.  First Victor trips over Makkachin on his way down the stairs.  The toast he tries to make goes up in smoke through no fault of his own (Yuuri’s backside is far too distracting).  He’s late to get ready, somehow manages to pull a muscle at Ice Castle Hasetsu, and the shop is out of his and Yuuri’s favorite soup, which he promised to bring back for dinner as a treat.

He’s barely gotten in and closed the door when something lunges at him at full force, knocking him backward.  Suddenly, Yuuri’s lips are on his and Victor decides that Yuuri must have some sort of superpower because now his day isn’t bad at all.  In fact, for all he can remember, it’s been rather nice.

Yuuri smiles against his lips and in Victor’s mind, they’re falling again, onto the ice with the blinding stadium lights above them.  It’s the still point, like everything is frozen, and he’s watching a snowglobe scene from the outside.

Yuuri’s kiss isn’t passionate or desperate.  But then, he thinks, maybe it shouldn’t be.  Right now, Yuuri trusts him – and wants him.  And he’s kissing him so softly, so sweetly, like the cool waves lapping over his feet on the beach. 

Victor can almost hear the seagulls soaring overhead through the silver sky of Hasetsu.

//

[sustainhealthmagazine]

How to Get Rid of (and Prevent) Shin Splints

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Shin splints are the bane of runners and athletes everywhere and in this article, you’re going to learn how to banish them for good.

By Michael Matthews Muscle for Life

I’ve long preferred biking to running but a few months back decided to mix things up…and I quickly learned how much shin splints suck.

The pain would come on fast and hard, like a vise clamping down on my leg, and the more I ran, the worse it got.

That, of course, got me wondering. What are shin splints? What causes them? And what can I do to treat and prevent such an aggravating pain?

Learn how to get rid of and prevent shin splints here.

Well, I read up, tried various strategies, and want to share with you what I’ve learned.

So let’s get to it.

What Are Shin Splints?

Shin splints is the layman’s way to refer to what’s known medically as medial tibial stress syndrome (MTSS).

And while they might feel like fiery demons are waging war against your shins, the common causes are far less exciting.

There are two primary causes for shin splints: excessive pressure and/or impact on the lower leg tissues and bone.

Simply put, when the tibial muscles, tendons and bone tissue becomes overworked, the pain begins. And the more you try to push through it, the worse it gets.

There are two types of shin splints: anterior and posterior. Anterior shin splints are felt down the front of the leg and posterior are felt down the inside of the leg.

Not all shin pain is caused by shin splints, though.

Pain on the outside of the lower leg might be compartment syndrome, which is a buildup of pressure in a section of the body that contains muscles and nerves. Symptoms of compartment syndrome include pain, strange nerve sensations, and muscle weakness.

Stress fractures (small fractures) are often mistaken for shin splints and may even accompany them.

A bone scan is necessary to know for certain, but one way to tell shin splints from stress fractures is to run your fingers over your shin, applying pressure. If you find a spot that triggers sharp pain, that’s a sign of a stress fracture. Shin splint pain is more generalized.

Stress fractures also tend to feel better in the morning, after the bone has rested all night, whereas shin splints often feel worse when you wake up because the inflamed tissues tighten overnight. Shin splints also flare up when you flex your foot up or down, depending on which tibial muscle is aggravated.

Ultimately, there isn’t a consensus among sport scientists as to exactly what’s causing the shin splint pain. Theories include inflammation of and/or small tears in the tibial muscles, inflammation of the periosteum (a thin layer of tissue wrapping around the bone), damage to the bone itself, and various combinations of these.

Fortunately, however, common causes and effective treatments and preventative measures are better understood.

What Are the Common Causes of Shin Splints?

Any runner will tell you that shin splints tend to begin when mileage is increased or running surface hardens or terrain changes (hill running is a common trigger).

Other common causes are worn-out footwear, overpronation, flat feet, and even excessive stress placed on one side of the body from running on cambered roads or always in the same direction on a track.

It’s not the exercise per se that causes the problems, though; it’s the repeated shocks of landing and changing directions that does it.

This fatigues and overloads the muscles of the lower leg, which makes them less and less able to absorb the force of the blows. This is why shin splints only get worse if you try to push through them.

The common causes of shin splints can be boiled down to this: too much, too fast. This, then, informs how to properly treat them…

How to Get Rid of Shin Splints

Like any exercise-related injury, the first thing you have to do when you get shin splints is, depending on the severity, decrease or stop whatever is causing the problem.

The general recommendation is 2 to 6 weeks of rest, but that doesn’t mean you have to stop training completely.

For example, if running on a very hard surface like concrete ignites your shins, switching to a softer surface like pavement, gravel, dirt, or grass, can be enough to provide relief. You should also avoid hills and uneven surfaces.

Many people find that shin splints come on after several miles of running, or after several runs in a week. In these cases, reducing the length or frequency of the runs is likely to help.

If any amount of running whatsoever is a problem, you can switch to biking or swimming or some other form of cardio that doesn’t cause you pain.

You also want to start icing your shins every day to reduce inflammation. The easiest way to do this is with a special ice pack like this:

And to follow a standard RICE protocol of 10 to 20 minutes of ice 3 or more times per day.

There are two stretches that can help as well.

1. Stretching your calves and Achilles tendons.

2. Stretching your shins.

There’s evidence that other therapies can help such as deep tissue massage and acupuncture, but the research is inconclusive. If you have the money, time, and inclination, there’s no harm in trying them.

The Bottom Line on Getting Rid of Shin Splints

As you can see, patience is a big part of treating shin splints.

The strategies given above can speed the healing process up, but you can still expect 2 to 6 weeks of recovery time until the pain goes away, and it’s very important that you make sure you’re pain free before you resume your normal activities.

How to Prevent Shin Splints

I’m of the mind that treatments are good but prevention is better. Why wait to fix something that’s broken when you can keep it from breaking in the first place?

Well, many people struggle with shin splints on and off for years without realizing there are ways to prevent them.

We’ll discuss the scientifically validated methods here.

Strengthen Your Core, Glutes, and Calves and Shin Muscles

Developing these muscles can improve running mechanics and prevent overuse injuries like shin splints.

Here are workouts that can help you with the major muscle groups:

And here are a few simple exercises for strengthening your shin muscles:

Stop Heel Striking

“Heel striking” is just what it sounds like it–landing heels-first when you run.

The impact of the heel strike is significantly worse than a proper midfoot landing, which is why heel striking is known to increase the risk of developing shin splints and other running-related injuries.

Here’s a good video that shows the difference between heel striking and midfoot running:

If you want to learn more about how to run properly, prevent injury, and maximize enjoyment and performance, check out Kelly Starrett’s latest book Ready to Run:

Use the Right Shoes

Worn-out and/or ill-fitting shoes can contribute to shin splints and, contrary to popular belief, soft, cushiony shoes can as well.

Shock absorption is part of the reason why shoes matter but stability is equally if not more important.

Overpronation is extremely common and you want your shoes to help prevent it. And in case you’re not familiar with overpronation, here’s what it looks like:

As you can see, when the ankles roll too much to the inside, they’re overpronated, and this puts extra pressure on your shins.

Well, good running shoes can help this whereas battered or squishy shoes or ones that don’t fit can’t.

This is one of the reasons why it’s generally recommended that you replace your running shoes every 200 to 300 miles (and that you never wait longer than 500 miles).

I’m not big on running so don’t have much in the way of personal recommendations for shoes, but I would go with something made to prevent overpronation and promote midfoot strikes, like one of these:

What About Compression Socks?

Compression socks (and compression gear in general) is popular among athletes and there’s good evidence that it can help reduce muscle soreness and speed muscle recovery.

Thus, it’s understandable why compression socks are commonly recommended for preventing shin splints, but research casts doubt on this application.

That said, studies on compression socks are all over the place and hard to interpret due to the wide range of socks used, the experience level of the runners involved, and the inability to accurately measure certain parameters.

Remember that when we’re talking health, fitness, and exercise, anecdotal evidence can be valuable, and especially where scientific evidence is conflicting or meager.

If I were struggling with shin splints, I’d give compression socks a go because enough people say it gives them relief. I’d chalk it up to “worth a shot.”

And if you’re going to do that, you should know that research suggests that there is a “sweet spot” for the amount of compression provided by the sock. In this study, scientists found that, in subjects at rest, 20mmHg at the ankle improved blood flood but 30mmHg restricted it.

Furthermore, graduated compression is most effective, which means you want a sock that is tighter in the ankle are than the knee.

Here’s a compression sock from a reputable brand (CEP) that meets these criteria:

Or you could go with their compression sleeve if you prefer:

And in terms of how to use compression socks/sleeves, you can run with them and/or wear them afterward. Many people wear them as much as they can tolerate, which seems to range from several to 16+ hours. Experiment and see how your body responds.

If wearing them for long periods of time causes pain, though, it’s time to take them off. The compression can eventually aggravate baroreceptors in your leg, which is going to hurt.

The Bottom Line on Shin Splints

As debilitating as your shin splints might be, you can get rid of them for good, and this article shows you how.

If you’re currently in the throes of tibial torture, back off and let them heal, and then strengthen your core and lower body, work on your running technique, make sure your shoes are up to snuff, and if you’re willing to give them a go, pick up some high-quality compression socks.

Happy running!

What’s your take on shin splints? Have anything else to share? Let me know in the comments below!

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[thedistancerunnerdiary]

My first semester of college

I know I’ve mentioned in previous posts the series of unfortunate events that occurred in my first semester of college that ultimately lead me to a broken and unhappy person, which lead me to transfer schools at the end of the semester. I wanted to take the time to talk about my experiences, in hopes that maybe this helps someone out there struggling with the same things!

I started off at a small DIII college in Iowa, about 3 hours from where I grew up. Something I should note is that this was the only school I visited, and basically was committed to going there after one visit. TIP FOR SENIORS: Visit more than one school! Even if the school may seem perfect, always go and check out other schools for comparison. That way you have more ideas of what college is like, what to expect, and maybe what you really do love or don’t love about that “perfect” school. 

As August started, I was just beginning to dread going to school. I had previously thought I was not going to have a problem with leaving for school, but as move in date for team camp approached, I just didn’t have any desire to go. I wasn’t excited, I wanted to stay home, and my boyfriend was also leaving to go to team camp at his school. Although we were only 45 minutes away, and our schools were conference rivals, I was not looking forward to not seeing him more days than I did. I know this sounds clingy, but think about it this way: I was going to a school where the only person I knew was my roommate and my ex; I’m sure being able to have someone as close as I am to my boyfriend would’ve made all the difference in the transition. Anyway, I came into team camp with a positive spot test for mono, which I had been running positive on and off for the past year, so this wasn’t new, but I was coming in not being able to do what everyone else did, and was given significantly lower mileage than everyone, and immediately felt like shit.

The beginning of October was when things started to go downhill. I started going home most weekends (6 hours round trip), and if I wasn’t at home, I was at my boyfriend’s school. At this point, the only thing getting my through the week was the weekend, when I got to see my boyfriend or go home to see my family. On top of that and looking back at it, both my boyfriend and I were stressed out with not being at the same school, college as a whole, and I think just having to fend for ourselves the whole time. This strained our relationship, and we were often short and frustrated with each other for pointless reasons that had nothing to do with us being together- I guess we both just took it out on each other. On the weekends we’d finally get to have decent conversations about our weeks and understand why the other was so UGH during the week. We’d have fun, go camping, and I got to meet a lot of this friends and teammates. 

One morning, we were doing a track workout before class to beat the heat of the day. It was repeat 1k’s just a touch slower than race pace. I had just been getting back into workouts as the mono flare went away, but during this workout, I knew something was wrong with my knee. I finished the workout, feeling crappy because I was not able to hit any of my times, and literally hobbled off the track. That night I couldn’t get up the stairs to my second floor dorm room, and skipped going to dinner because I didn’t want to walk- that’s how bad my knee hurt. The next morning I was 10 minutes late to the morning shake out because of how slow I had to move. I put myself on the bike, called my coach, and told him something was really wrong. I went and saw the trainers that afternoon and they suggested that the reason my knee hurt so bad was because of an inflamed plica. They said ultimately if that’s what I had, I would have to have surgery; but in the mean time I should be ultra sounding the area up to 3x/day. Not entirely trusting the trainers (I’ve just bad experiences with them, like the one in high school who told me I had compartment syndrome, then let me go run?? That was stress fractures 1-3) I made an appointment for an orthopedist at home. He ordered an MRI, and found a serious stress fracture that spanned from the front to the back of the head of my tibia (to visualize this, make a fist. The fist is the head of the tibia, the lines between the fingers is how the fracture ran). It turned out that the ultra sounding had made it worse, on top of continuing to do short runs and elliptical-ling. I was sentenced to 8-12 weeks no impact. If my first semester wasn’t already going shittily, this was the final blow- taking away the one thing that kept me sane and brought a little bit of happiness to my day. Because I couldn’t run, I stopped going to regular practice. I pretty much only left my room for class, meals, and to go to the local Y to aqua jog for an hour. I was not in a happy place physically and mentally, and even though I finished the semester strong academically (3.8 GPA) I was relieved when we finally went home for winter break. 

Over Christmas I was so happy. I was with my family, friends, and boyfriend all the time. I was allowed to begin biking for 30 minutes a few times a week, and I was so glad- I was getting tired going back and forth in the pool for hours. It was around this time that I started looking at my boyfriend’s school pretty seriously. I had before- within the first month, I knew my school wasn’t the school for me, but wanted to give it a fair chance. When I was looking at my boyfriend’s school, I figured I would finish out the school year at my current school, and if I still didn’t like it, I would transfer to his school next fall. It wasn’t until the morning I left to go back that I realized how much I didn’t want to go back. I didn’t want to go back to feeling less than my teammates, feeling lonely, and feeling like the busted burden that my team had to deal with. 

Since my boyfriend’s school is only 45 minutes away, we drove back together (I was starting spring classes, he went down early for track). We stopped halfway for dinner, and when he asked why I had been so quiet the ride down, I burst into tears and told him how much I wanted to not go back, and that I wanted to go home. Later that night, we called my parents and discussed my options. They knew how unhappy I was at school and we came to the decision that I had two options: either finish out the year, or come home and sit the semester out. Personally, I had no problem with sitting the semester out. I had come in with a semester’s worth of credit from AP classes, and figured I could work the semester, then transfer next fall. However, I was scared of the judgement I would receive from my friends, teammates, parents’ friends- everyone. So that night we decided I would finish the year, then transfer next fall. I got back to my school the next afternoon and was permitted to run 10 minutes around the track- my first run back. But I was not excited, in fact, the entire time I thought about how pointless it was to only be running 10 minutes. And I was devastated that it didn’t make me even slightly happy. That night my roommate asked what was wrong, and I broke down on her just like I had my boyfriend the night before. We called my parents and boyfriend, and they told me that for the sake of my mental health at the time, I couldn’t stay at my school. I was either going to come home, or I was going to cross my fingers and see if I could still transfer to my boyfriends school. I sent an email to the school’s transfer coordinator that night, and by morning I was given the okay to come.

The hardest part was telling my coach I was leaving, and that there was really nothing he could say to change it. He knew I was considering transferring next fall because I didn’t feel like I belonged or fit into the team and school, and he was super supportive. He even helped me fill out the transfer paper work for athletes, and encouraged me to get in touch with my new school’s coach to let them know I was coming. It was a weird feeling about transferring. It wasn’t like I hated that school, or the people on the team, or anyone I met. All of the professors were kind and helpful, my coach was great, every staff member I met were all very nice; it was just that I did not fit into the puzzle that was the school. Ultimately, I knew I was making the right choice for me, and even though it was a little scary basically starting college all over again, I was excited to be somewhere that I actually wanted to be.

Immediately, something clicked when I got to my new school. It was nice having my boyfriend there, and I think having someone to help my adjust but also take care of me during this whole ordeal was important to me doing well at this time. I contacted the coach, who was excited to hear that I was coming and wanted to meet with me right away. My new coach was so enthusiastic about getting me healthy and ready to compete again, and my favorite thing he said to me was “This is going to be exciting…we don’t even really know how good you are” (he said this in regards to me never have completed a full season of anything due to injury or illness). This reignited a fire that I thought had blown out- after my injury in October, I had questioned whether it might be a better idea just to give up competitive running- and after he said this, I knew I had more to give, and farther to push myself. I met the girls on the team that afternoon, immediately hit it off with all of them, and was allowed to run 10 minutes on the indoor track. This time the 10 minutes was the best 10 minutes of my entire school year so far, and really, that’s when I knew the decision to transfer was the right one for me.

I guess the moral of the story is that you have to do what is right for you, no matter what you think others will say and no matter how afraid you are to let someone else down. Transferring at semester was by no means easy for me at all. The week between telling my coach I was leaving and moving into my new school I didn’t eat, I filled out so much paper work, packed my room, had to tell the couple friends I made I was leaving and why, I cried a lot, and questioned whether I did just need to go home for the semester- but once I sat down and surrounded myself with people who loved and had my best intentions in mind, I figured out what I needed to do, no matter how scared I was to do it. Which leads me to lesson number two: have a support system. Surround yourself with positive people that you trust and know have your best interest in mind. It’s okay to be vulnerable. Ask for help, tell them how you’re really feeling, don’t bottle it up. I had been pushing back the feeling of not belonging since the beginning of the semester, and had I stopped to deal with it, maybe my semester at my old school wouldn’t have been so abrupt and dramatic. IT’S OKAY TO CRY. I hadn’t cried in years (no exaggeration), and I think I cried the most this past year that I ever have in a time span of 9 months. Sometimes you just gotta let it all out! Lastly, don’t give up on something that makes you happy. I was so close to just saying “screw it” when I was diagnosed with that stress fracture and throw in the towel. Today, I’m so glad I didn’t. Running has rewarded me with so many amazing experiences and people that I couldn’t imagine what I would do without it in my life. 

So I hope this long post was struck a chord with someone out there, and maybe give someone the courage to take hold of their unhappiness and turn it into positivity.

[greggreaen]

How To Get A “Toned” Physique.

Women always ask me for my top training tips on getting a “toned” physique. You want to know the truth? Pick up some weights and make them heavier than your purse.

How To Get A “Toned” Physique.

Thankfully there are more women strength training now than ever before. The days of hours of cardio and pulsing FOREVER to “feel the burn” are gone.

With that said, it’s still a fact that most women don’t strength train properly. The gyms are filled with women who pick up nothing heavier than a pink dumbbell. They think if they pick up some real weight that they’ll wake up the next morning looking like the incredible Hulk.

I have seen this day after day while working in the gym. The women will make their way back to the weight room and they’ll proceed to do dumbbell curls and triceps kickbacks with the little pink dumbbells. Or they will stick to group fitness classes and chronic cardio routines because it’s “safe”, “easy”, and non-intimidating. This is a recipe for plateaus, frustration, and overuse injuries.

Most women never pick up enough weight to get a great training effect or know how to structure a balanced strength program that will allow them to see benefits.

I have coached dozens of women and helped them learn HOW to strength train to improve their physiques, fitness, and confidence. If you’re one of those women who think you’ll get big and bulky from lifting weights, you need to dismiss that myth right now.

Get it out of your head right this second: you will NOT look like a body builder if you add regular weight training into your workout routine. In fact you may finally just achieve that lean, “toned”, body you are killing yourself over with all that cardio.  Are you ready to open your mind and try something different? Be prepared to impress yourself with results.

Here are 16 great reasons you should add strength training to your life:

How To Get A “toned” physique. 16 Reasons You Want To Strength Train

1. Get ‘that body’ you really want (Lean, toned muscles; More definition) How do you get more toned? Light weights and lots of reps right? At least that’s what we’ve been told for years to believe. However, training to “get toned” with high-reps and light weights will not provide the same benefits as lifting properly with heavy weights. Getting ‘toned’ requires two things to happen:

•    Ridding excess body fat

•    Increasing the size of muscle cells to provide shape.

Getting a “toned” body is all about building muscle. For some, it requires the additional removal of any fat covering up the muscle, but it is muscle itself that gives you sleek, sculpted curves so you don’t just look bony once you lose excess body fat. So how do you lose body fat and increase lean muscle concurrently? Combine a healthy amount of cardio / anaerobic exercise (HIIT, sprint-type workouts, plyometrics) with at least one to three weight workouts a week with weights that are a ‘just right’ challenge for you (heavyish weight with proper form).

2. Strengthen Bones & Muscles. Lifting weights not only builds “toned” muscles, it makes for stronger bones too. Did you know an average woman can lose up 1% of bone mineral density every year?For men, it is not quite as much, but it adds up! After the age of 25, we lose more than one-half pound of muscle every year without a regular strength-training regimen. Add strength training to your arsenal of weapons against osteoporosis. When you strength train, the act of moving your bones through muscle action increases its density. Your skeletal system becomes stronger in response to the demands that strength exercise places on your body. Increased bone density will reduce the risk of fractures and chronic disease as you age. According to the American College of Sports Medicine (ACSM) you can significantly reduce your risk of developing osteoporosis by engaging in regular weight training workouts.

3. Burn More Calories. We tend to think of cardiovascular exercise as the calorie torcher necessary for losing weight. However, it’s better to lose inches AND gain muscle than to just simply lose pounds. Muscle, unlike fat, is metabolically active. Cardio burns calories during the workout. Strength burns calories both during AND after the workout. The Journal of Strength and Conditioning Research found that women who completed an hour-long strength-training workout burned an average of 100 more calories in the 24 hours afterward than they did when they hadn’t lifted weights. Replace 10 pounds of fat with 10 pounds of lean muscle and you can burn an additional 25 to 50 calories a day without even trying. This “afterburn” effect is the metabolism boost needed to maintain a healthy weight over time and maximize your calorie burn.

4. Lose More Fat. In addition to burning more calories, resistance training may help your body to burn more fat overall. Score! In one study on over 700 females, lifting weights for just 25 minutes three times per week led to the gain of nearly two pounds of muscle, and the loss of four pounds of fat. If you’re familiar with how physiques work, then you know that is a radical change in appearance!Now, picking up heavy things burns a respectable amount of calories on it’s own. No doubt about that. But that’s not why lifting weights is so effective for burning fat.When you lift something heavy, you’re setting your body up for metabolic reactions that allow you to utilize nutrients better and continue burning calories for up to 36 hours after your workout. There’s this thing called your Basal Metabolic Rate (BMR). It controls how many calories your body burns while you rest. As you gain more muscle, you increase your BMR, along with how much you can eat and still stay lean. The more lean muscle on your body, the less body fat you will store, and the harder it will be to gain weight.

It is important to remember that losing fat may cause noticeable changes in your body (e.g. decrease in size, increase in tone) when looking in the mirror, but the number on the scales may not change. This is because resistance training can increase the amount of lean muscle you have, which is heavier but takes up less space than fat. So simply put, if fat goes down, but muscle goes up, your weight could essentially stay the same. Read more here: The difference between weight loss and fat loss and why you should focus on FITNESS not skinniness for long term health. 

5. Have Better Posture. Stronger bones will improve your posture and how you carry yourself. Weight training can ensure that the muscles between the shoulder blades, lower back and abdomen stay strong, which reduces the likelihood of developing muscular imbalances that can lead to poor posture. Better posture will enhance your overall appearance and reduce your chances of suffering from back pain.

How To Get A “Toned” Physique.

6. Ease Joint Pain and Prevent Injuries.  Muscles function as shock absorbers and serve as important balancing agents throughout the body. Well-conditioned muscles help to lessen the repetitive landing forces in weight-bearing activities like running or basketball. Also, well-balanced muscles reduce the risk of injuries that result from muscular imbalances (super strong quads and weak hamstrings?! not with smart strength training). Build a foundation of strength and you’ll be less likely to run into injury from sports or daily activities. Stronger muscles better hold your joints in position, so you won’t need to worry about your knee flaring up during your next run.

7. Impress Yourself With Progress. The amazing thing about resistance training and lifting weights in general is that it is you are able to see how far you’ve come. For example, you may have started weighted lunges with 10lb dumbbells and barely making it through your set, to being able to easily get through it with 20lb dumbbells. I love weight training because it helps bring you satisfaction, you can physically see and feel if you have gotten better. Both of these things can encourage you to keep going and continue to improve.

8. Reduce Your Risk of Heart Attack & Diabetes. As we age we naturally lose muscle mass, which makes us weaker and more prone to weight gain. Resistance training can help slow down age-related muscle loss, which means that you are not only looking better, but you are also protecting your health. During exercise, muscle tissue helps to remove additional glucose and triglycerides from your bloodstream, which can help to reduce your risk of type 2 diabetes and heart disease. There is also evidence that suggests that resistance training can help with high blood pressure.

9. Kick A$$ in life.  Yes, you heard right! When you are stronger, fitter and have more endurance, you will automatically become better at other movement-based activities that you attempt. Like lifting your suitcase into the overhead bin on the airplane…arm wrestling your brother…carrying all six-eight grocery bags at once…lifting (and keeping up with) your kids…moving boxes and furniture in your house…opening a pickle jar…and on and on..

10. Maximize Your Gym Time. Cardio sessions can sometimes take up a good portion of an hour, which can be tricky to squeeze in before work or between commitments. Fortunately, with resistance training, you don’t need to spend hours at the gym to see results. All you need is a 30-60 minute lifting session about three times a week to start seeing great results in as little as two weeks. However, I like to reinforce this efficiency mindset with all of my trainees: Get In. Work Hard. Get Out. You’ll have more time to spend with your favorite people, and to do your favorite things.

11. Build a Nice Butt. Want a nice booty? The gluteus maximus is one of the strongest muscles in your body. The shape of your glutes are influenced by muscular development. When it comes to building size in your glutes, there is no substitute for a deep, heavy squat. This will also help rid you of cellulite, while “firming” and “toning” your legs in the process. You’ll also strengthen your lower back and help prevent back injuries that are all too common as we age.

12. Change your body shape. You may think your genes determine how you look. That’s not necessarily true. Weight training can slim you down, create new curves, and help avoid the “middle-age spread.” Dropping only 3 percent of your body fat could translate into a total loss of 3 inches off your hips and thighs.

13. Boost Your Flexibility. Ignore that super ripped guy fumbling in yoga class for just a minute. Researchers from the University of North Dakota pitted static stretches against strength-training exercises and found that full-range resistance training workouts can improve flexibility just as well as your typical static stretching regimen. The key word here is “full-range,”. If you can’t complete the full motion—going all the way up and all the way down—with a given weight, you may need to use a lighter dumbbell and work up to it.

14. More energy. Exercise gives you endorphins (natural opiates produced by the brain), …endorphins make you happy, feel great and give you more energy!. Ever had a workout, where you were just ‘going through the motions’, as opposed to a workout where you were really ‘in it’—putting your mind into the muscle or movements at hand, giving 100% effort…then…how did you feel after? Perhaps, initially, a bit tired…but chances are, you left that workout with a new spring in your step—renewed energy. Lifting heavy weights challenges you in new ways…leaving you with newfound energy from the ‘rush’ you got in that workout. Strength training has also been showed to help you sleep better (since your muscles are craving recovery, rest and repair post-workout)—and better sleep equals more energy in the long run.

15. Boost Your Body Image. Lifting weights can help shift the focus of your body image from size to ability. In other words, instead of focusing on your weight or the size of your waist, you’ll begin to better appreciate your body for its strength and what it can do. When we focus on actual fitness instead of body size, more muscle can mean more ease in moving our bodies, and better relationships with our bodies and with exercise.

16. Gain Confidence. You know it: Exercise boosts the ego—it helps you feel great in your own skin. The foundation of building inner confidence (and self belief) lies in setting goals that may seem beyond your capabilities and working towards them (consistently and with commitment) until you achieve them.  And there’s something about strength training that makes you feel, well… Strong. And that feeling of inner strength — that your muscles are growing, you’re developing definition, and you’re boosting your metabolism — all of those work together as a powerful confidence-booster.

At this point you’re probably thinking everything sounds amazing, but have this little voice in your head telling you that you’re going to get big or bulky. I hear this way too many times. It’s simply a mis-belief that is holding you back from seeing results you love in a short period of time.

If you are really still worried about gaining size and becoming the next incredible hulk, consider this: Bodybuilders are doing EVERYTHING in their power to build muscle and are still struggling! Its very difficult to see massive muscle gains, unless, of course, you’re training like a monster, consuming a massive amount of calories, and injecting yourself with synthetic hormones. When you follow a strength training program customized to fit your body’s needs and goals, you’ll see the results you want (not the extra bulk).

Now you’re super motivated to pump some iron, but WHERE do you start to learn how to strength train and incorporate it into a balanced fitness routine? I want to teach you! Get excited because this AUGUST 2017 I am launching STRONG BODY BEAUTIFUL. An online, interactive coaching course to help you build a strong body and find confidence through strength. 

What’s Included in the Strong Body Beautiful Online Program?!

6 weeks of dynamic workouts designed to burn fat and build lean muscle mass in your tummy, legs, arms, and booty

A detailed daily schedule for strength, cardio, flexibility training, and rest days to optimize results.

Virtual access to ME for online fitness and lifestyle coaching. Get extra support and all your questions answered

Customized video routines and resources

My top tips and tricks that can help you live a strong lifestyle

Nutrition information, resources, and tools to learn how to listen to what your body needs and eat well

Form focus and skills training behind SMART strength training

Stress relief, meditation, and mindfulness tools to help you be your best and optimize results

The skills to stay consistent, balanced, and find a healthy relationship with exercise and food

Training tips and secrets to overcome plateaus

The secrets to success in finding YOUR perfect balance with exercise, eating well, and living a strong lifestyle

Insider access to the private Strong Body Beautiful facebook community of positive, healthy, women

Program launches in August 2017. You can enroll and start the program ANYWHERE and ANYTIME. Stay tuned for program launch details on all of these channels:

YouTube channel Email Newsletter Facebook Twitter Instagram

It’s time for you to FIND your strong. If you are ready to do something different and take your health to a happy place, this program is ready to help you find success. I would be honored to coach you and have you as part of this special community of women who are ready to build a positive relationship to fitness, a STRONG body, and live a balanced lifestyle.

I am so excited to share Strong Body Beautiful with you this August and create the kind of community that can empower you towards lasting results. Leave me a comment below and let me know if you are ready to transform your body and mind. It’s coming…. and it’s time for you to SHINE.

Yours in strength,

Caroline

*** Thank you to all who entered the NuNaturals Stevia giveaway! The giveaway winners have been randomly selected and are (drumroll please…)1. @justduit_official 2. @craving_happy  3. @aawilks 4. @taylorcrandall . CONGRATULATIONS winners! Email or direct message me your address so that I can get you your prize package! For those of you who didn’t score this time, don’t worry! Ill be hosting more fun product giveaways on my blog to give you the chance to experience products I LOVE. Stay tuned by subscribing to my email newsletter for future giveaways. 

Other Things To Check Out:

Have a LAUGH: 14 reasons women should never lift weights. Because no one wants a lean physique, faster metabolism, or better self esteem. 

Six pack ab workout routine. 

“How Wellness Coach Caroline Jordan Stays Positively Fit” Insider Interview With Rockyt.style

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How To Get A “Toned” Physique. published first on http://www.carolinejordanfitness.com